by Morgana Best
When I reached the museum, I was disappointed to find it empty again. Still, I had an assignment: to find out about the evil entity at Hillgrove. I wasn’t sensing anything in the museum, so walked behind the building to the displays of old agricultural machinery to see if anything would come to me.
“Misty!”
I jumped and spun around. Walking toward me was Gerald Wakefield.
“I thought I saw you walking around down here,” he said. “I’m looking for the curator. Have you seen him?”
“No,” I said, and just managed to stop myself saying that I was looking for him too.
“Anyway, a good thing I ran into you. I found an old newspaper article you might be interested in. I live not far from here, on your way back to Armidale. Would you like to come over for a cup of tea and piece of cake and have a look at what I’ve found?”
I looked him up and down. He was one of my three suspects, albeit the most unlikely one. It was the mention of tea and cake that did it. I would just have to watch him make the tea, to be on the safe side, and make sure he ate some of the cake too. Without any further thought, I graciously accepted his invitation.
I followed Gerald’s car down a bumpy dirt road and then down a long dirt driveway to his house. The house was a surprise. I had expected a little old wooden building, but Gerald’s house screamed luxury and expense. I wondered where he’d made his money; perhaps he’d inherited it.
The interior was also a surprise; I had expected traditional, but it was sleek and contemporary. Gerald showed me into the living room, which had expansive views of his property through massive floor to ceiling windows.
He went into the adjoining kitchen to make me a cup of tea and I followed him in, just in case he slipped something into my tea. I wasn’t taking any chances; he was one of my suspects, after all. I saw that the kitchen was full of stainless steel appliances and granite bench tops. It was quite posh for out here in the country.
I devoured the offered piece of carrot cake in about three mouthfuls, not caring that I must have looked as if I had no table manners. There was a sudden temperature drop, so the cup of hot tea couldn’t come fast enough. I sat with my hands wrapped around it, and listened as Gerald read from an old newspaper.
“I didn’t find anything about massacres, but this is a grisly murder from 1888. A party of hunters found the body of a man at night. Anyway, this is what it says: The corpse was found in a very peculiar place. The man’s throat was cut from ear to ear, and his skull battered in. The sight was a most ghastly one.”
Gerald took a deep breath. “It’s best if I summarize it. The body was dragged for some distance, and covered over with bushes and bark. The newspaper said it was a brutal and cold-blooded murder. It says he was cruelly murdered in a secluded spot and that his head was battered in with a pick. The murdered man’s head was nearly severed from his body. The newspaper describes it as a terrible violence.”
I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach, but Gerald didn’t notice. “I’ll read this bit to you: The place where the deed was done is a prominent point, overlooking the Falls, disclosing a fine view of the rugged scenery and the Baker’s Creek mine. Close to a stump, about thirty yards from where the body was found, seems to have been the place where the murder was committed, as there is a great quantity of blood on the stump and about the ground all around. My opinion is that the victim was leaning against the stump (which is amongst a lot of granite boulders), and while in that position received a deadly blow. It is quite certain that the deceased was murdered at this spot. The body was afterwards dragged to the edge of the Falls for the evident intention of throwing it over, but by some means or other the body got caught in a few dogwood branches, which prevented it from descending some hundreds of feet down the falls. In this position it was found as already described.”
I shuddered. This was way too gruesome for me. “That’s, err, helpful, thanks for that, but I need to find out about massacres.” I looked up and saw that Gerald was staring at me strangely.
“I have never heard about any massacres,” he said, “but there have been strange murders here ever since Hillgrove was settled. I read you this newspaper article because it’s typical of the murders that have been recorded. The others actually had severed heads. They were all thrown over the cliffs into the gorge.”
I shuddered again and said, not very intelligently, “Eew.”
Gerald raised his eyebrows. “Would you like me to make photocopies of the articles on murders? I have the newspaper clips on file.”
“Yes please, thanks.”
Gerald took himself out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I could hear his printer churning out copies. I drained the last of my tea and saw more cake on the bench. Would it be rude if I went over and helped myself? Probably, but I did so anyway. I was in despair of finding out any information whatsoever about the evil entity.
Gerald returned and handed me a folder. “Wherever you have cliffs like the ones around here, there will be rumors of people being thrown over. Plus the mining accidents. Well, wherever there are mines, there are accidents. I don’t think you can read anything sinister into that.”
I nodded. He had a point.
“Have a look through that folder,” he continued, “because I have every newspaper clipping in there of murders in this district, to my knowledge anyway. My family’s been in this area for generations, and I have quite detailed family history records. If it would help, I could go through them and see if there’s anything there that might help you. I’ll call you if I find anything.”
I was delighted. Gerald had given me a lead about the evil entity, and could possibly turn up more.
Later that day, I arrived back at Brandon’s place feeling tired and not too well. Brandon and Diva were both pleased to see me. I had planned to have a nice, hot shower and then go through the photocopies of newspaper clippings kindly provided by Gerald. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance.
Chapter 15
Brandon took me by the arm and sat me on the sofa. “Guess who I saw today?”
I shrugged.
“Fred, silly.”
“Oh.” For a moment, don’t ask me how, I’d forgotten about Brandon’s crush on the so-called Fred. “Did it go well?”
“We didn’t speak,” Brandon said. “I don’t think he saw me, but I saw him.”
“Oh,” I said again, and made a move to get up. Brandon pulled me back down.
“Do you think he’s here to see me?” Brandon leaned forward and peered anxiously into my face.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a crystal ball.” I kept my tone gentle. I certainly hoped that Fred was here to see Brandon, and I hoped that Fred would turn up right now so I could have that shower. “Brandon, do you mind if I go and have a shower now, and then I’ll come back and we can talk some more?”
“Of course.”
I made to get up, but Brandon said, “Just one more thing. If he does come here, could you please watch how he is with me, so we can compare notes afterwards?”
I nodded, and took a step closer to the bathroom. “But if he does come here, won’t it be to see you anyway?”
Brandon looked crestfallen. “No, we just work together from time to time.” He sighed, and leaned back into the sofa. “I’m sorry to go on like this. It’s just that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I don’t even think he’s gay, but that doesn’t help how I feel about him. You know, last time I saw him, he said that I looked well. What do you think he meant by that? Was that his way of saying that he found me attractive? Or do you think he was just being polite?”
I shrugged, and took the opportunity to disappear into the bathroom. I felt like I was thirteen again and in the midst of schoolgirl intrigues; Brandon was driving me quite crazy. I turned on the shower and let the hot water run over the back of my neck. I stood like that for some time, and then finally lathered myself up with lavender and lemongrass shower gel. The hot water’s cascadi
ng effect was soothing, and was taking away some of the tension I was holding.
I quickly toweled myself dry and rustled through my cosmetics bag for my white sage smudge stick. I lit it, and when it was smoking nicely, waved it all around me, even under my feet. There’s nothing like white sage to cleanse one’s aura. I love the smell, too.
I wrapped a fluffy, blue towel around myself and headed for the bedroom, after poking my head around the door to steal a quick glance at the sofa. Brandon was still there, looking aghast at Diva, who was coughing up a fur ball. It looked like I would have to have another conversation about Fred.
I changed into jeans and a shirt and dabbed some Fiery Wall of Protection Oil on my wrists and on the back of my neck. I had set up part of my desk as an altar of sorts, and had an incense holder next to some candles. I lit some Dragons Blood as well as Frankincense and Myrrh incense, and felt better once it wafted around the room. I was about to leave the bedroom and had my hand on the door handle when I heard a knock at the door, not my bedroom door, but the door to the house. I opened my bedroom door just in time to see Brandon opening the front door.
I was in a good vantage spot to see his face. His expression was one of extreme shock.
The extreme shock on Brandon’s face was followed by great pleasure. Brandon turned to me and mouthed, ‘Fred’. Not very subtle, Brandon, I thought, Fred would have seen you do that. I sincerely hoped that Fred was indeed gay and that he would profess undying love to Brandon; if not, the rest of my stay would be taken up with more lengthy “He said, I said,” conversations.
I walked out into the hallway to meet Fred.
I just stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move. There, standing in front of me, was Jamie.
Jamie immediately enveloped me in a warm hug. I was just as taken aback to be hugged by Jamie as I was to see him. I tried not to return his hug too enthusiastically with Brandon as an audience. I looked over Jamie’s shoulder at Brandon. His face was registering disbelief, shock, and hurt all at the same time.
Jamie let me go and turned to face Brandon. “Hi, Brandon. Nice to see you again.”
Brandon simply said, “Are you two friends?”
Jamie and I exchanged glances.
Before anyone could speak, Brandon said, “I have to go.”
I laid my hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off and hurried out the door.
“What was that all about?”
I didn’t want to betray Brandon’s confidence, so I answered his question with a question. “What are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were in the country.”
Jamie did not respond at once, so I continued, asking the question that had been plaguing me for some time. “Douglas told me that your organization is called SI7. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Douglas!” I could practically see the steam coming out of Jamie’s ears. “You’ve spoken to Douglas?”
I simply narrowed my eyes and glared at him.
Jamie sighed. “We need to talk, but not here. Brandon might come back and he can’t know about this. Let’s go for a walk.”
Jamie and I walked outside and down the street. It was quite deserted; we only saw a few people walking their dogs. Jamie smelled faintly of musk and leaves, all woodsy.
Jamie broke the silence. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you the name of the organization.”
I stopped mid-stride and turned to him. “Whyever not?”
“I really don’t know, but orders are orders.”
I digested his words, but before I could ask another question, Jamie questioned me. “Now, please tell me about Douglas. When did you see him? What did he say?”
I could see that Jamie was tensing up. “He came to work one afternoon when I wasn’t there and the next day was waiting for me outside the building when I went out for lunch. I had lunch with him, and he told me that the group I’ve always called the Society is actually called The Orpheans, and that he is my contact there.” I said it all without drawing breath.
Jamie came to a stop and turned to face me. “Lies, absolute lies. Douglas works for the Black Lodge. He has nothing to do with your society.”
“He said he’s a double agent, that The Orpheans sent him as my contact.”
Jamie shook his head. “Misty, please don’t trust him. I’ve read his file. He has nothing to do with The Orpheans.”
“Well at least he told me the Society’s real name. You didn’t,” I said in a tone that I realized was childlike as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
Jamie clearly chose to ignore my remark. “Tell me what else he said.”
We started walking again. “He turned up here,” I said, then put my hand to my mouth. “Jamie, he’s here, in town. I was having coffee at a café this morning and he turned up out of nowhere.”
“What did he want?”
“He told me to go out to Bakers Creek Falls and get the name of the evil entity and tell him. He said that was my assignment from The Orpheans.” I held up my hand. “Now, before you say anymore, I didn’t trust him of course, as that’s exactly what the Black Lodge wants.”
“I’m really concerned about that. I don’t like him anywhere near you,” he said quietly. “You know, I haven’t said this to you before, but I’m worried that you took this job with our organization. Now don’t go all ballistic-feminist on me, it’s just that I worry about you.”
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, yet his concern set my heart fluttering. “Well, I don’t have much choice,” I said, keeping my voice even. “My boss cut my hours at work. I have bills and all that. I might have thought twice about it, though, if I’d known at the time how dangerous it was going to be.”
Jamie stopped walking and spun around to face me once more, just as I realized I’d said too much. Me and my big mouth. “Dangerous? What do you mean? Misty, tell me exactly what you mean.”
I sighed deeply in resignation, and then told him the whole story right from when I arrived at Bakers Creek Falls, to my visit to the hospital after someone had drugged my water, right up to the time he arrived.
By the time I had finished recounting the day’s events, we were back at Brandon’s. Brandon’s car was nowhere to be seen, and I was grateful for that, although I felt sorry for him.
As soon as we were inside the house, Jamie turned to me. “You can’t go back out there. I’m serious. You’ve attracted the attention of the murderer, and you can’t go back.”
“But Jamie, it’s my assignment.”
Jamie folded his arms across his chest. “Your assignment was supposed to be research. It wasn’t supposed to put you in physical danger. Perhaps you should resign.”
I was surprised by his tone; Jamie was usually the typical reserved English gentleman. “Jamie, I have a mortgage and heaps of bills! I can’t survive just on part time work at the magazine.”
Jamie shook his head. “You could have been killed. It’s far too dangerous.”
“It’s not just that. I realized sometime today that I don’t know who I am. The Orpheans have made no attempt to contact me, but I’m the Keeper. It makes no sense that they haven’t contacted me yet.”
Jamie nodded, but looked puzzled. I clearly wasn’t explaining myself too well.
“I’m kind of conflicted,” I continued. “I need to use my gift for good. I know that sounds corny, but there’s a selfish reason too. Douglas said The Orpheans are from a long line of Welsh Druids. With the research I’ve done, that explains why I can now see or sense ghosts. If I use what I can do, see ghosts, then that is what I want to be doing with my life. I don’t want to be a journalist. I want to be me, the authentic me, who I really am. And the way it looks to me now is that working for SI7 is the only way that can happen.”
“Dinner tonight?” was Jamie’s response.
I stared at him with my mouth open, and it wasn’t just the rapid change of subject. Was this a date? Or simply two colleagues having dinner?
Chapter 16
I was a bundle of nerves when Jamie called for me to take me to the restaurant, and we made small talk on the way. I had no idea if this was a date or not. I figured it wasn’t a date, as that seemed too good to be true; any thought of a date was just my wishful thinking. I’d harbored a crush on Jamie Smith since my time in England.
Nevertheless, I had been sure to put on my strongest shapewear. Not a single bulge was going to escape this armor. I was lucky I could breathe. When he’d called for me, Jamie had said I looked lovely, but I didn’t know if he was simply being polite. Despite being a very good researcher, if I do say so myself, I have always been quite dim-witted when it comes to men.
We were shown to our table, and I reminded myself to look out for any clues that would tip me off as to whether this was a date, or rather, simply a dinner between colleagues. I noted at once that the atmosphere was intimate, with the diffuse lighting little more than candle glow. The tables were not close together, allowing patrons more privacy. It certainly seemed a romantic setting.
I picked apart my dinner roll. It looked delicious, crusty on the outside while soft and fluffy on the inside, but my stomach was churning so much that I’d lost my appetite. The waiter wasted no time appearing next to our table. I quickly scrolled my eyes down the menu. There appeared to be only one vegetarian option, green asparagus with black olives and burrata. Burrata was my favorite cheese, and I had never bought it for myself, as it was too expensive on my meager journalist’s wage. I loved the soft, creamy center and the hard mozzarella shell, and I smiled to myself as I realized that I could now afford to buy it.
For the main, I could also only see one dish that appeared to be vegetarian: a creamy polenta and gremolata with sautéed mushrooms and mascarpone. I wasn’t terribly sure what gremolata was, call me uncultured, so I got around that by asking the waiter if the dish was vegetarian. He affirmed that it was, so I ordered it.
