Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  Scruffy growled again and Gina shushed him.

  “Worse. At least a dog is faithful. But Jerry couldn’t even be discreet about it—the whole wedding party found them making like minks in the limo. And it was going to be the perfect wedding, too,” she wailed.

  Sniffing and wiping her eyes, Gina continued, describing her wedding plans in intricate detail, all the way down to using Scruffy as the well-trained ring bearer.

  Almost a hundred and thirty years of living in limbo had taught Drake patience, if nothing else, and his work as a mesmerist had shown him the value of a sympathetic ear. So, he listened.

  It seemed to help. Gina settled down after relating her tale of woe, ending with, “The worst part is, I sold my dog training business, sublet my apartment, and cut all ties to my former life just so I could devote the rest of my life to Jerry. Now what will I do? My life is gone.”

  “Perhaps your parents will help you.”

  “Forget it. My father would have, but he died three years ago. And Mom . . .” She snorted. “Even after we found Jerry and Bette doing the wild thing, Mom still wanted me to go through with the wedding. Typical.”

  Drake’s eyebrows rose. Not exactly a model loving mother. “No wonder you ran away.”

  “Yeah, but what am I going to do now? I have nothing to go back to.”

  He considered for a moment. Though he wanted to assist her, he wanted even more to keep her nearby so she could help him. “What do you want to do?”

  She paused, thinking, and a spark of determination entered her eyes. “I want to start over, somewhere new. Somewhere far away from Jerry, my mother, and my so-called friends.”

  “Then that’s what you should do. Why not stay here in Hope Springs?”

  “Here? Why?”

  Because he couldn’t leave the confines of the area, but he was loathe to tell her that. In fact, it would be better to let her think he could follow her anywhere. “Why not?”

  He needed time to think, to plan how to elicit her help. Seeing the dark smudges beneath her big brown eyes, he said, “You don’t need to make that decision right this moment For now, you should sleep.”

  She yawned. “Good idea. I’m beat.” She shut off the light and crawled back into bed, giving him a stern look. “But no more groping, okay?”

  “All right.” He wouldn’t touch her again, but he also wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Gina Charles was the key that would allow him to escape this limbo-like existence, and he wasn’t going to leave her side until he found it.

  Gina woke with stuffy sinuses, swollen eyes, and a sick headache—the inevitable result of a prolonged crying jag. She moved and her stomach churned. Then again, maybe the wine had something to do with this awful feeling.

  Scruffy whined and nudged her with his cold, wet nose, wanting out. Reluctantly, she swung her feet to the floor. The memory of yesterday’s events penetrated her grogginess, and her eyes flew open, searching the room.

  Sure enough, the ghost was still there, sitting in the room’s lone chair and watching her with his penetrating dark gaze. Gina closed her eyes and groaned. Great. Bad things always came in threes. First the wedding disaster, then the ghost. She wondered when the other shoe would drop, and what form number three would take. It would have to be a doozy to top numbers one and two.

  “Good morning,” the ghost said in a deep, vibrant voice.

  He made a striking appearance for a dead man, with a dramatic streak of white slashing through long, dark, hair. With his good looks and those sexy eyes and voice, Gina bet he had been quite a lady’s man in his day.

  But she was through with men—even dead men. It was beyond stupid to be attracted to a ghost, even on the rebound. She glared at him as Scruffy’s urgings became more frantic. “Have you been watching me all night?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I wanted to be here when you wakened.”

  Great, an attentive ghost. That was all she needed.

  Ignoring him, Gina crossed to the door and opened it. No one else disturbed the serenity of the early morning sunshine, and there was a small patch of grass nearby, so she let Scruffy run out and do his thing. Somehow, just seeing her faithful companion with his ears perked up and his tail wagging made her feel better. Once he finished, Scruffy hurried back in and growled at the ghost. Suppressing the urge to growl herself, Gina said, “Now that you know I’m still here, you can go away.”

  “I’d rather stay. “ His voice was polite, but unmistakably firm. He wasn’t going to budge an inch.

  Gina sighed. She didn’t know how to get rid of him short of hiring an exorcist, and doubted she could find one in the phone book. She was just going to have to put up with him for now. “Look, I have to take a shower, and I don’t want to worry about you peeking in on me.” He might be a hell of a hunk, but she didn’t want to deal with him when she was naked. “Will you promise to stay right where you are?”

  He inclined his head in an old-fashioned courtly gesture. “Of course. You have my word on it.”

  Shaking her head, Gina grabbed the few things she’d picked up at the discount store the night before and stomped into the bathroom. She took Scruffy with her, partly to keep him from getting too noisy in the other room, and partly to act as a lookout while she showered. She put him on guard, knowing he’d alert her if the ghost tried to show his see-through face in here.

  Luckily, he was as good as his word and she was able to shower unobserved and dress in the jeans, navy T-shirt, and tennies she’d bought last night. Knowing it was useless to delay the inevitable, she opened the door and walked back into the other room, toweling her hair.

  He rose to his feet, and since it didn’t look like he was leaving any time soon, she sighed and introduced herself, then said, “If you’re going to stick around, at least tell me your name.”

  He smiled and gave her a sweeping, elegant bow. “Drake Manton, Mesmerist, at your service.”

  “Mesmerist? You mean like a hypnotist?”

  “Something like that. But in my day, mesmerism started out as the study of magnetism in the body, thought to cause problems with the mind. You might say we were the precursors to your modern-day psychiatrists.”

  An old-fashioned shrink. Just what she didn’t need. But if concentrating on him made her forget the shambles of her life, she was willing to ignore it for a while. She sat on the bed. “What’s your story? How did you become a ghost?”

  He seated himself and steepled his fingers, his mouth curving into a smile. “I died.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No kidding. I mean, why are you a ghost? Are you haunting the scene of your death until you find your murderer or something?”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “I don’t know. I can’t remember how I died. I have always assumed that if I could learn the manner of my death, I would leave this ghostly existence and pass on to somewhere more rewarding.” He paused, giving her a penetrating stare. “Perhaps . . . you could help me?”

  “No way,” Gina said. “I’m not going to go around visiting cemeteries and digging up bones just so you can find out what killed you.” Besides, she’d sworn off men forever—dead or alive. On the spur of the moment, she said, “I’m going to become a nun.” That ought to do it. Of course, she wasn’t Catholic and didn’t know if they would allow Scruffy in the convent, but those were minor problems, easily overcome.

  Drake raised a sardonic eyebrow. “It won’t be necessary to dig up my bones. All I’m asking is for you to visit a morgue of a different sort—old newspaper records. That’s one thing I can’t do for myself.” One corner of his mouth quirked up, giving him a rakish appearance. “Perhaps you could postpone taking your vows until then?”

  Nuns had to take vows? Come to think of it, they had to wear ugly clothing, too, and give up a lot more than men. Gina waved a hand airily. “Okay, so I might not become a nun after all.” But she didn’t want to get bound up in some ghost’s problems, either. She had enough of her own. “I’m sorry for bothering you with
my troubles.” She left unsaid the fact that she really didn’t have the energy right now to cope with his, but hoped he got the hint.

  He didn’t. “It wasn’t a bother, and I do need your help.”

  “I doubt I can help you. I can’t even help myself.”

  “But it’s such a small service, and one only you can do for me.”

  Gina dropped the polite facade. “I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

  “Won’t you reconsider?” Behind his polite question lurked a thread of steely determination. When Gina shook her head, Drake sighed. “Then I fear I shall have to haunt you for the rest of your life.” Gina bristled and Scruffy, reacting to her unease, growled.

  Drake raised his eyebrow again. “I don’t think Scruffy approves.”

  Okay, he had her there—she didn’t think she could put up with him for the rest of her life. Maybe this little task wouldn’t take long. “What do you want?”

  “All I want you to do is look through the old newspaper files, to see if you can find a record of my demise.”

  She supposed she could do that. “Then you’ll leave me alone forever?”

  He hesitated, then said, “If all goes as I hope, I should leave this existence as soon as I learn how I died.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “Let’s deal with that if the situation arises, shall we?”

  Gina sighed. It wasn’t a promise, but it was better than nothing. And, to tell the truth, she was rather glad of something to distract her from the mess Jerry had made of her life.

  Leaving Scruffy in the motel room, Gina grabbed a quick bite to eat and drove to The Hope Springs Times offices with Drake’s ghostly presence beside her, giving directions. The helpful newspaper staff showed her how to run the machines to read the old microfiche editions of the paper, then left her alone in the room. Thank goodness—she didn’t want to have to explain why she was talking to apparently empty air.

  “What am I looking for?” she asked Drake.

  “I remember I arrived in Hope Springs in June of 1885. My tombstone says I died that same year, but doesn’t say what month or day.”

  Gina shivered at the casual way he spoke of his grave. As a flesh and blood man, she would have found his dramatic good looks fascinating, but as a ghost, his touch was as cold as ice and he was kind of creepy. The sooner she could help him and be rid of him, the better.

  Hours later, they finally found what they were looking for. In the December 22, 1885 edition of The Hope Springs Times, she spotted a drawing that was unmistakably Drake. The sketch exaggerated his white streak and compelling eyes, portraying him with his hands raised dramatically and lines of magnetic force radiating from his fingers. It was accompanied by a story with the headline, Mesmerist Dies in Hotel Fire, and a drawing of the hotel.

  “That’s it,” Drake declared, peering over her shoulder as they read the article together.

  The article stated that Drake Manton, Mesmerist, had perished in a blaze that destroyed the recently-built tower of The Chesterfield, a luxurious Victorian hotel and resort situated two miles above the town. The fire had also claimed the life of a Mrs. Rutledge, and the moral tone of the article implied that Manton had received his just desserts for daring to carry on a scandalous assignation with a married woman.

  It figured—in life, Drake had been just like Jerry, her jerk of a fiancé. Gina stood, carefully avoiding Drake’s insubstantial form, and stretched. Though she was disappointed in what they’d found, satisfaction filled her with the simple act of helping someone. It felt good.

  She glanced at Drake who was avidly scanning the text on the screen. “You’re still here,” Gina said accusingly. “Why?”

  Drake turned slowly, fixing his compelling gaze on her. “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because this article doesn’t ring true. I’m no philanderer. It’s a lie—that must be why I’m still here.”

  Wishful thinking was more like it. “Or maybe you’re doomed to spend eternity as a ghost because you’re a philanderer.”

  Drake glared at her. “I can’t believe I’m doomed forever. If so, why can you suddenly see and hear me when no one else has been able to?”

  “I don’t know.” Then again, maybe he was right. He seemed so cocksure of it, and reporters of that time weren’t exactly known for their accuracy and objectivity.

  “You must be the key,” he muttered with a frown. “But how?” His face cleared and he turned to her. “I know—we’ll visit the site of the fire.”

  She glanced at the sketch of The Chesterfield, a magnificent brick edifice trimmed in the white gingerbread so prevalent in those times. “I don’t think it’s still standing, or I would’ve heard of it.”

  “The hotel is no longer in operation, but its ruins are still there.” He paused, brooding. “That’s it. You must come with me to The Chesterfield. We’ll find the answer there.”

  “How can we possibly find any answers? That was over a hundred years ago.”

  “I don’t know. I only know the answer has to be there. Please, come with me.”

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” she hedged. “It’s getting kind of late.” And she’d been working on his problems all day when she needed to solve her own.

  “There’s plenty of daylight left. Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Please, come.”

  Gina didn’t protest further. Even dead, Drake had a persuasive charm she found hard to resist. Besides, she rather liked being needed, and it wouldn’t hurt to see this through to the end. “Okay. But first, I need to check on Scruffy.”

  She pulled out some change and put it in the machine. After she printed a copy of the article, she stuck it and the remaining change in her back pocket, then went to retrieve the terrier.

  She drove as close as she could to the site of the former resort, then parked and got out, peering at the ruins. The Chesterfield was a mere shadow of its former glory, with its mortar crumbling, its brick walls half caved in, and its formerly showy gingerbread hanging slack and rotted.

  Scruffy ran off to explore and Drake called out, “I found a way up over here.”

  Since Drake was a bit more difficult to see in the bright afternoon sunshine, she followed the sound of his voice through the thick foliage surrounding the ruins. Scruffy was already there, bounding up the small path former explorers had made. “Scruffy, come here.” She didn’t want him wandering around the ruins. They might not be safe.

  He obeyed—she wasn’t a dog trainer for nothing—and she scooped him up and looked around, squinting with the brightness of the sun. “Drake, where are you?” Had he already disappeared?

  “Here, just inside the ruins.”

  Now she could see him—a faint shimmer against the remains of the hotel. “I don’t know about this. . . . It could be dangerous.”

  Ignoring her complaint, Drake said, “You needn’t go any farther. I think I found it.”

  “Found what?” The steps and porch looked somewhat safe, so she picked her way carefully toward him.

  “This.” Drake gazed intently at an old wooden chest, half hidden in the shadows.

  “Weird. I can’t believe this is still here after all these years.”

  He nodded. “I don’t remember seeing it before, either, and I’ve passed through these ruins many times.”

  A stir of excitement made her drop to her knees. She blew some dust off the front of the chest to reveal beautifully carved flowers, blackened brass handles, and the initials EMS. “It looks like an old hope chest. I wonder if there’s anything inside.”

  The lid opened with a creak and Scruffy sneezed as Gina batted at the dust rising from the chest. She peered in eagerly as Drake hovered behind her. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

  “Nothing,” Gina said in disappointment as the faint scent of cedar rose to tantalize her. “Just a bunch of junk.” She stirred the contents—a broken neck chain, a pair of severed handcuffs, a sheriff’s badge, and a dented brass nameplate.


  Finally, below all the rubbish lay something of interest. Shifting Scruffy to her left arm, Gina reached in and pulled out an old dueling pistol. It, too, was ruined—blackened by fire, with the grip half melted—but there was something about it that intrigued her.

  “That’s it,” Drake said in triumph.

  “How do you know—” Gina broke off, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “Drake?” she said uncertainly.

  He leaned toward her with a concerned expression and she dropped the pistol to raise shaking fingers to her spinning head. She wobbled, feeling faint, and realized he had suddenly become more substantial. Either that or she was becoming insubstantial.

  Vertigo overwhelmed her, sucking her down into a whirling maelstrom of dizzying speed. What’s happening to me? But there was no answer as she crumpled to the ground and lost consciousness.

  Gina came to, slowly, to find herself lying on a very hard surface while Scruffy frantically licked her face. She pushed him away and opened her eyes to see the concerned face of a woman she’d never seen before.

  “How do you feel, dear?” the woman asked in a brisk tone. She sounded British.

  “I’m not sure. . . . Where’s Drake?”

  “He hasn’t arrived yet, but he’ll be along shortly.”

  Puzzled, Gina held a hand to her spinning head and stared at the woman. Her dark hair was worn in an old-fashioned mode that made it look like a ballooning pincushion with a knot on top, and her severe dark dress with its crisp white collar and cuffs went all the way down to her ankles. How odd. Had Gina made it to the nunnery after all?

  The woman offered her a hand and helped her up in a no-nonsense fashion as Scruffy frisked around them. “How do you do, Miss Charles? I’m Miss Sparrow.”

  Puzzled, Gina shook the proffered hand. “Hi.” She glanced around and found herself on an airy verandah. She and Miss Sparrow were at one end, and a small party had gathered at the other end in wicker chairs, chatting amiably. There was something odd about them, but Gina’s confused mind couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She swayed woozily, muttering, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”