“Then I’ll get to the point.”
Thank God, Audrey thought, but she only cocked her head to one side and asked, “And what is the point?”
“That you have a valuable piece of evidence in the photograph you found.”
She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Interesting, yes. Valuable? We have a couple of names written on the back. That, and a date. No surnames, no location. You can’t even tell anything about where the picture was taken because they’re standing in front of some drapes. The photo could have been taken anywhere.”
Whitcomb didn’t seem impressed by this litany of negatives. He only stood there, regarding her calmly, and said, “I suppose that is all true enough. What is also true is that you have a very clear image of his uniform jacket. I believe if you could find someone to analyze the particular combination of ribbons and medals on the jacket, then you might be able to track down the identity he was using then.”
Audrey hadn’t even stopped to think about that, but then, at the time, she and Michael had been more concerned with getting the hell out of there before that thing caught up with them. Then again….
“Or maybe you could just tell me the surname the demon was using in the 1940s,” she said. “It seems a lot simpler.”
“I suppose it does.” The ghost offered her another of his thin smiles. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that.”
Back to that again. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“In my case, they are virtually the same thing. He allows me to give you hints because it amuses him, but anything else….” The words trailed off, and he glanced toward the window, almost as if he expected his doppelgänger to be approaching across the back lawn.
A sharp pang of fear went through her, although almost at once Audrey reminded herself that the demon couldn’t come inside this house. She and Michael had been sleeping here safely for days and days, with no sign of any kind of supernatural assault.
“You mean he knows what you’ve been telling me?” she demanded, an angry rasp entering her voice.
“He knows of it,” the ghost-Whitcomb said. “I don’t think he knows the content of everything we’ve said. This conversation here…no, because this house is warded. And it is difficult for demons to enter the astral plane, because their consciousness is so very different from yours, or mine. But he knows something of my movements, just because he wants to make sure I don’t do anything to act against him.”
“What would be the point?” Audrey asked. She really didn’t care whether she sounded callous or not. Whitcomb’s confession that her demon adversary had some knowledge of these conversations had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. “What can you do, anyway? You’re dead.”
“Thank you for pointing that out.” The ghost tugged at the lapel of his black jacket, straightening it slightly. “I myself can do nothing. However, as I pointed out to you earlier — if you kill the body the demon now inhabits and send it back to hell, then I will be free. I can move on. So you can see why he is not terribly eager to have you taking my advice on how to deal with him.”
Yes, the Whitcomb-ghost had told her that. However, he hadn’t provided any concrete advice, no practical tips for ejecting the demon from the body he’d stolen. “I don’t think he has much to worry about. Frankly, at this point, I think we’d all call it even if he’d just leave us alone.”
Which was a total lie. Audrey knew that Michael wouldn’t rest until he’d found a way to banish this very dangerous demon, who’d been walking the earth in human form for far longer than they’d been alive. While she tended to be a live-and-let-live sort of person, she knew that sort of laissez-faire attitude wasn’t really an option in this case.
And, judging by the way Whitcomb’s black eyes narrowed and his brows lifted slightly, he didn’t for a minute believe what she was saying. However, he didn’t contradict her, but only said, “The jacket is the key.”
Before she could reply, he was gone. He’d made no sound, had simply disappeared into thin air. It happened so quickly, Audrey didn’t even jump. She only stood there in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the place where a ghost had been standing a few seconds earlier.
Then, feeling more tired than ever, she went back into the pantry to fetch some more ibuprofen.
“He was here in this kitchen, and you didn’t call for me?” Doing his best to tamp down his annoyance, Michael stared at Audrey, who gave him an apologetic shrug.
“If I’d done that, he probably would have disappeared that very same second. At least this way, I got to talk to him for a while.” She pushed the picture they’d found at Susan’s house toward him across the tabletop. “I’ll admit that I don’t know anything about uniforms or insignia. Are all those ribbons really that much of a distinguishing factor?”
“They can be.” Michael had never paid much attention to those sorts of things, either. His grandfather had served in the Korean War, but the uniform was long gone, including the medals and ribbons he’d worn on the jacket. But of course there were people who specialized in these things, experts who could probably help with identifying everything the Whitcomb-demon had worn on his uniform jacket. Michael squinted down at the photo again. The smile the demon wore seemed to mock him, although that could possibly be because the coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. “It’s going to be a little harder because this photo is black and white, but we can have it digitally colorized first, then scan it. I figure I’ll send it to Fred, since he’s my information guy. If he doesn’t think he can do a proper job of analyzing it, at least he’ll know who to send it to.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Audrey said, looking relieved that he wasn’t going to give her any more grief about not calling for him the second the ghost materialized in the kitchen.
It did seem the shade of Whitcomb was drawn to her, for whatever reason. Maybe he enjoyed being around a beautiful woman. Or possibly there was something about her newly developed psychic powers that made her a better candidate for these sorts of conversations. Whatever the reason, Michael supposed he should be grateful for it. Despite his protests to the contrary, their ghost had given them some valuable intel.
Now it was up to them to follow the lead he’d provided.
After they had their coffee, Audrey got up to make them some eggs. Since Michael knew this was her way of saying thank-you for the ongoing crash space he’d provided — not that it was any hardship to have her staying here — he didn’t bother to protest. Instead, he got his laptop from where he’d left it in the library, then brought it to the kitchen table and quickly read through a couple of tutorials on colorizing black and white images. Since he used Photoshop in a rudimentary sort of way — mostly for making flyers and images for his blog posts — he thought he should be able to puzzle it out. For some reason, the idea of sending the picture of the Whitcomb-demon and his hapless bride to a third party for processing didn’t seem like a very good idea. He’d try his hand at altering the photo, and then he’d send the updated image to Fred by way of a Dropbox folder.
All this he’d have to do on his own, since it was Saturday and Audrey needed to see clients at her office in Glendora. Michael had asked her the night before if she wanted to go back to her regular schedule, but she’d only shaken her head and said, “No, I told all my clients that we’d be doing this for six weeks, and so I think it’s better just to stay the course. I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone that we’ve stopped filming the show.”
She’d looked shamefaced as she said this, as though she knew all too well that it was her fault the cable network had axed Project Demon Hunters. Michael hadn’t bothered to argue the point with her, because on the surface, it was true enough. If Susan hadn’t suffered that fatal fall, then the network would have had no reason to pull the plug. On the other hand, he didn’t really want to think about what might have happened if Susan had continued to work with them. Would she have attempted some form of subtle sabotage in order to keep them from getting any closer to Whitcom
b and the secrets he hid? He couldn’t be sure, since she hadn’t done anything to prevent them from destroying the portal in the basement of his mansion. But then, if she’d acted that soon, she would have been fired, and it seemed the demon wanted her to keep spying on him, for whatever reason.
Or would Susan have done what she could to make sure they were successful in these independent investigations, since at least doing so would keep them occupied and, again, away from Whitcomb’s trail?
There was no way to know now. On the surface, what had happened was a tragedy, and yet Michael knew the fall had really been a blessing. It had freed Susan — Eleanor — from being trapped in eternal servitude to the demon who inhabited Jeffrey Whitcomb’s body. He hoped that Audrey would allow herself to see it that way; while she had at least acknowledged how she’d freed Eleanor’s soul by inadvertently contributing to that fall, he still wasn’t sure whether she’d emotionally accepted that truth.
Audrey came back to the table with their plates of scrambled eggs, along with a stack of wheat toast on a separate plate. “Looking up something?”
“I’m researching colorizing the photo. I think I can take care of it while you’re at work today.”
That response earned him a nod, but she still looked troubled. “I wish I didn’t have to go in. But I know that’s unfair to my clients. They’re expecting to see me, and I can’t let my own problems get in the way of helping them.”
Privately, Michael thought the problem he and Audrey were dealing with was probably far more dire than anything her therapy clients were facing, but he refrained from making a comment along those lines. She took her duties seriously, although he believed her talents could be put to better use elsewhere. Still, that was a discussion for another day. Seeing her clients would only take up one day, and then they would have an entire week before she needed to see them again. It could have been worse.
They chatted about other things after that, as if they both knew it was better to let the matter go for now. Since they had a plan of action for the photo, they went on to talk about Colin, about whether they should invite him and Daniela over for dinner the following evening. Colin could probably use the distraction, and since they had no idea when and if Fred would be able to come up with any useful information regarding the insignia on Whitcomb’s uniform jacket, they might as well do what they could to pretend they had something of a normal life going on.
At least they no longer had to deceive Colin about the nature of their relationship. That cat had long ago escaped its bag.
After breakfast, Audrey went upstairs to shower and get dressed. Even though she’d protested that they really didn’t need to incur the extra expense, he’d insisted on getting her a rental car until they could figure out what to do about her badly damaged Toyota. He thought it was important for her to have some sense of autonomy, even in something so simple as being able to drive herself to her appointments. Besides, the weekly rate for the Dodge Charger she was driving was really very modest. It wasn’t as though he’d gone out and rented her a Lamborghini, or even a BMW.
There was also the matter of repairing her house. While Michael thought her homeowner’s insurance might cover part of the damage, she’d have to provide some sort of explanation for how the vandalism had happened in the first place. It clearly wasn’t a fire, flood, or earthquake that had wrought all the destruction. The sad truth was that her place looked as though it had been sacked by a bunch of rowdy frat boys, which definitely wasn’t the sort of thing her policy would cover. Michael had hoped to avoid all that unpleasantness by having Colin’s insurance take care of everything, but now that the show had been shut down, that particular option had been removed.
Well, he’d pay for the repairs if he had to. His bank account was plump enough that he could afford to take the hit, and he felt responsible. If he’d stayed out of her orbit, Audrey would never have had to deal with any of this.
Of course, now that she was in his life, he couldn’t imagine not being with her, sharing these things with her, both the good and the bad. His biggest worry now was whether she would even accept such an offer of help. He’d already noted that she seemed to be stubborn about those sorts of things, didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. He didn’t see the situation that way, but he feared she might.
But they could worry about all that later. Right now, they had other things to concentrate on. In fact, Michael got the feeling that Audrey wanted to remain focused on the Whitcomb conundrum because she didn’t want to deal with the damage to her house. He couldn’t blame her — maybe she would have felt differently if she didn’t have someplace to land, but he certainly didn’t mind that she was here. Just the opposite, really. As far as he was concerned, he’d be happy if she never had a reason to leave.
He just didn’t know whether he had the guts to tell her that.
Chapter 5
Once again, Audrey met Rosemary for lunch in between clients. She’d informed Michael of her plans, and he didn’t seem to have a problem with being left to his own devices, only telling her that he intended to keep working on the photo they’d found at Susan’s house.
“And I’m fine with you talking to Rosemary about what we discovered yesterday…only make sure you’re sitting someplace where you can’t be overheard,” he added, already absorbed in altering the photo, gray eyes focused on the huge display of the iMac in his upstairs office.
“I’ll be careful,” Audrey said, even though inwardly she was a bit annoyed. Didn’t Michael realize she knew how to be circumspect? Therapists with loose lips didn’t tend to stay in practice for very long.
But that was why she and Rosemary got sandwiches from a shop a few doors down from her office, then took them over to Finkbiner Park a few blocks away, where the two of them found a bench a safe distance from the soccer field and brown-bagged it. The day was warm for March, in the mid-seventies, the sky overhead serenely blue. Audrey reflected that it was hard to believe there were beings such as demons in a world like this, but unfortunately, even the most beautiful day couldn’t quite erase the horrors she’d seen at Susan Loomis’s house.
Eleanor’s house, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t have used Whitcomb as her last name, though. Hopefully, we’ll know soon who he was pretending to be when he met her.
Hearing all these developments, Rosemary could only shake her head. “But the show is really canceled?” she asked, which Audrey thought was a strange detail to latch on to.
“Sounds like it,” she said. “I don’t know when they’re going to pay us the rest of our compensation, though. I guess Michael and Colin will have to hammer out that part of the settlement, although, obviously, we’ve had other things we’ve been focusing on.”
“True.” Rosemary took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich and washed it down with some iced green tea. “It’s so weird to think of Susan as being not Susan. She seemed so normal when I met her in Tucson. It’s crazy to realize she was married to a demon. I’m not even sure how that’s supposed to work.”
To be honest, Audrey wasn’t completely sure, either. Although she’d spent time in the company of the Whitcomb-demon, she couldn’t say their interactions had been what anyone could call normal. How long had he kept up the façade of being a regular man? Had he helped with dishes, walked the dog, made dinner reservations?
Then again, he’d been wearing an Army uniform. Even if he hadn’t been deployed overseas, he probably was stationed someplace far away from where Eleanor had lived. Or had Army wives traveled with their husbands during the war? Audrey really had no idea. She guessed that whatever the setup had been, Whitcomb would have done what he could to make sure it benefited him in some way.
“I have no idea,” Audrey said, then drank some of her own iced green tea. “Just thinking about it gives me the creepy crawlies, frankly. Especially in light of what Whitcomb’s ghost said to me about demons being horny bastards.”
Rosemary’s fawn-brown eyebrows lifted slightly. “He really
said ‘horny bastards’?”
“I might have been paraphrasing.”
That reply evoked an uneasy laugh. “Got it. Yes, that’s pretty creepy. I guess maybe that’s part of why they like to possess people?”
“Maybe,” Audrey allowed. She thought of what the ghost had said to her, then recalled how Michael had said that demons liked to sow chaos, to do what they could to subvert God’s will. Since she doubted it was God’s will for humans to lie down with demons, she could see why they would be so interested in doing it.
Literally.
The topic had killed her appetite, so she wrapped up the remainder of her roast beef on sourdough and put it back in the paper bag. For a moment, she watched the group of kids — probably around nine and ten years old — who were kicking a soccer ball around on the field a few dozen yards away from the bench where she and Rosemary sat. They looked completely focused on what they were doing but having a great time, laughing and running and calling out the occasional good-natured insult.
Audrey tried to remember when she’d been that carefree. Not since she was fifteen going on sixteen, before Philip Stanek and his gun changed her world forever.
Apparently guessing something of her mood, Rosemary said, “What really interests me is the way Whitcomb’s ghost keeps dropping in on you. Obviously, he’s not bound to any one place any more than the demon version of him is.”
That was true. Everything Audrey had read seemed to indicate that ghosts generally tended to hang around in one spot, whether it was the place they had died or where they were buried. But Whitcomb apparently didn’t have a problem with roaming around when it suited him.
“Yes, he’s a busy ghost,” Audrey said lightly. She really didn’t like the feeling that she might bump into him any time she turned around. What if one day he decided to chat her up while she was taking a shower?
A shudder passed over her, even as Rosemary said, “Usually, if a ghost keeps haunting one person, it’s because they have something to tell them.”
Unholy Ground Page 6
