“Damn,” I whispered like an idiot. Of course, that wasn’t her jacket. It wasn’t her at all. “I heard fabric and a cough and someone mocking me. Who’s up here, Sierra? Do you know?”
“I saw a few people, but they ran from me.” She kept walking down the hall and pointed her tiny flashlight at the open door next to her. Satisfied she moved on to the next one. “They’re afraid, Midas. Really afraid. They’ve been here a long time and they don’t want to be bothered but they are definitely running scared.”
“Afraid of what? What are they running from? Me?” I dared ask as I pointed the camera at my friend. Sierra walked toward me and traveled down the small hallway as silent as a cat. She opened the only closed door, gave me a warning look and shined her light inside.
“That’s the question. Let’s see if we can find out. You ready for this, Midas Demopolis?”
She wasn’t asking me if I was ready to investigate Oakleigh House. She wasn’t even asking me if I was ready to film her “conversation.” Sierra wanted to know if I was back. Really back. Was I ready to put the past behind me? Ready to stop blaming myself for Jocelyn’s death? For feeling guilty for surviving, for having been saved by someone I should have been protecting?
Was I ready now?
Up until that moment, I wasn’t sure that I was; not deep down inside. But I knew it now. This was my calling. Come hell or high water this was my purpose. I gritted my teeth and ignored the dampness in my armpits and the churning of my stomach.
I answered her without hesitation, “More than ready.”
I stepped into the room behind her.
Chapter Seven—Sierra
“Be still, Midas. She’s really skittish. I’m going to try and talk to her.”
“Okay,” he answered quietly. In my mind, I reached out to the fluttering image of the woman. I knew Midas couldn’t see her. She didn’t even want me to see her, much less anyone else. Her dress made a slight noise and I could hear a light wind whistling around her. It took much effort for her to be here.
Hello, my name is Sierra. What’s your name? Is it Moira?
She didn’t answer me at all but turned her blurry face to the wall. Why was she blocking me like this? I could see the shiny ribbon of her corset and the twisted bun at the back of her head, but I had yet to see her face and that bothered me. She was no pretender, not like some negative spirits could be. I’d encountered entities that posed as the dead but were actually something far more sinister. I knew how that felt. They didn’t feel fear, not those things. But this lady, she was sad and frightened. I could feel her fear. Put your guards up, Sierra. Don’t let her take over. After a few seconds, I began my conversation with her.
Why are you sad? I can help you if you talk to me.
Make him leave! Make him leave!
I ignored her request and kept pushing for answers.
Can’t you tell me your name? Is it Minnie? That’s it, isn’t it? My name is Sierra.
She moaned at my discovery. I was right, her name was Minnie! She didn’t like this at all. She hated that I knew who she was because she didn’t want anyone to know. Oh, he would find her now! That’s what she believed.
Leave!
In a wave of emotion, she vanished into the wall.
“She’s gone.”
“She didn’t say anything?”
“Yeah, she did. She said, ‘Make him leave. Make him leave,’ and then she told me to leave. Or you. Or both of us. I can’t be sure.”
Midas said, “Me? Should I step out? I can film from the doorway if you want to try again.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “No, I’m not sure she was talking about you. I don’t know. It’s weird. I think I got her name, but I’d like to keep that to myself for now. Well, I’m not going to get more from her at this present moment. Maybe later this evening she’ll allow me to dig a little deeper. She’s running from someone. And I get the feeling that she’s ashamed of a crime, a sin. A very bad thing. She prefers to stay in the darkness. She goes about in black because it’s part of her penance. Or so she believes.”
“Can you explain what you mean? Without giving away her name?”
“I’m only feeling impressions—residuals, Midas. She didn’t like that I pulled her name out of her. As I said, it’s too early to share anything solid. I don’t want to taint the investigation. Let’s go back downstairs and get started with the teams. Sorry, Midas. I really thought I could connect with this lady. I feel…” I rubbed my lip and shoved my hands back in my pockets. Touching my crystals helped ground me. “Sorry.”
“No apologies necessary, Sierra. You were right, what you told Artemis. It’s a puzzle.”
Midas…Midas…
Midas made a strange face and asked, “Did you say something?”
“I’m standing right in front of you. You know I didn’t say anything. What did you hear?”
“A whisper. A female voice whispered my name.”
I tossed my blonde hair over my shoulder and said in a firm voice, “We should head downstairs. Sounds to me like you’re being targeted, which doesn’t surprise me, but I don’t like it. Let’s get the guys in here. You and I can stay with Lucy.”
“Fine, let’s do it.” I didn’t want to tell him point blank but he looked off his game. Next thing I knew, he rocked on his feet and bounced against the wall behind him.
“Midas! What the heck? Joshua! I need you to get up here,” I yelled like he wasn’t watching on the camera.
A few seconds later, Joshua’s heavy footfalls came up the stairs and I took the camera from Midas. “Whoa, I don’t know what just happened. I just need water.”
“Put your arm around my shoulder, Midas. I don’t want you falling down the stairs.” Joshua shot me a look of concern.
And then Lucy appeared her face white as a sheet. “What is it? Midas?”
“Nothing. Just a dizzy spell. I’m fine, guys. I’ve got it, Joshua. I can get down the stairs. Let’s get the team up here and…oh man. My head is just spinning.”
The four of us traveled downstairs silently and Midas took a seat in the gift shop where we’d set up our watch station. “I’ll stay here. Bruce, Joshua, you guys go upstairs. Sierra and Helen, you two take the Cook’s House. Take walkie-talkies, just in case.”
“Do you need anything? I have water if you’d like a bottle.” Lucy asked as she sat beside Midas at the table. She was a little too close for my comfort, but Midas didn’t see her like that. A good thing too because I’d break his legs otherwise. His current girlfriend, make that fiancée, was a good friend of mine.
“We’ve got water right there. It’s in the bag by your feet. Didn’t you say your fiancée was feeling bad? I don’t want to get sick, Midas. Not with a baby at home.”
Midas rubbed his forehead with his hand, “I don’t have a fever. I’m not contagious. I’m actually feeling better now. You guys get started. The time is 9:45 PM. So let’s go. I promised Lucy we’d be done by two, if possible.”
“Don’t mind me,” she said as she dug in the zippered bag for a bottle of water. She twisted the cap and set it in front of him. “I’ll be right here as long as you need me.”
“Great. Holler if you need something, Midas.” Helen and I left the main house and went to the smaller building outside.
Helen didn’t have much to say except, “I didn’t know Cassidy felt bad. I’ll have to check on her in the morning. And to be honest, I don’t think I’ll make it ‘til two o’clock in the morning. That’s way past my bedtime.”
I clicked the button on my flashlight and followed the brick path to the Cook’s House. “Not me. I’m awake at two, four, five. My daughter doesn’t have a schedule no matter what I try. Except when she stays at my in-laws' house. My mother in law makes it a point to tell me that Emily slept like a log. I don’t know how that could be possible.”
Helen smiled, her white hair shone in the moonlight. I hoped I was that pretty when I was sixty plus. Helen was an astonishingly
attractive woman and I could only imagine how many hearts she broke when she was younger. Not that she wasn’t breaking them even today. Bruce was clearly smitten with his “Silver Fox,” as he liked to refer to her. She didn’t correct him even though her hair was far from silver. It was white, like bleached white. She had tanned skin and bright white teeth.
“Interesting,” she said quietly as we walked up the ramp and went into the building. There were only two rooms in the Cook’s House. I didn’t know what was interesting about that observation, but I didn’t push her on it. My nerves were stretched taut, like the strings of a guitar and not because of Helen or even dreamy-eyed Lucy. It was because of this place.
And the Lady in Black. Minnie. That was definitely her name.
Helen hummed to herself as we went inside. “This wasn’t really slave quarters, you know. Not that there weren’t slave quarters here. This was actually Union barracks, built-in 1867. It was relocated here after that by the Cole family. I don’t know why. Anyway, some of the Union soldiers stayed here during Reconstruction. It’s actually one of the few buildings in Mobile left from that period.”
“No way. Really? I hadn’t heard that. So not a slave’s quarters?” I stood in the center of the room amazed at the sparseness. “I came here for a high school field trip and it looked very different. There was a rocking chair there and some toys over there. It’s been a while, but I do remember that.”
“It can’t be that long ago, Sierra. How old are you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grinned at her. “Let’s do an EVP session. The camera is blinking so we’re on. Better check the audio.” I tapped on the walkie-talkie. “You hear me okay, Midas? How are you feeling?”
“Great and I hear you perfectly.”
“Roger that.”
Helen held up her handheld camera. She surveyed the room like a pro, smoothly and slowly. “Tell me more about this place, Helen. What else do you know about it?”
“I don’t know much more than that. Lucy would be the one to ask for more details. Except, I do recall that the original location of this particular building was a few blocks from here. They moved it piece by piece, but believe it or not, that was before my time. Even though it wasn’t a slave quarters—wait. Did you hear that? The other room, I think.”
Before I knew it, Helen was headed for the open door, but I couldn’t move. Not yet.
Somewhere, I could hear a baby crying and I knew that sound well. That’s when I heard Helen calling my name.
Chapter Eight—Cassidy
I swallowed another teaspoon of the medication and then waited for the magic potion to settle my stomach. Man, this mess came on quick. It couldn’t have anything to do with my strange encounter with Lucia. Nah, couldn’t. That would be crazy. I mean she was odd and everything, but to have the power to make me sick? Like what? Like she was a witch or something? That was ridiculous. I didn’t know any witches and I wasn’t sure a witch would have the power to make you sick.
Yeah, I’m being ridiculous.
I sipped some water and waited. Yeah, I kept the water down. I stared at myself and stuck out my tongue. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my lips appeared practically bloodless. Yeah, I looked like hell, but I had to do my job. I couldn’t leave the Gulf Coast Paranormal team hanging. I had a painting in me that needed to get out. Not the sketch of Minnie, although that scene drew me too. But there was a man, he had something to show me, something he wanted me to know. It was urgent and I…
Oh, God. Please don’t let me throw up again.
I didn’t. Instead, I went to my studio and immediately began painting. I left Domino in the house because he was behaving like a little monster and I was too ill to scold him repeatedly. I snacked on some crackers I found in the back of the small refrigerator that I kept in my studio. It felt good to keep something down. But this man, he was insistent. He wanted to tell me the truth, or his truth, as he saw it.
My mind was void of thought as I dabbed the paint colors onto the wooden palette. It wasn’t exactly the shade of purple I wanted, but it would be close enough. I didn’t need to pencil in this portrait. I let the image in my mind lead me as I worked. With each stroke, I felt better. Still, I ate some crackers and drank water as I paused to look at my work. This was going to be a strange picture. A man in a cloak, his shoulder-length, black hair as dark as the cape he wore. He was wet, his skin was wet, his clothing. I painted in a live oak behind him with plenty of Spanish moss. I couldn’t summon more detail about the place than what this man showed me although I knew there was a house somewhere nearby. It must be Oakleigh.
This must be near Oakleigh!
Who are you? I thought as I painted the square lines of a young face with intense dark eyes. He held something under his cloak. But what was that? A bundle of some kind? A bundle of clothing?
Oh, I needed another shade. But which one? I needed red, deep red, blood red. That’s what I needed. Not one of those fake blood reds either. It had to be accurate.
What are you trying to show me? Whose blood is this?
He didn’t answer only stared back at me from the portrait. His dark eyes watched every brush stroke I made. That’s when I heard a strange sound, like breaking glass. It was coming from my half-bathroom. I had one installed in the studio recently. I put the palette down and dropped the brush in the water.
I knew it could not be Domino because I did not bring him today. And he wasn’t smart enough to open the door. Or was he? If any cat could manage such a feat, it would be my Domino.
“Hello?” I asked as I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. It was a good thing I had on slippers because there was glass all over the floor. Somehow, the mirror had fallen off the wall and broken into a hundred pieces.
“Shoot! This is a mess.” I squatted down to clean it up, but it didn’t take long to knick my forefinger with a piece of sharp glass. I ran cold water over the cut and wrapped it in tissue. I needed a broom and a dustpan. That’s what I needed. I couldn’t pick up a hundred sharp pieces with my bare hands. I’d be cut to pieces!
I examined the screws still in the wall. From what I knew about mirrors and how they were installed, this one shouldn’t have moved at all. It should still be attached to the wall. But the screws were still there and the clips weren’t broken. It’s like whatever did this had ignored the laws of physics and just took it off the wall and broke it.
This had to do with the painting. It just had to. I turned off the light and went back to the canvas. But to my surprise, the canvas painting had been pierced with one of the shards of glass.
How in God’s name did that glass get here? I didn’t do it. I didn’t stab the painting. No way did that piece of glass fly through the air and land in here. No way.
Someone, some way was trying to tell me something.
I stared at the painting and knew exactly what I needed to do. It had been a while since I’d done it, but there was no avoiding it now. Tentatively at first, my fingers made contact with the paint. It was wet beneath my finger pads, but I did not let that deter me. This was how I made contact with the dead, the ghosts of the past.
The eyes of the man continued to pierce mine as I kept my fingers in the moist paint. And then, I felt the room slip away and I wasn’t standing in front of a canvas anymore.
I was watching something terrible unfold.
Chapter Nine—Jamie Everett
He kicked me and I hunched over. Then my father grabbed my cape collar and held me to his face. I could feel the spittle coming off him as he spoke, “You make me sick, Jamie! It is difficult to believe you are my blood--that you are my son. The things you say, the things you do. You have no shame, do you? The girl is ruined, read the letter. Just read it!” He shoved me back and snatched the letter off the table. He slung it toward me, but I did not accept it. I let it fall to the ground. What was the point of reading it?
The contents would likely be a puffed-up version of the truth, but the t
ruth nonetheless.
“You rotten bastard,” I began with anger seething in my voice.
“We settled your affairs in Florida, but I refuse to continue to do so. This girl...this Mayweather, you’re going to marry this one. You will marry her or else I will cut you off forever!”
I snorted at that idea. “Why would I want to marry a girl who gives herself away so easily?” I couldn’t help myself, I cast an eye in my father’s wife’s direction. It was only a few seconds but it only further angered my father. “Who knows if I am the only one she’s been cavorting with? As you always say, bloodlines must be preserved, father.”
He was breathing heavily and sweating, “This is not up for debate, Jamie. What do you think will happen when Mr. Mayweather tells your aunt and uncle? They will be sure to throw you out and you can be sure you will not return to Selma with us. I am sure other letters are winging their way now to our dwindling social circle. You will have nowhere to go.”
“You wouldn’t dare! You can’t do that! I am your son!”
“Not my only son!”
To that I said nothing.
“Always one more thing, Jamie. What should I do with your perverse mind and notorious reputation? How is your sister ever going to marry? Each of your dalliances diminishes her dowry, her opportunities. And what about your little brother? And my wife?” My father’s balding head was sweaty and his cheeks were quite pink, clear indications that he meant every word of what he said and I could not deny any of it. “You sicken me, Jamie. Your mother would be appalled with the man you have become. No, not a man. Creature. You have become a creature.”
“Please, Mr. Everett. Do not speak such things,” Altima pleaded in a calm voice. Strange that she continued to call her husband by his proper name. But then again, in my opinion, they had always had a strange relationship. She wanted a father it seemed instead of a husband.
The Ghosts of Oakleigh House (Gulf Coast Paranormal Book 13) Page 5