So this was Aurelia Davis. Such a lonely expression. I understood loneliness. The paint was dry now, but I still felt the pull to touch the painting. I felt nothing at first. Saw nothing. Only felt the dry paint under my fingers. I picked up a brush and dabbed on more color in a corner of the canvas. I didn’t really need to add anything more. It was as it should be. Anything else I added would only be guesswork. I felt like these people deserved more than guesswork. Their story must be told, accurately. Except maybe the owl…
I put the brush away for the time being and moved the canvas closer to the window. Why was that window open? Could Mike possibly climb up here? I walked to the open window and stared over the brick ledge. There were black feathers on the balcony floor too, and more than a few. Something big with black feathers had visited me. What the heck? I picked up a feather and twirled it in my fingers. This was no ordinary feather. This was the feather of a black owl. It had to be!
My reasonable mind said differently.
It’s a crow feather! Or a raven!
Sure, and I’m a six-foot blonde.
Was that creature following me now? I shook at the sight. Whatever was trying to scare me was doing a great job. As if on cue, my playlist began to play Atlanta Rhythm Section’s Spooky. Heck yeah, this was spooky. My first instinct was to pick up the phone and text Midas, but that would be too much too soon. Still, I needed to reach out to someone. Even if I kept all this to myself. I glanced out the window again. There were storm clouds on the horizon. I came up with a lame excuse.
Hey, this is Cassidy. I’ll take that lift you offered earlier.
Great. I’ll be there at 3:45.
I sent back a happy face and went back to my current problem.
But…now I had some inspiration. I returned to the photo of Aurelia and the unknown man. I began to prepare paint on my palette. I found the perfect place to put the bird. That was what they were terrified of! It was the owl! I painted it behind them, higher and at a distance. I twirled the bird feather for inspiration and painted again. When I was done painting, I sat back and stared at the ominous black patch that lingered above Aurelia and the man. I wished I knew his name. Then in a flurry, I added a deeper red to the owl’s eyes. It was a rudimentary example at best, but at least I had it done now.
I put the brushes in a waiting jar of water and stood in front of the painting. Should I touch it? I didn’t have the compulsion that I did before. Maybe I could make contact only when the painting let me. The wet paint thing hadn’t worked with Kylie’s painting.
But something was going on. A soft whistle filled my ears; it was like a breeze blew around me, but I saw no evidence of one. Hadn’t Midas asked me if I heard or saw anything before the experiences? I’d have to remember to tell him about this. How had I missed it before? My fingers shook as I reached for the black paint. Why? Why was I doing this? Without another thought, I felt the paint under my fingers. I closed my eyes, and I was gone…
“Aurelia, wake up. Wake up before he comes back.” The pain at the back of my head greeted me first. Then my hands moved and I could feel a wooden floor beneath me. I could move my body a little, but I was definitely inside a confined space, like a coffin. Where was I? Please let me be home at Applegate. I’d rather be dead at Applegate than alive at Oak Grove.
The smell of cedar overwhelmed me, and I realized where Bernard had stashed me. I was not dead, nor was I at Applegate. I was in the chifforobe. Despite the beating, I had endured, I lived still. Blinking against the darkness, I heard Cope’s voice, deep and low.
“Aurelia, are you awake?”
“Is that you, Cope?”
“Yes, it’s me. I poked you some bread through the hole, but he’s got this door chained. Hurry up and eat the bread. And don’t leave a crumb behind or he’ll know it. He’ll be back soon.”
“I don’t think I can eat,” I said as I rolled on my side and toyed with the bread. My jaw ached, and the taste of old blood filled my mouth.
Cope didn’t speak right away, and I began to feel desperate. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
I scooted closer to the door and put my fingers through the hole. And to think I thought the world had ended when this corner got damaged on the move to my new home. How small and meaningless were my thoughts in those days? Worries over acquiring the latest painted parasol, where I would sit at the County Ball table, what poetry my husband would read to me before we blew out the light for bed each night. I’d been a fool.
Cope’s fingers covered mine, and I sobbed. “Kill me, Cope. Break the chain and put a bullet in me. Find a knife and stab me through the heart. Please kill me. I can’t live another day.”
“Yes, you can. You have to.”
Cope couldn’t know it, but his words held so much meaning. Resting inside my belly was a baby. I felt him move sometimes, but not so much lately. After Bernard’s most recent beating, I could hardly believe the child lived. As if he overheard his mother’s thoughts, he moved and I sobbed again. I took the bread and shoved it in my mouth. It was only a few morsels, but I choked them down. Not for myself but for him. And why would I do this? I was only delaying the inevitable.
“Now listen to me.”
“I’m listening.” Tears slid down my bruised, puffy face.
“You stay alive. I’m going to get you out of here. Somehow, I’ll get you out of here.”
“No, you can’t. He’ll kill us both, Cope.”
I felt his head knock against the door as he leaned closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hattie is lurking around today, so I can’t come see you again for the next little while. But no matter what…” Cope’s voice broke. I poked my fingers out again. He squeezed them and said, “No matter what I have to do, what he makes me do, you know…”
“Hush, Cope. I know. Go on, before Hattie finds you here.”
With one final squeeze of my fingers, he left. How much longer could I keep my secret? How much longer would I be able to protect this poor child? I fell asleep again and woke with the urge to urinate. I didn’t dare do such a thing without my husband’s permission. If I could not control myself, Bernard would beat me again. Only he could tell me when I could urinate, what I would eat, or anything else. But how long could I hold it?
I heard the sounds of footsteps approaching the chifforobe. Heavy and crooked. This wasn’t Bernard but Hattie. She rattled the keys on the ring and opened the lock. The chain fell to the floor with a thud. The chifforobe door creaked open, and my hands flew to my face to protect myself from whatever cruelty would now be administered…
Oh God, have mercy on me!
“Cassidy! Wake up!”
“Mike? What are you doing here?” I shoved him away from me and scrambled to my feet. I’d apparently collapsed on the floor.
“I knew you were in here, and when you didn’t answer I used my key.” He flashed his wicked smile. “And good thing, too. I guess you had another one of your episodes?”
“You aren’t supposed to have a key, Mike. I want you out.” I felt half-drunk but not harmed from any fall.
He put his hands out as if to calm me down. “Hey, I’m doing you a favor. I figured when you didn’t answer your door or your phone, you needed help. I’m telling you—those seizures are going to kill you, Cass.”
“I don’t have seizures—now get out!” I scanned the room for something I could use to protect myself. Never again would I be in a position where Mike could hurt me. Once had been enough.
“Your Uncle Derek sent me to talk to you. He wants you to call him. He’s worried about you, Cassidy.” Mike’s smooth voice alarmed me. He never talked like that, unless he wanted to hurt me. He reached for me, and I stepped back. I noticed that the front door was wide open. Perhaps if I ran for it, I could make it. Although Mike wasn’t making any overtly threatening moves, that didn’t mean a thing. He was nothing if not dangerously changeable.
“What are you, my uncle’s messenger boy now? I know wha
t this is about. What it’s always about with you. Money, my money. I want you to go, Mike. This is the last time I’m telling you. And leave my key.”
Mike sat on the couch and patted the spot beside him, as if that would make it inviting. Looking at his eyes now, I noticed that he was high. High as a kite. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill, Cass.”
“Get out, Mike. Get out or I’m going to scream my head off.”
“Go ahead. Scream away. Let me know if you want something to scream about.” Mike wasn’t so high that he couldn’t move like a cheetah. He was on his feet and in my face in a few seconds.
“You’re high, aren’t you?”
He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. Repelled by his touch, I moved back and bumped against the wall. His hand went over my head, and he leaned closer like he was going to kiss me.
As promised, I screamed my head off.
Chapter Eleven—Midas
As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I knew there was trouble. Cassidy was screaming at the top of her lungs; I bolted through the open door to find some guy had her pinned against the wall. Good thing I hadn’t given up after my three text messages.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I yelled at him. Before I could cover the distance between us, Cassidy delivered a knee to his groin and down he went. Then she was on the ground next to him digging in his pocket. Grabbing his key ring, she tugged at a key and tossed his keys back at him. The guy moaned on the floor.
“Cassidy? What’s going on?”
“He’s my former…roommate. He’s just on his way out, right, Mike?”
“Cassie, you bitch!” the guy swore at her as he tried to get up off the ground.
She didn’t offer him any help. I didn’t either. I was still unsure what was happening, but my hackles were up big time. Cassidy growled at him, “My name isn’t Cassie. If you don’t crawl your ass out that door right now, I’m going to use something much deadlier than my knee.”
“I’m going, but that was a big mistake.”
“You were a big mistake, Mike!” She followed him to the door as he limped out and slammed it behind him.
With shaking, paint-stained hands, she locked the door and didn’t turn around. I could hear the elevator ding in the hallway and saw her breathe a sigh of relief. That guy wasn’t coming back. Not today, anyway. And if he did, I felt sorry for him. Cassidy Wright wasn’t what she appeared to be.
“If you need to stay here, I understand. We’ll all understand.”
She shook her head and flashed me her hands. “Let me wash off this paint and grab my purse. Sorry to make you wait. And sorry you had to see that. I swear my life is usually much more boring than this.”
“It’s not a problem. Do we need to call the police? Not to be nosy, but have you filed for an order of protection against that guy? Mike is his name?”
“Mike Barnett. It’s on my to-do list. Thanks for making the trip up here. It was perfect timing, I think.” She left the room in an embarrassed hurry. I could hear her wash her hands and shuffle around the kitchen. My blood was pumping from the sudden burst of adrenaline. I texted Josh and told him to give me a minute.
“Be just a sec,” she called.
I tried to lighten things up by calling back to her, “Hey, I think you had the guy handled.” She laughed from the kitchen, and I took the liberty of taking a look at the painting firsthand. It was different now, I could see where she’d added the owl. It blended perfectly into the trees, but it was more menacing than I had imagined. What could that be? It was obviously not your average owl. Some kind of First Nation totem spirit or an elemental entity? This case was very unusual—and so was Cassidy Wright. “I’m going to take a picture of the painting if that’s okay. I see you added the creature.”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
I snapped a few photos. It was a disturbing portrait. The couple’s expressions were detailed and conveyed their fear at a level that I missed in the photos. I studied the lines of the house too. Cassidy had done a remarkable job of capturing the architecture with minimal strokes. I didn’t know much about art, but I knew enough to know she had real skill.
She hurried in and out of the room. “I’m changing my shoes. Be right back.”
“Great.” As she scrambled down the hall, I noticed the only other painting in the room. It was quite different from the painting of the Kali Oka Road couple. A young girl sat in a field of flowers, with sunlight shining through her strawberry blond hair. She had a patch of light brown freckles that spread across her nose, a delicate cleft chin and wide gray eyes. This had to be Cassidy’s sister, Kylie. If I hadn’t heard the story, I would have thought Cassidy had been there in the meadow that day or that she’d created the portrait from a photo. It was absolutely lifelike—so much so that I half expected the girl to move.
Cassidy walked back into the room and caught me staring at the picture. Flipping up the collar of her jacket and avoiding looking at the painting altogether she said, “Shall we go?”
“Hey! Did that guy hit you? Where did that bruise come from?” Her hand flew up to her forehead.
“Oh, that? No that wasn’t from Mike. That happened before Mike got here. I must have bumped my head.”
“Really?” I asked, unsure whether to believe her or not.
“Seriously. I had a…I fell down.”
Why did I want to protect this girl? Did she really need protecting? I wasn’t lying when I said I thought she could handle herself. “If you say so.”
We headed downstairs for the elevator and didn’t talk any more about Mike. All she said was, “I swear I am really the most drama-free, boring person you’d ever want to meet. You’ve just caught me on a bad week. Is there a full moon or something?”
With a smile, I nodded. “There is a full moon tonight, and don’t worry. My day hasn’t exactly been drama-free. You aren’t catching me at my best either.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to have it all together.” The elevator opened, and I held it open for her.
“Then I’m a better actor than I thought.”
My black Cadillac Escalade idled at the curb with Josh in the front passenger seat. I opened the door for Cassidy and resisted the urge to help her up. I had to remember she wasn’t just a pretty face. She might be only about five feet tall, but she was a stick of dynamite. I closed the door, and soon we were on the highway and headed to Kali Oka Road.
“Okay, Sierra. Tell us what you uncovered. Anything about that owl?”
“Yes, actually, but the information was limited. These large black owls are very rare, and some of the First Nation people refer to them as Night Eagles. As eagles are connected to the sun in their mythology, to the local tribes the owl was connected to the moon and stars. Interesting note here, the Celts believed that to see a black owl meant you were going to die; Romans believed that placing a black feather from one of these owls under your pillow would reveal your dreams to your enemy. But in the Creole and Caribbean cultures of Aurelia Davis’ time, the owl was most associated with witchcraft and black magic.”
“Witches, great,” Josh muttered beside me. He seemed particularly on edge tonight, but then again he always did when we investigated anything besides ghosts, which he absolutely refused to believe in. That was one reason why I kept him on the team. We needed a good skeptic, and Josh certainly filled the bill.
“Look on the bright side. At least this isn’t a nighttime investigation,” I reminded him as I steered through traffic.
He grinned back. “Well, not yet. That’s tomorrow night, right?”
“Yes, if the weather holds out.”
“You guys want to go into the Kali Oka forest at night? Are you asking for trouble or what?” Cassidy shook her head in disbelief.
“Well, there’s strength in numbers,” Sierra said, always ready to put a positive spin on things. And that positive attitude defined her. All in all, we had a great team of folks at Gulf Coast Paranormal. I hoped Sara
realized how talented and special these people were.
“So what’s the history of the road? Anything we should know about?” I asked, curious to hear more.
“Well, it was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1988. The area covers 12.2 acres, which really isn’t very much. It’s technically the Davis-Oak Grove District. Points of interest in the area and potential paranormal hot spots are the Crybaby Bridge, Deadman’s Curve and of course, the Oak Grove Plantation.”
“Good Lord. Who names these places? Deadman’s Curve? Crybaby Bridge?” Josh shook his head.
“I’m sure those are just nicknames,” I said hopefully. “Let’s stick to the area where Melissa disappeared and avoid spreading ourselves too thin.”
Josh opened the map and pointed at a highlighted area. “So this area, right here. I think we should start on the road and work our way into the forested lot. Since there are six of us, let’s go two by two, following each other, fifteen minutes apart. Sierra and I will lead and try to capture some audio. Give us fifteen minutes’ lead time and then follow us in. Did you bring the bug spray, sweetie?”
Sierra tapped on her phone. “Yep, and I’m letting Sara and Pete know what we’re doing. I guess they rode together.” An awkward pause followed, and I tried not to grip the steering wheel too tightly. That guy. I’d had a strong suspicion about those two for a long time. Up until now it had been only a suspicion. More than once lately I’d caught them with their heads together, laughing and smiling. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on with them. Sara had already moved on. We turned off I-65 and onto 158. When nobody spoke, I glanced at Josh. He was giving me the hard stare.
Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1) Page 7