Tales Of The Abysmal Plane (Zoë Martinique Short Stories) (The Zoë Martinique Investigation Series)

by Phaedra Weldon

"And if you did see trouble around the chief of surgery," Mom said as she buttered a biscuit and then put it on my half-empty plate. "What exactly is it you could do?"

  "Nothing," Dags said with a shrug. "I was just told to watch and observe. I'm not an action hero, or an exorcist, or…," he glanced at me. "Or a Wraith. I'm just a guy who sees Ghosts. But I was told to log in and report anything unusual."

  Rhonda put her hand up. "So, you were also paid to watch Nancy's grandfather?" She frowned. "By whom? Who is wanting to know about Bonville?"

  He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I—I really don't know. Most of my clients come by the Internet. And this particular one has been pretty interested in Bonville for a while."

  "What do they ask you to do?" Mom asked.

  I wasn't as suspicious as Rhonda—hell—my biggest client called themselves—themself?—Maharba. So—who was I to judge?

  "Well, to keep an eye on everyone around him. See who pissed him off next and see if they disappear like all the others."

  "And the restaurant?" Mom nudged. "The reason why you responded to Rhonda's response to Maureen's inquiry?"

  Wow. She sounded all professional.

  I watched him.

  Dags' shoulders rose as he took in a deep breath and sighed. "Mostly because I knew Maureen. We'd gone out a few times. After I started there as the loft bartender—I noticed she never came up to the loft. I always had to meet her at the foot of the stairs. Then, one day, the manager was there in his office, arguing on the phone. Most of the staff grew quiet—and I waited until he left before I asked them what was up.

  "Maureen and Toby—the main floor bartender in the evenings—both took me out back for a smoke—them not me—I don't smoke—and told me about the Shadow People."

  "Shadow People?" Jemmy spoke up.

  Rhonda gave out the definition she'd Googled before. Jemmy nodded. "Oh I knows about them," she said softly before setting back. "But that's not what we calls them."

  I looked at Dags before shifting my gaze to Jemmy. I erased, scribbled. YOU SEEN?

  "Not seen, but I have heard the stories. They don't like people much," she said. "When I was much younger, they was several of them lived in a house over on Clairmont, near LaVista. Beautiful old house—wrap-around porch and a large attic. There was a little girl lived there about—oh—twenty years ago. Went to one of those schools nearby, went to the Lutheran church down from Moreland. I cleaned upstairs in the church three evenings a week after services and meetings.

  "She used to sit out in the sunshine during the day when it was hot. Sweating. Wouldn't go inside. Told me over a lemonade one day that the dark peoples lived in the shade. And they were mean."

  "She saw these dark peoples?" Mom asked.

  Jemmy nodded. "She said they were in her house. Said they lived in the attic. And they hated her and her family. Wanted them out of that house. She tried to tell her mama and daddy that, but no one listens to a child."

  I grabbed up my board and wrote on it. DID THEY KILL LIL' GIRL?

  She nodded. I knew she would. "Coroner said she fell down the stairs leaving the attic one afternoon." Jemmy shook her head. "That's not true. She'd never go into that attic. They did it—I don't know how. But I was always sure those dark peoples—or Shadow People—had something to do with it."

  "So are they lost souls?" Rhonda asked the room. "Or demons? Why do something like that? What's their motive?"

  Dags spoke up. "Tim, Steve, have you ever seen them?"

  Both of the Ghosts shook their heads. "We're bound here," Steve said and pointed to the ground. "To this house. There have never been Shadow People in here. But if they exist on something other than the physical or the astral, then we can't see them anyway."

  "Not sure I want to," Tim said.

  Me neither. I was getting goose bumps. Me, Wraith. Sucker of souls, hear me roar.

  Mental Note: me-ow.

  "So there are Shadow People in the restaurant," Mom said. She picked up her coffee, and I noticed she'd done her nails. They were painted a light pink.

  Since when did Mom do her nails?

  Dags nodded. "I think there's a link between them and Dr. Bonville. I'm sure you already know that Nancy's grandmother disappeared a few months ago. And the seventh employee to disappear under Dr. Bonville's patronage was Maureen."

  Seven? I waved at Dags and held up two fingers.

  He shook his head. "There are only two we can link directly to Bonville—his wife and Maureen." He shrugged, anticipating my next question as to how Maureen was connected. "He was having an affair with her."

  Dude was a playah for sure. Wondered what this Bonville guy looked like.

  "So the other five are simply missing?" Rhonda asked, her previous questions about the Shadow People unanswered.

  Dags nodded. "There was talk the others were somehow involved with Bonville, but no one ever knew in what way. Since there wasn't any tangible link between them and him," he sighed, "they're not really a part of the official investigation."

  I narrowed my eyes at Dags—why did I get the impression he knew a lot more than he was saying? I mean, not that I really knew this guy or anything. There was just something…

  …odd.

  Mom held up her hand. "So you think Dr. Bonville has something to do with the Shadow People and Maureen's death, as well as his wife's, along with the other missing employees?"

  He nodded.

  Mom shook her head. "Poppycock."

  I looked at Mom with shock. Hadn't I warned her about using words like that? She was so going to get typecast.

  Dags and Rhonda started to protest, but Jemmy held up her hand. "Why you think that, Nona?"

  "Because he has the reputation of a Magician. A Magician in this day and age—given that meaning—isn't going to ally himself with Shadow People."

  Uh—I scribbled on my board. WHY NOT? And where did she suddenly get this font of knowledge, when earlier she didn't know anything more about Shadow People than we did?

  Rhonda reached out over the table and flipped the Big Book open. A few more pages to the right, then the left, one right, and—

  "Because it says so right here," she pointed to a rather ornate page in the book. I stood up and leaned over the table to see, just as Dags, Jemmy, and Tim did the same.

  "Okay, I can't read that," Dags said in a dejected voice. "It looks like an ancient dialect of Finnish."

  "Actually it's Gaelic," Rhonda said. "First generation—though not far removed from second gen, B.C."

  I could feel the geek meter in the room rise to the red-o-doom.

  I scribbled and put the board under her nose. YOU WANT ME SCREAM? WHAT SAY?

  "Scream?" Dags looked at me. "You can't talk but you can scream?"

  "You really don't want her to do that," Rhonda held out her hand. "Just everyone sit down."

  We did.

  "Shadow People, otherwise known as Shadow Folk—according to this tome—are, in essence, elemental human spirits."

  Uhm.

  What? Wikipedia didn't say that.

  Dags shook his head. "So—what does that mean? I know what elemental is—being of the elements. There are elementals that control each of the five realms. Earth, air, fire, water, and spirit."

  Rhonda beamed. I mean, she was glowing—she was so happy to have found another information spout. "Exactly. But Shadow Folk are basically humans who transcended life in this Physical Plane, gaining a bit of elemental attachment."

  I erased with the back of my hand, scribbled. THOUGHT U SAID NOT HUMAN.

  Rhonda pursed her lips. "No, I didn't say that. The emails from Maureen said they didn't seem human."

  Oh. So much for that great memory of mine.

  Steve put a finger to his chin, a sign he was processing all this. "So how does this happen? This transcendental mingling of human spirit and elemental?"

  I turned my thoughts back to Daniel and wondered what time it was. I did not like the idea of him being alone.

&nbs
p; "The Book doesn't say. What it does say is that these creatures have been around as long as the planet itself—existing before people, from what I can tell. And they have mischievous streaks and are known in several countries. Domovoi in Slavic folklore, tomte in Scandinavian, lares in the Roman deities, and wirry-cowe in Scotland, a tonttu in Finland, and here—"

  We all waited. God she was being dramatic.

  "We call them Brownies."

  There was that dead silence again.

  "You're shitting me," Dags said in a deep voice.

  Well, so much for Wikipedia. I told you.

  "Brownies?" Mom looked at the book. "You sure you read that right? I mean, your ancient Gaelic is up to date, right?"

  That's about the time it hit me: how come Rhonda, whom I always assumed was younger than me, can read Gaelic?

  What, do they teach that in schools now?

  "Well aren't Brownies supposed to look like little people?" Mom asked.

  And to be honest—I'd kinda had that image in my head too.

  "Well, they might have looked like little people centuries ago, before the disbelief in magic became the social norm," Steve said. Everyone looked at him. "But over the centuries, they've become shadowy because of our perception."

  "How so?" Jemmy said.

  "Well, think of me and Tim. Not everyone can see us, even when we pull our energy together and become corporeal. Which tells me that different people have different filters. Ways of viewing the world. Much like a channel on a television."

  Dags nodded slowly. "I'm getting there—"

  Glad he was. I was still stuck on Brownies, and I wasn't getting the image of some movie with a Brownie swimming in a Stein of beer out of my head. Oy.

  "Think of it as the picture's only as good as the television's reception. Bad reception, bad picture. I don't think we as humans have the necessary capabilities to see them clearly anymore, so we see shadows. As to what they are—" he shrugged. "I feel that's still debatable. They might be Brownies—but I'll hold my opinion on that for now."

  Hear, Hear. Now where was my watch? I started to stand up. Mom reached out and pushed me back down with a hand on my shoulder. Ow.

  "So the clearer the reception, the better the image," Rhonda said. "Well, that's easy to understand. And I like it."

  "So we see shadows because we're removed from their channel," Jemmy said. "So what would Zoë here see?"

  I looked at them and blinked. See what?

  "Good point," Rhonda propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "I think it would be a good experiment to have Zoë go OOB and take a look inside the restaurant. In Wraith form she's between worlds and sees all sorts of things we can't see."

  Blabbermouth.

  Dags nodded. "I have the key and the alarm code. It's no big deal if we leave now and I get there early. They're used to me opening up to start the dinner shift."

  "Let's go," Rhonda stood up.

  So did everyone else.

  I banged on the table to get their attention. Well…what do you want me to do? Yell?

  They all stopped and stared at me. I grabbed up the board and scribbled.

  NOT LEAVE DANIEL ALONE.

  Mom had her hand on mine. "Daniel's not alone, honey. He's being watched over. He'll be fine."

  Watched over? What? I scribbled again. BY WHO?

  "Whom." Dags said.

  I glared at him. Watch it.

  He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. "I don't even want to tell you what image I just got in my head."

  Heh.

  "Honey," Mom said in a quiet voice. "Captain Cooper's with him. He comes in when you're not there. Asked me to give him a buzz when you left."

  I blinked. Wha—? The Captain hated me that much that he didn't want to be there when I was?

  "Now don't freak out. Captain Cooper's good for Daniel, and he's a good man himself. No—he's not too fond of you, but I'm working on him. I called him this morning and said I wanted you to get away for a bit, and he promised to keep a close watch on Daniel. When we're done with these pesky shadow folk, I'll take you back to the hospital myself. Okay?"

  I looked at her. I mean I really looked at Mom. And I saw a part of me staring back. And a part of her. I was the sum of part of her. And of Dad. And I could see in her eyes that she understood the guilt and the pain I was going through—and she also understood how much I needed to get away from it all.

  I needed to breathe for a while. And not the air of the sick and the dying.

  "Zoë," Rhonda said, and I looked at her, aware my mom was slipping her arm over my shoulders. "Look at yourself. Have you taken a good look? It's like—something's being sucked out of you. Or you're missing something. You look dried up and used. You need to get out of there."

  And the truth was, I felt just like she said. I felt used and dried up. The constant spooks that appeared in that hospital—the ones I ignored as best as I could—the Shades, Ghosts, entities, wisps—they were all there. Yammering at me. Trying to get my attention.

  Day after day after day.

  And how many times had I caught one of them in Daniel's room, and I'd chased it out? All of it was taking a rather large toll on me.

  I'd finally seen it in the bathroom mirror a little while ago.

  "Let's go see these Shadow Folk," Dags said, and he got up and went to the coat closet by the front door to retrieve the peacoat he'd been wearing earlier.

  Mom hugged me. Really hugged me. I squeezed her back as hard as I could. She put her hands on my face and smiled at me. Blue eyes to brown. "Eat, Zoë. I'm not used to seeing you so skinny. And I worry. Okay? Jemmy and I are gonna do a bit more research on Dr. Bonville. You go investigate the Folk."

  I nodded and smiled. Sniffed. When had I started crying?

  I disengaged myself and followed Rhonda from the table. As I passed her, I scribbled on my board and handed it to her. U MAKE 1 CRACK ABOUT CRY & I SUC UR SOUL THRU UR NOSE.

  She stiffened, but didn't say a word as we grabbed coats and left the Botanica and Tea Shop. Until we got outside.

  "You do realize your spelling is starting to look a lot like LOLCats, don't you?"

  Bite me

  -3-

  We took Mom's car. It was either that or somehow squeeze three people in Rhonda's Beetle (not comfortable) or Dags' truck. Of course, once we got in the car, Rhonda and Dags sat in the back and started talking about weird stuff. Ghosts, spirits, the different planes, and me.

  Not so happy with me being the subject. I was driving, which takes up my hands. Retorting was out of the question unless we wanted to end up on the side of the road.

  The weather was so-so. Overcast. Cold. Rainy. Sort of reflected my mood. I did not want to do this. I checked my watch. I wanted to get to the hospital, grab my snacks, and sit in my chair in Daniel's room. I was still terrified he was going to wake up, and I wouldn't be there. I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he opened those eyes.

  Hrm...might consider a facial. All the blubbering and bad eating I'd been doing was taking a toll on my skin.

  The Livery Bar and Restaurant was in Roswell, a quaint little historic town up north of Atlanta. About a forty-minute drive with traffic. Less than ten minutes if Mom's driving—but then she thinks she's descended from Speed Racer. Eh...what did that make me? Spridle or Chim-Chim?

  I took the more scenic route—not because I wanted the scenery, but because I really wasn't paying attention, my radar on autopilot. I drove Elizabeth up Roswell Road, which became Atlanta Road as we entered the city limits just over the river, as a wild wind blew a lot of debris over the street. Roswell Square came into view real fast.

  The Square was an actual square, complete with a sort of park in the center. Shops surrounded the park—from antique places to a camera shop on the corner near the restaurant. As we drove in, the park was on my left, and the Livery was on the right, nestled beside the Roswell Chamber of Commerce.

  The square was filled with green gras
s, picnic areas, classic Southern gnarled oaks, and a gazebo to the right, directly across from the Livery. I pulled the car up to the curb on Dags' suggestion, in front of the restaurant. It wouldn't open for official business for another three hours, and parking at the curb would be okay for now.

  Dags produced the key, and we went inside the front door.

  The fun stuff about old buildings in Georgia, in general, was usually their history—which leant itself to all sorts of crazy stories.

  "This building started out as a general store, back during the Civil War," Dags said, as he took his coat off and stepped in ahead of us. "The main business was taken care of down here," he pointed to the steps that obscured the view of the rest of the lower dining area. "Up there was where all the grain and supplies were stored."

  The place did have an odd shape to it. Aged brick made up the walls all around. There was a minibar to the right a ways in, and a path that led to the bathroom. I assumed it led to the kitchens as well. Looking up, just to the right of the stairs, was a hole in the ceiling, a cut-through that allowed dessert diners upstairs to gaze down on the dinner people below.

  But what made it fun was all the Christmas decorations. Silver and red tinsel were wound around every banister or pole visible to the eye. A tall, skinny tree decorated in white and gold ornaments and surrounded by presents sat to the right. I was sure when it was turned on, it had only white lights, too.

  And I could smell it. It was a real tree!

  "When this place was a funeral parlor," Dags continued, after tossing his coat on a nearby chair, "they kept the coffins upstairs. That hole is where they would lower them down."

  I looked up again. Ew.

  "Are there any actual stories about Ghosts with this place?"

  "Oh you bet," Dags smiled. "Civil War Romeo and Juliet. The owner of the general store had a daughter who fell in love with a soldier from the North. They carried on a torrid affair for a long time, until they were discovered. He was hung in the square for treason, and it was reported she took her own life in the attic."

  "She hung herself?" Rhonda asked.

  Dags shook his head. "No one knows, really. Some say she threw herself off the top of the building, some say she hung herself. But it's up there where the real freaky stuff happens." His smile vanished. "Be careful, okay? This is where Jamie Reed had her accident, and the jerk manager won't pay for workers' compensation." He looked away. "This is also where I last saw Maureen."