Ghost Tour

by Claryn Vaile

  Golden onyx wainscoting.

  Electrical-generating dynamos.

  Artesian well water source.

  Fireproof construction.

  Hold the phone.

  “Absolutely fireproof building.,.. Iron, steel, and concrete framework...terra-cotta floors and interior walls. In the event of fire, room contents would be destroyed. But the super-structure itself… “

  The former historian was not at her Sales receptionist desk when Lochlan stopped by a few minutes later to talk. To the right of Rebecca’s keyboard lay the tour script, one section circled repeatedly with orange highlighter. From that moment, he understood.

  The Griffins Keep, the Great Lady of Denver hotels, was about to experience one helluva hot flash.

  “How long have you known?” Rebecca asked when Lochlan expressed no surprise at her History Colorado library revelation.

  “Since our first conversation about your divorce and your maiden name.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I had faith that all would be revealed when the time was right.”

  “But if that prep cook hadn’t asked me to look in the guest register….”

  “Ah, but he did.”

  “How can it be? What does it mean?”

  “It means that everything is unfolding as it was destined to. There’s something about your spirit that the Knights valued and banked, if you will, for a future withdrawal. It means payout time is now, and only you can sign for it.”

  “They’ve communicated with me directly,” Rebecca told him, “The Knights Templar who have guarded the Griffins Keep from the first, they touched me when I hung the myotrageous horn around my neck and opened myself to their message.”

  Lochlan knew about her mysterious talisman and its strange response to the hotel silver teaspoon artifact.

  “They didn’t tell, but rather showed me in a sort of vision what I was to do,” Rebecca explained.

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “Terrified.” Her voice broke. “What the Knights require is tantamount to murder. How can I comply?”

  “The death of a few to save millions of souls. How often has that been the rationale for havoc throughout history? The elimination of heretics is justified in defense of the Temple. The spiritual portal must be maintained. You can no longer doubt that you are The Keep’s defender, designated long ago.”

  The truth of his words was unassailable. Reminded of her role, Rebecca drew a deep breath, straightened her spine, steeled her resolve. “I’ll need the sword of the Third Griffin. Will you retrieve it for me?”

  “We’ll fetch it together,” Lochlan said. “Right now.”

  Surrounded by tangible reminders of the Griffins Keep’s glorious past in the hidden sub-basement repository, Rebecca drew strength. She was not the first to take risks in the name of the Keep’s legacy. Artifacts rescued over the decades by gallant employees and collected in this secret space bore witness to the hotel’s respectful stewards. All of them – past and present -- looked now to her to defend the mystique and the majesty of the place they loved. She felt their expectation and honored their trust.

  The historian and the engineer who served The Keep above all said little. Their communication went beyond words. Rebecca collapsed onto a pile of embroidered table linens.

  “I’m so tired,” she said. “So very tired suddenly. I’m not sure I can go through with this. You could do it, Lochlan. You’re a much better choice than I for the task ahead. Surely the Knights would welcome your help.”

  Lochlan sank down beside her and took her hand. “I’ll help. Of course, I will. In any way I can. But I haven’t your special magic or connection. You know you can’t cheat fate at this stage of the game. You won’t be alone.”

  Rebecca knew that to be true. She could already feel the presence of The Keep’s countless spiritual sojourners, as well as the Knight guardians.

  “You’ll do everything you can to get innocent people out of harm’s way, won’t you? Mo will help you, and Margaret and Molly and Rosslyn. I’ve told no one else about what lies ahead.”

  Lochlan put an arm around Rebecca’s slight shoulders. “Don’t you worry. With all of us working together, we’ll lead everyone to safety. You just follow the Knights’ instructions.”

  She leaned against him and quietly began to sob. “I’m so afraid this will be the last thing I ever do.”

  His heart caught in his throat.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said at last. “At our age, we feel our mortality in subtle ways almost every day. Little by little or in one grand stroke, death moves closer. The body is temporary, a perishable vessel for the essence of a person. But surely by now you know. The greatest secret the Freemasons built into The Keep is that death is not the end, that this is only one plane of existence among many. This building, this temple, is where travelers take stock, turn a corner on their journey to The Light. You believe that now, don’t you?”

  Rebecca sighed. “’I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth,’” she began, reciting the Apostles Creed she’d memorized in childhood. “’…and in the life everlasting.’ For real, with all my heart.” She squeezed his hand tightly.

  Lochlan brushed back her hair with the long fingers of his other hand and tenderly kissed her forehead, her ear, her neck.

  “Mmmm, goosebumps,” she murmured, turning to look into his eyes. “Thank you for showing me how glorious the communion of bodies – even aging bodies -- can be. I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll be along presently,” he assured her. “For now, concentrate on what the Knights need you to do. It’s not every historian who gets to actually make history.”

  “Promise me that when it’s over, no matter what happens, you’ll retrieve this sword and keep it from outsiders,” Rebecca beseeched him. “Return it to its proper place above the fireplace as soon as you’re able.”

  Lochlan stood and bowed deeply, as he had done once before in this same room. “I do so promise,” he said, “upon my honor as a knight of the Griffins Keep and your obedient servant.” He extended his hand and helped her to her feet.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  Chapter 27

  In the center of the former Grand Salon, directly beneath the painted-over archangel fresco, five mature women gathered for a rite of sanction. The fresco’s central orb survived, incorporated into a scepter held by one of several court jesters that now frolicked across the ceiling of the so-called Throne Room. The women stood in a circle, linked by arms around each other’s shoulders, heads bowed. Margaret led the invocation.

  “Glorious goddess, Divine Mother of all Nature, protect and guide our sister through the challenges which lie ahead, and grant her the courage to accomplish the mission which has been pre-ordained. Empower her through your grace to defend this place so vital to spirits and their transmigration. Give her the strength and the resolve she seeks to enable their afterlife journeys and her own, in the name of Your Love and Light.”

  “Amen,” they said in unison.

  In the ensuing moment of silence, the historian thought back to the morning of the vernal equinox in the very room where they now stood, the rays of the rising sun shining directly upon the Grand Entrance, the liquid light emanating from the glowing headpiece of the Dominion’s scepter and coalescing around her. She marveled again at all that had been set into motion by men with a secret knowledge of the cosmos and an ancient respect for phenomena beyond explanation. She knew without question that the Griffins Keep truly was a sacred place, created to bridge the straits between planes of reality. The elements in play for more than a century were now seriously threatened, and, for reasons she might never understand, it fell to her to preserve the sanctuary.

  This was right.

  She was ready.

  Breaking the physical connection to the others, she raised an arm above her head, open palm outward.

  “Crone power!
” she cried with a new bravado.

  “Crone power!” the others echoed. Maureen and Molly and Rosslyn each grinned and slapped her palm with their own, high-five style. Margaret followed suite, though she couldn’t quite manage a smile.

  “You got it, girl,” she said. “Show these bastards what they’re messing with when they mess with the Griffins Keep.”

  “Protest the Prostitution of Denver’s Great Lady” read the placards carried by members of the Denver Women’s Press Club, the Past Timers, and like-minded compatriots as they paraded back and forth outside the Carson Street entrance. “Boycott the Griffins Keep!”

  The adamant protesters hindered but could not block representatives of city government, the Chamber of Commerce, Downtown Denver Partnership, and sundry media reps arriving to cover the unveiling of the much anticipated new hotel lobby feature. Press releases had promised: “Moments after the artesian well water supply to the old Griffins Fountain is shut off forever, TITHE leadership will unveil a specially commissioned sculpture and wave pool in the atrium lobby. The life-sized statue, by a renowned Loveland sculptor, honors Chad Tagawa’s spirit of adventure and entrepreneurial innovation.”

  The new wave pool, a bit nearer the front desk than the Griffin Fountain, had taken three weeks to install. The sculpture had been kept under wraps – literally – since its arrival and installation just a few days earlier. Rumor had it that the piece depicted the TITHE founder on a surfboard. It had, of course, nothing to do with the medieval castle theme the new Keep was going for. It had everything to do with Chad’s ego.

  A popular Beach Boys tribute band was on hand for the high-profile occasion. AV crews installed large screens in two corners of the lobby at third-floor level to provide enhanced views of the proceedings to all. They checked the sound. The pseudo-Beach Boys kicked in. And the local power brokers and boosters streamed inside.

  On the seventh-floor balcony, Rebecca Bridger prepared to play the role predestined for her decades before. She was dressed in all vintage black, as if for a ghost tour. The myotrageous Balearicus horn, suspended on a golden chain, dangled between her breasts. Thrust into the back elastic waistband of her skirt and concealed beneath her taffeta peplum jacket, the bronze sword of the third griffin awaited its call to action.

  When the band took a break about 20 minutes later, the podium microphone crackled to life.

  “Welcome, everyone, to a historic day at the Griffins Keep. I’m Stan Tagawa, CEO of Tagawa International Theatres, Hotels, and Entertainment. And it is my great pleasure to introduce my nephew, the founder of TITHE, Chad Tagawa.”

  “Hey, everybody!” Chad shouted out. “Make sure you help yourselves to beer and mojitos at the bar here by the Grand Staircase. And we’ve got awesome munchies being passed by some of our Keepettes. How great are they in their serving wench outfits? This is just a taste of how fun and accessible the stuffy old Griffins Keep is becoming as the newest TITHE property. We’re really proud of the transformation we’ve already accomplished, and we promise there’re more big changes on the way. Be sure to scope out these architects’ renderings of the new Royal Tower, coming soon.”

  Flashes flashed. TV cameras panned the scene. Chad returned the mic to his uncle.

  “Of all the TITHE properties Chad has acquired throughout the world over the past 15 years, the Griffins Keep is without a doubt the most impressive. That’s why we’ve chosen it as the spot for this statue, fittingly honoring Chad, his free-spirited lifestyle, and his mega-success. We’ve chosen today – June 21, the summer solstice – because, as a surfer, Chad has always followed the sun. But before we unveil the sculpture, it’s time to say good-bye to a remnant of The Keep’s old glory days, the Griffin Fountain.”

  Unexpectedly, several attendees booed.

  “Now, now,” Stan said, raising his hand to silence objections. “I know the crusty old relic was beloved by generations of Keep visitors. Many of you may have even tossed a wishing coin or two into it. But it’s an archaic reminder of a former time, a time when the Griffins Keep was off-limits to all but the privileged elite. TITHE properties are family friendly properties, affordable accommodations and entertainment for average travelers. Our new branding calls for a new focus. I’m going to turn it over now to The Keep’s general manager, Mickey Branson.”

  Branson stepped up and took the mic. “Let me just add my own welcome to all of you who’ve taken the time out of your busy day to help us usher in a new era for a Denver icon. As you may know, the Griffin Fountain has been fed since the hotel opened by The Keep’s own artesian well, more than 700 feet beneath us. Great bit of trivia. But maintaining our own water company in this day and age makes no sense, practically or economically. We’re proud to partner with Denver Water from this day forward to supply all the hotel’s water needs. Denver Water reps, where are you? John, Bill – great to have you guys here today. And to symbolize this historic shift, we’re kicking off the unveiling by shutting off this fossil of a fountain.”

  In the hotel basement, Lochlan answered his radio page. “OK, MacKenzie. Close ‘er off in 10.”

  “Copy that.” Lochlam counted backwards. 5, 4, 3, 2…1. With effort, he cranked the steel wheel that sealed off the flow of water from the artesian well to the fountain. The last remaining channel from the spiritual portal was blocked. None could enter or depart.

  Lochlan drew a deep breath and blew it out, “It’s up to you now, Rebecca,” he said.

  Above him in the lobby, Mickey Branson declared, “Out with the old!” The Griffin Fountain spluttered and burbled its last. If he expected applause, he was disappointed.

  “And in with the new!” Yanking the cord that held the sculpture drape, Branson revealed the bronze statue of a surfer on his board, knees bent, arms outstretched for balance, long hair blown back. It probably resembled Chad 20 years and 50 pounds ago. A mechanism below the turquoise-tinted pool at the base began to undulate, creating waves that splashed against one side before disappearing to be recirculated.

  The crowd politely golf-clapped.

  “An awesome monument to an awesome dude,” Branson proclaimed, draping an arm around Chad’s shoulders. “May it inspire visitors to the Griffins Keep for the next century.”

  “Thank you, Mickey. I’ve gotta say it’s pretty cool,” Chad said, beaming. “And thank you all again for coming. We hope you’ll stick around for more brews and snacks on the house. Be sure to pick up your souvenir miniature of my statue from the kiosk by the bar – Just $19.95!”

  “Mr. Branson!” a reporter from Westword called out. “Can you tell us what’s going to happen to the old fountain?”

  The GM hadn’t invited questions. Wasn’t prepared. “Well now, we haven’t really thought about that. I suppose we could auction it off, like we did with the other artifacts a few months ago. Why, do you want it?” He laughed. The reporter didn’t.

  “Can you make wishes in the wave pool?” another reporter inquired.

  “No need!” Branson replied cheerily. “Here at the new Griffins Keep, we make all your wishes come true! And right now, I’ll bet I’m not the only one wishing to hear more tune-age from the Beach Boyz. How ‘bout it, guys?”

  With that, the band kicked in, effectively shutting down any more questions from the media.

  High above it all, Rebecca closed her eyes and began the Kabalah chant Rosslyn had taught her to summon the spirits of the Templar Knights. The horn talisman grew warm against her skin. She felt their presence. Electrifying. Empowering. The Good Sir Knights could not physically act to preserve the place they protected. But she could.

  She was the conduit, the conductor, channeling their powers in defense of The Keep. Rebecca opened her eyes, clutched the balcony railing in the center of the triangular building’s hypotenuse, and cast her gaze upward to the skylight, where midday solstice sunrays were endlessly refracted by the stained-glass patterns. She set her sight on the center of the ceiling and focused fiercely.

  Like Pete’s si
lver teaspoon, the supportive steel framework below the skylight began to vibrate. Almost imperceptible at first, it quickly increased in modulation, creating a harmonic resonance that would have been heard by those below had the band been less amplified.

  A few who felt the disturbing vibrations looked up. Rebecca couldn’t think about potential collateral damage in the lobby below. She concentrated completely on the support beams. The vibrations intensified. The supports shuddered. Within moments, they would give way.

  Now. The command emanated from ancient voices inside her head. Rebecca pulled the third Griffin’s sword from her waistband and pointed it dead center.

  She did not imagine the stream of sparks that shot from the sword tip. The shock of it knocked her backwards into the wall and off her feet. She dropped the sword and watched as what happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion.

  The heavy winch detached. It plummeted 100 feet to the lobby below. The statue of Chad Tagawa was decapitated. Chad himself and the uncle who stood beside him in self-congratulatory satisfaction were crushed beneath the huge iron hoist.

  Pandemonium ensued, as shards of broken skylight showered down upon the panicked guests. In the blind rush for the two lobby exits, a woman with a walker fell and was nearly trampled.

  The fire alarms sounded. Lochlan, Maureen, Rosslyn, Margaret and Molly herded people to safety, making sure everyone got out before the next stage of the retribution.

  Rebecca struggled to stand as the Knights’ spirits surged within her. The horn suspended over her heart grew almost too hot to bear. Their collective energy was astonishing, intoxicating. She imagined for a moment she could fly were she to leap from the railing. She looked down upon the lobby chaos with detached curiosity and surreal calm.

  “Ladies and gentleman!” Mickey Branson’s voice came over the rarely used hotel-wide public address system. “Don’t panic,” he said, barely managing to suppress the panic in his own breast. “We seem to be experiencing some sort of earth tremor. Please make your way to the nearest exit quickly and calmly. Do not attempt to use the elevators. Take the Grand Staircase or the service stairs inside the walls opposite the public elevators. Emergency personnel are on their way.”