About what? I start to ask but don’t. The wind is making it difficult to talk anyway and it’s starting to rain. Mojo is at the door wanting to go inside. Pratt is eager to join him. I reluctantly open the door.
“The police don’t think she was able to hang herself,” I say, making my way to the kitchen to light the candle.
“My lawyer is looking into that, but I believe they’re wrong. A fixture was installed in the ceiling a couple of weeks ago. Mackenzie wanted to get Mrs. Jankovic a hanging lamp for her birthday. The woman liked religious designs, and Mackenzie found one online that she thought she would enjoy.” Pratt is shivering and keeping one eye on Mojo while avoiding me with the other.
“I don’t know what became of it, and I’m not going to concern Mackenzie with the matter. I don’t want her to blame herself. I should have realized Mrs. Jankovic needed professional help. I tried to respect her privacy instead.”
“Rather strange behavior, don’t you think? Why commit suicide in your home?”
“I’m sorry but I don’t have time to discuss this further. I must get going. The trip to my sister’s and back is over four hours. I want to get on the road before the weather gets any worse. I don’t want Mackenzie in the house while all this is going on. Please, I need this situation resolved. I’ll move to a hotel tomorrow and stay until you’re finished here.”
Pratt seems sincere despite his lies, ones I’m not even sure he recognizes. I’m not thinking about doing this for him though. I’m thinking of Mackenzie and the little boy’s spirit that deserves to be free of the man.
“All right, a day or two. I’ll stay in the house tonight, but I want the electricity fixed as soon as possible. Call me tomorrow evening, and I’ll update you on my progress.”
The rain is pounding now. Agustina’s protection candle barely lights the room. Pratt is no more than a shadow man. The light flickers on his face making it look serious and helpless. His aura is too dark or faded to see; his thoughts are clouded by fear and anxiety and secrets I fear to know. I doubt I can trust him to keep his word, but it’s too late now; I’m taking the house key from him.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening. The house is yours while I’m gone. Help yourself to anything you need.”
He hesitates, turns away, then turns back to me. “Do you think Blake’s spirit had anything to do with Mrs. Jankovic’s death? I mean after what it did to me, it seems a possibility.”
I start to say no, but wonder why he asked based on what he already said about the woman. Jankovic believed in the lidérc; she believed it was in the house. She wouldn’t be the first to let her beliefs consume and torment her. Whatever her reasoning, I ignore Pratt’s question.
“I’ll be clearing her energy from the house. I’ll do that tonight before you get home.”
Pratt’s got that creepy grin on his face again, or maybe it’s the candle’s light that’s distorting his features.
“Thank you. I should have called you months ago. If I had, Mrs. Jankovic might be alive right now.”
I cringe again at his words. He hurries back to the main house and I unpack the jeep. The winds are blowing so hard it’s getting difficult to stand in one place. My stomach twists in knots as I watch Mackenzie run to her father’s car. After Pratt puts suitcases in the trunk, I watch them drive away. I forgot to ask for the key to the surveillance cabinet.
Mojo stands in the doorway, staring at the rain. “Come on. We don’t have any heat here.” He takes a step back inside as the wind whips me sideways.
“Come on. Let’s go talk to Jankovic’s ghost and see if she will tell us what really happened in that house today.”
Chapter Thirty One
§
The house is warm and icy cold at the same time. It’s the voices that send chills up my spine. The trauma of today’s events are echoing in the walls. I’m not ready to face Jankovic’s room yet so I make a cup of tea. Then I go to the living room where we all sat and waited and wondered.
With my eyes closed, I try to silence the day’s events. I light my protection candle and smudge the corners of the room then I say a prayer and ask the energy to dissipate. I do the same in the entryway where the voices are loud, commanding, and harsh.
Next, I go to Pratt’s study. Even without the man’s presence, the room is unfriendly and confused. When I sweep the smudge stick over his desk, I see the empty glass. I don’t know if it’s from last night or if the man is really stupid enough to have had a drink before making a four hour drive in a storm.
From the window behind his desk, I watch the rain come down in sheets. I can’t even see the backyard, but I can see the gray energy that lingers in Pratt’s chair; it can’t be trusted.
Once the door is shut behind me, I cross it with the potion’s wine; the irony is slightly amusing. I smudge through the rest of the downstairs then head upstairs to do the same. Finally, I go to Jankovic’s room.
In the laundry room, I stop just to delay the task. Mojo looks puzzled. “I don’t think she’s going to like me in death anymore than she did in life,” I tell him. “Why did she want me to go?”
She knew I’m not Pratt’s niece. She could have seen or sensed Blake’s spirit, perhaps in Pratt’s form. She certainly could have mistaken it for a demon, but why such opposition to my being in the house? Lidérc lives here. Maybe that’s the way she wanted things to stay.
After crossing the door, I take deep breaths and go into her room. The smell of death feels like a punch in my gut and I take a step back. The chair is still overturned on the floor but has been moved to the side. It appears that the police took the rope and ring in the ceiling. Pieces of drywall cover the carpet.
I smudge the room and light an incense to mask the smell. “Hello, Mrs. Jankovic,” I say, as I spread my Navajo blanket on the floor. The kitchen light barely reaches into the room. I’m sitting in the glow of the candle, waiting for her to answer. Mojo is sniffing everything but me.
“I hope you’ve already gone to the light. If you’re lost or confused though, I’ve come to help you. I come with reverence to support your transition. If your spirit remains here, please give me a sign.”
From the laundry room comes a dull snap.
“Mrs. Jankovic, if you are still bound to this earth, please give me a sign in this room.” A single piece of drywall floats from the ceiling like a feather and lands in front of me. “Thank you,” I say.
With my back pressed against her bed, I begin praying to the Great Spirit for assistance. The wind slams something outside, and I jump just in time to see the light from the kitchen flicker.
“Mrs. Jankovic, you’re in spirit now. Don’t be afraid or confused. You’re safe and loved. No harm can come to you now. Can you tell me why you chose to end your life?”
The wolfdog has stopped sniffing to stand on the bed and stare at one corner of the room. He’s doing his ghost growl, indicating what I fully anticipated: Jankovic is no more fond of me in death than she was in life.
“It’s all right. I’m not here to judge you. I’m giving you an opportunity to tell me what caused you to take your life. Send me a message and I will understand it. Speak and I will hear you.”
The wind slams rain against the tiny window at the end of the room. “It’s your decision. Let me help you find closure in death or leave this house now and forever. Do not remain to seek solace… or revenge.”
I close my eyes and pray for Jankovic’s soul. When she doesn’t answer, I use the potion to cross the chair where she once stood. “May your god be with you.”
When I open my eyes, Mojo is lying on the bed. The room feels light and warm. As I gather my things to leave, I see a bottle by the bed. For a second, I think it glows. It looks to be a hundred years old, a beautiful gold color, sealed with wax and string, and with elegant script: Lidérc létezik -ben önt. I might need to look that up. When I tip the bottle, I see it’s empty except for tiny black eggs. Strange.
“Let’s go,” I tell Mojo. I turn to close the do
or, but it slams shut before I do. “We should come back later,” I say.
In the entryway, I sit on the bottom step and ask to speak to Blake. The rain is drumming on something metal on the roof. It’s beginning to form a pattern. I ask Blake to send me a message. When I hear a crash upstairs, I follow Mojo who is already at the top landing. He goes into Mackenzie’s room and again, I follow.
After putting the candle on her desk, I sit on the bed. The entryway light barely climbs the stairs, a dusty gray shadow ends at the hallway.
“Blake Pratt, I’m here to help you. It’s time for you to go to the light. Your loved ones are waiting; your mother is waiting for you.”
The gray light in the hall turns to black. The candle’s flame dances wildly, making waves on the ceiling. Mojo is staring at the desk, the candle is making images on his face. He looks like a big stuffed wolf and I almost laugh.
“Blake Pratt, give me a sign that you are here.”
I wait and sink into trance while repeating his name. When I feel the wolfdog beside me on the bed, I give up to go to Pratt’s room. As I walk across the room, there’s a crunch under my foot. When I wave the candle around, I see a piece of paper on the floor.
Ms. Raven. For you. Fourth floor.
The writing is large and rigid. For me, what? I turn on the light and look around the floor. The note could have been there when I came in and I missed stepping on it, or not.
When I go to put the candle on the desk again, I see a key. A small silver key that might fit a cabinet. Like the one on the fourth floor. Mackenzie left me the key to the surveillance cabinet? I search the room for a tiny camera watching me; it could be hidden in the ceiling or any object in the room.
I blow out the candle, cup my hand over the key, and scoop it up like an unskilled cat burglar then I hurry upstairs. I feel like a thief about to break into the vault that holds all of Pratt’s secrets, and I fear I’ll find answers that will become my nightmare.
The key slides into the lock like butter, the oak door opens to reveal a monitor, a black video recorder, and dozens of CDs. I push play expecting to see myself nosing through Pratt’s surveillance equipment. I don’t.
I see darkness then a sliver of light and a dark figure that enters a room. I think I recognize the posts from Pratt’s bed. The figure walks to one side of it. I can see what looks like someone lying very still. I’m sure this is the figure I saw; the figure of Blake in Pratt’s form. Why didn’t the doctor show me this, and how long ago was it captured?
The figure moves to the bed, blocking who I assume is Pratt. There’s a struggle then the two are fighting. This must be the night Pratt was scratched. Mackenzie knows all about this.
The footage goes blurry then it appears that the camera is being blocked. When the room comes into view again, the figure steps away from the bed with its back to the camera.
I look to the bed and clearly it’s not Pratt lying there. It’s a woman with short, blonde hair. I take two steps back and shiver. I can almost hear her telling me again that I don’t have to breathe. But she’s not reaching for my hand as she did in the frigid waters of Shem Bay. Her head is twisted to look into the camera; her cold, dead eyes are staring at nothing.
I’m transfixed until the dark figure starts backing out of the room. Before it’s out of view, it turns around. It isn’t the spirit of a little boy. When he looks into the camera, Dr. Douglas Pratt smiles right at me.
Chapter Thirty Two
§
I stop the footage and stare at Pratt– a much younger Pratt than the one I know. If this is yet another version of the ghost of Blake Pratt, he’s a most impressive apparition; one that’s solid and appearing very much alive.
I rewind the footage to the woman’s face. Her lifeless eyes look into mine, her short hair is fanned over the pillow, her hands are wide open beside her. I know I’m looking at Jean Landy’s face, but it couldn’t be her. According to Pratt, she was dead long before he bought this house.
I press play and watch Pratt back out of the room again. Now I can tell this isn’t Pratt’s bedroom; the bed is similar, but there’s no window next to the bed, no molding at the ceiling, no terrace doors. Mackenzie put this CD in so I could watch her father kill someone years ago– kill her and Blake’s mother. He lied about the footage being overwritten.
Pratt also lied about Landy’s death. The newspaper’s editor and the chief of police were never involved in a cover-up of her alleged overdose. Somehow he convinced the police that she left him and the children when she was actually already dead.
If Pratt suspected Mackenzie knew what happened, it could have been the reason he put her in the psych ward– to shut her up and bring her mental state into question. Blake could have found it years ago. Maybe like Jankovic, the boy didn’t hang himself.
I’ve got to get out of here with all the CDs and turn them over to the police. My hands are shaking as I gather them all together. A loud bang on the window from the storm sends them flying out of my hands. I’m on my knees picking them up when the lights go out.
The room is solid black. There’s no light coming from anywhere. I feel my way to the door and down the steps then to Mackenzie’s room where I left my backpack with a flashlight inside.
I’m clinging to the wall, counting the doors when the lights come back on. I go running for my bag, hear ringing, and freeze.
There’s a phone downstairs and I think Pratt is in the house. Three rings and it stops. From the third floor, I can hear it clearly below– a click and Pratt’s muffled voice. He’s calling me on a landline.
He’s saying the roads are closed and they had to turn around to come back home. He says he’s calling to warn me not to leave the house. The wind gusts are over seventy miles per hour. There’s a long pause and I think he’s hung up when he yells, “Don’t go anywhere, Ms. Raven. If you leave the house, you will not survive.”
There’s another click and the house is silent except for my heart, which is pounding louder than the rain. I will not survive? Why would he put it that way? Unless he has a phone app that allows him to watch what’s on his surveillance camera. Why would he use the landline? So he could toy with me? Watch me panic? It worked.
I start to go back to the fourth floor to pick up the CDs and lock the cabinet then realize Pratt could be here any minute. He didn’t say which road was closed or how long it would take him to get home. He probably lied about going anywhere at all.
There’s a loud slam from below, and I bolt to Mackenzie’s room to get my bag and run downstairs. One thing Pratt didn’t lie about is the storm. It’s raining so hard I can barely see out the front window as I check for his car in the driveway. It’s not there yet, but I’m not waiting.
Mojo is pacing. When I open the door, he hesitates then runs in the direction of the guest house. I follow, fighting my way through the wind and doing a poor job of making much progress. I’m soaking wet before I get there.
I open the jeep’s door and throw my bag inside. Then I go to unlock the front door so I can get the rest of my things and get out of here. I’m pressed against the door just to stay upright as I fiddle with my keychain. The key is missing. Impossible.
I let Mojo in the back of the jeep and climb in to use the light. The key is gone; that’s not possible. I had it when I returned from the police station. I had it on the table when I let Pratt inside.
The police will have to let me in for my things after they arrest Pratt for the murder of the woman on the surveillance footage. The footage that’s on a CD on the floor in Pratt’s house. I hesitate then decide I can’t risk going back inside.
I climb to the front of the jeep and start the engine. I’ve got to calm down if I’m going to drive in this storm. Now I’ve convinced myself that this was all a set up, and Pratt never intended to go to his sister’s house– if he even has a sister. Another lie so he could get rid of Mackenzie and come back for me.
I put the jeep in gear and press the gas pedal. The jeep
doesn’t move; something else that isn’t possible. I put it in four-wheel drive and try again. It feels like it’s sunk into the ground. I open the door and get slammed in the face by the wind. The door is threatening to break off its hinges as I struggle to close it.
When I get it shut, a gust hits and I’m whipped forward and fall to the ground. The front tire is completely flat. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scream. Now I’ve got to change a tire in this storm.
I go to get the spare and as soon as I get to the back, I see I don’t have to worry about changing the tire. The back is as flat as the front and I only have one spare. I make my way to the other side; two more flat tires. He’s flattened all four of my tires. He’s probably watching me right now, laughing about how easy it was to set this all up.
“Okay, calm down,” I tell myself, as I fight my way back inside the jeep. I’ll call for a tow truck. They’re probably too busy with other emergencies. Same for the police, but I at least have to report what’s going on. I crawl to the back for my bag and my phone. Gusts keep hitting the jeep, and it feels like it’s going to get thrown on its side. Thank the spirits the flat tires are holding it down.
My phone isn’t in the inside pocket where I put it last. I dump everything out in a panic. It’s gone. I check and recheck my pockets, the bag, and every inch of the jeep. “Calm down, calm down. What do I do? Think.”
I can’t drive, I can’t walk anywhere in this storm, I can’t lock myself in the guest house to wait until the storm passes, I can’t call for help. And I can’t wait here for Pratt to return.
The man could be a serial killer. Blake’s haunting him over his and his mother’s murders. No wonder Pratt’s only concern is to be rid of him. Mackenzie found the surveillance footage and was trying to get help. With her gone, all he needs to do is kill me and his secrets are safe once again.
Paranoia is doing my thinking, but what are my options? As long as we’re quiet, we can hide in the back of the jeep until morning or the storm lets up. Pratt will never see us through the blackout windows. As soon as it’s possible, I can walk to one of the other houses in the development.
The Shem Bay Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 3) Page 15