Samantha- The Haunting

by A A Bavar

  SAMANTHA

  by A. A. Bavar

  based on a story by Scott Spotson

  cover art by Sarah Bavar

  edited by Natalie Bavar

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Written by A. A. Bavar based on a story by Scott Spotson.

  Text Copyright © 2017 by A. A. Bavar & Scott Spotson

  Cover Art Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Bavar

  All rights reserved.

  Published by A. A. Bavar Publishing

  www.aabavar.com

  SUMMARY

  Bewitched meets Fatal Attraction

  Nothing is as it seems where Samantha is involved:

  The mysterious theft of the Hope Diamond by Marie Antoinette…

  The daring heist of an original Van Gogh by the Joker…

  Falling in love with the perfect man…

  Patricia Fowler, a young executive scraping to make it to the top, meets the mysterious and alluring Paul Blast. He offers her a fast pass to success, but is finding the perfect man and getting your dream job worth facing off against Samantha? For Patricia, it’s the razor edge between what could be and insanity.

  For my lovely wife, Jennifer, who continues to encourage my creative endeavours. Without her, none of this would be possible.

  For Sarah, Natalie, and Navid, with all the fatherly-impactful-swearing looks I can muster. I admire all of you. Follow your dreams; always.

  For my mother, the strongest woman I know. I love you.

  For my father, the calmest man on the face of the planet.

  Finally, to Scott Spotson for his invaluable feedback and trust in me to do justice to his characters and original story Delusional.

  A.A. Bavar

  Security guard Walter Brodsky watched disinterestedly as the usual throng of curious visitors circled the Hope Diamond display. He smirked and allowed his eyes to roam the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anything to keep him awake.

  “Damn, when Joe told me this was an easy job he should have warned me about the Valium effect. Eight freakin’ months and nothing but some rowdy kids and a crazy schmuck with a diamond fetish,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “I really hope something interesting happens one of these days… anything!”

  “Be careful what you wish for, mon ami,” warned a soft, gentle voice to Walter’s right.

  Walter turned and was surprised to see a woman in a wide hat with long blue and pink feathers, wearing a loose white gown with a colorful sash around the waist, looking at him. “Excuse me?” he said, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

  The woman didn’t respond; but smiled coquettishly and walked away.

  “Man, I need a break from the crazies,” Walter said as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes following the eccentric woman until she disappeared behind one of the columns. He shrugged and continued his lazy walk around the room, his mind wandering to his plans for the weekend and the Redskins’ game with his buddies. The problem was that he hadn’t told his wife, and she wanted him to refinish the kitchen cabinets. Walter frowned, Tammy’s ultimatum from that morning fresh in his mind. You know the money we’ve been saving to finish the basement? The ultimate man cave you’ve been boasting about to your buddies? Well, you can kiss it goodbye if these cabinets aren’t sparkling by Monday, ‘cause I’ve already chosen new ones and all I have to do is click the purchase button!

  “No way that’s gonna happen,” he grumbled to himself. “I’ll stay up all night if I have to, and those deadbeats are gonna come and help.”

  A smile slowly crept across Walter’s lips as he imagined his finished basement, a fully stocked bar with a beer tap, a 60 inch high definition TV with Bose surround sound, a pool table, leather couch, two lazy boys, and – suddenly, the ear splitting shriek of the alarm system brought Walter crashing back to the present. His gaze instantly snapped to the Hope Diamond even though he knew the multi-million dollar security system at the Smithsonian was virtually fool-proof. As he expected, the marble base was rapidly descending into the floor, and the display with the diamond would soon be secured in an impenetrable underground vault. But where the hell was the Hope Diamond?

  Walter rushed forward in shock as the opening in the floor started to close over the empty display. His head jerked from side to side seeking out the stone, a thief, anything out of place. But there was nothing. In disbelief, he looked down at the recessed floor one last time before the opening slammed shut. To his surprise the Hope Diamond was back inside the glass display.

  “What the hell?”

  “Your eyes have played a trick on you, mon ami,” said the same soft, gentle voice from before. “But now, your day has become a bit more exciting. No?”

  Walter spun around, but the woman in the oddly lavish outfit was nowhere near him. He turned from side to side and finally saw her standing by the exit door of the Annenberg Hooker Hall as if waiting for him to look. She smiled, waved in a queenly fashion, and walked away.

  Patricia Fowler’s toned body cut through the water with exceptional grace. Her movements were fluid, almost dolphin-like as she took in stroke after stroke towards the end of the pool. She was the image of perfection, a sort of clean, natural attractiveness combined with a focused mind and an athletic body. As she closed in on the wall in front of her, her body twisted into a perfect flip, her feet coming into contact with its smooth ceramic surface and propelling her in the opposite direction. As Patricia surfaced, she seamlessly transitioned from forward crawl to breaststroke, the next phase in her practice session.

  13… 14… 15… 16… 17… I gotta stop counting all my strokes. When did I become so anal, she thought, but as much as Patricia tried to she couldn’t stop herself from mentally reviewing every aspect of her routine. Thirty-six laps every session neatly divided into rounds by stroke type: front crawl, breaststroke, backstroke, and inverted breaststroke. For the umpteenth time, she thought about adding another four laps to make it a round forty. No, she insisted to herself. I don’t want to push it too hard. I’m in a sweet spot now. It’s been a year of perfection. Why change?

  Patricia smirked and continued forward, a well-oiled machine doing what it was designed to do. She followed the same routine every week: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were dedicated to swimming while Tuesdays and Thursdays were for jogging. Becoming a member of the fitness facility across from her office at Clearwell, Inc. was a spur of the moment decision, but with her job as a high-level marketing manager it turned out to be the best thing she could have done. Swimming grounded and relaxed her, while running made her robust and boosted her confidence. Occasionally on Fridays, however, her co-workers would ask her to join them for lunch in the park next to the office, and she always said yes. It was a way for her to fit in so as not to be viewed as one of those solitary types who eventually got shunned by the group. Besides, she liked her co-workers and certainly needed more social activity in her life, which lately revolved mostly around work and workouts. She hadn’t had a serious relationship in four years, and it was time to start looking again even if it meant having co-workers suggest brothers, cousins, and even second-cousins as potential love interests. Apparently, twenty-seven was the new twenty-two, the perfect age for finding someone and settling down.

  Patricia almost laughed, it was such an antiquated thought. And the makeup and dresses they suggested she wear, it was crazy. She took great pride in her natural femininity, and the old-fashioned approach to beauty made her skin crawl. She didn’t need hundreds of
dollars of creamy enhancements, or three hour sessions at the hairdresser. She was tall, slender, and attractive and that’s what she wanted to show. At most, she used her long, sleek, chestnut hair to nicely frame her face and on occasion added the most subtle lipstick or eyeliner. The right man would find her eventually.

  No rush, she told herself. Focus on paying off the mortgage. Focus on your career. Let things happen. She closed her eyes and kicked hard. As the water streamed past her, the image of the perfect man invaded her thoughts. A confident yet sensitive guy with no emotional baggage, a sturdy body, and rugged features. Someone tender and mysterious who you must surrender to in a lifelong journey while falling deeply in love. That’s what she wanted. She was done with the pudgy clingy type, the unmotivated slob, or the anal-retentive and emotionally obtuse.

  Patricia’s outstretched fingertips scraped the edge of the pool, snapping her out of her daydream. She stopped and looked towards the clock on the wall at the other end of the room. Instead, all she saw was a tower of well-defined legs. Her eyes slowly made their way up the chiseled body of the man looming above her, and she gasped as they finally landed on the face looking down at her. The man’s sleek, jet black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail like a professional platform diver or a mysterious Flamenco dancer. Either way, he was the perfect example of raw masculinity, a kind of magnetic pull that had Patricia gaping like a teenager.

  “I believe you’re done,” said the man. He was holding out a towel for her, but didn’t offer to help her out of the pool.

  “Huh? Oh, yes, I guess I am,” she said, and climbed out. She stood there dripping for a moment before taking the towel. “I’m actually not quite done. I mean, I’m done with the pool, but was going to—”

  “The hot tub. I know,” interrupted the man.

  “Aren’t you—”

  “Paul Blast? Yes, I am,” he said with a grin. “And believe me, I’m not a stalker. I’ve been coming here for a few weeks, actually. But you’re so focused on your routine that you never noticed. I like that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Blast,” blurted Patricia. She was trying hard not to look down at Paul’s chest and toned abs. After all, he was one of the directors at Clearwell, her boss’s boss; John’s boss.

  “No worries. Like I said, I admire your determination. I noticed you never change your routine in the slightest, just the intensity, and that tells me a lot.” Paul stopped and frowned. “I guess I am a stalker of sorts.”

  “No! No! I understand,” said Patricia.

  “Just kidding,” said Paul with a slight chuckle, then added in a more serious tone, “Mind if I join you in the hot tub?”

  Patricia felt her head reel for a split second. She blinked slowly, her brown eyes focusing on the face in front of her. Instinctively, she nodded and smiled. Paul’s deep, blue eyes smiled back.

  “Sure, of course,” she said in a much calmer and confident tone than she felt. It was a trick she had mastered when giving presentations, to appear in control even when the situation was beyond your control.

  Patricia turned and headed for the hot tub, but watched Paul from the corner of her eye as he followed. What does he want? How could I have not noticed him all these weeks? But then, why would I? She reached the tub, climbed the steps, and slid into the water. As usual, the hot water immediately soothed and relaxed her.

  When she turned, Paul was standing on the edge of the hot tub, tall, lean and confident. He paused momentarily, one hand on the railing, his eyes watching her every move, before stepping down into the pool. Almost immediately, the relaxed feeling she had experienced just a moment before vanished, and she could feel her heart beating frenetically through her chest. She watched as his body slowly disappeared into the water, and for a fleeting moment an image of him wearing a tie over his bare chest popped into her mind. What the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to get fired? Patricia shook her head, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Hopefully he would be gone when she reopened them.

  “Patricia, do you mind if I ask you a question?” asked Paul as he settled down on the submerged bench, the water up to just below his shoulders.

  Patricia opened her eyes, her heart in her mouth. Paul was the director of the Brand Management group, and she only knew him by sight. He seldom came down to her floor, but she had heard that he was a hard and meticulous worker and expected the same dedication from everyone. No one really knew much about his personal life, but it was common knowledge that he had risen very quickly in the ranks and was headed to the top. There was even talk of him as the new Vice-President of the department.

  “Um, sure,” she said, and broke into a friendly smile. There was a warm flutter in her chest, and she felt it crawl up her neck to her face. What’s happening? I’m too young for a hot flash, she thought as she forced herself to keep a straight face.

  “How committed are you to Clearwell? And before you answer that, are you available for dinner tonight?” asked Paul in an almost formal tone. He leaned back placing his elbows on the edge of the tub.

  “I’m sorry, what? I don’t quite understand.”

  Paul smiled and held up his hand apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean to ambush you with two questions. Let me start over. I’ve been hearing very complimentary things about your work and want to know how you see your future at Clearwell. As for the second question,” Paul paused and grinned sheepishly, “I can’t lie. Dinner wouldn’t be solely for business. You intrigue me, and I would love to get to know you better.”

  Patricia was silent for a moment, her composure as professional as possible under the circumstances. Then, as she was about to respond, an image of Paul wearing only his swimming trunks and a tie while sitting at a table in a very fancy restaurant invaded her thoughts. “You must be kidding me!” she said choking over her words. Then, before Paul could respond, added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I just had a strange thought… and this is so unusual.”

  “Don’t worry about it, my fault. I overstepped,” said Paul, then added with a smile. “Let me make it up to you with dinner?”

  Patricia glanced at her hands resting on her knees under the water. The skin was getting wrinkled; it was time to leave. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, and stood up.

  “Fair enough, but please, don’t go. I do want to hear your goals at Clearwell.” Paul gestured for her to sit.

  Patricia looked at the clock on the wall. It was 12:55. “I would love to discuss it with you, Mr. Blast, but I’m going to be late as it is.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If anyone asks, tell them you were in a meeting with me. And Patricia, please call me Paul.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before Patricia smiled gently and sat back down. “Okay, Paul, what would you like to know?”

  “Basically, how hard are you willing to push your career at Clearwell?”

  Patricia reached up and brushed away a strand of hair that had strayed across her eye. “As hard as necessary. I believe that my work speaks for itself.”

  “Yes, it does, and John speaks very highly of you.” Paul sat forward, putting his arms back in the water and resting his elbows on his knees. Patricia’s eyes followed the movement and came to rest on Paul’s crotch. “So, my question is would you be open to a departmental change for faster growth opportunities? At first, it would be a horizontal shift from your current position, but I guarantee…”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, control yourself! Patricia looked up at Paul, her eyebrows arching up in confusion. What did he just say? A horizontal what?

  “Patricia? Are you okay?” asked Paul.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I just wasn’t quite sure what you meant by a horizontal…”

  “Shift,” completed Paul. “It means you will keep your title as manager but work in my department on a new project I’m launching. I want you to spearhead that project.”

  “So I’ll be working with you?”

  “Not directly, but yes. Ste
ve Browski is the managing director for the department, but since I know he’s being considered for a promotion…” Paul smiled without finishing the sentence.

  “I see,” said Patricia. “This really is unexpected, considering where we are.”

  “Unexpected things can be good.”

  A sly smile spread across Patricia’s lips. “Yes, they can, thank you. But I need a day or two to think it over. Can you wait?”

  “Only if you give me the answer over dinner.”

  Patricia shook her head and smiled. “You know where my office is,” she said, standing to leave. “I’ll let you know.”

  Paul nodded.

  Patricia hopped out of the hot tub, took a few steps, and then doubled back, colliding headfirst into a heavyset man who was walking past her. As she bounced off his large belly, the man grabbed her to keep her from slipping.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed and hurried away without looking back.

  The Washington, D.C., contingent of the FBI’s Art Crime Team was gathered at the FBI headquarters several blocks from the Smithsonian. They were in a mostly glass-walled meeting room with a long, dark table and oversized, black office chairs. The room was absolutely sterile, not a single piece of paper out of place, and equipped with cutting edge digital video reconnaissance equipment. However, no one was sitting, and all eyes were riveted on a petite woman with short black hair and thick, black, round glasses, wearing a dark gray tweed blazer and skirt.

  “This is quite intriguing,” said Program Director Beth Schnurr, shaking her head as she yet again watched the replay of the security video form the gallery on the large screen on the wall in front of her. Although she was at most four-foot-nine, the presence and respect she commanded more than made up for her lack of stature. After thirty years with the Bureau and an impressive track record, her voice immediately arrested everyone’s attention. “The display case was never approached by anyone and as far as we can tell the diamond never left the case.” Without turning her head, Schnurr’s dark, steely eyes snapped from agent to agent and then returned to the video screen. She quickly jotted something down on the small pad in her hand and continued, “But gentlemen, despite what we see in this video, I assure you that the Hope Diamond was indeed stolen. The one currently on display is definitely a fake.”