That piqued my interest. "You have a photo of an apparition? Where is it?"
"On my phone, back in the front parlor where I left my purse. That's where everything is happening--in that front room. I heard what you heard a few minutes ago, but that's the first time I've heard that particular sound. I don't know what that was. Until that day all was quiet here. But I know that I saw that face in the mirror and the black mist creeping up my legs, all of that happened in the front parlor. Maybe my decorating stirred things up? Maybe restoring this place to its original look was a bad idea?"
"Don't blame yourself, Bonita. Renovation does kick things up sometimes, but that can only happen if there's something here to begin with. And I have to say, though I probably shouldn't, this is an unusual place." We continued to walk through the old theater and toured the rest of the house.
Strangely enough, the second floor was very quiet and actually quite peaceful. It was there that I caught the scent of an old-fashioned perfume, but it only lasted a few seconds and as far as I knew that wasn’t from my new friend.
What was that? Lemon verbena? No, something else.
I paused in the hallway to read the scent, but there was no re-capturing it. I was a little saddened by that but happy that at least this floor was peaceful. It wasn't as elaborately decorated as the bottom level but Bonita had done a great job of making it feel cozy without feeling cramped. Often times in these attempts at reproductions I found that people like to cram too many things into the space. In actuality, Victorian folks weren't hoarders. Not in my limited experience. People in the Victorian age kept fewer treasures than our modern culture, but the things they did keep were often precious. Like silver-framed pictures or crystal glassware. You wouldn't find anything cheap in a middle or upper-class Victorian home.
“Back in the day, this level was the residence. The Monterros lived here and before that, some of the school’s students and teachers called this place home.”
“Interesting,” I replied as we walked towards the stairs. I paused, "Is there an attic?"
Bonita thought about her answer and said, "Yes. Yes, there is but I haven’t been up there much. Would you like to see it?"
"I would."
"I'm not sure I can reach the latch, but we can give it a try." And she was right, both of us were too short of stature to reach the pull-down chain, but she gave me permission to check out the attic with the team when we came back to investigate.
"So you are going to investigate? You'll take the case then? You'll help me?"
I smiled at her confidently. "Yes. I think we should take this case." I cast a worried eye towards the attic. Yes, this is where that spirit liked to hide, no make that spirits. A raspy voice in my ear warned me away, but I couldn't make out what it was saying and Bonita didn't seem to hear it at all.
“How soon can you get started?"
"If everyone is available tomorrow night then tomorrow night. I'll go back to the office today and meet with them. We’ll decide what technology we're going to bring and then I'll give you a call. How does that sound?"
"That sounds great."
Bonita and I made the circle back to the front room and she dug in her purse to find the photograph she promised me. I'd almost forgotten about it because my energy continued to be drawn to that attic.
“Here's that picture, Sierra. I can forward it to you as well. I'm sure Britney wouldn't mind and if you want to talk to her just say the word and I'll make it happen. She's a really good kid and I know she would want to help. Take a look at this."
"Wow," I said to myself as I viewed the photograph. Bonita wasn't lying and this photograph was no joke--this was an interesting piece of evidence for sure.
The face in the mirror wasn't a human face at all. Not a living human. It just couldn't be. This was the face of a skeleton, only it wore an elaborate hairstyle. Blondish brown hair piled up in the Gibson Girl fashion. The hair was lovely enough, but that face! Or, lack of one I should say. I was eager to get this picture into our software and blow that sucker up. Luckily the image had been taken with good lighting but it was slightly grainy and the image off to the side at a strange angle. This wasn't a straight-on face in the mirror and there was no picture of the person taking the image which gave me hope. If only Jocelyn could see this. What would she think about it? No way was this Photoshopped, but then again I’d been fooled before. Josh would be better at picking out the tell-tale signs of an editing job.
"Definitely send this to me, please.”
A few seconds later I received the image in my email and after having Bonita sign a few pieces of paper ensuring that we wouldn't be sued for anything that happened here, I left Brady Hall with an unusually high level of excitement.
With one last glance up at the attic window, I pulled away from the theater and drove straight to the Gulf Coast Paranormal office.
It was time to go to work.
Chapter Four—Midas
“What is this you’re sending me, Little Sister? What am I looking at here?" I asked as I squinted at the tiny picture on my phone. I gave Cassidy a glance. Thankfully, she wasn't paying a bit of attention to what I was doing. There were interested patrons looking at her portraits and she was very deep into conversation with one in particular.
"Put your glasses on, Midas. Are you telling me you don't see a face in the mirror?" Sierra was right, of course. I needed to start wearing my glasses more faithfully, but I’d left them in Mobile. Honestly, I wasn't even sure where I put them. There was no doubt I’d have to start using them, at least for reading. My eyesight wasn't improving--I needed to stop being so vain.
"Let me change positions and find some better lighting," I lied as I stretched the photo with my fingers to get a close-up shot of this so-called specter. "Interesting," was all I could say as I stretched the photo as far as it would go. After examining the strange, skeletal face I quickly searched for evidence of odd shadowing. Something that would debunk this frightening image. Photos were easy to manipulate and we’d seen our share of such attempts in the past. There was no doubt that this woman in the mirror was a terrifying sight. The reflection was black and white, but not the whole picture. There was a slight coloration or colorization to the hair of the apparition, but the face was something to behold. It was clearly meant to appear malevolent, menacing. Strange that it wasn't staring directly at the person who was taking the picture. The face stared straight ahead as if its focus was on someone else. Someone unseen. I said as much to Sierra.
"Who else was there besides the person that took this picture?"
“I didn’t think to ask but I will,” Sierra answered quickly.
What a compelling image! I couldn’t stop staring at it. “I would start by finding out who else was in the room and if there was someone else, where were they standing? You know what to ask. What time of day was this? Did they feel anything unusual? Did they see the image before they took the picture or did they only notice it afterward.”
"Okay, okay, bossy. I know how to run an investigation. I just wanted you to see the picture. I don’t think it’s been manipulated but I'll definitely let Josh take a look at it."
Her mention of Photoshopping reminded me of a recent phone call with fellow investigator and friend, Rose. She had mad skills with this kind of thing. "You know what, Sierra. I've got the perfect person to bring in on the photo. Lead the team on the ground. As you’ve reminded me, you know what you’re doing. I’d suggest if you were to ask me, that you try to debunk that image and let’s have Rose run the original through her program.”
“Wait a second. Rose? Oh, Ben’s girlfriend?" Before Ben’s death, a few years ago, she’d had a little crush on him but he'd already met Rose and soon after Sierra met Joshua. Yeah, my cousin, Ben had been totally in love with Rose. She was all he talked about. I think the feeling had been mutual. I met Rose a few times and although we shared similar interests, namely the paranormal, she was a bit standoffish. I felt as if there was a story there, but I
never uncovered it. Ben’s death came as a shock to us all and I am ashamed to say Rose and I didn’t stay in contact.
I was surprised to receive a text from her a few days ago asking if there were any positions opened at Gulf Coast Paranormal, or if I were interested in working with her on a few cases. She said she was passing through for a job and may stay around awhile. I couldn't imagine that she would ever really leave New Orleans, but who knew? And it's not like we weren’t short-staffed. I had a file cabinet full of potential team members, but ever since the Jocelyn Graves’ accident, I hadn't had the heart to look through any of them.
"Yep. That’s the one. She is amazing with photo technology. If there's any funny business going on she'll figure it out. That is definitely a terrifying image. If it's legit, move forward with caution,” I counseled as I stepped out of the way of a buzzed patron. The draft beer was flowing at this beachside art fair. I normally didn’t imbibe, but those foamy drinks were tempting here on the sunny beach.
"Well, duh. Are you going to tell Cassidy about Brady Hall? Am I supposed to lie to her and pretend that we’re not investigating? She's been texting and sending pictures of her art. I don't like being put in the middle, Midas. You know I love you, but what are you protecting her from?"
"I haven’t asked you to lie, have I? Please, just do the investigation and keep me posted. Look, I have to go. Cassidy is calling me. Her paintings have been selling well. It looks like she sold one of her last pieces. We might be home sooner than I thought. I'll tell her about Brady Hall when the time is right, but I want her to enjoy herself. You know, do something she loves. For now, she needs to focus on what she's here to focus on and that's finding people that appreciate her art.”
An awkward silence passed between us. "I love you, Big Brother. I hope you know what you’re doing." She hung up the phone and I slapped a smile on my face as Cassidy waved me over to meet her new patron. In my heart, I knew what I was doing was wrong--or at least not quite right. Keeping secrets in a relationship wasn’t good. They were like poisonous darts; ones that you launched at yourself. Darts that painfully struck you when you least expected it.
But I was just trying to protect Cassidy, right? It's not like I really wanted to keep her away from the world of the paranormal. But, then again, that was exactly what I was doing. But could Sierra or anyone else blame me? I almost lost Cassidy on this last investigation. She’d become completely obsessed with sketching the dead at Oakleigh—she’d been so focused on making that connection that she'd put her health at risk. Extreme risk.
No. I wasn't going to lose another team member, especially my own fiancée. Never again.
“Midas!” Cassidy said as she put her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. She’d forgotten her sunglasses again. More like lost them. She was good at doing that, losing sunglasses. “Come meet Aretha. She’s an artist too!”
I made my way across the sandy pathway and tried to lose myself in the happy world of the living. And I didn’t feel bad about it. Not one bit. Well, not much anyway. At some point, I’d call Sierra back. No, I’d do one better; I would call Rose and tell her about the situation. If she was still in Mobile. Chances are the team was being punked. But then again, there was always the slim chance that the image was real. A real apparition caught on digital film. That was a rare thing.
Yeah, I’d have to take a look at it again. I’d have to see for myself. Only, when Cassidy wasn’t around. Maybe after she went to sleep.
I smiled again as I shook Aretha’s hand and pretended to listen to her talk about her work. This was going to be a long afternoon.
Chapter Five--Lynette
Adeo’s fingers tugged at my corset strings but I pushed them away playfully. We had to be practical about this. There was no time! No time for completely undressing and exploring one another’s bodies. This wasn’t one of those opportunities--those were far too rare. Too completely few and far between. More and more Adeo sought me out for quick couplings, unemotional lovemaking, but my heart did not want to believe the truth which was this…Adeo Monterro had no plans to leave Elizabeth. No plans to make me his wife. None at all. I didn’t want it to be true! Not after everything I had done for him.
"No! Someone will find us, Adeo!" I warned him as he shoved me against the wall and kissed me ferociously. His need was great, he whispered in my ear. And then he whispered the words I was hungry to hear.
“I love you… adore you…need you...don’t deny me!”
Although I would not allow him to fully undress me--the play would begin in less than an hour--I did not refuse him. I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I allowed myself to hold out desperate hope that this somehow mattered. That this physical connection mattered. As I sweated, my bun sagged in the heat. It was a warm day already and my skin grew slick with sweat as it always did when I had an encounter with Adeo. We had fewer and fewer encounters recently, but he wasn't to blame. He loved me. He told me that regularly. Maybe not in those specific words, save only during our first few intimacies, and now, but in his deeds and actions his love was always intimated. Our love would last forever. That was my favorite line from the Ode to Rebecca and I believed they were meant for us. Every time he spoke them on that stage, his deep voice booming and musical, I knew he was speaking directly to me. Directly to my soul!
Oh, Adeo! How I love you!
As our lovemaking came to an end my hands lingered over his face. The touch of his skin, the squareness of his jaw, the defined prickles of his sophisticated beard, all of these things I loved about him but it was more than physical attraction. It was his soul that I longed for. I wanted to possess Adeo Monterro, as only a wife could possess her husband. Only one thing stood in my way—Elizabeth! But not for long.
"I love you, Adeo. I love you. You have to tell her, my love. We must tell her together, Adeo. It is time to do what you promised,” I demanded as my heavy skirts fell and my lover cinched his pants. “You promised.” I reminded him as I tugged at my corset strings and swept up the flyaway tendrils from my face. I would have to find a mirror to tidy myself and some perfume to hide the scents of our lovemaking.
"Ah, you shouldn't love me, dear Lynette. Isn’t this enough, my lovely one? Aren’t these moments enough? Why ruin them with such talk? We would only cause pain and you know that Elizabeth hasn’t been well for a long time. If I tell her now, while she struggles so, it will kill her. You must understand. Please, do not ruin this.”
I slapped his hand away as he reached out to stroke my flaming cheek. “I am not ruining anything. No! It is not enough! Not at all! I’m not your whore, Adeo! I want what you promised! You promised that I would be your wife. That I would be yours, as your only love!”
His attitude changed immediately, as quickly as the weather during the approach of a summer storm. “People often say things they do not mean in the course of lovemaking, Lynette. You were no innocent, my dear. It is an art, this seduction. You will never be a true artist for the stage, but my how you seduced me! Of that, you should be proud for otherwise, I would not have given you a second look. No. There is no argument, Lynette. My affection for you has run its course. I cannot harm Elizabeth…”
“You dare speak her name to me,” I snarled at him.
“She is my wife, Lynette. Until the day she dies, I am her husband. In case you’ve forgotten, Ode to Rebecca is her property, her art. If she walks away, she takes it with her. She is the brilliance behind the curtain, and on the stage.” He slid his coat on and adjusted his collar. His dark eyes narrowed as he studied me. “It’s a pity you didn’t seduce Elizabeth instead. You are very much her type. I do believe she would have liked you, Lynette.”
"Don't say such things to me. You can never say that. I don't believe any of this, Adeo. I don't believe what you say. Tell me you love me again. Can your love be so changeable?" I pleaded with him. From the crowded closet I could hear footsteps, high heels more specifically, coming down the hall. It must be dreamy-eyed, pale-faced Elizabeth.
She wore high heels every day of her life. I cut my eyes at the door and back at Adeo. All I had to do was cry out. All I had to do was scream and the world would know the truth about us.
Elizabeth would know the truth.
He must have read my mind because he put his finger to his lips, the universal sign for quiet, but I had no mind to oblige him. I reached for the door as I determined to take the most unforgivable action. Time to face the music, I thought as I smiled at him wickedly.
He loved me. He would have no one else, but Adeo lacked the courage to do something about it. Oh, but I wasn’t afraid to speak. What did I have to lose, except Adeo?
I reached for the door when suddenly he snatched my arm with one hand and clamped his other hand over my mouth. I screamed into the palm of his flesh and managed to bite him but he did not scream, neither did he let me go. Not until we both heard footsteps hurry back down the hall. He snatched his hand away and cursed at me, but I did not apologize. I wiped the blood from my mouth and stared at him mutely.
It sounded as if we weren’t the only ones here on the second floor. And I could hear the music from downstairs in the orchestra pit. There would be much activity tonight as the play resumed after the short break we’d taken here at Brady Hall. Elizabeth had been ill for a few days but unfortunately, she had recovered.
I had not given Mrs. Monterro enough of the poison to do the job. I served her the poison-laced tea on three separate occasions, but she either did not drink enough of the tea or I’d failed to measure the right amount. I was disappointed but thankful that I had not gotten caught. Technically, this had been a practice run. I regretted that it failed but I had learned quite a bit. Elizabeth had been stronger than I believed, physically at least. She’d recovered in just a matter of days. He should know. I should tell him what I have done for him—for our love!
The Spirits of Brady Hall Page 3
