“Really?” Olympia said. “You called me a drunk in front of the entire crew, Nathaniel! My credibility is somewhere between a car salesman and a member of congress.”
Shit, Nathaniel thought. Olympia was right.
“What a great pair we make, huh?” Olympia said, sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed next to Nathaniel. “Maybe after they fire us we can start some rinky-dink cable access show in Des Moines.”
Nathaniel did not laugh.
“Just tell me you saw it,” Nathaniel said quietly. “Please, Olympia. All I’ve ever wanted was to have a real, paranormal experience.”
“Okay,” Olympia said. “I admit it. I saw the stick swinging in the air all by itself, hitting you over and over. You may have bribed a technician to knock on the wall a few times, but you didn’t beat the shit out of yourself. I saw it. It happened. It was real.”
“Thank you,” Nathaniel said softly. “But what about the voice? Did you hear the voice?”
“What voice?” Olympia said.
“The boy,” Nathaniel said. “I followed the knocking sounds up the stairs and down the hallway. And when I entered the room, I heard a voice say—” He stopped.
“What, Nathaniel?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Jesus, sugar, I know you’re crazy,” Olympia said. “Now tell me what this creepy-ass voice said already.”
“When I entered the room it was empty, but I felt a presence, so I said, ‘Who’s there?’”
“And?”
“A voice from the other side of the room said, ‘Stick Boy.’”
“Stick Boy?” Olympia repeated.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. “I said, ‘Is that your name? Stick Boy? Are you trapped here, Stick Boy? If you are, consider your spirit freed.’ And then…”
Nathaniel’s head bobbed up and down, and tears began to fall from his eyes.
“You said the knocking sound was upstairs,” Olympia said.
“Yes,” Nathaniel said. “I told Nicky to knock and then hide so no one would know it had been him. Why?”
“Nicky never went upstairs,” Olympia said. “He stayed downstairs, Nathaniel. In the next room. And there’s something else.”
Olympia opened her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Nathaniel said.
“Remember the paper we left out in case some spirit wanted to write a message? Well, it looks like one did.”
Olympia handed the paper to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel unfolded the paper and read the words aloud:
“I am Stick Boy.”
Chapter Forty
Chicago, Illinois
December 5, 1965
“Why do you need an alibi if you didn’t do it?” Phil asked when Rocky approached him in a panic. That’s when Rocky admitted to Phil that he’d killed Mary Ann over money he thought she’d stolen from the club.
“Money you thought she stole?” Phil asked.
“I looked for it in the safe, but it wasn’t there,” Rocky said. “So I thought that Mary Ann, yeah, you know, stole it. But then when I got back afterwards, I found the cash bag in the walk-in refrigerator. I must have put it there. I was drunk and—come on, Phil, you got to help me. It’s good business! How am I gonna make payment to Fat Sal from a prison cell?”
The man had a point, Phil thought. Having Rocky Dredge do twenty-five to life in the state penitentiary at Joliet wasn’t in anybody’s best interest.
“Calm down,” Phil said finally. “If the police come sniffin’ around, I’ll tell ‘em we were fishing, okay? We took Fat Sal’s boat out on the lake the whole day. Can you remember that?”
“You won’t be sorry,” Rocky said.
“I want your car,” Phil said flatly.
“You want to borrow the Aston?” Rocky asked, confused.
“No, I don’t want to borrow it. I want it for keeps,” Phil said. “In exchange for the alibi. That’s the price for freedom. Take it or leave it.”
“You want the Aston?” Rocky repeated in disbelief.
“Or you could go to prison,” Phil said. “Do they even let inmates have cars in prison?”
Chapter Forty-One
Crimson Cove, Oregon
October 3, 1941
Hell Daniels had been kept in the dark as to why the district attorney wanted to meet with him, but since the meeting would be taking place out at the abandoned lighthouse on the cove, he was pretty sure it had something to do with the district attorney’s never-ending obsession with Onyx Webb.
Hell climbed the lighthouse steps and noticed someone had pried the door open. Damn kids, Hell thought as he took a seat on the stairs. He’d have to get his hammer from the trunk of the squad car before he left and seal the place up again.
Five minutes passed, and the DA arrived.
“Hell,” the DA said, taking a seat on the stairs. “Beautiful day, huh? I always enjoy the cove in the fall, the smell of the pine trees.”
“Oh, hell, cut the crap,” Hell said. “You didn’t drag my ass all the way out here to talk about the weather.”
“No, no I didn’t,” the DA said. “I came out here to tell you we’ve come full circle, Sheriff. We’re right back where we started.”
“You interested in elaborating on that?” Hell asked.
“Putting Onyx Webb on trial, like I was planning to do four years ago when she murdered her husband,” the DA said.
“Oh, hell. You’re not barking up that tree again, are you?”
“Well, someone’s got to,” the DA said. “I’m taking it upon myself to provide the people of Crimson Cove with some much-needed justice.”
“And how in the hell are you gonna do that?” Hell spat.
“I’m going to try Onyx Webb in absentia,” the DA said. “That’s Latin for—”
“I know what ‘in absentia’ means,” Hell said.
“Now, you can fight me all you want, Sheriff,” the DA said. “But Onyx Webb is a cold-blooded killer, and I intend to bring her to justice.”
Hell Daniels was not surprised. He’d managed to dodge the insanity of a murder trial four years earlier when Onyx Webb went missing and the problem went away. Now the problem had returned.
“Why now?” Hell asked.
“Questioning my motives is just plain hurtful, Sheriff,” the DA said. “But, you are right—there is a reason to do it now. Have you seen the movie George Dietz made?”
“Yeah, I seen it,” Hell said. “Kid brought it by the station a year ago, and we watched it together. Hell of a waste of time.”
“No, not the short one,” the DA said. “I’m talking about the full-length, two-hour, Technicolor version he’s planning to show at The Night Owl Theater on Halloween. My guess is you haven’t seen that one yet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s what I thought,” the DA said. “The Dietz kid said you weren’t very cooperative, so he’s been flying beneath the searchlights, so to speak.”
“And you’ve seen this film of his?” Hell asked.
“Yes, I have,” the DA said. “And I’ve got to tell you, the kid has talent. More important, though, the kid’s father has money and backed George’s production. He’s got the film showing in other theaters now. Hired a PR firm, too.”
Hell Daniels felt sick.
“The woman he caught on camera that night in the cemetery,” the DA said. “It’s Onyx Webb, Sheriff. The image is a bit fuzzy around the edges, and no one seems to be able to explain why she’s kind of gray looking while everything else is in color. But it’s her.”
Hell said nothing.
“Onyx Webb—or her ghost, if you believe in that sort of thing—has been hiding out in the woods the past four years, doing her best to avoid the hangman,” the DA continued. “But not anymore. The state of Oregon is going to put her on trial.”
Hell Daniels nodded in understanding and pulled himself to his feet, feeling the age in his
bones from having sat too long. He dusted the seat of his pants with his Sheriff’s hat before speaking again. “Don’t worry. You’ll have my support. When is this completely absurd trial of yours gonna happen?”
“The judge has blocked out most of January,” the DA said. “Why, you thinking of going on vacation?”
“Not a half bad idea,” Hell said with a laugh. “No, I was asking so I’d know when to have the barricades ready. I might have to bring on an extra deputy or two. Crimson Cove is gonna be a circus, especially with that damn movie. You realize this, don’t you? The media is going to jump on this like a group of hobos on a slow-moving train.”
The DA stood, unable to suppress his smile. “You’re probably right, Sheriff. But so be it. I’ve got a job to do.”
“And if you get the conviction?” Hell asked. “What does the state do with the lighthouse?”
“Oh, I imagine they’ll tear it down,” the DA said. “Legally the state hasn’t been able to do anything but sit and wait since it takes seven years to have someone declared legally dead. But, with a conviction and a life sentence…?”
Hell glanced back at the lighthouse. If the state was going to tear the place down, nailing the door shut seemed like a waste of time.
Onyx stood at the top of the lighthouse, listening to the two men finish their conversation on the stairs below, anger boiling up in her chest and filling her throat with rage.
Tear down the lighthouse? Onyx thought. Tear down my lighthouse?
Over my dead body.
Onyx would have laughed at the thought, but ghosts don’t find people taking their homes away from them a laughing matter.
Chapter Forty-Two
Desoto, Missouri
July 29, 2010
The groundbreaking ceremony for the new Mulvaney House at the current site of the Open Arms Orphanage should have been one of the best days of Declan Mulvaney’s life.
It wasn’t.
Koda, Bruce, and Declan Mulvaney had flown into St. Louis the night before, staying at the historic Union Station Hotel at Declan’s insistence. “Tell me that isn’t one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen,” Declan said.
“The Doubletree?” Bruce said with disdain as the limo pulled up to the front of the building. “Seriously, Dad?”
“I was sixteen when I first saw this place,” Declan said. “And if you don’t mind I’d like to stay here one last time before I kick the bucket. Is that okay with the two of you?”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Koda said. “I hear you get warm chocolate chip cookies when you check-in.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Bruce said, getting out of the limo.
The limousine was waiting for Declan at six-thirty in the morning for the forty-minute drive from the hotel to the orphanage. The ceremony was not scheduled to begin until ten, but Declan wanted to take one last walk through the place—alone—before it was torn to the ground.
The Open Arms had been shuttered since 1987 when various abuses and atrocities came to light. It was officially decommissioned as an orphanage in the early ‘90s.
Immediately thereafter, Declan began the process of gaining control of the place, first from the Catholic Church, and then from the state of Missouri.
Now, twenty years later, he finally had.
Mulvaney House Charities agreed to buy the land at a premium, absorb the demolition costs, and salvage certain items, including the doors, fireplace grates, glass doorknobs, brass fixtures, children’s desks, and the four sandstone blocks that served as the cornerstones of the building’s foundation, weighing a ton or more apiece.
Other items, including a Behr Brothers standing piano, a brass bell used to summon the children at meal time, an antique record player found in the rectory, and a treasure trove of Boys Life magazines—every issue but one, from 1921 to 1938—were purchased by Mulvaney House Charities for their museum.
Truth be told, Declan didn’t hate the orphanage. He hated the people who ran it. He wasn’t even sure he hated the people who’d run the place while he was there. There was no room left inside him for hate at this late stage of his life.
He hated what the people had done.
Not to him, though. For whatever reason, Declan had always possessed the will and the strength to protect himself. But there were others who didn’t.
Or couldn’t.
For these things, Declan Mulvaney could not find forgiveness, nor would he give it.
The worst abuses could never be proven, of course, because the kids simply disappeared—each labeled as “just another runaway”—when in fact they’d been victims of a nun named Sister Mary Margaret, who Declan believed had engaged in a systematic program of child elimination.
How many boys had Mar Mar killed? Eight? Eighteen? No one would ever know because none of the bodies had ever been found. But Declan had no doubt the murders had occurred.
And Sister Katherine Keane agreed, enough to kill the older nun by drowning her in a bathtub.
And it had also been Sister Katherine who’d helped him and Tommy dispose of Father Fanning’s body and escape.
Mar Mar and Kay Kay. Declan hadn’t thought of them in years. And Tommy, his best friend. It seemed like a lifetime ago—probably because it was.
Yes, Sister Katherine and Declan were cut from the same cloth, killing when it was necessary. The only difference between them was that Sister Katherine believed she was on a mission from God, and Declan knew there was no God. How could there be?
Declan was nearing the end of his speech from a stage erected specifically for the event, with Bruce seated to his left and Koda to his right. The stage was also populated with a collection of local business leaders who supported the Mulvaney House project, with both their time and their checkbooks.
The front row of the audience was jammed with photographers and camera crews from various media outlets. Directly behind them stood several hundred residents of the area who’d waited patiently for years to have the abandoned eyesore torn to the ground.
“Finally, we have learned that as a society, we can no longer stand idly by and tolerate abuses at state and church-run institutions,” Declan said. “Sadly, no one has ever apologized to the thousands of children for the indignities they suffered,” Declan continued. “And since neither the state nor the church has the guts to admit what went on here, I shall do so myself.”
A murmur could be heard from the crowd. This was not the uplifting speech they had expected to hear.
“We are sorry. Each and every one of us who took too long to act, we are sorry. And while there is little that can be done now for the victims of the broken system of neglect that operated within these doors, there is something that can be done to protect future generations of children who find themselves brought here, as I was.”
The tightness in Declan’s stomach was gone now, replaced by a relaxed feeling of calm, as if a lifetime of anger had been released somehow, replaced with…
Nothing.
For the first time in over eighty years, Declan Mulvaney felt nothing for the place. No anger. No regret. No happiness. No guilt. There was nothing.
Declan looked at the crowd gathered before him and knew it was time to wrap his speech and let the men with the sledge hammers and hard hats get on with what they’d come to do.
“By the end of this day—once the wrecking ball has taught this place a long-overdue lesson and the bulldozers have had their way with what is left—we will begin the process of building the twentieth Mulvaney House for Boys and Girls.”
As the crowd applauded, the demolition foreman climbed the stage steps and approached the podium. “Mr. Mulvaney, would you like the honor of taking the first bite of earth?”
Declan smiled and waved the man off, but the crowd whistled and cheered him on. “Very well,” Declan said. “Let’s do this thing.”
The demolition foreman gave Declan a hard hat and helped him into the cab of the giant CAT 325 excavator. Then, after a brief tutorial, D
eclan directed the giant claw arm downward and into the ground to more cheers from the crowd.
“This is more fun than I expected,” Declan said with a big smile as the TV cameras zoomed in to capture the moment.
“Okay, what do I do now?” Declan asked.
The demolition foreman showed Declan how to control the lever, and Declan dragged the large hydraulic claw toward the machine, pulling a massive section of dirt from the ground. This time, the cheers were replaced by a collective gasp from the crowd as everyone saw what lay in the newly formed hole.
Bones.
Lots and lots of bones.
Chapter Forty-Three
Chicago, Illinois
January 10, 1965
Five weeks to the day after Mary Ann Mungher had been laid to rest, Tommy got a call from Declan. Declan was coming back to Chicago. Now the real problems would begin.
The first problem would be Fat Sal Tombo’s reaction once he discovered Tommy had not killed Declan as he’d been ordered to do. Disobeying a direct order was a quick way to be booted from The Outfit, but disobeying a direct order and lying about it was a quick way to find yourself floating face down in Lake Michigan.
The second problem was how to tell Declan about Mary Ann’s murder.
And that Declan had a son.
And that his son had been taken to the Dunning Asylum.
It was a conversation Tommy was not looking forward to.
Would Declan blame him for what had happened? Tommy wasn’t sure—and he didn’t care. In his heart of hearts, Tommy knew none of it was his fault. If anyone was to blame, Declan should be at the top of the list.
The decision to rob Fat Sal was Declan’s. Declan was the one who’d knocked Mary Ann up. And it was Declan who’d insisted on keeping Mary Ann in the dark.
“She can’t tell what she doesn’t know,” Declan had said. But Tommy wasn’t sure which his friend had been trying to protect more—Mary Ann, or the deal?
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