Damian cursed as he hurried forward, still training his gun on the slumped man. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, lights in the surrounding buildings started to come on. He held the nine millimeter close by the head of the fallen man, who was writhing in pain. With his free hand, he pried the large kitchen knife from the man’s tight grasp. He then allowed his eyes to shift quickly to the body that had never once moved. He saw the pool of blood running from around the neck area and knew that the rate of that flow was too great for the person to survive. The man he had shot was trying to rise to his elbows. He slapped the barrel of the gun onto the top of the man’s head, and the longhaired man grunted and fell onto his face.
“Goddamn it,” Jackson hissed. He looked around him for some sort of assistance. Then he saw that a light had come on inside the diner. A man appeared at the doorway, tying a rope around the waist of his old robe. Jackson waved the man out. Then he looked down and rolled the prone man at his feet over onto his back. In a flash of lightning, the man’s face became visible. Paul Lowell stared back at Damian with dead eyes. His throat had been cut so deeply that Jackson could see the whiteness of bone in the wound. Damian gasped and removed his hand, standing slowly. The heaving rain was staring to wash most of the standing blood into the gutter, but the flow was heavy and would soon cover the protected part of the sidewalk.
Jackson leaned over the man he had shot, grasped him by his filthy hair and raised his head. As the world flashed with lightning and the traffic signal flashed yellow once more, the face of Kyle Pritchard remained slack and unconscious.
“Good God almighty, what in the world did you do?”
Jackson let Pritchard’s head fall back to the wet sidewalk and then he looked up into the shocked face of the diner’s owner.
“Call the local police,” Damian said and held out his State Police identification. He knew everyone in the small town already knew exactly who he was and why he was there.
The old man didn’t move. He stood in the half-open doorway, almost as if he were preparing to run back inside.
“Move, old timer,” Jackson said. He placed his gun in his raincoat pocket and slapped handcuffs on Kyle Pritchard. “And you better put on some coffee.”
When Damian looked up, he saw the man had left to comply with his orders. Jackson placed his hands on his hips and looked from the murdered co-host of Hunters of the Paranormal to the just-awakening sound technician. He stepped back out into the rain and looked up, letting the cold wetness strike his face. When he looked back, he raised his brows.
“Now that, I didn’t expect,” he said, as lightning flashed across the sky once again.
The Waldorf Astoria
New York City
Gabriel Kennedy stood just inside the doorway to room 1809, looking at John and Jennifer. John sat on the end of the large bed and Jennifer was at the desk, writing. Her energy level was almost off the charts now that Bobby Lee McKinnon had disappeared. She had changed out of the evening gown and had simply tossed it to Kelly Delaphoy with an apologetic look, and then had replaced the two thousand dollar dress with a pair of white Levis and a purple turtleneck. To Kennedy’s pleasure, Jenny had kept the make-up on to cover the dark circles under her eyes. As he watched, she sprang from her desk chair to the bell cart. She moved a small vase, and then counted something and wrote it down on her pad. She was following John Lonetree’s instructions to the letter about the way in which his part of the program would be conducted, numbering each item that she would place in John’s hands after he had gone to sleep. She would then record his reactions as his Dream Walk went through its paces.
“Be sure that you write everything down, and record the whole session too,” Kennedy said.
“I think she’ll keep everything in line,” John said, kicking off his cowboy boots.
Jenny smiled but didn’t look up from the notes she was writing. “What if Bobby Lee’s not really gone?” she asked, as matter-of-factly as she could.
“Tell him he’s had his moment in the sun, and then put him to work helping John.” Kennedy smiled, but saw that Jennifer wasn’t very appreciative of his sense of humor. “Sorry. I don’t know, Jenny. I don’t have any answers for you. All I can say is that if he does, end the experiment and call me. I don’t want him mixing it up with John while he’s under.”
The slight woman nodded. She walked to the door and kissed Kennedy on the cheek, then placed her thin fingers on his chest and pushed him out of the door. She closed it without another word and then turned to John who was stretched out on the bed with his large hands behind his head, watching her.
“I thought he would never leave,” he said with a smile.
“Now, am I supposed to sing you a lullaby?” she asked, not appreciating his sense of humor either.
“Maybe just a bedtime story,” John said, his smile growing wider.
“You wouldn’t care for my bedtime stories at all Mr. Lonetree, I assure you.” He flipped off the light switch at the wall, and then the desk lamp. She slid into her chair and looked toward the bed in the total darkness of the room. She hoped and prayed that Bobby Lee McKinnon would leave her be and stay away. She truly wanted to help the team—and most importantly, she wanted to help John Lonetree.
Before long, she felt that John had slid off to sleep. She would give him twenty minutes, as his instructions had stated, and then she would slide the first item he had requested into the bed beside his sleeping body.
Looking at her notes, she could barely make out the first item’s name: Portrait number one—F.E. and Elena Lindemann, wedding portrait.
Kennedy went over each team assignment one last time and then tiredly adjourned the meeting. He and Julie Reilly would be leaving at six in the morning, and the others soon after. He wondered how John and Jennifer were doing. He was tempted to enter the room and eavesdrop, but he knew that John’s Dream Walking was like a tightrope walker attempting a wire act in a high wind: any disturbance at the wrong time could send Lonetree falling out of whatever realm he was in. To Gabriel that could be dangerous, it would be like startling a sleepwalker out of his slumber while in motion.
As he returned his paperwork to his briefcase, he saw Julie Reilly waiting for him by the door. She had a curious look on her face and in a split second he saw the reason why. She pushed the door open and standing in the hallway was a rumpled looking Lionel Peterson. He was wearing a white shirt and black sport jacket, but that was where the neatness ended and the haggardness began. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. Kennedy could see the aftereffects of a long night of drinking. He pushed past Julie, making her step aside.
“I think you better slow down on your alcohol intake,” Kennedy said as he snapped his briefcase shut. “I know the look—I’ve been there.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn where you’ve been, Kennedy.”
“Can you tell us why you’re here and what you want?” Julie asked. “We’re tired, and we have an early day tomorrow.”
At that moment Kelly Delaphoy stepped into the room, followed by the CEO himself. Abe Feuerstein still had on his customary bowtie and his brown suit. He slid easily into a chair at the table. He was looking directly at Kennedy as he pushed a chair out for Kelly to sit. When she did, the CEO placed a hand her shoulder and squeezed.
“I sure as hell will tell you, Ms. Reilly,” Peterson answered smugly. “Although, you being the ace reporter here, I believe you should have had an inkling of what was happening right under your nose.”
The CEO of UBC watched, letting it all play out without comment, but still he kept his aged hand on Kelly’s shoulder.
“I was awakened an hour ago by the Pennsylvania State Police, I immediately called the CEO and he suggested we get here and sort this mess out.”
“And that mess is?”
“Your intrepid detective shot and wounded Kyle Pritchard tonight in that small town out by Summer Place. He shot him, after the man cut the throat of Kelly’s other conman, Paul Lowell.”
Shock settled on Julie’s face as the news sank in. She sat hard in the chair she was standing near and placed a hand over her face. It was when she looked over at Kelly Delaphoy that her anger seethed to the surface.
“You stupid fool, what have you and your people done?”
“I don’t know what the hell anyone is talking about. I had nothing to do with this. Those two have been missing since the night of the test. I had no idea they were still near the house!” Kelly looked to Gabriel for some sort of help, but immediately saw that there would be none there.
“Can you explain in detail what happened, Mr. Peterson?” Feuerstein asked, patting Kelly on the shoulder in a calming gesture.
“All I know is what the detective told me over the phone. He wants to talk to Kelly. He suspects, and rightly so, about her connection to Pritchard. I think she has something to do with this.”
“Are you kidding me? Murder?” Kelly stood so suddenly that the CEO’s hand flew from her shoulder. “In case you didn’t realize, Lionel, you just told me one of my best friends in all the world just had his throat sliced!”
“I didn’t think sharks had any friends,” Peterson spat back.
“Most sharks are loners, Peterson. That’s why you travel as a singular entity yourself,” Gabriel said. “I doubt very much that Ms. Delaphoy’s imagination would go to that extreme. I mean, to kill another human being for high ratings...”
“Now you listen to me, you crack—”
“Professor Kennedy is right, where would the gain be for Kelly?”
Peterson stopped in midsentence and looked at the CEO. He was attempting to get Kelly to sit once more.
“Obviously Kyle Pritchard was insane. He more than likely abducted the poor man, and did God knows what to him. And then, in the end, he snapped and killed him. Sad, but I think all we can accuse our little producer of is extremely poor judgment.”
“Did Jackson say anything more?” Julie asked. She changed targets, shifting her glare from Kelly to Peterson. “Did Pritchard say anything at the scene?”
“Detective Jackson didn’t go into any detail. He just wants to speak with Kelly.”
“Well, he can do so, but in the presence of our team of criminal defense attorneys,” Feuerstein said, rising from his chair.
“Sir, it’s obvious we have to cut this program from our lineup. I mean, we have to use a little bit of taste and common sense.”
“Common sense, yes, yes we do, Lionel. We have already spent a tremendous amount of money in advertising. Common sense is indeed needed. Good taste, however, is something that reality television left out of the equation many years ago. No, the show goes on. We will turn this Pritchard thing into a beneficial part of the show.” He placed his hand back on Kelly’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough to elicit a wince from the blonde woman. “You’ll see to that, won’t you, young lady?”
“Yes, sir,” she said shrugging away from him.
“Good,” the CEO said as he moved to the door. “Professor Kennedy, I would appreciate it very much if you would be present at any questioning. It seems Detective Jackson may have some preconceived notions regarding Ms. Delaphoy here.”
“He won’t be the only one there. I want a crack at Detective Jackson, also. How convenient that all of this happened right in front of him,” Julie said. Kennedy stood and, without a word, bypassed the CEO at the door and left the room.
“It seems we are fast becoming a disappointment to our good professor,” Feuerstein said, surveying the people still inside the room. “Lionel, please attempt to follow up and get as many details about this incident as you can,” he said. Then he turned and followed Kennedy out the door.
“Goddamn you two, you’re going to go down and you’re going to take everyone with you.”
Julie grabbed her bag and took a menacing step toward Peterson.
“That just may be worth it, you little prick.”
Kennedy walked down the hallway in silence. Julie glanced back and saw that Kelly was waiting on the CEO and Peterson. She would like to have stayed and listened to Kelly try to explain the sudden reappearance and then death of her co-host, but she knew Kennedy wasn’t going to allow this incident in Bright Waters to pass by without doing something.
“I’m coming along,” she said as she caught up to Gabriel. He looked tired.
“No, you have the assignment; you don’t need me to go to the Lindemann historical society. I’ve got business.”
“I know, and that’s why you need me along.” She stopped suddenly and took Kennedy by the jacket sleeve. “Jackson’s not going to allow you to talk with a murder suspect, not when he thinks you’re one also. He not only believes you killed your student, he thinks you’re possibly in on this, too. Professor, you need me.”
Kennedy shook free of her grasp and looked around. His eyes traveled to the ceiling as he thought about leaving John and Jennifer alone upstairs.
“I’ll get Jason Sanborn to sit outside Lonetree’s door for the night. If anything happens we can be back here in a few hours. Look Kennedy, if this is a part of Kelly’s little plan that got away from her, we need to know that. If she was, she’ll never admit to it and you know that. You need to know what you’re dealing with here. The only way you can do that is by speaking to Kyle Pritchard, and I’m sorry, but you need me for that.”
“Goddamn it,” Gabriel hissed, finally sparing Julie a look. “What are you after? Tell me the truth. Do you believe what happened to us seven years ago, or are you just playing along until you can pull your 60 Minutes spring-trap on us?”
“I’ll tell you the truth: I don’t know. I think that maybe you have good reason to fear that damn place and that maybe you have justifiable reasons in your own head for what happened that night. But there is one thing I will tell you, Professor. Even after all the hocus pocus I’ve seen today, there are no ghosts in that house. There are just people. People are capable of creating the true horror stories of our day, I’ve seen it time and time again. Kyle Pritchard is one of those—a part of the mystique of a wooden and concrete house, that makes up a whole puzzle. If this is a fake, I will report it as so.”
Gabriel nodded his head. “Okay. Report things as you experience them, tell people the truth after Halloween, I’ll be satisfied with that.”
“And Pritchard?” she asked.
“I’ve told you before; I’m not a big believer in coincidence. Why would Pritchard do what he did?”
“Maybe he’s just crazy, did you ever think of that?”
“That’s a very clinical analysis Ms. Ace Reporter, and I’ll even grant you that and counter with my own clinical report—yes, his cheese has slipped his cracker. Now that that’s taken care of, why did Pritchard wait until now to kill Mr. Lowell? Why did he travel that distance to do it at that particular place and in front of the one policeman linked to that damn house? And here’s one you’d better burn into that notebook of yours, Ms. Reilly: just where the hell have Pritchard and Lowell been for the last eight days?”
Julie had posed the same question to herself in the meeting room, but it hadn’t made her stop and think like it did now, spoken in the light of the hallway.
“But you’re right. I will need you to get through Detective Damian Jackson,” Kennedy turned and started for the immense lobby of the Waldorf.
“Damn right you do,” she said as she caught up with Kennedy once more.
“And it’s just not for the reasons I just mentioned.” He reached the front doors and stopped. “For some reason, that house knows Jackson is involved with what’s happening on the 31st. It tracked him down to deliver UBC’s missing people to him.”
“Yeah?” She switched her large bag to the other shoulder.
“They were sent to deliver a message.”
The light finally dawned in Julie’s eyes. “We need to know what Summer Place communicated to him.”
“Now you’re starting to get just what may be crazy here, Ms. Reilly.”
; Julie smiled as Kennedy turned and went through the doorway. The doorman took Kennedy’s valet ticket.
Julie shook her head. “My bet is still on the human factor.”
“Yeah?” he said with a larger than normal smile.
“Yes, it is.”
“Mine’s on Summer Place.”
Jason Sanborn yawned, leaning forward and pressing his head lightly against the door. He heard nothing but the hiss of air by his ear, and so he pulled away and leaned against the wall. He pulled his pipe from his jacket pocket, looked from it to the “no smoking” sign, and frowned. He placed the pipe back into his jacket and then leaned his ear to the door once more. He was rewarded with a mumbled shout, and then sudden silence.
“No horrific sounds, no blood curdling screams yet?”
Jason’s heart almost jumped from his chest. The voice caught him totally unawares. He turned and saw the smiling face of George Cordero. “Oh, God. You scared the living hell out of me.” Jason grabbed his chest.
“Calm down old boy. This is the Waldorf, not the House on Haunted Hill.”
“What are you doing up here? It’s nearly two in the morning.”
“Ah, the lounge died down to nothing after Jennifer’s magic trick, so I thought I would cruise the hallways looking for adventure and hijinks.”
Jason rummaged in his pocket, fumbling for his pipe once more. He placed it in his mouth and tried to look as if he wasn’t on edge. “Well, you’re not missing anything up here, so I guess you’ll have to find your hijinks and adventure somewhere else.”
“Boy, everyone’s just as friendly as hell tonight.” Cordero leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Still, I think I’ll wait and see if our resident medicine man gets a line on anything.”
The Supernaturals Page 24