“This must’ve been right around the time that the clock came to life,” Leah said.
Brett noted the time stamp on the photo, and they all watched the playback of the video, which would also be archived as extraordinary footage. They watched, again, as the candles melted in the candelabra. At that moment in the video, the time stamp read 8:59, the same time stamped on the photo. Then, the sound of the grandfather clock’s revival was only a faint chime in its video reproduction, but the time stamp had changed to 9:00 with its onset.
“You’re right,” Brett said. “Whatever that silhouette is in the third photo was responsible for the clock’s activity.” They’d all taken note that the grandfather clock was still ticking, that its resurrection had not been temporary.
Leah asked Brett to return to the second ghostly image, the vivid one of the woman with the pleading expression. She gazed at it once more.
“I have a feeling that woman is Sheila Barton,” she said.
“I think you could be right,” Sidney said.
Brett continued to click through the various images, finding nothing. Of all the shots taken, only three ghostly manifestations were obtained. But all shots were saved and retained to document the investigation, and the cameras continued to roll nonetheless.
The team was attending to minor, menial tasks when Brett turned his eye for a moment to Cory, who’d been standing feet away from them, scribbling on a pad in a fury like a high-school Journalism student on his first interview. Cory then walked over to where Brett was set up.
“This is what I mean,” he said. “You all have to release this video and those photographs to the public. Why shouldn’t the public know that everything rumored about this place is true?”
He turned to Leah.
“Your memoir was limited to a select audience. Why didn’t the entire world have a right to read it? Who knows, maybe the truth may have stopped those kids from coming here in the first place.”
“I doubt it,” Dylan said. “After all, they were ghost-hunting. And we can’t release anything without the consent of the university, the board of directors, and of course the city, since they own Cedar Manor.”
Leah stepped closer to Cory. Brett had noticed her watching him through the discourse.
“Why don’t you take that high-righteous, civic-minded spew, and channel it on the story of the women that were murdered here? Don’t focus your story on the history of Cedar Manor, or me, for that matter, but those who died here, like my mother. If you unveil Angus Marlowe as the monster that he was, like the police did in 2008, and try to shed some light on his disappearance, you may have the story of the year.”
“I intend to,” Cory said.
Brett had remained silent so far regarding everything he’d done today before the investigation. It took awhile to ascertain, but their computer at headquarters had been hacked into. He knew that it had been Cory Chase; how else would he get his hands on the email?
Using his own top-notch computer skills, Brett had found a trail, one that led him to an environmental website. The site was probably a cover, a hidden turnstile for hackers, but Brett had no time to find the way in. At the end of the trail, he discovered what looked like a serial number. He traced its identification to that of an unregistered, laptop computer that most likely was the culprit.
Cory should have thought about the fact that Brett was also a cyber technician. Brett would have made a much finer computer hacker than Cory Chase ever dreamed, but he’d never felt the need, nor was he a criminal. Brett watched him with a covert slyness. Cory hadn’t brought a laptop with him, unless it was out in his car. It didn’t matter; Brett would need little more to nail Cory for hacking, but now was not the time.
* * * *
“Brett, let’s check the weather reports, again.” Dylan kept his voice as composed as possible, trying not to reveal that he now felt his nerves form a framework on the outside of his skin. He’d acquired a newfound sense of awe and admiration for Leah. He’d known she’d lived through Hell in this house, but never dreamed that the extent of the evil and paranormal activity that existed would be of such a staggering degree. He’d underestimated her.
Now, the thought of being trapped here, snowed in on a late Christmas Eve in what could very well be a portal to Hell caused him to tremble underneath. It was becoming more and more obvious to him that if they didn’t finish as soon as possible, they were going to have to abandon the investigation or get used to this place.
He watched Brett pilot his way through several local channels on the portable television until reaching one where the earlier map was being analyzed once again. The weather forecaster announced that nine and a half inches of snow were now reported on the ground in Green Valley, and that all bridges and minor roadways were closed off until workers could clear them for holiday travelers. Dylan used his cell phone to confirm that one of those closed bridges was the one to Cedar Drive.
“Oh, God, we can’t be stuck here.” Susan had returned from the drawing room, leaving Paul behind to rest.
Dylan noticed the troubled look on Leah’s face just before she turned away from him.
“They’ll get the roads cleared,” Sidney said. “It’s Christmas Eve; they’re not going to risk holiday travelers getting stranded on icy roads. They’re probably at work on it right now.”
Dylan called Detective Goddard, relating that they’d just seen the weather report. The call was brief as Dylan avoided the detective’s questions by barraging him with his own about the storm and the roadways.
“You’re right, Sid,” he said, after finishing the call. “Goddard said that crews have been assigned, but he warned us not to stay here too long. He’s not sure how long it’ll take for the bridge to be at least passable, but for now, we’re stuck here.”
Silence surrounded them as their faces stared back at each other, seemingly expressing the loss of words as the worst case scenario had beautifully unfolded for them outside, and the faint sound of the falling snow’s rapid progression could be heard amid their silence inside.
Dylan suddenly thought of a way to reroute the investigation, maybe it would get things accomplished quicker. He considered what part of the investigation took precedence: what they did know about Angus Marlowe and the victims in the basement, or what they didn’t know about the legend of the mirror? The answer was obvious.
“Given our current circumstances,” he said, “our investigation needs to take a certain detour. I should’ve thought of this earlier.”
He stood in front of them as they sat camped around the grand hall in lawn chairs that belonged to the team. He lifted his hands as he explained.
“Leah, where was the mirror when you saw it the last time?”
He watched her eyes roll upward in recollection, searching the past and snatching images from an endless slideshow.
“It was upstairs, but I’m not sure which floor it was on,” she said. “I noticed my mother gazing into it soon after the incident in the basement.”
“It wasn’t in the basement?” Dylan asked.
“It was in the basement at one time,” she said. “But, my mother had it moved upstairs.”
“That brings me to my point,” he said. “We need to continue the investigation into the basement. It was a crime scene, so we’re apt to get results down there. Plus, the snow has been coming down hard and fast; we need to get our lighting equipment out and into the basement, now. We may not discover anything with this mirror.
“Once our work is finished in the basement, we’ll examine the mirror. If that turns out to be a waste of time, we could be out of here instead of the spending the night, which is a looming possibility, right now.”
He waited through the continuing silence for a response.
“Sound like a plan?” he asked.
“Sounds like a plan,” Leah said, and the sentiments were echoed with nodding heads.
“Great,” he said. “Brett, let’s retrieve the equipment from the van. Leah,
you’re going to have to guide us down the basement staircase. This isn’t going to be easy.”
He turned to Cory, who stood watching.
“You wanted to come,” he said. “Time to make yourself useful, Chase. We need you to help carry.”
Cory agreed and the four of them walked out into the snow.
* * * *
The investigation took a slight recess as Dylan, Brett, Cory, and Leah began the dreaded plight of lugging large, heavy, electrical torches and spotlights down the spiraling stone staircase, a task Sidney was thankful not to be enduring right now. So, he used this time to retire to the drawing room, where he could peruse the thick black book once again in hopes that it might help in the excursion to the basement.
Susan and Tahoe joined him in the drawing room, where Paul sat reclining on the couch. Sidney took a seat and wiped the dust from the coffee table with his sleeve, placed the book on top, then opened the thick black tome.
“I want to see what’s inside, Sidney.” Paul reached over and placed his hand on top of the book. “I may be able to help.”
Sidney consented, knowing that Paul had mastered many languages on top of being among the highest of his graduating Harvard law class.
“So, Paul, you never saw this book, at all, when you lived here?” Susan asked while she sat on one of a few drawing room chairs they’d dusted and turned to make a semi-circle with the couch. The four of them had made a comfortable wedge in the far side of the drawing room.
“No, never,” he said. “The police discovered the book in the basement. I didn’t spend much time there. The time with Leah was the first and the last I’d ever been down there.”
Sidney turned the pages with the book face up on the table. He brought the magnifying glass from his bag and scanned the scrawled handwriting that splurged across the book’s pages, creating a perfect, illegible anonymity. There was not only writing, but symbols and shapes that seemed to represent the moon and the stars throughout smaller, random drawings.
“I’m almost certain that these notations are the directives for the rituals conducted in the basement,” Sidney said. “You see these words?” He pointed at certain words so that Paul, Tahoe, and Susan could read them. “They’re Latin; I know that much.”
Paul was already nodding his head. He leaned in to get a closer view of the page, examining the words to which Sidney was pointing.
“Release,” Paul said. “The word is Latin for ‘release.’”
“It’s a call for the release of those who are damned and imprisoned throughout time,” Tahoe said. “It is their ungodly pardon, called out by a redeemer.”
“Angus Marlowe?”
Sidney looked at Tahoe, whose face had now grown solemn and cryptic. The elder man nodded his head and began examining one of the book’s watercolor sketches.
“And then, there’s this word.” Sidney pointed to another word among the sporadic few that were legible. “I can tell by the endings of some of these words that they’re Latin, but I don’t know what they mean. I didn’t have time to grab a Latin dictionary. But, this word looks like ‘door.’ Am I right?”
Sidney pointed to the word—Porta.
“Yes,” Paul said. “It means ‘door.’”
“Okay,” Sidney said, pointing his finger further down on the page. “Here’s the word again in a phrase. What does it mean?”
He kept his finger steady, so Paul could easily narrow his eyes to the words.
Porta ut abyssus.
Sidney watched as Paul’s eyes opened wide. Paul’s breathing became somewhat faster, but he lowered his head and composed himself.
“What does it mean?” Sidney asked.
Paul looked at him and answered.
“It means ‘Gateway to Hell.’”
“I thought it was something like that,” Sidney said. “Tahoe, the suggestion you made earlier is exactly what’s being depicted in these drawings and in the book. The implication is that Angus Marlowe was conducting rituals that would open that gateway, the mirror, that is.”
“And when he did,” Tahoe said. “The demons we heard earlier passed through.”
“Yes, that mirror was once in the basement,” Paul said, having missed the conversation moments ago in the grand hall. Sidney watched as Paul’s face became drawn, his eyes turning a lost gaze into the past, where the missing pieces were now falling together. “Janet had it moved. Then later, it’s what consumed her.”
Sidney turned the pages to another sketch, this one in light pencil and drawn inside the book.
“I hadn’t seen this one until earlier,” Sidney said. “What exactly do you think this is?”
He pointed to what appeared to be a cloud at the top of the drawing. Hovering inside the cloud were rough depictions of faces, faces that were misshapen, deformed expressions. Tahoe looked to where Sidney was pointing.
“That is what came through,” he said.
Sidney’s fingers flew further through the pages in frustration.
“How could someone be in possession of such evil?” he said. “I mean, how could a regular person be able to conjure and manifest to the extent that Marlowe did?”
“You, of all people, know that any attempt to entice the dark realm is an open invitation for that realm to coexist with ours.”
Tahoe was right, of course, but Sidney was still amazed at how Angus Marlowe had evaded so much, not only under the noses of suspicious authorities but of a gossiping, petrified public.
Suddenly, the deafness overcame him.
He looked around, unable to hear anything. The world had gone mute around him.
“Sidney...”
A voice called out; it was a woman’s voice. Then, there was the sound of another...
“Listener...”
He watched Paul, Tahoe, and Susan’s unchanged faces as they’d noticed nothing. Then, the voices conjoined, creating a distant, distorted echo...
“Help us...find the way.”
He looked at Susan, and she looked at him while her lips moved, yet he heard nothing.
“Sidney, what is it?” Susan leaned in closer. “He’s hearing again!”
Yet, Sidney couldn’t hear a word she was saying. What he did hear was the distant echo overwhelmed by the same metallic screeching they’d heard earlier. Then, the shrill rasp of a demon spoke one clear word in his ear.
“Basement...”
It spoke the word as though it knew, like it had been searching for something and finally discovered it.
Sidney jumped from the couch, and the sound of his knees crashing upward into the coffee table broke the deafness that had overtaken him.
“We have to get down to the basement, now.”
Chapter Seventeen
The basement looked the same after all these years, except what were once strands of cobwebs were now wide, billowing nets that swayed from the slightest movement. The team’s electric torches stood in different locations, splaying light all the way up the endless catacomb structure of the limestone walls. Her eyes followed the light up and around. It was exactly as she remembered, catacomb walls creating a never-ending underground maze. Even the dankness of the underground, that seemingly permanent moisture, felt the same.
Leah located the electric sconces along the walls, and she still remembered how their soft, orange glow tainted the limestone walls behind them. Now, she was distracted by the sound of rapid feet descending the stairs. Sidney’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.
“Looks like we’re just in time,” he said, looking around.
He brought Susan, Tahoe, and her father, and now eight people stood amid thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment. She marveled at the fact that it still wasn’t crowded. The basement beneath Cedar Manor remained a vast and untamed labyrinth.
“There it is, over there.” She gestured with her hand, indicating the arch-shaped hole in the limestone wall just opposite, and the pile of heavy stones beside it. “That’s where he’d hidden the bodies. The pol
ice never replaced the stones.”
“No,” Susan said. “They probably left it as is, in case they needed to revisit the scene, obtain new evidence based on new information...anything.”
Leah could tell that she and her father were thinking the same thing, that years ago, they’d walked right past that same wall, clueless to the fact that dead women had been decomposing behind it. Leah stepped closer to the opening in the wall and stared inside. Only the silent black stared back at her, the deadness of a virulent past replaced by the inert backdrop of the present.
A web floated along the edge of the opening, and her eye caught a small spider that moved slowly within it, as though investigating. She watched it creep in an eerie balancing act, careful not slip away from the web. She heard footsteps behind her.
“Leah, are you seeing anything?” Susan asked.
“Not yet,” she said. And then, she felt the hypnotic lull of a spell that suddenly overcame her. Absorbed in its enchantment, she let the calm settle into her bones, and then she walked into the blackness of the hole. A shock of white light pierced the blackness, and through it, she saw...
A man was dragging a dead woman’s body by her arms, his long hair lashing the sides of his face as he moved. Another man towed the feet of the body, but she only caught a glimpse of him. She saw the face of the dead woman. Her youth, not much older than her own, seemed captured forever in the purplish mask of death. The face wasn’t one she recognized from any of her past visions, or from the photographs obtained earlier, though this girl wore the same purple bruises around her neck like a medallion.
She saw it closer with her third eye and felt the quick closing of invisible hands around her throat. Leah’s hand moved to her neck as the vision played on.
The body was slumped into the space made by the removed stones. She felt chilled, as though she herself had touched the stone cold floor. The last ray of light in the vision was snuffed out as the final stone was replaced into the wall, and then the blackness returned.
The Third Eye of Leah Leeds Page 20
