The Dark Stage: Wylie Westerhouse Book 2

by Nathan Roden

  “You can’t get out of this room,” Bruiser said. “Or you would have already.”

  The beast loosed a loud and horrible laugh. He raised one long-nailed claw toward the ceiling.

  “He! HE is the one that we have waited for!” the beast cackled.

  “Look!” Bruiser whispered to Dougie and Delbert. Something moved behind the beast; something inside of a large cage.

  A woman—a live woman—sat up on a cot.

  “Hello?” she said. “Is someone there?”

  “GO!” Bruiser screamed a whisper while pulling Dougie and Delbert toward the door. They needed no encouragement. They didn’t look back or stop until the Castle Wellmore was well behind them.

  “Now,” Bruiser said, holding his side. “Now, we bring in the army!”

  Bruiser stopped just outside of Holly’s hotel room door. He threw his arms out to his sides to stop Dougie and Delbert from floating through.

  “Wait just a dang minute, you two,” Bruiser said. “We can’t just go barging in to a young lady’s room.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dougie said.

  “Knock on the door, Dougie,” Bruiser said.

  “That usually don’t work,” Dougie said. He stood in front of the door, but instead of his knuckles rapping against the door, they passed through it.

  Bruiser looked up and down the hallway.

  “There,” he pointed. “Grab that vase of flowers off the table down there at the end.”

  “What for?” Dougie asked.

  “Bring it over here and use it to knock on the door,” Bruiser said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Dougie said. He went to the end of the hall and picked up the vase. He almost dropped it twice on his way back to the door. Dougie tapped the edge of the vase against the door, making almost no sound at all.

  Bruiser tapped his foot.

  Dougie pulled back on the vase and threw it against the door. The vase shattered. The first door to fly open was the door across the hall. Ian Finnegan stepped into the hall, followed closely by Myron.

  Holly’s door jerked open, but instead of Holly, a tall, bearded and barefoot man stepped through the doorway wearing a bathrobe. His wet hair dripped onto the floor.

  “Hey,” Delbert said. “That ain’t Holl—” Delbert jumped out of the way of a woman who brushed past the man in the bathrobe.

  “What was that noise?” she asked.

  The couple and the Finnegans looked from one end of the hallway to the other.

  “Did you see anyone?” the robed man asked the Finnegans.

  “Nope,” Myron said. Ian shook his head.

  “Not a bloody soul,” he said.

  “Very well, then,” the man said. “I’ll phone the front desk. There are probably children about—playing pranks.” Both doors closed.

  “That’s the right room, ain’t it?” Dougie asked.

  “Yep,” Delbert said. “Straight across the hall from the Finnegans.”

  “Which one was Lynchburg’s?” Bruiser asked.

  “That one,” Delbert said, pointing at the next door to the left

  “Take a peek inside, Dougie,” Bruiser said.

  Dougie passed through the door and was back within seconds.

  “There’s nobody in there,” Dougie said. “The bed’s made up—everything is clean. Towels are hangin’ up. No luggage either.”

  “Somethin’ ain’t right here,” Bruiser said. “They wouldn’t have up and left us.”

  Delbert’s head fell into his hands.

  “Wouldn’t have left us?” he cried. “You mean like we ran off and left Arabella? I knew it, I just knew it. We shouldn’t have run off without her. Oh, man. This is bad.”

  Bruiser clenched his fists and opened his mouth, prepared to scream at Delbert, but he couldn’t do it. He knew that he had made the wrong decision, leaving Arabella behind. There was no time to waste fighting with Delbert.

  “What do we do now?” Dougie asked.

  Bruiser pointed at the Finnegan’s door.

  “We see what we can find out.”

  Brian McAllen stopped pacing in front of the glass door leading out to the balcony.

  “What was it?” Brian asked.

  Ian and Myron shrugged.

  “Must have been some kids playing tricks in the hallway,” Ian said. “They broke a vase of flowers.”

  Brian looked around the room.

  “That could be those ghosts, you know—trying to get our attention.”

  “That could be,” Myron said. “How else would they let us know that they’ve come back?”

  “Where’s the box?” Brian said.

  Ian carried a cardboard box in from one of the bedrooms. He sat it on a sofa table. Myron moved a video camera, mounted on a tripod.

  “What do you think, Ian?” Myron asked. “Right about here?”

  “That should do it,” Ian said. He took a deep breath.

  “Who wants to be first?” he asked.

  “You two are the experts,” Brian said, “I’m just a builder.”

  “Oh, sure, Brian,” Myron said, “We do this kind of thing all the time.”

  Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert watched as Ian reached inside the box and took out a ladies’ blouse, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and a paper sack. He picked up the first three items in his left hand. He reached inside the paper sack with his other hand and came out with a clump of dark hair between his thumb and forefinger.

  The ghosts stood up straight and took a step backward when Ian stepped toward them. Ian had a look of awe and wonder on his face.

  “It’s working,” he whispered. He squinted and inched his head forward. “Not all that well, but it’s working.” He looked toward Brian and Myron.

  “Take some of the hair.”

  “What in the blue blazes are they doin’?” Delbert whispered to Bruiser.

  “I don’t…wait, a minute,” Bruiser said. “Those are Holly’s things! They’ve got some of her hair!”

  “I got them!” Myron said. “I see them—there are three of them!” Myron grabbed Ian around the arm that held the blouse and the brushes. Brian did the same, and he held his hand that clutched the hair close to his chest. He didn’t speak.

  “They’re fading in and out,” Myron said. “They’re not clear like they were when Holly was here—and there’s lots of jitter—like bad tellie reception.”

  “Same here,” Ian said. Brian nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” Ian said loudly, “Quentin, Holly, and Arabella had to return to America. Some people—some ghosts, named Montgomery, showed up in America, and they are taking all of them across the…across what, Myron?”

  “The great divide,” Myron said. “To the other side—their final resting places. To wherever ghosts are supposed to go in the first place!”

  Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert were devastated. They would never see Arabella or the rest of the McIntyres again. Bruiser Brady slumped to his knees.

  “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. Delbert and Dougie each put a hand on Bruiser’s shoulder.

  “What are they doing?” Brian McAllen asked. “Can they hear you?”

  “I’m sure they can,” Ian said. “But they’re…I think one of them said something, but I couldn’t understand him.

  “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Myron shouted. “DO YOU HAVE MORE INFORMATION?”

  Dougie Day tried to pull Bruiser to his feet.

  “Hurry, Bruiser!” Dougie said. “Tell them about Wellmore!”

  Bruiser jumped up and began shouting about Sebastian Wellmore and his plan to kidnap Holly. He also told of the horrors of Wellmore Castle.

  The men struggled to hear but understood only an occasional word.

  Bruiser continued to repeat his information until his voice began to fail. The three men lost contact with the ghosts altogether. Bruiser continued pointing a finger in the direction of Castle Wellmore.

  “…found…..Well…..pair….castle………………..evil.”

  “I’ve lost them com
pletely,” Ian said. “They’re gone.”

  “The big guy was definitely trying to tell us something,” Brian said. “What could you two make out?”

  The three men unlinked themselves from their human chain.

  Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert stood motionless.

  “Say it,” Bruiser whispered. ”Come on, you had to hear something. Please say that you heard something.”

  “I think they heard something,” Dougie whispered.

  They waited. For nothing.

  Bruiser cut loose a growl of frustration.

  Dougie turned around toward the wall and tried to slam his fist into it. A table lamp wobbled in place.

  Brian, Ian and Myron watched the lamp settle back in place before they looked at each other.

  The ghosts slumped to the floor.

  “I heard the words ‘found, well, pair, castle’, and I’m certain that I heard the word….’Evil’,” Ian said.

  “I heard the same,” Myron said. “Brian?”

  “Me, too,” Brian said. “Does that mean anything to you guys?”

  The Finnegans looked to each other hopefully, before they shook their heads.

  “Write those words down, Myron,” Ian said. “Before we play back the video.”

  “I knew they heard me!” Bruiser said.

  “They didn’t hear much,” Delbert said. “I hope they’re as smart as everybody says they are.”

  “Okay,” Myron said. “We have five words to work with. You know, Ian, maybe we should try again. Just you, this time. Maybe the effect gets diluted when there’s more than one person involved.”

  Ian looked at his brother, and then at Brian.

  “Makes as much sense as anything,” Brian said.

  Ian held up the paper sack.

  “Drop the hair back in,” he said. Brian and Myron did so.

  Ian closed the sack and shook it three times before he grabbed a handful of hair.

  “What was that for?” Myron laughed.

  “I don’t know,” Ian said. “We’ve completely left the detective manual behind now. These be uncharted waters, mates. I’m winging it.”

  “Bruiser,” Ian said. “Mr. Brady. I’m going to try to make out what you’re saying, but you’re fading in and out!”

  Bruiser repeated his story again while he pointed in the direction of the Castle Wellmore. Dougie took over when Bruiser lost his voice.

  “He’s pointing—west,” Ian said. “He’s definitely pointing west, just like before. Write that down!”

  “Way ahead of you,” Myron said.

  Ian leaned forward and cocked his head.

  “El…..Elmore!”

  “Elmore!” Myron repeated as he wrote the word down.

  “Castle!”

  “Got it, already,”

  “Cement!” Ian said.

  “Cement!” Myron said.

  Myron looked up.

  “Cement?” Myron said. “Listen close on that one.”

  A few seconds passed.

  “Casement!” Ian yelled.

  “How about basement?” Myron asked.

  A few more seconds.

  “Adden,” Ian said.

  Brian stepped forward.

  “McFadden?” Brian said. “Did he say ‘McFadden’?”

  “I don’t—,” Ian said. “They’re fade—they’re…” His shoulders slumped.

  “I’ve lost them again.”

  Twenty-Four

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  Nate dropped Toby and me at our house at ten o’clock Saturday night. My cell phone rang ten minutes later. It was Skyler.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen, Wylie,” she said. “I told Chris that you would insist on keeping Nate in the band. He’s told me over and over again that he didn’t think it would work. I insisted that they give Nate a chance. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said. I massaged a temple with my free hand. “That’s all I’ve heard for the last eight hours. Everybody is sorry.”

  There was a moment of silence between us.

  “Do you—?” Skyler said. “Are you still willing to work with me?”

  I knew what my answer was going to be, but I refused to act like I could easily shrug off my best friend’s feelings.

  “Look, Skyler,” I said. “Sure, I hate that I can’t share this with my best friend. It hurts, you know? Nate followed me to Branson from Boston because he believed in our future. But he won’t let me quit. He knows, and I know, that this is a once-in-a-lifetime deal.”

  I heard her sigh.

  “I’m only eighteen, Wylie,” she said. “But I’ve seen enough to know that this business if full of compromises.”

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  “Can you meet with us again on Monday?” she asked.

  “Where, and what time?”

  “The same place—ten in the morning,” she said. “Are you going to drive up?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll get a rental. I don’t trust my car that much.”

  “I could set that up—” Skyler said.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said. “You’re about to make me rich, right?”

  “This meeting may not be all fun and games,” Skyler said.

  “Like the one we had this morning?” I said.

  She ignored my sarcasm, which is noteworthy, for my sarcasm wields great power.

  “Chris and Grayson will be there. That may be all of the friendly faces. We’ll be meeting with my tour manager, two or three attorneys, accountants, a couple of representatives from the record label, and my personal manager.”

  “Your mother, you mean,” I said.

  “Yes, my mother is my manager,” she said. “That’s not a secret.”

  “So, I should bring my sword and shield and other assorted protective equipment,” I said.

  “This isn’t funny, Wylie,” she said. “If this meeting turns nasty—if it turns into a fight—we will lose. I can’t fire everyone—even if they refuse to go along with us. All of these people are happy with the way things have worked up until now. None of them want anything to change. They are all afraid that I am going to ruin their careers while I destroy my own.”

  “I’ve seen you charm an audience, Wylie Westerhouse,” Skyler said.

  “I’ve watched you take a panel of cold-hearted judges and have them eating from your hand. We need for you to do that again. Together. Can you do that?”

  It’s funny how the subconscious mind works. It was as if my mind took me by the earlobe, pulled me away, and sat me in front of a private movie screen. I watched a scene play across my mind like I was watching a Charles Dickens story.

  I saw my mother seated next to my Aunt Jessica—in our living room. My dad was sitting in what used to be Duncan’s room. He was unshaven, his hair too long and uncombed. He wore rumpled clothes that didn’t match. One side of his shirt collar pointed up toward the ceiling. He was detached from reality—depressed, and unstable, and completely unemployable.

  He held a blanket on his lap and stared out of the window while my mother whispered to her sister.

  “I don’t know what to do, Jessie,” my mother said. “Business has been inconsistent and unreliable—Christmas orders are down for the third year in a row. I don’t know what to think about Wylie’s future. I’ve only had myself to support of late, but now….” She looked toward her ex-husband. His profile was visible through the partially opened door.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” my Aunt Jessie croaked before she started to cough again.

  I blinked away emotions that I didn’t understand.

  “Skyler,” I said. “I can do whatever it takes.”

  A few minutes later, my phone rang again. It was Quentin.

  “We’re flying back, Wylie,” Q said.

  “All of you?” I asked.

  “All except for Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert,” he said. “We have no idea
where they are.”

  “Okay,” I said. “When are you leaving?”

  “We’re getting on the train as we speak,” he said. “We’re on our way to London.”

  “Do you have an arrival time, yet?” I asked. “I can pick you up.”

  “That would be great,” Q said. “I don’t have a time yet. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “I have to be in St. Louis Monday morning,” I said.

  “Oh?” Q said.

  “Something crazy has come up.” I said.

  “Something to do with your music?” Q asked.

  “Big time,” I said.

  “That is fantastic, Wylie,” Q said. “That’s great.”

  “We’ll see how great it is,” I said. “Life is full of the incredible at the moment.”

  “You got that right,” Q said. “I don’t mean to come across as melodramatic, but I feel awful for Holly,” he said in a whisper. “How much should one young girl have to deal with?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Twenty-Five

  Sebastian Wellmore

  Wellmore Village, Scotland

  Sebastian Wellmore drummed his fingernails against the top of his desk. This was more than he could have wished for. Not only had he located the girl within minutes, but he had found the Castle McIntyre as well.

  Why was it disassembled and moved? Sebastian mused.

  Perhaps someone else had learned of the castle’s ghostly inhabitants, and looked to take them—

  Take them away from me, Sebastian glared.

  Sebastian scanned the website of the Castle McIntyre. Holly McFadden was prominently listed on the home page as an authority on Castle McIntyre and its former home of McIntyre Village, Scotland.