Leah looked at him, shrugging, and cuing him to continue.
“Christmas Eve?” he said, and watched her face.
Leah’s eyes widened. Two bright blue orbs stared back at him.
“Leah, do you recall that Christmas Eve was the night that Sheila Barton was murdered in that house. Forty-five years ago, something went wrong with Angus’ ritual, and Sheila Barton was found in the woods the next day. She was the one who escaped being walled up amid the limestone in the basement, and it all happened on Christmas Eve.”
“You’re right,” she said. “It was also the night I almost died in that house.” Her eyes began to roll again, as though a million thoughts fought for significance in the battlefield of her mind. Sidney realized that through all the confusion, Leah had forgotten about Christmas Eve.
“And that’s another connection to the day in question,” he said. “We may have found a piece of the puzzle. I think we may have tremendous results if we go in that night.”
Leah agreed, but Dylan stayed silent, attending to the road. After a few minutes, he spoke.
“I’ll brief Susan on what we’ve done today. We’re going to schedule another meeting for tomorrow, the twenty-third. We’ll go over our plans and set everything in motion.”
Sidney could hear the skepticism in Dylan’s voice, along with what he could identify as a tiny tinge of fear. He didn’t want to go in right away because of the holiday, but Sidney could tell that Dylan also feared for Leah’s safety. He was afraid of the team losing her one way or another. Sidney changed the subject upon another realization that occurred to him.
“Where’s Brett?” he said. “Why wasn’t he with us today?”
“I think he’s off checking something out,” Dylan said. “He’ll be back soon.”
Sidney knew what Dylan meant. Brett was searching for Tahoe Manoa. They hadn’t told Leah yet; they didn’t want to build up her hopes in the event that Brett was unsuccessful.
“That’s funny,” Sidney said. “His car was parked outside of his apartment this morning.”
They rode on in silence.
* * * *
Cory Chase folded his cell phone shut; he’d been waiting patiently for that call. One of his many spies had just reported to him that the paranormal investigators were not in Room 208. Leah Leeds had gone off with two of the guys, and the third was nowhere in sight. The room was unoccupied. It was the perfect time to hack into their computer system. Cory pulled out his special laptop; he had to move fast.
Through the environmental page, to the green screen, and into the instant message window, and soon, he was looking at the desktop menu of the main computer in Room 208. He searched through their files and their documents, finding nothing except past investigation reports, research material, and facsimile copies of overhead bills. Cory even checked out the maddening jewel game on their desktop, but had to stop before he lost his mind.
Then, he broke into their email files; it was easy enough to sign onto their server, once he was in the desktop. He came across an email with a subject line he couldn’t ignore...
‘I need your help!’
He opened the email and began reading, his audacity perfectly in check. In the email, a woman described a car accident in which her boyfriend was killed and she survived. She went on to dictate strange events that were happening to and around her, including one with the computer as she was writing. The pretext of the email almost sounded familiar to him, like he’d heard that story before.
He read the last lines of the email...
‘I really hope you can help me. I feel as though I’m losing my mind.’
The electronic signature of the person’s name was a flashing neon sign to him...Tracy Kimball, RN; University Hospital.
He remembered the name well. It was all they’d talked about in the newsroom when it happened. Tracy Kimball was the nurse at University Hospital who had survived the fatal car accident that killed her boyfriend at Shadow Valley Curve. In a strange twist of fate, she died exactly six months later at the same location, nearly in the same tragic spot, in the same tragic way.
So, she was being haunted, and the investigators were helping her, and she turns up dead. Interesting, he thought, it seems to be a definite pattern for them. Wherever they go, death follows. Cory was surprised by the chill that suddenly swept his spine, although he ignored it.
The truth had never come out that Tracy Kimball was being haunted or thought she was being haunted, or that she’d hired paranormal investigators to help her.
Of course it didn’t, he thought, yet another cover up.
But, police had established that Tracy Kimball had been driving while extremely corked, operating a Jeep Cherokee, no less. She’d operated that vehicle alone, and obviously, the crash was her own fault. It would be difficult to fully connect the incident to the investigators.
So, why the secrecy if she was being haunted? That was sort of their profession, wasn’t it—ghost-busting? There must have been some reason to protect Tracy by keeping this secret, but why? He searched the rest of their computer, trying to find anything more about Tracy Kimball and could not. In fact, he found nothing more that would be of any interest to him. He clicked out of the main frame and out of the familiar green screen and soon, he was looking at his own desktop, quickly, discreetly, as though he’d never strayed from it.
Soon he was searching through the newspaper’s archives; it hadn’t taken him long, since Tracy Kimball had died only months ago. He found the article on the accident, and as soon as he arrived at the sentence that told of an attending physician at the scene, he correctly finished the sentence without reading further.
“...Dr. Susan Logan.”
He laughed at the crazy reality of a perfect puzzle that stood right in front of him, yet no one else could see it. He wondered how deep the university’s involvement might be, if any. Were they aware of the extent of the investigator’s cases, and if it was true that Leah Leeds and Sidney Pratt possessed psychic abilities, was their association to the society part of the university’s objective? So many questions formed inside Cory’s head and for all of them, he planned to get answers.
Now, armed with the questions regarding Tracy Kimball, Cory would add those to the larger questions he had concerning Roman Hadley, or Mark Banner. What was the leader of their society involved in that would require him to live a life of double identity? He could prove that the two identities were one and the same; he had the card for MSB Enterprises.
But, the case on Mark Banner/Roman Hadley was a top secret, closed FBI case. He could never go public with the information. One reason was that he hadn’t enough information; the other reason was simple: the FBI would soon conduct a full investigation on him, and how he got the story, which might ultimately unveil his talent for computer hacking.
But the paranormal investigators would know full and well that he wasn’t bluffing. He would confront them with everything that he knew regarding their recent cases, but inform them that there wouldn’t be a problem; he could keep his mouth shut. He had only one request—to sit in on their next case. And since Susan Logan had mysteriously shown up on the night of the tragedy at Cedar Manor, he had a definite inkling as to what that next case was going to be. If so, he wanted in.
Cory looked at his calendar; tomorrow was the twenty-third, the last day before the university’s official holiday recess. Tomorrow afternoon would be a perfect time to pay a visit.
Chapter Ten
After safely and secretly arriving home just past the hour of dawn, he’d managed to crash in his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours. It was now just after six pm, and Brett was finally awakened by the alert tone of his voicemail. He hadn’t even heard his cell phone ringing. He looked at the caller ID—Dylan. He would listen to the message later; right now, he needed a shower.
Fresh from the shower, he checked the voicemail while he dressed.
“Brett, it’s me, Dylan. Where are you? Sid saw your car outside o
f your house today, so I figured you might be home. We’ve scheduled a meeting for tomorrow at two o’clock. Call and give me an update, and I’ll see you then.”
“Yep, good old Sid,” he said to himself, “reliable, as always.”
Brett was thankful Sidney hadn’t driven past earlier this morning; he imagined what he could’ve seen if he had.
Abruptly, there was a knock at his front door.
He wasn’t expecting company, and given the voicemail, he was sure it couldn’t have been Dylan knocking. Maybe Sidney had returned, or worse, maybe something was wrong with Leah. He quickly strode to the door as the knock rapped louder this time, the type of knock that said, “I know you’re in there.” He gazed out of the rectangular windows alongside the door. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He stood back from the windows and slowly opened the door.
Tahoe Manoa stood on Brett’s doorstep, staring straight at him with the slightest hint of a smile steeped in fascination. Brett knew the older man would make it here; he knew he wouldn’t fail Leah. Still, he stood amazed at how quickly it had happened. The man came prepared, dressed for the occasion in a new winter’s coat and gloves, anticipating the cold Pennsylvania climate. Brett stood stunned, unsure of what to say.
“Hello, young one,” Tahoe said. “May I come in?”
“You found me,” Brett said, astonished. He knew that Tahoe would find Leah and the team, but never dreamed he would have tracked him, here. When he opened his mouth to inquire, the older man interrupted him.
“I took an early flight,” he said. “We cannot allow our mutual friend to endure this alone, now can we?” He removed his gloves and coat and handed them to Brett, who stood idly, still stupefied by the surprise. Here was a man whose psychic ability was beyond anything Brett had imagined. He tried to remain calm, but his bewilderment belied him with a gasp when he spoke.
“How did you find me?” Brett knew the answer to this question, yet asked anyway as he nervously began to take the man’s coat. Tahoe’s laughter filled the room, breaking the tension of the unexpected visit.
“It seems you may have underestimated my psychic prowess, young one,” he said, laughing. “Yet, it isn’t my abilities that remain secretive.” Now, the older man’s tone turned cryptic, coyly prodding and provoking a discussion which Brett was unprepared to have.
“Leah will be so relieved that you’re here,” he said, changing the subject. “She’s headstrong on entering that house. I’m with her, one hundred percent; I think she needs to do this. But, not everyone on the team is convinced that now is the right time.”
“The time is not her decision,” Tahoe said. “Unfortunately, the time has been chosen for her. What dwells inside that house has laid claim to her, to her psychic ability. It fed from her ability as a child, and now, the evil in that house seeks to claim her. But it is not one evil, for there are many, and they need her to become more powerful, more strengthened.”
Brett had motioned for Tahoe to take a seat on the sofa, and now they were seated in the living room. After extending hospitalities, Brett sought to understand further.
“What do you mean by many evils? Who are they?”
Tahoe sat up closer and stared him in the face.
“Do you believe in demons, young one?”
Brett felt his heart sink to his stomach.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I guess so.”
Tahoe was nodding his head before he answered.
“There are many within that house,” he said. “A legion of them gained entrance during the dark ceremonies conducted there. They played with her as a child, yet she never knew them. They watched her intelligence form. They watched her third eye open as they showed her things. They sought to steal the soul of the child and gain her insight. The evil managed to get her parents, one by death, and the other by insanity. They will not stop until they get her.”
Brett swallowed hard and could feel his knees shaking at this psychic pronouncement. Tahoe had definitely managed to see and feel Cedar Manor from afar. Brett had been hoping that the situation was not that extreme, that traumatic memories, ghosts, and poltergeist activities were the extent of what plagued Leah. He’d assumed that Angus Marlowe was a nutcase, a rapist, and a murderer, not someone actually esteemed enough in the occult to produce any malignant results through his ‘magic.’
“So, should we stop Leah from going into the house?”
“No,” he said. “She must go, for it’ll never leave her alone. It will continue to plague and haunt her even from afar. Her return there is inevitable.” Tahoe sighed, as though wanting to continue later. “I must explain all of this when I meet with her and the rest of your team.”
“We have a meeting tomorrow at two o’clock,” Brett said. “You’ll come with me, then.”
“Agreed,” Tahoe said. “Now, tell me about yourself, Brett.” Brett realized that the wise, older man’s keen perception missed nothing. It was the first time since he’d arrived that he called him by his first name. It was pointless to question how he knew it, though Tahoe’s smiling eyes were daring him. “Why have you continued to live shrouded in mystery, my friend?”
There was a silence as Brett had hoped that the conversation would remain on Leah.
“It’s complicated,” Brett said.
“You know,” Tahoe said, “the ancients used to tell tales of such things. I used to think the old stories were symbolic parables passed down through the generations, until I witnessed such a thing with my own psyche. So, the stories are true, my friend. You have brought that attention to me. Are your friends aware of your ability?”
“I’m not so sure you can call it that,” Brett said. “No, they aren’t. No one knows.”
“Except me,” he said. “Your friends need to know; they need to help you understand. There may come a time when you all need to understand.”
Brett wasn’t sure anyone could understand. How thin was the line between paranormal and supernatural? Was there one at all? Maybe they’d all have to figure those questions out when this was all over. But right now, Brett’s main concern was Leah.
“Look,” he said. “I’m not worried about myself; I’m worried about Leah. We have to get her through this, especially if it’s as dangerous as you say it is.”
“It is,” Tahoe said, “and more.”
“Then, tomorrow at two o’clock we’ll be at the meeting. I can pick you up before then.”
Tahoe agreed, and as he was leaving, he turned one last time to Brett.
“Just one last question,” he said. “How long has the mystery been a part of you, my friend?” He waited for Brett to answer.
“Forever,” he said.
Tahoe understood with that one spoken word, after which, he walked out the door.
* * * *
Tahoe had used his own third eye in finding the young man. He knew it wouldn’t be difficult. With his ability, he could see lines in the sky that represented the flight path of the great hawk. He followed north, then west, until the crisscrossing lines had led him straight to the young man’s apartment. Now he used his third eye again, to find the house that awaited the young woman’s arrival—Cedar Manor.
He stood on the walkway, looking up at the dark sanctuary, the smiling feature of his deep-set brown eyes seemingly absent now. He glared at its hard structure, absorbed its silence, and observed the strange face of the house itself with clusters of gables hanging high above a canopied entrance. It gave him the impression of an angry grimace towering high above the beautiful blanket of snow far beneath.
He closed his eyes and tried to catch a mental glimpse of the house’s interior. That’s when the visions swept his mind: layers of dust filling the air amid the cotton candy strands of cobwebs that hung like drapes, black shadows moving freely and quickly around corners, and a strange green aura that thrived among the shadows. He opened his eyes wide as a frigid chill crawled up his spine like a wandering spider.
So much evil in this house, he thought,
so much death. This house was not merely haunted, but infiltrated by the legions of Hell itself. He closed his eyes and searched again.
In his mind he saw the child as he remembered her. He saw her playing with a ball, while evil faces lurked and danced around her, her young, third eye unseeing of what was before her.
The distorted faces were there, but not there, part of some parallel existence that intertwined with the house, as though two different worlds coexisted under one roof. The vision passed in a flash of light and was replaced by another.
Now he saw a man with long, straggly hair and a disheveled beard, dressed ceremoniously in a black hooded robe that bore the pentagram—the devil’s symbol. The man was holding a chalice that dripped blood from the rim and down the side of it, and he held it up in the air, high above his head. Tahoe could see the man’s mouth moving, calling out in ritual, summoning that which was damned forever. He saw flames rising up behind the man, shooting up from the ceremonial pyres that were staged behind him.
Tahoe saw deformed faces and souls merging together as one, mingling in some sort of mutated and cohesive union. He saw a large mirror, and the child, standing far away from it, forbidden to go near it, yet staring at it with baby blue eyes displaying the deepest curiosity. The next vision showed him a strange green light flooding out from the mirror; the color was much like the aura he’d seen in the earlier vision. The light began to rotate in a circular motion, and Tahoe glimpsed shadows lurking beyond it.
A doorway, so the mirror is a doorway, he thought, as he opened his eyes and glanced back at the silent house. He was ruefully observant of how it sheltered evil conveniently and quietly inside, while outside it masqueraded as an abandoned and desolate mansion, as though it had a deceitful conscience all of its own.
He walked over toward the entrance, closer to the side, where the recent incident had occurred. Suddenly, his third eye showed him the body of the young man sprawled in the snow, the blood staining the snow of cherry-colored death. Tahoe looked up instantly at the top of the canopy to see the black, shapeless mass that he knew would be there, taunting him. He stared at it for a few seconds, listening to its grating, rasping breath. He watched it with eyes unflinching, unthreatened by its presence. And then it disappeared.
The Third Eye of Leah Leeds Page 13
