Zach’s mind wandered back to the visions he’d experienced. The cop had been Paramour, of that he was certain, and there’d been a cover up. Paramour had tried to frame the woman living in the basement of murder. But why?
Zach called Wendy, who answered on the first ring.
“Zach, where are you? We’re all wor—”
“Shh,” he hissed into the phone. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Hey quick. Tell me something, when did fingerprints get discovered?”
She sighed. ““Generally, Henry Faulds is considered the ‘Father of Fingerprinting,’ but there is some controversy surrounding—”
“When, Wendy? When?” Zach had cupped his hand over his mouth to muffle his voice.
“Oh, like late 1800s, like 1890s.”
Zach was passing the empty lot that adjoined Ginny Foster’s house. Fortunately, there weren’t many windows along the home’s west side. Why would there be? There should have been another house right next door.
“And when were they used by police?” Zach whispered into the phone.
“I think Scotland Yard used fingerprints as early as 1901, but they weren’t used in court until like 1905. First in England and then—”
“That’s all I need,” Zach said. “I’ll talk to you—”
“But Zach, don’t you want to hear what I found out about Paramour today?”
He considered Wendy’s tendency to go on and on, but his curiosity outweighed his need for brevity. “Only the very most important part,” he said. “The rest can wait. I can call you in an hour.”
“Aren’t you going to be back here at Rosewood before that?”
“You’re at Rosewood?”
“Yes, I am. Anyway, about Paramour. He disappeared in early July of 1899. At his home, he left a brief note saying that he was following a lead on his missing wife’s whereabouts and that he’d return.”
He limp-walked up the middle of Lincoln. On the opposite side of the street from the Fosters, Mrs. Radkey’s house was completely dark. Odd at this hour for her to be either asleep or out and about. Maybe it was bingo night. Zach continued past the house. There were tiny trinkets of light that danced with the shadows in the back windows.
A sure sign of lit candles.
“His wife had gone missing?”
“Yes, a couple years earlier.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, the first part of Paramour’s note may have been true,” Wendy said. “Who knows? But, in the end, the second part proved to be false. He was never seen nor heard from again.”
It all fit! Paramour killed the orderly, Thomas Carter, and then tried to frame “PME,” the woman living in Rosewood’s basement. Being a doctor and a scientist, Johansson would have known about the theory of fingerprinting. He’d have read about it at least in medical journals if nothing else. Police weren’t using the technology yet and so Paramour hadn’t bothered to take precautions when stabbing the body. Dr. Johansson may not have been able to match the fingerprint on the knife to Paramour, however he’d known it didn’t belong to the patient in the basement. Johansson’s findings threatened Paramour.
How was the woman connected to Paramour? Was it in Dr. Johansson’s buried journal?
She scraped embers from the fireplace and scalded his feet.
It was his godfather’s voice, but they were Evelyn’s words. Hunter had been right. Dr. Johansson hadn’t been responsible for the fires. John Paramour, the police chief who tried to frame a woman for murder, the boy who had been punished by his mother by having his feet burned, had to have been the arsonist.
“Wendy, you’re the best!”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Zach.”
They said their goodbyes. The fireplace scent in the air melded with the odor of ground coffee beans the closer to Muses that Zach got.
Before he could put his still-silent-moded phone back in his pocket, a text message flashed on his display screen. Without slowing his limped gait, he opened it.
A message from Hunter: R we awake? Will pick u up @ muses but Lucy, u got some ‘splainin’ 2 do!
Zach’s wallet contained just enough money for three overpriced, 20-ounce, bottles of water and an extra-large Café Americano. If he had more money, he’d have ordered more water. The hot drink would be used to warm his hands until his body rehydrated. Then, he’d trade a tinch of dehydration for the energy jolt the caffeinated beverage would surely provide.
Except for one overweight man, his laptop open, drinking iced-coffee topped with whipped cream, Muses was empty. The late-night crowd hadn’t yet arrived, and the post-dinner folks had already departed. The snotty barista who’d given Zach the dirty looks the previous night was again on duty. He looked at Zach with contempt. Zach suspected that, covered in dirt and leaves, not to mention dehydrated and short of blood, he must look an utter mess. And, considering he’d guzzled two water bottles before even paying for them, Zach would cut the kid some slack.
“It’s nice to finally see you.” It was her voice.
Zach turned around. Evelyn was standing near the door.
“Evelyn. I’m glad to see you, tonight.”
“Well,” she said, with a decidedly nervous grin, “it’s nice to be seen.”
“Café Americano,” the kid shouted out. “Any ‘to go’ orders for your friends tonight?”
“Maybe later,” Zach said.
“Riiiiiight.”
With an attitude like that, Zach thought, I still may be reporting your behavior to your boss.
Zach felt obliged to apologize to Evelyn for the kid’s behavior, but before he could say anything, she spoke. “With the exception of you, I just don’t understand most young people today.”
Zach chuckled and motioned toward a table near the front window. It was too cold to sit outside, and he wanted to be in a position to see Hunter as soon as he arrived.
Once seated, Evelyn looked Zach up and down. “You look like you’re neither here nor there.”
Zach wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he wasn’t about to waste time. “Evelyn, I need answers.”
“Answers for what?
“On John Paramour. On Dr. Johansson. On his journal.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t know a Dr. Johansson.” Her mouth twitched.
Zach decided to try and catch Evelyn in a lie. “We made contact with and released Dr. Johansson’s spirit last night.”
Evelyn put her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear.”
The ruse had worked perfectly, but its effectiveness did nothing to dull his disappointment in her. “You did know of him. Why did you lie? Why did you claim you’d not heard of him.”
“Zach, please,” she said. “I don’t mean to lie. It’s just that the truth for me is sometimes hard to identify.”
Zach had no idea what that was supposed to mean. “You also know more about John Paramour than you’re letting on.”
She sat without movement or sound. Zach had already decided to let her sit until she spoke, until she told him what he needed to know. She held several of the pieces to the puzzle he was trying to complete. One silent moment stretched uncomfortably into another. When she did speak, Zach thought she was joking.
“Oh, no. Your friend is here. The negro one.”
“What?” Zach peered outside. Hunter’s white Lexus had indeed pulled up to the no parking zone in front of Muses.
“I told you,” Evelyn said, “I can’t be seen with you.” She rose from the table.
“But I need to know what you know about this case.”
“Meet me back here later. I’ll wait for you and I’ll tell you everything.” She inched away from the table toward the back of the shop where the restrooms were located. “But Zach, come alone.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Zach’s strength wasn’t one-hundred percent, but he hurried outside. Hunter stood next to his car, and took a few steps towards Zach. “The psychic is near— Christ, pal you look…”
“I thought I as
ked you to pick me up in thirty minutes,” Zach said his tone almost accusatory.
The smile was gone from Hunter’s face. “Zach, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel really well, but I’ll be all right.”
“Have you heard about Sashza?”
“No. What now?” Zach said more cynically than he’d intended.
“She’s at the hospital,” he glanced at Zach and continued. “She has second and third degree burns over much of her body.”
A flash of anger seized Zach. Sailor Black. Just a hint of it. Just enough to remind him of his weakened state and the implications that might arise out of him slipping out of control. Zach had never lost so much blood during an episode; accidentally instigating one now would most certainly cost him his life.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Get in. I’ll update ya on the way back to Rosewood.”
Zach got in the car. Hunter sped through the parking lot and onto 115th Street. By the time Hunter finished explaining what he knew, which wasn’t much, they’d pulled up to the Rosewood entrance. More lookie loos had shown up since dusk, and Zach felt grateful that none had decided to encircle the property and caught him going through the back fence. As they waited for the security guard to unlock the gate, the faces outside his window mostly blended together. One old black man stood out from the rest. He was tall, had a white-stubbled beard and wore a brimmed hat. He held a sign that read: Jesus is NOT a ghost!
Zach had no clue what that message hoped to convey, but he had an irrational desire to hop out of the car and ask the man what he thought of the Holy Spirit. He realized he still must not be thinking with perfect clarity.
Hunter passed the security checkpoint and roared his car up toward the conglomeration of vehicles outside the Rosewood lobby. He stopped far short of them. He put the car in park and turned to Zach.
“Brother, I picked you up early ‘cuz there’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”
“Shoot,” Zach said.
“I didn’t release Dr. Johansson.”
Zach couldn’t believe his ears. “What? How?”
“You never reviewed the film of the exorcism did you?”
“No,” Zach responded. “I haven’t had time.”
It was partially true, but Zach also had obvious personal reasons for avoiding exorcisms, even taped ones. Better to be safe than sorry in regards to Uncle Henry.
“Well, I did it in Latin,” Hunter said. “I knew a doctor from the nineteenth century would understand me.”
“And Bryce and the others wouldn’t.”
“Correct.”
Hunter’s eyes had taken on a faraway stare. “At a crucial moment, at the very last minute, rather than ordering the entity from the premises, I asked him to hide.”
“To hide?”
“Yes, to make a bit of a scene to both impress and fool the others, and then to hide for twenty-four hours.”
“And why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“It was so late, and my reasons for doing it weren’t clear in my head. I planned on telling you first thing this evening. I didn’t expect not to see you ‘til ten o’clock!”
“And now that your head is clear,” Zach said. “What were your reasons for doing it? Or rather not doing it?”
Sara peered from the steps of Rosewood out toward them.
“Hurry,” Zach said, with as much urgency as he could muster. “Tell me!”
Short of having it wrung out of him, Hunter seemed reluctant to speak the reason out loud. Sara had started down the driveway towards them.
“C’mon!”
Finally, looking Zach squarely in the eyes he said, “Because down deep, I knew we’d need him to fight the evil here.”
Sara walked up to the passenger’s side door just as the car stopped.
Zach had only halfway emerged from the open door when Sara pressed him back into the vehicle.
“We need to talk,” she said, sternly. “Hunter, do you mind if we use your car a minute?”
Hunter, who had already taken a few steps up toward Rosewood, shook his head.
“Move over,” she said to Zach squeezing in. In his weakened condition, it took great effort to hop over to the driver’s seat. “So what’s up?”
“Sara, I’m sorry for disappearing, I assure you—”
“Assure me later,” she said. “We don’t have time now, Zach. What’s going on?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I know who planted evidence and may be planning on something bigger tonight.”
“Who?”
“Matthew and Bryce.”
She looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Sara.”
“How do you know?”
Zach explained the conversation he overheard and detailed Matthew and Bryce’s exit through the false fence.
“Did they bring anything back through the opening?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What time were they back here?” he asked, hoping to deflect.
“It’s hard to say since everyone was on break and, I thought, taking naps.” She shot him a look undoubtedly intended to make him feel guilty.
Considering what he’d done for the benefit of the show instead of napping, it didn’t work.
“I saw them,” Sara continued, “before eight o’clock.”
“So before the thing happened at Sashza’s?”
“You don’t think they had something to do with that, do you?” Her face expressed incredulity, her eyes, fear.
“I don’t think Bryce would…but I don’t know the guy. Obviously.”
She appeared uncharacteristically befuddled. “What should we do?”
“Well, let’s just get through tonight without anyone else getting hurt. Tomorrow, we can confront them and hopefully get them to admit what evidence is false. I already know the peach juice thing is bogus.”
She nodded in agreement. “Sounds good. Let’s both keep our eyes open and no more secrets, okay?”
“Sure,” he said.
“I mean it, Zach…oh,” she said, “have you talked to Rebecca?”
“Not yet,” Zach said. “I planned on calling her first thing after checking in here.”
“She’s waiting on you.”
“Okay,” Zach said. “I’ll call her now.”
“The little boy over there apparently was playing with matches last night.”
“Really? Did she say if he’s still talking about Boy?”
Sara’s face expressed horror.
“What? Is it something about Boy?”
“No,” Sara said. “Look.”
He followed her gaze toward the back of the Rosewood property. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The sounds of Sara dialing 9-1-1 and reporting it, shook Zach from his daze. He opened the car door and stepped out. The stench of it overwhelmed him. A few XPI and Demon Hunter members spilled out of Rosewood to see what was going on.
The old stables building was engulfed in flames.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next half hour was a blur to Zach. Members of both XPI and Demon Hunters spilled out of the surrounding tents and from Rosewood’s lobby. Some came up to him to ensure he was alright. Many asked where he’d been. He told them they’d meet when all the commotion died down and he’d explain. Firefighters arrived on the scene. Cameramen from the show followed their efforts as swarms of firemen vainly attempted to save the building.
There was no chance.
Many of the lookie loos from outside the main entrance must have slipped by the lone security guard while the gates had opened for the fire trucks. A few onlookers attempted to blend into the show cast and crew, while others ran wildly through the property waving their hands and screaming like banshees. Within a few minutes, security back up arrived and rounded up people who didn’t belong, transporting them to whereabouts unknown.
Amidst the chaos, Zach’s godfather spoke to him.
Clear out of Rosewood.
Uncle Henry’s tone sounded concerned.
Zach dialed Angel’s number. It hadn’t even completed a full ring.
“Hey boss, you okay? Are you back?”
“Yes, I’m back,” Zach said into the phone. He looked over at the Foster house. Because of the incline, he couldn’t tell if they could see the old stables building. “Can you see the fire from over there?”
“No, but we can sure smell it. The wind is blowing this way.”
It was then that Zach noted the stiff easterly breeze had shoved a thick fog of smoke through the night sky toward the neighboring homes. The smoke cloud mostly held together as it floated over their rooftops like a slow-motion umbrella.
It reminded Zach why he had called. “Angel, I need you to get back here and start rounding up the equipment lickety-split.”
“Huh?”
Zach hollered into the phone. “Get back here and get as much equipment out of Rosewood as fast as you can.”
“Yes, bos—”
Zach clicked his phone closed. Calm, stay calm, Zach reminded himself.
A steaming gray billow of smoke had emerged from the remnants of the old stables building. It was nothing more than a smoldering skeleton now. Some firefighters sloshed across the wet grass making sure all embers were doused. Others continued to make sure the cameramen and show members kept a safe distance. However, most firefighting activity appeared to be finished.
Scanning the tree line, Zach realized that he’d conducted his episode only about fifty yards from the old stables building. He hoped that their investigation didn’t uncover his bloody blanket and towels. Although nothing immediately would link him with them, he’d have a hard time explaining why the Sci-D TV water bottles he’d used for holy water were out there…not to mention, nearly one-hundred fluid ounces of his spilled blood.
A whiff of Sailor Black and his godfather’s voice gave him a chill.
Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum Page 22