by Stuart Jaffe
"Then why not dissuade me from even searching? I don't get it. I don't get a lot of what's going on. And you know what else? That book isn't here. So why should we keep looking?"
"Because what else can you do?"
"Leave here, for starters. If we were to get caught —"
The unmistakable sound of the front door opening echoed through the office. Without a word, Max and Sandra started scouring the room with their flashlights, each looking for a good hiding spot. Snapping his fingers at Sandra, Max indicated a door on the far wall. Light danced across the desk, the chairs, and the books, as they rushed to the door making as little noise as possible. With a gentle touch, Max turned the doorknob. The click it produced screamed in Max's ears.
"Kim?" Dr. Connor's voice called from the lobby. "Are you still here?"
"Go," Max whispered, following Sandra down a corridor that turned to the right. At the far end was an emergency door. The closer to the door, the faster they moved until Sandra pushed hard on the press bar, banging the door open. Max halted.
"What is it?" Sandra asked.
Max gazed up at her — his face pale, his eyes wide. "Stay here," he said and closed the door on her, leaving Sandra stuck in the rain.
As he hurried back up the corridor, he hoped he had not imagined the piece of paper. He had caught sight of it as they left the office. Amongst the books and shadows and odd-shaped statues, he had seen a paper with the Hull letterhead.
When he reached the door, he opened it with slow, careful motions. He peeked in after turning his flashlight off.
Nobody.
Flicking on the flashlight, he scanned the floor. As he moved into the office, the door behind him closed making a clear sound. Max heard approaching footsteps and Dr. Connor calling, "Hello?"
The flashlight's beam jittered across the room as the footsteps grew louder. "Whoever is in my office, you've made a big mistake."
Max edged backward toward the door, but still he searched. Had he just imagined it? The next sound came from right behind the inner door — the witch chanting.
Spinning around, ready to race toward Sandra, Max saw the paper near the wall just to the left of the exit door. He grabbed it and another and dashed down the corridor. The chanting grew louder, and though he could never prove it, Max felt the air behind him pulling away — not a breeze or a wind but as if the air had a rope tied around it and was forced in a direction it did not wish to go.
When he burst outside, Sandra let out a yelp. He grabbed her hand and never stopped running. They went straight into the darkness of the night, never looking back, just pumping their legs until they both grew tired and cold in the rain.
Chapter 16
By the time they returned to their car, drove home, and dried off, the clock read quarter-to-three and Max could not think clearly enough to deal with the papers he had stolen. Making sense of the word stolen in relation to himself was another matter entirely. Had he really become a thief? It's just paper, he thought. However, he dismissed such a weak response as the ramblings of his tired mind. Then he tried to dismiss all responses — clear his cluttered brain so that he might rest. Besides, unless he wanted to be haunted forever and pursued by Hull for-close-to-ever, this appeared to be his best option at the moment.
Sandra slumped on the couch with one paper in hand while Max looked at the other. With a yawn and a groan, Max leaned to read over Sandra's shoulder yet again.
SINGLE
VOGLER
SHULTZ
MIKSH
WINKLER
HORTON
BLUM
ACRE
SISTERS
"Names," Max said.
"Of who, though?"
"None of them stand out to me, but then, we haven't lived here that long. If the name were Reynolds, Hanes, or Hull, I'd know it, but these don't mean much of anything."
"Those marks can't be good."
Of the nine names, the last five had little dots in red ink. "Probably not," Max said. "Then again, maybe it's good to have the mark and bad not to — it could mean anything."
"It's not usually good to have a mark by your name." Sandra placed the paper into a tan file folder. "We should ask Drummond in the morning."
"You've done enough. I'll deal with Drummond."
"I'm not stopping now. I want to be a part of this."
"Really? I mean this is not a typical day for me. My work is rarely as nerve-wracking as this."
"I thought it was exciting."
"Most of my time is spent looking up things in books. Exciting is hardly the word for that."
With a look both amused and defiant, she said, "Honey, I'm involved now, and I'll see this thing through. We're in it together. Okay?"
"Then you should see this," he said, handing her the second paper.
"A letter?"
"Read it."
The paper was old and the penmanship hard to read. Sandra squinted and read aloud, "'My dearest Eve, I know you find yourself at a most difficult juncture. Two men vie for your heart and to your loving eyes, we must both seem worthy. Indeed, but a short fortnight ago I would have agreed with the sentiment, and though it would have left me heartbroken should you have chosen T—-, no unbecoming scene would I have made. But the time has passed, and should this letter turn your adoring gaze from me forever, I feel it unforgivable should I let you embark upon marriage with T—- naïve to his true nature. He plans to leave, though you probably know as much, and he claims to seek out a greater church. What you do not know, however, is that he leaves not for love of another theology, not out of outrage toward our own failures, not for any noble or worthy cause, but from a demon's bargain. Hull (there, I have named him) has begun an exploration in the darkest of magics. His soul is most likely lost. Please, fairest Eve, I beg of you, do not lose your way to this power seeker. He will sacrifice your soul and laugh at your foolishness.'"
"There's no date," Max said, "but it sounds old. Maybe William Hull's grandfather. Certainly, the Hull family's been dealing with witches and magic for a long time."
"We have to be more careful than we thought," Sandra said, her eyes wide and frightened.
"We will be."
* * * *
At six a.m. the telephone rang — a shrill sound that promised nothing good. Max and Sandra had fallen asleep on the couch, and both moved into consciousness with aches and groans. Max considered letting the answering machine take care of it, but Sandra shook her head. They both knew this would not be some early-morning drunk calling the wrong number. With a huff, Max reached across the couch to pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
The unmistakable voice of Mr. Modesto said, "Good morning, Mr. Porter. I'd like to have an update report."
"Okay," Max said, running his tongue over the film covering his teeth. "What time?"
"I'm not available for a meeting with you at the moment. I'd like the report now."
"Now?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No," Max said, sitting taller and waving off Sandra's worried frown. "That'll be fine."
"Well, then, where are we?"
"Um ... I've done some preliminary research into the Old Salem area as you requested, and —"
"Preliminary? I expected you to have some viable properties lined up by now."
"I will soon," Max said, wondering how fast he could push something like this through when he had yet to do the most basic research. "Please understand that historic areas require a great amount of subtlety and patience; otherwise, you'll end up with people picketing outside your doorstep. There's always somebody who passionately wants to save every last old building that still stands."
"That is not your concern. We will handle such things, if they occur. You only need to come up with the best historical properties for our purchase."
"Historical? The papers you gave me stated you wanted high-valued locations. That's why I was looking near Old Salem. Now you specifically want historical buildings?"
&n
bsp; "You know exactly what we want. Stop wasting my time. Do your job, or I'll see that our employer ends your association with us. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Modesto hung up. With her hand resting upon Max's shoulder, Sandra asked what happened. Max leaned back and let out a long breath. "I don't really know," he said before detailing the phone call. "Let's get cleaned up and go into the office. We need to talk with Drummond about that list. See if he knows who any of them are."
"We?" Sandra asked.
"You said it yourself — you're involved. Besides, I don't think I can do this on my own, and until Drummond is free, I am on my own."
As Sandra headed toward the bathroom, she looked over her shoulder and said, "You silly boy. You're never on your own."
An hour later, they arrived at the office. Taylor wasted time cleaning the already clean desk. Drummond walked behind him, knocking over papers and books, and chuckling as the young man bumbled about in an attempt to pick things up.
"Take the day off," Max said.
"You know I can't do that, sir," Taylor said as the book he placed on the desktop unbalanced itself and flipped to the floor. "Mr. Modesto told me —"
"I'll make your choice simple. If you stay here, I'm going to hit you."
"Sir?"
Max shoved Taylor. Sandra said, "Young man, you'd best get out of here. Mr. Porter's had a rough night."
Taylor took one clear look at Max and left the office at a brisk clip. Max tried not to laugh, but when Drummond burst into snorting hysterics hard enough to bring tears to his eyes had he been alive, Max let loose his own cackles. "That was fun," Drummond said.
"Unfortunately, the phone call I had this morning wasn't so fun," Max said, sobering as he explained the events of the previous night that concluded with Mr. Modesto's phone call.
Drummond took a seat and listened. His intense focus broke only the two times he glanced at Sandra. When Max had finished, Drummond drifted into the air and said, "This is all good news. Very good, as a matter of fact."
"But we didn't find the book."
"True. But we've found out enough so that Hull's people are getting worried. They came here this morning, as well."
Sandra perked up. "Really?"
"Modesto and Connor. She stood before me and spit out some vile words. Somebody ought to talk to her mother about that. I'm serious. If my mother caught me saying any of those nasty things, I wouldn't have been able to sit for over a week."
"Well, that lifts any doubt about Connor working for Hull. What did they do?" Max asked, scanning the office for any obvious signs of tampering.
"First, they threatened to put a new binding spell on me."
Sandra said, "I didn't think you could put one on top of the other. At least, not of the kind done to you before."
"That's right, and when I reminded them of that pesky little fact, they threatened to burn down the building which, when you consider that the symbols on the floor would become charred ash, would make it very difficult to release me from the binding. They said if you didn't come up with what they want, they'd destroy us all."
"Man, Drummond, I'm sorry."
"I don't really care about it. I mean, nice place and all, always was a good office, but they haven't got anything I want badly enough to give them what they want."
"They've got the book."
"Not if they're threatening to burn down this building. They acted coy, but come on, now, what else could they be after but the book? They know I'm after it. They fear what I might do if I were to gain my freedom. So, it's pretty clear that they don't have it either."
"Then why me?" Max asked. "I'm sick of this. Why go to the expense of moving me down here, setting me up, giving me all this time-wasting research — I mean, they could've done all this on their own. It doesn't make any sense. I didn't have any connection to them. There's no logical reason to bring in a stranger. It only opens them up to outside scrutiny."
Sandra sat in Max's desk chair and folded her arms. "It seems to me that there are three key things going on here. First, there's the book, and I think we're all crystal clear on that one — we want it to set Drummond free, they want it to keep him in place, and nobody knows where it is. Then there's this old case regarding Stan Bowman. Obviously, this ties in with Drummond since it's the reason he's stuck here. So, perhaps they don't want us learning whatever you were getting close to finding out way back when."
"I'm right with you," Drummond said with a wink.
"Last is Max's employment. The Hull Corporation says it's buying up properties and wants an expert to research the area."
Scoffing, Max said, "I'm no expert. I'm good at research but hardly an expert."
"Well, they can't hire anybody too high profile. So, they hire you. Perhaps they know that the answers to the Bowman case or the book can be found in some land here. Perhaps this is all about attacking the same problem from different angles."
"Possibly," Drummond said. "In fact, that makes quite a bit of sense. After all, Hull is a large company. They can't go searching for this book or this land quietly — not under their own name. That would draw plenty of attention. But if they hired somebody ..."
Max nodded. "Somebody with no ties to the community. Somebody from the North that has no family or friends in the area. A couple with no children. A couple down on their luck that would dive in without too many questions. Okay, I'm sold. Now what?"
Drummond thought for a moment, circling the room in a wide arc. "I think Max should go hit the books again. See if you can find more about Hull."
"I've looked into the Hull family but there's not much. A Civil War reference but that's about it. The name doesn't really kick into use until Reynolds and Hanes become big."
"Amuse me. There's got to be something to find."
"They could just be paranoid. Perhaps they think there's something major hidden in the records, but there really isn't."
"Either way, you're the one to go find out," Drummond said and then pointed to Sandra. "You work at a bakery. What can you do?"
With a patronizing shake of her head, Sandra said, "You boys never talk, do you? Max, tell Drummond what I did right before the recession hit."
"You worked in a bar. What's that got to do with —"
"After that, honey. Use your brain."
Max slapped the desk. "I'm such an idiot."
"Yes, you are. I didn't want to step in your way, especially when we weren't really talking, but now I can help."
"Great," Drummond said with a scowl. "Now tell me what the heck you're talking about."
"Back in Michigan, I sold real estate."
"Wait a minute. You sold real estate?"
"Not commercial," Sandra said.
"That's not the point. Hull hired your husband as a researcher when they should've hired a real estate agent."
Max said, "Unless they wanted me to do research on more than just properties."
"Keep that in mind. This is getting weird in a way that reminds me too much of the final days in the Bowman case. Everybody needs to be careful."
"Perhaps Sandra should look into recent real estate activities under the Hull name. Can you do that?"
Sandra nodded. "I still have some contacts."
"Good," Drummond said. "And I'll just float around here and play tricks on Taylor."
As Max and Sandra got up to leave, Max had another idea. "What about other ghosts?"
"What about them?"
Sandra said, "I don't see any others in here."
"That's 'cause I'm all alone. I don't have contact with other ghosts."
Max shook his head. "But you were able to make contact with that old guy, Sam. You got him to come here and see me. If you can do that, maybe you can find another ghost."
"And do what?"
"Maybe get a message through to the ghost community. Maybe somebody out there knows something."
"The ghost community? What the heck are you talking about? We're just dead. We do
n't have a community."
"How do you know? You've been stuck in here since you died. Maybe there's a thriving world of ghosts out there."
"Sandra, set your husband straight, please."
"I don't know," Sandra said. "I've seen lots of ghosts, and they always seem to be unaware of each other."
"That's right," Drummond said, clapping his hands.
"But then again, communities behave in all sorts of different ways. Max might be right."
Max smiled. "Besides, what else are you going to do all day. Picking on Taylor is going to get boring after awhile."
"You'd be surprised," Drummond said. "Okay, I'll try it, but don't expect too much."
"Let's meet back here tonight for dinner. Hopefully, we'll all have good news to contribute."
"Aren't you the optimist?"
Max put his arm around Sandra and left the office. He didn't bother with a response other than to whistle a meandering tune. He wished he felt half as casual as he behaved, but a brave front helped him keep pressing forward. Having Sandra by his side helped more.
Chapter 17
The morning dragged on for Max as he rummaged through one useless book after another. As lunch approached, he closed the last book in his pile and resigned to the fact that no matter where he looked, he could not find anything helpful on the Hull family.
"I'll have to go talk with that old guy in Butner again," he said to the books. That sparked an idea. A second later he rushed to the nearest computer to search Butner and POWs. Only two books showed in the results but that was two more chances than he had before. Twenty minutes later, he had learned that bringing the POWs caused a bit of controversy and required Reynolds to smooth talk a lot of people.
"Yeah, but was good ol' Hull in the picture?"
Not surprisingly, Max found no references to Hull; however, the entire program smelled of the Hull Corporation. Next, he searched through the newspapers and found several articles about the POWs. One in particular announced the special transfer of seven Germans from Butner to Winston-Salem. All seven names were listed: Dietar Krause, Joseph Richter, Herbert Bauer, Günther Scholz, Stefan König, Fritz Keller, and Walter Huber.
