by Ray Garton
There were five people in the picture, all in uniform but one. Lily recognized him instantly. The sight of him in a pair of denim overalls and a red-and-black plaid shirt with his white cowboy hat in hand made her feel light-headed for a moment. “That’s him, all right,” she muttered.
Claudia got up, stood behind Lily, and looked at the picture over her shoulder.
Leonard Baines stood with Winningham and three uniformed officers in front of a Christmas tree. Baines stood in the center and Winningham had an arm around his shoulders. His graying hair was thinning on top, stringy and in need of a cut on the sides and in back. His mouth was askew in a lopsided smile, which revealed a molar with a shiny silver cap.
She handed the photograph back to Winningham and he replaced it on the credenza. “Did anything ... bad ever happen at Lenny Baines’s house?”
“Anything bad? What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. Something you’d remember. Any deaths in the house?”
“Only his mother. She died in her sleep. His dad died in the hospital. And, of course, Lenny.”
“Were you ever inside Lenny’s house?”
“I was over there several times. But I don’t remember if...” The creases in the chief’s forehead deepened. “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t believe I was ever inside Lenny’s house. Why do you ask?”
“Again, I’m just curious. I’m groping around for questions as well as answers.” Lily turned to Claudia. “Could you give the chief your cell phone number, please?”
Claudia and Winningham exchanged cell phone numbers, each written on the back of a business card.
“How long do you plan to be in town, Miss Rourke?” Winningham said.
“I’m not sure. As long as I need to be. Thank you for your number. I promise not to abuse it.”
“Feel free to call me if you need anything. I’ll be out on the boat today, but other than that, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
Lily thanked Winningham again for his time, and she and Claudia left his office and the police station.
“My God,” she said in the car. “Children. He surrounded himself with children.”
Claudia said, “Where do you want to go next?”
“I have to sleep. My head is killing me and I feel like puking. Take me back to the motel. You can go shopping, if you’d like, or do some sight-seeing.”
“Okay. The motel it is.”
“Would you mind leaving your cell phone with me? I want to know what this Merry comes up with.”
“Sure.”
Lily leaned her head back and groaned. “I’m worried, Claudia. I can’t help them if I can’t talk to them.”
“Get some sleep first. We can try again this afternoon.”
Lily glanced at the small digital clock above the rearview mirror. It was 9:51 A.M. “Yeah. This afternoon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Saturday, 2:12 p.m.
Mavis Bingham reminded Jenna of Marge Simpson with her tall bouffant of blue-tinted silver hair. Mavis was slender and tall, about five feet ten inches, but the hair made her appear even taller. She was almost regal in bearing, with razor-straight posture. In what was probably an effort to disguise her wrinkles, Mavis wore a bit too much makeup, which only accentuated them. The deep-red lipstick she wore had feathered around the edges of her lips, where she had tiny fine wrinkles on top and bottom. She wore a white blouse under a dark blue blazer and a matching A-line skirt, stockings, and black leather pumps. She had a black leather satchel slung over her shoulder and wore glasses with large amber tortoiseshell frames. The moment she stepped into the house, she stopped and pressed her right hand flat against her abdomen as she looked around, mouth open. “Oh, my,” she said.
Arthur Bingham stepped around his wife, grabbed David’s hand, and pumped it with enthusiasm. “Arthur Bingham, but everybody calls me Arty.” Arty was about four inches shorter than his wife and looked trim and fit for a man in his late sixties. His movements were quick and birdlike, and he never held still. He wore a dark gray suit with no tie, his light blue shirt open at the neck. His crew-cut hair was white, his features strong, ears prominent, and his crooked smile was warm.
When Arty stopped shaking his hand, David’s arm dropped limply to his side. His eyes were only half open, the flesh beneath them puffy and dark. He wore an old Giants sweatshirt he’d had forever and a pair of jeans and sneakers. He hadn’t shaved and his jaw was stubbly.
Miles played checkers with his grandma in the kitchen, where Martha had a batch of brownies baking in the oven.
“You people look like you haven’t been getting much sleep,” Arty said.
Jenna said, “We had an awful night last night.”
“I’m getting some pretty strong feelings from this house,” Mavis said. She wandered over to the foot of the stairs and stood staring up them for a moment, then turned and came back to her husband’s side. “There’s something powerful in here.”
“We brought two of our students along, Shannon and Willy,” Arty said. “They’re back at the hotel right now, but they’ll join us later. They came to help and observe.”
“They’re delightful young people,” Mavis said.
“Can we sit down and talk before we get started?” Arty said. “I’d like to explain what we’re gonna do, let you know what to expect.”
“Sure,” Jenna said, taking David’s hand. She led them to the living room, where the Binghams sat on the couch and David in his recliner. “There’s a pot of coffee brewing,” she said.
“No coffee for me,” Arty said. “But I’d be very grateful for a glass of ice water.”
“I take my coffee black,” Mavis said.
“I’ll be right back,” Jenna said. In the kitchen, she got a glass from the cupboard, ice cubes from the freezer, and filled the glass at the tap.
From the breakfast nook, Martha said, “They’re here?”
“Yes. Arty doesn’t want any and Mavis takes hers black. Will you bring it?”
“Soon as it’s ready.” Martha had dressed up for the occasion—she wore dark green pants and a yellow blouse. Although she hadn’t admitted it, Jenna knew Martha was excited about meeting the Binghams. She had been reading about them in the Global Inquisitor for years, and to her, they were celebrities.
Jenna went to the table and kissed the top of Miles’s head. “You ready to come out and meet our company, honey?”
David said, “Are they the ghostbusters?”
“Don’t call them that,” Jenna said. “Be polite.”
Martha said, “We’ll finish this game later.”
Miles went with Jenna to the living room, where she introduced him as she gave Arty the ice water. Arty and Mavis took a moment to fawn over him, told him he was a handsome young man, and Miles smiled and blushed with embarrassment.
Miles sat on the floor beside the recliner and Jenna took the straight-back chair.
Mavis said to Jenna, “Your husband just told us about his terrible accident.”
“You’re taking painkillers?” Arty said.
David nodded. “OxyContin.”
Arty and Mavis exchanged a knowing look. Arty said, “Drugs and alcohol weaken the mind and spirit and leave you open to demonic assault. The first thing we ask people in our investigations is if they use drugs or alcohol, and if there’s a problem with substance abuse in the family. Is there?”
David shook his head as Jenna said, “No, we seldom drink and we don’t use drugs at all. Except for David’s prescription, of course.”
To Jenna and David, Arty said, “Has anyone in your family dabbled with the occult? Have you had any tarot cards or Ouija boards in the house?”
Jenna’s eyes widened. “I had a medium come in to see if she could deal with ... well, whatever it is. She conducted what she called a sitting with a Ouija board.”
Another knowing look passed between Arty and Mavis.
“There were problems before that?” Mavis asked.
“Yes, that�
�s why I invited her in,” Jenna said.
Arty said, “I see. I bet things have gotten worse since then, haven’t they?”
“Well... yes, they have,” Jenna said.
Arty became very solemn. “Ouija boards are extremely dangerous,” he said. “Eighty to ninety percent of all our investigations start with a Ouija board in the house. The board opens a doorway to the spirit world that only invites trouble.”
Jenna remembered how much the board had frightened Kimberly.
Mavis said, “It’s an open invitation to demonic activity. Now, you said you’re not Catholic, correct?”
“That’s right,” Jenna said.
“What religion are you?” Arty asked.
“We aren’t religious,” David said.
Arty frowned. “You have no religious beliefs at all?”
“No,” David said.
“Then I need to make something clear,” Arty said. “Mavis and I are devout Catholics. We do this work in the Lord’s name. One of the first things we recommend to anyone having negative supernatural activity in their home is that everyone in the household be baptized in the Catholic church. Being baptized gives you the spiritual armor you’ll need to stand up to whatever forces you’re dealing with.”
Jenna glanced at David and saw that he was fidgeting in the recliner. If he decided to send the Binghams on their way, it would be over religion.
David shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we have no interest in being baptized.”
Irritated, Arty said, “No wonder you’re being spiritually assaulted. How can you expect to—”
Mavis patted his knee and said, “Let’s wait until we’ve heard their story, dear.” To Jenna and David, she said, “Why don’t you tell us what’s been happening? Start at the beginning and tell us everything.”
Lily had gone to sleep shortly after getting back to the motel that morning, and Claudia had gone out to do some window-shopping and sight-seeing. Lily was in a deep sleep when Claudia’s cell phone trilled on the bed-stand at 2:47 in the afternoon. It stopped twenty seconds later without waking her.
Martha had joined them in the living room with four cups of coffee on a tray, and Jenna had introduced her. Once everyone had a cup, Martha put the tray on the coffee table and sat down in her usual spot at the end of the sofa, next to Mavis. Jenna scooted the straight-back chair closer to the recliner and sat in it before she started. She did most of the talking—Martha and Miles spoke up to tell of their own experiences, and finally, David. His words came haltingly, and he often stared down at his lap as he spoke. Other than giving a brief description of the fat man, he said little, only that the thing that had been inside him was horribly sick and twisted.
“What do you know about the house?” Mavis asked.
Jenna said, “Only that my father lived here with his parents until they died, and then alone until he killed himself.”
“Suicide generates some very negative vibrations,” Mavis said. “It often attracts supernatural activity, sometimes even demonic entities.”
“This sounds demonic to me,” Arty said. “But we won’t know for sure until Mavis does a reading. That’s the next step. Mavis will walk through the house. Being clairvoyant, she’s highly sensitive to psychic vibrations. You can think of her as a doctor—she’s going to examine the house and then give us a diagnosis.” He turned to Mavis. “You ready, honey?”
“Yes,” she said as she stood. “I like to do the first walk-through alone so I’m not distracted. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Jenna said. She looked at David and saw him press his lips tightly together and frown. She knew he did not like the idea, and normally he would probably voice his objection to a total stranger wandering through their house alone. But he was holding back. His eyes met Jenna’s for a moment, and his frown dissolved as one corner of his mouth turned up in a weary smile.
“Yeah, go ahead,” David said.
“All right,” Mavis said on her way out of the room, “I think I’ll start upstairs.”
Arty was an animated talker—he sat back, forward, back, gestured with his hands and arms as he spoke, bobbed his head, tilted it this way, that way. He sounded as if he were talking against the clock.
“We need to talk a little about religion, David,” Arty said. “You don’t sound like you’re even a little bit interested, though.”
“I’m just not a believer, that’s all,” David said.
“Like I said, we do this for the Lord. We’re very passionate about our faith, and without it, we couldn’t do what we do, Mavis and I. We deal with demons. Fallen angels, Satan’s minions. Our faith is our armor, and we can’t help you without it. One of the first things we do in our investigations is put a religious icon of some kind in every room in the house. The icons are very powerful, what they stand for is strong, and they will help protect us from the demons.”
David said, “You mean, like crosses?”
“Crucifixes, saints, images of Jesus or Mary, anything like that. If you don’t have any, we have some you can use.”
“What if we don’t do that?” David said.
“Then we can’t help you. I wouldn’t think of dealing with demonic forces without the protection of religious icons. Look, if you don’t want to believe in them, that’s fine. But we need them for what we do, or we can’t do it.”
When David looked at her again, Jenna nodded once and smiled. “Okay,” he said. “But we’re not going to be baptized.”
“But that’s more armor, David,” Arty said. “When you’re dealing with demons, you need all the armor you can get, and from what you’ve told us, I’d guess you’ve got a demonic infestation here.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” David said.
Arty clenched his jaw a few times, rocked back and forth on the couch, agitated, and a frown crawled over his forehead. “I think it’s a mistake. I think if you—”
Mavis’s scream brought Arty to his feet. Miles scrambled up off the floor and Jenna and David stood and hurried out of the room with Arty. Jenna had to tug on Miles’s shirt to keep him from running ahead of all of them. When they reached the stairs, Mavis was hurrying down them. At the bottom, she stood with her right palm against her chest, which rose and fell with her quick breaths.
“Oh, my God,” Mavis said, her voice deep and tremulous. Even with all the makeup, Mavis looked pale, and she swayed unsteadily. Arty rushed to her side and put an arm around her.
“What happened?” he said. “What’d you see?” Mavis leaned on Arty, and for a moment, they made an odd sight—the statuesque woman tilting to lean on the short, fidgety man. Arty said, “Are you all right?”
Mavis turned to look back up the stairs again before walking through the entryway and into the living room. Everyone followed as she went to the coffee table and took a drink of Arty’s ice water, then sat down on the couch. Arthur sat down beside her, still concerned. She turned to him and said in a firm, level voice, “There is something in this house.”
Jenna asked, “What did you see? The fat man? One of the boys?”
Mavis’s mouth hung open for a moment as she looked up at Jenna. Her voice was hoarse as she said, “Yes. The little boy, the toddler. He ... he came out of the wall, but he was ... he looked ...” She took another drink of water and turned to Arthur. “There’s something in this house.”
“Is it demonic?” Arthur said. “What kind of feelings did you get?”
Still looking at him, she spoke again, firmly. “Strong feelings, Arthur. There’s something in this house.”
He nodded and looked up at David and Jenna and Martha. “Demonic. That’s what I thought.”
Mavis finished the ice water, put the glass on the tray, and stood. “Arthur, I need to speak with you privately for a moment.”
“Huh-what?” Arthur said as he stood. Mavis took his hand and led him to the entryway, where she whispered to him by the front door.
“Whatever it is,” Martha
said quietly, “it’s sure not trying to hide from anybody.” She put a hand on Miles’s shoulder and said, “How about some brownies?”
Martha and Miles went to the kitchen. David sat down in the recliner, Jenna in the straight-back chair. After several seconds of whispering back and forth, Arty and Mavis came back into the room. As they went to the couch and sat down, Arty smiled a bit nervously and said, “Mavis and I have a kind of shorthand we’ve developed over the years. Sometimes we just have to step aside and talk alone for a minute. She says what-ever’s in this house, it’s powerful. And judging by what you’ve told us, it’s obviously malicious, which is why I think it’s demonic.”
To Mavis, Jenna said, “Do you want to go through the rest of the house?”
Mavis spoke rapidly. “Not right now, no, thank you, dear—that shook me up, and I’d like to wait awhile before I do any more.” Her whole face seemed to have collapsed a little, and her hands fumbled with each other.
“I think we should call in Father Malcolm,” Arty said.
“For an exorcism?” Jenna said.
“Possibly. But first, this house needs to be blessed.” He reached into Mavis’s satchel on the floor and removed a cell phone and handed it to Mavis. “Call Father Malcolm, Momma, tell him to catch the next plane here.”
“I think he’s in San Francisco this weekend. If so, he could be here in hours.”
Jenna saw Mavis’s hands tremble as she made the call, saw her toss a few uncertain glances at her husband.
Arty said, “We’re going to have to invite Jesus Christ into your home, Mr. and Mrs. Kellar. Can you deal with that?”
David sighed as he looked over at Jenna, and they both nodded.
“Good,” Arty said solemnly. “You told me you aren’t a believer. Well, what happens in the next twenty-four hours or so might change that.” He smiled. “And you might even make some money, because if this goes the way I think it’s going to go, we’ll definitely be doing a book about this investigation. Won’t that be nice?”
“Lily? It’s almost four o’clock. Did you hear from the police chief?”