The Supernaturals (60 page)

Yes, Summer Place had awakened.

twenty

New York City

The screening room was silent, save only for the sound of ice striking the bottom of a glass. Everyone started, turning away from the large screen for the briefest of moments to look for the source of the sound. Abraham Feuerstein looked up in mock apology and smiled, pouring his own drink for the first time in years—at least, in front of others. He nodded toward the screen.

“Inform Harris Dalton that we’ll stick with the special for the time being. Also inform Lionel Peterson he is not to leave the house, he’s to stay inside with Professor Kennedy. We do have the state policeman on hand?”

“Yes sir,” his assistant said as she helped the old man back to his chair.

 
“Good. That should preclude anyone calling the authorities.”

“Sir, what if—”

The CEO stared at the man who fronted for Lionel Peterson until the skinny little man closed his mouth.

“I believe our good Professor Kennedy made everyone aware of Mr. Peterson’s culpability in the basement hoax. He stays, and the special goes forward. Instruct Dalton that he has control of commercial interruption time.”

The audio and the visuals that had come in from Summer Place had shocked everyone.

“It looks like Halloween may just turn out to be something special after all.”

The men and women in the screening room had never seen the old man looking so smug.

They all heard
the moan coming from upstairs. It was Kennedy who acted first, swiping blood away as he gained his feet. John Lonetree acted second, standing and eyeing Jenny, his unvoiced command making her stand in place and not follow him. Both men bounded up the stairs just as the lighting inside the house came on strong. Everyone else remained in the foyer, motionless. Lionel Peterson heard the command coming from the production van that instructed everyone to keep their places. Not only was the special to continue, it would do so without commercial interruption at Dalton’s discretion. But by far the most shocking news was the order that Harris passed on directly to Peterson himself, and this order made everyone that heard it over their headphones smile: he was to stay inside the house with the investigating teams. Peterson tore the earpiece from his ear and threw it to the ground. A soundman collected it and placed it in his own ear as he and the first cameraman bolted after Kennedy and Lonetree.

Inside the production van, Harris Dalton was practically screaming for the camera and sound men to catch up with the professor. On monitor number one, the picture was jumbled as the cameraman took the stairs in pursuit, jostling the camera about. They had switched from ambient light to regular exposure and the lens finally caught sight of the two men kneeling before a prone figure on the second floor landing. The picture jostled once again as someone pushed past the two technicians. It was Damian Jackson, who went to Lonetree and Kennedy.

“If this man is hurt because of anything you pulled, Kennedy, I swear to God I’ll place you in handcuffs in front of the entire fucking world!”

Gabriel didn’t even look up when the state policeman bumped him. He was busy feeling for a pulse. When he found it, he finally spared the lieutenant a glance.

“Shut up and help us get him out of here. He needs a doctor. I think his neck’s broken.”

All three men lifted the Father as carefully as they could. The movement made the old man moan and then there was silence. They brushed by the camera and soundmen on their way down the stairs. The others gathered around the staircase as the three men went through the foyer with Father Dolan in their arms, and on to the front doors. Lonetree let go of one of the Father’s legs and reached for the door handle. He turned the knob and pulled, but nothing happened. He looked to make sure it wasn’t locked and then tried again. This time the left side opened about six inches and was pulled closed, yanking the handle from the big Indian’s grasp. He tried again and this time had it almost all the way open with the assistance of three or four people in the front porch. The door was pulled from his grasp once more.

“To hell with this,” Damian Jackson said. He helped lower Father Dolan to the expensive carpet. Then he went to the large plate glass window on the side of the double doors. He took a large wooden chair that had flanked a small table, and with all of his strength he raised it above his head and slammed it into the window. The glass spiderwebbed, but held it shape and form. The heavy wooden chair splintered in Jackson’s hands. Nonplussed, the detective picked up the second chair from the small table set and repeated the process. This time the chair bounced backward, almost hitting the policeman on the rebound. The spiderweb cracks not only held, it looked as if they were shrinking. As if the glass was healing itself.

“What the hell?” Jackson exclaimed. The curtains blew with an unfelt breeze and, before all of them, the glass became whole again.

“It’s not going to let us out,” Gabriel said. “John, you and George take Father Dolan into the ballroom and make him as comfortable as you can.”

Damian Jackson heard the instructions, but his eyes were on the window. It looked as if he had never assaulted it with two heavy wooden chairs. Through the sheer curtain, Damian could see other people on the front porch as they tried communicating with him through the glass. Then as everyone watched, a coldness came through the first floor of Summer Place. It went past Jackson and slammed into the front wall. They watched as the pane of glass frosted over.

“Kennedy!” Jackson called. “This has gone too far. Call off your people, wherever you have them hidden, we have an injured man here.”

Gabriel shook his head as he joined Jackson at the window.

“You just won’t understand, will you? This house is waking up. Get that through your head, damn it. For now, we have to figure out what awakened it.” He turned and ran for the ballroom, followed by one of the two sets of camera and soundmen.

With the two film crews going on instinct and with no real direction, and Julie sequestered in a far corner of the ballroom to speak quietly with the production van, Gabriel checked on Father Dolan, who had been stretched out on one of the large billiard tables. Jennifer Tilden and George Cordero had the elderly priest awake and it looked like he had suffered no more than a broken right leg and possibly a concussion. In the corner, Julie cut her conversation with Dalton short when she saw that Gabriel was approaching Father Dolan. She waved the closest of the camera and soundmen toward the billiard table. Lionel Peterson saw the gathering and moved off to join Damian Jackson as he entered the ballroom.

“How is he?” Gabriel asked Jenny.

“For someone who was dragged up a flight of stairs, he’s doing remarkably well,” she said. She was wrapping the Father’s leg in one of the sheer curtains from the ballroom’s window.

“Keep him warm. In case you haven’t noticed, winter’s set in down here.” Kennedy blew out a deep sigh to demonstrate the frosting of his breath.

“Professor, I’m sorry for what I did,” Father Dolan said, struggling with his words.

Gabriel placed a hand on the man’s chest and patted it. “You just lay still, we’ll try to get you some help.”

“I have a feeling that may be more of a problem than you know.” Dolan raised a hand and pointed toward one of the plate glass windows. Wallace Lindemann was using one of the ornate barstools to smash at the glass, but every time he struck the frosted glass, the barstool would rebound as if he were hitting a pane of pure rubber.

Julie Reilly stepped up with the camera crew right behind her.

“Professor, can you absolutely rule out a set-up? You and your team members were actually in a tug of war with something on that staircase. What can you tell us?”

Gabriel smiled and shook his head. Then he looked around the room. It seemed that everyone was watching him, waiting for the explanation that would make sense of the sudden shift in Summer Place.

“Something changed in the few minutes leading up to the attack. An element may have been introduced that brought this slumbering beast to wakefulness.”

“So what is the plan for the Supernaturals, Professor?”

“First, we have to try and get Father Dolan and the non-essential personnel out of the house. Failing that, we will have to secure them in the ballroom.”

The lights flickered once more and a whoosh of wind traveled from upstairs. It hit the ballroom doors with such force that it slammed both doors closed. Wallace Lindemann was so taken by surprise that he dropped his barstool and quickly made his way over to Damian Jackson and Lionel Peterson.

“Jesus, it must be thirty degrees in here.”

“This woman, ladies and gentlemen, is the producer of
Hunters of the Paranormal
, Ms. Kelly Delaphoy. She has decided to join the inside team,” Julie said. The camera, with its regular light lens, zoomed in on Kelly’s face. She looked frightened, but exhilarated.

The second camera team moved closer to the detective and Lionel Peterson just as Wallace Lindemann joined them. Damian interrupted his conversation long enough to push the camera and its operator back.

“I told you, I am not to be on the air. Now get away,” he hissed.

The camera and soundmen backed away just as the lights went out, and then just as suddenly came back on. Outside the house, the harsh rumble of thunder immediately followed a flash of lightning.

“As we make plans for how to handle the sudden awakening of Summer Place, it seems we have an enormous storm cell moving into the valley. I am informed by our production crew that the winds have picked up and the sudden heavy rainfall has caught several of our support technicians off guard,” Julie explained, moving around the ballroom with her camera team in tow.

Inside the production van, Harris Dalton allowed Julie to run with it. He looked to the preview monitor and saw that they were cued up for an extended commercial run in case something happened that required them to do things they didn’t want the viewing audience to see. Thus far, New York had confirmed that they were indeed going out live and that ratings were still falling. That meant that no matter what, the CEO was telling him in no uncertain terms that they would sink or swim on what Kennedy had to say.

Harris looked around and saw the empty spaces where a half hour before Lionel Peterson and Wallace Lindemann had been sitting. Kelly’s chair was also empty and he smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. He was alone with complete control and no one looking over his shoulders. He would now go on his gut instinct, which was telling him this was his moment in the sun—the once in a lifetime event that would send his name into the stratosphere. He smiled again and spoke into his microphone.

“Julie, this is now Professor Kennedy’s show. You had your chance to put your monkey wrench in the works, and so did Peterson. Now we become believers. I think that damnable house has something to say.”

Julie Reilly knew
Harris was right; this was now Kennedy’s show. She made her way back to Kennedy and pointed at his back, indicating to the camera and sound men that they should lock onto him and not leave.

“George, anything?” Gabriel asked, pulling Cordero away from his work on Father Dolan.

“I am getting conflicting thoughts, Gabe. Although we know something from up there,” he pointed toward the ceiling, “is active as hell and mean as a snake, I’m getting the feel of massive activity from below, possibly the root cellar. Not the basement, but deeper.”

Kennedy bit his lower lip. He had been expecting activity on a large scale, but not from two very different directions.

“John, how about you?” he asked Lonetree.

“You mean besides the fact that whatever is up there is strong as hell?”

“Yeah, besides that,” Gabriel said with a smile. He was aware of the camera and sound boom hanging over their heads but did his best to ignore them.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to go with what George is feeling for right now. I have nothing. If I could close my eyes for a while, I may be able to get a grasp on what’s happening.”

Gabriel patted John on the arm and then looked at Jennifer. She just shook her head, telling him without voicing it that Bobby Lee had not rejoined her.

“Professor Gabe, maybe you better see this.”

“That is the voice of Leonard Sickles, whom our viewing audience met earlier in the evening. Leonard, as you recall, is in charge of the technical side of things for the Supernaturals,” Julie explained as she followed the camera and soundmen over to Leonard, who was standing next to the large bar. He heard the name of Kennedy’s group as dubbed by Julie and smiled. He was the only team member who actually liked the comicbook-sounding moniker.

“What do you have?” Gabriel asked as the camera joined them.

With the thump of thunder and the flash of lightning outside the windows, the camera zoomed in tight on the small black man’s face. He pulled out the contents of the yellow envelope that had been delivered by his friends from Philadelphia. Gabriel could see they were photographs.