Wyatt leaned back, remained silent for several long seconds.
“I heard a story once—as a matter of fact, I’ve heard a lot of stories in my time. They began with the sound of a piano playing in the parlor downstairs…”
Bogart again.
Quinn stood and walked to the door.
“Okay, okay. Do you really want to know what happened?” Wyatt asked. “No more Humphrey Bogart, I promise.”
Quinn turned back but said nothing.
Wyatt motioned for Quinn to take a seat.
Quinn sat back down, and Wyatt leaned forward, as if he were about to share a great secret.
Quinn leaned in.
“What happened was, you didn’t do your job, Quinn. That’s what really happened. You were her big brother. It was your job to protect her… and you didn’t.”
Quinn Cole stumbled from the building in a daze. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours on any given night since Juniper had gone missing, and the trial had all but killed him.
He was so exhausted he could barely think.
And now, the person found guilty of killing his sister—Wyatt Scrogger, a person he’d once assumed to be a friend—said the very words to Quinn that he had been saying to himself for the past three years…
You were her big brother…
It was your job to protect her…
And you didn’t.
Quinn looked in the distance and could see the Stillwell Towers, one of the tallest buildings in Savannah. How tall was it, twenty stories maybe?
Didn’t matter; it was tall enough. Without another thought, he took off and began running toward the building.
Quinn turned on Water Avenue, his legs churning faster and faster until he pushed through the Stillwell’s front doors and headed directly for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, his legs burning as he climbed—higher and higher—until he pushed through the doors and into the sunlight on the building’s roof.
There was only thirty feet and a small ledge standing between Quinn and stopping the pain forever.
Chapter Eight
St. Augustine, Florida
February 22, 2010
Koda, Dane, and Tank arrived together and were once again met at the door by Vooubasi’s assistant, Xiao-Xing. “Mr. Vooubasi is just finishing his massage and will be down shortly.”
Xiao-Xing led Koda, Tank, and Dane to a table in the center of the room. The table was round—approximately six feet across—covered with a black cloth on which someone had drawn a five-pointed star in white chalk.
The table was surrounded by five chairs, four of average size. The fifth was a throne-like monstrosity made of carved wood, trimmed in gold, and clearly intended for Vooubasi.
“Please, take any seat you wish,” Xiao-Xing said.
Koda took the chair to the left of the chair intended for the psychic medium, and Dane took the seat to Vooubasi’s right. Tank was offered his choice of either of the remaining two chairs, and—as expected—he took a seat next to Koda.
Moments later, a large African-American man with a shaved head—dressed entirely in black—came down the stairs and walked to the corner of the room without saying a word.
Then Vooubasi made his entrance. “Thank you for waiting, gentlemen,” Vooubasi said.
“Who’s he?” Tank asked, motioning toward the bald man in the corner.
“This is Ronald,” Vooubasi said. “Ronald is my guardian and will be assisting us this evening as well.”
Ronald and Tank locked eyes, the men developing an instant dislike for one another. It might have been the fact that each man carried a gun, something any trained bodyguard could spot easily, even from across a large room.
“Do you know anything about the history of the Casa Monica hotel, Mr. Mulvaney?” Vooubasi asked as he crossed the room and seated himself in the giant chair.
“No, not really,” Koda said.
“When Henry Flagler bought the Casa Monica in 1888, he already owned two other hotels—the Ponce de Leon Hotel and the Hotel Alcazar. The former became Flagler College, directly across the street from here, and the latter became the Lightner Museum.”
“Flagler?” Dane asked.
“Yes, Mr. Mulvaney’s fiancée—Mika Flagler—is Henry’s great granddaughter.”
“Former fiancée,” Koda corrected.
“Is that why you picked this hotel?” Dane asked, “because of the Flagler connection?”
“Of course not,” Vooubasi said. “I chose the Casa Monica because it is haunted.”
“Haunted?” Koda asked.
“As the story goes, Henry Flagler had his second wife—Ida Alice—imprisoned here, in this very room,” Vooubasi said. “She became so unhappy with her marriage that she threatened her husband with divorce, to which Henry responded by threatening to have her committed to an insane asylum. Ida did the only thing she could do to get out of the situation.”
“What was that?” Tank asked.
“She hung herself at the top of the stairs. To this day, guests report seeing a ghostly woman walking the hallways of the hotel in the middle of the night. They believe it to be Ida Flagler, and, of course, they are correct.”
“And you are telling us all this because…?” Dane said.
“Because I have asked the spirit of Ida Flagler to serve as my spirit guide for this evening’s séance,” Vooubasi said.
Xiao-Xing stepped forward holding a white candle and placed it at the center of the table. She then lit the candle and took the final seat between Tank and Dane.
“What about him?” Tank asked. “He’s not sitting?”
“Ronald’s function is to ensure that no one enters or exits this room once we’ve begun,” Vooubasi said. The large bald-headed man took his cue and stationed himself near the door like a giant human barricade.
“Before I make contact with our spirit guide, there are a few things for you to know,” Vooubasi said. “First and foremost, stay in your seats throughout the séance, and do not become alarmed with any of the sights or sounds you may experience. Should items begin to move about the room, know that such manifestations are how the dead let us know they are here.”
“If we can all hold hands,” Xiao-Xing said in a soft voice.
“Through this holding of hands we complete the circle and become one,” Vooubasi said. “It is also a way for you to know that neither Xiao-Xing nor myself have left the circle or have used our hands to cause any of the manifestations we may experience.”
Each person took the hand of the person seated next to them, interlocking their fingers as instructed.
“Ronald, would you please dim the lights?” Vooubasi asked.
“Spirits are only comfortable in a darkened room,” Xiao-Xing said. Ronald turned the dial on the wall as instructed, sending the room into almost total darkness, except for the candle flickering away in the table’s center.
“If you are ready, gentlemen,” Vooubasi said, “let us begin.”
“To invite the spirit of Ida Flagler, and the spirit of the girl we seek to contact—the girl in the mirror—we must raise our vibration to that of the dead,” Vooubasi said. “For that is what we are; we are all vibrations. Everything is made of vibrating matter, everything. The ground beneath our feet—buildings, roads, grass, and trees—and the clouds that float overhead. This includes us as human beings, and it includes the dead as well.”
Vooubasi began to make a low, guttural humming sound:
“Om Gum Namah….”
“Om Gum Namah….”
“But the spirit world vibrates at a different rate from ours,” Vooubasi continued. “As such, we must raise the rate of our vibration to match theirs in order to facilitate communication with their world, the one that lies beyond.”
“Please join in with us now,” Xiao-Xing said.
“Om Gum Namah….”
“Om Gum Namah….”
Koda, Dane, and Tank each did as instructed.
“Om Gum Namah….”
>
“Om Gum Namah….”
“Om Gu—“
And then it happened.
Suddenly, without warning of any kind…
The large mirror that was standing in the corner of the room was sent crashing to the floor by some invisible force, glass shattering and flying in every direction.
“It appears that Ida Flagler has made her entrance,” Vooubasi said, causing a moment of nervous laughter from the others. “Ida, is that you? If the answer is yes, rap two times.”
Everyone went silent, listening.
Nothing.
Vooubasi began to repeat: “Ida, if it is a yes—“
Before he could complete the question a quick succession of knocks came from somewhere in the darkness on the other side of the room.
Koda’s heart began to race.
Dane, on the other hand, was concerned. This was nothing like the type of séance he’d ever been part of in his years at Lily Dale.
Tank considered letting go of Xiao-Xing’s hand and reaching for his gun.
“Welcome, Ida, oh great and wonderful spirit guide,” Vooubasi continued. “We have come here to make contact with one who has passed over, a young girl. Is the one we seek—?”
Knock-knock.
Knock-knock.
“She is here with us now?” Vooubasi asked.
Knock-knock.
Knock-knock.
“I will attempt to enter a trance state at this time,” Vooubasi said, “so as to allow Ida’s spirit—or the spirit of the one we seek—to channel through me and speak directly to Koda Mulvaney.”
Once again, Vooubasi began to chant.
“Om Gum Namah….”
“Om Gum Namah….”
At first Koda thought he was imagining it, but it felt as if a cool breeze had blown through the room. And the table felt different to the touch, as if it were vibrating with electricity—as if it were somehow alive.
Just then the table literally began to rise off the ground, as if weightless, levitating several inches off the floor.
Suddenly, Vooubasi arched his back and his head flew back—his eyes rolling around—then the table fell back to the floor.
Vooubasi sat limply in the chair as if he were a giant rag doll. Then his mouth opened and what sounded like an old woman’s voice could be heard…
“I am here. I am here,” the voice said. “I am with the one you seek.”
“We wish to know her name,” Xiao-Xing said. “Ida, can you tell us her name?”
Vooubasi’s head tilted from side to side, as if listening to some distant voice only he could hear. “Sam,” the old woman said through Vooubasi. “She says her name is Sam… Sam… Samantha.”
“Samantha what?” Koda asked.
Vooubasi’s head began to shake violently from side to side, then the old woman’s voice responded.
“Drowning, drowning, Samantha is saying… can’t breathe can’t breathe, can’t breathe… drowning, sticky, drowning, sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky…”
“Ida, ask the girl what year it is,” Koda said. “When did she die, what year—?”
“Nineteen,” Ida said, speaking through Vooubasi.
“Nineteen?” Koda asked. “Nineteen what?”
“Nineteen, nineteen, nineteen, nineteen, nineteen, nineteen…”
Koda pulled his hands away from Vooubasi and Tank, and jumped to his feet. As he did, Vooubasi’s head flew forward and every light in the room came on.
The spell was broken, and Ida Flagler’s spirit—and the girl—was gone.
Tank had no opinion on any of what they’d experienced, other than his intuition that Ronald—Vooubasi’s self-described protector—was not to be trusted.
As far as Dane was concerned, Vooubasi’s psychokinetic powers were beyond explanation and truly amazing.
Perhaps too amazing.
Koda pressed Vooubasi about the girl’s last name. “Samantha what?”
Vooubasi didn’t know.
“Did the girl say where she lived? Or where she died?”
Vooubasi didn’t know.
“What does nineteen mean?” Koda pressed.
“You can ask as many questions as you wish,” Xiao-Xing said, “but Mr. Vooubasi can give you no answers. He remembers nothing of his time in trance-state.”
Koda felt like he was leaving with more questions than he’d come with, but at least he knew he wasn’t crazy. Someone had confirmed what he claimed to be true—that he had seen a girl in the mirror—that the entire thing wasn’t something he simply imagined.
And the girl wanted him to find her.
“So, what do I do now?” Koda asked.
“Stay by the mirror,” Vooubasi said. “The girl you seek will appear, and when she does, Mr. Mulvaney—you must be there waiting.”
Chapter Nine
Las Vegas, Nevada
September 27, 1935
Claudia Spilatro wanted one thing and only one thing: She wanted Ulrich Schröder all to herself. For this to happen, Ulrich’s wife—Onyx—would need to be dealt with.
Claudia’s solution to the problem was poison.
But, as the weeks rolled along and nothing happened, Claudia began to wonder if Ulrich had it in him. Reminding the burly German that she was pregnant with their child had produced nothing in terms of results. Neither had pointing out that she’d be showing soon.
“The Owl is very attentive to detail,” Claudia said finally.
Which did the trick.
“Okay, okay,” Ulrich said. “I’ll do it. I just need a little more time to—“
“No more time,” Claudia said, handing Ulrich a brown paper bag. Ulrich opened the bag and pulled out the box of Rat-Nip.
“How much should I use?” Ulrich asked.
“Enough,” Claudia said. “Now quit stalling and get it done.”
The package of Rat-Nip said a dime-sized mound would kill the average rodent, so the next day—when Ulrich finally worked up the courage—he placed a heaping tablespoon of the gray-brown powder in her oatmeal, thinking it would be enough.
It wasn’t.
Onyx ate her oatmeal and commented on how good the breakfast tasted. “Thank you for the surprise,” Onyx said, and kissed him on the cheek.
The following morning, Ulrich doubled the amount—then again the day after that—thinking the poison would build up in her system, but still no reaction.
On the fourth day, Ulrich tripled the amount of poison in Onyx’s oatmeal, with a similar quantity in her eggs. It worked.
By noon that day, Onyx was violently sick. Ulrich called Claudia at The Night Owl and told her the news: Onyx was gravely ill.
“Don’t call me again unless it’s done, Ulrich,” Claudia said and hung up.
By the end of the day, Ulrich began to feel sick, too. He hadn’t expected to be overcome with guilt, but he was as he helped Onyx out of bed and over to the toilet.
“Vomit, Onyx,” Ulrich said. “Throw it up.”
Onyx tried her best to vomit, but she simply couldn’t get anything to come up. “There’s nothing left,” she said, then staggered back to bed.
Over the course of the night, Onyx would wake Ulrich with screams of agony, until she finally settled down, and both she and Ulrich fell asleep.
Ulrich felt the heat of the morning sun on his face as it poured through the window and opened his eyes. Onyx was gone.
Ulrich jumped up and raced into the other room to find Onyx standing at the stove, frying bacon and eggs in a large black skillet.
“Are you… better?” Ulrich managed. It seemed impossible. How could Onyx possibly be up and around?
“So much better,” Onyx said. “I actually have an appetite.” She placed the food on two plates and set them on the table. Ulrich wasn’t hungry, so Onyx ate his food as well. Ulrich couldn’t understand it. Onyx should be sick. Actually, she should be dead.
Chapter Ten
Savannah, Georgia
July 13, 1982
Ce
celia Jaing was a combination of exhausted and elated, working twelve-hour days for over a year in preparation for the Wyatt Scrogger murder trial and having done the near impossible—securing a first-degree murder conviction without ever recovering the body of the victim, Juniper Cole.
She set her purse on the living room coffee table in the one-bedroom apartment she rented not very far from the courthouse and went straight to the kitchen. The place was ridiculously small—less than eight hundred square feet, including the hallway—but anything bigger seemed like a waste of money.
She was single, never entertained guests, and spent virtually every day in the office or in court. On top of that, she wasn’t staying long.
“What’s the next stop?” Cecelia called out to the empty room. “Can you spell the governor’s mansion?”
She grabbed a bottle of Cook’s Brut from the refrigerator, worked the plastic cork until it popped, and took a swig directly from the bottle. The champagne was cheap, but it tasted good.
It tasted like success.
Wyatt Scrogger was the ninth victory in a string of wins during a meteoric career ascent that people couldn’t help but notice. And she knew that with a few more wins she wouldn’t be drinking the cheap stuff anymore.
She took another large gulp of champagne from the bottle and carried it down the hall to the bedroom—dancing and spinning in celebratory circles as she went—until she reached the door of the darkened bedroom. Yes, life was good, and everything was going according to plan.
Then she heard a noise.
Ummm, ummm, ummm…
What was that? It sounded like someone humming.
She stopped and listened.
Several seconds passed, then she heard it again.
Ummm, ummm, ummm…
What the hell? She waited, listening. Again, silence.
Cecelia took a step forward and immediately heard the sound again, even louder.
Ummm, ummm, ummm…
“Is someone there?”
Cecelia reached her hand inside the door and felt for the light switch. The room filled with light.
Onyx Webb: Book Two Page 3