“Yes it would.”
“How can we find information on anything that, well, secret?”
“You’d be surprised. There was an entire book written a few years ago on the topic by William Wright, and a whole series of school newspaper articles in The Crimson. It was quite the discovery. All the records from the court, all the students records, were sitting down here, just waiting to be found. I read that after the book was written, they might be harder to get, though. Still, it’s possible that there were students who were being targeted by the court who weren’t known, and Masters could be one of them. Maybe he was killed before he could make his appearance to the Court.”
“To keep him quiet. So he wouldn’t appear in any books or research.”
“Right. But there were pictures of others who did suffer through that persecution, and if we can find any connections between the known secret court victims and Masters or Winslow, it would give us one more connection.”
Sophie suggested, smiling innocently. “I imagine Katherine might be very willing to help.”
Gabe grinned, his eyes sparkling with the zest of exciting research, and it was infectious. Sophie was excited too. “That’s what I was counting on.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie walked through the door of her apartment, her mind spinning with ideas about David Masters and her arms loaded down with books and research on the Secret Court. Katherine had been very enthusiastic about the subject, leaving Sophie and Gabe with more research than they could process during the library hours. Seeing as the material was needed by the Doctor Gabriel Mason, however, Katherine pulled some strings and let them take things home that weren’t officially in circulation, though they had to be returned on her shift the next day.
They’d caught a late dinner, split the workload, and agreed to get back together the next morning, or contact each other in the meantime if there was a break.
It was exciting, Sophie had to admit. The idea of a past murder linked to an underground court that persecuted gay members of the college, and a ghost who came back now, wanting some kind of resolution.
But what resolution? The killer, as far as they knew, had been found. While Winslow hadn’t been punished, he’d taken care of that himself.
Then, there was Gabe’s theory of parallels. As with Eliza and the dead bodies in Charlestown, there was something going on in Patrice’s case that mirrored what had happened to David Masters.
Sophie grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down at her desk with all of the research in front of her.
She looked at the books and copies of articles from The Crimson, then the folders they’d accessed and more from the Secret Court archives. She even had the book written on the subject, and decided to look at that first, sipping her water.
It was tragic, she thought, looking over the faces of the young men who suffered through the ordeal of the Court. Some of them confronted the conservative factions who threatened them, rebellious and ready to fight. Some seemed active in “corrupting” other students and leading them astray. Some were informants, desperate to save their own asses, and others were innocents. It was all kind of wild and sleazy, in some respects, at least in the retelling. Definitely sad.
Sophie felt for the people in the book, thinking about their feelings, wants and desires. No doubt some of them truly loved, and that love was punished horribly. Most were rejected by their own families, who were contacted after the fact, and others tried to “fix” themselves or went on to live “normal” lives, getting married, having children.
For some of the students, gay experiences were clearly experimental, but for others, their lifestyle was not a choice. To read the descriptions of the questions they were asked by the Court and the things they were required to tell the interrogators – how long it had been since they’d been with a man, what they had done—in detail—and even their masturbatory habits—was appalling. It had Sophie cringing in her chair.
It was painfully invasive. She had some experience knowing what it was like to have your personal life turned out for everyone to see and judge, but nothing like what she read had happened to these poor men. Her mind traveled back to Margaret’s story of what happened to her in her youth, her mother, and the towns they’d lived in. It was a problem that stretched over time, it appeared, crossing all kinds of difference and bigotry.
One tragic story had her reaching for tissue to blot tears. New England had a rich, deep history, she knew, but not all of it was pretty. The colonists had come to the New World to be free, and yet so much of their early history was mired in persecution of those who didn’t conform. The travesties of what happened to Native Americans and young women accused of being witches were the best known, but learning about the Secret Court showed that hate always seemed to find dark corners to grow in, no matter how civilized things appeared on the surface.
Her phone rang, and she saw Roger’s name pop up on the screen.
“Hey,” she said softly, yawning.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re up.”
“Yeah. . .working.”
“On what?”
“Research.”
“Ah, um, mind if I come over?”
“Of course not,” she admonished him gently and jumped when she heard a knock at the door.
“Ah, okay,” she said, grinning and unfolding herself from the chair, hanging up her phone. “You could have just used your key,” she said, finding him standing there and reaching up to kiss his cheek.
“I didn’t want to startle you if you were sleeping.”
She stepped back, closing the door behind them, and walked into his arms for a better kiss, though the usual spark didn’t seem to be there. He was quiet and something in his posture felt distant even as his mouth met hers.
“You okay?” she asked, concerned.
“I saw the TV spot. I don’t know if you saw the papers tonight, but your involvement in the Charlestown case and the hypnosis discoveries are all over the place.”
Sophie’s heart sunk. She’d been so excited about finding her ghost that she never even thought that Roger would see the news report, or that it would spread from there.
“I’m sorry, Rog. I was so busy today I didn’t even think about it.”
He nodded, sitting down but not taking off his coat. “I was ready to bust that guy’s head in for leaking the information-”
“Gabe? He didn’t leak it. It was stolen from his desk, part of it, and the rest came from a research assistant.”
“So he says.”
“I have no reason to believe otherwise. He was as worried about it as anyone.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” Roger looked at her closely. “Though you don’t seem all that worried, either, babe.”
Sophie blew out a breath, pacing while he sat. “I was, at first. It was weird, seeing my private life talked about like that. But you know, I realized there was nothing I could do to stop it. And in the end, so what? I am a psychic. I did find the bodies, and it’s a good thing that I remembered my past. I have nothing to be worried about, really.”
“Really? There’s the murder investigation, a potential killer who wants you out of the way, and your professional reputation, for starters. This will all make finding a normal job someday, or even finishing your degree, so much harder. It threatens everything we’ve worked for. Add to that, Pereski is following up on your mental stability, and none of this is helping.”
“You know as well as I do that he won’t be able to push that, and I’m hoping I might have information that will put an end to all of this.”
Roger perked up. “What information? If you have solid evidence or leads, you have to tell us about them now. You don’t want to add withholding evidence to Matt’s list.”
“It’s nothing solid, yet. I was at the Harvard libraries today. I know you don’t believe it, but I found my ghost.”
Roger wiped a hand over his face. “Come again?”
“The ghost of the ma
n I keep seeing. I know who he is.”
“The dark-haired man in the car?”
“No, he’s different. He’s real. I mean, my ghost is real, too, but the scarred-face man, he’s alive. I meant the ghost who showed up when Patrice was killed.”
“Oh, of course.”
“His name is David Masters. He was a Harvard student who was murdered outside of a bar in Beacon Hill in the 1920s.”
“Okay. So what does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“We?”
“Gabe and I. We did a ton of research today, see, all of this. . . . I was just reading about this underground organization that formed at Harvard in the 1920s, The Secret Court, and it-”
“They targeted gay men and kicked them out. Ugly little situation.”
“How did you know?”
“It was in the papers a few years back when the stories broke, and a book came out a few years ago. I saw an interview with the author on TV.”
“Oh,” Sophie said, not knowing why she was surprised. Roger was a literate guy, she knew. She just never expected him to have, well, liberal sympathies. She pushed the thought aside.
“Well, we don’t know for sure, but David Masters might have been gay, and he might have been involved with his advisor, who was charged with his murder and killed himself shortly after.”
Roger stared at her and shrugged. “So?”
“We’re working on the idea that, like the Charlestown case, there are some parallels, or the old case might be able to teach us something about the current one. Patrice and David were both stabbed. Patrice’s husband and Percy Winslow were both Harvard faculty/administrators, but that’s probably too simple.”
“Alan Bledsoe had an airtight alibi for the time of Patrice’s murder.”
“I know. It’s so frustrating. It’s probably something less obvious than that, but Harvard obviously a strong connection. I’m reading up on all of this and trying to find some kind of connection between Winslow or Masters and the Secret Court.”
“So that you can postulate some kind of theory about what’s happened now? Sophie, even if you could do that, even if this was remotely possible or realistic, it doesn’t count as evidence. You’re chasing wild geese here.”
“Well, we don’t really know what it will lead to,” she said defensively. “That’s what we have to see. Hopefully, it could lead to some evidence that would put this all to rest.”
They both paused for a moment, tense quiet settling between them.
“You really believe this?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do. I know what I’ve seen. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I hope it’s not as hard for you to believe in me,” she said, sitting down next to him and pulling his hand into hers. “I’m discovering so much, Rog. It was like finding my past and my psychic ability opened up everything. And I have a feeling there’s more. I know who I am now. Like I’m not just making it up as I go along, you know?”
“Is that how you think about the last thirteen years? Making it up?” he asked, affronted, and Sophie bit back frustration. Why couldn’t he ever hear what she was saying?
“No, not us. Not a lot of things. . .but some of it, yeah. Like me, and who I am and what I want. It’s like, in some ways, I stopped being on the day of the accident. I’ve been stuck, or a part of me has been. Now I’m coming alive again.”
Roger looked wary. “What do you want, Sophie?”
“Well, right now I want this murder investigation cleared up. I want to know who David Masters is and why he keeps coming to me. And I want you, and I want us,” she said, looking at him and willing him to believe. “I want everything.”
“So once you figure these things out, we can get back to our normal lives?”
It was the second time in one conversation that he had used the word normal. It jumped out and bit her the second time, but she swallowed her agitation.
She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, sure, mostly. I mean, some things have changed for me that I can’t change back. But I still want us together, to get married. All the stuff we’ve talked about.”
“Finishing your degree? Selling the store?” he prompted.
She disengaged her hand from his and stood, pacing again.
“I was thinking about that, too. When I heard about the break-in, and later I was at the store with Mags. . .it’s all made me realize how important that place is to me. Not just because it was my family’s, which is huge, but because now, knowing what I can do, I don’t know if I can leave. I don’t know if I can just walk away. It’s like turning my back on them, on my dad and my aunt, when I found them again. Now I know how I. . .fit.”
“What about Margaret? She’s excited about owning the place.”
“I know. I thought maybe I could make her half-owner, a partner, and we could still run it together. That would be good, to split the load, so I would have more time if we have a family eventually, or to do other things. . . .” she drifted off, not wanting to share some of the rest of what she had been thinking.
Like doing more ghost-work with Gabe, and exploring her powers. Considering the look on Roger’s face, it was probably best to keep that to herself for the moment.
“I love school, and being able to learn and grow, but it’s not my path. I know that now. In a way, I think I was just trying to recapture what I lost not finishing high school, and it’s been holding me back, in a way. That’s why it’s taken me years. Besides, the store has more earning potential and would allow me a more flexible schedule, you know, for kids,” she said hopefully, appealing to his practical side.
“Oh, well, I’m glad you let me in on this change in plans. Do you know what I spent today doing?”
“What?”
“After I came to the store looking for you or the good doctor, and Margaret brought me up to speed, I got a call from my mother, who’d also seen the interview. I fielded everything from jokes to request for appointments with you for tarot readings from people at the office to her ranting about sin. Then I spent time with Matt, and I had to lie to him, telling him I had no idea about the hypnosis and that you were absolutely not messing around in this case at all. Then I tried to find you, or call you, and couldn’t get in touch, so I went to the bar, had a few beers, and came over here, wanting to find you and talk with you.” He stopped, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the sofa. “And now I almost wish I hadn’t.”
She sat again, putting her hand on his arm, and feeling the tension holding him tight. “Roger, I’m sorry. I should have called you and we could have dealt with some of those things together. I was wrong not to think of that first,” she admitted.
“But what does it matter what other people think? Some things have changed, but you and I haven’t. How we feel about each other hasn’t changed. Your mother has never liked me much, well, at all, and Matt is just looking for anything he can make stick. And I’d love to give any of your colleagues readings, at a discount even,” she said, hoping to lighten some of the heaviness between them.
He looked at her so deeply that she thought perhaps she’d gotten through. The next thing she knew he pulled her over him, up close and hot against him, his mouth covering hers in a wicked kiss that she responded to wholeheartedly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing against him as tightly as she could. Everything would be okay. He broke the kiss, and put his forehead against hers.
“I still love you. God. . .I love you until I can’t bear it, but you’re not the only one with wants here, Sophie. I thought we were moving away from all of this craziness, and now instead you’re running toward it all. That feels like you’re running away from me. Everything has changed. You’ve made major decisions, and you didn’t factor me into any of them. What I want, what I need.”
Worry seized her in a cold grip as quickly as relief and the kiss had warmed her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want my Sophie b
ack. I never wanted a wife who was a psychic. I want the woman who made plans with me for our life together, and the one who works hard at school and wanted the same life that I did. Twelve years. . .we’ve been building this life for that long, Sophie, and I’ve been patient. You know I wanted more, but you said you weren’t ready, so I waited. Now you’re changing it. I know the past few weeks have been hard, but you need to stop and think.”
I never wanted a wife who was a psychic. His words rang in her mind, the rest fading back. He’s just some psychic crackpot, Roger had once said about Theo. She’d wondered if that’s how he felt about her, and apparently it was. She knew why he was upset about people at work asking to have appointments with her.
He wasn’t worried. He was embarrassed.
“I’ve been thinking until my head hurts, Roger, and I’ve always believed in us,” she said carefully, pulling back and wrapping her arms around herself. “I believed you loved me enough to stick with me no matter what. I didn’t think what I did for a living or if I had psychic visions would matter, not really. If you decided to stop being a cop and be, I don’t know, a surfer, tomorrow, would that make me stop loving you?”
“It’s not the same, and I haven’t stopped loving you.”
“But do you love me? How can you say that, but then say the rest?”
“Because honestly, Sophie, I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want you, or me, or any kids we might have involved in the kind of life that you had to grow up with. Why would you want that? That’s the thing I can’t figure out. The sarcastic comments, the veiled glances and jokes. . .the idea that our kids could grow up thinking any of this is real or being subjected to ridicule because of it. I assumed our kids would grow up Catholic, like I did. I want them to have a normal life. Not to get teased or worse at school because their mother is in the paper for her latest ghost sighting. Jesus, Sophie, can’t you see? This isn’t a secret, we agreed on all of this. You’ve just gone and changed the game mid-play.”
Past Tense Page 20