Nope, I wasn’t ready for that. Not one bit.
"Hey, Sierra. Hey, Emily. Is this a bad time?”
She carefully avoided my question and waved me inside. “When did you get into town? Is this about Midas? Come in, please but be warned--it’s Crazy Town Central at my house.”
"I bet it is with a baby and two dogs to manage.”
“And Joshua,” she added. “I swear my husband is a big ol’ man child. Can’t find a hamper to save his life. Can’t make a sandwich for himself. I blame myself and Mrs. McBride for babying him so much. Big Brother not with you?”
I smiled at her and tried not to take that personally. I didn’t begrudge them their friendship. That wouldn’t be right. “Not this time, but he sends his love. He’s going to call you later or maybe he’ll come by. He went by to see Papa Angelos. He’s had a tough go of it lately with his health. We thought about staying another day in Gulf Shores, but he was concerned about his grandfather. He’s pressuring me to set a date for the wedding. He’s worried that Papa won’t be…well enough to attend. But guess what?”
“Don’t make me guess,” she replied as she put the baby in her walker. Emily just kind of sat there, her chubby legs dangled down. She stared at me and then her mother. At least she’d stopped crying. I sat on the floor beside Emily and began putting toys on her walker tray. That perked her up.
“I sold all of my paintings! Can you believe that? And they asked me to come back next year. I loved every minute of it, Sierra. I wasn’t sure I would, but I did.”
She hugged me and rubbed the top of my head with her hand. Like I was another one of her kids. “That is the best news! You and Midas are getting along and everything really is kosher?” Sierra asked as she collapsed on the couch beside me. Sherman walked in and rubbed his cold nose against me.
“Yep. We’re great. Hey, Sherm. Have you been a good boy?” The white-haired dog wagged his tail and showed his pink tongue as if to convince me that indeed he had been a good boy. Naturally, I thought of Jocelyn whenever I hung out with him. She’d be happy to see him looking so healthy and content.
“Don’t believe that. You see Bozo isn’t coming anywhere near me. In the past two days, these two miscreants have destroyed my bean bag chair and all my throw pillows. I don’t know what has gotten into them lately. They act like heathens, and then Emily’s been cranky every day this week. God, I wish her teeth would come in already. Sorry. I just kind of piled it on didn’t I?”
I put the keys back on Emily’s walker tray. Apparently throwing them down for me to pick up was some kind of cool baby game. “How is the investigation going, if you don’t mind me asking? Did you find out anything about the women in the sketches?” I ditched my bookbag on the floor beside me but kept an eye on Sherman. I didn’t need him tearing my worn bag to pieces. He moseyed away now that he’d been outed for his bad behavior. Such a funny dog. A dog with an old soul.
"It has really been a strange one. Usually, I am much more intuitive, but connecting with these entities has been a challenge. I feel kind of discombobulated. It’s just weird.” We sat in silence and watched Emily play. It felt peaceful here, despite the chaos that accompanied playful dogs and an occasionally crying baby.
Eventually, Sierra began sharing what she’d experienced and I listened intently as she revealed what she’d discovered from the team’s investigation of Brady Hall. I was amazed at the parallels between this theater and the one on Dauphin Street.
“The mirror is significant here as well. I'll have to do some more research about this phenomenon because it’s clear that mirrors are more powerful than we suspected. Or at least I suspected,” I added thoughtfully.
Sierra tugged at her messy ponytail. “From everything we've gathered, Adeo Monterro--the victim, was not a particularly scrupulous guy when it came to the ladies. He had his hands on every woman that walked past him. And like many such men, once he made his conquest he was ready to move on. From what I can gather, Elizabeth, his wife had secrets, too, but I don't believe she killed her husband."
A hollow place began to form in my stomach. When was the last time I’d eaten? I’d been skipping meals too regularly lately. I didn’t have the stomach to eat much of anything. Except for avocados. I couldn’t get enough of them. Once Midas turned me onto avocado toast I was in love.
"That would go along with what I've been drawing as well. I think that Brady Hall has been an unhappy place exposed to serious emotional turmoil for a long time. I think the most likely scenario is that the client triggered the activity when she got there and started moving things around; with all that unwanted activity, the house, meaning the spirits in the house, sprang back to life for lack of a better phrase. It's almost as if she has drawn them back there."
Sierra bit her bottom lip and rubbed Sherman’s head. He’d placed his fuzzy face in her lap while Bozo growled disapprovingly from the doorway.
"I think that's probably true. Bonita is under a lot of stress to sell that building and from the little bit of information I have about her personal life, I don't guess she would mind me repeating this; she survived a messy divorce. She didn’t say this, but I hear from my mother in law that the realtor market is tougher than I imagined. Pretty cutthroat actually. But I haven’t told you the best part. Or perhaps the worst part. This happened to the team and me last night at the very end before everything went quiet."
Sierra relayed to me the results of her interaction with the spirit in the mirror. She floored me with her description of those events. I couldn't wait any longer to show her my work.
"You're just going to die when you see this, Sierra. This was my sketch from last night. It’s a girl. Stronger than the grown women who haunt the place and the sad thing is she is not quite human anymore." I couldn’t pull out the sketchpad quickly enough. I immediately began flipping to last night’s feverish sketch.
Sierra didn’t say anything at first as she held the sketch in both hands. She studied it in silence. It was an odd drawing, but the images were powerful. The woman hugging the glass, the spirit reaching out.
“I think I understand what this means,” I began cautiously. “This mirror is being used as a portal for the spirits at Brady Hall. During Lynette’s time, a dead child, reached out to her when she was at her most vulnerable and somehow she made a strong connection. And it was such a strong connection that the thing influenced this woman to do murder.”
"You're calling her a thing. She's a dead girl. How can she be a thing?" Sierra asked without hiding her disgust for that idea.
Wow, my friend was really stressed out.
I picked up Emily’s keys again and then accepted my drawing back from Sierra.
"She was a girl, but now she is not. She orchestrated the murder. She did that. She will do it again if she can--if she’s allowed to. That’s what I mean when I say she is a thing. She’s not a child. Not anymore. All she can think of is revenge, Sierra.”
Sierra rubbed her eyes and tugged at her ponytail again. "This is much worse than I thought. I've been reviewing footage this morning and there's nothing to see. Not an EVP, not an image, not much of anything. A few blips. I saw a shadow person and a brief reflection in the mirror, but there’s nothing to show the client. Most everything I've seen has been a personal experience, not evidence. What do we tell the client?”
I tapped my fingers on my book bag as I thought about it for a minute. I already knew the answer to this question, but I wanted Sierra to come to it on her own. She needed to understand it because this was about her. The spirits had targeted her; one in particular. It had a thing about mommies. It wanted revenge. Sierra was a Mommy.
“How did you feel when you were at Brady Hall? "I smiled at her to remind her that I was her friend.
"What do you mean?"
"It’s not a trick question. How did you feel when you were in the house? Like emotionally. Tell me what you were feeling, first thoughts."
She covered herself with her Alabama throw blanke
t. "I felt targeted, personally targeted. I felt as if whoever was there didn't want me around and that they knew I was coming. And then Rose told me that the spirits there were mistaken about my intentions. I kind of brushed it off after that."
"Did she? What else did she say?" I’d never met Rose, but according to Midas, she was an interesting person with a mysterious past.
"We had an interesting conversation for sure. Rose said that I needed to talk to the spirits and let them know that I wasn't coming to harm them, that I only wanted to talk. I did that. I don't know how much good that did. I feel terrible that there's a little girl trapped there. This just makes me sick."
"Sierra Kay McBride, listen to me. The little girl is not a little girl anymore. You have to get that through your head. Please. You’ll only beat yourself up. She died over a hundred and fifty years ago. What is left of her, whatever fragments remain behind, want nothing from us except revenge.”
"Revenge for what?" Sierra asked as my skin crackled with electricity.
"You don't get it yet? You must really be tired, Sierra. I’m sorry. Her mother was Elizabeth. This girl is Rebecca. She is what it's all about. This is the crime that Elizabeth was trying to hide from everyone. But Rebecca wouldn't let it go. And she wanted revenge so much; she wanted it so much that she became evil. I know that doesn't fit with our thinking about children, but it is the truth and we have to banish her. She’ll never punish enough Mommies. She doesn’t understand that her mother is gone now.”
"So nobody's innocent here? There are no good guys. Just bad guys? Nobody we can help? That’s it, isn’t it? They're all dead bad guys." I held her hands as I understood how tired Sierra was and how burdened.
"Sometimes paranormal investigation isn't black-and-white; isn't that what you told me? I know you want it to be, especially in this case, but it's just not. We have to help them move on, all of them. Innocent or not."
"She didn't deserve what happened to her. Her own mother?" Sierra swallowed back tears as she glanced at Emily who was blowing spit bubbles and playing with her plastic toy keys.
"And nobody deserves to be lost for eternity either. We can help Rebecca by sending her on her way, whether she wants to go or not. She can’t stay, Sierra. You know that. We don’t have to do it today, but we need to do it soon.”
“Today. It should be today. Will you help me go through the evidence? I need to change Emily and feed her and…”
I hugged her and she collapsed on my shoulder. Sierra rarely cried. I took it as proof that our friendship had reached such a mature place that she trusted me to show her emotions.
“I’ll order us some lunch and run through the evidence. I’ll be right here. And when you’re ready, whether it’s an hour from now or ten hours from now, we’ll go. Together. Okay?”
“Thanks, Cassidy. I’ll be glad for the help.” She reached for a tissue from the box beside her and dabbed her tears away.
“You’re not Super Woman, Sierra. No matter what you tell yourself. You need other people. Just like I do.” She wrinkled her nose at that idea and frowned at me before flashing her knowing smile. “Okay, you don’t need them much but you do need them. And don’t thank me yet. I think we’ve still got a battle on our hands.”
“What’s that smell? Oh..ooh, Emily.” She scooped up Emily to change her stinky diaper. “At least I won’t have to do that by myself. Hey, how do you feel about diaper changing?”
“Uh…” I smiled sheepishly. “Ambivalent? Uninterested?”
“Good call,” she laughed as she carried her smelly child to her bedroom.
I flipped open my laptop and logged onto the Gulf Coast Paranormal server. We kind of knew how this was going to go, but it wouldn’t be right to skip over the evidence. Midas taught us to always review everything. Always. And that’s exactly what I planned to do.
Time to get this party started.
Chapter Fifteen--Elizabeth
Just minutes before I was to take my place on the stage I realized I could not breathe. Clearly, Lynette had cinched my gown too tightly. The fabric felt stiff and unyielding. I should have never agreed to this new demand of Adeo’s, to make her my personal wardrobe mistress. She served as my understudy already; surely this additional role would be of no interest to her. But she came to my dressing room like an obedient cow. Just as I was an obedient cow.
Obedient to whatever commands Adeo gave me.
At least she knew where she stood now. He had broken it off with her, just as I begged him to do. Oh dear, this would never do. Was it too late to change back into my blue gown? What would Adeo say if I strolled out onto the stage wearing my dress from the previous act?
But I asked her to give me more room about the chest and waist. I would fire her for this! I did not care one whit about the repercussions. This kind of thing could not be ignored. This was a very demanding role, particularly this new, final scene, but evidently, the young woman was determined to destroy me.
The dress had been much more comfortable at my last fitting. I was not growing fatter, as Lynette hinted at numerous times. My gowns were shrinking, thanks to the homewrecking trollop, Lynette Farris. Was my husband’s rejected lover deliberately trying to sabotage me? Yes. Everyone was against me. I heard the whispers. I knew what they said about Adeo. He had another lover, but what cared I? He had a hundred before Lynette. Maybe I would take a lover, too.
Someone whispered behind me and I waved the sound away as if it were a mosquito buzzing in my ear. Even my own husband was against me. I had always known Adeo was a weak man, but I thought surely he would change. That my beloved plays would impress him. Oh, how he used to love my mind.
He would never change though--he made that clear as he revealed the truth. He knew my horrible secret. He knew about Rebecca and Benjamin and all the ones that came before. Adeo knew and he had always known, but he did not know everything. No, he did not know everything.
I bit my knuckle to remind myself to abide in this moment. Just this one.
But his words I could never forget. Not in a million years. When Adeo whispered my secrets, when he said them aloud, my heart experienced such pain, as if he had reached into my chest and pulled the beating thing out. I had been hiding for weeks, but now I had to perform this new scene. The very role that I had begged for, pleaded for, the very one that I had been singularly obsessed with.
Adding this scene had cost me everything. But I had to go on. I had to make this one further sacrifice.
What am I thinking? Why am I here? I could easily leave Adeo --I could leave it all behind, but what would that garner me? No. Ode to Rebecca was all I had left. I would do the scene if it was the last scene I did.
A tap on my shoulder from a bored-looking stagehand reminded me that this was my cue. Immediately, my cold hand reached into my gown’s pocket and I grasped the cold metal. I palmed the knife as we practiced and raised my free hand to roaring applause as I began my dialogue. This was a confrontational scene; one that required an immense amount of emotion.
Before I stepped onto the stage I was not absolutely sure I would be able to pull the dialogue or song off. I doubted that I could make this play come alive, but now there was no Elizabeth.
Only Lucrezia.
And Rebecca.
Rebecca?
I didn’t move, the words were caught in my throat. Ignoring Adeo’s handsome face I stared past my husband. Rebecca! Yes, I would know my own daughter! Her hair was so short, but I remembered that I cut it before she died; the lice had been so bad. She kept bringing it home so I cut it...I cut it all off. She had cried over her hair. It was short and plastered to her head because she was wet from head to toe. Her nightgown was also drenched through as if she had just been pulled out of the pond.
Just as she had been that day. Oh, my own heart!
All the world grew silent. “Rebecca? Is that you?” I whispered to the luminous child that flickered and vanished from my view. Only her soft, sweet voice remained.
You’ll die too, Mother. You’ll die too.
The scene had grown black and as silent as the grave until Adeo’s face breached my view. His painted eyes and lips were bright, clownish looking. He was saying my name, repeating my name. Not Elizabeth, but Lucrezia. I looked out at the audience. Oh dear, I had missed my cue, but Adeo was coming back around. He was improvising to provide me time to get back into the heat of the moment.
I could not let him down. Could I?
I had no other thought. I had no thought other than to stab him. Just as I was expected to do. That was what came next, wasn't it? It was for the play at least. Not because anger overwhelmed me. Not because the animal inside me took over and wanted to choked whatever living thing stood before me. Not because of that.
There were more lines, but I forgot them. The only thing I knew was that I had the knife in my hand. With a savage scream I plunged the thing into his chest not once or twice, but many times. To my surprise, the blade did not click back as it was supposed to. Instead, it slid through Adeo’s bone and flesh; it felt as if I had pierced a watermelon. A warm, bloody watermelon. I screamed as the blood emerged from his body like a furious fountain.
What was happening?
What have I done?
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right at all. The knife slipped from my hand and fell to the wooden stage floor with a clatter. Sticky, warm blood covered my palm and my fingers as it crept down my arm in long rivulets.
What have I done? Confused by all of the activity I slowly rose to my feet, but Adeo did not rise with me. The thunderous roar of the crowd surprised me as onlookers stood to their feet and clapped furiously. I waited and waited, but the applause continued and Adeo did not move.
Soon a few stagehands came to his aid and I watched absently as the audience went quiet. At least I could breathe now. I could breathe. I could hear the creaking of corsets and the nervous tapping of shoes and all the whispers.
The Spirits of Brady Hall Page 9
