Behind the Veil

by E. J. Dawson

  “For God’s sake, Letitia,” he said, head snapping about to glare at her. “You aren’t a martyr or a prophet. You have no idea what’s going to happen. There is a man who has my daughter and that is all. I shouldn’t have let you come.”

  Anger sparked inside Letitia. She tried to curtail it, but it slipped into her voice.

  “Do not think you know what it will be like,” she replied, “or how bad it can possibly be. You’ve never faced anything like this before, and no gods or guns will keep you safe against a creature such as this!”

  He didn’t answer, and she sat back against the seat, staring out the window and watching the landscape blur under his driving. The speed was reckless to be sure, but for every mile, they passed a sense of urgency pressed down on her until she stared out into the night willing the old hotel to appear before them.

  “You have to keep yourself safe,” he said, clearing his throat. “I don’t know about all of this…mystical stuff, but I know it is real enough that I’m glad you are with me. But please, don’t let yourself get hurt.”

  “I won’t,” Letitia was quick to answer, and when his hand reached out for hers, she took it, squeezing it between her own.

  Their touch made the wait bearable as Alasdair drove.

  Letitia closed her eyes, willing strength to come to her and imagining herself and Alasdair protected by light. Now that they were hurtling through night’s shroud it was more important than ever to hold on to the image, to keep it in her mind, fresh and present.

  A sliver of her wanted to reach out to Finola to offer the same protection but without the bowl, she couldn’t reach her.

  She had to hope that Finola would hold on and keep Calbright busy or distracted.

  What else might have happened didn’t bear thinking on, but if Calbright knew they were coming she had to hope it would be enough to stay his hand.

  The hotel loomed before them, and Alasdair didn’t slow or stop his approach but drove the car up to the front of the building. Headlights illuminated the gaping maw of the old hotel’s front door.

  It didn’t lend itself to invitation, but it mattered not to Alasdair, who grabbed a lantern and the gun and headed for a car parked to one side of the hotel.

  With the lights of the car shining inside, there was no need for additional light, but Letitia took a lantern and the salt as something caught her gaze.

  Not in the hotel but out on the headland.

  All should have been indistinguishable, but it was not light or movement that caught her eye.

  When she straightened and gazed out over the gorse-covered hillside she sensed someone out there. In the distance, a storm’s approach flickered with distant lightning, but stark against the sky was a figure wreathed in shadow.

  “Alasdair,” she called, and the examination he made of the other car ceased when she repeated his name. He came to her side.

  “There’s someone out there…”

  “Finola?”

  “No.”

  Letitia lit the lantern, and with unsure footsteps walked out across the sandy headland to a figure revealed only by the oncoming storm.

  The wind beat at the grass, rustling loud, but through it carried the sound of sobbing.

  The man’s shoulders shook as he stared out at sea, hands on either side of his face.

  There was a click, the cocking of a gun, and Letitia had no time to tell Alasdair to be silent.

  The man whirled about and Calbright faced them.

  Letitia searched his eyes and found no sign of the specter within, but it didn’t bode well for them.

  “Where is my daughter?” Alasdair said, weapon held aloft.

  “He has her,” Calbright whimpered. “I did as he asked but I could not stay down there, not a moment longer, not when he wants me to…wants me to—”

  Calbright released a howl akin to a wounded animal, snarling, spittle flying from his mouth. “I am not about to end things the way he did! I will not bow down to him!”

  Nearing panic, Letitia took several deep breaths, trying to figure out a way to reach Calbright.

  “I don’t want you to,” Letitia said, putting down her lantern and the salt. She approached him as though he were a dangerous animal, making him focus on her. “Did he make you do things you didn’t want to…?”

  Calbright’s gaze dropped as if considering the question before the rage faded. “No, it’s how he found me, you see, or rather, we found each other.”

  “How did you meet?” Letitia asked.

  “I was doing an assessment of the assets,” Calbright said. “My father is dying. He wanted everything done before that happened. He wanted to be sure I had a bright future. It didn’t include this place.”

  He gestured behind them at the hotel, but Letitia kept her eyes on him.

  There was something wrong with the darting gaze, suggesting a madness or perversity within, but none of it mattered when Calbright had Finola.

  “You didn’t want to be like him?” Letitia asked, trying to find out how possessed Calbright was or if there was any part that detested what he’d done.

  Calbright scoffed. “Hide in the shadows as a servant to others? Not likely. No, the only appeal of what he did was that it would never be found…”

  Letitia swallowed at the glint in his eyes, weakness fading from pitiful creature to arrogance that made him stand tall.

  His gaze drifted over Letitia’s shoulder to Alasdair. “I never would have kidnapped her if he hadn’t made me, but you see, you made him angry with all of your refurbishing, the work you were doing to the hotel, and you interrupted our plans. Both of you.”

  “Finola was his pet,” Letitia guessed. “And you had your own collection.”

  “I never did understand his fascination with her,” Calbright said. “She’s almost too old.”

  “That’s enough,” Alasdair hissed, but Letitia’s hand shot out, a growing dread at why he was simply standing there rising within her stomach, his words churning a deep-seated fear.

  “You weren’t after her,” she said, and Calbright shook his head. “Finola is fourteen. The other girls were younger.”

  “He didn’t mind…” Calbright shrugged. “Our tastes are similar enough he was happy as long as they were kept in the dark and they screamed.”

  Alasdair cursed. “So help me, I’ll shoot him right here.”

  Letitia stepped back to put her hand on his chest. “No, stop, listen! He isn’t lying or hiding what he’s done, but he’s out here. He could have taken the car and run, he could have left, but he didn’t. There is something wrong.”

  Letitia’s palms on Alasdair’s chest were enough to stop him approaching Calbright, who rather than be relieved grew secretive. His long, slow smile stretched his face into a macabre grin in Letitia’s lantern light.

  “Where is Finola?” Letitia demanded, stepping in front of Alasdair, and taking another step and another until she was part way between them, and yet one more until she was just out of arm’s reach from Calbright.

  He wasn’t much taller than Letitia, and attractive enough, but she would have passed him and thought nothing of note or out of the ordinary, except the evil lingering in his eyes that he didn’t bother to hide.

  “Locked away like he wanted,” Calbright said. “You need to go and stop him torturing her, and when he’s distracted, he won’t be thinking of me. I won’t be trapped here. I can run.”

  The frank confession of what he wanted her to do stilled Letitia. She gritted her teeth, knowing that Finola was trapped and that she had to make one of the hardest decisions of her life.

  If Finola was only antagonized by the spirit, then they had time—it was nothing Finola hadn’t faced before, and callous as it was, it gave Letitia the capacity to focus on Calbright alone.

  “You did nothing to her?”

&nbs
p; Calbright shook his head. “I like them awake, and she—”

  He broke off, and Letitia nodded, trying not to show her disgust. “I saw. She can shout at you without saying a word, and it hurt you.”

  “You’re very clever,” Calbright said. “Aren’t you?”

  He slid his hands into his pockets and studied her, and she didn’t move from her spot or react to the condescending question. “I can’t let you leave.”

  Calbright’s upper lip peeled back in disdain, and before Letitia could say a word he lashed out, snatching her dress and yanking her to his chest. Metal pressed to her temple as she stared up into his eyes and saw that while no specter lay within, another monster altogether had ensnared her.

  “Not that clever,” Calbright sneered as Alasdair shouted her name.

  “Please,” Letitia said, struggling not to fight against the hold on her dress front. “Let me go. I am no threat to you.”

  “Oh, no, but he is.” Calbright’s glance shot past her face to Alasdair, who Letitia couldn’t see while Calbright kept his grip on her. “You’re not nearly as smart as you think if you believe he won’t kill me the first chance he gets.”

  He jerked Letitia forward to whisper in her ear. “But here’s the thing…I’m not a sallow specter hiding in the shadows, happy to shovel other people’s shit and think that my virtues excuse my sins.”

  The spirit that resided in the hotel. She’d remembered the vision from her first contact with Finola.

  “But I have to give it to the bastard,” Calbright went on, “he’s sneaky and clever. He knows just where to strike and when. He guided me through the streets, found the girls alone where no one would see. Made it easy when no one can see him unless he wants them to. All I had to do was wait and bide my time. It’s a shame he got greedy and when he got caught decided to—”

  The words cut off, and fine trembling overtook Calbright as he gazed down at Letitia.

  “Mr. Calbright?” she said, but there was only a gasping answer before the gun was under her chin and forcing her head back. When she locked eyes with Calbright she could see it was no longer him.

  The blue eyes were the same but within their depths, Letitia didn’t see the arrogant young man who’d gloated over his decrepit taste. Instead, a fire burned there, unholy and evil as it sought her end.

  “No!” Letitia screamed, wrenching away, heart leaping in her throat as the gun fired. A burning stung her face, but she’d pulled back, terror driving her to shove Calbright as hard as she could.

  As she fell to earth there was another gunshot, but none of it mattered. Calbright staggered back, taking one pace too many, and toppled over the cliff’s edge.

  Chapter 20

  “He’s gone,” Letitia whispered.

  Alasdair fell beside her, hands running over her face. “I know, I shot him.”

  “It didn’t matter,” Letitia whispered, staring out into the night. “Not when I pushed him over the edge.”

  “You aren’t to blame,” he said, drawing her up. “But we have to go and find Finola now.”

  Letitia nodded, a part of her numb, another part relieved the bullet had missed her face, but dreading what awaited them in the hotel.

  It sat against the skyline, gloomy and forbidding.

  They had to find Finola and a way of ridding the hotel of the spirit that haunted it. Nothing less would do than its eradication, and given it wasn’t tied to the old hotel, Letitia wasn’t sure how to do that.

  Despite the creature’s presence in Calbright’s eyes, nothing remained now, but she was ever wary of its malevolent gaze.

  Alasdair came up beside her where she studied the hotel, and she fought the inclination to take his hand. She couldn’t lean on him now, not while the spectre lurked in the hotel. She could sense nothing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  The hotel faced the ocean, but the drive came to curl up one side. There were old oak trees at the back, their spindly limbs scratching at the windows.

  When she was close enough, she could see what Finola had drawn, and Letitia stopped.

  Standing before the building, she took in the view. It was everything she remembered in her vision—brighter with the headlights of the car, but the darkness of the windows made her gaze dart to each one, fearing a looming shadow within.

  Her gaze fixed on the doorway of the old hotel.

  Alasdair reloaded the rifle, and Letitia flinched at the sudden sound.

  “You’d best leave that in the car,” she said. “You cannot shoot a ghost.”

  “I’d rather have it,” he said with a grimace, “and not need it.”

  The comment reminded her of the salt, which she retrieved along with the lantern. “You have your tools, and I have mine.” She fetched the other two lanterns, handing one to Alasdair. “Light them all,” she instructed. “We’ll set them about the house to dispel shadows and fear.”

  He nodded, lighting the ones from the car and setting them down on the porch before picking up his own and the gun. Letitia opened the salt and poured some into the pockets of her dress.

  Thus armed, she stood before the hotel, but her steps slowed to a standstill.

  Finola was inside, but the absence of the spirit settled apprehension deep inside her.

  “There is no purpose to our hesitation than to build up our fear,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back. “I thought you were the one who wanted to face this monster. Don’t lose your spine, Ms. Hawking. We have to get Finola.”

  She scowled as she climbed the worn stone steps to the wooden veranda, shaking off the trepidation that sunk into her like steel hooks.

  “You don’t know what may work within,” she said, still clutching the lanterns and salt. “Fighting this thing isn’t as easy as it might appear.”

  “I never thought it would be easy,” he said, as the tumbler clunked over in the lock. “It’s why I’m glad you’re here.” There was more pressure on her back, not so much a push as the firmness of his touch before his hand returned to the gun, which he used to push open the front door.

  It swung inward, and there was not even a squeak of the hinge or an ominous shadow, and Letitia let out her held breath.

  The car’s headlights illuminated a slant across the floor, a pale beam like a knife upon the floor. It darkened the gloom within, more sinister than an unlit building. The shadows grew thicker even as Letitia lifted her light to penetrate them. She didn’t want to take any chances, not with the menace she knew pervading in the old hotel, even if it hadn’t made its presence known—yet.

  “Ready?” Alasdair asked. He took one of the lanterns and placed it inside the door.

  “No,” Letitia said with honesty but stepped through the great frame before he could tell her to stay behind. The front door was wide enough for two to walk abreast, and the entrance hall lofty and open all the way up to the third floor. Wooden floorboards were bare in patches and needed sanding and polishing. Scuff marks from where people had walked left trails throughout the foyer.

  Two sets of double doors on either side gave way to a sitting room and a dining room, each extending the length of the building. Furniture was piled against the walls, rotted, broken, and useless.

  A square staircase climbed to each floor, opening to the ceiling above where a great tiered chandelier hung, crystals glinting from the car’s headlights.

  Under the staircase stood a reception desk with cubbyholes behind it and hooks for keys that were no longer there, making the space reminiscent of the hotel it had once been.

  “He sat there,” Letitia whispered. “That’s where he typed the bills.”

  She licked her lips, pressing them together as though that would ease the tension curling in her chest and the scream ready to burst out.

  Alasdair came to stand beside her. “That wasn’t where I collected the typ
ewriter from, the one you found in the basement.”

  “Which is where we should search first.” Crossing to the reception desk, she let her hand touch the wood, though she was protected by her gloves. She didn’t dare take them off here if this was the ghost’s haven. Instead, she set the glowing lantern down on the desk’s surface to light their way back to the car, and she took the other one Alasdair had left on the porch front.

  “Where is the basement?” Letitia said, and with a grimace, Alasdair led the way.

  “Tell me about the hotel,” Letitia said as he took them behind the lobby and down a corridor to the kitchen.

  “Why do you want to know?” There was an edge of impatience in his voice.

  “Because it may help me figure out more about this being, and a way to undo him.” She shrugged at his backward glance, but he still told her.

  “It was run as a hotel for nearly ten years during the gold rush days of the 1870s by a man by the name of Grant Harlow. He financed it, in any case, to take care of invalids and those who needed assistance. Many older folks came to stay here to be taken care of, but the place shut down, Mr. Harlow stating financial causes. Thinking it was a steal, the elder Calbright, then a much younger and naïve man, took it off Harlow’s hands. He didn’t see that without the gold rush he wouldn’t get people out here to staff it. Harlow robbed him.”

  Letitia studied the wall paneling outside the kitchen doors, tasting the name in her mind. “Maybe he shut down for other reasons, ones he couldn’t be public about. If he was no longer the caretaker or ran into trouble, how long did he stop offering the services of a hotel?”

  “He wasn’t the caretaker.”

  Letitia paused. “Then who was it?”

  “At the time it was a Robert Lynwood,” Alasdair said, and Letitia sensed it then, at the utterance of the name—a prickling along her skin.

  “Don’t speak his name,” she said, even as she knew it was too late. Something observed her presence, as unwelcome as a spider in one’s bed. There was something more sinister behind the perusal and although she turned about, there was nothing there but the shadows. She stared hard at them, but they did not waver.