Chapter One
Present Day
Light winked off the mirror of the equipment van, drawing her attention from the spreading willows and oaks that lined the curving, two mile drive. Ever since passing through the heavy iron security gates, she had felt almost blasphemous. The manicured grounds had the perfection of the garden of Eden, and here she was desecrating it by driving this clunk of a van some buffoon at the University had procured for her.
Even with the amount of equipment she had requested they could at least have found her something dated in the last four centuries to transport it in. The seats were worn, the engine sounded like something that had dragged itself from a marsh, and the shocks were torture.
Her eyes focused on the light that winked from behind, half expecting to see the van’s tailpipe had exploded into flames. No such luck. It was merely a flash of sunlight off the chrome of the motorcycle trundling along a hundred yards behind her. Glancing momentarily to the front again to insure she stayed on the road, she let her eyes return to the mirror, pursing her lips.
A black helmet hid the rider’s features, and the denim and heavy riding leathers obscured any notion of body shape or gender, but the battered and dusty guitar case on his back was a dead give away. “Justin…”
He must have caught her looking at him in the mirror, because he lifted one gloved hand off the bike and saluted her with two fingers against his helmet. She stuck her hand out the window, waving as she returned her eyes to the winding drive. “Well, Mr. Reeves,” she said softly. “Good you came.”
“Friend of yours?” the woman sitting beside her asked. Kaelyn glanced at her assistant over her glasses and smiled.
“We’ve worked together before, here and there. You’ll like him. He’s a musician.”
“Still trying to match-make?” Elli asked.
“If I was going to try and hook you up I wouldn’t do it during an investigation,” Kaelyn replied. “Certainly not one of this magnitude.”
“Afraid I’ll be distracted?”
Kaelyn glanced over at her. “If I was afraid anything was going to distract you on this, I wouldn’t have brought you,” she said.
“Well, thank you for having faith in me. Honestly, I have no idea how you talked me into this. I’m more an administrative type…not so much the spooky ghost-hunting type.”
Kaelyn chuckled. Elliana Jacinta had been her assistant for two years now. Though she had always been self-sufficient and had balked at first at having an assistant, Kaelyn now didn’t know how she’d ever gotten along without her. Having someone to take care of paperwork and little details was an enormous burden off her shoulders, allowing her to focus on her work. As well, having a level-headed sounding board was a godsend.
The daughter of a Kenyan businessman and a French scientist, Elli had inherited her father’s mocha skin and level-headed grasp of numbers, and her mother’s analytical point of view as well as her accent…though growing up more or less in the States had dulled the French hints to her voice down to only a soft flavor.
“You keep my head on straight. That makes you invaluable. Especially in a place like….this…”
One last turn along the winding drive, and finally the sprawling structure of Oakfallow appeared, materializing through the trees and the final shreds of gold morning mist as if it had been dreamed into place. Though she had seen numerous photographs, this was her first time setting eyes on it in person. She couldn’t help catching her breath, her words trailing off. It was absolutely enormous, the pale stone catching the morning light and making the whole structure almost seem to glow.
Judging by the faint gasp that Elli gave she, too, was suitably impressed.
A black asphalt parking lot, which had been installed when the tourist trade got hold of the estate, stretched like a huge cancer in the middle of the rolling velvet grass to her left. She ignored it, proceeding along the main drag until the van’s wheels were crunching crushed white brick in the circular drive, right in front of the door. She threw the van into park, and it complied with a hefty groan and almost a sigh of relief. Her own sigh was not of relief, but of sudden irritation.
“Blast, what is he doing here?” she muttered to Elli, throwing open the van door and jumping out, slamming it behind her. Reeves and his Harley pulled to a stop nearby, the engine dying. Justin removed his helmet, shaking his hair from his face and watching as she made a beeline toward her target.
There were two men standing near each other but not together, both seeming to studiously avoid even looking at the other one. The taller and stiffer of the two was the one she had her sights on. A black pack was slung over his arm as he looked up at the carved work above the main door. If he was troubled by the sight of the incoming storm-cloud that was Kaelyn Maynard, he gave no sign of it. He merely lifted a hand to halt her tirade before it could get started.
“Mr. Harlow. I knew it.” she asked, her almost casual tone betrayed by her angry expression and folded arms. “They never told me, but I just knew when that funding money came in…”
He held up his hand. “Before that glare shatters your glasses, Doctor, let me reassure you. After this morning my employ with Mr. Blackwell is officially concluded. I am merely here executing my final duties.”
“Oh, really? Let me guess. He wasn’t too pleased with you after our last meeting.”
“Something like that,” he replied. He un-shouldered the heavy pack, as Elli walked cautiously up, glancing warily at the stirring little storm-cloud of irritation settling over her employer’s head.
The pack thumped at Kaelyn’s feet. “Secure video phone, flares, extra food, some additional…security.” Harlow straightened, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “And personal correspondence.”
“Paranoid as ever, Mr. Blackwell,” she murmured, taking the envelope and opening it with a fingernail. Drawing it out, she unfolded the single paper within. Mr. Blackwell was, as always, short and to the point.
Stay sharp. Ignore the fools. Focus on the objective. Stay safe. Will check in.
-Blackwell.
“He sure knows how to make a girl feel warm and fuzzy,” she sniped, folding the paper and tucking it away again before sliding it into her pocket. “I wonder what he’d do if I just left this bag out here?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, nor do I care any more,” he replied, and touched his forehead. “I’ve done what I said I would do. Good day, Dr. Maynard.”
“Good day, Lurch,” she replied, watching him stroll off back to his car.
“Mr. Blackwell?” Elli murmured as the man strode off.
“I know, I know,” Kaelyn replied. “But if he’s funding our little field trip we can’t kick up too much fuss.”
“You know he’s stalking you,” her assistant pointed out, folding her arms.
“Is he now?” Kaelyn asked
“Every time you get into an investigation that’s even remotely interesting and his name pops up at least once. And now he’s funding this one?”
“He’s got a fetish for the occult,” Kaelyn told her. “So do I. It’s only logical that we end up bumping heads more often than not. Of course, my fetish is scientific.”
“And his is more…occulty?” Elli smirked.
Kaelyn laughed, jabbing a thumb at the van. “Why don’t you get my camera and unlock the back. I’m pretty sure this guy over there is the caretaker. I need to go talk to him.”
She debated the bag Harlow had left for a moment. Finally she gave a helpless shrug and pointed at it. “Might as well take that. Bundle of sunshine or no, Blackwell is the money man, and it never pays to tick off the money man. Literally.”
It wouldn’t take much effort for the esteemed Mr. Blackwell to simply pull her team and hire another one if he thought she was being ‘uncooperative’, and she’d be damned if that happened. Oakfallow represented everything she’d worked for over the years, and she wasn’t going to have it snatched away because of a bit of petulance on her part.
Elli took the bag and headed over to the van as Kaelyn approached the second man near the door. He was ringing a golf cap between his hands, looking unsure..
“You must be Mr. Grober, the caretaker,” she said, offering her hand as she approached. He took hers, smiling somewhat nervously.
“Dr. Maynard, it’s an honor to meet you.” His voice held only a faint Scottish brogue. He was either a native who had been gone a while, or a foreigner who had lived in the country far too long. “The rest of the team should be here shortly…?”
“Yes, actually. We’re a little early, so they should arrive within the next half hour…” She glanced around at Reeves, who had shed himself of his bike gear and had perched on one of the low, carved-stone planting pots near the door, his guitar out of its case and over his knee. He was tuning it.
Grober lifted a hand, shading his eyes slightly as he squinted toward Reeves. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, he doesn’t look like much of a scientist.”
“I don’t either, out of the office,” she chuckled, fingering her flannel over-shirt. “But you’re right. He’s not a scientist. Not in the way that you might imagine. But he has a lot of experience with this sort of phenomenon. He’s one of the most accredited clairaudients out there. We were lucky to get him.”
Grober actually shuddered at the word ‘phenomenon’, then started rummaging through a pouch at his side. He pulled out a heavy-looking key and a few photographs. “This is a skeleton key. It will open every door in the castle.”
She lifted a brow as she took it. “You’re not coming with us?”
“Madam, you could not pay me enough money to cross that threshold,” he said shakily. “I believe you were sent maps-“
“Yes, I have them in the van.”
“Then that will have to do for you if you are insistent upon entering this place. Personally, I think they should knock the whole thing to rubble and burn it for a sin.”
He reached out and tapped the photos he’d just handed her. “These two pictures were taken by a woman in the castle employ, just before she quit.”
She took the key and tucked it away, then looked at the photos. One had been circled to show a face peering out of a window, and the other was a shot of a set of stairs. It seemed fairly innocuous until you noticed the faintest white image floating just to the right of the railing.
“Where were these taken?” she asked.
“The stairs are the servant’s case at the far corner of the second floor in the main wing. The window was, I believe, part of the old keep that joins onto the Soldier’s wing.”
“And the face…?”
“Believed to be Lord Winternight. It closely resembles his portraits.”
“Good,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few shots of the grounds while we’re waiting for the others.”
“You do whatever you wish, Dr. Maynard. The Tourist Board has granted you every permission while on these lands during the course of your investigations.”
“Dangerous,” she chuckled, turning as Elli came up to her side, camera in hand. She nodded politely to Grober who only seemed more nervous, barely bobbing his head to her.
“Mr. Grober, this is my assistant, Elli Jacinta. Elli, this is the caretaker, Mr. Grober.”
“So young,” the man mumbled, eyes far away. Elli blinked.
“I’m older than I look,” she said, with the tone of someone who had explained it many times.
Knowing this was a soft subject with Elli, Kaelyn checked the camera’s load and smoothly changed the subject. “Where exactly was it that the caretaker was killed?”
Grober shuddered again, more sadness coming to his eyes. He pointed off to the far end of the parking lot. “She was walking there, on her way back to the entrance of the Gaming Room. Horrible, horrible thing to have happened. She was such a lovely woman.”
“It’s always a tragedy when things like this happen,” she replied sympathetically. “Well, thank you Mr. Grober. We’re going to get some shots of the exterior and the surrounding grounds. I’ll be back shortly.”
She headed off toward the parking lot, pausing now and again to shoot her camera toward the outside of the castle. Elli bobbed her head to Mr. Grober again before heading back toward the van, but the caretaker barely seemed aware she was there, looking at the castle as if he expected it to uncoil and bite him.
Reeves, who had finally finished tuning his guitar strummed a chord or two, and began idly playing Send in the Clowns.
“Glory be,” Albert murmured as he drove into the parking lot, taking in the immaculately landscaped view. It was like some posh uber-expensive resort. He didn’t think grass that green and perfect existed anywhere outside a golf course.
He parked next to a beat up old van, and, after taking his pack and duffel bag out of the car, shut the door. Shouldering the backpack and picking up his bag, he glanced at those few already there. He knew Dr. Maynard by reputation and photo only, but she was easy to spot. She was busy snapping pictures of the exterior of the castle, her red flannel flapping around her hips a little in the stiff breeze.
“Dr. Maynard? Dr. Maynard, hello!” he said, walking up to her. She lowered the camera and shaded her eyes slightly, glancing at him before smiling and taking his offered hand with a faintly questioning expression.
“Albert Frost,” he introduced.
The expression transformed into realization.“Mr. Frost, glad you could make it! I trust the trip was not too daunting?”
“Not at all. I rather enjoyed the drive.” He looked up at the castle with an impressed whistle. “Quite a place! I must say, when I heard ‘castle’ I pictured old ruins, worn and falling apart. This could rival Buckingham.”
“Don’t let the Queen hear you say that,” she joked dryly, and he grinned, then glanced around as the sound of an old, stressed engine reached their ears.
A beat up red truck drove up before finally parking, and a girl climbed out. She looked like a college student, and took two suitcases out of her truck with the swift familiarity of someone used to toting them through airports or strange hotels.
“And you must be Dr. Maynard,” she grinned, setting one bag down to tuck a errant lock back behind her ear before offering her hand. Her brown hair was held back in a haphazard tie, and several strands had drifted loose. On her cheeks a thick smattering of freckles made her look far younger than the rest of her did. “It’s such an honor, doctor. I’ve read all your books…”
“I’m flattered,” Maynard smiled. “Please, call me Kaelyn. I never was one for formalities. This is Albert Frost. Albert, this is Patricia Layken. She’s a graduate student who is almost as well-traveled in the world of the paranormal as I am.”
The girl colored as she shook Albert’s hand. “I don’t know if I’d dare to say that!” she chuckled. “I’ve been a few places but I’ve seen nothing near as exciting as you have. I’m hoping to change that here.”
She looked up at the castle, unconsciously huddling down into her thin jacket. Kaelyn looked as well, and nodded seriously.
“I have a feeling lots of things are going to change here…”
The trip had not progressed quite as well as he had planned.
Making his way along the rough Scotland roads, Caleb had mused more than a few times on the various inconveniences he had suffered to get himself here. His university grant had turned out to be only a fraction of what they had told him, promised him, he would have been given. Flying first class was no longer a luxury available to him, so Caleb had spent his six hours over the Atlantic in a cramped window seat listening to the dull roar of the 757’s engines.
His stay in the apartment had not proved much better. The dank flat of the university’s ‘associate’ who met him at the airport was less hospitable than his first year campus housing. Most galling was how cold his room had been. Couldn’t the flat’s owner have acquired an electric heater, an extra blanket, anything for his guest’s comfort?
This was the first time Caleb had been outside of the States, and despite all the stories from his peers at the university about the magnificence of foreign travel, he was growing more and more displeased with his circumstances. His chilly night’s sleep hadn’t been sufficient to overcome the jet lag the flight had left him – at his professor’s insistence, he had made sure to adjust his watch before boarding the plane, but his internal clock was still struggling to compensate for the time difference.
Caleb took a sip from his cup of coffee, having to slow the vehicle to keep the drink from splashing all over him as he maneuvered over a particularly rough patch of road. Peering through the scratched windshield, he saw the guard station and security gates appear from behind the line of trees beside the road. Raising his drink again, he drained the last dark dregs of his coffee, then tossed the empty cup into the right floorboard to land beside the other two empty ones already there.
Approaching the entrance to the estate, Caleb slowed the car and reached into his back pocket for his passport and university papers. He came to a stop and rolled down his window – manually, since anything other than the archaic four-wheeled box he was riding in would have been at his own expense – and waved to get the guard’s attention. “Um, excuse me, I’m here with the team under Dr. Maynard. Has she arrived yet?”
The man he was speaking to turned to the young arrival, responding in a voice so thick with Scottish accent that Caleb had to run the words through his head again just to be certain he had heard correctly. “Access to Oakfallow is restricted, sir. I’m going to need to see your identification.”
Caleb handed the guard his passport and the neatly folded paper the university had provided him. After scrupulously inspecting the documents, the security man turned back to Caleb and held out his hand. “Your ID confirmation, please,” the guard said.
“I’m sorry?” Caleb replied, somewhat taken aback. “I already handed you my passport – it’s right there in your hand.”
“Sir, clearance into Oakfallow requires the entrant present at least two recent documents of identification.”
Groaning, Caleb turned in his seat and reached into his back pocket again, pulling out his wallet and fishing through it until he found his university card. “Here,” he said, offering it to the guard. “Is this enough for you?”
The man inside the station looked closely over the new ID card, then nodded and handed it back along with Caleb’s passport. “Now I need to see the doctor’s confirmation letter.”
Caleb’s brow wrinkled and he turned about again, checking his pockets only to find them empty. The glove compartment proved the same. Looking back up at the guard, he asked, “Are you certain it’s not with the other papers?”
The response from the security guard was definitive.
Growling with frustration, the young man pounded his hands on the steering wheel. This was ridiculous! He had flown halfway across the world only to be told he couldn’t go through the door. Sighing heavily, he leaned back against the seat and ran his fingers through his hair.
And noticed the paper sticking out of the overhead visor.
His face flushed, and Caleb snatched the document and pushed it toward the guard. The man in the security station nodded and handed Caleb’s papers back, then manipulated some series of controls to open the iron gates. Muttering thanks under his breath, Caleb put all his papers in the passenger seat and drove past the station and into the estate grounds.
Had he been in a better mood, or had he caught up on his sleep, Caleb would have been in awe at the pristine magnificence of the gardens inside the gate. As it was, though, the dominant aspect of the setting in his mind was the long, curving drive that seemed to go on for ages in all directions. A straight run would have been much simpler, he thought to himself as he maneuvered along the road.
Finally the castle itself came into view, and even in his frustrated and exhausted mental state, the young man could not help but gasp in surprise. The building was huge, stretching wide through a clearing in the trees, and the daylight stung his eyes reflecting off its walls. He turned into the parking lot, which seemed like a blight in the midst of all the paradisaical glory around him.
After putting the car into park and killing the engine, Caleb leaned across the center console to retrieve the documents that had slipped from the seat to the floor, only to find brown coffee stains covering them. “Damn it,” he muttered. It was just not his day.
He waved the papers for a moment, then blew on them to try and dry the liquid. When he had done what he could, he folded the documents and returned them to his back pocket. He then opened the glove compartment and withdrew his prized possession: a zippered black folder with brown trim, his name embroidered in red and gold on the front. His parents had given him this folder for his high school graduation, and it had gone through all of his time at Yale by his side.
Before leaving the States, Caleb had purchased a new notepad of paper to put in the folder. His pens and pencils were also stored neatly inside.
His superiors at the university had argued with him, persistently insisting that he needed more means of recording notes than just a simple pad and pencil. He had finally agreed to take along a hand-held cassette recorder as well. He paused a moment, considering ‘accidentally’ leaving it in the car when he went into the castle, then conceded that his professors would scarcely believe a story like that. Sighing, he brought out the device as well, a brand new tape in place with another in his folder, then shut the glove compartment and stepped out of the car.
Caleb walked over to the small knot of people gathered in front of the door. He recognized Dr. Maynard and assumed that one of the other men was the caretaker of the estate, but the young women and other two men he had no knowledge of. Heading to Maynard, he straightened with his folder tucked under his right arm and smiled.
“Dr. Maynard, good to see you again. I was at your lecture in Cincinnati last winter, but you probably don’t remember me. Caleb Anderson, Yale.”
She smiled and reached out to shake his hand, then seeing the folder tucked under his arm, switched to her left hand so he would not drop it. “Mr. Anderson, glad to see you could make it,” she said. She gestured toward the others.
“Over on the steps is our clairaudient, Justin Reeves. Albert Frost, our psychic ghost hunter, and Patricia Layken. She’s interning in paranormal research. The other young woman by the van is my assistant, Elli Jacinta.”
Glancing at Albert and Patricia, who were both still nearby and regarding the newcomer with interest, she said, “Mr. Anderson is our ‘control group’. He’s here not so much for the paranormal end of things but more or less to study the psychological reactions of people faced with inexplicable events, both real and perceived. He’s our balance. You’ll come to be very grateful for him being here, I can assure you. Being such a grounded skeptic, if he experiences the same things you do, you’ll know you’re not nuts.”
She shot Caleb a smile. “We’re still waiting on quite a few. Feel free to look about the front grounds or just get acquainted. Once everyone’s here Mr. Grober will let us into the castle and we can unload. I hope you have strong backs. The back axle of that van isn’t sagging just because of its age.”
“Jeez, Eddie, would you watch the road?!”
His eyes snapped back forward and he jerked the wheel, bringing the car back to the center of the drive. He had been distracted by all the beautiful trees and had nearly driven the car off into them.
“Sorry, hon,” he said, coloring a little. She eyed him, then chuckled, wrinkling her nose in that pretty way he adored.
“No big deal, just try not to make us part of the landscape, okay?”
He slipped his glasses up his nose a little, and tried to pay more attention to the road. At thirty-four, Eddie tended to give the impression he was a lot younger. His hair had a little boy quality of always falling into his eyes, and he had this habit of never seeming to know where to put his hands. He was constantly tucking them in his pockets, then un-tucking them, and fiddling with his shirt.
Miriam supposed that was part of what she loved about him…his boyish charm. Of course, it went hand in hand with his boyish naivete, which could be monumentally frustrating.
They had met on set of a documentary for CNN. They had worked together, he on sound and she on videography, but it had taken two more projects before he’d gotten up enough nerve to ask her for drinks.
It was Miriam, though, that had ended up asking him for marriage.
They didn’t look like the type of people that would end up together. Miriam was very California. Bleach blonde hair, deep tan that didn’t quite go all the way to hiding her freckles. She wasn’t gorgeous, only passingly pretty in a Laura Ingalls Wilder sort of way. Eddie was very Boston…and sounded it. Boston Preppie and California Girl was an odd combination, but they’d been married ten years now. A record compared to their friends and family.
“So have you worked with this director?” she asked, returning her eyes to the folder on her lap now that it didn’t seem they were intent on running into an oak tree. “She seems rather young.”
“Age has nothing to do with it, and you know that,” he smiled at her. “I haven’t worked with her but I’ve heard good things about her. Doesn’t really matter. You know me, I could get along with anyone.”
“Hmm,” she agreed with a vague nod of her head, flipping the pages to read about the rest of the film crew. All new to her. This should be interesting. “Well, just don’t get along too well with her, young man.”
He glanced at her with a chuckle. “Young man? I’m a year older than you. And nothing would ever tear my eyes away from you.”
“I wish the road would, lover boy,” she said as he swerved toward the verge again. With a jerk the car straightened out once again.
She laughed as he colored once more, the sunshine flashing in madcap glee off the car window as they drew ever closer to the castle.
As he drove out of the main castle gate, giving a nod to the officer in the booth, Harlow snickered to himself about his new anti-slash/fire resistant/puncture-proof tires he had procured from Secure Packaging Corps’ garage before he left London. Perhaps they were a little excessive, but that was Harlow’s style. It was also Harlow’s style to grab what supplies he could before his contract ran out that afternoon.
“That should teach the old man a lesson,” he muttered to himself. Just then his cellphone rang and he opened it delicately with his almost too-clean hands. “Harlow here.”
A deep yet eloquent voice sounded out of the phone. “Report.”
“Package and correspondence delivered into the hands of Dr. Maynard, as requested.”
“Was the package intact?”
“Of course. My standards and practices do not change, even if it is a few hours before my-”
“Termination.”
“-retirement.”
“No, ‘termination’. Let us be clear in all things, Mr. Harlow, always.”
“Of course, Dr. Blackwell.”
“Why is the SUV still in the garage in London, Harlow?”
“Why, I don’t know sir. Possibly she didn’t want the SUV. Maybe she procured a civilian vehicle to suit her tastes?”
“Maybe is not in our vocabulary.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“You are hereby notified that $50,000 has been subtracted from your last paycheck. The balance will be wired to your account at ten am tomorrow morning, Eastern Standard Time. As far as your recommendation is concerned, I feel there is nothing I can do for you for future employment.”
“But sir, I…”
“No, Harlow. You cannot jeopardize this experiment because of your ill will toward Dr. Maynard or toward myself.”
“But fifty thousand?”
“I hope you like the tires, Harlow. Goodbye.”
The phone clicked and Harlow threw it against the face of his CD changer, which cracked, of course. He spat and cursed as the car swerved a bit on the rocky road.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH! RAT BASTARD! FIFTY THOUSAND?!”
Harlow grit his teeth and forced himself under control, straightening his tie and correcting the steering wheel.
“No matter. I’m done here. He can keep his money. What will happen to her will be more than worth it.”
He floored the gas pedal and thundered off down the crooked roads. It was only a hundred and fifty miles to Edinburgh Airport.
Kim yawned and hit the pause button on her CD player as her uncle’s car slowed and then came to a stop. It seemed the drive had taken forever, and she had never been big on traveling. She sat up and stuck her head between the front seats.
“We there yet?”
Her uncle looked at her in the rear-view mirror, smiling slightly at the question. Kim acted so mature all the time. It was hard to imagine she was not yet grown.
“We should be getting close. Another few miles.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
She sat back, wrapped her headphones around her CD player, and returned it to her backpack before climbing up to plop into the passenger seat as her uncle made the turn.
This road was even more rough than the ones they had been traveling on for the last few hours, but now it was at least getting interesting. For a while, everything had been field after green field, and Kim had drifted off to sleep. Now, the brush was getting thicker, and the trees were clearly very old. Kim pressed her face against her window and imagined she could feel all the history those trees had seen.
Drawing a deep breath, she sat back again, still keeping her attention fixed on the scenery.
A few curving miles later, the car again came to a stop, this time at a guard’s station. Her uncle rolled his window down as the guard stepped out to their car.
“Identification?”
Her uncle dug out his wallet and showed it to the man, who then turned his attention toward Kim. She turned around in her seat and pulled her backpack up into her lap. The folder of papers she’d received had made their way back to the top of her things, and she quickly removed them and handed them out the window. He scanned through them, handed them back, and then returned to the shed. Moments later, the gates swung open, and they continued down the road.
Kim leaned forward as the castle came into view, and gasped. They’d done a bit of research when they’d received the information, but all the pictures couldn’t do the place the justice it deserved. It was immense, and the feeling Kim got from it was no different.
A crowd of people was already standing gathered in the drive. Her uncle pulled in next to a van and switched off the ignition before looking at Kim. She paid no attention to him, frowning a little as she regarded the building out the window, and so he gently tugged on her braid.
She blinked, turning to look at him. “What is it?”
“What do you think now?”
“Uncle Tod, It’s amazing. Don’t you think so?”
He looked at it and shrugged. “I’m just worried because you seemed so hesitant about your decision.”
“I’ve made it now. I’m staying to help.”
He smiled and tugged affectionately on her braid again. “All right. Come on then.”
They stepped out of the car, Kim still staring at the castle with her mouth open. Tod continued around to the back of the car and removed a pair of duffel bags and her suitcase. She took one of the duffels and slung it over her shoulder. He smiled at his niece and closed the trunk. “Let’s go and introduce ourselves.”
Tod recognized Dr. Maynard immediately. He used to arrange her lectures at UCLA before he moved on to Harvard and they enjoyed a companionable acquaintanceship. She grinned as soon as she saw him coming, slinging her camera to shake his hand.
“Tod Delaney, good to see you made it. This must be Kimberly?”
Kim nodded, smiling a bit shyly and setting the duffel down to shake the doctor’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Fabulous to meet you, Kim. We’re very glad to have you here. Your uncle has told me a lot about you.”
She colored a bit and ducked her head, looking askance at Tod as if wondering if what he’d said was true. He smiled at her, then looked up at the castle and whistled.
“This place is fabulous.”
“It is,” she said. “But I’m hoping the inside proves as fabulous, as far as activity goes. With any luck we’ll be able to get some solid research out of this place, and put some things to rest.”
As her uncle and Dr. Maynard dissolved into ‘shop talk’ Kim went and piled her bags near the front door, smiling shyly at the handsome man sitting there with his guitar. He smiled back at her and she suppressed a giggle as she looked away. She was only fifteen, but heck, why couldn’t the guys at school look like that?
Albert began humming to himself as they waited for the others. He strode around idly, kicking at the crushed brick a bit and generally just admiring the landscape and beautiful building before him. He was glad to be here and not just because it was a gorgeous venue. He was getting free boarding and enough money out of this to last a good long time.
He glanced at the door again, then unexpectedly shivered. Maybe the others couldn’t feel it, but the castle itself seemed a little…wrong. Strange. He’d felt malevolent energies before…it was par for the course when you were a forensic psychic that had done stints with the FBI as well as state police, but this was really odd.
“Hey, you okay?”
A sudden voice from next to him startled him a bit, making him jump. He glanced around to see that young woman there, the one that had arrived just after he had. Patricia, was her name, if memory served.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You looked zoned out. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I was just…thinking. About the castle, that’s all.”
“It’s some place, that’s for sure,” she said, looking up at it as well, before glancing back at him. “So, Dr. Maynard said you were psychic? Is that right?”
He smiled at her a little. Normally he would give some vague answer to tone it down some…people tended to look at him like he was nuts when he started to talk about his abilities. But, well, they were on a ghost hunt.
“I have visions sometimes. I get impressions, feelings, that sort of thing, when I touch objects or people sometimes. Images of past things or residues of emotions. Sometimes I see strange symbols. I used to work for the police, tracking down missing children.” He gestured at the castle, regarding it again. “This place is strange, though. It feels strange. It’ll be interesting to see what it offers.”
She didn’t seem put off by his claims, rather listening to him intently as if she were plotting an interview. He lifted an eyebrow at her a little. “What about you? You’re an intern?”
She brightened a bit and nodded. “Yeah. I hope to one day be as known in the field as Dr. Maynard is, but for now I just kind of flit along from project to project and do grunt work when needed.”
“So you’ve dealt with psychics before?”
“Some who claimed to be. Most were just psychos.” She emphasized the ‘o’ a bit and chuckled to herself. “Oh, not that I’m saying you are. You just get some really weird types in this business. I remember one lady who walked around chanting all the time and shaking a bunch of beads. Kept telling us everything about a cemetery’s history as if she’d been there…pity she got absolutely everything wrong, even the name of the cemetery.”
He laughed along with her. Yes, he’d come upon those types himself. Charlatans, moneymakers, the delusional. They were a dime a dozen in this sorry world, that was for sure.
A few of the group had spread out a little, talking amongst themselves and peering up at the rising walls of the castle. Kaelyn herself had backed up a few paces with her newly loaded camera, Mr. Grober at her side.
She pointed briefly at a set of windows. “Those are the mystery rooms?”
“Yes,” he said. “Several times people have gone all over the castle, hanging ribbons or markers from each window. When all was done, those two windows were bare, and no one can find the rooms. Of course, there were several windows bare up on the maze floors, but…”
He shrugged, as if such a happening was an every-day occurrence Heck, around here, it probably is, she thought, focusing her lens on the windows and snapping another couple of pictures.
Another car had arrived. She squinted a little as a man and a woman climbed out and began unloading black bags from the trunk. She was tall and tan and dressed as if she expected to play a few rounds of tennis. In contrast, he looked like he could be Kaelyn’s younger brother, flannel and all.
Not recognizing the pair, she wandered over to the van where Elli lingered. Even as Kaeylyn approached the younger woman reached into the vehicle, tugging out a thick folder sitting between the seats. With a wordless smile she passed it to Kaelyn who began to file through it.
“I knew I couldn’t get that lucky,” the doctor murmured. They were part of the film crew. Still, she had to admit to herself, it wasn’t their fault an unwanted documentary team had been foisted on her. They were all in this game together.
The couple in question finished unloading the car, Eddie slowly closing the trunk as the sunlight flashed off his glasses. “We should buy a house like this,” he smiled at his wife. She had slipped on her shades, ignoring the cutting wind that lifted goose-bumps along her arms and legs.
“Sure, we’ll dip into savings,” she joked right back. “It’ll only take about ten gazillion years to pay it off.”
She glanced around at the others, recognizing no one and wondering what functions they all served. None of them were on the video crew, that much she knew. She’d have recognized them from the photographs she had. She had an excellent eye for faces and rarely forgot one even briefly encountered.
She wondered for a moment if they should go be social but she was almost itching to pull out her camera and start taking footage of the outside of the castle. Then again, why not? She started rifling through their bags eagerly.
Roaring with the enthusiasm of an eager cub, the little Vespa’s engine tried mightily to match that of an American Harley. Not unlike that young cub, it fell short, its roar sounding more like a little growly purr in a most adorable way. But it wasn’t a moped. She hated when people called it a moped. ‘Vinnie’ was a vespa. Calling it a moped was like calling a Harley a motorcycle or a Lamborghini a car. No. It was far more than that. And, as the nickname implied, hers was vintage…Vinnie. She had put a lot of work into the little vehicle. Customized it. Restored it. Most ‘mopeds’ had at best four to six horsepower. Hers’ had fourteen, and she loved every damn one of them.
The drive hadn’t bothered her at all. V was used to long drives. Los Angeles, where she’d been living for the last four years, was spread out like a spilled Lego set. Anything that was close together had you sitting in traffic – not moving – sometimes for hours. But not here. Not at home. She’d moved around a lot, but Ireland was always home. That home tended to extend into the English and Scottish countryside since, for the most part, they all looked the same – gray, foggy, and full of foliage. The winding roads were a blast and V almost forgot that Vinnie could only go so fast. Pushing him to the limit, she arrived at the security station to Oakfallow in just under three hours.
Her original plans were to stop by her parents after arriving, before coming to start ‘the Project’. Unfortunately, because of all the ridiculous terrorist fears and over-secure airports, her flight had been delayed four times and she ended up having to take a layover unless she was willing to wait another two days. She didn’t have two more days to spend.
Mum and Da were notably upset but they did not press her on it. They knew how important this project was to her - or at least how important she had made it sound. Truth was, it was just another job to V. She could have been working as first assistant on M. Night Shamaylan’s new film The Woods, but she’d taken this so she could come home for a while on someone else’s dime. The woman knew though if she told her parents how much she missed them, they would smother her within a day and she’d be begging to leave.
“Good morning, Miss. Do you have your papers?” The security guard was hardly polite, regardless of how nice his words may have seemed. V produced an envelope from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. He eyed her with a glare of irritation. “Uh, the helmet?”
“Oh, righ’. Sorry ‘bout that,” she muttered in her mild lilt as she tugged the helmet from her head. Idly, V stroked the fluff of her hair back out of her eyes, smoothing it along her scalp to join her braid. “The Doc’s let’a is there, and my univarsety identification.”
“Yeah – I can see that,” he snipped. V raised a brow and took her papers back as he nodded to his partner to open the gate.
“Top o’ the marnin’ to ye… V replied sarcastically as she pulled back on her helmet and started her Vespa again. “…asshole.”
She wasn’t surprised that so many were here already. The UCLA admins that had hired her for this documentary hadn’t told her exactly how many people were involved total, only a list of those she was responsible for. The young woman was more than a little irritated that she was not given the opportunity to pick her own crew, but after the fiasco over the writer, V wasn’t going to open her mouth. She’d already stuck her foot in once and gotten slammed with some Barbie-bitch that was supposed to ‘host’ the documentary. V didn’t need a host for her documentary. She was better than that. But UCLA was hired by someone else and the money was coming from somewhere which meant the source made the rules and the source said: Barbie-Bitch Host. It was enough to make V’s blood boil.
Pulling the Vespa in with the other parked vehicles, V raised a brow at the Harley Davidson. She looked it over as she put her kickstand down. Perhaps there would be at least one person for her to talk to. Hopping off ‘Vinnie’, the woman tugged her helmet off again and set it over the crest of her seat. Readjusting the hang of her messenger bag, she turned and started walking toward the small crowd of people. With two nonchalant tugs she pulled off her gloves and tucked them into the back pocket of her jeans.
Her hair swung in a braid behind her back. Her American friends teased her when she wore her hair like this…called her the ‘Tomb Raider’. Pissed V off to no end, but then, it seemed like a lot of things pissed her off. It must have been her Irish heritage – always quick to get pissed but also always first to make amends with a shot and a beer.
Sliding a pencil from her pack, V twisted her braid up into a flat spiral against her scalp, then speared it with the pencil holding it in place. Now no one would call her ‘Tomb Raider’…at least not today.
Green eyes scrutinized each face present. A few she figured to be part of her crew, but she couldn’t be sure. Scratching a thumb along her eyebrow, V eyed a very crisp looking woman with a camera. V’s gut told her this was the woman in charge – Dr. Kaelyn Maynard. With long strides, V’s booted feet carried her assertively to the woman’s side.
“Allo. You, I presume are Dr. Maynard?” With a warm Irish smile she extended her hand. “I’m V Flynn, your documentarian. Pleasure.” Though her lilt wasn’t strong enough to be incomprehensible, it certainly stood out with a fair amount of notice. V may have come from America, but she certainly hadn’t been raised there.
“Nice to meet you as well,” Kaelyn said, taking the proffered hand. V’s smile was infectious and Kaelyn returned it almost without conscious thought. Whether she wanted a documentary or not, they were here and being unpleasant would do no one any good. Besides, Kaelyn was rarely unpleasant by nature anyway, unless dealing with stiffs like that bastard Harlow.
Anything more that she might have wished to say was cut off by the arrival of a limousine, crunching self-importantly over the gravel. Both she and V turned to look toward it, Kaelyn’s mind whirling.
He wouldn’t come here…would he? No, of course not. Why bother sending Harlow if he were just going to show up in person, anyway? It had to be someone else.
“Who in the world is that?” she asked no one, mentally running through anyone that had been invited and might be missing who would show up in such a conveyance. The question was more or less rhetorical, but V answered anyway, her voice just short of a growl.
“The Barbie Bitch.”
“I don’t care if he’s John Barrymore’s long lost grandson, or even Brad Pitt’s fucking twin for Chrissake – I said NO! It’s pornography and you know it! I’m an artist, Gerald, not a whore! Gerald – if you make me say it again I’m signing with William Morris. I’ll do it, Gerry! I’m tired of this bullshit! Ford isn’t doing shit for me any more! I mean, what-what-what is this…a fucking haunted house documentary?! Gerry please!!”
The woman’s voice accompanied a pair of extremely long, sleek legs as both almost seemed to explode from the back door of the limo as the driver opened it. A hand appeared which the driver took lightly by the fingertips as a head of raven silk rose from the depths of the back seat. The woman’s body shifted to that position models were known to stand in, one foot before the other and their hip cocked far out to the side. One slender hand rested lightly on the satin-wrapped curve of that hip while the other held a tiny cell phone aloft. Only the hint of sunglasses could be seen past the hair as the woman stood with her back to everyone, far too immersed in her own conversation.
“She’s a what?! Oh, you can’t be serious! I was told that this was a prestigious thing, Gerald. Prestigious! To me that says History Channel –HBO- CNN for Chrissake, not the GODDAMN BBC and PBS locals!! You expect me to take direction from some smart-ass little college bitch with one foot in a beer and the other still wet from the boat?! Come on! Gerald – if this Scottish bitch fucks this up for me you’re going to hear about it! Understand?!…oh, fuck you!”
The woman hit a button then literally threw the cell into her clutch. Running her perfectly manicured fingers through her hair she spun around intending to walk up to the house, not realizing that everyone had been standing about listening to her the entire time. She paused with absolute grace and looked the group over from behind her mirrored shades.
The woman’s features were, for lack of a better description – perfect. Her cheekbones were high and smooth, her lips full and plump with just enough of a pout to make men whimper. She wore a skin tight cashmere sweater that stopped at the bottom of her ribcage and a second-skin satin mini-skirt that started below her hips, just under her navel, and was long enough only to be deemed barely legal. The tattoo around her navel was noticeable right away and seemed to be the only mark marring the woman’s otherwise perfect olive skin. In contrast to the angelic looking woman, the snake swallowing its own tail held a rather ominous message.
She noticed the girl in the black peacoat first, a messenger bag slung across her chest and her hands stuffed into her jeans pockets. Her dress, while classic, hardly looked put together and the obvious lack of attention to aesthetics irritated Giuliana…as most things did. The girl was staring at her with an arrogant cock to her head and a raised brow, her eyes scrutinizing the model as though she were her mother catching her in a lie. Giuliana immediately didn’t like her.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the smart-ass lit’l college betch with one foot in a beer and the othar still wet from the boat…and I’m Irish, not Scottesh, Giuliana.”
Justin came up behind Kaelyn and leaned over a little, murmuring under his breath. “Well, she’s awfully pleasant, isn’t she?” he said. Kaelyn glanced over to see Grober had joined them as well.
“My word,” he snorted, disapproving.
Oh, this was going to be fun. Both V and the model seemed to have their hackles up. Kaelyn was going to nip this in the bud right now. The documentary team may not be her turf, but they all had to work together and she wasn’t having dissension in the ranks.
“All right, just hang on a minute,” she said, her voice brooking both no nonsense and no tolerance. She looked at Giuliana. “I don’t care what role you have to play here, and I sure as hell don’t care who hired you or what smoke was promised to be blown up your ass. Whoever pays you and whoever promised it is thousands of miles from here, easily. This is my show, understand? I decide who goes in and who stays out, isn’t that right, Mr. Grober?”
The little man blinked at being included in the conversation, then stepped forward a pace, nodding. “Yes, that’s right. The Tourist Board has granted you every courtesy until the investigation is concluded.”
“Right,” she said, not bothering to even look his direction. “So unless you want to be out here freezing your butt off in the lovely Scottish weather and have it known far and wide that you weren’t even good enough for the PBS and local BBC, you will follow my rules. And my first rule is, racial slurs directed at others of my team will not be tolerated in the least. The next one that comes out of your mouth sees you out the castle door. Is that clear?”
When V had become part of ‘her team’ she didn’t know. She had intended to let the documentary crew keep to themselves with no aide or hindrance from her. But if there was one thing that Kaelyn hated with a passion it was digs at someone’s heritage, culture, or beliefs. She was dead serious that she would have this well-primped giraffe pitched right out of the castle if so much as a toe crossed that line again.
Giuliana, though they hadn’t been introduced, could tell immediately that this was the infamous Dr. Maynard. Although the woman was speaking to her, obviously reprimanding her for her private conversation, the Mediterranean beauty’s eyes were not focused on the good doctor. Both onyx black orbs were transfixed on the Y chromosome standing behind her. In moments like these Giuliana was like a great white shark swimming beside a bleeding diver. She was drawn to him, and immediately hungered by him. An intoxicating and charming smile crept over her features.
Realize the tirade had ended, she nodded smoothly. “Of course, Dr. Maynard. Please…I mean no true insult. Gerald is just a fucking moron. I grow agitated by his lies. Please, forgive me.”
“There’s going to be enough negative energy in that castle for us to deal with,” Kaelyn concluded evenly. “I don’t need people bringing in more.”
“Of course, Dr. Maynard. My apologies.”
She flashed another vibrant smile as the woman walked away to greet yet another guest. Turning back toward the tall, dark haired man Giuliana’s smile became the piranha sensing a meal. Gracefully removing her shades, she looked at him. Although he was a bit more rugged than her usual tastes he was certainly appealing to her.
“Buona mattina, my name is Giuliana. And you are…?”
The model barely even noticed when her ‘director’ turned and left with a huff.
Miriam, who had only half glanced over at the limo and the shouting, swiftly returned to panning her camera around the grounds, doing occasional close-ups of windows or the people wandering about. She lowered it after a few minutes, grinning as she started to review it in the flip-up window.
“This is great, Eddie. I wish we’d known about this place when we were getting married. Think they do weddings…? Eddie?”
She looked at her husband to see him watching the confrontation between Italian model and American doctor. He had a slightly vacuous look on his face. Glancing along his line of sight to see what he was staring at, she glowered and smacked him lightly in the chest. “Snap out of it, lover boy. Give her ten years and those tits will be around her knees, just like the rest of us. Now help me with these bags.”
Startled, his cheeks coloring, he started to gather them up. Glancing back at the Italian, Miriam huffed and muttered with jealous reluctance to herself. “Maybe twenty years…”
V walked back to her Vespa, nearly tempted to get on it and leave, embarrassed at the reprimand for her attitude which she knew was completely uncalled for…well, not completely. Stopping at the tail end of her bike, she started to unload the bags she’d strapped to it. V would meet everyone in time. Right now she just needed a moment.
The camera case was the only one she was most concerned with. Kneeling after lowering this one to the ground she opened it to insure that her camera was whole and undamaged. She hadn’t time to check it at the airport. Gently lifting the piece she examined it and tested the lenses. Everything seemed fine. V did examine each lens carefully, however, just to be sure none were cracked. She had skillfully negotiated the new high definition DVcam into her contract as well as all its associated accoutrements.
The young woman felt more akin to her equipment than to people – any people. V had friends…everyone has friends…she just never had an easy time meeting new people. That was why most had the first impression that she was aloof rather than shy, which was far closer to the truth. Once she was comfortable, however, V could easily be the driving force of any party as well as its comedic entertainment.
Nonchalantly she glanced back toward the man and Giuliana as they talked. Figures. The woman wasn’t here five minutes and she was already dulling the gloss on every other woman here. It was the kind of shit that pissed her off. What pissed her off more though was that men actually went for that…flashy tits and ass but no brain floating over any of it. V sighed as she repacked her camera.
Pulling a small vintage Adidas sport bag from the Vespa, V knelt again. As she unzipped the white vinyl bag, she glanced up to make sure no one was watching. Tugging a small bottle from her bag, V dumped two pills into her hand then tucked the bottle away. Reaching forward she pulled her water bottle out of the little holder she had added to the bike for those long traffic hours in LA heat. The pills never went down easy, they were so damn big, but she had to take them. Not to could mean severe illness or worse…death.
Zipping the bag shut again, V collected her things. HDVcam, her Nikon SLR, personal belongings (she didn’t bring many clothes as they all fit in the small sports bag) and her messenger bag with her documents, folders, storyboards, and other artists’ paraphernalia. Straightening with her bags on board, V started toward the group again. They were all so different, a motley bunch to say the least.
Setting her sports bag and the HDVcam down, V smiled at everyone. “Um…whech o’ you is on my crew? I got a list here, but I’d just prefer to meet ye face te face than go readin’ off a list.”
As Miriam and Eddie made their way over to V and introduced themselves, Justin was caught in Giuliana’s web. She caught a swift glance that he cast toward his guitar, which was sitting out of its case on the top castle step…at risk to getting damaged or scratched.
“Oh, are you a musician? Are you here to compose a score for the documentary?” Giuliana smiled coquettishly. “I am the spokeswoman…as I am sure you already know.” She flashed another vibrant smile. “Perhaps we can have lunch together late-”
The chauffeur grunted as he dropped several pieces of beautifully matching Italian leather luggage on the drive directly behind Giuliana. Distracted by the sound, the woman turned. Narrowing her eyes she looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Unloading your luggage, Miss Giuliana.” He wrinkled his brows as he could already feel the tirade coming. She had exploded at him three times before they had even left the airport, and the entire drive to the castle had been nothing but a long series of complaints: too much air, not enough air, no Chianti or Sauvignon – why could no one stock a proper Italian wine? She hated that limp-wristed French shit – and on and on and on.
“I can see that you are unloading my luggage, Nevin! Why the hell are you unloading it here?! The house is that way!” She stabbed her glasses back onto her face with a violent sweep of her hand. Then putting her back to Justin she put both hands on her hips. “You don’t expect me to carry it up there myself, do you? In these shoes?!”
Giuliana gestured to her Gucci stiletto sandals – strappy little numbers of red leather to match her satin skirt, held together by the gold metal Gucci insignia. Nevin looked at them silently and thought that the shoes probably cost as much as the Vespa parked in the lot. Giuliana saw his eyes wander away from her and snapped her fingers.
“Hello…? That was a question – forget it! Take my bags inside! Of all the incompetent dolori nell’asino. Sono che vado dovere fare tutto io stesso?! Naturalmente – sono circondato dale scimmie del idiot!”
She was upset again. She always started ranting in Italian when she was upset. Taking a deep breath she reached into her clutch and pulled out a small cylindrical tube. Tapping an aspirin-looking tablet into her hand, Giuliana tossed it in her mouth and forced it down. With a flick of her wrist she disdainfully dropped the pill case away again and snapped her white cashmere clutch closed.
Nevin noted the ridiculously fluffy purse with a roll of his eyes. But she was a model…so of course it had to match her outfit. She looked like she was carrying a dead cat under her arm. With a groan he began to carry her luggage toward the house. Thank God he didn’t have to stay. As a Scotsman he was a born gentleman when it came to the ladies, but with this bitch, one more day with her and he’d be practicing his caber toss in the back yard with a five foot eleven goddess.
Justin watched the little mini-drama unfold with a sympathetic knit to his brows. As the chauffeur staggered off with the luggage, he glanced his way, then back at Giuliana. She was paying no attention to him, mumbling to herself about stupid incompetents.
Turning, he trotted off after the driver. “Here, lemme give you a hand,” he said, halving the load the poor fellow was trying to haul. “Just like a woman, hmm? I’ll bet half of these are devoted to nothing more than her makeup.”
Together they got the bags to the front door, and set them down. Waving off the chauffeur’s thanks, he headed over to his guitar and lifted it, checking the strings before sliding it back into its case. All well and good.
Crawling over her like the skin forming on a day old cup of neglected coffee, V’s irritation was beginning to rise. So far the only thing she’d ever seen motlier than the group standing clustered at the door was the crowd assembled in Mexico City for Cinco De Mayo: an odd mix of tourists, locals, and something halfway in between.
V looked down at the scribbled list of names in her hand and noticed that even if these people were all her crew, not everyone showed up. Glancing back up at the group she noticed a couple heading her way. The woman was blonde and tanned, but cute rather than pretty. She peered inconspicuously at the woman’s jewelry as she drew nearer. V had spent the last six years or so living in Los Angeles and thereabouts, so she’d seen every shade of tan, every manner of piercing, branding, tattooing, and primal body mutilation. It didn’t bother her…in fact, V had a tendency to adore all forms of fashion even when she knew it was a style she herself could never wear without looking ducky. Though not dramatically branded, pierced, or inked, the woman was a definite California girl, with more rings in her ears than people usually wore on their fingers. Unconsciously, V rubbed at her single-holed, pathetic, un-cool pierced ears.
California Girl smiled a bright, bleached smile and offered her hand after setting down a heavy bag. V took it.
“My name’s V Flynn. V es fine though…I don’t take te bein’ called ma’am or Miss Flynn…ye kno’, God or any of that shyte.” She chuckled. California chuckled as well.
“I’m Miriam Carter, your videographer. This is my husband, Eddie.”
“The sound man,” V nodded in greeting. He bobbed his head and smiled an adorable, chubby-cheeked grin.
“That’s me.”
Miriam’s eyes darted over V’s shoulder to fix on Giuliana, and she jerked her chin a little. “Please tell me Malibu Barbie is going back to the beach.”
The young Irish woman’s head nearly fell back as she laughed. Giving Miriam a large, mischievous grin, she shook her head. “Unfortunately no – boot, I can tell ye the onlay tannin’ tha’ll be done on my watch’ll be her arse ef she steps out o’line again. I don’ care who hired her, she works for me now.” Eyes twinkling, she added, “Same goes for you, boot…somehow I don’ thenk tha’ll be an essue.”
Nodding toward her equipment V’s smile faded. “Wale…et seems it’s only us. So thes’s how we’ll have te work et. First, ye carry yer own gear. Second, other than B-roll shyte, you two run sound and set the lights. I’ll help with the principle photography, work weth the writer, and Barbie—eh, I mean Giuliana…tha’s another thing. The doctor won’t be putten up with any feudin’, so even ef et’s like a root canal wit no Novocaine…be nice to Giuliana…”
V propped a hand on her curved hip and ran the other over the top of her head, flattening out her frizzy waves. “We can talk evraythen else out later…boot- es that all agreeable for now?”
“Sounds fine to me,” Miriam smiled, and Eddie bobbed his head. His eyes kept darting toward Giuliana and back. Noticing, his wife whapped him on the shoulder again and gave him a glare.
Throughout the entire scene, Caleb did what he did best. He watched.
His folder out and open, he stood just off from the clusters of people and observed, jotting down notes here and there. He included everything he could think off. Their appearances, guesses at ages, first impressions, mannerisms. Under the model’s description he wrote the word ‘bitch’ in capital letters, and circled it several times with a chuckle.
Always watch from the outside. Don’t interfere. That was the first rule of objective observation. You didn’t get involved, or interfere in the natural progression of events before you. But, of course, he couldn’t help forming some of his own biased opinions…such as, the fact the model was an utter self-involved skank.
And, of course, the ‘psychics’ and ‘ghost hunters’, he was skeptical towards. He liked Dr. Maynard’s description of him as a ‘control group’. His grounded views would offset their fanciful claims. But, he had to say, he was looking forward to the interactions with the film crew. There were at least three clearly strong-minded women there…the model, the director, and the blonde. Conflicts there would be inevitable and prove interesting in conjunction with the expedition at large- oh…make that four women. Another stood near the front doors, watching the James Dean wanna-be pack up his guitar. Middle aged, she had a stern look about her. She was pretty enough…what the old-fashioned mooks might have called ‘handsome’. Her blonde hair was carrying just a tinge of gray.
Sketching down his notes, adding a swift description of the new woman down underneath the list of the others, he half watched the group mingle and interact, observing the castle and talking in hushed, awed voices about its beauty and what they would find there. In turn, Caleb observed them - the far more interesting landscape of humanity.
Then his eyes landed on the one person that seemed out of place. The young girl who hugged her backpack to her chest and regarded the goings-on with the wide eyes of the mildly shy. Odd, that a kid would be here. Well, perhaps not truly a kid…she could be anywhere from twelve to fifteen years of age…but definitely much younger than would be expected here. Maynard had made no mention of the girl.
Interesting.
**
Kimberly had been watching the woman who had arrived in the limo with disdain when a tickle brushed her ear. Reaching up a hand, she scratched, drifting the strand of hair that had been stirred by the wind back. Noticing the man in the denim on the stairs putting away his guitar, she risked a surreptitious glance at him. He was awfully handsome.
He snapped the case shut and glanced up, catching her looking his way. Immediately she blushed, mortified, and half ducked her head away. He smiled a bit, lifting a hand to wave at her. Meekly, she wiggled her fingers back at him.
Her ears suddenly felt clogged, sound thick and muffled as if cotton had been pushed into them. The sensation intensified until all sound had cut out of the world. Casually, she tugged on one of her ears, giving the man a more thoughtful look. Working her jaw a bit as if to equalize the pressure, she nonchalantly turned away from it, then pressed a finger to the soft spot where her nose and eye socket met.
“That’s enough,” she murmured.
Immediately her ears cleared with twin pops, sound rushing back into the world.
She’d have to talk to her uncle later.
Rummaging in her bag she pulled out one of the numerous disposable cameras she had stashed, and started snapping pictures…of the castle, of the landscape, of the people. Turning around, she snapped one of Dr. Maynard, who smiled her way. Lowering the camera, Kimberly smiled back.
**
Kaelyn looked at her watch, before glancing around at the caretaker.
“Ten minutes, Mr. Grober?” she asked, then turned as what sounded like gunshots floated from down the drive. A Volkswagen bus straight out of the sixties appeared, tail-pipe backfiring in thin belches of blue smoke. Behind that came a small sedan. “I think that’s the last of those we are expecting. Let’s give them that long to finish acclimating themselves and we’ll head in.”
He nodded his agreement and waved as Kimberly took a picture of him as well, the sunlight flashing off of his glasses like broken teeth of light.
Only one other appeared before that ten-minute time frame was up. Conn Sweeney came weaving up the drive, the battered sedan he was driving drifting left, then right, trundling with the painstaking slowness of one that knew he was utterly plastered. Few noticed him, being too absorbed in the castle or their conversations…or in the case of Giuliana, making sure her hair was laying perfectly.
He got out, sweaty and red-faced, and simply stood by his car until it looked like everyone was heading in. Quickly, the aging man swiped dry his face with a soft linen handkerchief then tucked it away. Every step he took in his approach, Conn walked with the distinction of a gentleman; a facade not long in keeping most days. Thankfully, few had any interest in him, save a polite young lady as Irish as she was short, who offered a smile and nod. Conn returned them both with a stiff neck and shoulders. His tall stride eased into a weary swagger, as soon as all eyes were fixed on the woman in flannel. “She's dressed like a lumberjack...” he grumbled to himself with the kind of indignation that only a self-righteous drunk would frivolously spend.
As they gathered, Elli climbed into the back of the van momentarily, the vehicle groaning in pain even with the hundred pounds and change she added to the payload. She didn’t have much room to maneuver, as most of the cargo area was stuffed with equipment. Well over a million dollars worth of equipment, at that. She slid Kaelyn’s lecture briefcase out of the neatly stacked boxes and climbed down again, much to the van’s relief.
Shouldering the bag Harlow had provided, she shut the doors again and headed for the gathering at the main doors of the castle. Grober picked through his keys and unlocked the chained padlock holding the doors shut, then unlocked the doors themselves. As he did, Kaelyn turned to face the group.
“There’s a theatre through the doors on the right as you enter the hall,” she announced. “Everyone in there so we can get down to business. We’ll unload the truck and assign rooms when that’s completed.”
The door swung open and they began to file in.
Realizing they were about to be the only ones still standing outside, V nodded toward the couple to gather their gear and adjusted the straps of her own bag before heading toward the main house. Almost as soon as the last one had crossed the threshold, Grober pulled the heavy front door closed and squinted up at the sky. Clouds had finally beat out the few shafts of sunshine, and light rain began to fall.
“Simply could not pay me enough,” he murmured, and hurried toward his car.
Indicating where to leave her things, Giuliana waved a manicured finger at Nevin. He finished unloading and hovered near her for his tip. The woman looked over at him and lifted her brows. “Yes?”
“Payment, Miss…when someone works for ye they’s s’posed to be paid afterward.” Nevin scowled at her. The bitch wasn’t shorting him after all that.
Giuliana cocked a hip and looked him over. “I’m sure Gerald handled all that already, so piss off, little doggy.” She turned with a flip of her hair. “Go beg at someone else’s table.”
She headed after the others into the theatre. V, who had entered just before Nevin’s request, was distracted by the minor altercation. An expert at listening while appearing completely disinterested, she withdrew her camera to video Dr. Maynard’s welcome, and eavesdropped. What she heard shouldn’t have startled her given the model’s behavior so far, but nonetheless both V and Nevin stood dumbfounded and watched as Giuliana walked away.
Nevin reacted first, the poor Scotsman having had more than his fair share of abuse.
“Nondy fucking bitch…it takes a long spoon tae sup wi’ a ‘Taly. Skaggy –bawd slag…ehn-”
He stopped short of leaving noticing V standing there.
“Oh…eh, sorry ‘bout allat radge shan.” He was blushing. “I’m a bet beamer nows, ain’t I?”
V smiled and shook her head as she reached into her pocket for her wallet. V, unlike most women, refused to carry a purse. Stupidest fucking invention. Withdrawing a few bills (what little she could spare) V extended it toward him. “S’not much dosh, but it should help, yah?”
“Nah, don’t need no bung, Miss – juss looken fer acknowledgement from ‘at tight-nippy scrup bird.” Nevin chuckled, running a hand through his hair and smiling at V. “Oy, you a Paddy- I mean, eh…you Irish, yah?”
V smirked. “Yeah. Boot I prefar bog-rat ef ye don’ mind.” The young woman chuckled to show that slurs didn’t bother her. She was Irish for Chrissake…what wasn’t there to make fun of?
With a warm grin she pushed the money into his hand anyway. “Have a day of et, yah?”
“Yeah…thanks Miss.” Nevin smiled then ducked out. V turned around and headed into the theatre as the others settled. Moving to sit beside Conn who had plopped down in the back row, V set her bags down and turned on her camera. At least if she was working she wouldn’t notice the feelings of social anxiety that were already gripping her stomach.
They had passed through the entrance hall, their footsteps making empty sounds on the highly polished pale yellow wood. The glass front of the ticket booth to the left reflected each face that went by, distorted by the dark burgundy velvet curtains drawn closed behind it. A small sign declared ticket sales ‘closed’.
We’re bringing our own ghosts into this place, Kaelyn thought solemnly, then turned her mind onto the task at hand, opening a carved door on the right and stepping aside, letting people go past her into the intimately lit theatre.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she said as she followed, heading past the rows of red velvet seats. As she passed under a lighting sconce carved like a cherub, the glow reflected off of her glasses like fire for a moment.
The stage was small, old fashioned, and cozy. The more modern accouterments…such as the gel lighting racks overhead and the retractable movie screen…were very cleverly hidden so as not to affect the nostalgic feeling of the room. The projection and control booth had also been concealed high on the far wall, obscured behind smoky one-way glass that, from here, looked like an ornate mirror.
Elli set her things down on the steps, opening the work case as Kaelyn perched herself on the edge of the stage. There was the low, murmuring rumble that always seemed to accompany groups larger than four as they quieted down and got settled. In the back, Kaelyn could see the documentary director lift up a hand-held camera, panning around the room a moment before focusing. The blonde woman swiftly mimicked her from her own seat, digging out her own camera and switching it on.
She nodded toward one fellow in the crowd. “Up front we have Albert Frost, an independent paranormal researcher who has had quite a bit of success with his investigations. He is also a noted clairvoyant and the author of several books on strange phenomenon.”
Albert waved sheepishly, smiling around. Kaelyn’s gaze and nod shifted to indicate another. “Our musician friend is Justin Reeves. He, too, is possessed of such talents…most notably he is a clairaudient. He has also been successful as a freelance researcher, and we’re honored to have him as part of the team.”
Finally, she shot a smile toward V. “And last, but not least, Ms. Flynn is here as director of the documentary film crew. They’ll be recording our efforts here for posterity, and I expect you to treat them with every courtesy. Remember, after all, they have the power to make you look very foolish on the Discovery channel.
“For those of you unfamiliar with the history of Oakfallow, I’ll give you a quick run-down. It was built by Lord August Finleigh in the 1700’s as a sort of retirement home. We’re not sure of the exact date its construction was completed, but he used the last of his once vast estates and fortune to build it. The original keep – which extends from the library on west to what is now the Butler’s hall - had only ten rooms and one tower. He died a decade after the keep’s completion of tuberculosis or pneumonia, or one of the many other lung diseases referred to back then in the broad category of ‘consumption’.
“Perhaps the most famous owners of the castle, however, were the Lord and Lady Winternight, who purchased it and the surrounding land in 1801. Pleasant folks, those Winternights…the Lady in particular. She made the Countess Bathory look like a Girl Scout den mother. Most of the remainder of the castle was constructed during their ownership…”
She continued on to explain about the end of the Winternight’s ownership, when the Lord died and the Lady lost what traces of sanity she may have had left, committing the famous Oakfallow Massacre some months later before vanishing completely. She briefly skimmed on the others who had owned the castle, up until the time the Tourist Board had purchased it. She told them of the strange rooms that existed only on the plans and in the measurements of the castle…but that no one could find.
She had drawn her legs up while talking, crossing them in front of her before she concluded.
“Finally, just three weeks ago, the caretaker of the castle and her daughter were murdered on the grounds, after a party she’d thrown for investors and shareholders. Mind you, police are still investigating, but it is believed that her husband killed the daughter under the mistaken belief that she was his wife come into a darkened room. When he realized his mistake, he threw himself from the fifth story window…in the same room, I should add, that used to be Lord and Lady Winternight’s sleeping quarters. He had no gun, so who it was that shot the caretaker herself at almost the exact same moment her daughter died, is still unknown.”
She nudged her glasses up briefly. “After that, things got…weird. Despite its most colorful history, Oakfallow has never had a confirmed or even relatively believable ghost sighting, nor has it experienced any sort of strange phenomenon. Not until, that is, these three recent deaths. Now it is as if all Hell has broken loose…pun fully intended. Voices have been heard, lights have gone on and off. No fewer than six employees have claimed they’ve been attacked by something unseen when they’ve been alone…mostly on the third floor of this very wing. Objects have moved from one location to another, locked doors are found open, strange obsessions began to plague the staff. In one of the most pointed incidents, a cleaning crew up in the Winternight’s quarters felt what they swore was an earthquake. The ground shook so hard pictures fell from the walls and a vase was shattered. When they fled the room, however, they found no one else had experienced any shaking…and those cleaning the room directly below hadn’t even noticed the slightest tremor in the chandeliers overhead.”
A hand lifted. V focused her camera on Albert, as Maynard nodded to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But…strange obsessions?”
“Well, no fewer than four of the staff found themselves indulging in strange obsessive behavior, only while on the castle grounds. They themselves recall no memory of the events save claims of suffering from migraines, however reports from their fellow workers were rather disturbing. One man would repeatedly walk the Diamond Floor, opening and closing doors as if searching for someone. He could not pass a door without opening it and would sweat profusely during this activity. A young woman who worked in the laundry was found to have taken every item of women’s clothing she could find…uniforms, aprons, even going so far as to steal garments from the lockers of the other female staff. These items she would fold neatly and place underneath the beds of the servant’s quarters upstairs. When she was discovered doing it, she denied all responsibility of the activity even while in the midst of folding and stashing additional items right in front of her confronters.
“Another woman constantly walked up and down the main staircase, counting the steps. She would finish only to turn and do so again, until she had to be stopped or collapse from exhaustion. The last young man spent a prolonged amount of time in the library, sitting in front of the case holding the doll…”
“Doll?” Tod piped up with a blink.
Kaelyn smiled. “The doll is another story entirely, one we will cover more in depth during the actual investigation. We could spend all night talking on the odd happenings and the history of this place. In the interests of time however, we cannot go too in depth right now. Needless to say, many staff, obviously, quit. Some have just walked off the job with no explanation. The capper came when a visitor fell down the main staircase and nearly broke his neck. It was ruled an accident but he claims that he was pushed by a middle-aged woman in his tour group…a tour group, I might add, that only boasted two women, both in their early twenties, who had been no where near him at the time of the accident.
“After that, the Tourist Board had no choice but to deal with the goings-on and that, ladies and gentlemen, is where we come into the picture. We’re here for two fun-filled weeks to either prove or debunk these happenings and gather any and all evidence we can as to their cause.”
She turned and gestured at Eli. “Despite many of our occupations, I want everyone to be as objective as they can. Jumping at every shadow or assuming every noise you hear has some supernatural cause is counter-productive. We want to find the truth here, and if the truth is that there are perfectly rational explanations for the goings-on, then so be it.”
Elli withdrew a pile of folders out of the case, set it aside, and headed forward. She began to hand them out as Kaelyn continued to speak. “In these you will find photocopies of the plans of the castle, a more detailed history than the one I just presented, and other information you may find useful. Normally in a castle this size I would have a team of twenty or thirty investigators alone, however our numbers were strictly limited by the Tourist Board. Since we are relatively so few and since our stay here is extended, requiring everyone to remain in pairs for your own safety at all times is a little unrealistic. So, you will also find this…”
She reached into the pocket of her flannel and withdrew a watch, holding it up. “This is your panic button. You’re going to come to love…and hate…this little monstrosity. You must wear it at all times. You activate it by pressing this button here…”
She depressed a blue button on one side, and the watch in her hand beeped. “Once it’s activated, it will report your position at all times to the GPS computer, which will read out on my laptop. If you get lost, it may be the only way we have to find you. If you find yourself in an emergency situation, just hit the red button.”
She pointed the button out, but didn’t depress it. “This will send an alarm out to everyone else’s device and their screens will display where you are located. Use this only in emergencies! If the alarm goes off, please drop whatever you are doing and go to the person who set it off. It may be a little inconvenient, but if the tables are turned and you are the one who needs help, you will greatly appreciate it.”
She strapped the watch on her wrist, nodding. “And finally, the reason you will all hate this little beauty. After it’s been activated, you must press the blue button again every hour. The watch will beep to warn you it is time to do so. Failure to press the button within ten seconds after the warning will automatically set off the alarm. That way, if you’re knocked unconscious or for some other reason cannot set the alert yourself, help will still come. After ten pm the watch will reset itself and will only need to be pressed once every three hours. The warning beep will also be a little louder, for all you deep sleepers. It will switch back to its hourly schedule at eight am.”
**
Giuliana glanced up to see she’d missed part of the stimulating lecture. After seating herself she had withdrawn a nail file from her clutch and quietly tended to her nails. She couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t even mentioned in the doctor’s introductions. The only real goddamn celebrity here and she didn’t even get a name dropped. She was ready to call Gerald again and rip him a new asshole.
This entire project sucked. No hair people. No make-up people. No fucking wardrobe people. What kind of project was this, anyway? Next thing they’d be asking her to go all out primitive and ride a horse or something. Disgusting animals. Her one trip to Philadelphia in the States for a dinner party, and she’d crossed the street behind one of those damnable carriages. $1200 Prada stilettos ruined! White satin stained arch deep with yellow-brown horseshit. And those with her had the nerve to fucking laugh!!
She grimaced at the sight of the watch, which looked like a seventh-grade math geek’s summer allowance spending. Apparently Giuliana – along with the rest of this idiot brigade – was expected to wear one of those. Not fucking likely.
**
“All right,” Kaelyn continued. “That’s the end to my rambling. We’ll go up and get sleeping accommodations straightened out, and then we’ll come down and unload the equipment. I want to set up headquarters in here, if possible, and we’ll have motion/temperature detectors located in nearly every main area of the castle. These will sense your watches as well, and not alert on one of the team. After that, I do believe lunch will be in order. Mr. Reeves?”
The man glanced up, lifting his eyebrows with an expectant smile. She smiled back, and looked at the watch. “It’s now…just about eight-thirty. Could I impose upon you to have lunch ready for us about noon?”
“You can count on it,” he replied.
“Wonderful. That’s settled. Well, does anyone have any questions…?”
She paused expectantly.
Giuliana gracefully raised a hand and with a lift of her brown, she smiled. “Yes, I do.”
She waited until at least a few people…like Justin…were looking at her, then continued. “I was wondering where our rooms are and if they have private bathrooms. I’ll be needing one of those…you know…girl stuff.”
Giuliana played the sweet angel too fucking well sometimes that she nearly made herself sick.
Kaelyn regarded the model’s charming, innocent smile with cool calm, clearly unimpressed. “As I said a moment ago,” she said evenly, “when we are done here we will sort out our rooms. There are several up on the fourth floor that we have been given permission to use. As for them having private baths, I’m quite sure I don’t know. Being that this is a castle, I would suspect a great many of them do have private baths, but we’ll have to see.”
She turned her eyes away from the Italian and settled her gaze on Caleb, who was patiently waiting with his hand up. “Yes, Mr. Anderson?”
“Our personal safety seems taken care of,” he began, “but who will be in charge of our logistical schedule? Meals, I mean, or supply considerations? What do we need to know regarding that?”
“Good question,” she nodded with a smile. “We’ve been given pretty much free rein of the castle, including all the food in each of the kitchens and pantries. Mr. Reeves will be cooking lunch for us today, and probably a few times again during these two weeks. However if you’re hungry at any time, feel free to simply help yourself. It would take three times as many people nearly six months to deplete the food stores here, so indulge all you wish. The castle is well stocked. If, for some reason, we run out of any necessities we can simply call out and have more delivered. The Tourist Board has assured me that everything will be provided for. As for our work schedule, we’ll hammer that out over lunch, I’m sure. The film crew’s plans will be under the sole discretion of Ms. Flynn.”
A fellow in the back perked up, his hand lifting. “Er…suppose the watch thing was to become damaged in an accident, or something? How would we be found then?”
V glanced around. She didn’t recognize him. He must have come in either the Volkswagen bus or the small sedan behind it. She’d been so distracted with her cameras and then with Miriam and her husband to really notice. Given his choice of clothing and the long, shaggy cut to his hair, not to mention the ‘soul patch’ on his chin, the Volkswagen seemed a likely match.
Kaelyn grinned at him. “Well, Mr. Armstrong, if that happens, I guess we’ll have to resort to more old-fashioned methods of getting help. In other words, scream at the top of your lungs.”
There was a rumble of polite laughter. She lifted her hands in surrender. “I know these watches are an inconvenience at best. However they were a condition of us being allowed to work here for such an extended period of time. And, thank you for reminding me. Here’s a friendly warning to the group in general. Not that I think any of you will do such a thing, but if a watch is ‘accidentally’ on purpose lost or damaged, you will be asked to leave the castle and will also be responsible for the cost of the watch…which I believe is somewhere in the vicinity of 10G’s a piece, American. But it’s a non-issue, I’m sure. Are there any more questions?”
Kimberly fiddled with her folder, then picked up the watch as it dropped into her lap. Regarding it, she leaned over to her uncle. “Do we really have to wear these?” she whispered.
He nodded and pat her hand. “I’m afraid so. Won’t be so bad. Better safe than sorry.”
She sighed and strapped it on, hoping she didn’t lose or break it. She was only fifteen and didn’t even have a job yet. She had no desire to owe anyone that much money.
“I have one last question,” Caleb spoke again. “Not to seem rude or anything but I admit…my curiosity was piqued. We’re a professionally funded investigative team and…well, documentary crew. So…to be blunt…what’s with the kid?”
Though he gave a friendly, teasing smile when he said it, when all their eyes shifted her way, Kimberly found herself wanting to shrink into her seat.
Kaelyn smiled fondly. “Kimberly Delaney, it seems, is a perceptual,” she said. “For those of you unfamiliar with the term I’m not surprised…in the entire history of paranormal research there has been documentation on only one other perceptual, a woman who lives overseas. In essence they are very sensitive mediums who can on occasion completely perceive the unseen world that encompasses ours…though in Kimberly’s case she is still young and hasn’t fully developed in her gifts. If she had, I would not have allowed her to come.”
“Why not?”
Kaelyn lifted an eyebrow. “Whether or not these happenings are true, Mr. Anderson, a great deal of sorrow, evil, hatred and pain went on in this building. Many people died, most in horrifically brutal ways. A full strength perceptual with no mental discipline would have no escape from the lingering aura of their torment and fear. If an untrained perceptual stayed in this building for longer than an hour it would lead to insanity. I would not put anyone into that kind of situation for any length of time, let alone a child. Kimberly’s gifts have only just begun to manifest. She has already begun some mental discipline and will continue her tutelage in a year under the very woman I mentioned before. Relatively speaking her perceptions are limited but will be of great assistance to us.”
Kimberly could feel her cheeks heat under the eyes of the others, and slumped even more in her seat, hugging her backpack closer to her. Her uncle reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Are there any more questions?” Kaelyn asked. Around the room a few others put on their watches or filed through the papers, waiting to see if anyone else wanted to ask something. When it became clear no more questions were forthcoming, Kaelyn nodded.
“Well, then, why don’t we go upstairs and get sleeping quarters straightened out, then get this show on the road, hmm?”
As they headed out, V put her camera away and trotted over to Miriam and Eddie. “We’ll have a meetin’ later today. I want to get settled in farst. There es only the four of us and the ‘talent’, so we’re goin’ te have te run a tight ship, okay?” She beamed an Irish smile. Miriam squinted.
“Four?”
V turned and gestured toward Conn. “The writer showed up. He’s very good, but not all that social. Let’s head upstairs weth the others and take care of the room sitch. I also requested a room for our equipment so we might set up a temp-edit station. Helps me to have a separate livin’ and workin’ space, you know? We’ll meet up and talk again at lunch.”
V finished gathering her things and started toward the hallway to join the rest of the group.
Once everyone had begun to disperse out of the theatre, Giuliana rose to gather her things. She’d find someone to take her bags upstairs later. For now, there was her clutch and the airline carry-on that she took with her. She started into the hall. A soft click and a feeling of weightlessness on her right earlobe made her stop. Her earring had slipped out. With a soft huff she bent over to pick it up. As she straightened she was nearly knocked to the floor.
Black eyes whipped up to meet blue ones. With a lift of her brow she glowered at the girl. “Who do you think you are? Be more careful where you’re walking, clumsy.”
Her thick accent rolled the words out as though she spoke poetry rather than sharp-tongued quips. With a toss of her silken black waves she headed after the others, leaving Patricia glaring at her back.
“Who are you calling ‘clumsy’, you stuck-up bitch,” she grumbled.
Justin slung his guitar case over his back, then ran a few trotting steps to catch up to the film director as they headed down the hall. Dr. Maynard had called her Ms. Flynn.
“Hi,” he said, when he’d reached her side and she’d glanced over. He smiled, offering his hand. “I don’t think we got the chance to introduce ourselves. I’m Justin Reeves. I couldn’t help notice…you’re Irish right? ‘Irish, not Scottish,’ as I believe you said before.”
“Um…yeah, that’s right.” She nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and out of her face, before taking his hand briefly. “M’name’s V Flynn…nice to meet you.”
She was not good at social. Business? Business she could do. Social was not her forte.
Swallowing her anxiety, V tried to be conversational. “Um…I know that I’ll be enterviewin’ evrayone later, but I was just curious…I mean I don’t really understand what et es you do. I mean…my purpose is clear, I’m just the camera-wench.”
She wasn’t chuckling when she said that and she realized that he probably thought she was being self-deprecating But how did one explain that in her field if you weren’t an exec or talent you were either a camera-wench or a production-bitch. It was like being a private in the military. Nothing but a grunt named after the human genitals, and best get used to it. Flushing at her realization she ducked her head down and focused on the stairs as she walked.
“Maybe I’ll give you a demonstration later what it is I do,” he said with a grin.
Lifting one brow, V locked her green eyes on him. Sure you will, she thought. Right before you politely ask me to move so you can ogle the Barbie-bitch.
She smiled and nodded instead. “That’d be cool.”
She was fond of that saying. She had picked it up in America, of course…no one said that at home. There she would say it was ‘classic’. Oh, well. She was nearly Americanized to the hilt. She’d even broken down and eaten at a Burger King. She thought it was horrendous but by the end of the quarter her dorm-mate was bringing her late-night chicken sandwiches and large fries.
As they headed toward the stairs, Kaelyn had to suppress a chuckle. The lot of them sounded so much like a tour group she almost expected camera flashes to be going off.
Just then, one did, as that fellow from the film crew took a shot of the hallway. As if remembering their own cameras, half a dozen more came out and began to shoot. Kaelyn smirked.
She consulted the floor plans as they went, then nodded, gesturing to her left. “That’s the Blue elevator,” she said to the entire group. “We’re taking the long way on the stairs because only five will fit in it at a time, but all the elevators in the castle are functioning. You might want to keep it in mind for future use. The back of it is entirely made of glass…I hear it makes for a pretty impressive view.”
They headed up the wide, dark oak stairs to the fourth floor, stepping out into the beautiful Guest hall. Floor to ceiling tapestries and stands holding vases painted in the most intricate designs stood solemn watch. They passed through into another hall, and Kaelyn glanced around.
“Ms. Flynn. On the left there is a large linen closet.” She indicated it with a pencil she plucked from behind her ear. “Don’t let the name throw you. I was told it was walk-in and nearly as large as some of the bedrooms. It’s also empty and should give you the space you need for your work. If it’s not suitable let me know and we’ll find somewhere else.”
She looked down at her paperwork, then nodded with a smile. “While we’re at it, why don’t you take the Presidential Suite? That way, you won’t have to go far and you’ve got some extra room if needed. No windows, either, and a bathroom, in case you need to develop film.”
She gestured to the door opposite the linen closet. V smiled. It was everything she needed. More, in fact. “Tha’ll do just fine, thank you.”
Kaelyn marked off Flynn’s name to note where she was staying, and the group continued around the corner. Her pencil indicated a door. “Czar’s Suite. Giuliana, since you expressed interest in having your own bathroom, there you are. Enjoy.”
She hated to be commiserating. She’d love to just stick the Italian Starlet into one of the smaller guest suites with no private bath. But she knew that living with this woman for the next two weeks was bound to be enough of a strain without having to listen to her puling and bitching about the living quarters as well.
Into the smaller guest rooms she put Frost, Caleb, Thomas, Armstrong, Tod Delaney and Sweeney The Carters she put in the Duke’s Suite. Then she pursed her lips. “We were asked not to use the Countess’s Suite, so we’re going to have to double up. Patricia, and Kimberly, you can stay in Karen’s room upstairs, if that’s all right. It’s listed on the plans as Lady Winternight’s sitting room but it was converted into a bedroom quite a few years ago. Elli can take the Caretaker’s Suite and I can stay in the small study there and, well…” she paused, looking over the plans. “Hmm. Justin, I could put you in with one of the other fellows…?”
He was looking over his plans as well. “How about I bunk in the guest’s lounge?” he asked, indicating the door right beside that to the Presidential Suite. “I can crash on the floor as easy as any fancy bed, or a sofa if there is one.”
“Are you sure?” Kaelyn asked as V re-emerged from the closet. When he nodded she sighed. “All right, but we’ll figure out more suitable accommodations as soon as we can, if you’re not comfortable.”
V eyed Justin a little. She wasn’t sure if he was taking the guest lounge out of convenience, or convenience to Giuliana’s room. She’d much rather switch rooms with him than listen to them screwing each other blind all night.
She sighed. Whatever. She was here to do a job, that was it. The sooner done, the sooner she could see her parents again.
Justin hefted his things and went into the lounge. Ah, there was a cot in the closet. Good. If it was too uncomfortable he’d just crash out on the floor. The rug itself looked like it cost more than his entire college education…not that that was much, or had lasted very long.
He set his guitar down in one corner, shedding his jacket and casting it over a chair. Beneath it he wore a simple black t-shirt. It was cool enough out now but after helping to unload the van and haul in hundreds of pounds worth of equipment it wasn’t going to feel so cool any more. He wandered over to the window a moment, tucking his hands in his back pockets as he looked out over the front grounds. From here, he could just see the front gate in the distance, past the trees and the winding snake of the drive.
The door opened into a dark room, but Caleb quickly discovered a light switch on the wall. A quick flip turned on the fan light in the center of the ceiling, illuminating the comfortable room. The hallway had prepared him to a degree, but he was still pleasantly surprised by the accommodations he found.
On the left wall was an oversized bed, flanked at the left by a mahogany dresser and at the right by a lush plant in an ornate vase. Across the room a large red chair sat in the door-side corner, and beside it stood a desk of the same wood as the dresser. A simple wooden chair with red backing and pillow was pushed up against it.
Grand curtains covered what must have been a large window opposite the door. Stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him, he set his duffel on the chair and his folder on the desk, then strode to the window, pulling aside the curtains to reveal the spectacular view of…
…a watchtower.
He sighed and chuckled to himself. Filling most of the left field of his vision, the stone watchtower stood just beyond the glass. Looking right, Caleb could see the laden van and other vehicles. Still, there was somewhat of a decent view. If he leaned and strained a little.
The absence of the sun caught his attention, and he looked up at the dark, angry clouds that had spread through the sky. Where they had come from so quickly, he could only guess, but it didn’t seem the weather would hold much longer.
Realizing he would need his hands free to help in carrying the equipment in from the van, he regretfully left his folder sitting on the desk. He compromised by grabbing his tape recorder, then left the room and headed toward the staircase back to the main floor.
“Is it a pleasant view?”
Giuliana leaned against the door jamb of the guest lounge. She seemed far calmer than before, and in fact her eyes were somewhat mellow…almost glassy, even. But she seemed far too lucid to be stoned. She straightened and moved into the room.
“Look…Justin, I just wanted to apologize for that whole scene this morning. I think I’ve given everyone a pretty ugly first impression.” She looked down at her hands, seeming not at all like the over-confident bitch that had arrived. She seemed, in fact…almost humble.
“I know it’s no excuse, but I’ve been put through a real trial with this whole project. I never really wanted to do it in the first place. I still really don’t want to.”
She ran a hand through her hair, drawing it back from her face. “Contracts, and agents…it’s almost like being a slave sometimes. Well, anyway. I just wanted to apologize and hopefully get the opportunity to give you a better impression of me. I know my temper can bring out the worst in me…” she tilted her head.
“Oh…and thank you for tipping Nevin. I was angry…but it wasn’t his fault. I should have been the one to tip him. I spoke with Gerald and had a formal apology sent to his work, along with a bonus for ‘putting up’ with me. So…that’s all I really wanted to say…”
She would have liked to stay and talk but the atmosphere of the room was awkward. Turning, she gave him a last, feeble nod, and headed out.
Justin watched her go with raised eyebrows, a little surprised at the apology. Maybe the woman wasn’t all piss and vinegar at that. At least she wasn’t above admitting when she was wrong.
After she’d gone he realized he should have told her it wasn’t him that tipped the chauffeur, as she clearly thought. He didn’t know who had, but it wasn’t him.
Shrugging slightly and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he left the lounge and headed back downstairs to help unload the van. He knew the others would probably be grateful for the elevator, but he was looking forward to jogging at least a few laps up and down the staircase each morning, since he couldn’t take his normal five mile run.
Getting back to the entrance hall he propped the doors open and started to haul things out of the van, piling them just inside. When Dr. Maynard came down she’d undoubtedly direct them to where she wanted everything put. He began to hum as he worked, wondering just how well the kitchen was stocked and running through recipes on what he would make for lunch if it were available.
Kaelyn headed up to the fifth floor and the caretaker’s quarters, dropping Patricia and Kim off in Karen’s room. She paused a moment as she entered what was to be her ‘apartment’ for the next two weeks. It was much bigger than she’d expected. In fact, she’d had actual apartments that could have fit twice in the space this one provided.
But, of course, it would be large and lavish. Even if caretakers had been calling this place home for the last several decades, it had been built with the Lord and Lady Winternight in mind.
A huge oil painting of the couple dominated the space above the marble fireplace. She paused and regarded it a moment as Elli went to the large table to set down the work case and Harlow’s bag, startled by how dramatic the age difference between the two seemed. Nearly twenty years, if she recalled properly. But then, such marriages were commonplace back when the Winternights had lived.
Oddly enough, the Lady didn’t look anything like the psychotically insane murderess she was made out to be. She looked very pleasant, heart-faced and angelic, with the enigmatic smile of Mona Lisa.
“Wow, that’s rather…imposing, isn’t it?” Elli commented, looking up at the painting herself. Kaelyn smiled.
“Nobility and the wealthy of that time lived on ‘imposing,’” she said.
“Look, are you sure you want to sleep out here? You should be the one in the bed…” Elli said, jabbing a thumb at the closed bedroom door.
“No, no, it’s fine. I prefer the sofa, thank you,” Kaelyn replied, then blinked as the heavy heavy bag Harlow had given her began to beep.
Sighing, she unzipped it and reached in, pulling out the video phone laptop. She set it on the dresser nearby, flipping it open. It was signaling she had a call.
New York.
Atop one of the larger buildings near Times Square rested three floors of offices belonging to a company called the Secure Packaging Corps. The third, upper-most floor was reserved for one of the company’s many silent partners. About a hundred and fifty feet of that floor made up that silent partner’s East Coast office. In that office was a large redwood desk with copper inlay, and sitting behind it in a leather chair was that silent partner, Dr. Marcus Edward Blackwell.
Dressed in his trademark black on black suit with a blood red tie, he tapped his oddly long, manicured fingernails on the desk. He watched and listened intently to an almost screaming, visibly disturbed man jumping around on the screen of his lap-top video phone.
“Blackwell! The whole operation is going down in fucking flames!! Our AV tent exploded from a massive electronic pulse that came out of nowhere! All the equipment is dead! Half the team is wiped out, and our convoy that was supposed to be on-site three hours ago still hasn’t shown up!”
Blackwell stopped his taping and elegantly picked up a tea cup made of fine china. Sipping it carefully, he set it back down in the saucer and started to twist his thick beard with his fingers as the screaming man finally calmed into sad desperation.
“I don’t know about this one, Doctor. I think we may have gone a little too far this time. I’ve never seen activity like this before. We need to be pulled out, in my opinion. What do you think?”
Blackwell flicked his fingertips and pressed the call button for his assistant. Rubbing the bridge of his nose and adjusting his tie, he calmly said two words.
“You’re fired.”
By the time the call had disconnected, Blackwell’s assistant Michelle had approached the desk with a gold-laced tray. Her clothes were crisp and professional, her long blonde hair efficiently tied back. She wore a gentle smile to combat her boss’s stern expressiveness.
“More tea?” she asked sweetly. He just waved his hand.
“Call her again.”
Michelle set her tray down on the desk and disappeared from the huge office for only a few seconds. She hurried back to the desk in a trot and spoke quickly.
“She is plugged in, online, and her watch is turned on. She should appear in seconds.”
Blackwell straightened up, smoothed his long hair back and waited intently. Before the picture on his vid-phone even cleared he started to speak.
“Two hours, fifteen minutes, and six call attempts later and you’re just now answering? Only a few of the watches are turned on as well. What kind of chaos is going on down there?”
As the words left his lips, he knew he had said too much and with the wrong part of himself.
Dr. Maynard smirked a bit from the screen. “Always right to the point, hmm?”
She took off her glasses, setting them aside as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. She arched an eyebrow, her smirk not fading.
“Six calls, really? Funny, you don’t look quite like my mother. Your beard is shorter, for one.”
It never truly paid to rib the money man, but their professional association had enough history behind it that she knew pretty much what she could get away with and what she couldn’t.
Blackwell sat back in mild disgust. However, somewhere lurking beneath his cold heart, he enjoyed her back talk. Most people couldn’t look him in the eyes for too long due to intimidation, but Maynard never backed down or bit her lip.
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” she placated. “We’ve only had a bit of a slow start, and I suppose not everyone has activated their watches. No nasty beasties or evil ghoulies…unless you count the Italian swizzle stick that’s going to be the personality of the documentary. Please tell me sending her was not your idea. I thought you had more class than some snobbish exotic bimbo.”
His brow furrowed even more than usual and his moustache twitched as his lip curled into a sneer. “No. The frauds who call themselves artists were not part of my bidding. You and I have worked together before, Doctor. My operations are quiet, private inquiries into any possible paranormal activity that piques my curiosity for one reason or other. Operations most decidedly not for public display or ‘posterity’.”
He toyed with a small black pill box, twirling it in his long fingers as he spoke.
“Ignore the rabble and focus on your objective. Be clear and precise on all findings and data. Check, re-check, and check again. And whatever you do, stay out of the library unless you absolutely need to be there…especially the film crew.”
He knew she was about to protest but cut her off before she could. “Don’t ask why or start another tirade. It will do no good.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Blackwell, but if you can’t give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t go in the library I’m going to do just that. It’s the central point of the entire castle and doubtless has valuable information to be obtained, both of a mundane and a paranormal nature. For Pete’s sake, the doll is in the library! I was under the impression by the Tourist Board we had full run of the grounds and facilities.”
She retrieved a notice from her briefcase, then sat back and waved it to punctuate her point. “There’s no mention in here of the library being off limits. As for the film crew, they’re as much out of my jurisdiction as they are yours. Their director seems to be easy-going and sensible enough. Perhaps you’d best talk to her if you want them to stay away, though I doubt her reaction will be any more favorable than mine.”
He rolled his eyes as she waved the notice that, unbeknownst to her, he had fought so hard to give her in the first place. Between the money-makers who wanted to keep making money off of the castle, the employees that wanted it demolished, and their combined army of lawyers, Blackwell had to pull many strings and hang a few people out of windows to get free roam of the castle. The only reason he told her not to go in the library was because that was exactly where he wanted her to go.
He formulated another threat or two just to push her in the right direction.
“Doctor, you have mistakenly pointed out yet another amazing detail…the fact that the film crew means little and the Oakfallow library means worlds. You have no idea, nor inkling, of the wealth of information held in those walls and I’m not about to let you start tearing through it before I do. And as for Ms. Flynn…if I see any ghost story propaganda from her or the Italian slut on the evening news or even in print in the London Times, her whole crew will disappear into the night without a trace.”
“Excuse me?” she blinked, eyebrows raising. “I know that wasn’t just a threat, Doctor. Whether or not this shit hits the streets by Flynn’s fault or anyone else’s in my team…if I think you’ve laid so much as a finger on any hair of their heads you’ll find yourself knee-deep in Feds before you can blink, is that clear?”
A little smirk quirked on his face, and he inclined his head. “Please, forgive my altered…mood. The project in Cairo has failed and I feel it has attracted too much attention. I’ve invested a lot into the Oakfallow project, and it pains me to see you surrounded with such upstarts. Especially the fact that Harlow was so conveniently close by and willing to help. But, I do have personal knowledge that he’s heading for Australia, so you will have no more surprise visits from him. Just to be on the safe side, give me an inventory of the bag he gave you.”
Making a half-frustrated, half-commiserating sound, she grabbed the bag and hauled it over, filing through it and listing the contents to him. She was tempted to just turn off the laptop and go about her business, but threats or no threats, he had the power to show up at the front door with reps from the Tourist Board and have them all extracted from the house without so much as a ‘by your leave’. She had about as much invested in this place as he did, though her investments were not monetary in nature. She was not about to cut off her nose to spite her face just because Blackwell was being…well, Blackwell.
He sat almost motionless in his chair as she rattled off the contents of the bag. Everything seemed to be in order, but he still didn’t trust Harlow. He took a sip of his fresh cup of tea when she produced the Glock 9mm from the bag. Before she could react, he started to explain.
“Extra safety precaution. We just added a firearm to all our SPC field kits. The black box over the trigger guard works just like the panic buttons on the watches. Once the trigger guard is removed the panic button is set off and all security personnel is notified, from the booth to the outer perimeter. Even our people in Edinburgh know about it. I have a Critical Assault Team on stand-by at the SPC garage there. If that panic button goes off, they wait twenty minutes for confirmation from the guards in the booth. If there is no answer back within that time window, the team is airlifted to the scene and they enter the castle. It’s even connected to my cell phone. So if anything goes wrong where you need to use that firearm, everyone will know about it and you will have an infantry with you in less than two hours.”
“Hmm,” she said neutrally, putting the gun back into the case. Overkill, to her mind. She didn’t know who she’d even dream of using it against. Ghosts hardly minded guns, and the thought of someone on her own team doing something that would warrant such protection on her side was laughable. A whole SWAT team of commandos? Definitely overkill.
“The project in Cairo did not go well,” he said lamely, trying to muster a reason to justify this much ‘safety’. “And the press is being notified as we speak, so watch the television this evening with an open mind. I must be off. Is there anything else you need before tomorrow?”
“I think we’re all set,” she replied. “I’ll call you if I need anything, I’m sure. Tootles.”
She waved her fingers cheekily at his image on the screen, a moment before her picture winked out of existence.
“Well, he’s looking…fit,” Elli quipped dryly. Kaelyn snorted and shook her head, lifting the weapon with a helpless gesture.
“A gun. Really? What am I going to use this gun for? Against who? Film crew and psychics? You think Lady Winternight is going to be frightened of a gun?”
“Rasputin,” Elli replied thoughtfully. Kaelyn blinked at her. The younger woman gestured at the black screen. “That’s who he reminds me of. Rasputin.”
Kaelyn laughed and shook her head, tucking the un-needed gun back into the bag.
“So your uncle knows Dr. Maynard?” Patricia asked with a smile as they were left in the rooms that they were to share. She sat down on a low couch and tucked her feet beneath her.
Yeah, this was definitely a teenager’s place. She spotted a video game console tucked neatly in the entertainment center beneath the television, and grinned eagerly.
“Yeah, they’ve worked together before,” Kim replied, stowing her bag and unhooking her headphones. “Uncle Tod has a degree in psychology and specializes in post traumatic stress. He’s helped her on a few bizarre-o things in the past. Nothing this big, I don’t think.”
“I’ve read her papers and her books,” Patricia replied. “Some of the things she’s seen and done are just incredible. And the potential this place has…it should be pretty exciting.”
Kim grinned a bit sheepishly. “Well, I hope its not too exciting,” she said nervously. She was just waiting for the other woman to ask her about this ‘perceptual’ thing. They always did.
To her surprise, however, Patricia smiled, dug in her bag, and pulled out a bag of mixed chocolates, waving it a bit.
“Well, since we’re bunking together, I hope you have a sweet tooth and enjoy video games, because I plan on indulging both my desires for such any opportunity I get.”
Kim grinned.
Miriam huffed, casting the drapes in the room open. The sky had grown darker with pregnant clouds, but there was still enough sunlight slipping through to fire her blonde hair like a halo. She didn’t even seem to see the lavishness around her.
Eddie didn’t miss it, though. Setting the bags down, he whistled low under his breath. “Wow, this beats any Hilton I’ve been in before. Holy cow, are those silk sheets?”
He wandered over to the bed, fingering the blankets. His wife turned and folded her arms, fixing him with a look. He glanced up, then blinked.
“What?”
“You know what,” she replied. “Ogling Miss Designer Slut outside. I’ll bet there’s not an inch of that woman that isn’t plastic.”
He colored a little, then grinned. “Oh, Mir, don’t be that way. I was looking at her, sure, but she still doesn’t hold a candle to you. Especially not with that attitude of hers. I think she could set fires with her tong-”
Miriam’s look sharpened and he quickly edited what he was saying. “-uh, I just mean that she scolds viciously enough to take skin off, that’s all.”
“Hrmm,” she cocked her mouth into a wry grin, not buying it.
“Mir, c’mon,” he walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I know how lucky I am to have you. I’m not going to give that up for anything. Especially not for a woman that probably would never look at me twice.”
Her grin turned into a half-chuckle. “Well, you are pretty homely,” she commiserated. He laughed, then hugged her tightly. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his ear. His grin grew.
“Hey, wanna see if the springs on that bed are as good as the sheets?”
A wide woven belt of dark green khaki was slung about her hips. It looked like a tool belt missing the pouches as it had several snap loops and a wide leather support where the buckle met. She could have passed as part of a construction crew. V stood, her hair piled on top of her head, dark sunglasses slipped back onto her crown and a steno-pad in her hand. Her men’s white Hanes tank was saturated with sweat, though most would notice her black bra before her perspiration.
She had spent nearly two hours helping Justin, Albert, and the man with the soul patch who had introduced himself as Mason Armstrong remove equipment from the van, some of it being so heavy she couldn’t help but curse under her breath as she strained. “I thought I was bringin’ some serious equipment. What is weth all this crazy shyte…? Et’s like the doc’s plannin’ on buildin’ a spaceship!”
She and the three men had laughed as they crashed on the steps to the door and panted. V couldn’t help but comment. “Here I am sweatin’ my fookin’ arse off and Conn’s upstairs sleepin’, Giuliana’s probably pamperin’ her pretty face, my sound man and my vedeographer are likely testin’ out the beds, and I swear I can hear the girls laughin’. Et feels like a bit of a gyp, don’t et?”
Justin grinned, wiping a hand over his face. “I say we just die right here. They can have their fun tracking down our ghosts, if they want. And we could really torment them that way. I bet we could send them packing faster than some moldy old psychotic Lady, that’s for sure.”
She laughed, and they had talked a bit more, catching their breath, before she excused herself. As Albert and Fynn lit up smokes, Justin rose and followed her to the doorway.
“I want to go count the virgins b’fore lunch,” she’d said, glancing at him over her shoulder. He gave her a strange look, and she laughed. “The stock – I’ve got to inventory the virgin— umm…the unused stock so I know what I have te wark weth.” She flushed a mild red and cleared her throat.
“Eh, right. So…off I go then.”
As she headed off toward her current task, he lingered in the doorway a bit longer himself, watching the sky as it slowly grayed out and sank lower. Well, he thought. I suppose if Europe is famous for one thing, it’s rain. Don’t get these lovely emerald hills with a California climate, that’s for sure.
**
Scribbling down an inventory of the equipment that had been provided as she requested, and numbering each of the tapes, V had her work cut out for her. At least the university had recognized her point when she’d requested a fair number of tapes and they’d actually complied. She looked down at her steno-pad. Under ‘stock’ she’d listed her count:
10 cases / 5 bundles per case / 10 tapes per bundle = 500 tapes.
Of course, she wondered how long they planned on keeping her here. Brows pinched as she did the math on that. 184 minutes per tape…that’s…92,000 minutes of taping. V shook her head. That broke down to nearly 66 continuous days of shooting, non-stop!
Even splitting it between the two cameras that was still more than they should ever have to use, certainly not in just two weeks! Shaking her head, V packed the tapes onto the hand truck she’d also requested. These would be kept in the linen closet. She’d have to see if there was a spare cooler of any kind laying about. If the tapes got too warm they could get damaged, but she’d rather have them close to her room than in the kitchen pantry unattended.
The light kits, which she intended to use as little as possible, thankfully had handles and wheels on them. At least they’d supplied updated equipment, unlike the shit they’d always offered her as a student. She packed her things into the elevator to take it upstairs. Before she went up, though, she went back and caught Justin as he finally re-entered the hall, smiling.
“Just wanted to say thanks for the help. I know my equipment isn’t your responsibility. I guess I’ll be down for lunch later, then. Holler if you need help.”
She quirked another smile, then tromped back to the elevator, her boots sounding almost barbaric on the elegant floors.
Once upstairs, she set to building the ‘closet’ into her private cache of technological joy. With almost an addict’s frenzy she had the computers set up and booting. V refused to do a job that she couldn’t edit herself or at least have a major hand in. Editors could make or break a film – any film. An excellent director could walk away with a shitty result because the editor fucked it up. Well, not her film.
As the CPU’s whirred in the background, V organized and labeled everything else. She arranged bins and notebooks on the shelves of the closet for production notes, logs, and storyboards. Getting started was the most tedious part, but she’d gotten it down to a mechanical science and it took little time or brainpower to accomplish now.
Finally finished she stepped out of the small room with a sign she’d made and printed, and taped it to the door with a bit of orange-glo gaffer tape. She half-grinned as she glanced at the sign, which was an old joke among her film-buddies.
WARNING
FOR FILM-MAKERS ONLY
Only really strong @$$#0!3’s can open these doors:
(Grips and admins need not try)
Smoothing it down she nodded. Perhaps she would take a shower before lunch. She could smell herself.
Justin shook his head with a smile as he headed back upstairs. At least a couple people in this mottled grouping had proven not to be so bad to hang around with, and weren’t afraid of hard work. It made the whole excursion suddenly seem a whole lot brighter.
As he reached their floor, he could hear V puttering away in the linen closet designated as her work space. He chuckled again, gathering some things out of his room and heading down the hall to the bathroom. He felt a little odd showering and changing in a room that would look more in place in some exotic palace (but wait, he was in some exotic palace, wasn’t he?). Cleaned up, he stashed his stuff back in his room.
A sign now hung from the closet door, catching his eye. He paused and peered at it, then barked a laugh. She truly was a character. Whistling to himself, he headed downstairs toward the kitchen. He was in the mood for some serious cooking, and he couldn’t wait to see what the castle had to offer.
He opened the doors of the kitchen and immediately stepped into heaven.
If there was one thing he loved more than music, it was cooking. Ever since his mother had died when he was nine, he had handled most of the cooking in the house. His father always managed to burn even water, and couldn’t make toast without risking an inferno. It was either learn to cook, or get real used to fast food and delivery pizza every day for the rest of his life.
Chrome and stainless steel gleamed at him from every corner. Marble counters shone so white you could operate on them. When he got into the pantry and the cold room, however, he quickly discovered new levels to his glee.
He began with the plan to make club sandwiches and perhaps salad or soup for lunch, but he quickly got carried away with the offerings. Before he knew it, he had baby reds boiling, filet mignon marinating, mushrooms sautéing, lobsters steaming, and was in the midst of chopping fresh herbs for his own special salad dressing.
After the plane ride and carting about the equipment with the boys, the shower felt better than anything she’d felt in a long time. She stood for so long just letting the steaming jet rain down on her that she was surprised to see nearly a half hour had passed. Drying off she noted yet another large bruise on her thigh. It was blossoming purple and swollen like an egg. V cursed. She couldn’t even remember hitting her leg on anything.
Tugging her jeans back on she zipped them up, disinterested in soiling a new pair of panties. Hell, nearly her entire time working at Puesta del Sol she had to go without. The local stores didn’t sell them and her duffel bag had been stolen on the bus. V snickered to herself about what a fun day that had been.
Tugging a loose fitting black t-shirt on over her bra, V adjusted it around her middle. It wasn’t baggy enough to hide her fat stomach, so she grumbled to herself. Oh, well. Who was going to look good anyway with Barbie prancing around like a city nymph anyway?
She tugged her wet hair back and secured it in a loose knot at the back of her head with a claw clip, then regarded herself with cynicism in the mirror. SLAG her t-shirt pronounced loudly in bold, white letters. Don’t I wish, V thought with a smirk.
V followed her nose. She smelled steak.
V was a self-proclaimed carnivore. The woman salivated at the scent of raw beef and drooled over the smell of it cooking. Making her way to the kitchen, she entered and stood watching Justin busily dash about, completely oblivious to her presence. Taking advantage of the fact, as every good documentarian does, V took pictures.
Justin mixed herbs with oil, humming to himself, then dipped in the tip of a pinky finger to taste it. A quick check of the lobster and steaks, which were coming along nicely, he drained the potatoes and half-mashed them with melted butter and a dash of garlic salt, still utterly unaware he was no longer alone in the kitchen.
Another trip to the cold room and he emerged with bags of vegetables and fruit for the salads. Flipping a knife in his hand and continuing to hum, he started to slice up the vegetables, lost in his cooking.
Grinning to herself, V could see how distracted he was as she stalked on bare feet across the floor, stopping to stand behind him. Thankfully she had a digital camera, not her SLR. She managed to get three shots or so of his hands, close up as he was slicing the vegetables, with no loud camera noise to startle him.
Noticing that he had a nice ass, she precariously snapped a shot of his rear to email to Carolyn back in L.A. Her friend would appreciate ‘getting some booty’ as she laughingly called it. As V checked the image that froze on the LCD screen she could barely contain a chuckle. The screen started to flicker suddenly, then went black.
“Damn it,” she whispered to herself, forgetting that Justin was standing so close. The sodding batteries had gone dead.
Justin, hearing her speak, whipped around in startlement, reacting before it ever even fully registered on his mind that he’d heard something. He stared at her in shock, and she stared back. His heart, which had stopped momentarily, burst into life again as he yanked the knife back. It had been bare centimeters away from her stomach.
“Jesus!” he blurted. “I didn’t hear you come in! I could have…” He quickly put the knife back on the counter. “Sheesh, that was too close. Are you okay?”
V just blinked at him, her hands still gripping the tiny palm-sized camera. Had Justin’s reflexes been even a tad slower, she might have been on her way home in a body bag.
“Aye. At least, I thenk so. I dedn’t wet meself ef that’s what you mean.” She took a deep, shaking breath. “Are yar reactions always so homicidal?”
It was in her Irish nature to joke. She joked about everything and only didn’t when something was really wrong.
“How ‘bout you? I dedn’t mean to frighten you. Et’s just you looked to be haven so much fun, I dedn’t want to enterrupt. But I guess I ded…I’m sorry…”
Justin finally managed a chuckle, his heart still racing at how close he’d come to putting her in the hospital, if not the morgue.
“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I just get so carried away sometimes I tune out. Actually, I could use the help. How are you at cooking?”
Cocking a grin V set her dead camera on the counter out of the way. “Wale…a girl don’t get to be my size by not knowen food. I like te thenk I can handle m’self.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I think I got a little carried away. Oh, well…I’ll make a light dinner. Anyway, if you want to finish chopping up the vegetables for the salad and slicing the fruit, I’ll get started on the fruit dip.”
She picked up the knife and he retreated into the cold room, his voice floating back. “I tried to make enough different dishes in case we had any vegetarians or anyone allergic to seafood. Provided all the specters around this place haven’t tainted the food we should have a pretty decent meal.”
He came out with the cream cheese, whipping cream, a bottle of lemon juice, raspberry extract, and a bag of rolls to brown. He set them all down on the counter and searched out a bowl for the mixer.
V watched him go into the cooler, and then started cutting. She wasn’t any kind of gourmet chef, but she was all right in the kitchen. At least, no one she’d ever cooked for had complained, and most people she would devote her time to were as honest and forthcoming as she was.
When he returned and set to work again, V glanced at him, suddenly feeling a bit more awkward. Raising a brow she watched his hands move. He definitely had a musicians hands; precise, strong, and fluid.
“I dedn’t know that they taught musicians how to cook. Where’d you learn to do all thes? I mean, I can cook but thes is a lit’l more than I’d do on my own.”
She scratched at her neck, an infamous nervous tick, then went back to cutting the vegetables. Those done she was about to start on the fruit, then stopped.
“Give us a bit of that lemon juice. Don’t want the fruit turnen brown…”
He passed it over and she put a bit in a bowl. As she started to cut the fruit into chunks, she gave them a coating of the juice. She looked up at him. “Trick I learned en Mexico.”
Deciding now was a good time to shut her sodding mouth, V focused on her task, lowering her head and working. One drying tendril of hair fell down over her face as she worked, the kink of wave curling as it dried. Normally she’d tuck it back but for the moment it almost felt like something to hide behind.
Justin half glanced at her, and smiled a bit. “I did all the cooking at home from the time I was nine. I don’t know, I guess I just had a knack for it. Most kids were out hanging with their friends or getting into trouble or watching television. Me, I was waiting for cooking shows to come on, copying down recipes, and wondering how Dad could stretch the budget just a few more dollars to cover the cost of the spice for a new dish I wanted to try. Well, that and practicing my music. I very nearly went to a culinary school after graduation but decided my little extra knack, as Dr. Maynard calls it, was a bit more important. I mean, if I was different from other people, there had to be a reason for it. So I started on that course instead. And here we are.”
He smiled up at her, quickly blending the dip ingredients, tasting the results, adding a bit more raspberry and a dash of sugar, then remixing. He nodded in approval, poured the fruit dip into a serving bowl, and went to tend the steaks and lobster.
True to her sometimes obsessive behavior, V spent several long minutes arranging the fruit about the serving dish, the dip placed in the center. One would’ve thought she intended to photograph the display for a commercial, with as much effort she was putting in…but that’s how she was. Presentation was everything, sometimes. As she focused on the tray she got lost in her thoughts, noticing a moment of silence from her lead chef.
He seemed so compassionate for someone raised by a single father. V wondered what had happened to his mother, and if he had siblings. V was one of three kids, and not considered the prodigy among them. Her sister Erin was a children’s trauma psychiatrist. She’d received full scholarship to just about any university she wanted.
V’s brother, a rather eccentric young man who was both a historian/professor and worked independently as a physicist. He was also a brilliant musician and writer and just happened to kick everyone’s ass at chess and trivial pursuit and monopoly and…--okay, Dillon was a fucking genius. Everyone knew it, including him. But he only knew it because he was so bored and lonely not having his intellectual equal. Good thing he’d married a Neurology and Genetics researcher. She was hardly a party favor type of girl. No trophy wife for Dillon.
Her mother, Grace, was a historian and a literature professor, which automatically meant she did a lot of writing of fiction and nonfiction. Patrick was another, fast-firing neuron kind of mind. A quantum physicist.
V sighed with a soft groan as she poked unhappily at her wilting display of fruit. She glanced sideways at the gorgeous spread of food Justin had created. With another heavy sigh she pushed the fruit tray away from her. She’d be at this all day if he let her. Everyone teased V for being so competitive all the time. It wasn’t that she had to be the best. V just couldn’t stand feeling like she was less than everyone else.
There was always someone though, wasn’t there? Some one person that she just felt so small, or insignificant, or inadequate around. At home her entire family did a great job of making her feel that way.
“So, how’s Hollywood? Are ye teachin’ Spielberg what’s what yet?”
“Do you do anythin’ out there in the Americas?” “Sure she does…can’t ye see she’s got more freckles? She must be sunbathin’.”
“Don’t worry so, dear. Not everyone can be the best.”
V supposed that was why she felt so free with E—no. We’re not going to think about that today.
Wiping her hands on her jeans she leaned against the counter and watched Justin at work. He seemed so content as he worked, the same way she felt with a camera in her hand, she supposed. V had always dreamed of being like Giuliana – not a hard-hearted, self-righteous, vain bitch – but glamorous. She wasn’t the one that men were drawn to. Erin was gorgeous. She could have been a model if she’d chosen to be, and V had seen on more than one occasion fully grown men walk into walls and doors and posts staring as her little sister floated by. But Erin had no interest in that kind of thing. Oh, she was always impeccably groomed and always looked like she’d just stepped off a runway, but she wasn’t the kind to flaunt it. V wanted to flaunt. V dreamed of being able to flaunt. Unfortunately, V had nothing to flaunt.
She was notorious for retreating into her own thoughts as she was doing now, content to merely watch Justin with a film-maker’s eye. Her mind made notations of his movements, how she would frame that shot, how it would look. She saw everything this way…it was all a story that played out in her head. Just another movie. It was easier for V to cope with life that way.
He hummed to himself again as he finished up with the food, arranging everything on hot-plates so it would stay piping until they could all get together. That done, he washed his hands.
“Guess we’d best set the table and round everyone up,” he said. Together they moved the food out into the serving kitchen, then moved into the dining room and started setting out places. He continued to hum, but as he was about to place down the last fork, he paused, lifting his head and going perfectly still.
“What es et?” V asked, noticing. He lifted a hand slightly as he closed his eyes, listening.
“Katalina…Katarina…maybe Katlyn…she’s not all-together upstairs…” he murmured, barely seeming as if he heard her. He tapped his forehead, still listening. “She’s humming. A…hymn, I think…she’s got to put the fruit away…”
Pausing a moment, she watched him with wary eyes, then relaxed her shoulders as she tilted her head. “Ha, ha. Very foonay. I’m not a simpleton, Justin…”
V turned and started toward the kitchen to gather some pitchers of water. Yeah. Right. She should have known this would happen. Christ, she knew she looked a lot younger – she still got carded in the states to get into R-rated movies! She was used to men treating her like a child, or worse – their little sister.
Pulling a pitcher from the cabinet she slammed it to the counter top, then went to the freezer for ice cubes.
…she’s got to put the fruit away…
He couldn’t even think of something more plausible than that? Why not: she says we don’t belong here…even as cliché as that was, it was more believable. V ran through all the classic horror movies and ghost stories she knew in her head.
Nope, not a damn one mentions fruit. Dumping a tray of ice into the pitcher she carried it to the fridge and filled it with filtered water. Pushing the fridge door closed, the silver exterior reflected the sunlight from outside into her eyes. A sharp pain pierced V’s skull and she dropped the pitcher. Holding her head in her hands a moment, she waited for the pain to pass. She’d forgotten to take her Topamax. Fucking doctors…change her dosage right before she leaves town. Now instead of taking just Felbatol – an already ridiculously fucking strong drug- they’d added a second one to help with the minor migraine flashes like this one. She was supposed to take one at breakfast, one at bed. She’d totally forgotten.
Groaning she waited for it to subside, this violent migraine that came on like a flash flood. V had gotten used to wearing sunglasses all the time –sometimes even inside if the lights were too bright. Even fluorescent hurt her eyes sometimes.
The pain eased off a bit and V opened her eyes and stared down at the shattered pitcher. A piece of glass was jutting out of her foot and she hadn’t even noticed.
“…fuck me…” she groaned as she slowly lowered to pull the glass shard free of her foot. Yeah, so far, this job was fan-fucking-tastic.