Island of the Forbidden (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Daphne did her best to avoid the proceedings downstairs. She wanted to be as far from Nina D'Arcangela as possible.

I wonder what her real name is,
she thought as she listened to Jason and Alice brush their teeth behind the semi-closed bathroom door.
Probably something drab and mundane like Sally Johnson. And here we are, completely taken in by her. Tobe and Paul won't listen to reason. All they can see are dollar signs. But what if this doesn't work? What if no one wants to even air it? In the end, will it all be worth it? Jessica seems like the only one who really has a sense of what's going on and even she's concerned.

“We're done,” Jason announced. She opened the door to a pair of bright, exaggerated smiles. She cupped each of their cheeks in her hands.

“Great job, you two. The cavity monsters will have to find other mouths to settle in tonight.”

Alice ran a brush through her fine hair. “Can we say goodnight to Uncle Paul?”

Daphne felt the muscles in her neck tighten. “Not tonight, dear. He's busy with his friends.”

“Are they really making a movie?” Jason asked.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Can I be in it?”

Daphne pressed her forehead against her son's and kissed his nose. “You may not. Now, off to bed.”

They scooted into their room, jumping under the covers. Daphne put two more logs on the fire. Nothing seemed able to cut through the cold. She worried about the kids getting sick.
I should set the alarm to check on the fire every couple of hours.

She could hear Paul and Mitch talking downstairs. Nina let out a slow, tired laugh.

She had to know about the children!

Daphne's talk with Jessica had changed everything. Nina had proven to her that she had an ability few possessed. If she could find Jessica out of the millions of people in the country, and know about her gifts, surely she would have been able to sense the same thing in Alice and Jason.

Were they the insurance policy in case Jessica and Eddie didn't take the bait?

And you went right along with it, Daphne. Not a moment's hesitation when this whole thing was concocted over too many glasses of absinthe in the Hammersmith's wine cellar in Savannah. You're a terrible mother. You put money before them. Money and status.

As much as she wanted to punish herself, she put a smile on for her children, tucking them in bed. “Do you think Ms. Backman can read us a story?” Alice said.

“I can ask her.”

“Please, Mommy. And then you can read one too.”

Alice grinned, her large, shimmering eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. Daphne felt her heart tear in two. “I'll be right back,” she said, patting the covers. Jason was already immersed in
Tom Sawyer
.

As she closed the door, Jessica was just coming up the stairs carrying a bottle of soda and a bag of rice cakes. She didn't look happy to see her.

“I take it you're avoiding the shoot or whatever you call it,” Daphne said.

Jessica nodded. “If they leave me be, I'll do the same.”

“I wonder if I could ask a favor of you.”

Jessica's lips compressed into a tight line.

“Alice would like it if you could read her a story. She's really taken to you. So has Jason.”

The tension in Jessica's face slackened until she was almost smiling. “I'll be happy to. Let me just put this in my room.”

She took no more than two steps down the hall when the sound of a slamming door reverberated down the walls and floor. They both jumped.

“What was that?” Daphne asked, her hand over her heart.

Jessica ran down the hall to the Blue Room. She gripped the doorknob, slowly turned it and opened the door. When she pulled her hand away, she flicked it up and down.

“Wow that's cold,” she said.

The door to the Yellow Room opened and Eddie walked into the hall. “Was that you?” he asked.

“I was down there with Daphne. I left the door open when I went downstairs. Do you feel any kind of breeze?”

They swept their open palms around the area by the door and window at the end of the hall. “Just a dribble of air coming through the old frame,” Eddie said, nodding at the window. “Not enough to slam a door.”

Daphne watched them discuss what had happened as if it were an everyday thing. What kind of people didn't bat an eye at the unknown? What had they seen in their young lives to harden them so?

“
Daphne.”

The fragile, child-like voice sounded as if someone had come right up to her ear. She shrieked, swatting at her ear.

“What happened?” Jessica asked.

Daphne felt the blood rush away from her extremities. Her teeth began to chatter.

“Some…some…someone said my name.”

“Could it have been someone downstairs?”

She shook her head violently. “They whispered it right in my ear.”

Eddie stared at a spot just over her shoulder. She was too afraid to ask what he saw.

“Don't be afraid,” Jessica said. “Would you be scared if I whispered in your ear?”

She tried to calm her racing heart.

“No.”

“That's right. Because either way, there's nothing threatening about it. The only difference is, you can see me. The one person here who can see both is Eddie, and if he's not worried, you shouldn't be either. Why don't we read to the kids together? It'll help take your mind off it. The first time can be a bit of a shock, I know.”

Eddie gave a slow shake of his head, but it wasn't directed at Daphne or Jessica. Daphne quickly walked to the kids' room and was met by Jessica. It was amazing how helpful she was being, despite being so angry with her just hours before.

“That's because we're here to help, not make a mockery of things,” Eddie said.

When Daphne gave a startled gasp, Jessica put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and said, “He's good at reading your thoughts too. And he's right. After we put the kids to sleep, I have a proposal for you. Maybe you can help make things right.”

Nina D'Arcangela watched Paul, Mitch and Rusty as their frustration grew. Every time they attempted to start Paul's introduction, something would go wrong. From the camera, to the lights, to a loss of audio, and now this: one of the legs of the tripod losing its ability to lock in place.

If they could get everything working, they were going to have a hell of a story to show the world. She could feel the pressure in the room building. To her, it was like being wedged in a crowded subway car.

They were here, of that there was no doubt. She'd never encountered a location so full of undead life.

Sorry to say, that little bitch Jessica was doing her job, whether she wanted to or not. When Nina had first come to the island, she'd sensed a raw energy rippling throughout it, but it was unfocused, a memory of a spark of light.

Not so now. That energy was building by the minute. It was manipulating objects in the material world, growing bolder.

Paul said, “Maybe we should just break everything down and start fresh tomorrow.”

Mitch's hair had become unruly from running his fingers through it in frustration. “Just give us five more minutes to get our shit together.”

Rusty pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket and placed the tripod on its side. Once he had the faulty leg at the right height, he taped over the joint. He then did the same to the other locked joints, just in case. “Duct tape, man's best friend,” he said with a timid smile. Righting the tripod, he secured the camera to its base.

Mitch clapped his hands. “Barring the ceiling collapsing, let's try it yet again.”

Nina pulled Paul aside. “If you hear any strange noises, you should stop and point it out to the camera.”

“
Will
I hear strange noises?”

“You might. The spirits are getting stronger. You mustn't be afraid. If you want to separate yourself from all of the others, you can't show fear.”

Paul's Adam's apple bobbed with a dry swallow. She could see his resolve was weak. She had to build him up somehow.

“There's nothing they can do to you, Paul, especially with me around.” She smoothed his shirt, her hands lingering on his chest, letting him feel the warmth of her palms despite the near freezing temperature in the house. His muscles relaxed at her touch. She sensed his budding arousal.

Good. Lust could make a man move mountains.

Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, “I know you won't let us down.” Her lips brushed against the outer folds of his ear as she pulled away.

His cheeks bloomed a bright, rose red.

Mitch and Rusty stood opposite them with their cameras poised.

“You ready?” Mitch asked.

Paul gave a quick nod and a thumbs-up.

Mitch's fingers counted down to one. Looking serious, Paul said, “Hello, and welcome to Ormsby House, the site of the most gruesome murders in South Carolina's history. It was an event so shocking, its details have been intentionally shrouded in mystery for decades. With complete access to the old Colonial house, the lone structure on the aptly named Ormsby Island in the Charleston Harbor, we will definitively prove that there is life after death. I'm joined by renowned psychic-medium, Ni—”

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Paul's eyes flashed wide in panic as he staggered against the fireplace.

Rusty nearly threw his camera down and rushed to his aid. “I think he's choking!”

Nina grabbed Paul's arm, following him as he sank to the floor, gasping for air.

Her heart froze when she saw the pulsing indentations in the flesh of his neck, the sign of an invisible hand choking him. While Rusty scooped his fingers into Paul's mouth, searching for something, anything that could be blocking his airway, Nina roared a mental command,
“Take your hands off him! So help me, I'll banish you to a darkness that will consume your soul for eternity!”

Paul suddenly drew in a ragged lungful of air, sounding like a broken foghorn.

The andiron stand on the other side of the fireplace toppled over with a resounding crash. Footsteps pounded above them as everyone was jolted by the brief cacophony.

“Are you okay?” Rusty asked Paul, helping him into a comfortable sitting position.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” Paul replied shakily.

Nina looked to Mitch, who hadn't moved from behind his camera. He flashed her an okay sign, nodding at the camera.

That's a hell of a start,
Nina thought, already wondering how many seasons they could sign on for when they made their pitch.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rusty was grateful that he was bunking with Mitch in the same room. He wasn't ashamed to admit that the whole incident earlier with Paul downstairs had scared the crap out of him. He'd pulled Paul aside and looked him dead in the eye when he asked if he'd been putting them on for the sake of the show. Paul vehemently denied any play-acting, and had the red marks around his neck to prove it.

Could Nina have somehow put those marks there? No, there hadn't been enough time.

Not to mention, Paul was pretty shaken up.

Rusty looked at his watch, catching the dial in the moonlight. Almost two. Mitch snored away as if nothing had happened.

The air in the room was so cold, the exposed flesh of his face felt like ice.
I'll be the first person to get frostbite in a house sleeping several feet from a roaring fire.

Something was very wrong with Ormsby House. Of that he no longer had any doubts.

Gotta check that boat tomorrow, see if it works.
If he could beat it off the island, he would. Mitch could handle things all by himself just fine.

“I shouldn't be freezing in the middle of the fucking summer,” he said into his pillow, burrowing deeper under the blankets.

He wanted no part of the place, or Nina, or the Harpers, or even Paul. He thought of offering a ride to freedom to Eddie and Jessica, but she seemed determined to guard the kids.

But how do you guard children from a ghost?

The question gave him a chill deeper than the unearthly frost that permeated every molecule of the house.

The next morning, Mitch woke up early, brewed a pot of coffee and woke Paul up with a steaming mug. “Rise and shine, butterfly.”

Paul woke with a start, overcome by a hacking cough. It took him a minute or so to settle down and find his voice, scratchy as it was.

“What, no oatmeal and eggs?” he said, sitting up in the bed.

“We need to talk, outside. Get dressed.”

Mitch walked out, not allowing any room for question or discussion. He waited for Paul by the entrance of the path to the dock. Paul shuffled out the front door several minutes later clad in gray sweats. His hair and beard looked windblown.

He squinted at the rising sun.

“What time is it?” Paul asked.

“It doesn't matter. What the hell are we really dealing with here? I know you didn't fake that little attack last night because you were never that good an actor. I kept the camera rolling, by the way. Talk about a goddamn hook! You told us this place was haunted. How haunted is it?”

Paul cast a quick glance at the house. “I'm not sure. When they found the bodies twenty years ago, the place became off limits. That was horror enough. There were whispers of strange stuff going on before then, but no one is alive who could verify a thing. Somehow, an urban legend grew about the whole island.
Don't go near haunted Ormsby Island.
They say a reporter went out alone one night just after the mass murder had been discovered and never came back. Since anyone who had committed the murders was either dead or gone at that point, it had to be the island itself that offed the reporter. Mitch, Ormsby Island isn't even on most maps of Charleston Harbor. Locals will turn away the moment you even say its name. Whether it started as parents telling their teen kids ghost stories to scare them the hell away from the place or what, I don't know. The moment my sister and brother-in-law saw it, they knew it was the perfect backdrop for what we wanted to do. When they sent me the pictures, I couldn't have agreed more. Man, look at the place.”

The flakes of paint peeling from the house held the orange rays of the sun, appearing as tiny flames wavering in the early morning breeze. Mitch wished to hell he had his camera with him now. If ever a place looked like it was straight from hell itself, it was Ormsby House at this very moment. He made a note to come out early tomorrow and film some B roll.

“After they bought it for next to nothing, they brought Nina on who verified that there are definite ghosts trapped here.”

Mitch said, “I'm not saying I believe in all that horse crap, especially anything that comes from your little gypsy's mouth, but whatever it is the two of you are doing, you have to not only keep it up, you have to get it in overdrive. This is platinum stuff. Once we get inside, I'm not going to have a waking moment without a camera rolling. I'll even bring it in with me when I take a piss. If you can prove it to me that this shit exists, you're gonna have millions of people eating out of your hands. If it gets hairy again, don't lose your cool. If you do, we're done for. You got me?”

Paul nodded, taking a long gulp of his coffee that had already gone tepid from the frigid air.

“I'm serious, Paul. We've been buddies for a dog and cat's age, and I know how you can flake out at times. Rusty and I put our asses on the line for you. Lose your cool, and we're gonna have another conversation. A very unpleasant conversation.”

Paul held his steely gaze, feeling him out to glean even a hint of jest in his words. Mitch made sure to give no quarter. It had been a long time since he'd felt the rush of working on a project destined for more than straight-to-video.

Breaking into an edgy smile, Paul said, “Yeah, I get it. I'll be cool as a well digger's ass.”

He jumped when the front door slammed shut, the harsh bang echoing around the trees.

Mitch shook his head. “That well digger must be working in a hot spring.”