Onyx Webb 9

by Diandra Archer

2:00 A.M. EST

  OUTSIDE THE MANSION’S FRONT DOOR

  GRAEME AND ROBYN pushed the gurney with Declan on it toward the ambulance, which was slow going because of the frozen pavement. Tommy followed behind as protection.

  Tommy raced ahead the last few yards and opened the rear doors of the ambulance. “Here, give him to me,” Tommy said, grabbing the gurney with Declan on it and loading it into the ambulance.

  A male ambulance driver, who looked no older than a college senior, turned in his seat and looked in the back of the vehicle. “Who are you people? Where is May? Where is Constantine?”

  “They’re not coming,” Tommy said. “Get back here and help me get him strapped in.”

  The ambulance driver unbelted himself and joined Tommy in the back of the vehicle. “What do you mean, they’re not coming? Where are they?”

  “Crikey,” Graeme said, looking over his shoulder.

  Everyone turned and looked toward the front of the mansion and watched as a group of ghosts poured out through the front door and were coming in their direction.

  The driver’s mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Get the vehicle started,” Tommy barked. “Graeme. You think you can handle them on your own?”

  “Sure, mate, no problem,” Graeme said.

  “Good. Robyn, hop in,” Tommy said.

  “What?”

  “It’s too dangerous for you to go back,” Tommy said.

  “He’s right,” Graeme said.

  Robyn nodded, and Tommy reached out one of his big hands and lifted her inside seconds before the ghosts arrived—and Graeme slammed the rear door of the ambulance closed.

  Tommy pounded on the inside wall of the ambulance and the vehicle lurched forward.

  “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Robyn asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve known Dec for a long time,” Tommy said looking down at his unconscious friend.

  “No, I meant Graeme,” Robyn said.

  Tommy shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it now,” Tommy said as Robyn looked out the rear window of the vehicle and watched as Graeme took off running in the direction of the mansion’s garage. Several of the ghosts changed direction and took off after him, while the rest continued down the drive after the ambulance.

  2:01 A.M. EST

  AT THE MANSION’S FRONT GATE

  THE ELDERLY SECURITY GUARD was on his hands and knees on the frozen pavement, pointing a flashlight at the chain that controlled the gate—which was, once again, stuck in the open position. “Hand me that Phillips head screwdriver,” he called out to the overweight security guard, who was seated in the security shack in front of the portable gas space heater eating a Pop-Tart.

  “Which one is the Phillips again?” the overweight guard asked.

  “You don’t know what a—just bring me the entire toolbox.”

  The overweight guard zipped his jacket, came out of the shack, and set the toolkit on the ground. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. Other than the ambulance, no one has shown up here in three hours. By the way, did anyone say who the ambulance was here for?”

  “That’s above my pay grade,” the elderly guard said as he turned the screwdriver.

  “Probably some rich person ate too much caviar, and now they’re having a very expensive heart attack,” the overweight guard said, swallowing the last of his Pop-Tart. “Here, let me show you how I fix things at home. It works on just about anything.”

  The overweight security guard reached into the toolbox, pulled out a hammer, and swung it hard into the side of the gear box of the gate.

  The gate started moving.

  “There, see! I’m a genius—”

  Both men stopped and looked up to see a pair of headlights coming down the drive in their direction, followed immediately by the sound of the ambulance’s sirens.

  “Quick!” the elderly guard screamed. “Hit the stop button!”

  The overweight guard rushed into the shack and pressed the button but to no avail. “It’s not working!” he called out.

  The elderly guard stood up and moved out of the way just in time. The ambulance came speeding through the closing gate with inches to spare.

  “Wow, that was close,” the elderly guard said breathing heavily.

  The overweight security guard didn’t answer. He was busy peering at something in the darkness—four transparent figures coming down the driveway in their direction.

  “Who in the hell are they?”

  2:02 A.M. EST

  MANSION HALLWAY

  KODA WALKED TOWARD his mother, but when he got within about fifty feet of where she was standing, she turned and disappeared down a side hallway.

  Koda ran to the end of the hall, but when he reached the corner, there were two ghosts coming his direction. Koda ducked into a doorway and waited until they passed before stepping back into the hallway.

  Finally, he found her again, standing on the staircase.

  Nisa climbed the stairs, and Koda followed her until she entered one of the guest bedrooms.

  SECOND-FLOOR GUEST BEDROOM

  Koda entered Graeme’s guest bedroom half expecting it to be empty but found his mother there, waiting for him.

  “Hello, Koda,” Nisa said.

  “It’s really you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I saw you once before—in Loll,” Koda said. “You ran away from me, and I couldn’t find you.”

  “Yes, I know,” Nisa said.

  “Why didn’t you wait?”

  “Your condition was too fragile after the accident,” Nisa said. “That, and I was afraid that if we spoke you might have wanted to stay.”

  Koda nodded.

  “It wasn’t your time.”

  “You look the same as you did the last time I saw you,” Koda said. “You’re even wearing the same clothes you were wearing that night.” Like Juniper in her prom dress, Koda thought.

  “That’s how it works,” Nisa said.

  “Why are you here?” Koda asked.

  “You have a lot of questions. Just like you did when you were little,” Nisa said.

  Koda remained silent.

  “I’m moving on.”

  “Moving on to where?”

  “I don’t know,” Nisa said. “I only know I’m leaving, and tonight is the last time we’ll see each other.”

  “You didn’t run away, did you?” Koda asked.

  “Is that what you’ve thought all these years?”

  “I—I didn’t know what to think,” Koda said. “Maybe it was better than thinking about—”

  “The alternative?” Nisa asked.

  Koda nodded.

  “So, what do you think now?” Nisa asked.

  “I think you were murdered,” Koda said.

  Nisa remained silent.

  Koda finally had his answer.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Nisa said. “I need you to tell your father I forgive him.”

  “Forgive him? Why? I don’t.”

  “Oh, Koda. Don’t you know that—”

  “That what? That forgiveness is a gift you give to someone if you care about them?”

  “In part,” Nisa said. “Yes, forgiveness is a gift you give to help ease another person’s pain, but it’s also a gift you give yourself. The anger you’ve been carrying all these years isn’t only killing your father—it’s hurting you. If you don’t forgive him, that anger will eventually destroy you both. Is that what you think I want?”

  Koda remained silent, trying to understand something that seemed impossible with everything he knew.

  “He had an affair,” Koda said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And still you can forgive him?”

  “You’d better go,” Nisa said.

  “No, not yet,” Koda said, his eyes welling up with tears. “Just another minute.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll never be far,” Nisa said as she leaned forward and kissed Koda on the cheek. “My true love,
my son—so handsome and grown up. Just the way it should be.”

  Then Koda watched as his mother turned and stepped into the mirror—disappearing into the glass to the other side.

  2:03 A.M. EST

  IN THE SERVANT’S AREA OF THE MANSION

  THE GOVERNOR OF GEORGIA found a storage closet filled with vacuum cleaners and other equipment, squeezed himself inside, and pulled the door closed. It was pitch black, but he dared not turn on the light. What if a ghost saw light coming from beneath the door? No, he’d just stay there, locked in the dark until the police came.

  The police would come eventually.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Then the door began to shake. Gently at first, as if someone was pulling on the door handle—then harder, morphing into a violent rattle.

  “Governor, are you in there?” a girl asked from outside the door.

  It didn’t sound like a ghost, but it could be. What did he know about ghosts and their possible trickery?

  “Governor, if you’re in there, open the door,” the girl said again. “If I found you, they’ll find you too. Open the door.”

  Whoever it was, she was right.

  The governor opened the door to discover a young strawberry blonde in a blue prom dress standing there.

  “Do I know you?” the governor said. “You look familiar.”

  “Come on,” Juniper said. “I need to get you to the safe room before they close the door.”

  2:03 A.M. EST

  THE MANSION GARAGE

  GRAEME WAS SURROUNDED. Hiding in the garage seemed like a good idea, but there was one thing he hadn’t considered.

  Every car had review mirrors inside them.

  He was cornered.

  It didn’t seem possible that a full-sized ghost could squeeze itself through a rearview mirror. Then again, Graeme didn’t believe in ghosts. He’d gone along to cover the mirrors in the house because he had been roped into it. Now he wished he’d taken the task more seriously. Graeme knew he could take on three ghosts at a time, but if his count was correct, the ever-tightening circle of ghosts that surrounded him had eight ghosts in it.

  Fighting was out of the question. He needed to find another place to shelter himself until the madness died down.

  The limousine, Graeme thought.

  Yes, that could work—in particular because it was equipped with bullet-proof glass. Graeme knew about the glass because Bruce had made a point of showing everyone the vehicle’s numerous safety features when the Cadillac Escalade arrived several weeks earlier. Short of the rocket-propelled grenade launchers, the limo was identical to the one the Secret Service used to protect the president.

  Even if there were a hundred of the transparent creatures pounding on the glass, they couldn’t get in.

  Graeme charged at the two weakest links in the chain of ghosts and broke through easily. Now all he had to do was outrun them to where he’d parked the limousine after picking up the Southern Gentleman in Charleston. With any luck, the ghosts hadn’t made their way inside that too.

  The ghosts were fast, but Graeme was faster. And the limo appeared empty as he’d hoped.

  Graeme jumped into the limo, quickly locked the doors, and breathed a sigh of relief. Seconds later, he saw a hand coming at him through the rearview mirror.

  Graeme reached up and ripped the mirror off the inside of the windshield, with the gray ghost-hand still protruding from it, and smashed it against the center console.

  The hand disappeared.

  Then the eight ghosts who were chasing him, plus five more they’d picked up along the way, surrounded the limousine. Then all thirteen ghosts stepped forward and began pounding their fists against the bulletproof glass.

  2:04 A.M. EST

  DECLAN MULVANEY’S STUDY

  KRISSY HATED ALEC YOST—and not only his music. She hated him. Personally. Not that she’d ever met him. She hadn’t. But she did read a lot. Teen. People. Cosmo. And the tabloids. So, while she didn’t know-him know him, she knew all about him.

  From the things she’d read and what she’d seen on TMZ, it was clear to Krissy that Alec Yost was a rude, self-entitled, misogynistic douche bag. And the things he said about Beyoncé?

  Unforgiveable.

  So, when she heard he was finally going to take the stage and perform, Krissy grabbed her iPod and took off for a walk around the mansion. Which was how she ended up sitting in a big leather chair in the corner of Declan Mulvaney’s study, listening to 30 Seconds to Mars with her feet on a bookcase—and fantasizing what it would be like to be married to Koda Mulvaney.

  Krissy had read in the tabloids how Koda Mulvaney was a close personal friend with Jared Leto, another serious crush of hers. Jared, with his sharp features. And vibrant blue eyes. What she wouldn’t do to travel on a plane with Koda and Jared, seeing the world, going to clubs, and visiting the museums of the world.

  Fat chance of that happening.

  From the second they’d come in contact, Koda treated her like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl. Barely acknowledging her, brushing her aside.

  Oh, well. What did she really expect?

  Krissy sat up and, as she did, she pulled her foot away from the bookcase and a secret drawer popped open. She glanced around to make sure no one was around and then pulled the drawer open to see what was inside.

  It was filled with eggs.

  Krissy studied art, and she knew instantly what they were. They were Fabergé eggs. Six of them lined up on a tray.

  They were stunning. Ornate. Maybe the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her life.

  Though she knew she shouldn’t, Krissy reached in the drawer and removed one of the eggs—a gold-encrusted crystal piece with deep purple emeralds—and held it up to the light.

  Koda was still reeling from the conversation he’d had with his mother, but he needed to keep moving. His father wouldn’t keep the room open forever—not even for him. There were the others he needed to consider.

  Koda knew there were two ways to get to the panic room. The first was the closet in his father’s study in the newer wing of the mansion. The other was through a hidden door in his grandfather’s study. He chose the second route, which was closer.

  But when Koda got to Declan’s study, Krissy was there. She stood on the other side of the room with her back to the door. “Krissy,” Koda said.

  Krissy didn’t respond, and then Koda realized why. She was wearing headphones.

  Koda crossed the room and tapped Krissy on the shoulder. Krissy spun around—startled—and something fell to the floor at Koda’s feet.

  It was a Fabergé egg.

  Koda recognized the egg immediately. It was one of the eggs from his grandfather’s art collection—before the FBI raided the place and confiscated everything. Apparently, they’d missed the eggs—that or his grandfather had hidden them intentionally.

  “Oh, my God!” Krissy shrieked, removing her ear buds. “I can’t believe I just—oh, God, I broke it! I broke a Fabergé!”

  “It’s okay,” Koda said. “Don’t worry about it. I broke one, too, when I was a kid.”

  “But—but—that must have been worth—”

  “A lot,” Koda said. “Listen, that’s not important. We’ve got to get to the panic room—now.”

  “The panic room?” Krissy said, still flustered. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Koda suddenly realized Krissy was completely oblivious to everything that was going on. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Koda stepped behind Declan’s desk and tipped the picture of the man he knew to be Uncle Tommy to one side, and the entire bookcase swiveled, revealing the secret passage.

  “Wow,” Krissy said. “Rich people have a lot of secret stuff going on.”

  You have no idea, Koda thought.

  2:05 A.M. EST

  IN STAN LEE’S KILL ROOM & TUNNEL

  STAN LEE OPENED the drawer to see if there were any leftover vials of ketamine, though he knew there wouldn’t be. He’
d done a full sweep when he went cold turkey after being violently pecked by the birds.

  At least he knew where he’d gone to now. Krissy Vineyards in Napa Valley, the connection his half-brother, Bruce.

  Stan Lee didn’t want to have another out-of-body experience like the last one if he could at all help it. On the other hand, if ever there was time for a hit of special K, this was it.

  Maybe there was some left in the drawer in the kill room? Okay, get a hold of yourself, Stan Lee thought. There’d be time to get more drugs later. Right now, he needed to grab a few essentials and get the hell out of there. It was only a matter of time before they found the tunnel.

  Stabbing Declan Mulvaney in his own house in front of fifty people—what had he been thinking?

  The answer was simple. He hadn’t been thinking. It was all Kara. She was the one who’d done it, not him. That’s why he couldn’t remember anything. One second he was thinking about doing it—the next, it was over. No memory of the act itself.

  What a waste.

  Forty years fantasizing about the moment he’d get his revenge, and he didn’t even get the satisfaction. Now, he’d be on the run for something he didn’t even remember doing.

  Stan Lee went over to the wall and started pulling down the framed pictures of Ferris wheels he’d taken over the years and put them in a box.

  “What are you doing?” Kara said.

  Stan Lee turned and saw Kara sitting on the silver table he used to strap the girls down while he amputated their legs. “What do you think? I’m gathering my things so I can get out of here.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Kara said.

  “I’m not leaving without my photographs.”

  “Take the negatives, dumb shit,” Kara said.

  Damn it, she was right, Stan Lee thought, making a mental note to grab the negatives from the dark room when he got to the basement of the house. That left only one thing he really needed from the kill room section of the tunnel.

  Stan Lee walked over and pulled back the curtain, exposing the area he kept the three-foot-tall glass jars with the women’s legs in them.