A murmur rippled through the audience as everyone waited on George Dietz’s reply.
Clay leaned forward and took a closer look at the woman standing at the microphone. More specifically, he looked at the skin on the parts of her that were uncovered—her right arm, the right side of her face, and her legs. It was the skin of a young woman—certainly not that of a woman as old as Onyx claimed to be.
Then Clay spotted the gold, star-shaped pin with rhinestones at the points—the same one-of-a-kind pin he recalled Onyx wearing at Alistar Ashley’s funeral three days earlier.
“Yes, I probably would recognize her,” George said finally.
“So, if I were the real Onyx, you’d know it?”
“Perhaps,” George said. “But I come from an earlier time when gentlemen were gentlemen, and it was man’s duty to never kiss and tell.”
The audience laughed.
Clay exhaled.
Stan Lee offered Noah more Milk Duds.
Noah took them.
Newt and Pipi exchanged glances and exited the rear of the theater—neither of them having seen anyone they believed to be The Leg Collector.
George winked and smiled at Onyx.
Onyx returned George’s wink and went back to her seat.
CRIMSON COVE, OREGON
JANUARY 12, 2002
Are you sure, Dad?” Aaron asked. “Abby and I are glad to stay and lock the place up.”
George Dietz shook his head. “No, I’ll be okay, you two run along.”
George knew he probably should have let the kids lock up the theater, but—truth be told—the Onyx Webb Film Festival had exceeded his wildest expectations, and he simply didn’t want the night to end.
An hour later, with the cash counted and put away in the safe, George locked the doors of the theater and started toward his car—then stopped when he spotted someone standing in the shadows.
“Who’s there?”
A woman stepped forward. She looked familiar, but George couldn’t place from where. Then his eyes went wide. He knew who the woman was. She was older, but it was definitely her.
“Claudia?”
“Long time, huh, Georgie?” Claudia said, taking a second step toward him.
“I—I was told you—”
“What? That I died?” Claudia said.
George swallowed hard and nodded.
“Well, you heard right,” Claudia said. “Care to join me?”
Claudia moved quickly toward him, and George staggered back, holding his arms up in an attempt to fend her off. But then—suddenly—Claudia was sent hurling through the air.
George lowered his arms and saw it was the woman he thought to be Onyx from the Q&A session earlier.
“Well, as it lives and breathes,” Claudia said, picking herself up off the pavement. “Oh, wait, bad choice of words. In any case, you look good for 104.”
“Thanks,” Onyx said. “You look like shit.”
“I say we do this here, right now. I’m sure George would enjoy watching me send your ass to another universe—or wherever in the hell it is we go next. Maybe we should have George go get his camera.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Onyx asked. “To settle a score? Is this something you’ve thought about often?”
Claudia’s eyes narrowed, and her face grew hard, as if she were considering rushing Onyx and scratching her eyes out. George cleared his throat. “Um, I really should be going.”
“Yes, George. Go,” Onyx said. “This is between—”
“We’ve got company,” Claudia said, cocking her head as if listening to some far-off sound.
Onyx nodded. She could hear the kids, too. There were three of them—two boys and a girl talking and laughing. They were blocks away still, but moving quickly in the direction of the theater.
“Another time then?” Onyx asked.
“Count on it,” Claudia said, disappearing back into the darkness.
George exhaled and leaned back against the wall, working to control the adrenaline coursing through his system. “I guess I should say thanks.”
Onyx nodded. “Tell your kids this was it. There will never be another Onyx Webb Film Festival. If there’s another one, Claudia Spilatro will be the least of your worries.”
“Understood,” George said. “But can I ask you a question?”
“Quickly,” Onyx said. “The kids will be here in less than a minute.”
“It was you that night, wasn’t it? In the woods?”
“Yes.”
George shook his head and laughed. “I was never really sure, you know? Do you have any idea how much that video changed my life?”
“Your life?” Onyx said.
“Both of our lives,” George said. “This isn’t coming out right.”
“Just say it,” Onyx said, looking up the street to see the kids turn the corner.
“I’m sorry for ruining your life,” George said.
“Oh, George, you didn’t ruin my life,” Onyx said. “I ruined my life the day I ran off with Ulrich Schröder. Besides, George, by the time you filmed me in the cemetery that night, I was already dead.”
CRIMSON COVE, OREGON
JANUARY 13, 2002
Onyx was sitting on the piano bench in the foyer of the lighthouse, petting the black cat that had appeared at her door six days earlier. The cat was curled up in her lap, asleep, deep in a dream.
Chasing a mouse probably.
Yesterday, Onyx had opened the door to find the cat sitting there with a dead mouse dangling from its mouth. The cat dropped the mouse at Onyx’s feet as if delivering a gift. Then the cat went inside and jumped on the piano bench, as if waiting for Onyx to play.
It had been a long time since Onyx had played anything, and she really wasn’t in the mood—but the cat stared her down, virtually guilting her into it.
Onyx sat down on the bench, lifted the fall, and placed her left pinky on the G note, middle finger on Bb, index finger on D and thumb on E—the four keys of the C9 chord—and pressed down. As expected, the piano was slightly out of tune, but the cat would never know.
Now, what to play? March Funèbre? Beethoven’s masterpiece Für Elise?
Onyx settled on one of Beethoven’s other masterpieces, The Moonlight Sonata. It was a song she loved not only for the music, but also for the story behind it.
Beethoven had dedicated the song to his pupil, Countess Giulietta Guicciardi, in 1801—with whom he’d developed quite an infatuation. Beethoven wrote to a friend, saying: “I have met the most enchanting girl who loves me and whom I love in return.”
In the end, Giulietta would marry another.
Onyx knew the historical background of almost every classical composer, reading countless books on each one, the majority of which lined the walls all the way to the top of the lighthouse. It was perhaps the only good thing about being dead—she had all the time in the world for such pursuits.
Then Onyx heard a car engine.
The vehicle was still a half-mile away, but she recognized it immediately as Clay Daniels IV’s police cruiser.
Onyx opened the lighthouse door and waited, making no attempt to cover herself. Clay saw her at the theater in a dress that had exposed one of her arms, her legs, and half of her face. If he wanted to out her, he would have done it already.
Now there would be two men in Crimson Cove who knew the truth about her—which was dangerous. But she needed to move in the direction of truth. The lie had become too exhausting.
Hopefully she wouldn’t regret it later.
Clay climbed from the cruiser and took several steps toward the lighthouse before he noticed Onyx standing on the stairs—without her mask and sleeve—in a short-sleeved dress that stopped several inches below the knee.
The beauty of the woman took his breath away.
“It looks like we’ve crossed some kind of new line, you and me,” Clay said. “Does this mean you’re outing yourself?”
“Do I want the world to know the truth
? Absolutely not. But as far as the Daniels’ family, and I are concerned, our half-century game of cat and mouse has gone on long enough.”
“Well, when it comes to the Daniels’ family, you’re looking at it,” Clay said. “And, if it weren’t for the ghost thing, I’d have already asked you to marry me.”
“That’s very flattering,” Onyx said. “But I imagine that’s not the purpose of your visit.”
“You’re right,” Clay said.
“Well, come inside then and I’ll put on a pot of tea.”
“I take it you haven’t heard about the missing kids,” Clay said.
Onyx placed the red teacup and saucer on the table. “Missing kids? No, I haven’t. Sugar?”
Clay declined the sugar and continued. “Three teenagers—two boys and a girl—last seen a few hours after the theater closed on Saturday night. Their friends got worried when they didn’t show up for breakfast. Or lunch.”
An uneasy feeling of dread washed over Onyx. “Why do I get the sense this doesn’t end well?”
“Because it doesn’t,” Clay said.
“What happened?”
“All three were found within a few yards of each other on the beach,” Clay said. “Dead.”
“Natural causes?” Onyx asked.
Clay nodded. “Yes. Just like the two teenagers found near the rocks in ‘95.”
“Were they—?”
“Gray? Yes. As if the life had been sucked out of them.”
“It wasn’t me,” Onyx said flatly.
“This time, you mean?”
“What happened before was a mistake, Clay,” Onyx said.
“A mistake? Well, that’s quite an understatement,” Clay said. “And these three? You’re telling me you had nothing to do with their deaths?”
“That’s correct, but I have a good idea who did,” Onyx said.
Clay remained silent, waiting.
“It was Claudia,” Onyx said.
Clay shook his head. “Claudia? Claudia Spilatro? From the movie? Hasn’t she been dead for years?”
Onyx remained silent, waiting for Clay to process the information.
“Oh,” Clay. “I see. So, you’re saying—?”
“I saw Claudia outside the theater later that night,” Onyx said. “I’m guessing she killed the kids with the intent of making people think it was me.”
“Well, it worked,” Clay said. “Where is Claudia now? Is she still in the cove?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try to find out,” Onyx said.
“Christ,” Clay said. “Dealing with one ghost is a full-time job, now I’ve got two killers running around.” Onyx raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Onyx. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did,” Onyx said. “We can sugarcoat what I do to remain here all we like, but the truth is the truth—and a little truth may be just what this town needs.”
Clay shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. Too much truth might be just as bad as too little.”
“What do you want from me, Clay?”
“For right now, I want you to lay low and stay out of sight,” Clay said.
“So, don’t do anything different,” Onyx said.
“Exactly. Let me deal with the people in town,” Clay said. “And if anyone comes out here trying to take matters in their own hands, you call me. We can’t afford to have anyone else turn up dead, understood?”
Onyx nodded. “You’re a lot like your great-grandfather, Hell. You know that? Same temperament. You even look like him a bit.”
“Yes, about my great-grandfather…” Clay said, letting the words hang in the air.
“You mean about Claudia claiming that I killed him?”
Clay nodded. “Was she telling the truth?”
Onyx nodded. “Yes, but not the whole truth. Hell knew who I was—and what I was—and came to me. He was dying. He asked me to end his suffering. That’s the truth.”
Clay IV nodded. “And what about throwing his body from the cliff?”
“That was Hell’s idea,” Onyx said. “He wanted it to look like a suicide—to protect me. Of course, neither of us had any idea Claudia was watching.”
“I always assumed it was something like that,” Clay said. “Thank you for telling me. And one more thing. A couple of agents from the FBI are in town. I recognized them. My father called them out here in ‘95, but when they found out how the kids had died, they high-tailed it out of here.”
“Interesting. Any idea why they’re here now?” Onyx asked.
“Nope, not a clue,” Clay said. “But if I were a betting man, I’d lay odds it has something to do with you.”
“No matter what you think or how you feel when times are tough, life is a precious gift. Just how precious is it? Don’t worry. You know when you’re dead.”
The 31 Immutable Matters
of Life & Death
Episode 20
The Art Raid
This Episode Dedicated to:
Peter Dinklage
In addition to your amazing body of work as an actor, your 2012 commencement address to the students of Bennington College is not only one of the most honest and inspiring things we have ever seen, it is also living proof that, as you have been quoted saying… “A very small man can cast a very large shadow.”
Find the full 28-minute version on YouTube. Watch the entire thing. You’ll be glad you did.
And to the following
Onyx Webb “Super Fans”…
Sherry Fundin
Denise Knowles
Laura Davidson
Without your support, Onyx would cease to exist.
Written primarily to music by:
Supertramp
In particular…
“Breakfast in America”
“Bloody Well Right”
“Dreamer”
“Take the Long Way Home”
“Give a Little Bit”
“Goodbye Stranger”
“The Logical Song”
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
OCTOBER 26, 2010
Olympia wasn’t happy about being forced into doing Nathaniel’s journalistic legwork, but all things considered, life was pretty good. She was healthy, happy, and finally making good money with the new show. Her Nielsen ratings were solid, she was trending on Twitter—whatever that was—and she finally had her own profile on IMDB. The picture was about eight years old, but that could be changed.
Nathaniel, on the other hand, was dead.
Nothing could change that.
The question was where to start.
In her dream, Nathaniel pitched a show about the only remaining survivor of the infamous Child Snatcher of St. Louis, who’d been taken and rescued during the World’s Fair.
Her name was Onyx Webb, and Nathaniel was convinced Onyx was a ghost. Olympia did the math. Onyx was six in 1904, which would now make her 112 years old. Nathaniel was right—Onyx was either a ghost, or she took a lot of multi-vitamins.
The key to everything was a photograph in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that had the picture of the man Nathaniel insisted was his murderer—a police detective named Stormy Boyd.
“He’s the one wearing the bowler hat,” Nathaniel had said.
Olympia felt the best place to start was on the Internet since she had no desire to hop a plane to St. Louis—especially on her own dime.
Olympia closed the door to her office and plopped in the swivel chair behind her desk. Then she typed “ONYX WEBB” into the browser and pressed enter. There were 428,568 results. How many Onyx Webb’s could there be?
As it turned out, there were only two results that mattered. The first was a newspaper story from January 23, 1942.
Onyx Webb Found Innocent in Trial of the Century!
Apparently, Onyx Webb was the OJ Simpson of her time.
The article was long and detailed every aspect of the story:
•The murder of Onyx’s husband, Ulrich…
•Onyx’s escape from t
he hospital, though badly burned and half-naked, in the dead of winter…
•Onyx reappearing to defend herself at trial after being missing for three years…
•Star witness Claudia Spilatro’s admission of guilt and being taken into custody…
•And, finally, Onyx being found innocent of the crime and whisked off to her lighthouse by local sheriff, Hell Daniels.
OJ ain’t got nothin’ on you, girl, Olympia thought.
The second article was published in the February 2002 edition of Morbid & Macabre Monthly, a publication whose name was pretty much self-explanatory.
The article was a review of the Crimson Cove Film Festival, celebrating the sixtieth anniversary of the Onyx Webb trial—the centerpiece of which was newly discovered footage of Claudia Spilatro’s claim she watched Onyx Webb murder the local sheriff and toss his body off the cliff to the rocks below.
Olympia printed both articles and leaned back in her chair. Yes, the information was interesting—and she had to admit that Nathaniel’s instincts were right. Onyx Webb would have made for one great show. Maybe she could do the story herself on The Fudge Factor. But what good was any of this information as far as Nathaniel’s murder was concerned?
She needed to find the article Nathaniel told her about—the one from the St. Louis Post Dispatch back in 1904.
Olympia typed “St. Louis Post Dispatch Archives” into the browser and pressed enter.
The good news was the Post-Dispatch had digital archives available in a searchable format online from the present day all the way back to 1874.
The bad news was she’d have to buy a subscription.
Olympia pulled her wallet from her purse and found her Fudge Factor American Express card. She was researching a possible show on a ghost named Onyx Webb, right? The show could buy the subscription.
Onyx Webb 7 Page 7
