I considered bringing up Pratt’s first wife last night, but knew I wouldn’t get far. Plus, I didn’t want to get into the fact that I’d been researching his past, something I know he wouldn’t appreciate. Whether he appreciates it or not, tonight his secrets may surface.
I go back to the guest house and from the picture window, watch the sun slide under the horizon. It’s been raining on and off; now it’s pouring once again. I grab my laptop and search for lidérc and chosen demon.
The more websites I read, the more expansive and outlandish the descriptions of this creature, but there’s nothing that specifically references a chosen demon. I’m ready to forget about Jankovic’s folktales when I see that the way to rid the home of the lidérc is to burn incense. Both Pratt’s and Jankovic’s reactions to my smudge sticks were a bit extreme. Sure, I’m getting this fact about incense from some person’s blog, but what a coincidence– one that’s both humorous and unnerving.
With my alarm set for seven, I fall asleep on the sofa. When it goes off, I’m disoriented. The light from the kitchen that I’m sure I left on is out. The house is shadowy and the rain is pounding on something.
I feel in the dark for a light switch. Great, the power is out; perfect omen prior to a séance. From the front door, I can see that the lights are on in the main house. As I step back into the dark, Mojo pokes me and I jump a foot. All I can see is his freaky amber eyes. I light a candle and get ready to go.
As I step outside, the downpour is so heavy it feels like small pebbles. Mojo looks out the door and I have to coax him. “Come on, you’ll miss the séance.” He debates a few seconds while I get drenched then runs ahead of me and waits on the front porch.
On my second knock, I hear slow footsteps. I sense Pratt on the other side of the door, looking out the security hole. “It’s Jack,” I yell. Several more seconds pass before the lock clicks. I forgot all about the photo that I left on his desk. If he saw it, he’s been in the study and maybe liquefied his nerves. I consider turning around and packing my things to go.
When he opens the door, he looks frazzled and impatient. “I thought we discussed your not using the incense again.”
“I used a smudge stick,” I say. “The electricity is out at the guest house. Is there a breaker switch?”
“I… I’m not sure. I’ll have to check. How long is this going to take? Where are we going to do it. I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible. Actually, I’m not sure I even want to begin, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do. I can leave right now.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Pratt slips off his sweater and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I take a step back. He ignores me and opens the front; there are sharp, dark red streaks on his chest. He exhales and redresses. “I don’t know what happened. I woke up with these. It’s trying to kill me. You have to do something.”
“Doing something is the plan. I told you to take some time to relax and clear your mind. You’re taking the wrong approach in doing this. Your attitude—
“My attitude? It attacked me.”
“It? Did you hear or see anything this time?” I ask.
“Nothing at all. So no, I don’t have a choice. I’ll check on the power while you do whatever it is you need to do to get ready.”
I’d planned on doing the séance in the entryway where I saw the boy, but I’ve changed my mind. I head up the stairs to Pratt’s bedroom. He has a sitting area and I rearrange the chairs, set out the Ouija board, light Agustina’s white candle, and put my smudge stick in the orange cockle shell.
I can hear Pratt on the stairs, his steps are slow and heavy. Mojo is spread out on his bed. I call him to my side before the good doctor walks into the room.
“Can I open a window?” Pratt says, already doing so.
“No, the sage is for clearing the energy as well as for protection. We need both. You’ll get used to it. Please sit down. Tell me why your son wants to cause you physical harm.”
He puts his hand to his chest. “I loved my son. He was troubled and angry. His mother, my first wife, she left all three of us. There was no forgiveness on his part before he… before he died.”
Pratt’s irritated and I know better than to start a séance with negative energy, and I tell him so. “Do you believe in God, Dr. Pratt?”
He nods. “I was raised Catholic.”
“Then you know that there is light and love and forgiveness.” He’s biting his bottom lip. “And that Satan is an actual entity, not just a Bible passage. Take this seriously. It will be taking you very seriously.”
Pratt rubs his forehead and fans the smoke that’s across the room.
“Quiet your mind. Focus on your heart center. Pray in earnest. Pray harder than you ever did in church. We’ll begin in a few minutes.”
I close my eyes and say a prayer. When I open them, Pratt is staring at me and in a brief flash, I see the little boy that I saw in my mind on the beach.
“All right,” I whisper. “Rest your fingers on the planchette. Try to keep your mind empty. Release your fears as best you can. See light around yourself. I ask the Great Spirit and God to protect you. To forgive your human faults and fallacies. To accept your pleas for forgiveness that lie buried in your heart.”
Pratt has his eyes squeezed shut now. I hope he’s praying.
“To the spirit or spirits that reside in this home, know that we are here to assist you. We are here to listen to and understand your truth. We ask that you come in peace and light and love in joining us.”
The room is warm and the rain is loud. Pratt’s fingers are trembling on the planchette. I tell him to focus on his breathing, to focus on the love that he has for his son. When he relaxes, I start again.
“We call forth Blake Pratt, son of Douglas Pratt, brother of Mackenzie Pratt, and ask that you honor us with your presence in joining our circle and speaking what truth you have left unsaid. We come with love and acceptance to help you continue your soul’s journey. Please make your presence known to us.”
The planchette slides and Pratt jumps, jerking his fingers away. I tell him to relax and breathe. “Tell your son that you love him.” He’s silent and I’m not sure if he’s listening or too terrified to speak, but he returns his fingers.
I have two fingers barely on the planchette. It moves slowly, spelling Y O U K I L… I cringe.
“Blake, know that you are loved and all is forgiven in spirit. It’s time to go to the light. Let us help you do that.”
The planchette moves to the bottom of the board then back to L E D.
“You’re moving the thing.” Pratt jerks his hand away. “This is ridiculous.” He’s up now and yelling. “I could have you arrested for this.”
He’s pacing but his eyes stay focused on the board as the planchette continues to move– this time on its own. M O M.
Pratt’s backed up against the wall. Even in the candle’s light, I can see his face is ashen. He looks at me with demon eyes. Mojo goes towards him, his head dips below his shoulders, a low growl grows louder just before Pratt runs from the room.
I’m already packing up my things when I hear a crazed yelp that’s followed by a crash on the stairs.
Chapter Twenty Seven
§
I’ve never killed a client or had one die during a séance, and I hope Pratt isn’t my first. Mojo looks pleased with himself. I’m standing at the top of the stairs and the doctor is at the bottom, either unconscious or dead.
“Dr. Pratt. Are you… crap.”
I’m half way down the stairs when Pratt starts moaning and moving around. He doesn’t have any bones sticking out and there’s no blood on him or the floor. I stand above him, close enough to see him clearly, but not so close that he can lunge for me. The man who may have killed who? Jean Landy?
“Are you okay?” The wolfdog is beside me, acting cautious too. “Can you get up?”
He pulls himself to a sitting position and looks around then at me. “You
fell. Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No. I’m okay.” He uses the railing to stand then his eyes scan the room before he walks to his study. I wait until I can’t see him anymore then I follow to stand outside his door. He’s already at the bar pouring a drink.
“If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll go back to the guest house so you can get some… rest.”
“Please come in,” he says, taking a long swallow of whatever is in his glass and refilling it. “Please,” he says, looking back at me. “We need to talk.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Doctor. I think you should lie down and rest.”
He’s gone to stand at his desk, his back is to me. I think he laughed, but it also sounded like a moan. He’s looking out the window, which faces the back of the property. The night is black and even if light, the rain is making it impossible to see out.
“I didn’t kill Blake’s mother, Ms. Raven. I’m not a violent man. You don’t have to be afraid of me. Please, five minutes.”
“If not for Mojo, I’d already be gone.” I didn’t mean to say the words out loud then I realize he could have a gun in his desk and none of us may be leaving this room.
“I don’t blame you for feeling... uncomfortable. My first wife, Jean Landy, had a drug addiction. She refused help so I asked her to leave. Not too long afterwards, she died of a drug overdose. The children and I were living across town at the time. I knew the editor of the newspaper and the chief of police. They did me a favor in not disclosing the cause of her death.”
He winces as he eases himself into his chair. I can hear lies forming in his mind before he speaks them. “Blake was twelve when she died. He knew of her addiction, but she was his mother. He hated me for making her leave and blamed me for her death. Less than a year later, he committed suicide.”
Pratt finishes his drink and pushes his glass away. He starts to speak a couple of times but doesn’t.
“Have you known all along that his spirit remains earthbound?” I already know the answer, but I can’t get a clear read on what really happened to Landy. I’m sure it’s not what Pratt claims.
“Yes and no. I don’t know. It was almost seven years ago that he died. Looking back now? Maybe. Shortly after he was gone, I noticed odd noises, shadows. Sometimes I had a feeling of being watched. I told myself I was going through the grieving process. I didn’t want to believe I was going insane.” He laughs and goes to refill his glass.
“I worked harder, drank more, married, buried my second wife, and bought this house. This place was supposed to be a fresh start. It’s been anything but that. Only in these few months here have I faced what was happening.”
“Because Mackenzie started seeing him?”
Pratt closes his eyes and nods his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole story. I couldn’t. When she said she was seeing a shadow, I knew I had to act. My daughter is fascinated by the matter. As she does with most things, she wanted to know more about what was going on. She found your website. To her, having you here is little more than entertainment.”
“So you put her in a psych ward?” Pratt looks up, his nostrils flare. I don’t blink.
“I admitted her for counseling. She wasn’t thinking rationally.”
“Most eleven year olds don’t, especially when there’s a ghost in the house.”
Pratt’s turning his empty glass. “I think I know what’s best for my daughter. I put her under the care of a respected colleague. That’s all you need to know. I looked at your coming here as hope. I thought it would be simple. You’d come in and yell and threaten him and he’d disappear.”
“That only works in movies.”
“He’s getting stronger, angrier. It was just too real up there tonight. I’m sorry for what I said, how I acted, but I panicked. Can you get rid– can you help him crossover?”
“Not until you settle things with him. He’s determined to resolve this.”
“What you mean is that he wants to get even with me. He hates me.” Pratt’s angry and Mojo’s amber eyes are studying him.
“He’s a child. He was and still is confused, hurt, scared. He’s reaching out to you in the only way he knows how.”
“You can’t be serious. He pushed me down the stairs tonight. He’s tried to kill me twice now. I showed you the marks he left on me. If it wasn’t for Mackenzie, I don’t know what I would do, but I have to protect her.”
“Then resolve this with your son, for his sake and yours.”
“He’s dead. Why does he– I’ll pay you for another week. I’ll take Mackenzie and stay at a hotel. You can work this out with him. I can’t do it. You’ve proven you can contact him. Now prove you can get rid of him.” The man shouts these last words. Mojo’s growl is quiet, but Pratt still hears it.
“Let me think this over,” I say, sliding to the edge of my seat. “It would require a different approach.”
“Please. If not for my sake, for Mackenzie’s. The boy will go after her next.”
I start to ask why he would then stop. “I’ll let you know by voicemail tomorrow.” I’m already up and walking to the door. Pratt doesn’t try to stop me as I hurry out.
When I get inside the guest house, I lock the door and flip the light switch. No electricity. He lied; that’s not all he lied about. I’m just not sure what was the truth and what wasn’t.
I drag a recliner in front of the door and stack two dining room chairs on top of it. It wasn’t just his muddy gray aura, I’d been eavesdropping on his thoughts– at least what little sense they made after his third drink. Overall, his mind is so distorted I can’t decipher the truth.
The mind of the living is a place I try hard not to enter. But when I’m sitting across from a possible murderer with perhaps my murder on his mind, I make an exception. Pratt’s mind was far more agitated than he’d let on, and he wasn’t holding all that much back to begin with.
Mostly, he was too concerned about convincing me that he’s innocent– of what I don’t really know, but I do know that I’m leaving in the morning. If my worst fear has finally come true, Pratt’s secret has been revealed– to me. What about Mackenzie though? What about Blake’s spirit?
I pack my things and stack them against my barrier at the door. Then I take my candle and go to bed because along with no lights, there’s no heat.
As stressed out as I am or maybe because I’m stressed out, my eyes are too heavy to hold open. Just as well, because I want to go as soon as Pratt leaves in the morning. But what about Mackenzie? Who could I possibly tell this story to?
Not the police. Not to Tala who’s basking in the Doctor’s glow. Maybe the governess will listen to me. What was her name? I can’t even remember, but I’ll have time to talk to her in the morning. It’s her job to look after the kid. She’s the best I can do.
The rain is so heavy I think it will uproot the house and send it crashing over the cliff and into the ocean. I listen to a tree branch scraping the window as I fall into a lucid dream.
The bedroom door opens, but I know no one living is in the room. I can smell the fire on the beach and see the embers shooting to the ceiling. I hear the waves crashing as the shadow of Douglas Pratt looks at me and walks away.
Chapter Twenty Eight
§
My alarm goes off at seven and unlike most mornings, I’m fully awake. The electricity is still out and the place is freezing. Worse, I have no way to make coffee. My decision is as final as it was last night– I’m going home. I plan to leave Pratt a voice message as soon as I’m on the road.
After I gather the last of my things, Mojo and I go outside and walk to the cliff. It’s actually warmer outside than in the guest house. There’s either a real problem with the electricity or Pratt lied about the breaker. He’s been keeping me in the dark where everything is concerned.
We walk to the house and I see Tala’s car in the driveway. The governess hasn’t arrived yet. We keep going, straight towards the beach. I’d
like to catch the governess as soon as she arrives, preferably on the road before she pulls into the driveway, and certainly before she has a chance to go into the house.
I’ve decided not to disclose my suspicions about Landy and restrict my concerns to Pratt’s alcohol abuse. Still, I have no idea how she’s going to react, and I don’t want to create a scene or upset Mackenzie. Whatever happens, I’ll be ready to leave right afterwards.
When I get to the end of the house, I see Jankovic’s car parked at the side. She must be here early to get work done from yesterday. Now I really want to talk to the governess and be gone. Coffee would be nice too.
When I get past the beach parking area, I see the governess’ car. I wave with both arms and move into the road. She hesitates then stops several feet from me. I hurry to her door and she lowers the window barely an inch.
I still can’t remember her name. Our introduction was short and terse, on her part. She seems like someone who would carry a long ruler. She’s all but slapping that ruler across her hand as I lean down to talk to her.
“Hi, I’m Jack Raven. Dr. Pratt’s niece?” She glares through the crack. “We met the other day?”
“Yes, what can I do for you, Ms. Raven?”
“I need to talk to you about Mackenzie. It’s important.”
“I must get to the house. You can talk to me there.”
“Wait— She’s already gone. I take off running after her, but don’t make it before she’s shutting the front door. Great. It’s already eight o’clock. She’ll be leaving in a half hour, and I doubt she’ll spare me more than a few minutes.
I knock on the front door. Tala opens it with a big smile. I’m surprised and relieved not to see Jankovic.
“Can I come in?”
The Shem Bay Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 3) Page 13
