“No,” he demanded. “Kelly has nothing to do with this. Use me. I’ll do anything I can for you. Leave Kelly alone.”
The two girls took a step forward. Realizing their intent, Tom blocked their path and was seized by a numbing paralysis. He flinched against its tightening grip and watched in horror as the child specters penetrated his body. For a fleeting instant, their souls merged with his and a tremendous sorrow consumed him. He groaned beneath the oppressive weight, then his body sagged in humiliating relief as their forms emerged behind him.
Tom’s paralysis vanished with Kelly’s agonized scream and he spun around in time to see her crumble, unconscious, to the floor. Stumbling forward, he gathered her in his arms and looked up with bitter tears stinging his eyes.
“Why?” he ground out. “Why Kelly? Why couldn’t you use me?”
The house remained silent.
Jonathan pushed himself from the doorway and knelt beside them. He looked at Tom with stunned, frightened eyes. “Is she—?” He felt Kelly’s wrist for a pulse.
“Tom?” Kelly’s weak voice was like a caress.
“Kelly,” he breathed. “I thought I’d lost you.” His voice broke with a mixture of relief and sorrow. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I let them hurt you again.”
“They’ve joined Jenny, Tom.” She wept in his arms.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As Tom entered the Fine Arts building and made his way to his office, he wasn’t surprised to see Jonathan waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall, out of the way of milling students. Neither spoke until they were inside with the door closed.
Tom’s office was a few steps down the “posh scale” compared to Jonathan’s. His desk was wood laminate. He had two filing cabinets and a prefab bookcase stuffed to capacity. There were chairs for visitors and a coat-rack that held a white smock stained with various colors of paint. One of his own paintings, a snarling blue panther—the university mascot suspended in mid-jump with claws drawn—hung on the wall. The window blinds were half-closed to reduce the glare from outside.
“How’s Kelly?” Jonathan asked, sitting.
Tom let out a weary sigh as he pulled off his jacket and hung it beside the smock. He loosened his silver tie as he sank into his chair.
Running agitated fingers through his dark hair, he answered, “Depressed, scared, mentally drained.”
Even though Kelly had recovered quickly from her shock, she had remained subdued and eerily quiet. Tom had driven her back to her apartment where she had been afflicted by nightmares. The sun had risen, putting an end to his vigil, only to find her sobbing in his arms.
“Tom?”
Jonathan’s voice scattered Tom’s thoughts. He looked up from the silver-framed photograph sitting on his desk that he’d been blindly staring at; a smiling group shot of six former students.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” he said, rubbing his blurry eyes. “I don’t think I’m going to be very good company today.”
“Well, that’s understandable.” Jonathan’s brow creased with worry. He leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“No.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I still can’t believe what happened. When I saw those little girls standing in the corner watching Kelly, my mind went numb. All I could do was pray, and I haven’t done that in years. When I think of the way you stood up to them and actually carried on a conversation—” he stopped and shook his head again. “I couldn’t have done it. I was scared to death.”
“And you think I wasn’t?” Tom asked, picking up a polished white quartz paperweight and setting it down with a thud. “I did what I had to do, Jonathan. You would’ve done the same if it had been Marsha. The problem is, my so-called bravery had no effect at all. They still managed to get to her, and now Kelly’s paying the price.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Tom. I was there, remember? I saw what happened. There was absolutely nothing you could’ve done.”
Tom placed his elbows on his desk blotter and rested his head in his splayed hands. “I could’ve kept Kelly away from the house,” he said, talking to the top of his desk. “If I had, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Are you positive about that?” Jonathan asked. “I think they would’ve found a way to reach her no matter where she was. Maybe even through you. For some reason, Kelly’s their link to fulfilling a destiny we don’t understand.”
Tom sat back in his chair and met Jonathan’s troubled gaze head on. “We’re closer to understanding than you think.”
He told Jonathan about the research he’d done the day before. He also told him of his plans to contact Merideth Chandler.
“This whole thing’s incredible,” Jonathan uttered, giving Tom a speculating look. “You’re not going to like what I have to say, but I’ve given it a lot of thought. And what you just told me strengthens my resolve.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think we should have a talk with Detective Winward.”
Tom looked at Jonathan like he’d just grown another head. “And tell him what?” he blurted. “That I’m up to my ears in his serial murder investigation because I just happened to buy the house where the crimes took place? That Kelly and I are being used as spiritual conduits by the victims to, and I quote, ‘fulfill a destiny we don’t understand’?”
“Something like that,” said Jonathan, sitting back in his chair.
“You’re crazy, Jonathan. The answer’s no.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
“No,” Tom snapped. “It’s a lousy idea.”
“Then what about Marsha?”
Tom shook his head in confusion. “What about her?”
“Think about it, Tom. She’s a criminal psychologist. Profiling criminals is part of her job. She’s known you a long time. If you talk to her, maybe her professional analysis will help convince the police you’re no murderer.”
“I don’t know, Jonathan. The fact that we’re friends might cause the police to question her impartiality. Besides, my dirty laundry’s being aired enough as it is.”
“I understand. But I still think she can help, if not with the police, then with you.”
“You think I need a shrink?” Tom asked, incredulous.
“My God, Tom, look at what you’ve been through? I think you need someone to talk to besides me, someone who has more to offer than just an ear. If not Marsha, then someone else, someone with a few emotional answers.”
Tom’s anger dissolved. His actions were slow as he rubbed his face before meeting the concern in Jonathan’s eyes.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Jonathan put his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. “That’s all I’m asking. Are we still on for this afternoon with Russ?”
“I suppose so,” Tom said, following Jonathan to the door.
“Remember. Lunch at Grady’s. Noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
Tom opened the door to Marsha’s smiling face.
“Well, well. What a nice surprise,” she cooed, seeing Jonathan. “I was going to knock, but decided to wait when I heard voices. If I’d known who you had in there, Tom, I’d have interrupted and joined the party.”
“You’d have been bored out of your mind,” Jonathan said, smiling as he draped his arm across her shoulders and stepped out into the hall. “Unless, of course, you have an opinion as to who’s going to win the next World Series.”
“You’ve got to be joking. Since when have the two of you been baseball fans?”
Jonathan shrugged and flashed a charming smile. “Since the Braves started winning, of course. I’d be glad to tell you all about it over coffee, if you’d like.”
Marsha looked skeptical as she declined. “No, thank you. Besides, I have a class in fifteen minutes. I just came by to invite Tom to lunch this afternoon.”
“Sorry. I’ve already made plans,” he said, crossing his
arms and leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.
“Oh. Well, how about dinner? I’ll fix your favorite.”
Tom smiled at her persistence. “Sounds enticing, but I can’t do that, either. Michael Raymond’s coming this evening to pick up the paintings his father bought at the showing the other night.” Her inquisitive stare made him uneasy, but he kept his emotions unreadable behind an expression of relaxed humor.
“Tom, are you okay?” she asked.
“Sure I am.”
“Apparently, you haven’t looked in a mirror lately. You look exhausted. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“A little, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Insomnia’s nothing to laugh at, Tom. If you let it go, you’re going to make yourself sick. Have you considered seeing a doctor?”
Jonathan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Leave the man alone, Marsha. He has enough on his mind without having to put up with your motherly harassment.”
“Harassment! I was merely voicing my concern, and if you were any friend at all, Jonathan Fields, you’d do the same. And what’s this about having enough on his mind?” She looked at Tom. “Something’s been bothering you for weeks. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Tom leaned down and placed a kiss on Marsha’s cheek. “Look, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. My gallery opens Friday, you know. Maybe we can get together then.”
“Nice evasion, but don’t think I’m going to let it slide.” A sly smile replaced her frown. “And I haven’t forgotten about Friday. I’m looking forward to seeing Kelly again. I really like her, Tom. I think she’s good for you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Jonathan heaved an exasperated sigh and took her by the arm.
As Jonathan steered Marsha away, Tom looked on in amused relief as their rallying voices blended with the slackening hubbub around them. The congestion in the hallway was thinning. Shaking his head, he shut his office door, straightened his tie, and turned toward his awaiting students.
After morning classes, Tom sat in his office and called Kelly on her cell phone. He was relieved by her calm assurances. He made arrangements to meet her later that evening, then hung up and sat back in his chair. The sun shining through the blinds was warm against his neck as he extracted a slip of paper from his shirt pocket with Merideth Chandler’s number. He picked the phone back up and dialed.
“Chandler residence.” The voice that answered was male. It spoke precisely with a haughty demeanor.
“Hello. I’d like to speak with Mrs. Chandler please. My name’s Thomas Shear.”
“May I ask what this is regarding?” the disembodied voice asked drolly.
“It’s concerning a property I purchased from her in September.”
“One moment, please.”
Tom sat forward with his elbows on his desk. He wondered if the man was really relaying the message or if he was standing by the phone an appropriate length of time to make him think he had. Tom ran anxious fingers through his hair and waited in silence until the same male voice came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, but the lady of the house isn’t taking calls today. If you would like to leave a message, I’ll see that it is forwarded.”
His mind raced. A message? Saying what? Tell madam, I need to speak with her concerning a bunch of little girl ghosts and her husband, their murderer?
“It’s very important that I speak directly to Mrs. Chandler. When will she be available?”
“I am unable to answer that, sir. If there’s no message . . . ?”
“Very well.” Suppressing his impatience, Tom spoke slowly to soften the edge in his voice as he repeated his name and recited the numbers where he could be reached. “Please tell Mrs. Chandler that it’s imperative I speak with her concerning the house I purchased at 1122 Church Street. If I don’t hear back from her, tell her she can expect another call from me this evening.”
“Yes, sir. Good day, sir.”
Tom was startled by the abruptness of the disconnection. Strike one. He hung up. Now what?
Tom walked into Grady’s and was met by a wall of conversation and testosterone-filled laughter. He smiled at the hostess and waved her off as he pointed to where Jonathan sat in a booth along a plate glass wall. He passed pro jerseys displayed in Plexiglas frames along with photographs of famous and semi-famous sports professionals, but Tom had no idea who they were and didn’t care as he registered Pink Floyd’s “Money” at a tolerable volume from speakers overhead.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, sliding into the red vinyl booth. “I had to make a few calls.”
Jonathan signaled the waitress. When she left the table with their order of loaded burgers and two ales, he turned his attention to Tom.
“How’s Kelly?”
“Keeping herself busy. She’s showing property today.”
“Good. Right now, that’s probably the best thing for her.”
“Yeah.” Tom hesitated and met Jonathan’s eyes. “I called Merideth Chandler.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I couldn’t get past the butler, or bodyguard, or whatever the hell he was.”
Jonathan smirked. “Sounds dubious. Can’t really blame her, though. I can only imagine how the press must’ve hounded her after her husband’s death. Probably still are, come to think of it.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Tom said before taking a sip of the ale the waitress placed in front of him. “But I’m not giving up. I’ll talk to her one way or another.”
“Let me know if you have any trouble. Besides, I hope you know I’m going with you when you meet with her.”
Tom’s smile was grim. “Why not? I already have one tag-a-long.”
“Kelly?”
Tom nodded and explained the situation between Kelly and the Chandlers. “She thinks their relationship might help break the ice, but I don’t know. I still think the less she’s involved the better.”
“You have a point,” Jonathan said, “but then, so does she. You have to accept the facts, Tom. She’s already in this thing up to her pretty little nose. I can’t see her meekly accepting a refusal.”
“I know.” Tom’s grim expression darkened. “Have you talked to Russ Carson today?”
“No.”
“Have you considered how much we’re going to reveal during this meeting?”
“Of course I have,” Jonathan answered. “We’re going to lay it on the line. Tell him the truth.”
Tom sighed and leaned back as the waitress approached with their burgers. “I was afraid of that.”
Russ Carson moved behind his desk and motioned to the two red leather wingback chairs across from him. “Please, gentlemen, sit down.” The leather of his executive chair creaked expensively as he made himself comfortable.
His tall, thin frame was impeccably dressed in a custom-made, dark blue pinstriped suit. Every hair on his white head was in place. His narrow face was clean shaven and he gave off a clean, spicy scent.
“I have to admit, Mr. Shear,” he said, steepling his fingers in front of him, “I’ve been eager for this meeting. The conversation I had yesterday with Mr. Fields left me intrigued.”
Tom regarded the man across from him with a wry smile. “I’m sure it did,” he responded.
Carson smile was quick and closed lipped. “I can understand your reluctance at being here. It’s a most unusual story.” He observed Tom a moment before opening a drawer and with-drawing a small digital recorder. “I hope you don’t mind if I record our discussion for future reference?”
“Actually, I do.”
Tom ignored Jonathan’s subtle throat clearing. A stilted silence followed and he held Carson’s calculating, ice-blue gaze before the attorney relinquished by replacing the recorder and closing the drawer.
“Very well.” Carson lifted a satirical brow. “Do you mind if I take a few notes?” he drawled.
Tom smiled at the attorney’s mocking tone and replied smoothly, “Not at al
l.”
Carson’s expression darkened. As he picked up a pen and pulled a legal pad in front of him, he squared his gaze on Tom. “I take it everything started with the purchase of the house?”
Tom gave a slight nod and started from the beginning, intentionally leaving out two parts: his dream lover and Kelly’s involvement. Even though the attorney’s eyes flared several times with incredulous fascination, Tom silently applauded the man’s ability to maintain a mask of indifference. Except for a few sporadic questions and the sound of his gliding pen, Carson sat stoically silent as Tom detailed the events of the past few weeks and remained so, even after Tom had finished.
The silence thickened and Carson cleared his throat as he looked from Tom to Jonathan and back again. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, placing his pen in the exact center of the pad, “I have to admit that for once in my life, I’m speechless. It’s an incredible story. If I hadn’t heard it from such reliable sources, I would suspect the whole thing to be the plot of a spine-tingling novel.”
Tom stiffened as his defenses fortified, but remained silent as he watched the man across from him consider the situation.
“The first thing I need to do is inspect this infamous collection of yours, Mr. Shear.”
The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted in a caustic smile. “And when would you like this tour?” He barely managed to hold his sarcasm at bay.
“Oh, right away, of course.”
Carson’s cold eyes reflected a momentary look of surprise as he entered the Rage gallery. He shifted his quizzical gaze to Tom as if to study the room’s creator, then returned his attention to the paintings displayed on the walls.
“Incredible,” he murmured, completing his inspection. “You are indeed a talented man, Mr. Shear. I’ll have to give this matter a great deal of thought.” His thin lips pursed as he took another look around the room. “I will say one thing. Mr. Fields was correct when he said the evidence is stacked against you. It’ll be difficult proving you’re not the serial killer the evidence makes you out to be.”
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