by Terri Reid
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Research project? What kind of research?”
“Well actually, it was a research project regarding paranormal truths found in pop culture,” he said.
“Sounds like a great project,” she said.
“It was. I got to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Fantasy Island, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, My Mother the Car…”
“My Mother the Car?” Mary interrupted.
“Sure,” Ian replied with a grin. “It’s about reincarnation. The guy’s mom comes back as a car and tries to help him with his life.”
“So, did you learn any great truths in your research?” she asked.
“Surprisingly, yes,” he said. “Much of the information used to create the shows were from bits and pieces of legend some screenwriter dug up and then used to create a storyline. There was one in Fantasy Island where Roddy McDowell portrayed the devil.”
Mary thought about it for a moment. “Okay, I can kind of see it,” she said.
“What? Is it because he’s Scottish?” he teased.
She laughed. “No, it’s because of his narrow face,” she said. “And why I think the devil has a narrow face is beyond me.”
“Okay, continuing with my research,” Ian said.
“Your television watching,” Mary inserted.
“A woman has made a pact with the devil because her husband was in a terrible car accident and is going to die,” he explained. “So, the devil says he will save her husband’s life in return for her immortal soul.”
“I could see that trade,” she said, and when he looked surprised, she shook her head. “Not that I would do it.”
“So, she comes to Fantasy Island on the anniversary of the agreement to try and get out of the contract,” Ian continued. “But, since the contract was entered into of her own free will and choice, there’s not much Mr. Rourke can do.”
“I’ve got to say that Ricardo Montalban was a very good-looking man,” she said.
Ian smiled. “In a very manly way, I agree,” he said. “The guy was ripped. Anyway, they meet, the woman and her husband, Rourke, and Roddy the devil. And, the devil’s ready to take her immortal soul when Rourke pops up with the fact that because she’s pregnant, the devil isn’t allowed to touch her.”
“What?” Mary asked.
“Because this woman is pregnant,” Ian repeated slowly, “the devil has to stay away. The innocent soul within her protected her.”
Mary placed her hands on her belly. “And why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Sometimes the truth we find in legends happens after the legends are created,” he said. “Because legend becomes belief and then belief becomes truth.”
“So, if I believe something strongly enough, it becomes real?” she asked.
“Books have been written about it,” Ian said. “The power of positive thinking. What you believe is what shapes your destiny. If you believe you will succeed, you will. If you believe you’re going to fail…”
Mary nodded. “I will fail,” she finished. “So, if I believe having Mikey inside of me will protect me…”
“Then whatever is challenging you will not hold the power of fear over you,” he said. “You’ll know that you can defeat it. You will be strong, and you will be focused.”
Mary took a deep breath and then nodded. “You know, Professor McDougal, you are fairly brilliant.”
He smiled at her. “You’re just saying that because you want me to make you more porridge,” he said.
“Well, there is that,” she laughed. “And there’s just the fact that you always know what I need to hear. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said, glancing at her for a long moment and then back at the road. “We’re going to win, Mary.”
With her hands on her baby bump, she nodded and smiled. “Yes. Yes, we are.”
Chapter Eighteen
The small town of Flynt, Wisconsin, was located at the southern tip of Wisconsin’s Driftless Region, the area of Wisconsin that was untouched by glacier movement about 10,000 years ago. Instead of the rolling farmland Ian and Mary had traveled through on most of their drive, suddenly the topography was sculpted with forested hillsides, limestone bluffs, fast-flowing trout streams that were never totally frozen over and snow-covered prairies.
“This reminds me a wee bit of home,” Ian said as they drove down the winding country roads. “Although I don’t think we ever had this much snow.”
“Do you miss home?” Mary asked.
He glanced over and smiled. “Ah, well then, home is where the heart is, is it not?” he asked. “And for now, my heart is well-situated here in the Midwest.”
“Speaking of your heart, how’s Gillian?” she asked.
Ian didn’t answer for several moments, but Mary could see that he was working out an answer by the tension in his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she inserted. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know…”
He smiled at her. “No, it’s not your fault at all,” he said kindly. “It’s just that Gillian and I are working on a project that requires confidentiality, so there’s only so much I can share.”
“Oh, I understand,” she replied, but she really didn’t understand how a project could be compromised by her inquiring of Gillian’s well-being. “She’s fine though, right?”
He nodded slowly. “Aye, I’m sure she’s well,” he replied. “But she’s been gone for a while and I’m missing her terribly.”
Reaching over, she patted his arm. “It’s hard when you’re in love, isn’t it?” she asked. “Even a few days seems like an eternity.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve the right of it there,” he said. “An eternity is what it feels like.”
“I’m sure she’s missing you, too,” Mary said.
“I’m sure she is,” he replied. “I’m sure she is.”
He slowed the SUV down as they came to a four-way stop and then turned left. The scenery turned from forests to residential, with driveways appearing on either side of the road. Within a few miles, they were entering the small town of Flynt.
The downtown was only a few blocks long, with red brick buildings standing side by side. On one corner, an original mercantile store had been restored and now boasted large, floor to ceiling display windows that showcased a collection of unique items. Other vintage buildings held eclectic stores and restaurants that would have had the original residents of the community scratching their heads in confusion, from frozen yogurt and cappuccinos to crystals and computers. The town’s offerings seemed to reflect that tourism was the main attraction these days. At the end of Main Street, the old courthouse stood on a hill overlooking the downtown, its domed roof and stone façade standing majestically in the center of town.
“What a cute town,” Mary exclaimed as they drove slowly down the street.
Ian chuckled. “Well, maybe if we solve our problem quickly, we can do a little Christmas shopping before we leave.”
She turned away from the window and glanced at him. “You really shouldn’t tease like that,” she said. “I just might take you up on it.”
“Whose teasing?” he countered. “I’ll wager you there’s an antique store in this town that will be filled with hidden treasures.”
She studied him for a moment. “Okay, deal,” she said. “We get done soon enough, we go shopping.”
“So, do we start at the courthouse or at the library?” Ian asked, indicating by the turn of his head a modest, brick building on another corner of the downtown.
“Let’s go to the courthouse first,” she suggested. “And then the library.”
They passed another nondescript building, and Mary read the small sign posted on the window as they drove by. “Oh, there’s the newspaper. We could stop by there, too. They often have a morgue.”
“Excuse me?” Ian asked.
“You know, a room where they keep old copies of newspapers,” she said. “Don’t they call that a morgue in Scotland
?”
“No. Not that I’ve ever heard,” he replied. “We only put bodies in our morgues. Well, actually, we put bodies in mortuaries, but occasionally we refer to them as morgues.”
Mary shook her head. “It always amazes me that we all started off with the same language,” she teased.
“Aye, I agree,” Ian replied. “You took it here to the United States and completely destroyed it.”
“Improved on it,” she insisted.
He grinned. “Utterly and completely mutilated it,” he insisted.
Chuckling, she nodded. “Agree to disagree,” she said. “Truce.”
He laughed. “Aye, truce.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ian parked his car in the small parking lot behind the courthouse, and they used the back access door to enter the building. They followed the tiled floor to the front lobby where a security guard sat at a small table near the stairs.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Mary replied. “We’re looking for information on the old county asylum.”
He stared at them, his eyes narrowing. “You ain’t one of them ghost-hunting groups are you?” he asked.
“No, we’re not,” Ian said.
“You’re not from around here,” the guard said to Ian.
Ian shook his head. “No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m from Chicago.” Then he smiled. “And before that, Edinburgh.”
The man nodded. “Thought so. The wife likes them BBC shows.”
“She has excellent taste,” Ian replied. “I’m a professor from the University of Edinburgh, and I’m working with the University of Chicago on some research. We’re looking for old records from the asylum to add to our data pool. Do you have any records like that here at the courthouse?”
The guard looked slowly around the totally empty room and then leaned closer to Mary and Ian. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I get the feeling the folks here at the county ain’t none too proud of what happened out there at the asylum. When they finally closed it down, they didn’t do nothing to bring those records back to the courthouse. They just kind of left ‘em out there, hoping, you know, they’d just all go away.”
“Just what happened out there?” Mary asked.
The guard looked around one more time. “Well,” he said, lowering his voice, “there was the normal things you hear about when you’re dealing with facilities that are overcrowded and underfunded, neglect and abuse. But then there were some strange things happened out there. Suicides, supposedly accidental deaths, and then there were those fires.”
“Fires?” Ian asked.
The man nodded his head. “Spontaneous combustion is what some were calling it,” he said. “But I don’t know about that. Can’t be too spontaneous if you can find an accelerant in the room that had the fire.”
“The asylum never fully caught fire?” Ian asked, remembering that there were no signs of fire damage when they had investigated the institution weeks ago.
The guard shook his head. “No, just little fires in individual rooms,” he said. “Just enough fire to get the job done.”
“The job done?” Mary repeated.
“Killed ‘em,” the guard said. “It was either smoke or burning, but every time one of those random fires were set, somebody died.” He stopped and looked around again. “Rumor was, it was some kind of beyond this world event.”
“Paranormal?” Ian asked.
“Yeah, that’s right,” the guard said. “That’s the word they used. Paranormal.”
“Who used that word?” Ian asked.
“The doctor that took care of them out at the asylum,” he replied.
“A medical doctor?” Mary asked.
The guard shook his head. “No, one of them shrink kind of doctors,” he said. “You know, a psychiatrist. Name of Buus, Dr. Mark Buus.”
“Do you think we could speak with him?” Ian asked.
“Ain’t likely,” the guard said.
“Why not?” Mary asked.
“He’s the last one who died out there,” the guard replied. “And that was the last straw. The county moved all the inmates to other facilities and then chained up the doors. They was all too spooked by half to even do much of an investigation. Didn’t want to end up toast.”
Mary glanced over at Ian. Did she dare ask the man about the little boy and the fire? Ian seemed to read her thoughts and slowly nodded in affirmation.
“It, um, seems that your town has a sad history with fires,” Mary said, trying to keep her voice light. “When I was, um, doing research with Professor McDougal, I discovered a story about a fire on Christmas Day, some time back. I thought the entire family was killed.”
The guard shook his head. “No, not the whole family,” he said. “The boy. Tony. He survived.”
“Tony,” Mary repeated. “He survived the fire?”
The guard met her eyes. “No, he started the fire,” he said, his voice filled with disgust. “Stood out there on the lawn on Christmas morning. A smile a mile wide on his face while he watched the house with his parents and sisters go up in flames.”
“Why did he do it?” Mary asked.
“I was there that day,” he said. “I was a rookie firefighter. I saw this kid standing out in the snow and, you know, my heart broke for him. Losing his family on Christmas Day, it had to be a terrible tragedy for him. So, as I’m checking things out, making sure no sparks spread to the garage, I see a bike with a bow on it. It’s got the kid’s name on it.”
He took a deep breath and then wiped a little bit of perspiration from his forehead. “So, I wheel the bike over to the kid and I tell him I found it in the garage.” The guard lifted his eyes and first met Mary’s eyes, then turned to Ian. “The kid doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react emotionally at all. All he says to me is that they should have left it under the tree.”
“His bike?” Mary whispered, her voice shaking. “He said he wanted his bike?”
She stepped back and leaned against the wall, her legs shaky.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the guard asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Do you remember what Tony’s last name was?” Ian asked urgently.
The guard turned back to Ian. “Yeah, I’ll never forget,” the guard replied. “Lancaster. Tony Lancaster.”
“Thank you,” Ian said. “You’ve been very helpful. Now, I think I need to get some fresh air for my assistant.”
“Yeah, pregnancy’s a tough job,” he replied, as he looked at Mary. “Good luck to you.”
She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly weak. “Thank you so much.”
Chapter Twenty
“Are you alright?” Ian asked Mary softly as they walked back down the hall towards the exit.
She nodded slowly. “I could picture it all in my mind,” she said. “The boy, Tony, standing on the lawn watching. His emotionless face when he was given the bike. It just sent terror through me.” She turned to Ian. “This is what we’re dealing with?”
“Well, I think we still have to do a little more research to figure it out,” he said. “The fires seem more than a little coincidental.”
He stopped in front of the door and opened it up for Mary. She stepped outside in the early afternoon, winter sun and took a deep, cleansing breath of the biting cold air.
“I agree,” Mary finally said, feeling much less shaky. “And, now that it’s not going to be a surprise, I promise you that I won’t wimp out again.”
Ian put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back towards the car. “You didn’t wimp out,” he said. “You reacted to a bit of frightening information, and I don’t blame you in the least.”
She shrugged. “Thanks, but I will do better.”
“Okay, so where to next?” he asked. “The café for some lunch and a bathroom break?”
She stopped and looked at him. “How did you—”
“Bradley gave me some pointers on e
scorting a pregnant woman,” Ian interrupted. “Food and facilities are top priorities.”
She laughed. “Actually, food and facilities sound perfect right now,” she agreed. “And then we can plan our next moves.”
They drove to a small café on Main Street with a sign that boasted Door County cherry pie and the flakiest pasties in the Driftless Region.
Mary studied the sign for a moment. “Pasties?” she asked, pronouncing the word with a long a sound. “But I thought those were…”
“Pasties,” Ian corrected, using the short a sound in the word. “A wonderful meat pie originally from Cornwall in the UK. It rhymes with nasty not hasty.”
“Well, good, because really, it’s a bit cold…” Mary began.
Ian reached past her and opened the door. “Shall we go in?” he asked with a smile.
“Only if you order for me, because I know I’m going to say it wrong,” she said.
“Deal,” he said with a chuckle.
They were led to a comfortable table in the corner, and Mary excused herself immediately to use the Ladies Room. Ian studied the menu for a moment before the waitress approached his table. “Do you know what your wife would like?” she asked.
“Let me see,” he said. “A small pasty, a slice of cherry pie and a diet…” He stopped, shook his head and smiled at the waitress, who nearly swooned. “No, the diet’s off the table because of the baby.” He studied the menu again and, not finding what he was looking for, looked up at the woman again. “Do you have a bit of herbal tea?”
“Honey, if we didn’t have it, I would run to the store and get you some myself,” she said. “I think we’ve got chamomile. Would that work?”
“That would be fine,” he replied. “And thank you.”
The waitress walked away from the table and met Mary as she was coming back from the restroom. “You got yourself a keeper there,” the waitress said.
Mary smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do,” she said.
“I’ve got myself a keeper?” Mary asked quietly. Ian stood up and waited while Mary slipped into her chair.
