by Bryn Donovan
Holding the votive, Andi gazed at the image of the woman in the flames who reached her hands upward. The light from the flame flickered across Andi’s rounded cheeks and her mouth.
David asked, “Do you think that could help with our ghosts?”
“Can’t hurt.”
Andi put the candle back on the mantel. “Is there really Purgatory?”
“Sure. You’re soaking in it.”
“What?”
“Purgatory is here, he means,” David said. “Because he’s such an expert on theology.”
“I know a thing or two,” Morty said evenly.
The man knew what he was doing, and he’d done nothing but help them, and David still fought the urge to drag him out of his house. It made no sense. I’m tired, he told himself.
“Morty, something weird happened with this contractor,” Andi told him. “The one who brought in this candle.”
David stiffened. He did not want Andi telling the psychic about this. But why? He supposed he still blamed himself for her getting hurt.
She told Morty about Carlos’s strange behavior and his outburst, and about Mr. Willingham and the chainsaw.
Morty grimaced in disbelief. “You’re just now telling me this?” His accusing glare included David as well.
“Maybe I didn’t want to tell you everything,” David shot back. “Maybe I wanted to see if you could tell anything at all on your own.”
“I need to know what the hell it is I’m dealing with,” the psychic growled. “It’s one thing if he hurts people, but if he gets others to do it…” He raised his flashlight, better illuminating their faces. “Look, I had a bad feeling. That’s why I stuck pretty close to the door when I made contact. But you’ve got to tell me these things.”
“I’m sorry,” Andi said. “I’ll tell you everything I know from now on.”
Morty nodded. “All right. Let’s get back to work then.”
He looked around him. “We should stick together. We’re just going to walk through the whole house and then the grounds.”
“Wait. This doesn’t make sense,” David said. “If there were bodies, they’d be out in the yard.”
“They could be in a trunk in the attic. They could be in the walls,” Morty said. “Believe me. Ms. Petrowski, you and I will just keep our minds as open as we can, see if we can get any feel for where remains might be.”
“And I just walk around behind you like an idiot,” David said.
“You got it, pal.”
They walked through the large parlor. David sensed the house was breathing. As he followed them through the doorway to the dining room, it seemed to him that the doorframe contracted, as though the house had inhaled and filled itself with air.
Did they feel it? Weren’t they supposed to be the psychics?
They went into the kitchen.
“Nothing here at all now,” Morty said to Andi. “Am I right?”
David felt angry at their looking at one another, consulting one another.
She shook her head. Her eyes had a faraway look, and her lips were slightly parted. “I…no, I guess not.”
They continued through the rest of the first floor rooms and then up the stairs. “What did you mean,” Andi asked, “about knowing theology?”
“What? Nothing.” After a few seconds’ silence as they got to the second floor hallway, he said in a forced light tone, “I used to be a priest, that’s all.”
Damn. David could picture him in a robe, saying Mass, now that he mentioned it.
Andi gasped. “A priest? When did you leave the Church?”
“Uh,” the psychic said. “When they decided they didn’t approve of my extracurricular activities.” Andi opened her mouth to ask another question, but he held up a hand. “Let’s focus on what we’re doing, okay, babe?”
Andi nodded. Even in the uncertain flicker of the flashlight, David could see that Morty’s revelation shocked her. She looked lovely. She looked good when she was shocked.
He remembered her face in the diner when she’d thought he was going to ditch her. The morning after I fucked her, he thought, and was vaguely aware that this was harsh. She had been shocked then, her eyes wet, shining with tears that didn’t fall. God, she’d been pretty.
What would she look like if she were not just shocked, but truly frightened?
What would she look like if she were crying, tears rolling down her face, toward her parted mouth?
She would look beautiful.
His groin stirred.
Morty stopped.
“What is it?” Andi asked.
The psychic turned slowly to stare at David. “Nothing,” he said. His gaze slid toward Andi. “You both stay close.”
Andi obeyed, drawing up closer to Morty and further away from him.
What was I just thinking about? David asked himself. Something good. I was just smiling, wasn’t I? Why can’t I remember?
When the sweep of the third floor revealed nothing, they tromped back downstairs. “I don’t know if I’d be able to tell where dead bodies were, anyway,” Andi said. “I mean, I just don’t know why I would be able to.”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you why,” Morty said.
They reached the first floor.
“Can we go back into the kitchen for a moment?” Andi asked.
“Yeah. Always think I get a little something there…but not enough to be sure.”
David couldn’t help making a sound of disgust. “All right, all right, “ he said when they gave him dirty looks.
Once they were in the room Andi said, “It’s the basement.”
“Stay the hell away from the basement,” David said.
Morty and Andi both stared at him.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Girard?” Morty said, giving his name a curious emphasis.
David didn’t know why he’d warned them away. “There are rats down there,” he improvised.
“You got rid of them,” Andi pointed out.
“Well, hopefully, but you never know. And they’re nocturnal.”
Andi turned to Morty. “The man in the black suit came up from the basement.”
“You said he came up the first-floor stairs,” David accused.
“That’s where I was! But he came up from the basement. I know it.”
Morty nodded. “It’s the most logical place.” He looked thoughtful. “Andi, you go first.”
She scrunched up her face. “Why? You go first.”
“She’s scared,” David said. “We shouldn’t go down there if she’s scared. This is stupid. Let’s go home.”
The psychic ignored him and talked to Andi. “You’ve got the best feel for this. You need to lead. Here, I’ll give you the flashlight. Okay?”
She swallowed. “Okay.” She took the flashlight. “It’s just a damn basement, right?”
“That’s right, babe. Mr. Girard, you stay behind me so we’ve got light from behind us.”
“Fine,” David said.
As they walked down the stairs, David’s mind drifted, thinking about the murders in his family’s history. The bride from the faded photograph…how was she killed, anyway? There would have been so many different ways to do it. A broken neck, or maybe strangulation? She looked petite. She couldn’t have put up much of a fight.
She might have been killed in the same way his mother was. He thought of her, in her own blood in the bath. When you really thought about it, people were murdered like this all the time. It had gone on for millennia.
How strange it was, he thought as he descended the final steps and reached the basement, that no one saw just how easy it was to kill someone. Safe in their houses, in the company of familiar people, no one feared being murdered, yet it happened all the time. And what were the consequences? For his family, it seemed, there was no punishment.
He watched Andi and Morty walk around the basement. The similar, intent expressions on both of their faces infuriated him.
“There’s something down
here,” Andi said.
David startled. It was as though he’d forgotten she could talk—as though he’d been watching strangers on TV. He lifted the flashlight just enough to see her better without shining it in her eyes.
“I think it’s over here,” she said, walking over to a spot on the floor near the far wall. She sounded like someone talking during sleep. “There, and over here.” She tilted her head to the corner near the west wall. “I mean, I could be wrong. I’ve never done this before…”
David believed her. He had no doubt. But he didn’t know what to say. Morton Silva stood still for several moments, his head slightly bowed. David wondered whether the ex-priest was praying. Why had he been irritated at the man before? He couldn’t remember now.
“I think you’re right,” Morty said finally. “At least, about over here.” He pointed to the west wall. “The other one, I’m inclined to take your word on.”
David took a deep breath and let it out. He moved closer to Andi as he asked, “What do we do?”
“You jackhammer up your basement floor,” Morty said cheerfully.
“Good times.”
“So you’re still with us?” the psychic asked.
“What?” The question confused him. “Yeah, whatever we’ve got to do, I guess. I’ve just got to figure out how.”
“If we can do it without involving Cook County, that would be best,” the psychic said. “Course, that’s always true of everything. But we can talk about it more tomorrow. We’ve done enough for one night.”
Andi swayed where she stood, her eyelids drooping.
“You’re exhausted,” David said, putting an arm around her. “Andi, you look like you’re about to drop.”
She leaned into him. “I kind of feel like it.”
Morty frowned. “My fault. She’s done too much in one night. It can really sap your strength.”
“I’m all right,” she insisted. “I just want to go to bed as soon as possible.”
“You want me to take you home?” David asked.
“No. Take me to your place.”
“You got it.”
David didn’t know what to make of it, but he didn’t think he imagined the look of grim caution on the psychic’s face as he looked from him to Andi and back at him again.
Chapter Sixteen
David put his feet up on the coffee table and took out his phone. Andi had gone to bed, so it was a good time to make the call. Much as he hated to admit it, he felt nervous.
The phone rang four times and David was ready to leave a message when he heard Mr. Willingham say, “Hello?”
“Mr. Willingham? It’s David, David Girard.”
“I knew which David.” The man sounded pleased. “How are you?”
“How are you? Is your leg doing any better?”
“Oh, yeah. They say it’ll be slow, but it’s coming along.” David had already told Mr. Willingham he would pay for whatever wasn’t covered by insurance.
“That’s great. You know, I thought I’d stop by and visit. You’re probably getting bored sitting around at home with your leg up.”
“You’re right about that.” The older man laughed. “I’ve been getting my money’s worth from my Netflix lately, I’ll tell you that. But my sister and her daughter and her daughter’s family are all coming down from Waukegan, so that’ll be good.”
“Well, that’s great they’re going to come keep you company.”
“I don’t think it’s just that. I’m afraid they’re going to try to talk me out of working anymore.”
“What? Because of the accident?”
“Yeah. They think I’m getting too old.” Mr. Willingham snorted. “I haven’t even started thinking about getting old yet.”
David took his feet off the coffee table and leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hand. “Mr. Willingham, why did you have that accident?”
“I’m going to tell you the God’s honest truth, and you can believe it or not,” the man said, his voice gruff. “Someone pushed that chainsaw right into my face.”
“Who?” David demanded. “Did you see anyone?”
Mr. Willingham gave a short laugh. “Guess you’re not too surprised.”
“No. I’m not.”
“I didn’t see anything or anyone. But I can tell you for sure, that house isn’t right.”
“I know,” David said.
“Your mother was never easy there.”
“I guessed that.” Unexpectedly, David’s throat tightened up. This conversation was going further than he’d intended.
“Is this why you wanted to stop by?” Mr. Willingham asked. “To talk about the accident?”
“Um, no. Not really.” David cleared his throat. “Anyway, it sounds like you’ll have a full house.”
“Well, you’re still welcome to stop by if you want,” Mr. Willingham said, out of politeness, probably.
“Nah, I’ll wait ’til next week.” He would only convey the message from his mother in private. Who knew how Mr. Willingham would react to it? The gardener might have never had a clue about his mother’s feelings. The whole thing might very likely embarrass him. And telling Mr. Willingham in front of other people would feel like betraying her confidence.
“Yeah, well, next week is fine, too,” Mr. Willingham said. “Maybe I’ll be getting around better by then and we can go get lunch or something.”
“That’d be great.”
“So, this didn’t set you back on the house, did it? Did you get someone else to finish taking out that tree?”
Of course Mr. Willingham, a consummate professional, would ask about an unfinished job. But an overgrown tree was the last thing on David’s mind. An overbearing family tree, dripping with bloody history, root and branch, encroached upon his consciousness, his whole existence.
“Not yet,” David said. “I don’t know if I want anyone else to tackle it.”
Silence. Then Mr. Willingham said, “You know, your mom and dad…I don’t know if you know this, but they didn’t always get along.”
Should he go ahead and divulge what his mother had said? It didn’t seem right to do it over the phone. “I sort of guessed that,” he told Mr. Willingham. “Why do you bring it up?”
“I don’t know.” The man sighed. “I heard him say once he wouldn’t divorce her, because she would take the house.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. He loved that house.”
“God only knows why,” David said. “I can’t wait to get it off my hands.”
“Yeah, well…I hope you unload it soon.”
Nice guy, David thought after he hung up the phone. He supposed it was no wonder his mother had developed a crush on him.
The next call was almost as awkward for David to make.
“You’re going to do what?” Gloria demanded once David told her his plan to rip up the basement floor.
“I think it would be better for the place to have an interior drainage system,” he lied.
“David, have you lost your mind? The inspections didn’t show any problems. The land slopes away from the foundation! That basement is dry as a bone.”
Dry as a bone—the expression struck him as ironic, under the circumstances. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. It’s just one of those things, you know? I need to take care of that basement. For my own peace of mind.”
“I’m afraid this house is going to turn out to be your first bad investment. Which is pretty pitiful, considering you got it for free.” She was talking loudly, and David suspected it was for her husband’s benefit. “When do you think you’re going to have it ready to put on the market?”
“Ah, I’m not sure anymore.” He couldn’t predict how much time they would need to de-haunt the place, though he sure as hell hoped it wouldn’t take too long.
“Well, just so you know, I’m not going to be working between Christmas and New Year’s. Not that many buyers are looking then, anyway.”
“Yeah, I know.” The holidays meant a lot to
her.
David had been over at her house last Christmas for an afternoon open house. Gloria’s snowman collection crowded the living room shelves, while a Nativity set graced the mantel. Jazz versions of carols on the stereo competed with conversation and laughter. David ate cutout Christmas cookies that had been decorated haphazardly by her sons, who crowed and bickered over their presents.
He’d just been one of a couple of dozen guests, but of all the Christmases he’d ever had, it had felt the most Christmas-y.
After he said good-bye to Gloria, Andi asked, “Who were you talking to?”
He looked up and saw her leaning in the doorway, her blond hair messy around her shoulders. She had thrown on one of his button-down shirts, except it wasn’t buttoned.
“Gloria. Telling her about the basement.”
“Oh, yeah. Bet she loved that.” She came and sat on the arm of the sofa. It was good to have a sexy, friendly woman hanging around your place in the morning. No, it was good to have her, Andi.
Where were things going with them? Was it really possible that they could be together…a long time, say? Was there any reason why they shouldn’t?
It seemed like there was. Something about last night. But now it was only a strange feeling.
“You’re deep in thought,” Andi ventured.
“Hmm? I don’t know. Last night was weird,” he offered as an excuse. There was no denying that, after all.
“Yeah. It’s all kind of scary.”
He reached out to touch the exposed skin above her breasts, lightly, with the backs of his fingers. “You know what? It is scary. Let’s go back to bed and hide under the covers.”
Andi laughed and wriggled away from him. “I just got out of bed.”
“All right.” He sighed. “I’ve got a lot to do, anyway. I need to figure out who I can get to tear out that basement floor. It needs to be someone who’s not going to talk about where the bodies are buried, literally.” He looked back up at her. “You don’t happen to know how to use a jackhammer, do you?”
Her forehead wrinkled with bemusement. “No.”
“Nothing would surprise me about you,” he defended himself. “Maybe we could just, I don’t know, rent one and figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be?”