Haunted Be the Holidays

by Heather Graham

  No one was close.

  She had a show to do. She had to stop being so ridiculous.

  She started up the stairs, and as she did so, she felt a rush of air behind her.

  Maybe the beautiful Caroline and her beloved Judson did haunt the theater after all.

  She was startled to feel as if someone had been shoved away from her.

  “No! It is not your theater!” she thought she heard.

  A chill—something she had so recently cast off—settled over her.

  Turning again, she saw no one.

  But she did see the door to one of the set and design studio rooms slide closed. Very softly.

  Had someone been behind her?

  Had they been speaking to her?

  Or was she simply letting her frightening past invade her present?

  She hurried on up the stairs. She had a lead in a show—and she was going to do the entire theater, Adam Harrison and all her friends, just as proud as she could.

  Chapter 3

  The theater was alive with what seemed like an electric energy—just as a theater should be.

  The doors had opened at 7:00 P.M. for the night performance.

  Some theatergoers mingled in the lobby, box office personnel were taking tickets, and some people were choosing to get to their seats early. Before the seating in the mezzanine and the balcony, there were small bars where snacks and drinks might be purchased. Men and women milled in those areas as well.

  Brodie headed to the lobby. In spite of the two blood experts who had arrived from the D.C. forensic unit, there was no difficulty getting the theater crowd in and seated. There was a large open gallery in front, so the techs had been able to rope off an area.

  No matter their shirts—identifying them for what they were—people seemed to think they were some kind of a construction crew.

  Or just dressed up for Halloween.

  “Mr. McFadden!”

  He turned. Charly Atwood, box office manager, dapper and ready for tonight’s show, walked over to him, a hand extended.

  “Great to see you—and congratulations!”

  “Thanks, and…on?” Brodie asked.

  “Why, Miss McCoy, naturally—you are engaged to a stunning young woman.”

  “Thanks, yes,” Brodie told him.

  “It’s great,” Charly said, beaming. “I can’t tell you what an amazing addition Kody has been to the theater—she is the real deal. I saw her sing with her dad on stage years ago, and she was terrific. We’re so lucky to have her—all thanks to you. Her show today was sold out—and she segues right into performing.”

  “She is pretty wonderful,” Brodie agreed. “Have you seen Jackson Crow?” he added.

  Charly nodded. He’d been informed that a small crime scene crew was coming to check out what had appeared to be blood drops at the theater’s entrance.

  “I think they’re finishing up out there.” He lowered his voice because people were milling and chatting in the lobby as they made their way to the ticket-takers. “Heard on the news that Halloween turned real, and a woman was found dead not far from here. So, naturally, you’re tracking any possible clues. Such a shame. People having fun…and then someone evil in the middle of it. Sorry, I’m sure you’re busy. Jackson is right outside. But if you are trying to see this performance, curtain goes up in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, Charly.”

  “We’re a sell-out. I didn’t reserve seats. I figured if you or any of the others made it, you’d catch it from the wings. No one asked for a reserved seat—I’m hoping that’s fine.”

  “Absolutely, Charly. No problem,” Brodie said, starting past him.

  He skirted around the tape that blocked off the area with the blood and headed out. Jackson was speaking with one of the two techs who had come to inspect the drops and take samples. He saw Brodie coming out and spoke quietly to him.

  “We’ll find out if these are blood—and if they belonged to our vampire-girl,” Jackson said. “What are you doing out here? You should be enjoying the show.”

  “Yeah, I’ll go in soon. Curious out here, though. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s damned odd, and hopefully nothing. But the blood just begins—and ends. Almost as if…”

  “As if someone purposely created a little trail—knowing that someone would see it?” Brodie asked.

  “Yeah. But—why?”

  “Here’s the bigger question. The woman in the store saw our corpse—when she was still living. She was bloodied up when she went into the pharmacy. She went out—knowing the police were coming. So, had she attacked someone—or had someone attacked her before she was killed? Or had her injuries been so bad that she brought herself to a rich man’s Halloween cemetery to die?”

  “Nothing we can do on that end until the autopsy tomorrow,” Jackson said. “But she was bloodied up. I think she’d been attacked.”

  “Or had she taken the vampire thing too seriously and attacked someone else?” Brodie asked.

  “Either way, the entire District, Virginia, and Maryland are on alert—every law enforcement agency in existence has been notified. Not that they’re not ready on Halloween from the get-go. Go on in and watch Kody—hey, we had a great line-up of directors/actresses here to begin with, but Kody has brought it all to another level. Go watch her be wonderful.”

  Brodie nodded and turned to head back toward the stage.

  Dealing with violent crime, kidnapping—and murder. It was what they did. Crimes were seldom solved overnight. Blood analysis took time, DNA took time, hunting down leads took time—and often, an army of people working.

  Tonight, however, he felt uneasy. The vampire corpse. She hadn’t been a vampire. She’d been dressed up in Victorian garb to resemble the common concept of a vampire or part of a vampire’s harem, à la Bram Stoker.

  She’d had blood all over her mouth—and it had seemed she’d been crazy before she’d died.

  Close. Far too close to the theater.

  As he walked the side aisle to reach the stage-left wing, he noted the audience was indeed full. Most people were in regular clothing, some more dressed up than others. A few sported shirts that said something about Halloween, or outfits resembling those worn by characters in movies, such as Sally in “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

  There was still chatter as he walked along, but as he did so, the announcement to please silence cell phones came on and the lights began to blink.

  He hurried up the stairs to the wing and silently walked behind the curtain. Clara Avery was standing at the stage manager’s podium. She smiled when she saw him take up his silent position. She then nodded toward Kody, who was set for her entrance across the stage. Kody smiled at him and he gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  Brent Myerson was standing near Clara, ready to enter for his first monologue. Rory Jenson, as his assistant—known simply as Sasha—was there, too.

  The house went dark and the stage lights went up. Brent walked out on stage, striding to his desk, looking at his notes. Rory followed him, and Brent turned, beaming at Rory and starting his opening monologue. Speaking about the wonder of his life, his beautiful fiancée—and the near success he was having with his experiments.

  Rory warned the doctor, still into his monologue—his experiments not in creating life but rather saving special lives by borrowing body parts that were sound and…fresh—that his fiancée was on her way.

  A fiancée who—like most others—would not like him playing with body parts from the recently deceased.

  The good doctor hurriedly put his notes away.

  Kody made her appearance on stage. She was welcomed into the arms of the doctor, who spoke about their wedding, and then he went off-stage, and Kody moved into her song.

  Brodie understood why the others had thought that Kody would be so perfect for the role. The score had been written in a way that gave it a bit of a rock sound—even in a ballad such as the opening number. Kody’s husky alto was perfect for the mu
sic.

  The song was about dreams, and her character’s fears those dreams would not be realized. There was something wrong in her perfect life and her perfect day.

  And her perfect man.

  She finished the song, standing on stage to the sounds of thunderous applause.

  She was great. The audience loved her.

  And he got to go home with her.

  The first act continued. Kody’s character worked on the upcoming wedding, her moving into the doctor’s massive castle, and her fears that something just wasn’t right. The musical numbers were all brilliant. Her with the doctor. Her asking his assistant, Sasha, what could be wrong—a number that had a great deal of humor to it, perfect before the last number of the first act. That one featured the doctor and Sasha, out in a graveyard, digging up a young man who might have been murdered, but who had the perfect body for experimentation.

  Every single performance brought applause from the audience. And as the crowd quieted, intermission was announced.

  Brodie decided not to deter Kody in any way—she had a costume change—but to run out and check with Jackson.

  Jackson had news for him.

  “We might have found out the identity of our corpse, and she’s one of the missing persons Angus told us about. She was last seen with friends at the Smithsonian, sketching—she was an artist—and didn’t show up when she was supposed to join them for dinner. Her name is Helena Oldham.”

  “It can’t be too easy to kidnap someone out of the Smithsonian.”

  “No—and there are cameras. I want to stop this quickly. Angus has asked for footage from the museum and we already have two members of a tech crew going through it. We might have something by the time of the show tomorrow. Oh, and Angela ran out of here today because she got a call from a detective in Alexandria. He was contacting the Krewe because he had a missing person’s report regarding a young woman, Serena Major, who was kidnapped—by a vampire. He’s faxed her the information he has with names and addresses of witnesses.”

  Brodie was quiet a minute, reflecting on Kody’s words earlier—I know who your killer is.

  There was no way any law enforcement officer could bring in a suspect with nothing—except for a woman’s unease because she’d seen something that inexplicably gave her chills.

  And no A.D.A. could prosecute anyone on gut instinct.

  “Did you see any street performers out here tonight?” he asked Jackson.

  Jackson shook his head. “Plenty of kids and adults in costume, but no performers. At least, none of them were performing anything when I saw them. I’ve been pretty much right here. Why?”

  “Kody said someone wearing a mask a lot like the one worn by Brent when he becomes his own monster was dancing out here. I guess a few of the others at the theater saw him too.”

  “And?” Jackson asked.

  He hesitated. “Kody suggested he might be the man who killed our vampire girl.”

  “Because?”

  Brodie shrugged. “Because he gave her chills.”

  Jackson didn’t gainsay him or laugh. He shrugged slightly. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “Great. I need to get back to the show. Maybe we need to start on this tonight.”

  “Cops and agents are on duty. Go watch your fiancée’s last stellar performance for this show.”

  “Yeah, yeah, right, thanks,” Brodie told him. He still wasn’t happy as he made his way back to the wing.

  * * * *

  Everything seemed to be going along as usual.

  Live theater, of course, was different every night. Each show was new. New for those in the audience, and new for the actors because of the reactions of the audience.

  But…

  It seemed normal.

  Brent and Rory performed together as the experimentation began.

  And as the experimentation went to hell.

  The staging for that part was exceptionally well done, in Kody’s mind. Brent, as the doctor, staggered and fell, having injected himself with a serum instead of the corpse. He was wired so that little shoots of electricity seemed to jump from his body. He fell—beneath the slab that held the pieces of his corpse, including the brain—from which he had just extracted materials for his serum.

  When he fell, a stage hand was there, ready to give him the death’s head mask he would wear as he became a monster himself, alive with the brain cells of the man he and Sasha had dug up—a convicted killer.

  It was an incredible role, and Brent played it magnificently.

  Kody’s character entered the laboratory…and found him.

  He would threaten her, struggle within himself, profess his love…

  And come at her.

  Then, a chorus of townspeople summoned by Rory’s character would come in and save her; the show ended with a husky ballad about love and loss and life.

  Tonight, however, Brent seemed to be all over the place. Mixing up his lines.

  Trying to make it through the production, Kody looked at Sasha—in or out of character, his reaction would be the same.

  He was puzzled, worried, and even afraid.

  She kept moving away from him, trying desperately to create a new blocking that would play to the audience.

  And then she remembered what Ginny had said to her.

  Drugs.

  But Brent had been clean. She’d chatted with him at the start of intermission, before changing for Act II. And he had been fine. What the hell could he have taken that would have caused this kind of change so quickly?

  He paused suddenly, center stage, throwing his arms out, as if encompassing the theater.

  “Halloween!” he shouted.

  It wasn’t one of his lines.

  And he went on. “If my murder is not solved in the days to come, I will see to it that no more holidays will be celebrated here—ever! Do you hear me? Ever! I died in a pool of blood, and you will find the truth!”

  He spun to stare at Kody.

  “Or before the next occasion, you too will die in a pool of blood.”

  Every member of the audience seemed to be sitting on the edge of his or her chair.

  For a second, a split second, Kody was frozen.

  Stoned! The bastard had done something, and he was stoned!

  She didn’t want to see him die in a pool of blood—she did want to smack him hard in the face, beneath the mask.

  But…

  “Sasha!” she cried. “Get help. Get help, for the love of God, Sasha! Your master has gone insane!”

  “The people!” Rory told her. “They are just at the gates. They’ve suspected he defiles the dead. They’re ready…”

  He ran off stage.

  Brent didn’t come near her. He stared at her.

  Then, as the “townspeople” began to rush on from stage left, Brent sprang across the floor—heading out stage right.

  The townspeople floundered when there was no Brent to accost. But they quickly rallied, going into the number that cried for his death before racing after him.

  Kody went into the last song, heard the applause, bowed, and waited for the curtain call.

  The curtain went up, but Brent did not come on stage. It went down and went up, and Rory rushed out. And then the townspeople, and then…

  It went down on the last performance of the play.

  And Kody hurried off-stage, rushing over to Clara to demand, “What the hell is going on? I’m going to kill Brent!”

  Brodie was there, watching from the wings. He glanced her way, muttering as he strode across the stage in Brent’s wake, “I didn’t think that was right.”

  She ran after him. Clara did the same, her features tense, torn between anger and worry.

  Extras, stage hands, prop masters, and “townspeople” were all muttering. Angry that one of their number had pulled such a stunt on the last night.

  Brodie was ignoring them all, brusquely excusing himself as he made his way down the stairs and to the dressing rooms.

&
nbsp; The door to Brent’s dressing room was closed. Locked.

  Brodie shoved a shoulder against it and the lock gave.

  Brent was there, minus the mask.

  The stage hand, Barry Adair, who should have helped him with the mask, was there too.

  They were both prone on the floor.

  “Brent!” Kody said furiously, rushing over to him.

  But Brodie stopped her. He dropped down by Brent, checking his throat for a pulse, and then he moved over to Barry Adair and did the same.

  His eyes met hers..

  “Call 911, quickly. Get emergency services out here. We might just save their lives.”

  Chapter 4

  “We’re doing every conceivable test,” Dr. Lawrence Butler said. “But…you say that Mr. Myerson was perfectly fine during the first act of the play, then there was a fifteen-minute intermission—and by the end he was…different?”

  Brodie looked at Kody. He was in the waiting room at the hospital with her, Clara, and Jackson Crow.

  “I spoke with him at the beginning of intermission and he was fine—just fine,” Kody said. “But after that, even when I wasn’t on stage…he got worse and worse. And he was saying lines that weren’t in the play, and then—he raced off stage.”

  “Naturally, we questioned cast and crew. He ran straight from the stage to his dressing room. The show ended before we went after him and there was a curtain call, so it was at least fifteen minutes between him running off the stage and us finding him,” Brodie said.

  “What about your young stage hand, Mr. Adair?” the doctor asked.

  Clara shook her head. “He wouldn’t have seen him. His role is to slip in behind the rear curtain and give Brent the mask during the transformation.”

  “And we couldn’t find anyone who saw him after Act I,” Jackson supplied. “It’s some kind of a drug overdose, but I can’t imagine what acted so quickly—and then knocked them out cold.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it’s hard to treat such things when we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Is there liquor kept backstage?”

  “Not that I know of,” Clara said. “People gift performers with all kinds of things, but…Brent didn’t drink. At all.”