2 Spirit of Denial by Kate Danley

in her mind which threatened to rob her of all will.  "No!  All the girls who we believe were possessed had one of these necklaces!  They were all photographed by you!  You are at the center of everything!"
    Phineas paused, and then smiled.  "I was wondering if you would figure it out before I had a chance to bind your soul."
    "What?" said Clara, her eyes widening in fear.
    "You are ever so much cleverer than Violet and that actress Pauline."
    "You were trying to turn me into another slave of the heart?"
    "This is merely in the pursuit of science, my dear Mrs. O'Hare!  When Violet was possessed, it seemed quite the accident.  But then when Pauline became possessed, it seemed quite the coincidence.  I needed you in order to see if it was a pattern.  I needed you to see if the possession was only for the weak-minded.  And now you have disrupted the blind in my experiment. I am afraid that you are no longer a worthy subject.  You must be disposed of."
    Phineas took the pan which held the flash powder and began slowly making his way towards Clara, holding it like a shovel as if to strike her.
    "No!" she cried as he took a swing.
    The dizziness returned and with it, the desire to submit to Phineas was overwhelming.  But she fought, knowing in her heart her survival depended upon it.  With a force of will she did not even know she possessed, she ripped the scarab from her neck.  She was not yet strong enough to throw it away entirely, but thrust it into a pocket, and felt the compulsions ease.
    She looked around frantically.  There seemed to be no windows to the room.  But she had seen windows occurring at regular intervals from the exterior.  Could they be hidden?
    She yanked back the velvet curtains of the backdrop and there was nothing.  She dodged as Phineas came at her again with the flash powder pan.  She picked up a chair and swung it at him as she yanked back the other side of the backdrop.
    The door to the room opened and there was Phineas’ servant, silent and waiting.
    "Hold her!" Phineas cried as she tried to make her escape.
    There.  In the wall.  The glass was painted dark, but it was a window.  She flung the chair against it and the glass crashed and broke.  The light caused Phineas to cringe and jump backward. 
    Ignoring the glass and trying not to let its jagged edges deter her, she climbed onto the ledge.  She felt the shards cut the fabric of her dress, but the fabric's thickness seemed to protect her from the worst.  She was on the second story, at least twelve feet up, and there was no easy escape—no trellises or tree limbs to climb down.
    Guarding his face with his arm, Phineas forced his head out of the window and shouted, "She is getting away!"
    Desperate, Clara decided to make the leap.  She stepped out into thin air.  For a split second, the ground was rushing towards her, and then she felt the painful impact.  Her ankle twisted beneath her, and she could not help but cry out. But she was alive and nothing seemed broken.  She began limping quickly towards the gate.
    Hands wrapped around her waist and picked her up.  A meaty paw went over her mouth to keep her from making a noise.  She bit hard and he faltered.  It was Phineas’ servant.  She clawed and kicked, landing her heeled shoe in his shin.  But that didn't stop him.  He dragged her back into the house, and shut the door behind them with his foot.  She screamed, but no one came to help.  He threw her, silently, dispassionately, down upon the floor of the hallway.
    She pulled herself up to her hands and knees.  Phineas was in front of her.  The servant was behind.  But there was a door to the side.  It was her only hope of escape.  She leapt to her feet and opened it.  It was stairs going down into some sort of a basement.  She prayed that perhaps it let to the kitchen and there would be a delivery entrance.  She raced in, slamming the door behind her.  There was a sliding lock and she threw it.