D-R-I-N-K.
“Drink? Drink what, Jake?”
Cross’ eyes snapped open and he looked at the board. Something wasn’t right here. He had to reassert control over the situation. He lowered his hands, staring at the board and concentrating. Still, the planchette moved about of its own volition and Bennett continued to read the letters.
“O-V-A-L…” Bennett scrunched her eyebrows and set her hands on her knees. Once the planchette stopped, she looked to Luther. “Ovaltine? Remember to drink Ovaltine? Is this some sort of a joke?”
Cross huffed. “Divination is hardly an exact science. Sometimes…spirits are confused. Especially when they first cross over. You said your husband just passed away last month?”
Bennett nodded.
“That might be the problem. He’s not able to fully understand what he’s saying. Perhaps we can schedule another appointment? In another month, I’m sure we’ll have better luck.”
Bennett didn’t appear convinced. She stood, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross. Maybe this was a mistake. Perhaps you should just go.”
Luther grunted and placed the board and planchette back in his briefcase. He picked up the tumbler and drank the rest of the scotch in one gulp, then returned the glass to the table. “Regarding payment…”
“Payment?” Bennett spun on him. “Mr. Cross, you came into my home. You played on my emotions. I don’t know how you made that thing move, but clearly this is all some kind of elaborate hoax! I can promise you will not see a single cent from me!”
The tumbler suddenly shattered and Bennett screamed. Irena ran into the room.
“Mrs. Bennett!”
“It’s all right, Irena,” said Luther. “Mrs. Bennett, you are free to refuse payment. But please remember that you’ve asked me to invite spirits into your home and I have not yet performed the proper banishment rituals. If you will not provide compensation for my services, then I see no reason to perform those rituals.”
Bennett crossed her arms. She tried to remain defiant, but there was a slight quiver to her voice. “I’ll take my chances. Irena, please retrieve Mr. Cross’ belongings and then show him the door.”
“As you wish.” Luther reached inside his jacket and took out a small gold case with the initials LC engraved on the surface. Clicking it open, he removed a simple business card and set it on the coffee table. “Should you change your mind, please don’t hesitate to call, day or night. I have a feeling you’ll see things my way.”
* * *
At the speeds Luther drove, his black ’69 Camaro made the drive from the affluent western suburbs to Chicago’s Music Box Theatre in under an hour. The Music Box was a Chicago landmark, a classic movie theater. These days, the screenings were mostly limited to foreign films, with midnight showings of classic movies.
Tonight’s midnight showing was The Exorcist. Luther paid for his ticket and entered the theater, quickly going to the back row, far from other viewers, and settled into his seat. The room darkened and the film began.
“You owe me five hundred dollars,” he whispered as the opening credits rolled.
The voice that responded wasn’t from any of the other patrons. “Five hundred? For crying out loud, you price-gouging bastard.”
“Why did you screw up my séance?”
“It wasn’t a séance, it was you using those demonic powers of yours to fool some grandma that her husband was talking to her.”
Luther grunted. “You know just as well as I do that it’s best to just let the spirits rest. Now how are you going to pay me back?”
“Sorry, Luther old buddy, but you know I don’t make that much money here.”
“You don’t make any money,” said Luther. “You stopped working at this theater decades ago. Now you just haunt the place.”
A spectral form appeared in the seat beside Cross. It was of an old man in a theater usher uniform. “Somebody’s gotta take care of this old theater.”
“‘Remember to drink your Ovaltine.’ That the best you could come up with, Whitey?”
“What, you don’t like A Christmas Story?”
Whitey was the manager of the Music Box from opening night until 1977, when he came back to the theater to close, laid down on the lobby’s couch and never woke up. Since then, his ghost had remained at the theater that was such a huge part of his life. More than that, he was a valuable source of information for Luther.
“Just tell me what you want already,” said Cross. “Or I’ll banish you from this place.”
“There’s some big stuff going on in the spirit world,” said Whitey. “Bunch of spirits have crossed over as of late. Some big tragedy nearby. Could have some supernatural rumblings to it, given how restless things are behind the veil.”
“That’s what couldn’t wait?” Luther glared at the spirit. “You cost me five hundred bucks just because you want me to play Ghostbuster?”
“There’s some bad juju, Luther.” Whitey’s voice took on a serious tone. “I get the impression someone’s messin’ around with forces they got no business to be messin’ around with.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I dunno, just got a feeling. Some of the newbies who crossed over, there’s somethin’ off about them. Gives me the notion that maybe this wasn’t completely natural, y’know?”
Luther could sense something emanating off of Whitey’s form. The vibe the spirit gave off wasn’t his usual cantankerous yet jovial form. “You’re really concerned about this, aren’t you?”
Whitey looked at the screen. “I dunno what’s goin’ on. All I do know is that things are kind of a mess on the other side of the veil. Folks are restless and if this thing isn’t resolved, you know what kind of a problem restless spirits can be.”
“So basically try to solve whatever problem these ghosts have before they start kicking up a ruckus.”
“Pretty much.”
Luther nodded. “All right. What can you tell me about this?”
“The new spirits are pretty confused, barely know what’s happened to them let alone where it happened. But there’s one constant in all the stories I been hearing.”
“Which is?”
Whitey looked into Luther’s blood red eyes. “They’re all talking about being shot. In a school.”
“A school shooting, wonderful,” said Luther. “And you don’t know where?”
“No, but given how they all just came chargin’ through the door all at once, I’m betting it’s a pretty recent one. Smart guy like you, shouldn’t take too much time for you to find it.”
“Fine. But you owe me, okay?”
Whitey groaned. “What?”
“Sylvia Bennett. Play the role of a poltergeist so I can make up for the money you cost me.”
“Christ, Cross. You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
Luther slid on his sunglasses and stood from the seat. “I know.”
* * *
The next morning, Luther was back in the Camaro, blazing down the interstate toward central Illinois. After he returned home from the Music Box the night before, he’d checked the news sites on the Internet for any information about the school shooting Whitey had mentioned. One had just occurred last week, in a small town called Green Meadows.
Unlike most shootings, it did not end with a confrontation with police or a suicide. The perpetrator was still at large and authorities had no leads on either his identity or his motivation. According to the articles Luther read, the local police responded quickly. And even though they had the school surrounded, somehow the perpetrator escaped without being seen.
The trip from Chicago to Green Meadows was a three hour drive on the interstate. Luther arrived at the school around noon and pulled into the parking lot, bringing the car to a stop right in front of the school’s main entrance, waiting in the fire zone. He shifted the car into park and looked at the building, peering into each of the classroom windows.
Normally at this time of day, there would be muc
h more activity around the building. But the classrooms were all empty. He couldn’t see anyone roaming the halls through the glass entry, and there was still police tape across the front. The school was still closed in the aftermath of the tragedy, and it was unknown when it would be reopened.
But Luther could detect some sort of presence on these grounds. What that was would need to be investigated. He shut off the engine and stepped out of the car, approaching the front doors. Luther calmly broke the police tape and pushed on the door. It was locked.
“Aperio.” At his command, the lock turned and Luther stepped inside. A receptionist window was to his right and through that he could see the desks belonging to the front office staff. The foyer ended in a T-junction, and hanging from the ceiling was a banner made with yellow construction paper. The words “GO MUSKRATS!” were painted on it in green. Below it was a glass case containing numerous trophies and plaques. Virtually all were for sporting events.
Luther removed his sunglasses and in his reflection in the glass, he saw the glow of his eyes. He gently laid his hand on the case and felt waves of anger emanating from around the objects.
“Looks like you were right, Whitey,” he muttered.
Luther walked down one of the corridors. The negative energy was thick in the air, almost like a fog clouding the building. He closed his eyes, allowing the energy to take him back to that time. When he opened them again, he could see the events of that day, but they were hazy, clouded, and everything had a red tint to it.
He stepped to one of the classroom doors and peered through the window. In his vision of that day, he saw students huddled under their desks, covering their ears, their fear palpable. Luther moved further down the corridor. He could see the trail of negative energy as a splash of yellow floating against the red and he followed it.
The vision faded out momentarily, and Luther stumbled, but stopped himself from falling by bracing his hand against the wall. There had been a force here, one that didn’t want to be discovered. Luther shook it off and closed his eyes, focusing in on the energy once more. He flashed back to the day in question and continued down the hall.
He followed the yellow trail and it brought him to the cafeteria. Even though time had passed, he could still feel the same things the victims experienced that day. The scent of the food in the cafeteria, the sounds of conversation and gossip going on all around him, almost becoming white noise. And then the booming shots that silenced everything. The screams that erupted next. Tears and cries brought on by terror.
The bright yellow trail coalesced into a single form. The students hid from this form as it fired at them one by one with a weapon of some kind. Luther focused on the energy, but he couldn’t make out a single detail. But he was sure of one thing—it definitely wasn’t human.
The vision faded and Luther fell to one knee, panting. He reached for one of the cafeteria tables, pulling himself onto the bench. With his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands. Luther pulled his fingers away from his head and saw the moisture from his sweat on them.
“What happened here?” he asked, staring at the spot where he had gotten a glimpse of the perpetrator.
Luther collected his bearings and rose. He saw the trail had resumed, going back out from the cafeteria. Luther followed it to the next corridor and, after taking a deep breath, closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported back to the events of that day. He walked after the trail, retracing the steps of the monster responsible.
This trail was even brighter than the previous one. A much stronger dose of negative energy. Luther continued down the path until he was brought to a pair of doors with the LIBRARY sign adorning the frame.
Pushing both doors open, Luther was suddenly hit with the full force of the negative energy. Here was the greatest concentration of both fear and anger. The being was in the center of the library, firing wildly, but still Luther couldn’t determine any sort of details about it. What it looked like, not even what it was. The entire scene played out in slow motion, projectiles blowing into bookshelves, tables, and computers, trying earnestly to take out as many innocents as possible.
The sheer weight of the event struck Luther with such power that he was thrown off his feet. Luther lay there for a few moments, just staring at the ceiling. Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Luther realized he wasn’t alone in the building. Quickly standing, his right hand snaked inside his suit jacket, his fingers brushing the butt of the modified revolver resting in the shoulder holster. But he relaxed once he caught a glimpse of his company through the window in the library’s door.
Two police officers entered, both in their uniforms of beige shirts, black slacks, and black brimmed hats. The man who led the other was tall and broad, with a thick brown beard. “Haven’t you vultures had your fill of human suffering yet? This place is off limits.”
“Excuse me?”
When Luther faced the two cops, the younger one flinched upon seeing Cross’ red eyes. But the older officer was unfazed. “You a reporter, right?”
Luther grinned. “No.” His hand went to the outside pocket of his jacket and he took out his monogrammed card case. Flicking it open, he handed one of the cards to the officer. As the cop took the card, Luther focused on what was printed on the officer’s badge—SHERIFF.
“Luther Cross…” The Sheriff then scoffed when he read what came next. “Paranormal Investigator?”
“That’s right, Sheriff…?”
“Gardner.” The Sheriff motioned to the man behind him, who had his hands resting on his gun belt. “And that’s Deputy Fletcher.”
Deputy Fletcher, who appeared to be just a few years out of high school, gave a nod.
“So Mr. Cross, why don’t you tell me what a,” the Sheriff had to stifle a laugh, “‘paranormal investigator’ is doin’ at the site of a school shooting? You think we’ve got some ghosts around here?”
“If I said yes, would you believe me?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’d be wasting both your time and mine. To be honest, I don’t expect people like you to understand my work, Sheriff. You’re far too limited to conceive of something beyond your understanding.”
Gardner gritted his teeth. “Buddy, you got some nerve. I should throw your ass in jail just on general principle.”
Luther folded his arms over his broad chest and stepped up to Gardner. “Go ahead. My lawyer loves filing wrongful arrest lawsuits against backwater sheriff departments.”
“Funny that. See, the ‘backwater’ judges in Green Meadows, they love it when uppity out-of-towners come trespassing and then try throwing their weight around. ‘Backwater’ juries love it, too.”
Luther stifled a growl. “Did I just hear you use the word ‘uppity’?”
“Did I?” Gardner grinned and called to his deputy. “Hey Fletcher, did you hear me say ‘uppity’?”
“Pretty sure I didn’t, Sheriff.”
“That’s what I thought.” Gardner never took his eyes off Luther. “Maybe your ears need some cleaning, Mr. Cross. There’s a pharmacy where you can pick up some Q-tips. It’s right near the on-ramp to the interstate.”
“Suit yourself, Sheriff.” Luther moved past Gardner. “Curious how you have no suspects yet. And when your men had the school completely surrounded, too. Almost like the shooter just vanished into thin air.”
Luther cast a glance at Fletcher, whose own eyes were moving around with uncertainty. Gardner spun and faced Luther, his arms crossed. “You can either walk out of here, or we can drag you out in cuffs. Choice is yours, Mr. Cross.”
Luther donned his sunglasses. “Nice meeting you, Sheriff.”
He left the library and quickly strode down the corridors until he reached the front entrance. He stepped out of the glass doors and into the afternoon sun. Fishing in his pockets, Luther drew out a gold cigarette case, monogrammed like the one for his business cards. He opened it, took a single cigarette and placed it between his lips, then sna
pped the case closed and placed it back in his pocket. When he drew his hand out, he’d replaced the case with a matching lighter that he used on the cigarette.
Standing in front of Luther’s Camaro was a teenage boy of about seventeen. He had a shaggy mop of dark hair and as Luther approached, he turned. The boy’s skin was pale and he was dressed all in black, wearing a Lamb of God t-shirt. There was something about the boy that drew Luther’s attention, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Like the car?” he asked.
The boy shrugged. “It’s okay. Who are you?”
Luther took a long drag on the cigarette. “Suppose I stand out a bit in Green Meadows, huh?”
“Might say that.”
Luther gave the boy a once-over from head to toe. “One might also say that you know a thing or two about that.”
The boy evaded Luther’s gaze, looking back at the car’s onyx surface. Luther stepped closer and leaned against the hood of his vehicle, sliding his free hand into his pants pocket. “You go to this school?”
“Did.”
“You see the guy responsible?”
The boy shook his head.
“Imagine word must spread fast in a town this size.” Luther glanced at the kid. “Hear anything about the guy? Talk to anyone who saw him?”
The boy looked at the school, stuffing his hands into the pockets. “Why you asking so many questions?”
“I’m curious by nature.”
“Matt!”
The boy flinched at the sound of his name being shouted. The voice belonged to the Sheriff, who was now marching right toward the pair from the school’s entrance. Gardner rested his hands on his belt, with Fletcher following close behind.
“Thought I told you to get off the premises, Mr. Cross,” said Gardner.
“Just having a chat with the kid,” said Luther with a gesture.
Gardner now turned his attention to the boy. “The hell are you doin’ here, Matt? I told you to stay away from here.”
“I was just walkin’ by, saw the cars and got curious,” said Matt.
Devil's Taunt and Other Stories Page 7