“You’ll find nothing,” she shrugged but shook.

“No one will miss you,” she offered. “Don’t go anywhere Miss Richardson. I’ll speak to you more, once I have more information. Maybe, you’ll learn some manners, and your New Money masters will throw you to the wolves, just for our approval.” Alice turned around, indifferent to anything Sheila could say.

She watched the Princess of Lear Mountain walked away. Alice never looked back, and she disappeared in the storm. Sheila squeezed the box, body shuddered. I have to escape; she considered, but fell back a step. She is crazy but not stupid. Black Priory loomed over her, and she looked at it.

“Maybe,” she whispered. I can hide somewhere inside, if she comes back.

The Black Priory waited. She had planned to never come back, but tropical beaches would have to wait. Another night of the freaking rats, she thought with a curse. The days and nights were very still at the Black Priory, even the frogs and crickets. Only the wind broke the silence, until lately. “It started about around that day,” she paused. Maybe, I just never noticed it before Kayden. “His eyes,” she rubbed her temples. Red lines,” she added, world drifted away though snapped back. “I hate rats,” Sheila sighed.

Gray swept over her, and she sat down on a chair. A bruised purple bled over the floor, which followed her gaze. Some squirmed in the air before her, but no matter where she looked, it was centered in the word. Kayden rose in her mind, across from her in Sheila’s office. He had the smile of one, who possessed a particularly funny joke. His mouth moved, but her head felt full of worms made of razors. A dead galaxy of purple flames flowed around her. Muscle spasms seized her, and her feet drummed on the floor.

Gnawing, scratching, and scrabbling ate into the dream. Sheila floated in a sea, fathomless and boundless, unmoored from body or the world. She frowned, and like the sea receding from the shore, the bruised purple fires of alien nebulas fell to black. She shifted; eyes fluttered, an ache sunk deep.

Sheila shot up. The box had slipped out of her hands. I must have sat down, fell asleep. She snatched up the box, but the contents spilled out over the floor. Everything she needed to insure the others would never betray her. She even kept some of Tracy Chaney’s correspondence. A rat is always a rat; she mused, and cursed Brian for allowing the woman to be involved. Kayden had been snooping around, and rumors flooded the plant. He must have told the Van Lear family something. Alice may know everything, but wants evidence or just to play with her.

“I got to hide it,” Sheila stood, and listened to the storm outside. The sounds of little claws and teeth moved throughout the Black Priory.

Although she had gotten a key, which opened some of the monastery, a lot of the property was locked. Sheila moved about the rooms, which had been updated beyond its original design. So sturdy was the structure, all of the additions were easy to see. Every place she tried to place the paper were too obvious, she saw. Every room as discarded, as the rats in the walls began their busy work. They moved to each room, almost hidden in the raging storm’s tumult. Sheila’s gaze retreated from the walls, shoulders hunched and goosebumps rose.

Soon, she moved in a hunched scurry. “I don’t even know,” Sheila threw up a hand. Chris and Brian had handled the entire thing, she cursed. All I did was cover for them. I didn’t really steal anything, and I can’t help some women don’t have self-respect. Could we’ve stolen something from the Van Lear family?

If not for Brian, the Lady’s Man, inability to keep his hands to himself, they would have closed the plant, before anyone would know. No one got hurt. Sheila felt the world grow distant. Now, I have a lunatic at my door step. She thought of the Princess of Lear Mountain, “I can’t tell who is worse, her or Barnett.”

Something writhed across her vision, swam across the dark stones. Purple light blazed in its wake. Sheila staggered a step. She leaned against the wall, which felt thin like a ruse. She fell to her knees; a hissing click filled her ears. Bile at the back of her throat was bitter. Lines, thin as razors, raced over her skin. Works of hatred echoed deep in the boundless space. A word in an alien tongue resounded, which was terrible and beyond the grasp of the finite. The box bounced once, before the contents spilled over the floor.

Darkness swept over her, and Sheila struck the stone. Time passed as she floated in a great nothing. She jerked. Eyes widened, flew over the floor and spilled papers. There were gaps in her memory. I’ll go to the Doctor, when I’m for from this pit. About her the sound of rats in the walls grew to a manic fury.

The scrabble of little claws stopped. Before her was the door to the basement, which opened with a heavy click. Sheila had only tried the door once, when she had first moved into the Priory. Beyond was the darkness of the stairway there a light danced of a greasy yellow hue. A spicy rot mixed with the musk of long undisturbed dirt. Over her washed air, uncomfortable like hot breath. Despite this warmth, she felt icy needles trace her back. I guess Horse unsettle me, she assured herself. It is just a basement. The slight breeze cooled, and she doubted it had ever been warm.

“I found my hiding spot,” she smiled but it faltered. Her heart raced. Bile rose in the back of her throat, stomach twisted. Only the steady beat of rain, and her breathing answered. Sheila shifted, looked at the spill of documents, but hands trembled.