Lady in White

by A. J. Matthews

  * * * *

  Claudia drove through the night, thankful that the snow had stopped and the roads had been cleared. A three-quarter full moon hung high overhead, turning the quiet city streets into a wonderland of silver sugar and deep shadows. The monochrome light made the Christmas decorations and strip malls they passed shine even brighter.

  Martin was sitting quietly beside her, hunched into his jacket, staring ahead with furrowed brow. She glanced at him from time to time, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. Her own mind was troubled with worries about Caroline's aberrant behavior and the prospect of walking into an old haunted building at near midnight.

  Eventually they neared the junction to the hospital grounds, and Martin sat up at last. "There's the cop car," he said pointing.

  Through habit or design, the police car was parked in deep shadow where it couldn't be seen by any speeding driver until it was too late. Pale faces showed through the windshield as she swung in off the road and stopped.

  A cop got out and walked over carrying a flashlight, his hand placed near his holster where he could draw in a hurry. She wound down the window and leaned out. "Hi, officer, has my sister showed up?"

  He directed the beam of his flashlight over her face, making her eyes smart, and she cursed him silently for it. "Are you Claudia Mackenzie?"

  "Yeah, and this is my partner, Martin Grey. Doctor Burwell's expecting us."

  "Yes, ma'am, we know. Sorry, your sister's not showed yet." He glanced in at Martin, sitting and watching in silence. "Are you sure she's heading this way?"

  "We're not sure, but she may come here."

  "She's not a patient here, is she?" he asked suspicion clear in his face.

  "No, she's a nurse. She pulled that boy out of the river here last week, and she's had to take medication because of all the crud in the water."

  "I heard about that! It was a brave thing to do."

  "Yeah, we're proud of her. But she's gone off without her medication, and we're worried she might get sick."

  "Okay, understood." He stepped back and waved them through. "Don't worry; we'll keep watch for her. The doc's up in the clinic."

  * * * *

  Martin looked at the cluster of buildings showing black and gaunt in the moonlight. Only the entrance to the Greville Wing was lit; all else was in shadow. "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of seeing this place," he said as Claudia drove toward the parking lot. "I'm glad things are going to be decided tonight."

  "You're sure this'll see the end of it all?" she asked as she pulled up.

  "Absolutely." They got out, and he looked up at the old building. "It's time to kick butt and take names, as they say."

  "Careful!" she said, leading the way to the doors of the clinic. "Macho is so not you!"

  He winked. "Sorry, darling, it was a mere lapse."

  Burwell was waiting for them in the reception area and let them in. Martin was glad they didn't have to go through the tiresome process of passing through the metal detector.

  "I'm glad you're here," Burwell said, closing the door. "Any sign of Caroline?"

  "Nothing yet," Claudia said with a miserable face. "I wish I knew where she is!"

  "So do I," he said quietly, and looked sheepish.

  She touched his arm. "It's okay; I know you have feelings for each other."

  "That's a relief!" he said with a wry smile. "I don't suppose she's said anything about me?"

  "Not much," she said, and his face fell. "Don't be sad. I know Caroline; she'll tell me when she tells me."

  "I can go with that."

  Martin coughed. "Sorry to intrude on this, but we need to decide on what we're going to do."

  "Oh, yeah, of course." Burwell rubbed his chin. "You say you want to go inside the old building?"

  "Want to, no; need to, yes. The source of all this trouble lies in there, and that's where I need to confront it."

  "Okay. All I will tell you is to be careful. Not of the spirits or whatever, but of the building itself. Some prep work was carried out to ready it for demolition. I'm not sure how safe it'll be in there."

  "Then there's all the more reason to get in there. Once the place is knocked down, Rossiter will have won."

  "How so?" Claudia asked.

  "In effect, destroying the building will seal it in time. It will exist as Rossiter wants it to, because he seems powerful enough to shape the spirit form of the building around him. Once that happens, the spirits of the former inmates will be trapped there forever under his control." He turned to Burwell. "Will you be coming with us?"

  The doctor gave him a guarded look. "Will I really be of much use to you?"

  "I'm only taking volunteers," he replied equably. "There's no compulsion."

  "Then if it's okay with you, I'll stay out here. Caroline might show up, and someone needs to know where you are if it all goes wrong. Sorry," he added with a diffident smile. "I've got every confidence in you, but just in case…"

  "It's perfectly all right, I understand. You're quite right." He turned and headed back to the door. "Although it's not going to go wrong!"

  *

  "Martin sure seems confident!" Burwell said quietly to her as Claudia made to follow.

  She looked at him, hoping her face was calmer than she felt. "I won't have him any other way!" she retorted, and followed after him.

  * * * *

  Jay watched the Buick pull over to the side of the road near the bridge over the White River. Pulling over some yards behind it, he watched the young woman get out and lock the door, before making her way along the sidewalk toward the bridge. With a shock, he saw she was wearing nothing more than a nightdress. "What the hell are you doing?" he wondered aloud, as he got out and locked his own car.

  Her pale shape seemed to float through the moonlit darkness ahead of him as he set off in pursuit, her bare legs twinkling as she walked with rapid steps. Wondering if he should call out to her or not, he quieted his uneasy mind by resolving to follow and speak only if she looked like she was getting into danger.

  That resolve was tested almost immediately when she reached the end parapet of the bridge and began to climb over without so much as a glance back. "Hey!" he called, alarming visions of another suicide leaping into his mind. "Stop!"

  He ran forward and reached the spot where she'd climbed over. Peering into the darker shadows cast by the trees bordering the hospital grounds, he saw her lighter shape moving along the bank, heading toward the clinic. "What the hell are you doing, girl?" he asked her retreating figure, as he clambered over the parapet in pursuit.

  * * * *

  Martin and Claudia made their way outside and together stared up at the blank windows of the old building. "How do we get in?" she asked.

  "I don't know, but it won't be through that," he said, pointing to the metal grill covering the main entrance. "We'd better check around the sides and back.

  On the east side of the building they found the door where Alan Whitaker had forced his way in. It had been boarded up again once the police had finished with the scene of his death. Snow had piled up in the shallow recess, and Martin kicked some of it away as he scanned the plywood for any possible weak points. "Damn! I wish we'd brought a crowbar."

  "I've got one in the toolkit in the trunk. Shall I go get it?"

  "It might not be needed," he said, looking along the side of the building. "There's another door just along here. It looks like it might lead to a sub-basement."

  "Let's go see. If it won't open, I'm going for the crowbar."

  They made their way over to the other door, skirting the snow that had drifted up against the side of the building. A flight of steps led down to the door. Large, galvanized metal pipes poked out of the wall above a small, grimy window, and the door itself was half buried in snow. Sweeping aside the snow on the upper steps with his foot, Martin exposed cracked and blackened concrete. Treading with caution, he made his way down and tried the doorknob. "Locked, of course."

  "Can you
force it?"

  "There's not much room down here, so it'll be hard to get a sufficient run at it. The snow's that powdery wind-blown stuff so it won't pose a problem." He looked around; from where he stood on the bottom step, his point of view just above ground level, he saw a number of humps and bumps in the snow. One, about a yard long, showed a patch of dirty gray. Scrambling up, he went over to it and kicked some of the snow off it to reveal a long concrete block. Picking it up, he hefted it in his arms. "This should do the trick."

  "A battering ram? O-kay," she said with a half-smile.

  Descending the steps, he braced himself, drew the block back, and let it swing forward in the cradle of his arms to slam full-square on the doorknob. The sound of impact was loud in the confines of the stairwell, and achieved nothing more than a badly dented doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he swung again, and again, building up a steady rhythm until the fifth swing broke the lock. The door swung open, releasing a small avalanche of snow to fall into the room beyond.

  "It's a good job this place will be demolished soon," she said, joining him after he'd cast aside the block. "You're making a good start on it. What do we have?"

  "It's the furnace room from the look of things." He drew the torch from his pocket and switched it on, casting the beam into the large room beyond the door. "Looks like the boiler men got more coal on the floor than they did in the furnace."

  "It sure is filthy! I hope there's a way that leads upstairs, or we're back to square one."

  They entered the musty-smelling room. Two huge boilers stood at the far end; the iron doors on the red brick fireboxes beneath them gaped like open mouths, an analogy he wished he hadn't thought of. He recalled the report he and Caroline had read at the archives, which had included official suspicions that bodies had been disposed of in the furnaces—possibly in the very room they were now standing in.

  A multitude of pipes led into the boilers themselves. Some were insulated with dusty aluminum cladding, which he guessed were the steam pipes. Many of the others had icicles hanging from them, glinting like jewels in the light of his torch. On their right was a massive coal bunker, still part full, with a shovel and a sledgehammer for breaking up blocks of coal leaning against the side. To their left was an open door, with the suggestion of a passageway beyond.

  His senses began to prickle seconds before a baleful red light appeared in one of the old fireboxes. "Look out!" he hissed and gripped Claudia's arm, just as the door to the outside world slammed shut behind them.

  The light grew brighter, more orange in hue, and seemed to ooze out of the open door of the firebox. Martin stood in front of Claudia and gathered his powers, alert, watching it and their surroundings, sensing fight, not flight was the best option. The fire grew, stretching upwards and filling out, gaining in size and definition until a man shaped of pure fire stood before them. Martin shuddered. The hatred emanating from the creature was as searing as the heat it gave off. All around came the splash of melting ice as the temperature in the room soared and sweat broke out on his brow. Horrible orange light filled the space, throwing sharp shadows, which danced and flickered as the creature began to advance. The ice-cold concrete floor cracked and split under its feet, shattering in the extremes of temperature.

  "What the hell is it?" she screamed, shielding her face from the fierce heat.

  "A spirit!" he shouted back, averting his eyes to avoid the direct blast from the advancing being. "One of those patients burned to hide their death!"

  Pushing her back, he sought to move in front of her whilst facing the threat. "Spirit!" he shouted at it. "We have no quarrel with you! Let us go and we will bring you peace!"

  At his words the thing threw up fiery arms and flared violently, the flames surging off the smoke-blackened ceiling. The roaring of the flames took on the guise of words. "Peace! Peace, you say?" Two dark patches like melted eyeballs appeared in the glare. "What peace was I ever given, in life or death?"

  "When I tell you, run for the passageway," Martin hissed to Claudia.

  "What?" She clutched his arm. "Marty, what are you going to do?"

  "You'll see—I hope! Now, run!"

  He pushed her away and dashed in the opposite direction toward the bunker. Her booted feet clattered on the hard floor, and the creature's roar grew deafening. Reaching the bunker, he looked back and saw it wavering, torn between its prey. "Spirit!" he shouted. "You've one last chance! Yield and we'll bring you peace! Fight and you'll regret it!" And I just hope I don't! he added to himself as the being turned and advanced on him.

  Gauging distances, he picked up the sledgehammer and hefted it, feeling the weight and balance of the tool. The spirit closed on him, two great arms of fire spreading out to either side to encompass his only escape route. He could go back further into the bunker, but it was a dead end. His only option now was to—

  Duck to his right, swing the hammer up over his shoulder and bring it down hard on an overhead water pipe. The old pipe broke clean in two, a welded joint giving way under the impact of twelve pounds of iron. Water gushed out under high pressure, the ice blocking the pipe melted by the creature's intense heat. The jet of water struck the fiery spirit full on, and it screamed in agony. Leaping up, Martin grabbed the severed pipe and swung on it, pulling it with main force to keep the jet aimed at the struggling being.

  "Opposite to opposite!" he shouted as the air filled with steam. "Air to earth, water to fire!"

  The thing roared, and the clouds of steam glowed like a sunset as it tried to swat him with what remained of its fire. Sensing the weakening force, Martin let go of the pipe and dropped to the ground. The fire was mostly gone, just a few licking tongues of pallid flame curling up and around a blackened humanoid shape that seemed mostly bone and charred flesh. It fell to its knees, fragments splitting away from it to shatter on the floor amidst the growing puddles. The empty eye sockets turned to Martin, and he held up his hand.

  "What was done was done! You must forget this, move on to a higher existence. Here there's only pain and futile suffering. Move on!" he urged it, putting every ounce of command into his voice. "A higher world awaits you!"

  A jagged mouth opened, and a horrible moan escaped the ruined creature. It pressed charred stumps, which once had been hands, to its head and writhed.

  Martin closed his eyes and sent a call out through the ether. "Is there a kindly spirit present who will take care of this suffering being? In the name of peace, will one come forward who can show it the higher worlds?"

  He saw a pale figure swim into view within the chamber. A soft radiance surrounded it that touched upon the wretched creature with a palpable tenderness. "I'm here," it said, and grew in definition to become a handsome, middle-aged woman in a white starched uniform.

  The being gaped at her and reached out with tentative hands to touch her skirt. She laid a hand to its head and drew it close. With a hoarse cry, it flung its arms around her knees and pressed its head to her.

  She looked at Martin with saddened eyes. "I'm his mother," she said. "I was a nurse in France, treating the wounded Doughboys." Her hand caressed the blackened skull, and she looked down at it with infinite tenderness. "He was one of them, my Oliver, my little boy. By sheer chance, he came wounded to the field hospital where I was working, and we were so happy to be together."

  "May I ask what happened?" he said gently.

  "There was an attack; the hospital came under shellfire. I was killed." Her face grew sad. "Oliver saw me die. He never recovered his wits, poor lamb."

  The figure of the burned spirit shifted and changed, growing in color and solidity until it became a man dressed in striped hospital pajamas. Martin guessed his age to be around forty, but wasn't sure; long suffering had etched the man's features in life and his soul in death.

  "But it's all over now!" she said with a smile, reaching down to draw him to its feet. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long, Olly! Come with me, son; come home."

  "The one upstairs won't let
me go!" he moaned.

  "He has no control over you now, Olly," she said. "Listen to your mother! That one's hours on this plane are numbered."

  "You just leave him to me!" Martin said. "Go with your mother now, Oliver. Deep peace of the rolling wave to you!" he intoned. "Deep peace of the flowing air to you! Deep peace of the quiet earth to you, now and forevermore!"

  "Amen!" she whispered.

  Slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow, she and her son faded from sight, leaving Martin standing in the wet and stinking darkness with a profound sense of relief. "Claudia?" he called. "It's over!" A faint echo of his voice came in reply. "Claudia?" he called again, urgently. "Where are you?"

  * * * *

  Claudia made the sanctuary of the passageway before she spun around, ready to go to Martin's aid. She found the door closed and stood for a moment, baffled. There was no way it could've closed since she’d passed through it but a second before. She rattled the handle and pushed at it, but it remained closed. "Marty? Marty!" she yelled, hammering on it with the flat of her hand. "Are you okay?"

  Dead silence returned when she stopped and listened. There wasn't so much as a hint of the roar of flames and crackle of burning that had filled the boiler room. She swept the flashlight beam over the door, then turned and shone it down the passageway behind her, debating her options.

  The passage was surfaced with cracked and worn cream linoleum and ran for some fifteen feet before reaching a set of stairs at the end that led upwards. To either side was a wooden paneled door in a muddy dark shade of brown. From the brief glimpse around she'd had in the boiler room, there were no other entrances to it from this basement level. She aimed the light at the stairs again; the only way to reach Marty would be to go up top and around the way they'd come in.

  She ran for the stairs and began to climb, her feet clattering on the treads, flashlight beam bobbing ahead. A cold current of air blew against her, carrying the smell of damp and decay. A small part of her mind wondered with a realtor's professional curiosity how a building that had been occupied only a few months before could smell so bad so soon. But the main part of her mind was filled with one thought—help Marty!