Mind Fray

by Alexie Aaron

  “So the husband going mad was…”

  “Cezar. I’m sure after he tortured Kim, Cezar would have taken Max as his…”

  “Meat suit,” Ted interjected.

  “Ew, I’m not fond of that term, but yes. I’m sure he also tried on a few of the homeless gentlemen who were staying in the old house.”

  “But why is he playing with their memories?”

  “He’s a showman. He can’t help himself. I doubt it aids him in any way. It amuses him. Feeds his ego.”

  “But why waste time farting around?”

  “Remember, in the spectral world, there isn’t a good concept of time. Before Murphy met me, I doubt if he would have noticed the years passing. Cezar is stuck in the same plane as ghosts are, subject to the same rules.”

  “So a year to us…”

  “Is seconds for him. To us, he’s taking his time. He may actually think he’s moving at light speed. If it wasn’t for his power to infiltrate the minds of the people living here, he’d probably be shocked to find that he’s not still back in the time he lost his life in.”

  “You’ve certainly thought this through,” Ted said admiringly.

  “Yes, but I don’t have enough information yet. I don’t know if those spirits are thralls like you said or victims. They could be a mix of both, I suppose. I need more information. And unlike Cezar, we don’t have a lot of time to figure this out.”

  Ted could feel the stress returning to Mia. He knew he couldn’t simply tell her to calm down and breathe. Instead, he tilted her face upwards towards him and kissed her gently.

  Mia’s lips, hard at first, softened, and she clung to him, enjoying his soft kisses. When he stopped, she looked up at him and asked, “What was that for?”

  “No reason. Just felt like it.”

  Mia narrowed her eyes a moment, and when they snapped open, they were filled with mirth. “You tricky devil, using sex to calm the beast within.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Oh yes.” Mia fanned her face and warned, “Although, you may have started something else.”

  Ted looked around them at the still neighborhood. “Minnie Mouse, I think your screams of ecstasy might disturb the neighbors, but I’m game.”

  Mia smacked him on the behind. “That’s for riling up a prego, you tease.”

  Ted helped Mia down off the back of her truck. “We could go home. Our shift is long over.”

  “I promised to wait here. Glenda is supposed to be stopping by.”

  “Damn.”

  “I really think she means to help.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in the command center if you need me.”

  Mia watched Ted walk to the PEEPs truck before turning her eyes back to the emerging House of Doom.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I don’t know exactly what you may be looking for, so I brought her trunk from the storage unit,” Kip Styles explained. “Aunt Millie has all sorts of notes and letters in there. I do remember seeing a packet of letters from Michelle Fletcher and Henry York.”

  Audrey could hardly contain her excitement. “I’d love to see those.”

  Kip Styles encouraged Audrey to follow him into the kitchen. A large steamer trunk was sitting open on the floor. “I love this trunk. I’m tempted to house the papers and doodads somewhere else and make this a focal point for my den.” He knelt down and opened one of the drawers and pulled out packet after packet of letters. “The old dear kept everything. Ah, here’s the packet I was talking about.” He handed the ribbon-bound cache of letters to Audrey. “Now, her notebooks are over here,” he indicated the large stack of leatherbound books. “I’ll sift through them and see if I can find anything about the Fletcher house,” he offered.

  Audrey took the bundle to the kitchen table and carefully untied the grosgrain blue ribbon around the letters. Audrey smiled, pleased that the letters were sorted according to the postmarked date. Mildred Styles may not have been a great author, but she was fastidious with her papers. The first few letters were from Henry. He answered a few questions referring to a follow-up letter Mildred had sent. As Audrey read, she admired the clean lines of the Henry’s handwriting. There wasn’t anything new in the letters so she set them aside and picked up the letter from Michelle Fletcher. Audrey noted that the letter had been sent after the novel’s publication date. She opened it and smoothed the pages. Michelle’s handwriting was uneven. The spidery lines took getting used to, but soon Audrey was able to read the letter without too much trouble.

  Dear Miss Styles,

  Forgive me for not speaking to you when you visited Henry. You were very kind to listen to our story, and I feel that I’ve been unjust in excluding my presence in your investigation. My husband Vern was a strong man, and to see him reduced to that creature in the end, frightened me more than the events in that house.

  We purchased that house at auction. The previous owner died from complications from the trauma he suffered at the old Burlington Theater. I don’t know if you remember the events of that fateful night. My father had read it out to us children at the breakfast table. If memory serves me, there was a stampede of audience members, many were crushed, and a few were killed. James Barrymore was trampled, and a rib pierced his lung. He survived the night, but the infection he received in his lungs eventually killed him. He died in that house. His heirs auctioned off the contents before the house. Vern purchased the wardrobe in the large bedroom. He said it reminded him of one he had as a boy. I thought the thing was ugly, but he was keen on his purchase so I held my tongue.

  We lived in the house peacefully for several years. It wasn’t until we were preparing for Henry’s visit did strange things start to happen. One day I came into the guestroom with a load of linen, and I found the wardrobe doors open. I left the linen and went to ask Vern if he had been in the room. I found him in the study, and he denied being in the room or leaving the wardrobe doors open. He followed me upstairs, and I was shocked to find the doors closed but not latched. Vern, nonplussed by this, walked over and threw open up the doors. Inside, one of the drawers was open. He thought that perhaps that open drawer caused the doors not to shut properly. Vern looked in the drawer and drew out a stiff piece of paper.

  We both thought initially that it was a drawer liner until Vern turned it over and we stared at the drawing. It was horrible. Those beady eyes of the man pictured seemed to bore into my very soul. Vern quickly folded up the paper and tossed it in the drawer and shut it firmly. I think he intended to toss it out but seemed too preoccupied at the moment to do it. He tested out the doors, and they latched properly. I had forgotten about the paper until Henry brought it downstairs that fateful night.

  I first saw the ghost of Vern’s mother Elise when I was in the kitchen. She looked just the same as when I last visited her at the home. I felt so guilty at the time leaving her there. I thought for sure one of Vern’s sisters would open up their home to the woman, but they declined. It was up to Vern they said. So the burden was left to me, his wife. When Vern received his orders, we had no choice. I could not handle the woman on my own. Her condition had gone downhill considerably by that time. Her body was still sound, but her mind made her erratic, and I could not handle the large woman on my own. We placed her in a convalescent home with a good reputation.

  I remember her looking at me in the kitchen and hearing the words, “You left me,” before a noise outside distracted me. When I looked back, she was gone. I wish I could tell you this was her only appearance, but she haunted me several times before Henry came to visit. Vern too admitted to seeing her and had several times tried to reason with her. Telling her we loved her and had no other choice. But she wouldn’t go away.

  Henry and I have discussed this in depth and have come to the realization that it wasn’t mother who was haunting us but something else.

  I hope I have been able to satisfy your questions. I wish you luck on your book signing in Chicago. Henry and I will be unable to attend.

  Sincer
ely,

  Michelle Fletcher

  Audrey looked over at Kip Styles who was waiting for Audrey to finish what she was reading. “I’ve found something,” he said in a sing song voice. “She kept a diary. Here is when she decided that she had enough information for the book,” he said, tapping the page.

  Audrey leaned over and nodded. She watched as Kip read each page. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for. As if a light went on in her head, she had an idea. “Kip, if you find anything relating to other research about the house, let me know.”

  “You mean other guests?”

  “Or even research into the disaster at the theater,” she suggested.

  “Will do.”

  Audrey went back to reading the letters. She was disappointed not to find any others from Michelle Fletcher. Henry York’s were more filled with life after the house. He didn’t mention why he and Michelle hadn’t married. Perhaps she was just staying with him and not involved in a relationship with her husband’s former comrade.

  “September twenty second,” Kip read out loud. “Found a list of the victims of the theater tragedy.”

  “Where’s the list?” Audrey asked excited.

  Kip, infected by Audrey’s enthusiasm, fanned the pages of the diary and frowned when he came up blank. “You check out the trunk. I’ll keep reading,” he suggested.

  Audrey got up and knelt before the old steamer truck. She carefully removed stacks of papers, making sure to replace them just as she found them. She admired the way Mildred kept her materials in such good order. She had almost given up when she found a slender stationary box tied with the same colored ribbon as the packet of letters. She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. She was rewarded with more House of Doom research materials, including some photographs. She got up and placed the box on the table.

  Kip looked over and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Could be a treasure trove. Want to look?”

  “I’m almost finished with this diary. Tell me if you find what you’re looking for. I’ll keep reading.”

  Audrey lifted the items out and sorted them into piles. There were pictures of the house and of three other houses. She puzzled over this until she turned them over and read the notations on the back. These were the houses of some of the survivors of the theater stampede. She found the list and matched the houses with some of the names on the list. In one case, four of the attendees had the same last name. “A family went,” she said sadly.

  Kip looked over at her.

  She waved him away explaining, “Sorry, talking to myself.”

  The house they lived in seemed innocuous at best. On the back was a notation. See newspaper clipping.

  Audrey found a microfiche copy of the clipping. There was a similar photo of the house under the headline, Murder Suicide on South Side.

  Audrey put her hand on her chest as she read the article. The police reported that Stanley Fulbright stabbed his wife and son before taking his own life. The reporter mentioned that their daughter had been a victim of the Burlington Theater stampede. Neighbors told the reporter that the father never bounced back from the loss of his daughter or the crippling of his son.

  There was a note on the bottom. Coincidence?

  Audrey turned to Kip and asked, “Have you found anything mentioning Fulbright. Stanley Fulbright?”

  “Wait, there is something.” Kip flipped back through a couple of pages and pushed the book over to Audrey. “Here,” he said, tapping the top of the page. He read, “Unable to contact anyone concerning visiting the Fulbright home.”

  “How about…” Audrey flipped the last three pictures over. “McKinley, Davis, and Schwartz?”

  “Schwartz sounds familiar…”

  Audrey resisted the urge to grab the diary away from Kip. She pushed her hands into her lap so Kip would not see her clenched fists.

  “Here it is. Visited the Schwartz home. Dead end.”

  “Damn, I thought I may be on to something,” Audrey said.

  “I’ll keep reading. Maybe there is something more in that box,” Kip said hopefully.

  Audrey nodded. She would ask Kip for permission to take the whole trunk back with her later. She wasn’t sure he would agree, but it was worth a try. She set the pictures aside and looked at a copy of the death certificate for Vern Fletcher. Death by asphyxiation was the cause. She set it aside and under it found a few pages of notes written on the type of paper you would find in a memo book of Miss Style’s time period. The handwriting was Mildred’s.

  I still ponder if I did the right thing, publishing House of Doom when I did. After it went to the printer, I found more information I could have used in the book. After I visited, the Fulbright house was found to be haunted, and the heirs had it demolished and a parking lot put in its place. I had a suspicion about the handbill of the Burlington Theater but could not find another copy. At the time, I felt I needed strong evidence. I now feel that it wasn’t a coincidence that tragedy followed the Fulbrights home with them. Two other theatergoers, whom I didn’t locate until the book went to print, had strange things happen also. One man left his apartment and traveled to another state after being visited by an old military buddy he was sure had died in the last push. The other was a woman who killed herself, leaving a note pleading for forgiveness from a girl she had bullied as a child. I can only assume that this bullied child was long dead before the woman sliced her wrists. What haunted the Fletchers, Fulbrights and the others? Why did it choose them? For what purpose? If the book sells, I’ll look into a sequel. MS

  Audrey handed the pages to Kip and waited until he read them. He pushed them back as if they would burn his fingers. “I’m glad auntie’s book was a dud. I hate to think what might have followed her home one night.”

  “It happens,” Audrey said. “Would you mind if I took a few of these things back with me? I’ll return them in good order,” she said.

  “I think my aunt would have liked someone continuing on with her research. She never achieved greatness as an author and went on to study painting. She was a happy person, and I loved her dearly.”

  “She was a very lucky lady to have a great nephew like you,” Audrey said, packing up what she needed to share with the team. “Sometimes, one great fan is all a person needs to feel like a success.”

  Kip grinned. “Then she must have felt it!” he agreed. “Because I was her number one fan. She died happy. Honestly. You can ask anyone who was there. She smiled and shut her eyes and that was that.”

  “I like that,” Audrey said. “There’s too many who fear the end. It’s nice to know about the ones who embrace it.”

  Kip seemed satisfied with that. He handed Audrey the diary and said, “Just make sure some of the racy stuff is kept on the QT.”

  Audrey lifted her eyebrows and nodded.

  ~

  Glenda arrived in a flourish and gathered Mia up in her arms. “You are coming with me, no excuses. Ted, I’m taking your wife!” she hollered in the direction of the command center.

  He popped his head out of the back of the trailer and gave her a thumbs up.

  “He’s such a nice kid. A boob when it comes to women but a nice kid,” Glenda remarked as she maneuvered Mia into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

  Mia was amused by the fuss but kept her laughter to herself when Glenda got in the car. She put on her seatbelt and waited for the older woman to start the car.

  Glenda turned to her and said, “We’re going to a little mall I found near here that has a great food court.”

  “I could eat,” Mia said approvingly.

  They drove out of the neighborhood. Glenda brought Mia up-to-date with her and Mike’s vacation plans.

  “Were you surprised when he asked you?” Mia asked, interested.

  “You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so shocked. I inquired about his health, my health, and he just laughed at me. And when he called about you, I thought for sure he was the baby’s daddy.”
>
  Mia coughed. “Just where would you… Ah, nevermind.”

  “Feel flattered. You know he respects you. He doesn’t respect many women, Mia.”

  “I’m one of the few who turn him down daily,” she said dryly. “No offense.”

  “None taken. I do need your help though shopping,” Glenda confessed.

  “My help? Ralph would be shocked.”

  “I need to make sure I don’t buy anything that is too youthful or sexy that would embarrass my son.”

  “I don’t think that’s the idea of this vacation, Glenda. He wants you to have fun. He expects you to flirt with the natives and embarrass him.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so. He loves you. He’s so proud of you. I’m a bit envious.”

  “You’re a dear. Now let me find a parking space. We’ll go and have ourselves some junk food, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Mia nodded.

  The mall wasn’t very crowded, and they found a nice table by the fountain. Mia started to slide her offerings off the tray when Glenda put out a hand.

  “We aren’t in a fancy place. Eat off the tray. Odds are, it’s less germy than this table.”

  Mia gulped. She never thought about germs, only food.

  Glenda pushed a large cup of coffee over Mia’s way.

  “I’m not supposed to…”

  “To hell with the rules. Except for smoking and drinking, that is. Have your coffee. You’re nearly dead on your feet.”

  Mia looked over at Glenda and accepted the coffee. “I’ve been cutting down since I found out that Angelo Michaels’s mother drank five cups a day while she was pregnant with him.”

  “Why would this dissuade you?”

  “He has feathers.”

  Glenda roared with laughter, attracting stares from a few passersby. “Your kid’s not going to have feathers from a few processed Columbian beans. Your baby is going to have a combination of the best parts of the two of you. A few of the bad parts too. He will be healthy and drive you up the freakin’ wall, but it’s all going to be worth it.”