Star Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  “What’s the address?” she asked. Sam read it to her and they both kept a lookout. The wide residential street was a hodgepodge of housing styles and eras. Small bungalows from the 30s, ranch homes of the 50s, intercut with newer apartments built on top of razed homes from earlier times.

  “Here,” Sam said. He pointed to a sweeping circle drive that led toward a three-story mansion of almost blinding white.

  “Jeez,” Lacey said, staring as she steered her little car up the drive. “What a place. It’s huge. Do you know anything about it?”

  “Just what I told you the other day. I didn’t want to hear too much about it before I walk, you know.”

  Lacey nodded. She knew Sam would rather do a ghost walk cold, knowing as little as possible about the goings on so as not to second guess his mediumistic impressions. They’d get the full story from the owner afterward.

  She parked her car directly in front of the huge double door entrance. The heavy oak doors were set into a casement of warm terra cotta, and the color was echoed in the window casements to either side and further up on the front wall. Some of the higher windows sported white wrought iron balconies, and pink and red bougainvillea grew gracefully up the wall.

  “Nice,” she said as they exited the car.

  Sam led the way to the door and rang the bell. After a moment, Lacey heard the tap of heels on tile flooring. The right door opened and a slender black woman greeted them.

  “Hello, Sam?” she queried, putting out her hand.

  “Yes. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mallory.” He shook her hand, then indicated Lacey. “This is my partner, Lacey Fitzpatrick. Mrs. Mallory.”

  “Deidre, please,” she said, shaking Lacey’s hand. “Come in. This way.” She closed the door behind them and led them to a huge living room. The floor was Saltillo tile, with a scattering of throw rugs in tones of red, orange and turquoise.

  She took a seat on a white couch and waved them to matching overstuffed chairs. She had a grace that spoke of athleticism, and her simple but elegant turquoise shift accented her slender body. Her dark hair was cut short and feathered around her face, giving her a soft, attractive look. Lacey thought she could easily be an actress with her poise and grace, but couldn’t place her in anything she’d seen.

  “I’ve never done anything like this,” she said, “so you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

  “It’s actually pretty simple,” Lacey said, taking the lead. “Sam and I will do a complete walk through of the house first. I’ll be video recording him as we go.” She pulled her camcorder from her purse as she talked. “He’ll get all the impressions he can, and then we’d like to sit and talk with you about your experiences. Does that sound all right?”

  “Yes, fine,” Deidre said. “So you don’t need me to show you the house?”

  “We’d rather not,” Lacey said. “But we’ll be going into every room. We just want to make sure that’s okay.”

  “Yes, it’s fine. There’s no one else here. I’m converting it to luxury apartments, but I don’t want to let people move in until I can get rid of the… creepy things.”

  “Understood,” Lacey said. She glanced at Sam. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay,” Lacey said, smiling to Deidre. “We’ll meet you back here as soon as we’re done.”

  Lacey left her purse on the chair, started the camcorder and followed Sam back to the entry hall. It was an impressive first glimpse of the mansion. The ceiling was fully three stories above them, soaring over the graceful staircase that led to the upper floors. Both of the upper stories were fronted by white wrought iron balconies that looked down on the tile entry. Behind them, carved oaken doors denoted the private rooms beyond.

  “Wow,” Lacey said, looking around. Overhead, a huge Mexican tin star chandelier occupied the center of the ceiling. The rounds of colored glass set into the star twinkled with reflected sunlight that stole in through upper windows.

  Sam stood in the center of the entry, his eyes unfocused, his body held with light tension. Lacey trained the video camera on him. He turned his head slightly, as if looking around, but she knew he was zeroing in on residual emotions left by unfortunate souls.

  She waited. There was no hurrying this process. Either Sam sensed nothing yet, or he wasn’t able to tease out any meaning to it. When he was sure, he would speak.

  He made a slow turn around the room.

  “I can’t…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. Lacey had to concentrate on keeping him within the viewfinder without getting in his way. It was a slow dance, and Sam was leading.

  He shook his head. “We’ll have to come back,” he said. Abruptly he turned and walked through a doorway that led to the apartment on the north side of the ground floor.

  A living room almost identical to the one Deidre had taken them to. Saltillo tile, white couches, brightly colored rugs. There was an oak wet bar set up on one wall, and a smaller Mexican star shed light there. Beyond the windows to the outside, the delicate branches of bougainvillea bowed and dipped in the breeze.

  “Parties,” Sam said suddenly. He stood in the center of the room and let the sensations wash over him. “So much gaiety, but it’s all a mask. Smiling outside. Sad inside.”

  He strode through a doorway into back rooms. A huge suite, sitting room and bedroom combined, bathroom and walk-in closets. The tall windows in the back wall let in copious sunshine.

  “Not much here,” he said. “More peaceful. A sanctuary.” He retraced his steps to the front room. A door behind the wet bar led into a kitchen. White tile walls, stainless steel appliances. He walked the room up and back, his hands out, palms down, but he didn’t stop.

  He walked back to the entry with purpose. Again he stood in the middle of it, questing.

  “Upstairs,” he said.

  Lacey scrambled after him as he took the stairway to the second floor. There was no way she could keep the camera from jumping about as she took the stairs and tried to keep Sam in the frame. No matter. He wasn’t stopping. There was nothing on the stairs.

  On the second-floor balcony, he stopped and stared down below at the Saltillo tile where they had just been. She kept the video camera trained on him, one eye on the screen and one eye on the balcony railing. He moved away and she followed.

  He entered the north apartment. A slightly different layout here, but similar furnishings. He stared at one wall where a Frida Kahlo painting held court amid several smaller paintings. “Books,” he said. He turned slowly, breathing in the entire room. “This was a library. Another sanctuary. And sadness.”

  Lacey felt like she was starting to get the picture. The beautiful home, all the rich furnishings—but it wasn’t enough. She’d be very interested to hear what all Sam was feeling once they were done.

  He moved into the south apartment, but not without stopping again at the balcony. He looked up to the third-story balcony above, then down to the floor below. He toured the right hand apartment quickly.

  When he stepped up on the first stair that led to the third story, he hesitated. He held his hand out, palm down, over the railing. Not touching, just floating an inch or two above.

  “Up here,” he said, “is where it all happens. This is where it happens.” He mounted the stairs one by one, slowly, deliberately. He kept his chin elevated, all his attention on the third floor ahead. When he reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the oak flooring, he stopped and angled his head one way and then the other.

  Lacey saw his nostrils flare, noticed one hand flex restively. His eyes were hooded, barely slits.

  “Deception,” he said. “Deceiving. Lies. It’s crazy-making.” He turned his head slightly. “And solace.”

  Lacey couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Before when they’d worked together, all his impressions seemed to fit a central idea; here he was reporting conflicting emotions. How could lies be solace?

  He took a step toward the north apartment, paused, then abruptly turned right. He e
ntered the south apartment and drifted through the various areas of the large room. His circular walk took him through the sitting area, past the bathroom and huge walk-in closet. He stopped before the king-sized bed that dominated one wall.

  “Sex,” he said. “Lots of sex. It’s escape. It’s validation. It’s balm for the soul. And damnation.” Suddenly he put a hand to his throat. “A crucifix,” he said. “It burns.”

  A chill patterned up Lacey’s spine. What went on here? After their last foray into the Navajo reservation and their battle with a shapeshifting witch, she felt like anything was possible, but what went on here? So many dichotomies. So many opposites.

  “Sex is the validation,” Sam said, “but sleep is the release. Mindless, dreamless sleep.”

  What did that mean, Lacey wondered. She couldn’t even begin to guess.

  Suddenly Sam was in motion again, breezing past the kitchen, heading for the door. He strode unerringly out onto the balcony, then directly into the north apartment. Lacey hurried to keep up with him.

  “Crying,” he said as soon as he entered. “Fighting. No.” He corrected himself. “Not fighting. Persuasion. Deception. Lying. Bald-faced, unapologetic lying.” Lacey could hear anger in Sam’s voice. “She couldn’t fight it, couldn’t stand up to it. He steamrolled her.”

  He charged out of the room and stopped at the balcony. Lacey was shocked to see him grip the railing with both hands. Normally he avoided touching anything. He stood there, hands fisted around the railing, looking down at the red tile far below.

  “Blood,” he said softly. “And pain. Agonizing pain.” He stood very still, only the flare of his nostrils a testament to his breathing. He flexed his hands once, twice, then pushed away from the railing. “That’s all,” he said.

  He breezed past Lacey and took the stairs all the way down to the bottom. Lacey dashed after him. She caught up with him in the living room with Deidre.

  “Could I get a class of water?” he was asking their hostess.

  “Certainly.” She rose from the couch in one fluid motion. “Lacey?”

  “Yes, please,” Lacey said. She fumbled with the camera, shutting it off and slipping it into her purse, then pulling out her digital recorder. As she settled into her chair, she set the recorder in her lap.

  Deidre brought them each a tall glass of ice water with lemon. Sam drank half of his at a gulp.

  “That didn’t take long,” Deidre said. She sat on the couch but leaned forward. “Did you get anything?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Sam said. “I got plenty.”

  Deidre arched an eyebrow at him, but Lacey could tell he wasn’t going to elaborate.

  “So tell us what you’ve been experiencing,” she asked. “I’m going to record this, if that’s okay with you.” She clicked on the recorder.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Deidre glanced around as if unsure where to start. “You may or may not know, but the housing market in this area is changing. Many of the older houses are being torn down and replaced by apartment buildings.” Lacey nodded. She’d seen evidence of that. “I’d been looking for a property to develop and when I heard this old mansion was for sale, I couldn’t bear to think of it bulldozed and some generic stucco monstrosity built in its place. So I bought it. It’s got quite a history, as you might imagine. Hollywood stars, lavish parties. It was built in the late 30s, so it’s seen a lot of owners, a lot of changes in the industry.”

  She leaned back against the couch cushions. “Somewhere along the line, I heard something about it being haunted. I didn’t put much stock into it, other than to think it was kind of quaint and might be an interesting draw for people looking to rent my apartments. I didn’t live here, and I certainly never got any… feelings. But then once all the lines and pipes were inspected and all the remodeling was done, I began furnishing the place. That’s when I started spending more time here and I … noticed things.”

  “What things?” Lacey prompted.

  Deidre hesitated, and Lacey almost thought she saw the woman shudder.

  “I noticed when I was in the third floor apartment on the other side that I just felt sad. Every time I walked in there, I could almost feel a weight settling on me, and I felt—I don’t know—depressed. I kept thinking I just needed to brighten it up, open the windows or add a bit more color, but nothing I did dispelled the mood. Then one day I was in there and I heard… crying.”

  “Crying?” Lacey sat up.

  “Yes. At first I thought it was coming from outside, but I checked all the windows and they were closed. I looked outside but there was no one around. And as I moved around the room, I could tell the sound was right there. In the room. I actually felt like I … walked through it once. It gave me the chills.”

  Lacey nodded as if this were all very normal. “Go on.”

  Deidre sighed. “Then there’s the third-story apartment directly above us. I found things… being moved around. You’ve no doubt noticed I’m using a lot of Mexican influence in the design here. I had hung a large tin cross on one wall, but later I found it face down on the floor. I thought perhaps one of the workmen knocked it off, or—I don’t know—maybe even a small earthquake shook it loose. I set it back on the wall and forgot about it. Next time I came in, it was on the floor again. But it wasn’t where it would be if it had just fallen off the wall. It’s as if it were deliberately placed face down on the carpet. I think I rehung it three or four times before I gave up and put it in another room.”

  Lacey remembered Sam mentioning a crucifix, and his words, “It burns.”

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Yes. I had a painting in there of the Virgin Mary. It’s lovely, rather stylized like a Modigliani, and very beautiful. I found it face down on the bed. Again I thought maybe a workman had laid it there, and I rehung it. Next day, it was back on the bed in the exact same position: face down, and upside down, the top of the painting turned toward the foot of the bed. I hung it up three times, and every time I would find it later that way on the bed. Finally, like with the cross, I moved it to another room.”

  Lacey wanted to glance over at Sam, wanted to see his face, but she doubted he’d reveal whatever he might be thinking.

  “All right,” she said to Deidre. “Anything else?”

  The woman lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “I have no idea if this is in the same category as the other things, but it’s certainly odd. There’s a place on the entry floor that’s slippery. That’s Saltillo tile, so it’s not polished to a high gloss, but that one spot is always very slippery. I even had my flooring man look at it, see if those few tiles were different somehow, but he said they were all the same. He couldn’t account for it. I finally put a large area rug there. I don’t want my tenants slipping and falling.”

  “No, I would think not,” Lacey said. She had a thought. “Was the tile already here in the house when you bought it? Or did you put that down?”

  Deidre shook her head. “No, there was some horrible linoleum stuff there. I pulled that all out and put in the tile.”

  Lacey had thought that was probably the case. Good to know for sure, though.

  “Any other anomalies?”

  Deidre glanced around. “I don’t believe so. Obviously I was able to find some workarounds for some of this, but those top apartments—I don’t think I can rent out either one of them. And if I can’t rent this place, then all my work, all my investment is for nothing.” She looked back at Lacey and Sam. “I don’t want to cry on your shoulders, but if I can’t make a go of this, I’ll lose a boatload of money. I’ve put all my savings into this. But I wouldn’t want to live there. Would you?”

  “No,” Lacey said. “I agree completely.” She shut off the recorder and turned to Sam. “What do you think? Is there anything she can do now, or should we wait until we research it?”

  Sam thought for a moment, chewing on his lip. “There’s a lot of conflicting emotion here,” he said. “I think we need to do our research, find out what
really happened here. Then we can work up a plan for a clearing.”

  “A-all right,” Deidre said. “So that’s all for today?”

  “Yes.” Sam rose to his feet and Lacey followed, shoving the recorder into her purse. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we have some answers.”

  Deidre led them to the front door. “Thank you for coming. I certainly hope you can help me with this. I wanted to start advertising the apartments next week.”

  Lacey glanced at Sam, hoping she was reading him right. “I’m sure we can,” she said. “It might be a few days, but we’ll get back to you when we know more.” She pulled a card from her wallet. “Here’s my card. If you think of anything else or have any questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you.” Deidre let them out through the heavy oak door and they walked to the car. As Lacey slid into the driver’s seat, she saw the woman’s worried face disappear behind the beautifully carved panel.

  So beautiful on the outside, but tragically ugly on the inside.

  ~~~

  THREE

  Lacey remembered seeing a family restaurant on Ventura on the drive out, and she headed back that way.

  “Early lunch?” she asked Sam as she put her blinker on and eased toward the driveway entrance.

  “Sure,” he said.

  It was a routine they’d fallen into. After doing their walk, they both needed a few quiet moments to debrief and talk about Sam’s impressions. She parked the car and they walked into the restaurant, side by side but silent. A hostess led them to a booth and took their drink orders.

  Lacey barely flipped through the menu, just long enough to find burgers. Sam took more time and Lacey didn’t press him. He’d talk when he was ready. She’d learned that by now.

  The server came with their drinks. “Hi. I’m Stephen. What can I get for you today?” He was tall, thin, with a boatload of teeth. Entirely too perky, Lacey thought. She ordered her burger and fries; Sam ordered a Reuben sandwich. Tall Boy beamed a 100-watt smile at them and headed back to the kitchen.