On the other hand, if the Aussie was gay, he’d have been all over him too.
11:56 P.M. EST
IN THE DOWNSTAIRS FITNESS CENTER
QUINN TOOK THE elevator down to the fitness center to make the call. It was quiet down there. The last thing Quinn wanted was for Wyatt to hear music and people laughing in the background.
Quinn pulled out his cell phone and dialed the warden’s direct line at the prison in Jackson, Georgia. “Hello, you’ve reached the warden’s office.”
“This is Quinn Cole,” Quinn said.
“The warden’s not here, Mr. Cole.”
“I’m not calling for the warden,” Quinn said. “I’m calling to see if you can arrange for me to speak with Wyatt.”
Silence.
“I’m here with the governor,” Quinn said. “He’s not going to grant a pardon. I want to be the one to tell Wyatt.”
“Hang on.”
Quinn waited what seemed like an eternity and then finally—
“He won’t take the call,” the warden’s assistant said.
“Okay, thanks,” Quinn said.
The line went dead, and Quinn sat down on one of the workout benches. He was in no mood to rush back to the party.
FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT
IN THE MANSION BALLROOM
AFTER SURVIVING THE speech, Koda still had a problem. Alec Yost was nowhere near ready to go onstage, and the trio Koda hired had wrapped their three-hour set and was packing up to leave.
“Are you guys interested in $1,000 to play an extra hour?” Koda asked, holding out the neatly folded cash between two fingers.
The piano player smiled and took the money. “Give us ten minutes for a smoke break, and we’re all yours till one fifteen.
Juniper stood in the corner of the ballroom and watched as the band left the stage, the room suddenly feeling empty without music filling it.
Then she eyed the piano.
How long had it been since she played?
Juniper climbed the steps to the stage. The piano was smaller than the Blasius & Sons grand she’d played in the upstairs lounge at the Forsyth Park Hotel, where the prom had been the night she’d been taken—June 2, 1979.
A lifetime ago for her brother.
The blink of an eye for her.
Juniper lowered herself on the piano bench and ran through her mental checklist.
Make two tight fists…
Open fingers and stretch them out…
Relax fingers completely…
Place fingers on keys in starting position…
Form a dome with fingers curved…
Breathe in…
Breathe out…
Be magnificent.
“I thought you didn’t want Quinn to know you were here,” Koda said from behind Juniper on the stage.
“I couldn’t resist,” Juniper said. “Besides, I think it’s better if Quinn and I talk one more time. We really didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to each other.”
“So, you’re leaving still,” Koda said.
“Yes,” Juniper said.
Koda said nothing.
“She’s waiting for you, you know.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
Koda looked out at the roomful of tables—many of them empty now—and saw Mika sitting there in her garish butterfly dress.
“Mika?”
“No, not Mika,” Juniper said, releasing an exasperated breath and pointing her finger toward the back of the room.
“Her.”
Koda looked to where Juniper was pointing and saw the brunette behind the bar and felt his stomach flip over on itself, followed by a flush of heat.
Even with the masquerade mask he knew it was her.
It was Robyn.
Koda felt a wave of emotions wash over him.
Joy that she was there.
Worry over how she felt about him.
Hope that perhaps he had a chance to fix things.
Fear that his behavior had been unforgiveable.
Juniper leaned forward and pulled the microphone toward her. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for this evening’s highlight, the lover’s dance.”
Koda looked across the ballroom and saw that Robyn was looking directly at him now.
“Go already,” Juniper hissed. “Go.”
Koda stepped off the stage and wove his way through the sea of tables—directly past Mika, who stood up as if Koda was coming for her—then continued to the bar at the back of the room.
“I didn’t think you knew I was here,” Robyn said.
“I didn’t,” Koda said. “I just found out.”
“Oh.”
“I know it wasn’t you who put my stuff on eBay,” Koda said.
“I should be mad as hell at you,” Robyn said.
“Yes, you should,” Koda said. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m also in love with you,” Koda said, holding out his hand.
“Wait. Did you just say—?”
“Come on, everybody’s waiting for the big dance,” Koda interrupted.
Robyn looked stunned. “What? No. I can’t go out there dressed like this,” Robyn said. “Besides, what if someone takes a picture, and it leaks to the tabloids?”
“I don’t care,” Koda said. “They can take all the pictures they want.”
Mika sat and watched as Koda took the female bartender’s hand in his and the two of them made their way to the dance floor as everyone in the ballroom looked on, trying to figure out who the girl was.
Mika already knew.
It was Robyn.
The girl in the powder blue gown at the piano began to play, and Mika watched as Koda and Robyn began to dance.
Mika saw the look on Koda’s face. The smile. He looked happy. It was a look she had never seen before.
The finality of the situation finally sunk in. Koda was gone—and so was his money.
At least there was always Bruce.
“I wonder who the lucky girl is,” a woman said to her husband at the table behind Mika.
Mika downed the last of her cocktail and stood up. “She’s a bartender,” Mika said. “From Orlando.”
12:18 A.M. EST
OUTSIDE THE MANSION GATE
MIKA GOT TO where her car was parked and couldn’t believe it. The Audi was gone.
“Are you responsible for this?” Mika hissed when she got back to the guard shack.
“Responsible for what?” the elderly security guard said from his chair in front of a portable space heater.
“For the fact that my car is missing!”
“Oh, that,” the old guard said. “No, but I did see the people who took it.”
“You saw someone taking my car, and you let them do it?” Mika snapped. “What kind of security guard are you?”
“An old one,” the man said with a smile. “That, and they had papers.”
“Papers? What do you—”
“They were from a repo company,” the old guard said. “Said they followed you all the way from Savannah. Now, if you don’t mind closing the door. You’re letting the cold in.”
Mika hobbled her way up the frozen asphalt, her four-inch Jimmy Choos sliding out from under her with every step, until she reached the house.
Two minutes later, Mika was in the garage. She pushed the button for the automatic door, removed her high heels, and tossed them in the back of Koda’s black Lamborghini. Then she climbed behind the wheel.
Mika didn’t have to look for the keys.
They were in the ignition, where Koda always left them.
Mika started the engine and put the vehicle in gear. If Koda wanted to have her arrested for stealing his car, so be it.
Mika hit the gas as she approached the front gate, which, fortunately, was open. There was no way she was going to let the old security guard stop her.
The guard stood inside the guard shack and watched as Mika whi
zzed past. He made no attempt to stop her.
Mika turned left and started in the direction of Savannah, tears of humiliation starting to roll down her face. She’d been beaten in every way imaginable.
She was broke.
She was exhausted.
Worse than anything, though, she’d been beaten by a bartender. A bartender. She literally could not imagine things getting any worse.
And then she saw the road sign, which read 17 East—which meant she was heading toward downtown Charleston. She meant to take the 17 West, back toward Savannah. She needed to turn around.
Mika shifted gears, took her foot off the clutch, and pressed the brake…
Rule one when you hit black ice is to remain calm.
Rule two is to lift your foot off the accelerator.
Rule three is it to avoid hitting the brakes.
Rule four is to avoid turning the steering wheel, which could send the vehicle into an uncontrollable spin.
If Mika had ever known the rules, she’d clearly forgotten.
It’s funny what goes through someone’s mind in the final few seconds before an accident. In Mika’s case, it was the thought that she was in a black car, spinning out of control in the blackest stretch of road one could find.
On black ice.
Then everything went black.
12:23 A.M. EST
IN THE MANSION LIBRARY
OLYMPIA CLIPPED THE microphone to the front of Gerylyn Stoller’s dress and then checked to make sure the batteries were fully charged.
“Explain to me again about this pod show?” Gerylyn asked from her chair opposite Olympia.
“It’s a podcast. Instead of being on radio, people listen on the Internet. This one is also special because of tonight’s eclipse,” Olympia said as she went about the task of checking the volume levels. “I’ll upload it right after we finish so people can listen right away, but they can also download the show digitally and listen to it in the gym or wherever.”
“And why is that preferable to a regular radio show?”
Olympia didn’t want to lie. But she also didn’t feel like telling the truth—that she’d run out on her show and couldn’t find any other way to make a living.
“It’s not better or worse,” Olympia said as she fought back tears, glad the elderly woman couldn’t see. “It’s just different. And they say it’s the future, so—”
“That’s okay, dear,” Gerylyn said, reaching out and taking Olympia’s hand. “I’ve lost my share of jobs too. Whatever comes of the interview, I’m honored to have been your first guest.”
“Thank you, Gerylyn,” Olympia said. “Now, if you’re ready, we’ll get started.”
Then Olympia pressed the record button.
Olympia and Gerylyn were about five minutes into the recording when Olympia decided to do what she did best, which was to play the skeptic—even though she’d become a true believer when it came to ghosts.
“Let’s get real for a moment, Dr. Stoller,” Olympia said, shifting gears. “You don’t really believe there is going to be some kind of ghost attack, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” Gerylyn said. “And my research suggests the attack is going to happen tonight.”
“Okay then,” Olympia said. “Exactly where is this supposed attack going to take place?”
“That I cannot say,” Gerylyn said. “I only know that it will likely happen in a very narrow geographical region somewhere in the United States.”
“How wide an area will be affected?”
“Not much,” Gerylyn said. “Less than a square mile most likely.”
“I don’t understand,” Olympia said. “You’ve been promoting your book for the last six months, telling people to cover their mirrors—no, not just to cover them, but smash them to pieces. But the attack is only going to happen in one tiny place?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“But you’ve been advising people all over the country to smash their mirrors.”
“Is that a question?” Gerylyn asked.
“Well, aren’t a lot of people going to have broken an awful lot of mirrors for nothing?” Olympia said.
“Better safe than sorry.”
“I see,” Olympia said. “So, why don’t you tell my podcast listeners how this eclipse plays into things?”
“The eclipse set to happen this evening is the first total lunar eclipse to occur on the day of the northern winter solstice since the year 1638,” Gerylyn said. “The last time this happened, according to my research, a portal was opened and there was an attack of ghosts—the dead onto the living.”
“And when does the eclipse start?”
“The penumbral—the partial shadow at the beginning of the eclipse—starts at 12:27 a.m., eastern standard time.”
Olympia glanced at her watch. It was after midnight already. “And that’s when the ghosts show up?”
“No, they won’t come that early,” Gerylyn said. “It will take another hour before the eclipse moves into the next phase. That’s when the tear will start to widen, letting light from the living plane penetrate through and be seen by those residing on the other side. That is what will attract them.”
“The tear?”
“Yes,” Gerylyn said. “The tear in the fabric between the living plane and the place where the dead are waiting to move on. We call it Loll.”
“So, when is the tear?” Olympia asked.
“When the umbral begins, when the innermost and darkest part of a shadow begins, when the light source is completely blocked by the earth,” Gerylyn said. “At 1:32 a.m. That’s when they’ll begin to pass over.”
“I’m kinda wishing I studied your book better,” Olympia said. “Can’t ghosts show up at any time?”
“Of course,” Gerylyn said. “Ghosts have been crossing from the other side into the living plane for as long as the earth has existed. Only now, during the solstice eclipse, the numbers will be far more overwhelming.”
“Well, folks, that’s it for this first episode of my new podcast—which is so new I haven’t even named the sucker yet. But that don’t matter—you know who I am. I’m Olympia Fudge—I’m still hot, I’m still black, and I’ve still got a terrific rack. So join me next week when we’ll be talking paranormal smack. Until next time, keep it real.”
Olympia leaned over and pushed the stop button on the recorder. “That was great!” Olympia said.
Gerylyn did not respond.
“What’s wrong?” Olympia asked.
“It’s going to happen here.”
“What is?”
“The tear,” Gerylyn said. “It’s happening here, tonight, at the house.”
“What? How can you be sure?” Olympia asked. “You said yourself, it could happen anywhere.”
“Let’s just call it a feeling.”
12:48 A.M. EST
PAMPLICO, SOUTH CAROLINA
COME ON, NEWT, do something,” Maggie said. “Use that genius of yours, and get us the hell out of here.”
Two hours had passed since Newt and Maggie stopped for gas, and they were still stranded at the station, with no phone, no money, and a car with no keys. Neither of them had winter coats, and the weather was rapidly heading toward sub-freezing temperatures, which made walking out of the question.
And not a single car had driven by.
“Can’t you come up with anything?”
“I’m good with math, and I have a photographic memory, Maggie,” Newt said. “I’m not MacGyver.”
MacGyver.
It had been a long time since Newt had even thought about the show. During his early autistic years when Newt would go into one of his frozen states, his parents would sit him down on the sofa with them and his sisters, and they would watch TV. One of the shows they watched religiously was MacGyver.
Newt loved watching MacGyver because it was such a creative show. Detailed. Duct tape and gum. Ammonia and Morse code—a mixture of chemistry, physics, math, and human ingenuity.
Best of all, the gags on the show were real.
They worked.
Even the most outrageous things MacGyver did could be replicated in the real world. Shorting out a missile launch timer with a bent paper clip. Taking an electric battery and bailing wire to zap someone when they placed their hand on a metal doorknob. Using a TV tube, a battery, and jumper cables to cause an explosion.
Jumper cables.
Newt closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Maggie asked.
“Be quiet. Give me a minute.”
Newt kept his eyes closed and held up his hand. Maggie went silent.
In his mind, Newt watched as MacGyver patched the holes in the radiator of a Jeep, with nothing but paste made with water and egg whites. Then he dumped water in the radiator—and then he hot-wired the car.
Newt was four years old when he watched the episode, but thanks to his gift he remembered it in total detail. The car in the episode wasn’t a Chrysler LeBaron, but it was from the same basic era.
Newt rewound the scene in his mind and watched it again. Finally, he opened his eyes. “We’re going to need a pair of wire cutters and a roll of electrical tape.”
1:07 A.M. EST
UPSTAIRS BEDROOM AT THE MANSION
THAT WAS A quick tour,” Olympia whispered, looking up at the naked Australian on top of her, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.
“Not to worry, love,” Graeme said, rolling onto his back. “We Aussies tend to get the first one out of the way pretty quick.”
“Oh,” Olympia said.
“That’s right, love,” Graeme said. “The tour is just getting started.”
1:18 A.M. EST
IN THE BALLROOM
IT DIDN’T SEEM POSSIBLE as far as Koda was concerned, but Alec Yost—who had been so drunk an hour earlier he literally could not stand—managed to take the stage.
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