by Edward Lee
"Don't know him," Mack said, then walked on. "Follow me."
Before Nyvysk could speculate further, his curiosity was hijacked by more of the mansion's nearly sinister splendor. Great arched doorways with wood-carven faces peered down from each point. Most doorway transoms sported a small brass plaque: THE CAGLIOSTRO PARLOR, THE BONNEVAULT SITTING ROOM, THE BRUHESSEN HALL, each room named for some wizard, astrologer, or metaphysical scientist. Rich veneered wood paneled most rooms; a variety of dark imported carpets changed the tone of each area they passed through: a vast dining room, some sitting rooms, a smoking parlor, and then a brightly lit morning room whose exterior wall was all bizarrely etched with lead-seamed glass, some panes with tiny octagon inlays of vermillion or amaranth crystal. Sideboards, armoires, and ball-footed drop-leaf tables lined more walls, over which hung dark oil paintings of solemn, intent faces, centuries-old portraitures of the most famous, and infamous, figures of paranormal and occult arts. Obscure crystals looked back at him like unblinking eyes from high-mounted trivets and gem-mounts: the rare ones such as amethyst, white-lapis, Anpiel Stone. Ornately framed mirrors, some occupying whole sections of wallspace, hung in abundance, too, and more, smaller oculi and lunette windows shot narrow lengths of sunlight across walking areas, an interesting effect. But even the well-windowed rooms held on to spots and corners of murk that shouldn't be there, as if refusing to release that darkness that this house must be so used to.
Next, a long windowless hall-THE BUGUET WALK, named for the French spirit photographer-and Nyvysk was starting to get queasy from all the plush decor, like after eating too much of a fine, rich dinner. More portraits, gemlike knickknacks, granite busts and sculpture-and expensive antiques. The walls of this corridor were covered in leather and onyx-button studs.
The next inlaid door had no title, just SOUTH ATRIUM. When Mack went to reach for the iron latch hasp knob, Nyvysk asked, "What's that?" and pointed to a covered wood panel at the door's side.
Mack slid it open, revealing a small screen and some pushbuttons. "Videocom. They're all over the place. You'll need to know how it works so I might as well show you now"
Nyvysk watched.
"East, north, south, west, in that order," the young man said, and hit the #3 button. "Three is south and we're in the south wing of the house. And because we're on the first level ... ," he pushed #1. The small LCD screen lit up. "Now, listen." He pushed another button which read TRANSCEIVE and held it down. "There's microphones in every room, and video cameras too."
"It seems excessive for inside. I take it Mr. Hildreth was very security conscious ... or very paranoid."
"No, but he was a pervert and a voyeur," Mack responded without pause. "He liked to hear what people were saying when they were f-" Mack's eyes stole a glance to Nyvysk's cross. "Sorry, I keep forgeting you're a priest-"
"No, not anymore. Just a writer and researcher."
The security man seemed confused. "But anyway ... Mr. Hildreth liked to listen to people when they wereyou know"
"Of course."
"And he liked to watch."
Nyvysk wasn't surprised, based on the little he'd learned so far of the billionaire. "Well, I just hope that the bathrooms aren't similarly equipped," he joked.
"Actually, they are, but they're not accessible from the door units, just the communications room, which I'll show you later."
Nyvysk surveyed Mack's face. He's serious! "I ... can't wait for my first expedition to the toilet."
"Nobody will be looking." Mack smiled and went on with more instructions for the videocom, keeping his finger on the transception button. Nyvysk heard voices and saw on the screen a numbered list. A red light blinked at one listing: 7) SOUTH ATRIUM. "The red light means people are talking there, so you-" then he pushed the #7 key. "There. See?" The screen changed to video; Nyvysk could see Willis and the others, sitting on several long, gold-velvet scroll-armed couches. "And if you don't know where the South Atrium is-" Mack pushed another button which read MAP. The screen now showed a map of the mansion's south wing. "The system covers the entire house and parts of the grounds. Just like Windows XP!" Mack joked.
Nyvysk was impressed, and already considering an essential modification for their stay. "This is an impressive system. It must have cost-"
"Couple million. Chump change to Mr. Hildreth."
"I'd like to see the communications room."
"Sure. But let's go to the South Atrium first, get stuff settled." -
Mack pulled open the doors and showed Nyvysk into what was easily a five-thousand square-foot room. More imported oval carpets covered a shining hardwood floor. Long tables, scroll-top desks, and meticulous stands and daybeds filled the vast space. Heavily draped bow windows lined one wall; banistered stairs cut diagonally up another. A number of chandeliers glittered from oak rafters above, a prism-angled vaulted ceiling which rose thirty feet. Above the rafters, Nyvysk even noticed veneered catwalks with long mahogany rails, leading to small door-like panels, each marked by a carved lion's head. The House of Seven Gables, Nyvysk thought. The overall effect seemed focused on the ambience, which he guessed was what Hildreth wanted.
Then Nyvysk winced.
Two main walls were paneled to dado level; from the molding up, then, the walls were covered in a rich avocadogreen velour that shimmered depending on the angle one stood. A bas-relief pattern of minutely detailed shield-shapes (scutations) printed against the velour. Three couches provided the room's point of congress, and what totally spoiled the effect for him was an immense flat-screen television before which the other members of the party sat, drinking coffee and sodas.
They were watching the Food Network.
"Nyvysk!" exclaimed Cathleen Godwin, sitting up alertly. "Your beard's longer!"
"I suppose it is, Cathleen. Good to see you."
Cathleen dressed provocatively as ever in stonewashed skirt-shorts and a clinging raspberry scoopneck, long legs crossed and a transparent slide-sandal-luminous pink-dangling off a foot. Slouched at the other end of the couch was Adrianne Saundlund, the telethesist. Her eyes drooped at the TV. Probably on downers, Nyvysk speculated. Her slim body looked tiny in the denim overall shorts and baggy green t-shirt beneath. Dead to the world, or at least this one ... Nyvysk knew her story from a variety of sources. "Hello,Adrianne."
She didn't even notice him until his voice dragged her eyes up. "Oh, hi. Sorry-['m just out of it right now, really tired."
"Well, perhaps this little excursion will perk us all up."
"I could use that."
Willis rose from the other couch. "She's engrossed in the Food Network, which might do us some good, 'cos we're going to need someone to cook"
"I can't cook," Cathleen asserted.
Adrianne half-laughed. "Neither can [, but the kitchen and pantry are incredible here."
Willis came over and shook Nyvysk's hand. Nyvysk knew that Willis didn't really have friends-he avoided proximities as much as possible-but now he seemed less down-trodden than when they'd spoken in the foyer. Perhaps he was happy to see a familiar face. "This was some rabbit out of the hat, huh?"
"It could wind up being more than a rabbit," Nyvysk said, not surprised that the man wore gloves. Tactionists entering middle-age often wore them, since the "current" possessed by tainted objects and people were more perceptible at this time of life.
"Sure, it could be a monster." Willis laughed. "But I gotta be honest, I need the money so bad I'll take the chance."
Mack offered a comment. "Really? I heard you were a successful doctor," but there was an edge to the words, a buried snideness.
"I'm not a doctor anymore," Willis said, smirking.
"And Nyvysk's not a priest anymore, and Adrianne's not a party animal anymore," Cathleen laughed. "And, me? Let's see, I'm not ... twenty anymore."
"Looks like everybody here used to be something that we no longer are."
"I'd rather look at it as evolvement," Nyvysk offered. "It's not what we aren't anymore. It'
s more important what we've become."
"Thank you, Aristotle," Adrianne said.
But Willis was casting a darker eye toward Mack. "What about you? What aren't you anymore?"
"I'm what I've always been, Doctor Willis. A security manager."
More indecipherable barbs. I'm going to have to find out about this, Nyvysk thought. He'd never been interested in gossip, but mental hostilities-especially among paranor- malists-could effect scientific sensors, sometimes drastically. Why do these men dislike each other? he asked himself.
"Have you seen the rest of the mansion?" Cathleen asked.
"No, I just arrived."
"There's thirteen bedrooms," Willis informed.
"Mr. Hildreth liked that number," Mack said. "But there are sixty-six rooms in the house, all told."
"Jeez," Adrianne said. "I'm already thinking the guy was an idiot. I'll bet his hero was Anton LeVey."
Nyvysk chose not to guess this early. Ninety percent of the time there was nothing genuine behind any so-called occultist, but Nyvysk had seen that other ten percent too many times. And so have they, he reminded himself, looking back at the others.
"Have you seen this?" Willis asked. He'd drifted back toward the entrance, was looking at the videocom. "The whole mansion's wired. I'll bet your brain's already ticking on this one."
"Of course it is. Depending on the central system's specs, I should be able to monitor EVP on it without having to set up my own network. IR, thermal, and magnetic-mass sensors might work too."
"Ever the ghost buster," Adrianne said. "We bring our bodies, he brings his toys."
"I brought some toys, too," Cathleen remarked, then laughed. "Oh, those kind of toys."
"You probably have a whole suitcase of them," Willis said.
"Or maybe a steamer trunk. Adrianne the born-again celibate is here. She might need a little plastic boredom relief."
"That's not true celibacy," Adrianne reminded. "Right, Nyvysk?"
"Quite true. Constantial celibacy is the willful abandonment of all sexual release."
Mack smirked. "If you guys are talking about vibrators, there's a parlor upstairs full of them."
"That's right, this place used to be a porn studio," Willis remarked.
Cathleen stretched her legs across to a rosette-engraved ottoman. "That's enticing. I wonder what's left over from that."
"That's part of what we're here to find out," Nyvysk said.
The jokes about vibrators, etc.-Nyvysk knew-were meant as good-natured humor. But it wasn't coming off. Already, there was something in the undercurrent here. People like this, in close quarters, always start tearing each other up eventually, Nyvysk realized. He suspected that some fuses had already been lit.
"Look at Willis," Cathleen said. "He's staring at that awful bust of Copernicus."
The blank-eyed statue of white, unpolished stone sat on a carved pedestal, a determined looking man in a cloak and fur-minivered cap, a book clasped to his chest.
"That's Copernicus?" Willis asked. He touched it-unafraid-with his gloved hand.
"No," Nyvysk said. "It's Julian the Apostate. He was an anthropmancer-he read the future by the casting of human entrails."
"Oh, that's just lovely," Adrianne said.
"At least I think that's who it is ... Cathleen, you should know."
She looked at the bust and shrugged. "I don't know But don't laugh at divination."
Willis shot another cryptic comment to Mack. "Mack probably thinks it's Ron Jeremy."
Mack exchanged a glare, and some confusing moments ticked by, in silence.
Adrianne scratched her head. "Who the hell is Ron Jeremy?"
Nyvysk had no idea.
Cathleen glanced at the TV. "Well, Martha Stewart's over now so I guess Adrianne's back with us. Instead of sitting around, why don't we all go choose our bedrooms?"
"We're standing in our bedrooms," Nyvysk said.
"What?" several people said at once.
"Our client, Mrs. Hildreth, agreed that I should be the coordinator-"
"Bullshit!" Cathleen objected.
"Not in charge, per se," Nyvysk hastened to quell her ego, "but the domestic coordinator during our stay. She agreed to that, and I think we should all go by it."
"That's fine with me," Willis said.
Adrianne shrugged, but Cathleen said, "Why? Why ? you.*,
"Because it makes more sense from a practical standpoint."
"Just like a man!"
Adrianne looked bored. "He's right, Cathleen. He's just a technician. You, Willis, and I aren't exactly stable in certain circumstances. This place could be charged."
"You all have psychic sensitivities. I don't," Nyvysk finished.
Cathleen lay back on the couch, head staring up at a curious brass chandelier. "Okay, fine. But what's this about bedrooms?"
Nyvysk addressed them all. "I feel it's essential that we all sleep in the same area. This South Atrium seems perfect. It's large enough that we'll all have privacy when we need it. We need to be together when we're asleep-especially psychics, and especially if this house is charged. We're all more vulnerable in a sleep-state. Sleeping in separate rooms could be a catastrophe. The Suit Manor Case, Wroxton Hall in Maryland, the Immanuel Rectory in New York City. All of those places had serious accidents that could have been prevented had the investigators not slept in separate rooms."
Cathleen conceded. "As usual, you're right. But-damn it-I had my heart set on that huge suite on the fourth floor with the dark-blue wallpaper and crystal crosses."
Mack suddenly looked pale. "The, uh, that would be the Aldinoch Suite. That's where Mr. Hildreth had his autosexual asphyxia parties.11
Cathleen blanched. "Like I said, this room is perfect."
"But where will we sleep?" Adrianne asked. "On these couches? The daybeds?"
"A delivery truck should be here any minute. Beds, partitions, nightstands, everything we need." He pointed toward the north wall and its green-velour wallcovering. "We'll set up the sleeping area over there, and over here-" he pointed to the windowed side of the room-"this will be our meeting area. We might have to bring some extra tables in, and move some of this furniture, but I doubt that Mrs. Hildreth would object."
"You can do anything you want," Mack said. "You guys have free run."
"When will we actually get started?" Willis asked Nyvysk. "With a game plan, I mean?"
"Tonight, maybe. I need to get my equipment set up. But I don't see any reason why the three of you can't start any time, with your own brand of preliminaries."
"I'm not doing anything today," Adrianne said. "I'm tired, and-Emeril's on, and he's doing fried turkeys."
Cathleen grinned. "Adrianne, you are a fried turkey," and then she shoved the other woman's shoulder. "I'm kidding!"
"I'll go check on my gear and wait for the delivery truck," Nyvysk said. He looked up at the pendulum clock by the fireplace. "Let's all meet again around seven and get something together for dinner."
"I'm all for that," Cathleen said and bounced up. Her large breasts bounced too, which was likely intentional. "Right now I'm going to find the fanciest bathroom in this whole place and take a bubble bath." She strode out of the room.
"What about you, Willis?" Nyvysk asked. "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm gonna start right now; I'm getting ... feelings." He looked at Mack. "Which room did the murders take place in?"
"There were dead bodies on the stairs, in the first parlor on the second floor, and some of the guest suites, also on the second floor. But the majority of the people were killed in the largest suite of the fifth floor. Mr. Hildreth called it the Scarlet Room. You can find it on any of the videocom maps."
"Right." Willis hesitantly took off his gloves and left the room.
"I'll be back in a couple hours," Mack said. "If you need anything ..." He held up his cell phone.
When Mack left, Nyvysk felt odd, alone with Adrianne. She stared at the TV, but he had to wonder how much
of it she was really watching.
"When was the last time you OBE'd, Adrianne?"
"About a month ago. It was an Army check-up at Fort Meade."
"You still work for them?"
"Almost never. They consider me retirement-disabled. Now I get a check every month instead of orders."
"How did the OBE go?"
"All right. They were just testing my responses on lower doses of Lobrogaine."
Nyvysk held on to a concern. One way or another, they were all damaged. But Adrianne had the worst fears to face if this mansion was for real.
"You're still a Christian, aren't you?"
"Yeah," was all she said.
"Be careful."
"I will." She looked up suddenly, curious. She blinked out of her laze. "There's somebody else coming, too, right? A local writer?"
"I think so," Nyvysk said.
"I wonder where he is."
Chapter Five
I
The cover photography blared white background behind a long, lean brunette with bright blue eyes and a big white smile, skintight t-shirt adhered to erect, 34C breasts. The t-shirt had a Viagra pill on it, and the words GOT WOOD? The top of the box read: T&T ENTERPRISES PRESENTS: GABRIELLE COX IN GABRIELLE'S BIG BANG. The brightness of the cover, that crystal-like clarity, seemed to hypnotize Westmore for a moment. But it wasn't just the obvious beauty of the woman, nor the glaring sexual provocation. It's her reality, he thought. That's a real person on this ww..
A dead person.
He recognized the woman's face at once, matching it to the mug-shot and the post-mortem shot from the records that Karen had given him. And her real name wasn't Gabrielle Cox, it was Jane Johnson, five-six, 119 pounds, twenty-four years old, born of a solid middle-class family from Green Bay, Wisconsin, quit college after two semesters to follow the yellow-brick road to Hollywood stardom. The pretty face and stunning body was contracted posthaste by a mediocre Redondo-Beach-based adult video company called T&T Enterprises. Shortly thereafter, she acquired a $4,500 breast-implant job, developed a mounting addiction to cocaine, had three abortions, engaged in sex acts with over 500 men and a 100 women, and appeared in 106 hardcore adult DVD's, until her career ended three weeks ago in an eccentric's mansion located on the other side of the country.
