by Alice Ayden
Cora thought about it. “Why did I say remember?” She wondered if it was one of those insane Freudian slips. “Why would I want to remember?”
The proud alien stood motionless with hollow eyes and determined fists as if waiting for a random bowling ball to careen in his direction.
“Forget.” Cora spoke with more authority. “Forget.”
When images didn’t assault her, Cora assumed all was well. She threw the comforter off the bed. All of a sudden, Cora saw the stone grey walls and the cold dirt floor. A singular light bulb shadowed figures huddled in the corner. “Cora,” the voice whispered.
Cora sprung out of bed and paced. She walked faster and faster until her calf muscles screamed, and the little squeak under the rug in front of her bed roared. The images faded. When she stopped, Cora stood directly in front of the French doors with the view of the tree line. Was he there? A dull ache knocked at her head like a distant drum.
“What if I remember something that is…” Cora couldn’t finish the thought. “I don’t want to remember. Not if a hint of remembering does this to me. I’ll forget. Problem solved. The family will just have to deal. How many people can remember every single moment of their lives? I’ll forget.” Her breathing returned to normal.
Cora walked to the bathroom mirror. Her haggard reflection startled her. “Oh, come on.” She wiped away excess eye liner pooled in a bizarre oblong shape. She lipsticked with her favorite shade of vixen red and pinched her cheeks when she couldn’t find the blush; that only slightly improved the reflection. “That’s as good as it gets.”
On her way out of the bathroom, Cora found Mrs. Kiness changing the bed.
“It is always best to have fresh linens after an illness.”
“I didn’t heave up my pills this time, and how’d you know?”
Mrs. Kiness tilted her head to the side. Her round face relaxed and softened. “It’s your eyes, dear.”
“Snitchy little things. And how’d you know I was up?”
“Bat ears,” Mrs. Kiness said, without skipping a beat. “Have faith, dear. You have had rather a tough time of it not just lately but ever since that dreadful day we lost…”
Tears filled Mrs. Kiness’ eyes on cue whenever she thought of Cora’s mother. “I only wish that—”
“How do I look?” Cora changed the subject before Mrs. Kiness could grab for the tissue hidden in her sleeve.
Taking all tasks quite seriously, Mrs. Kiness narrowed her eyes. “Well, dear.” She sighed and continued with the bed. “We all have good days and not.”
“Nice.” While she hadn’t expected over the top adjectives of gush, Cora hoped for something a little more confidence building.
“Oh, Cora, I am sorry to bother you concerning these things, but I am afraid we have an unfortunate situation with—”
“The Beast.” Cora sighed, grateful to have something to keep her mind off her memories.
Mrs. Kiness nodded. “I am afraid your aunt may have accosted a few of the guests.”
“Again?”
“A nice couple from Des Moines.” Mrs. Kiness cringed.
“What did she do?” Cora hoped for a simple answer without the need of lengthy Bitty explanations.
“A couple of tears were shed, but his wife held up pretty well. We talked at length about the spirits.” Mrs. Kiness made the sign of the cross and clasped her necklace tight.
“Cool.” Cora nodded, but none of Ausmor’s ghosts irritated her.
At last count, ten ghosts wandered Ausmor. Sadie, a murdered slave, hummed, creaked floorboards, and splashed strange shadows across the Grand Staircase. A few soldiers haunted the main floor after succumbing during the Civil War when the plantation was a makeshift hospital. Charles, a British soldier preferred the Rose Parlor and destroyed anything placed on the mantle. Grand Maeve imagined Charles to be exceedingly handsome in his red coat and lived to tempt him.
Dragoo Morgan, Grand Maeve’s least favorite person in the world, and his three hour murderous rampage created more noisy ghosts out of his many victims. Ghost hunters clamored to contact the restless spirits, and a few captured disembodied voices, unexplained movement, and shadows on film. In October and November, ghost tours took place every day at six and ten pm. Every Halloween, a twenty-four hour ghost hunt, Ghostly Slumbers, sold out.
“And the Mrs. Des Moines did give a few suggestions I might use for my spirit brew.” Mrs. Kiness brought a black felt bag cinched tight out of her gray striped skirt pocket. In her special bag, Mrs. Kiness kept a mixture of herbs that, when placed over a threshold, prevented ghost crossings.
Cora suggested a sign with the word ghosts crossed out, but Mrs. Kiness stink-eyed that idea. Every night, Mrs. Kiness gingerly placed her spirit go-away brew along all exterior doors and the doors connecting Old and New Wings to the main house. With her brew in place and the sun asleep, Mrs. Kiness disliked anyone using the connecting doors. Every morning, as soon as the sun pierced the night sky, Mrs. Kiness confidently gathered up the brew and began the day ghost free.
“She claimed she has achieved great luck with hers.”
A spinach and burnt almond stench wafted in through the French doors like a malicious fog.
“Saints be scorched!” Mrs. Kiness grabbed her cross to prevent something profane leaving her lips.
Darcie skidded into the room and slid under the bed to her pillowed sanctuary.
Mrs. Kiness quickly locked the French doors and leaned with all her weight to push back the barbaric stench.
“What’s The Beast making this time?” Cora quickly held up her hand to stop Mrs. Kiness from answering. “Scratch that.” Cora’s stomach wasn’t 100% yet. She wouldn’t chance it with gory Bitty Beast details. “Are the military men still here?”
Mrs. Kiness released her hold on the door and continued fluffing and folding. “They made it through the house tour rather quickly. I do believe a great many of them are hiding in the crop fields.”
“Hiding?”
“Your grandmother.”
“Ah.”
“You look quite nice. Very loyal.”
Cora hadn’t noticed the patriotism of her red sweater, white turtleneck and blue jeans. She straightened out her sweater, smoothed her bed hair, and twisted her bracelet around to highlight her favorite red glass bead with a swirly whisper of sky blue and pink.
Mrs. Kiness smiled. “It is a hint shy of three. There is still time if you are planning on crossing through the realms. But do not linger. The spirits take advantage of procrastinators.”
Cora sped out of her room and down the hall until she stood in front of the door connecting New Wing to the main house. She didn’t look behind her, but Mrs. Kiness watched and waited. The first floor connection had a large hall about twenty feet wide and the same feet in length. For the second floor connection, two feet separated the doors. It resembled one of those cheap motel shallow closets just big enough for an old iron and broken hangers. Since both doors opened in, they couldn’t be open at the same time. Mrs. Kiness believed it a safety feature trapping spirits and preventing them access; actually, the house’s architecture dictated the design.
Cora pressed her ear against the door. Soft, squeaky sounds of tinfoil volleyball emerged, but nothing indicated spirits organizing an ambush. Cora threw open the door, jumped inside, and closed it quickly to prevent Mrs. Kiness palpitations. Cora stepped into the Morgan part of Ausmor. Sunlight streamed through the large twelve paned windows at the front of the house and caught a few inches of blanched hardwood peeking around the flowered hunter green and royal blue rug. Tiny lights captured every detail in the portraits of Morgans interspersed along the paneled lime sherbet walls.
As a child, Cora stood in front of the smiling Morgans desperate to be absorbed into the lucky paintings. Even dead, the Morgans appeared more fun than the austere Austen portraits on the third floor. Those she rushed by without a glance; one fleeting look might entrap her in their infectious misery.
A rapid womp, thud, and whoop blew in from the Morgan library. Cora jumped when she heard the noise. She crept down the hall. The clock downstairs in the entrance hall chimed three times. The next tour wouldn’t start for a half hour.
Cora’s fingers gripped the paneled grooves as she slid along the wall towards the library. When she reached the doorway, Cora leaned forward and peered inside.
Hand carved, dark brown stained bookshelves displayed the usual chunky hardcover books with faded titles people only touched to dust. Faded vases flaunted pink roses, and plates of various greens and browns dressed up the window sills.
Another thud sounded like a mini sonic boom. Cora wanted to flee, but she couldn’t force her legs to cooperate. She peeked around afraid of what she’d find.
Chapter 12: Lookalike
“So, who’d she look like?” Weever asked Maines as they surveyed the site of Jessica’s abduction at the coffee shop parking lot.
Maines reached into his wallet for a picture of a blond and blue eyed young woman.
“Pretty.”
“Emily was very pretty.” Maines sighed as he studied the photo.
“Emily? So that explains the weirdness with the name tag.”
Maines nodded, although he wasn’t convinced it was a coincidence.
Maines and Weever surveyed the parking lot. Forensics had processed the scene, and the cops had left. Four hugging employees stood in front of a makeshift memorial beside an overflowing dumpster that smelled of rotting cabbage and a wet rug. Their eyes lingered across every stuffed bear, sympathy card, and picture of Jessica.
At night, the coffee shop panicked all but the most desperate coffee drinker. During the day, even most of them avoided it. The Chinchilla brown paint of the building had graduated from chipped to disfigured, and the parking lot had so many holes in it many of the employees wanted to use it as a slalom course when it snowed. The shop had relinquished most of their customers to the newer mall across town; even the train tracks that bordered the parking lot abandoned the area and let the weeds take over.
Weever cleared her throat. “So, she locks up. Last one out. Takes out the trash but doesn’t make it to her car.”
“Her blood was found here.” Maines pointed to a spot in the parking lot. “He waited and watched. Made sure there were no witnesses. He didn’t leave a trace.”
Weever shifted positions. “Why her? Was it random or did he stalk her? Is it planned or impulse with this guy?”
“Hey!” Nick jammed himself into the conversation.
Maines grimaced as if someone had kicked him. “Why the hell?”
Nick smiled. “In the neighborhood. Got this craving for chili cheese fries and a chocolate malt. One of the uniforms told me about the diner at the mall. Serves the best choc malt.” Nick loudly slurped from his jumbo cup and handed Weever a folder.
Maines glanced at Nick as if to tell him he was armed and not afraid to fire.
“Same knife as Jane Doe in the woods?” Weever asked.
Nick nodded as he slurped another couple mouthfuls. “It’s a working hunch. I’ll need lab confirmation, but I’m super speedy. Everyone says it. Knife wounds are my hobby.”
Maines sneered. “Lovely.”
“It’s a three and a half inch serrated knife. Curved I figure like a half moon.” Nick demonstrated with his thumb and index finger in an upside down ‘u.’ “Has a small chunk out of the middle. I was able to match it to wounds on the body.”
Weever jotted something in her notepad as she mumbled.
“I think—”
Maines raised his hand to silence Nick. Weever practiced loud thinking. She didn’t need help from the cheap seats.
The back door of the coffee shop flung open with an eerie squeak. One of the workers, a twenty something tiny girl, leaned down in front of the memorial to place a small, pink rose. She wiped away a few tears, hesitated, and walked to Maines, Weever, and Nick. “You guys cops?”
Nick quickly wiped off his hand and shoved it towards her. “I’m—”
“We’re investigators. Homicide,” Maines said cutting Nick off. “Did you know Jessica?”
The girl nodded as a few tears fell.
“What’s your name?” Weever asked as she opened a folder.
“Stacy Hutter.”
A car load of idiots hung half-way out their open windows and screamed, “Whooo!” as they drove by and honked.
Stacy grabbed her phone and took their picture. “That’s going on the poster for birth control you stupid ass dickheads!” She put her phone away and flipped them off for a good five minutes. “Sorry, they just really piss me off. They drive by every afternoon. Promised I’d be better today.”
Maines liked her already.
Weever tore through the folder and found the info. “You told the police Jessica was acting strange before...” Weever made a gesture with her head as if to fill in the rest without having to say the words, ‘her murder.’
“Yeah, it wasn’t like her, you know? Something was off.” Stacy glanced at the memorial. “Gives me the creeps.”
“Were you working the night Jessica was abducted?” Maines asked.
Stacy nodded. “I had a paper due. Econ.” She made a face.
Nick laughed. “I know that look. Hated Econ. I liked—”
Maines’ glare silenced Nick quickly.
“Jessica told me she’d lock up for me. She’s nice like that.” Stacy stopped and stared at the ground. “She was nice like that. Took the rest of my shift.” She gestured to the memorial. “That would be me.” Stacy took the tissue wadded in her hand and dabbed her eyes. She immediately checked to make sure the globs of green eyeliner hadn’t escaped from her eyes to settle in the tissue.
“Whatcha get on your Econ paper?”
A fiercer glare from Maines returned Nick to chewing on his oversized purple straw.
“Did you see anyone strange that day?” Maines wanted to jog her memory. “Anyone paying too much attention to Jessica? Someone hassling her? Asking about her?”
Stacy shook her head. “Wait, there was this one guy. Total tool. Gave me the heaves. Smelled like something. I can’t remember. Easter eggs? Salad dressing? I don’t know. Kept ordering tea with three orange slices and a cherry. Who does that? Just stared at Jessica. I mean full on freaky ass clown stare. He was in my section, but he wanted her.” Stacy flipped her brunette hair around her finger. “Jessica wasn’t even naturally blonde, you know. But I guess some guys don’t care.” Stacy’s disgust quickly shifted. “Oh my god! Was that the guy?”
Weever looked through the file. “Did you describe him to the police?”
Stacy hesitated. “No. Didn’t remember him until now. Some guys you just want to forget, you know?”
Weever nodded enthusiastically.
Even Maines nodded as he side glanced Nick. “Would you recognize him again?”
Stacy frowned. “I guess. Hey, what about Jessica’s loser ass ex? You guys find him yet?”
Weever flipped through the folder. “Did you give his name?”
Stacy shook her head. “Didn’t know it. Thank god. Saw him once.” She shivered. “Once was way more than enough.”
“What does that mean?” Nick asked.
Stacy shrugged. “Wasn’t the type you’d bring home to Sunday dinner, you know? Total loser. You’ll find him, right?”
“Does an Emily work here?” Maines asked.
Stacy shook her head. “No. Not that I know of, and I’ve been here two years.”
Maines nodded and handed her the evidence bag with the Emily name tag. “This look like the name tags here?”
Stacy studied it. “Sort of. Could have been made at home. Management’s real douchebags. You gotta pay for your own name tags if you lose them. Some have tried to make their own at home to pass.”
“Okay, thank you.” Maines took the evidence bag back. Shit. He killed someone who looked like Emily and placed an Emily name tag in case Maines was too dense to make the co
nnections. Maines didn’t know whether to be impressed or insulted.
Chapter 13: Haunting
Cora took a deep breath and prepared to plunge into the library, but movement jerked her attention behind her. About forty feet away, Tour Guide Anne sat in a chair under the window. Cora forgot about the library and walked towards Anne. “I didn’t even know you were there. Were you making that noise?”
Anne snarled. Cora would later testify that a low growl accompanied the snarl, but she could have imagined it.
Cora had a bit of generosity left from her latest migraine. Maybe the drugs mellowed her. Maybe her decision to forget bolstered her. She inched closer to Anne who slouched in one of the original flowered Morgan chairs. “Did I do something that I need to apologize for?”
Anne’s beady eyes drilled into Cora like a gluttonous tick. Anne s-l-o-w-l-y uncurled her legs, rose to her feet, and eased back into her shoes. She stood up and lumbered towards Cora.
Cora backed up until she hit a sofa.
Anne’s venomous breath scorched Cora’s neck. “He’s always watching you.”
Cora winced as a cold bolt flashed through her. She grabbed for the sofa behind her as her vision blurred. Anne’s demented smirk reminded Cora of someone. She couldn’t remember where she had seen that all knowing ‘I’ve got her trapped now’ expression. Part of the missing memories? The chill covered her like a satin blanket irritatingly catching on every jagged piece of skin.
Anne’s smirk lit up the room. “I can’t wait to see what he does next.”
Cora stepped back.“Who?”
“I hope he kills you this time.”
“What did you just say?”
Anne quickly turned around to see Evan Morgan, Lillia’s brother, standing in the doorway of the Morgan library. She lost about three pounds of makeup as her face blanched. “Mr. Morgan, I didn’t know you were there.”
“Obviously,” Evan said.
