Shadows Fall

by Denise A. Agnew

  He gathered her hand in both of his and squeezed gently before releasing her. He glanced around. She didn’t recognize anyone in the restaurant, but they’d both become suspicious. Anyone overhearing this type of conversation in Simple ... well, it might enter the wrong ears at the wrong time.

  He lowered his voice even more and leaned forward slightly. “Something weird is going on at Tranquil View ... maybe. But I’m not ready to believe that the entire town is haunted.”

  “I notice you say maybe a lot. Is that so you have a way out and can save face if it turns out we’re both just fruits?”

  Roarke’s mouth turned into a crooked grin. “Maybe.”

  She laughed, but the sound was as soft as their conversation. Her gaze returned to the people around them. Two deputies glanced their way, eyes hard and suspicious. A wave of discomfort swamped her, but instead of looking away, she smiled at them. They didn’t smile back.

  “Wow. Icy,” she said as she directed her attention back to Roarke. “Did you see the stink eye those cops gave me?”

  “Yeah. Both of us. Come on, lets get out of here. I have an idea.”

  They returned to his SUV, and headed back toward the center of town. Melissa tensed. She didn’t want to be near the place where Jilly’s boyfriend had died.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The library. We need to do some more research on Tranquil View.”

  “We already did on the internet.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes the true stuff is buried where no one is likely to find it.”

  “Very true. How the hell did you get so smart, O’Bannion?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  They parked down the street from the large three story red brick building near downtown. As they walked the half block to the library, she enjoyed the shelter of his arm around her shoulders. The streets seemed deserted for this time of day, but maybe the recent cold and snow kept everyone at home. The library, all brick and stone and silence, hovered over them like a sentinel as they entered. She shivered, but figured it had more to do with winter temperatures than anything more menacing. It didn’t matter. With Roarke near, she could see a whole truckload of ghosts, and she’d feel safe. The man inspired that much confidence.

  Once inside, Melissa saw quite a few people populating the library. Several individuals stood in line to check out books, and online users surfed computers for answers.

  “Do you really think we’ll find anything worthwhile in here?” she asked in a whisper as they moved to the reference desk.

  “Maybe.”

  She almost punched him in the arm. “Stop saying that.”

  He chuckled, but his face turned straight as soon as the woman behind the reference counter noticed them. A strange sensation came over Melissa. The tall, thin woman with a long gray braid wearing a blue gingham dress didn’t smile. Large, pale blue eyes and a wrinkled long face matched the rest of her.

  “Hi. I’m Roarke O’Bannion,” he said. “I’m hoping you can help us.”

  “I know who you are.” The woman’s face became even more wrinkled, if that was possible. Disapproval inched over her expression. Her gaze darted over Melissa, too.

  Roarke’s smile didn’t falter as he apparently took in the woman’s nametag. “Jane ... nice to meet you. This is my friend Melissa Allan. We’re doing some research on Tranquil View Condominiums. We’ve found everything we can on the internet and wondered if there’s anything in the library that’s more detailed.”

  Plain Jane sniffed. “Did you talk to the newspaper?”

  Roarke planted his hands on the counter. “Yep. Asked them a few weeks back about their back issues. They said they have everything here at the library. They haven’t gotten around to scanning them into an electronic format.”

  “We haven’t either.” Jane’s voice held a crisp and clipped tone. “All we have is archive preserved documents in the back areas. That’s restricted use, however.”

  “Restricted?” Melissa asked.

  Jane reached under the counter and brought out a canvas-covered book. “We can’t have the wrong sort of people getting their hands on fragile documents.”

  Melissa decided not to feel insulted. Yet. “Do we qualify as the wrong sort?”

  The woman opened the book and flipped through the ledger pages until she found a specific area. She wrote in it, then turned the book around. “Sign here. Both of you.”

  Roarke took the pen the woman offered and did as asked. “Are we signing away our first born?”

  A tingle spread through Melissa’s middle at his words, followed by a sense of sadness. Roarke said he wanted children. She couldn’t give him any. She almost didn’t hear the other woman’s response as pain arched through her.

  “Almost,” Jane said, “If it was up to me we’d have those newspapers scanned in and preserved electronically by now, but we don’t have the money. You can look at the pages, but they’re preserved in acid free paper books and you’ll have to wear cotton gloves. We can’t have skin oils getting on the pages. Come this way.”

  All three of them took the elevator to the third floor. As they stepped out of the elevator, Jane led the way into a multitude of shelves several feet high. Melissa was surprised to find this part of the library more junky and less modern than the first two floors. The quiet here prowled like a live thing, as if a monster might creep out of the numerous stacks and nibble them to death with slow and painful bites. Melissa scoffed at her own imagination.

  The librarian took them to the back, where she pointed out several volumes of the newspaper that went back even farther than they were looking for. “These are what you need.” She walked to another drawer and pulled out a couple of pairs of cotton gloves. “Handle the books with these gloves and never take the papers out of the sleeves.”

  With that, she tromped off, her rubber soled shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

  Once the woman was out of earshot, Roarke turned a smile on Melissa. “Interesting lady.”

  Melissa glanced around as she tugged on the gloves. “Interesting place. We’re the only ones up here. If we were handling the newspaper directly, I could see using the gloves, but ...”

  “Yeah, well, I have a feeling Jane is into rules and regulations no matter what.”

  She wriggled her fingers. “Shall we begin operating?”

  He headed back to the shelving and started scanning. “We want 1888.”

  There were quite a few volumes, so they started at the beginning. One by one they hauled the heavy books over to a long table. Finally they settled down to read.

  “What are we looking for exactly?” Melissa asked as Roarke sat down across from her. “I’ve already told you a lot about the history of the asylum.”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I find it.” With that cryptic statement, he opened one volume.

  As they read, the conjecture and rumors that were thrown around by the papers in 1888 through 1908 was rife with ridiculousness. Or was it?

  “These aren’t just rumors,” she said as she pulled a chair over and sank down. “My mother didn’t tell me every last detail.”

  Melissa read through one article from 1908 that told her what she already knew. “Morgan Healy’s sister murdered her companions, and her father covered up what she did and buried thirteen women in the basement of the asylum .” Unease crawled through Melissa. “And you felt that ... thing. Whatever you felt in the basement.”

  His eyes were shadowed and thoughtful. “I don’t know what to make of that.”

  She scanned the article again. “Lilly and Morgan married and moved away. They never returned to Simple.” She flipped to 1918 and the aftermath of soldiers staying at the asylum. “During World War I, the asylum was converted into a facility for soldiers with shell shock. Apparently, whatever evil lay within the asylum grew in power just before the end of the war. My mother said there are lots of rumors. Stories about what happened in the asylum in 1918 when the Spanish
Flu raged through the world.”

  “Do you believe the stories?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “There has to be some kernel of truth in there. I’m just not sure how much.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “You’re more skeptical than I gave you credit for. I’m sorry I insinuated that you aren’t level headed.”

  She snorted softly. “I have a foot in both worlds. My parents are skeptical. My father used to berate me for having an imagination. Daydreaming wasn’t allowed. It’s a hard lesson to forget.”

  “When you taught kids, did you allow them to daydream?”

  She smiled. “I did.”

  “Good for you. I may not have much of an imagination, but I appreciate those that do.”

  “Was ... is your mother a creative type?”

  He gazed into the distance. “Yeah. She paints a little. She’s very good at it and I suggested she do it more ... I guess she didn’t love it enough to do it often.”

  She reached for his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said was. Your mother is all right. We’re going to find her.” Sadness filled his eyes, and her face heated with embarrassment. She drew her hand back. “I’ve made this worse haven’t I?”

  He returned his gaze to hers, direct and clear. “No way. You’ve been great. It’s occurred to me more than once she might have ... that she is dead.” He swallowed hard. “Sometimes I don’t think there’s any other explanation.”

  Near silence cloaked the area, the sound of a clock on the wall tick, tick, ticking the only noise.

  She broke the quiet with, “When people hear I have a serial killer in my ancestry, they freak. I’ve lost friends when they find out.

  “I’m not freaking.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. Her heart filled with new warmth.

  Realizing it would take way too long to read every story, she combed through the most bizarre ones and started to see a theme. “This is awful.”

  He glanced up, his expression filled with an emotion she couldn’t track. “What is?”

  “The papers mention there were a few patient deaths in 1888 when the asylum was built. Several deaths only a few months after it was built.”

  “Patients?”

  “Patients. Visitors. Even a nurse. In 1908 a lot happened. Almost every week there’s a strange event that occurs in Simple. A shooting one week. Two carriage accidents with all killed.”

  “So the asylum reeks with death.” He shrugged. “I’ll bet if we looked at every asylum we’d find the same type of record.”

  “That’s what you were looking for? The history that would prove Tranquil View isn’t haunted? These articles don’t prove it,” she said.

  “I know. But if my mother read this history and as mentally ill as she is—”

  “I see. You think it would mean she’d made it all up from things she read.”

  He smiled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  They continued reading. Every year there were disasters in Tranquil View, and murders beyond the norm—floods, fires, explosions. By 1918, a world weary of war embraced isolation and tranquility in little town life.

  Roarke read through one article, then his head came up. “There are two articles after the Spanish Flu deaths at Tranquil View. One is how Captain Cade Hale and Nurse Annabelle Dorrenti helped save numerous individuals who’d been imprisoned by an insane doctor by the name of Hollenbeck. Some of the details are sketchy, but they imply here that the administrators lost control and soldiers with shell shock and flu took over the asylum.”

  “What a mess,” she said.

  By the time five o’clock came around, Melissa had read enough. “I think I’m cross eyed.”

  Roarke closed the tome in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “Me, too. I think we’ve learned everything we can about the asylum. I feel dinner and a drink calling my name.”

  “Eating out again?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. It’s on me. There’s a place outside of Simple called Jace’s.”

  She lifted one brow. “The biker bar?”

  He chuckled. “It’s a nice biker bar. It’s frequented by a lot of retired military.”

  Jace’s was a good ten miles outside of Simple on the highway that brought people east to Denver. The prospect of leaving the town behind for a short time felt damned good. “Let’s go. I’m hitting the restroom first.”

  She slung her handbag over her shoulder and located a sign pointing to the restrooms in the back. As she walked through the rows toward the restroom, it slammed her. Fear. She came to a halt. Her breath caught in her throat. What the hell? She almost caught her toe on the carpet and stumbled. Self-recriminations came fast and hard. Ridiculous. She kept moving, and when she went down the long corridor to the bathrooms and past the men’s room, time felt as if it stretched. The women’s room was at the end of that hallway, a long, long way that seemed to go on forever. Her footsteps dragged, and the air was thick. Her breathing accelerated. “Come on, Melissa.” She whispered to herself. “Grow some balls.”

  She didn’t understand the feeling and couldn’t comprehend the dread bombarding her. She pushed open the swinging door to the bathroom and stepped within. The bathroom was well-kept and clean, with fairly new fixtures—a nice surprise. She hurried to use the facilities and went to the long counter to wash her hands. Urgency battered her. She dried her hands with the air dryer and headed for the door.

  The lights went out and plunged her into darkness.

  Chapter 20

  Melissa gasped as the blackness cloaked her. She laughed nervously. Cripes, would the fun never end? She’d read so much garbage about ghosts and ghouls that every little thing was turning into creep factor time. Automatically, she reached in front of her and walked slowly toward the door. Tile as cold as a meat locker met her fingers. A shiver traced over her body. Hair on the back of her neck prickled.

  “This is stupid. Find your way out of the bathroom, Melissa.”

  She skimmed her fingers across the wall, meeting the coldness but finding nothing resembling the door. Panic tickled her. Her stomach roiled. A sudden need to run assaulted her. She couldn’t see a thing in front of her. Hurry. Hurry. Again all she found was cold tile, then a bathroom stall door. She turned around slowly. How hard could this be? Dizziness assaulted her. She stopped in place and waited to get her bearings. Obviously the darkness had thrown her off. Taking two deep breaths, she shuffled forward until she touched the wall again. Smooth tile met her fingers once more.

  Unreasonable fear crawled over her skin, and she shivered. If she had to get out her cell phone and ask Roarke to find her in the bathroom, she’d die of embarrassment. Nope. She wouldn’t go that route. Find. The. Damned. Door.

  “Get out.” A voice, low and deep, came out of the darkness. Close. Within touching distance. Not Roarke’s voice. She lurched blindly toward the right, her breath coming hard as panic gripped her.

  “Melissa!” Roarke’s voice cut through the walls, strong and demanding.

  “Roarke!” She located the door handle and pulled, eager to return to Roarke and escape whoever or whatever was in the dark with her. What the hell happened to emergency lighting? “Roarke!”

  She saw a big shape moving down the main aisle toward her, but she froze. What if it wasn’t Roarke?

  “Melissa, is that you?” Roarke’s voice came softer.

  Light from a window showed his face, and she sighed in relief and rushed toward him. Without a word, she slipped into his arms and buried her head against his shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked, curling his arms around her back tightly. “You’re trembling.”

  “There’s someone in the ladies’ room. The lights went off and it was pitch dark and this man’s voice told me to get out.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I didn’t ...” She shuddered and took a deep breath. “God, I can’t believe I’m being this stupid ... I mean there can’t be a man in there. There was
no one in the bathroom until the lights went out and then—”

  Lights blazed on, making her blink. She pulled out of his arms, relieved for the light and his presence.

  “Stay here.” Roarke headed off toward the bathroom.

  She almost cautioned him, almost asked him to stop. She tensed when he walked into the ladies room. In short order he was back, and the frown on his face disturbed her. She knew what he’d say.

  “There was no one in there,” she said.

  “No.”

  * * *

  Jace’s was a squat, one story building with a ramshackle exterior. Jace’s bumps, splinters, and rusty looks might be put on for show. The building was wide and long and a challenge with its steps half falling down. She’d never gone inside, though Henrietta had told her they made the best pancakes near Simple and served meals twenty-four hours a day. As they climbed out of Roarke’s SUV, she noted dozens of motorcycles lined the parking lot despite the winter weather.

  “Are you wishing you’d brought your motorcycle tonight?” she asked as they headed to the building.

  “No. It’s okay if I get cold, but I’m not putting you through that.”

  His caring continued to smooth a path into her heart. “You’re a nice man, Roarke O’Bannion.”

  He grinned and slipped his arm around her. “Don’t let that get around.”

  Country music streamed from the open doors. Clint Black crooned. She took in the bar with interest. “This place isn’t what I thought it was.”

  Yes, it was a bar, but booths and tables lined the room. Adults of all ages sat at tables, but most of them looked a shade past fifty-five. Many wore leather jackets or vests. Patches mentioning motorcycle clubs covered patron clothing. Along the rustic dark wood walls, a bevy of painted World War One and Two posters were scattered. Other countrified memorabilia lined the area. A dance floor on the far side of the room already rocked as people swayed to Clint’s voice. A second later Jace Everett’s Bad Things started and dancers immediately jumped into the fast tune.