by Nathan Roden
Sebastian found a long list of websites that referenced the city of Branson, Missouri. None of these offered a clue why anyone would move a castle half-way around the world.
That would cost millions, Sebastian thought.
“Owner and General Manager, Quentin James Lynchburg,” Sebastian read aloud. Now, he had something new to research.
A wicked grin spread across Sebastian’s face as he read the rags-to-riches story of an orphaned youth who lost his parents to an automobile accident. This young man came from nothing and inherited land that was thought to be worthless. However, the land sat above rich deposits of crude oil, making Quentin Lynchburg a millionaire many times over.
Sebastian leaned back and steepled his fingers. He bolted to his feet and pointed at Quentin Lynchburg’s picture on the monitor.
“You have become an unwitting part of my destiny, Mr. Lynchburg!” Sebastian said aloud. He threw back his head and laughed.
He slammed his hands down on the desk.
“I was this close to splattering my brains into the river!” he screamed. “I wasted six months and thousands of pounds on that worthless couple! You came in behind my back and took my castle, with my ghosts! You have even taken the girl—the girl who holds the secret! The girl with the power! Have you wrenched the truth from her, Mr. Lynchburg? Of course, you have. I can see it on you. I can smell it on you!
“But I have you now,” Sebastian whispered to the screen from inches away. “You have no way of knowing that you were to be a part of my plans, did you, Mr. Lynchburg? I will have the girl and the ghosts, and as further reward for my patience and dedication,
“I will have your fortune.”
Sebastian drove to the shop of the merchant where he purchased his guns. He browsed the shelves while one other shopper seemed intent on touching every item for sale in the store. Sebastian fantasized about different ways of murdering this woman who seemed to be mocking him with her nonchalance. When the woman finally made eye contact with Sebastian, she looked as if she had just looked into hell itself. She dipped her head and ran out of the front door.
“Good day, Mr. Merchant,” Sebastian said to the shop owner. That was not the man’s name, but Sebastian felt as if he should call him something.
“What can I do for you?” the man asked.
“I need the same thing as the last time,” Sebastian said. The man motioned toward the storeroom. He placed a “Be Right Back” sign in the window and locked the door.
“It’s none of my business, good Sir,” Mr. Merchant said. “But I do not particularly care for dealing with the same people over and over again when it comes to firearms. It makes me uneasy.”
“Very well,” Sebastian said. “The pistol can wait. I have another pressing need that I hope you might help me with. I need a pair of airline tickets, without my….personal involvement.”
“I’m afraid that is beyond my reach, Sir,” Mr. Merchant said. “Remaining anonymous is also imperative for me.”
“I can appreciate that,” Sebastian said. “But perhaps you have….associates that might help in this matter?”
Mr. Merchant seemed to be considering this.
“I believe that I could arrange this through a third party,” he said. “But there will be a fee for my services as well as a fee for my associates—and, of course, cash is required—cash in advance.”
Sebastian handed the man a card that had only a phone number on it.
“Call this number when you know the amount of the transaction,” Sebastian said. “I will answer with ‘Baron’s Emporium’.”
“What names am I to use for the passengers?” Mr. Merchant asked. “There’s no getting around that.”
“Cyrus Findlay and Scott Rose,” Sebastian said.
“Do you need alternate identification for those names?” Mr. Merchant asked. The light in his eyes told Sebastian that the man was sensing an extensive payday.
“No,” Sebastian said in frustration. He had no money for the expense of more forged identification.
Mr. Merchant flipped a finger against the card before placing it in an inside pocket.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Give me twenty-four hours.”
“Good day,” Sebastian said.
When Sebastian returned to the Castle Wellmore, he found two young women looking around the castle grounds.
“May I help you?” he asked.
One of the girls held out her hand.
“Hi. I’m Lori,” she said.
“And I’m Abigail,” the other girl said. “We’re from the university.”
Just wonderful, Sebastian thought as his eyes narrowed. Likely after a donation—undoubtedly something he could thank his gullible mother for.
“From the university—” Sebastian repeated.
“We’re history majors—and roommates,” Lori said. “There was a notice on the bulletin board that says you are looking for a tour guide.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Sebastian said. “Come inside, please.”
Sebastian led the girls into his office. He directed them to chairs while he remained standing.
“Which of you is interested in the position?” he asked.
“Well, you see, Sir,” Lori said. “Both of us have classes for another few weeks. We hoped that you would consider letting us share the position—you know, share the schedule.”
Sebastian pondered this proposal, and then he nodded. He opened the drawer to a file cabinet and flipped through the folders. He closed that drawer and opened a different one.
His cell phone rang.
“This will only take a moment,” he said to the girls. He stepped into the hall.
“Yes,” he said. “That will be fine.”
Sebastian tried to gather himself before he returned to his office. The sum of money quoted to him left him in a mild state of shock. He was furious, but in no position to show it.
He returned to the filing cabinet and found what he was looking for. He handed a folder to the young girl named Lori.
“This is the tour guide manual that my parents composed,” Sebastian said. “This is the only copy. You may make a duplicate if you like.”
The girls shared a bewildered look.
“You aren’t going to interview us?” Abigail asked.
Sebastian forced a smile.
“I’ve heard nothing but good things about our local history department,” he lied. “I’m afraid that I must see to an urgent matter at the moment.” He moved toward the door.
“When do we start?” Lori said, uncomfortably.
“The day after tomorrow, perhaps?” Sebastian said.
The girls agreed and started thanking Sebastian for the great opportunity. He nodded, holding his outstretched hand toward the door. They took the hint and hustled to leave. They halted when Sebastian spoke again.
“One thing, before I forget,” he said. “The subterranean level—the lowest level—is strictly off-limits. We have been unable to keep ground water from seeping in. I am afraid that this provides a haven for nasty little vermin and crawling things.”
“Is it locked off, then?” Lori asked.
“Not exactly,” Sebastian said. “The door behind the kitchen allows access to a storage area, and what was once the root cellar. This is the oldest part of the castle. It is all in the manual.”
“Okay,” the girls said.
“We’ll certainly remember that,” Lori said.
“Just one more thing before you go,” Sebastian said. “It has been my experience that people of this modern age prefer to be entertained as they learn. People come expecting these old castles to be…”
“Scary,” Abigail said.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “People enjoy being frightened.”
“We’ve heard all about your scary additions, Mr. Wellmore,” Lori said. “That doesn’t bother us. Everyone has to eat, right?”
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Yes indeed. Splendid. Now, if you will excuse me.”
<
br /> Sebastian made yet another sizable bank withdrawal and went back to the shop. He traded Mr. Merchant an envelope for a single folded sheet of paper that had flight numbers written on it. He returned home and called Cyrus Findlay. He arranged a meeting at a restaurant near the hostel where Cyrus was staying.
“Do I bring Scottie with me?” Cyrus asked.
“That will not be necessary,” Sebastian said.
Cyrus slid into the booth opposite Sebastian. Sebastian was reading a newspaper. He folded the paper and slipped an envelope into it before pushing it to Cyrus’s side of the table.
“They are in America. A township known as Branson, Missouri,” Sebastian said.
“They?” Cyrus said. “What do you mean, they?”
“The girl,” Sebastian said. “And the castle.”
“The castle?” Cyrus said. “Somebody moved the castle? To America?”
Sebastian looked away and scowled.
“Do you intend to question every piece of information that I give you?” he asked.
“No,” Cyrus said. “No. Sorry, Boss.”
Cyrus’s eyes darted left and right.
“What do we do with her?” he asked. “After we take her?”
Sebastian motioned toward the newspaper.
‘Everything is in there,” he said. “Everything that you need to know.”
“What about identification?” Cyrus asked. “Do we have new ones?”
“No need,” Sebastian said with a slight wave of his hand. “You will leave from Hamburg. No one is looking for you, and you have no history of travel.”
Cyrus nodded. Something felt wrong, but he was not about to question Sebastian’s instructions. He forced himself to think that if Sebastian was not concerned, he should not be either.
This was a mistake.
Cyrus and Scottie would travel under their real names for multiple reasons. Reason one: Sebastian Wellmore could not afford more forged identities. Reason two: if anything went wrong with the abduction of Holly McFadden, the authorities would receive an anonymous tip leading directly to Cyrus Findlay and Scottie Rose. And lastly, whether the abduction went smoothly or not, Findlay and Rose would never leave America.
Not alive.
Twenty-Six
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
I met Holly and Quentin at the airport on Sunday night. They looked exhausted. I had to avoid Arabella to get to Holly, because Arabella was desperately in search of a new audience for her rant against the injustices done to her by Bruiser, Dougie, and Delbert.
I hugged Holly and smiled over her shoulder at Quentin. The hug sent a warm wave through me, even after she started to cry.
Holly pushed away from me. She was embarrassed by her show of emotion. She wiped her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “This can’t be easy for you.”
“I need ice cream,” Quentin said.
This made Holly and me laugh when not much else could have.
“I second that,” I said, as I shook Q’s hand.
“I guess we’re going straight to the castle, right? I left Toby there,” I said.
“Yes,” Q said. “We can pick up ice cream on the way.”
Quentin sat in the front seat of my car. Holly and Arabella rode in the back. Arabella continued to grumble about what “those idiot boys” had done to her. She was fairly quiet about it, so I figured that Holly had told her to shut up more than once.
“Did she do this the entire trip?” I whispered to Q.
“Pretty much,” he said. “Fortunately, there was a ghost on the international flight. I don’t know if he had been to America before, but he knows now to steer clear of Bruiser Brady, Dougie, and Delbert. They are now branded first-class despicable scoundrels.”
“Poor guy,” I said. “You would think being dead would be bad enough.”
“Yeah,” Q whispered. “He kept looking out of the window—he was probably thinking about jumping.”
“No doubt,” I said. I glanced at Arabella in the rear-view mirror. “What was Bruiser thinking? It’s not like Arabella was in any danger.”
“I don’t know if that even registers with them,” Q said. “Bruiser and Delbert are both infatuated with her, which is strange enough.”
“I heard that,” Arabella said. Q straightened up in his seat.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Q said. “I just mean that it’s strange that ghosts have romantic feelings, that’s all.”
“Well, what about Nora and the Singing Boy’s brother?” she asked. “I haven’t heard anyone say that it’s odd for them.”
Q shrugged.
“That seems a little different, somehow,” Q said. “Remember that whole thing about Nora visiting Duncan when he was…”
“When he was dying,” I said.
“Right,” Q said.
“That might be the single weirdest part of this whole thing,” I said.
“And that’s saying something,” Q said.
“You bet it is,” I said.
I helped Holly out of the back seat of my car when we arrived at the castle. I unloaded her luggage because I didn’t want to interfere with her reunion with the McIntyres.
Toby ran around the corner, followed closely by Duncan. Holly dropped to one knee and hugged Toby.
“Well, look at you, handsome boy,” Holly exclaimed. “Aren’t you a Mister Fancy-Pants!” Holly looked up at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “The haircut wasn’t my idea.”
“Duncan!” I heard Charlotte yell. “Where did you—? Holly!”
Charlotte rounded the corner. She ran to Holly and threw her arms around her.
Dallas McIntyre, Elizabeth, and Nora were not far behind.
A couple I had never seen stood behind them. They were about the same age as Dallas and Elizabeth and wore similar attire. There was something different about their appearance. There was a glow around them, as if they were illuminated from the inside.
Elizabeth introduced us to her sister Mary Montgomery, and Mary’s husband, Frederick. And then we listened as Mary told us that they had come to escort the McIntyre family to their final rest. Oh, and the invitation included Duncan, as well.
My first thought was entirely selfish. I missed my brother like crazy for ten years. I didn’t want to lose him again. But how fair was that?
I am no authority on the after-life, and I don’t expect to have an opinion that matters to anyone. Maybe someone in a position of authority decided that Duncan should have the opportunity to stay here to meet his soul-mate. How was I supposed to feel about that?
Now that Duncan and Nora are together, I don’t believe that it is their destiny to hang around the Castle McIntyre just to enjoy the Lord of the Rings. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Regardless of who is in charge of the cosmic levers on planet Earth, I’ll never understand the timing—not as far as Holly McFadden is concerned.
Why couldn’t this wait until the mystery of Holly’s parents is over?
These questions ran through my mind when I felt pressure against my side. Holly leaned against me. I put my arm around her shoulder.
“Holly, dear, you should rest,” Elizabeth said.
Holly sighed.
“How long—” she said. “How long before you have to leave?”
“Mary?” Elizabeth said.
Mary Montgomery smiled.
“When you are ready,” she said.
“Good night, everyone,” Holly said. She walked into her apartment.
Quentin rubbed his eyes.
“Are you going to crash here?” I asked. “I can give you a ride to your condo if you want.”
“I need to go to the condo,” Q said. “I want to check in with the birds in the morning.”
“You have birds here, too, remember?” I said.
“Yes, but I have a much longer history with the birds at the condo,” Q said.
We pulled away from the curb.
“Your appointment tomorrow,” Q said. “What’s that all about? Unless it’s none of my business.”
“I can tell you,” I said. “But you might want to hold on to something.”
“Really,” he said. But he did reach up and grab the handle above the door.
“Have you heard of Skyler KwyK?” I asked.
“The pop singer,” Q said. “She was a child star—on one of those kids’ channels, right?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m meeting with her people in the morning. In St. Louis. Skyler is from St. Louis.”
“That’s great, Wylie,” Q said. “She’s a major player in the music business. Have you met her?”
“Not until four days ago,” I said. “She showed up at my house.”
“Wow,” Q said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why?”
“She was following ‘Brand New Voice’,” I said. “She thinks that I would have won— or, at least, have been in the final.”
“So, she felt like she should stop by and tell you?” Q said. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
I laughed.
“There’s a little more to it than that,” I said.
“Yeah?” Q said.
“Skyler turned eighteen a few days ago,” I said. “And she wants to revive my career. She wants for us to make an album together, and do a tour.”
“Wow,” Q said. “I know that you’re talented, Wylie, but that’s off the charts.”
“She had her producer rework the demos I did for the network,” I said. “She recorded a harmony vocal. You wouldn’t believe how good they sound, Q.”
“She’s serious then,” Q said. “This is huge. A once—”
“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” I said. “That’s a well-established fact already.”
“Exactly,” Q said. “How far along are these plans?”
