Lady in White

by A. J. Matthews

  She turned her head and kissed his cheek. "It's okay, lover."

  He yawned again and stretched. "Frankly, I'm ready for bed. Today took a lot out of me."

  Claudia stood and helped him to his feet. "Then let's get you into bed and tucked up." She grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, pulled him close and kissed him. He responded then yawned in mid-kiss.

  "Argh! Sorry, sorry," he said.

  "Don't worry about it, you poor boy!" She smiled and drew him towards the bedroom. "Looks like Mrs. Grundy upstairs won't have anything to complain about tonight."

  "Hmm? Who's Mrs. Grundy?"

  "It's just a term for a nosy neighbor. I'm looking forward to a time when our neighbors will be around us and at a safe distance, not above or below!"

  "So am I, darling." He kissed her brow and pressed his cheek to hers. "It'll be good to settle in some little place of our own, with a nice big plot of land out the back."

  "We call those plots our 'back forties.'"

  "Forty feet?" He nodded. "That's a respectable size."

  "Ah, Marty?" She drew back and smiled at him quizzically. "Not forty feet—forty acres."

  "Forty acres! Good God!" He puffed out his cheeks in amazement. "Any property developer in Britain would aim to fit a few thousand houses on a piece of land that size."

  Now she looked amazed. "Jesus, Marty! It sure must be crowded over there!"

  "It is," he said. "Britain's a small island and there's getting to be far too many people living there."

  "Well, at least here you'll have room to breathe." She sucked her lip and thought over her next move in her master plan. "Marty, I've been looking at the details of some properties with us in mind."

  "I like the sound of that," he said, blinking and seeming to become alert once more. "Has anything good come to the fore?"

  "There're a few places." She stroked his cheek. "It depends; do you feel comfortable in the city, the country, or the 'burbs?"

  "Burbs?"

  "Suburbs."

  "Ah, right. Which would you prefer?"

  She slapped his arm. "Don't hedge! I'm asking you."

  "I'd love to live in the country, but within easy reach of a town."

  "Nowhere in Indiana is more than thirty minutes from a large town or city." She laughed. "Marty, a hundred miles is a long way to an Englishman…"

  "…And a hundred years is a long time to an American!" He hugged her. "Yes, I keep forgetting that."

  "We got a good road system here; living in the sticks doesn't mean living in the back of beyond any more." She hugged him back. "Look, let's get to bed and sleep. We can talk all this over in the morning when we're more alert. Suits you?"

  "Suits me!"

  * * * *

  The weight of the building was oppressive. It loomed above Winifred like the fate of worlds, overbearing all senses and leaving the occupants crushed and worthless. All the anguish, all the shame and the horror of years infused the fabric of brick and stone and mortar until the whole became an awful gestalt entity.

  She walked in silence through the darkness amidst the bowed forms of the inmates, her aura subdued by the abject misery surrounding her. The urge to reach out and touch them as she passed waxed and waned, and at each peak she had to force her hand to draw back from a stooped form or a cowed figure. None of them dared even look at her, shining so bright in the midst of their darkness. Tears wet her face as she wept for their fate and her inability to help them. Her touch gave comfort; it gave hope; it gave healing. It was always so and there was no other way she could be. Her own hopes lived and burned within her, unquenched by time and fate. But she knew that hope was the last thing the wretched souls could withstand. Hope to them was a brittle commodity indeed. Shatter hope, and they too would shatter—and hopes were so easily shattered by the dark one that infested the old asylum.

  Above her the darkness surged like the gust of wind that precedes a storm, and she looked up, alert. The dark one was mighty and wore the building like a cloak, but he hadn't beaten her, nor would he—yet; maybe never. Something in his approach, some nuance on the turgid air of the pit told her he was in good humor, and the knowledge bit into her like a knife. Anything that pleased him was bad, for it boded ill for the good in the world.

  She could only hope for time enough to gather her own resources and seek out the allies whose presence she had sensed in the world beyond. Somewhere beyond the confines of the building were spirits as bright and unquenchable as her own, and somehow she would reach them and solicit their aid. Anger alone no longer served. She felt beyond anger now. Oh, she'd felt such rage, such incandescent blinding hatred when she had first come here and discovered what was going on! But her vow to the one she loved and her own determination had forged that hatred into a sure and deadly weapon. She prayed to the beings she served that her spirit would prove an impregnable shield.

  As the darkness thickened, so the beaten spirits around her subsided a little more into their misery, and she turned and slipped away to her own refuge. A few days had passed since her first successful attempt to thwart the dark one, and he knew what she was trying to achieve. He looked for her constantly, but—gods willing!—would not find her. Time—and a chance. That was all she needed.

  "So mote it be," she whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  Jay Walsh sat at the computer in his office cubicle in the Indianapolis Sun building and perused the morning's trawl through the news networks. It had been a futile search to begin with until he remembered the British spelled Gray differently. With a surge of anticipation, he saw the search engine had turned up three hits for the name Martin Grey. "At last!" he said, and clicked on the topmost entry.

  A report of the previous week had been filed by one Doug Kenyon of the Gainesville Gazette on a syndicated network covering newspapers over the whole of New York State. As he read the article, Jay felt a rising sense of excitement. "Just visiting a friend, huh, buddy?" he said. "Why would a paranormal investigator be poking around an old lunatic asylum?"

  "You could ask that question when they commit you to one, Jay," came the voice of his neighbor in the adjoining cubicle. "Don't you know talking to yourself is the first sign of madness?"

  "Oh, hey, Louie; didn't know you were there. Nah, it's when you answer back that the shrinks come to play with you."

  "I just got in. Are you still working on that Daniels LaRoche story?"

  "Yeah." Jay read on, only half his mind on the conversation. "Could be I've hit on a potential story. That kid the nurse rescued said he saw a white lady floating in the air ahead of him. When I went down there to scope the place out, I found a Brit ghost-hunter sniffing around."

  The invisible Louie chuckled. "A ghost story in time for Christmas, huh?"

  "You got it!"

  Jay smiled as he read Kenyon's report of resort owner Bruce Baker's arrest for fraud and tax-evasion, courtesy of information supplied by one Martin Grey, and clicked onto the last entry. It covered the arrest of former cop Mike Covington in New York City for attempted murder, naming Martin Grey and Claudia Mackenzie as witnesses to the incident.

  "Mackenzie, huh? Same surname as that cute nurse. Where this guy goes, things happen!"

  "You still talkin' to me?"

  "No, Louie, just myself…"

  * * * *

  Claudia led the couple into the next room. "Here we have the accommodation area of the property," she said, sweeping her arm to encompass it. "As you see, it has a large floor area and a lovely view of the hills through the balcony doors." She stopped to one side of the center to allow the couple to wander in. Mentally she counted down the seconds before speaking again, to allow them to take in the panorama. "It's quite something, isn't it? And of course the river precludes any further development in that direction. The deck is fully warranted to last at least ten years and includes a fireproof barbecue area rated to full state fire precaution standards. As for the room itself, there are four power outlets, giving you flexibility, and of
course others can be added with little cost…"

  It was a nice mom-and-pop store and plain vanilla in terms of sales pitch. As her professional expertise allowed her to run through the course of the showing spiel with total sincerity, all the time the other part of her mind was taken up with wondering what kind of place Marty would like.

  Springing the question of their living together had been something of a surprise to her, let alone him. Oh, she'd thought of it for some time, but the time hadn't been right to ask him—until they'd sat in the car at Mug n' Bun and then she just knew it was right. When she'd hired Martin to cover the Chestnut Mansion case, she'd little idea they'd fall in love. And he'd rescued her from the daily grind of city living, albeit via some deeply scary moments. New York had been exciting but expensive, the work rewarding but over-busy. She'd learned a lot, which she fully intended to put to practice in Indiana. New York could be a soulless place, something she'd never quite appreciated until she'd spent more than a few days in her native state. Marty made her feel complete—and having a sex life again was just great!

  A surge of warmth and wetness between her thighs brought her back to the task at hand with a jolt. She realized with a flush of embarrassment that her spiel had run down during her reverie. Luckily, John and Olivia were peering out of the windows and hadn't noticed her distraction, and she decided to visit the bathroom to mop her pussy before moving any further through the house. Drawing a deep breath and fixing her smile back in place she walked over to them, feeling the squelchy moistness between her legs with every step, and unlocked the doors. "Would you like to step out onto the balcony and look around? I just need to go phone someone."

  * * * *

  As it happened, her cell phone did ring when she was in the middle of mopping herself in the bathroom. Hastily disposing of the tissue, she hauled up her panties and pants before answering the call. The display showed Caroline's name.

  "Hi, Claudie, how's it going?"

  "Doing good, honey. How're you?"

  "Likewise. I'm on my break just now, but I was thinking; would you like to meet up for coffee?"

  She glanced at her watch, thought over her schedule, made some mental calculations, and then nodded. "Yeah. I don't have another showing until two-thirty. We can get together for an hour."

  "Great! Meet me at the Starbucks near the hospital around twelve?"

  "Sure thing." She heard the sound of the patio doors closing. "Look, I got to go and finish up here. See you later, kid."

  "Look forward to it."

  * * * *

  Martin's cell phone rang and he picked it up, still absorbed in the report he was writing. "Hello?"

  "Mr. Grey? Ursula Baker here. How're you?"

  He grimaced at the clipped tones of the resort partner, remembering their last clash. "I'm fine, Mrs. Baker," he replied. "How're things there?"

  "Just fine. I thought you'd be pleased to know we're getting to the bottom of Bruce's financial affairs. As things stand, we should be in a position to pay your expenses by the end of this month."

  "Thanks very much," he said, not bothering to keep the smile from his voice. "I'm relieved everything's working out."

  "You and me both, Mr. Grey. You have a good day, now. Goodbye."

  He responded and she hung up. Closing the call, he sat back and stared blankly at the laptop screen as the significance of Ursula's call sank in. It was a relief to know his fee would be paid, but it posed the problem of his visa. It would only allow for a day or two's grace into the New Year before he would be obliged to leave the United States. The thought of leaving Claudia so soon twisted in his heart like a knife. Shaking his head, he dialed her number. She answered on the third ring.

  "Hello, dear, it's me. Ursula Baker just called…"

  * * * *

  As he spoke, Claudia looked across the table at Caroline, who sat quietly nursing her coffee. "Well, that's good news, Marty. I'm sure we can work something out, babe. Stay there at the apartment; I'll swing by when I've finished my last showing and we can go to the immigration office together. We can get things rolling right away."

  "That's a relief, darling," he said, and she smiled to hear just how relieved he sounded. "I really hate the idea of us parting so soon!"

  "At least we'll have the chance to spend our first Christmas together, Marty! Won't that be good?"

  "Absolutely!

  She winked at Caroline. "Just think of all the stores you can take me shopping for presents in."

  "Shopping with you will be a treat; doing anything with you is a treat!"

  "Why, thank you, kind sir! Marty, you know I feel the same about you, honey. As for us parting, when it happens it'll only be for a little while. We're both strong enough to hold out for a few months until your visa's processed, and we can always get together in between times."

  "Even a little while apart is too much," he said, and she could picture his dispirited face as he spoke.

  "I know, lover," she said softly. "It gets me too. Listen, we'll see if you can stay on for a week or so longer, into the New Year. That way we can spend some more time together and you can forget all this concern and push on with Caroline's case."

  "Tell him hi from me," Caroline piped up.

  "Caroline says hi."

  "Tell her hi from me, and I'll be over there at the hospital tomorrow for another look around, all being well."

  Claudia relayed the message. "I look forward to it," Caroline said with a smile.

  "Okay, sweetheart. Love you, and see you in a while."

  "I'll be here. Love you too!" She closed the call and looked across at her sister, feeling her eyes prickle at the thought of her man waiting for her.

  Caroline gave her a warm smile. "It's good to see you so happy, Claudie!" she said. "Lord knows, it's been long enough since I saw a good smile like that on your face."

  "He does make me so happy, honey," she said, reaching across to squeeze her hand. "I dread to think what I was turning into back in New York."

  "I missed you."

  "I missed you too, kid." She gave her sister a thoughtful look. "Isn't there anyone in your life?"

  "No." Caroline shook her head, her expression dismissive. "I'm still a believer in the 'silver ring thing.'" She held up her right hand to show the thin silver band encircling the ring finger. "Aside from that, my work keeps me busy. I'm doing some research just now."

  "Research?" Claudia asked, nonplussed. "What on?"

  "Oh, I'm working up a project on cybersex. It's a phenomenon of our times, and I think it'd make a good dissertation," she said in studious tones.

  Claudia glanced at the nearby tables and leaned forward, dropping her voice to barely more than a whisper. "What do you know about cybersex?"

  "You'd be surprised. There's a lot out there on the 'net," she replied, blowing on her coffee to cool it. Her fair skin was flushed. "Some people get addicted to it, in the same way anything can become addictive. That falls into my discipline, and I thought I'd get some good mileage from it."

  "Caroline, you've got hidden depths!" Claudia said, sitting back and staring at her. "And doing all that research doesn't make you feel horny?"

  Caroline merely winked and glanced at her watch. "I've got to get back. I'll see you later, Claudie. Love to Martin." She stood and leaned over to kiss Claudia on the cheek before heading out the door with a backward glance and a wave.

  Claudia watched her sister go with a familiar mixed feeling of love and exasperation. "Cybersex!" she muttered to herself as she picked up her purse. "Jesus!"

  * * * *

  A broad corridor once connected the old Victorian building to the new block. When the old building was closed down, the partition doors were chained and padlocked before a sheet of plywood was screwed over them. The former corridor was now used as a temporary dumping place for disused equipment and furniture awaiting permanent disposal or deployment elsewhere.

  All of which mattered not one jot to the spirit that flowed through the wood
and into the new block. Stone and brick held energies humanity could barely comprehend, although those sensitive to atmosphere could readily detect them. In the sparsely populated hospital, only one person noticed the sudden chill that marked the passage of a ghost.

  * * * *

  Caroline passed through the inner doors of the security porch just as the alarm began to scream. In the booth, Celia jumped off her chair with shock before training took over and she punched the emergency button. A steel mesh shutter dropped over the outside doors with a rattle and a clang, the implications of the measure and the bellowing alarm making Caroline's heart pound. "What's happened?" she asked.

  Celia stooped and looked at her computer monitor. "Sue pulled her panic tag in private suite B."

  Marjorie emerged from the back office, her face blank with astonishment.

  "Who's in the private suite with Sue?" Celia demanded of her.

  Marjorie blinked and hurried behind the desk to check the staff log. "I've no idea; that suite's closed, she's not scheduled to be in there."

  Caroline nodded. "Let's go see."

  She and Marjorie started off down the corridor whilst Celia picked up the phone and began making a call.

  Doctor Burwell emerged from his office, his face screwed up in a grimace. "Damn this back!" he said through gritted teeth, and Caroline could see how stiff he walked.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, pausing in her rush to touch his arm.

  He smiled and waved her away. "I'll be fine, but I can't keep up with you. Go ahead, see what's happening; I'll catch up."

  She nodded and headed on down the corridor with Marjorie trailing. Other people were beginning to emerge into the corridor, their faces showing fear and confusion. The few nurses and attendants on duty were obeying the drill and trying to keep the day patients away from the main routes through the wing. Caroline was thankful the wing was no longer in full use; trying to herd a hundred panicky patients was a nightmare she'd had too much previous experience of.

  At last they reached the private suite. The sole remaining guard from the central security office was already there, and he pressed a finger to his lips and waved to her to stay back. "Sue?" he called. He edged closer to the open door and cast a quick glimpse inside. A plastic bedpan shot out of the room, missing him by inches. He swore and ducked back. "A guy's got Sue in a chair," he whispered to Caroline. "I saw a flash of something in his hand; I think it's a knife."