Barely six months had passed since the doctors had given Liz a clean bill of health after she had nearly died at the hands of a psychotic serial killer and she still found it difficult to make the short walk from the bus stop to her small flat. Every dark alley and blind corner reminded her of the dreadful night she had been attacked. How she had felt herself grabbed from behind before even realizing anyone was there. How a wet cloth had been pressed over her nose and mouth as she struggled to free herself to no avail. How as her consciousness faded she thought she heard a man's voice whisper she would be the one to unlock the last of the bowl's secrets.

The unusual amount of rain had taken its toil on her mood as well by forcing her to remain indoors and off the trails she so dearly loved. Hiking helped clear her mind and without that release she had begun to feel a return of an odd presence in the back of her mind. A presence her doctor had told her, and she believed, to be nothing more than a manifestation of her own fear. At least she wanted to believe that. There had been times when she would have sworn it was a separate entity seeking to replace her in her own mind.

She was given a break from her gloomy thoughts as she arrived at her flat. Her landlady, an elderly woman Liz had grown fond of, had been watching for Liz to get home and stepped outside to intercept the young woman before she had a chance to go inside.

“Liz dear, could I get you to do me a favor. The light over the stairs has gone out and the man I hired to do maintenance is on holiday. Could I impose on you to change the bulb for me? I don't want to leave it until he gets back, someone could get hurt.”

“Sure Mrs. Tyler,.just give me a moment to hang my coat up and I'll get right to it.” Liz answered.

Liz stopped to check her box for any mail and was surprised to see a small, odd looking envelope mixed in with the usual advertisements and bills. The thick cream colored parchment was nothing like any she had seen before and she did not recognize the elegant handwriting of the address. The flowing letters of her name evoked a sense of age and there was no postmark or return address to be seen. Turning the envelope over in her hands she noticed the seal was as old fashioned as the script. Instead of being glued shut, it was seal sealed with a bit of wax pressed with a stylized Phoenix. There was something curious about the envelope giving her a sense that within it held some drastic change for her.

She was about to break the seal when her landlady's voice traveled to her from the elderly lady's flat. “Oh Liz, I almost forgot to tell you. I have some of those fresh baked chocolate cookies you love so much. When you're done changing the light bulb stop in for a few.”

Forgetting the odd envelope for the moment, Liz tucked it under her arm with the rest of her mail and then dropped it on the small table just inside the door to her flat before shrugging off her coat and hurrying to her task.

* * *

A couple of hours later after an enjoyable time spent chatting with Mrs. Tyler and being fed fresh baked cookies, Liz returned to her flat. As she entered her eyes fell upon the small table and the day's post. The odd parchment envelope was laying on the top of the stack but this time her curiosity was tinged with dread. Something alien was stirring in the back of her mind, telling her to throw the envelope away without opening it. That if she opened it her life would be changed forever and not for the better.

A small cry of dismay escaped Liz's lips. The voice of the madness she had briefly suffered from after her attack had returned. The voice which had constantly cried out for her to trust no one. For her to find a way to destroy those around her before they had a chance to do the same to her. The voice it had taken months of therapy to banish. If it was back did that mean the hallucinations would be next? Would the visions of death and destruction she had been powerless to stop return to plague her as well?

With too many questions and no answers Liz was certain of only one thing. If the frightening presence in her head did not want her to open the envelope then that was exactly what she would do. Liz did not know much about the presence that haunted her but she was sure if she ever gave into it and did as it bid she would be lost.

With that in mind Liz picked up the envelope, turned it over, and broke the seal. Withdrawing the paper within, Liz began to unfold it when her vision swam. A surge of power inside her mind turned the unease she felt into full fledged fear and as it peaked her vision cleared and she found she was no longer in her flat. Instead of the brightly lit room she had left she was standing in a candle lit room, the flame of the candle flickering in a slight breeze. Before her was a desk at which sat an elderly man, his aged spotted hand holding an old fashioned, feather quill pen.

Her eye was drawn to the frail looking hand and her vision zoomed in as she watched the quill dance its way across the parchment. The elegant script left in its wake a match for the one used to address the envelope she had received. The bold, firm strokes showing strength still flowed through the man despite his apparent age.

As she watched, a sickly purple light appeared around the man's hand in a glowing corona, causing the flickering shadows to appear darker, more menacing. The glow deepened and as it did the quill faded from view, the hand holding it appearing to grow young again. There were whispers at the edge of Liz's hearing and the presence within her mind cackled in glee. Suddenly the purple light flared bright, then began to fade. As it did the shadows appeared to turn liquid and ran down the man's wrist and arm as it dripped from something being held in the young palm.

When it was gone Liz's perspective snapped back to normal. She was still standing behind an unfamiliar man but this one wasn't old. This man was young, a knight out of fairy tales, complete with a chain mail shirt covered by a cloth tabbard. He was squatting beside a small fire, the liquid draining from the mass he held into some type of glowing container. There was something eerily familiar about the small container but the man's crouched form prevented her from from getting a close enough look to identify it. Liz somehow knew the liquid dripping from the knight's hand was blood even in the odd purple glow. She also knew the vessel it came would never be satisfied, no matter how much blood it was fed.

With each drop of blood falling into the bowl Liz sensed its demand for even more, the presence in her mind oddly attuned to the strange object. Liz watched as with every drop the glow increased until the bowl gave off more light than the fire. Soon the light had grown strong enough for Liz to see the object the young man held and she recoiled in horror as she realized it was a heart. How she knew what it was she didn't know but she did and the thought sickened her. She tried to look away but was unable to as the knight squeezed his hand shut wringing out every last drop of blood he could.

Soon images began to form. Hazy and indistinct they produced a driving need to see them clearer, to understand their meaning. She knew the animal blood the knight was using was not enough to give him the understanding he sought and that a greater sacrifice would be needed. She had finally recognized the bowl and was about to call out, warn the knight not to allow himself to fall prey to its evil when the vision broke.

Some time during the vision Liz had sunk to the floor with her back to the wall and her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, the letter was still clutched in one hand. Somehow that simple piece of parchment had reawakened the visions she had thought she had rid herself of months before and a part of her wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds unread. Another, stronger, part of her resisted the urge, knowing if she did, the power which had invaded her body would be given the opportunity it sought. She would be overwhelmed, the power would take control, and she would be lost forever.

Using the small table for balance Liz slowly rose and made her way to the nearest chair afraid at any moment her unsteady legs would dump her unceremoniously to floor. Safely in the chair she curled her legs under her and pondered what she had just experienced. While the second part with the knight had been frightening and had brought back her memories of that horrid night the first part had brought a sense of peace with it. She was sure the elderly gentleman in her vision had been the same person who had penned the letter she now held. How she knew wasn't important, what was important was the presence she felt lurking at the edge of her mind had feared him and wanted her to destroy his letter unread. For that reason alone reading it was exactly what he had to do.

With pounding heart Liz pulled the folded parchment from the crumpled envelope and with trembling hands unfolded the letter. A feeling of calm and security flowed from it and the tiny voice in her mind screaming for her to shred the letter and throw it away was banished by a warm and protective embrace. With renewed confidence, Liz smoothed out the letter and read.

'My dear Ms. Downing,

It is my sincere hope this letter finds you well. You do not know me, but I am sure you will recognize my organization, the Phoenix Foundation. Your circumstances and recovery have been brought to my attention in hopes that myself or my organization may be of assistance to you.

To those ends, I would like to invite you to a dinner engagement at one of my country retreats. There will be several people of similar experiences present as well. It is my hope that together, we can find answers to your questions and provide support and assistance with any lingering 'effects' of your traumatic experience.

I sincerely hope you choose to join us, I have been eager to meet you since I first heard about your experience. The dinner will be held Friday, August 21st, service to begin at 8:00 p.m. promptly. Please feel free to arrive at your earliest convenience. Directions and contact information can be found on the enclosed card.

Yours in kindest consideration,
Jeffery Duvalle
President, The Phoenix Foundation.

Liz read through the letter a second time trying to find what she missed. The Phoenix Foundation had provided her with much needed assistance after her attack but why would the Foundation's president be interested in her. Maybe she could see him taking an interest in her if she had been the first victim they had provided assistance to but she hadn't even been the only one they helped that month, though he did say there would be others there who had suffered similar experiences. Perhaps this was something he did regularly, bringing together all those the Foundation had helped in order for them to realize they weren't alone. A wry chuckle escaped Liz, she doubted there many who shared her experience. It wouldn't hurt to humor the old guy by accepting and she needed a reason to get out and do something other than hide in her flat.

Going to her small desk, Liz pulled out paper and pen and began writing her reply.

Dear Mr. Duvalle,

Thank you for your kind invitation. I would be honored to attend...

Liz paused, wondering what she had been thinking. She had no idea who Duvalle was other than what he claimed in his letter. For all she knew he was some crazed psychopath who had somehow gotten her name and address. Returning her pen to paper she continued to write.

...but I am afraid it will not be possible at this time.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth Downing

She had placed her reply in an envelope and was about to seal it when she became aware of a cackling glee in the back of her mind. Realizing that by declining Duvalle's invitation she would be doing exactly what the presence wanted of her, Liz pulled the paper back out and crumpled it in her hand. The cackling laugh became a howl of anger and Liz knew what she needed to do. Pulling out a fresh sheet of paper she began again.

Dear Mr. Duvalle,

I would like to extend my thanks for all the assistance your Foundation has provided me. It was much appreciated and I hope one day to be able to help others as I have been helped.

I must say I am surprised by your dinner invitation but I would be honored to attend. Please count on me to be there.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth Downing

The voice in her mind was nearly deafening as she penned the last few words and sealed her reply in the waiting envelope. Knowing she was doing the right thing, Liz addressed the envelope, stamped it, and headed out to place it in the post before the howling shriek could change her mind.

***

When the post came Monday, there was a familiar cream envelope sitting amidst the adverts and bills. The writing was the same elegant script, and Liz could easily imagine it being written with a quill or feather pen. A whisper of that vision stirred in her memory. The front again shown no sign of postage and it was sealed as before, with a blob of red wax, the Phoenix rising triumphant out of it's mass.

A feeling of dread filled Liz at the site of the envelope until she realized its source and pushed it away. Even if the presence that had be reawakened within her was nothing more than her own mind betraying her she could not give in to it. As if the envelope were a snake ready to bite, Liz carefully broke the seal. As she did a wave of peace washed over her, banishing the last of her dread.

The contents were simple, yet warm, as if the writer was smiling as he wrote it.

My dear Ms. Downing,

Thank you for making an old man happy. I can promise you the food will be good, the company interesting, and the conversation enlightening.

You are most welcome for the care and aid the Foundation has provided. It is our duty to ensure we provide assistance where it is most needed, part of the reason why I have asked you to join me for dinner and am including you in the offer I'm extending afterward. If I may be so bold, may I send a car for you on the day of the dinner? I am eager to meet you and we have much to discuss.

With warmest regards,

Jeffery Duvalle.

Liz hesitated for only a moment before finding the card that came with the original letter and dialing the provided number. As she waited for someone on the other side to pick up a whispering voice urged her to hang up and forget the whole nonsense. So what if this Duvalle character's foundation had provided her aid when she needed it, it did not mean she was in any way obligated to it or to him. This was probably just some form of scam and she would be best off ignoring the invitation altogether. She was about to give in and hang up when a pleasant female voice answered telling her she had reached the Phoenix Foundation and asking if she could be of assistance.

With a deep breath Liz silently told the whispering voice to shut up and out loud said, "Yes, this is Elizabeth Downing. Mr. Jeffery Duvalle sent me an invitation to a dinner party on the twenty-first and provided this number as the contact number. I was hoping..." Her voice trailed off. What was I hoping? She thought. "I was hoping to get some directions." She finished lamely.

Madigan's voice smiled warmly over the line. "Ah, Ms. Downing. Mr. Duvalle was hoping you'd call. Unfortunately, he's in a meeting at the moment, and cannot ask you himself, but he asked if you'd be willing to meet him a little in advance of the dinner. He indicated he had some things he wanted to discuss with you, in a more private setting, and would be willing to put his personal driver and car at your disposal."

"How much in advance?" Liz asked suspiciously.

Madigan chattered on, oblivious to Liz's hesitation. "Oh not long. Let's see, dinner's at eight, and the other's will be arriving around seven thirty or so, George could be there about five thirty, you'd get to the estate around quarter past or so, that should give Mr. Duvalle plenty of time, he did ask that you give him as much time as possible, he asked me to tell you he understands if you're a bit nervous, but he said, and I quote, 'The doctors were wrong, and I'll need some time to explain.' so will that work for you?

"I... I'm not sure that's really a good idea. I mean I don't know Mr. Duvalle and all. How do I know it's safe?" Liz said before realizing where the words were coming from. She paused to collect her thoughts. "I'm sorry, that was a bit rude of me I know, but I've had some bad experiences recently."

Madigan's voice took on a more somber, reassuring tone. "Ms. Downing, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I completely understand your reluctance. Mr. Duvalle is quite safe. He's a bit eccentric, and at times doddering, but harmless. He truly wishes only to speak to you, and his staff will be on site, when he meant alone, he meant before the other guests arrived. He seems quite concerned about you. I'm not sure what he meant about the doctors, but he was quite insistent that I quote him exactly."

Duvalle was quite concerned about her? That was strange in itself. Why would the head of a charitable organization be concerned about a simple store clerk? And what did he mean the doctors were wrong? Wrong about what? Liz stood thinking about everything Madigan had told her for a long while before remembering she was still on the phone.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to leave you hanging like that." Liz's voice conveyed her shame at having ignored the other woman. "I think it would be best if I just cancel my acceptance at this time and talk to Mr. Duvalle at a later date."

At her words, several things happened simultaneously, the presence came to life triumphantly in her head, sensing her weakness, feeding on her uncertainty, and Madigan uttered a mournful sigh, saying softly to herself, "Oh Dear, I knew I was going to ruin this." The sound of paper shuffling came over the receiver and she muttered to herself. "Oh where did I put that card. He told me this might happen...."

As Madigan grew flustered, Liz could feel the presence grow stronger, and could almost hear a sibilant triumphant 'Yesssssssssss!'

Liz's grip tightened on the phone, the woman on the other end all but forgotten as she struggled to suppress the rising malevolence. This wasn't like her at all, she had never even met Duvalle so why would a part of her hate him so much? A purple haze began creeping in at the edge of her vision and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut trying to will away the hallucination before it could start but knowing the attempt was useless.

Once again she found herself watching as an armored figure stood before a campfire, blood dripping from an outstretched hand. A sinewy voice whispered she was seeing her own fate if she were to take Duvalle up on his offer, that it would be her life being sacrificed for non-existent answers. The voice continued, telling her how she would never be safe as long as she had any contact with Duvalle. To throw the letter away and forget he even existed. She had nearly given in to the seductive murmur when a subtle change in the scene drew her attention to the skull shaped bowl and she realized the voice in her mind speaking so convincingly was the same as the one demanding more blood.

With her realization the vision abruptly ended and Liz once more found herself in her tiny living room clutching the receiver to her phone. Madigan's voice once more sounding over the line.

"Ms. Downing, are you there, are you ok?" Madigan's voice sounded concerned, as if she'd been speaking and had heard no response. "Mr. Duvalle has just stepped out and has asked to speak with you, will you talk with him?"

"I'm... I'm sorry... I" Liz took a deep breath. "I'm fine, I guess I kinda just zoned out for a moment." There was a long pause. "I'd be happy..." NO00! the voice cried in defeat. "...to talk to Mr. Duvalle."

There were a series of creaks and clicks as the phone was handed over. A male voice spoke, strong, but showing signs of age, his tone was warm, inviting, relaxing. "Ms. Downing? This is Jeffrey Duvalle. I understand you have some reservations about accepting my invitation?"

Duvalle's question seemed to cause the presence to stir, but the voice, its tone relaxed her, and allowed her some measure of freedom from the presence's anger.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Duvalle. I... I'm just not sure it would be a good idea for me to come." Liz apologized. "I'm still not fully recovered from the attack and wouldn't want to ruin dinner by having a panic attack. I hope you understand."

"Of course, I can understand," Duvalle said soothingly. "though I can assure you that the cause of your attacks will have no power while you're with me. You see, I know what has happened, and what drives you to have these ... attacks. The chalice fears me, rightly so, and it's why I asked you to arrive earlier, to explain."

"No offense Mr. Duvalle, I don't see what you can tell me that the doctors havent already." Liz was silent a moment as she realized the constant murmuring in the dark corners of her mind had ceased allowing her to think clearly. To say she thought Duvalle eccentric would have been an understatement but there was something she liked about the old man. It wouldn't hurt to give him a couple of hours. "But I guess I can be there. As long as you realize I could bug out at any time."

"Excellent!" Duvalle exclaimed and there was true happiness in his voice. "I understand your concerns and I will endeavor to make you feel most at home, so that you won't feel the need to escape, as for your panic attacks, I will take the necessary steps to ensure you'll be fine. Thank you, you've made this old man very happy."

There was a slight pause, as she heard Madigan's voice in the background. "I'm sorry, but I'm being told that I've been quite rude to my guest and need to return. Is there anything else I can answer?" Duvalle asked.

Liz had quite a few questions but felt she had already been rude enough for one day. That Mr. Duvalle still wanted her to be there after the way she behaved on the phone surprised her. Madigan probably hadn't had a chance to tell him how strange she had acted. She was about to tell him there was nothing else when something Madigan said came back to her. "Only one thing, Mr. Duvalle. What did you mean about the doctors being wrong?"

"My dear, the doctors gave you the only diagnosis they were equipped to give. They have no understanding of the power that is trying to possess you. You are perfectly sane, and not suffering hallucinations caused by post traumatic stress. Their minds are closed. When we meet I'll give you a more thorough explanation."

"So, I didn't imagine it." Liz said nearly under her breath. "Thank you for speaking with me Mr. Duvalle. I'll admit none of this makes any sense but I'll arrange to be there as early as you like."

"I'm sure things will become a bit murkier before they become clearer, however I will be sure to do my best to help you understand. I truly must go, however I'll let Madigan finish making the arrangements. Until then, might I suggest you carefully pry the seal off the last letter? You'll find something that just may ease the burden until next we meet."

There was another set of clicks as the phone was passed off again. Madigan's voice came back, there was a tone relief as she asked, "So you'll be joining Mr. Duvalle? What time should I send George around for you?"

"Yes, I'll be there. You said something about five thirty? I can be ready by then." Liz replied.

"All right, five thirty it is then. Shall we have George meet you in front of your flat?"

"That would be best. And I'm sorry if I seemed a little strange to you." Liz finished making the arrangements to attend the dinner then picked up Duvalle's original letter to her, turning it over to see the antique style wax seal. The seal had not split down the middle as she would have expected it to. Instead it had separated itself from the envelope and was hanging from the open flap. Wondering was was so special about a chunk of wax, Liz carefully followed Duvalle's instructions and pried it from the flap. When it was free she held it under a light in order to see it better.

The front of the seal was just what she expected, a blob of wax, with a raised image of a phoenix, looking like it was stamped into the wax while it was hot. As she turned it over a glint of dull silver caught her eye. Partially embedded in the wax seal was a small silver disc, about the size of an American dime. There seemed to be a small loop on one edge, as if a charm for a necklace or a bracelet. 

As her fingers brushed the metal, they tingled slightly. A brief flash of warmth suffused her being and the presence reared, or attempted to, but it felt like it had been constrained. When her fingers broke contact the warmth faded slowly and the Presence snapped violently alert a hiss of anger echoed through her mind and she felt an overpowering urge to drop the piece into the disposal and grind it into oblivion.

Liz dropped the offending piece of metal and stumbled back. Somehow that simple charm seemed able to contain the presence and it was not happy about it. Liz took a step forward and dropped to her knees searching the floor for the tiny charm while the presence howled for her to leave it. Spotting it under the table Liz reached out then drew her hand back without touching it. Perhaps it would be better to find a chain to place it on first and they pick it up. Leaving it where it lie Liz went to her bedroom to search for something to put it on.

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