Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (12 page)

II

The bacon was good. She finished it, not having realized how hungry she was. She was on her third cup of coffee, and now the diner was almost two-thirds empty, the early morning clientele having moved on to work or wherever else they were heading.

She was staring into her cup, her mind a million miles away, when the man approached the table. He waited, watching her as she swirled the last dregs around in lazy circles.

“Tina said you were looking for me?”

She looked up at him with a start, almost spilling her drink. He was slim, his skin dark and in stark contrast to his white kitchen porter uniform. He had short hair and a strong jawline, and although they were mistrustful at the moment, she could easily imagine his eyes being kind.

“Are you Truman?”

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said, sitting opposite her without being asked. She noticed now that it wasn’t mistrust she’d seen, but fear.

“Sorry? I don’t think I understand.”

“I knew you’d be coming to find me.”

“Wait, you’re saying you know who I am?”

“Not you specifically, but I knew someone would show up at some point.”

“Look, I don’t think I’m who you think I am,” she said, wondering how she was going to explain her reasons for being there, when Truman’s next words threw her off guard.

“You’re here about my great, great granddaddy, ain’t ya?”

It wasn’t often she was speechless, yet this was one of those occasions. She stared at Truman, who broke off into a booming, hearty laugh that triggered a few glances from the patrons still inside the diner. “Shit, you should see your face!”

“Hang on a second, let’s just go back…”

“Sorry,” Truman said, folding his hands on the table. “It’s just… I’m relieved you’re here. I was startin’ to think I was crazy.”

“Why is it you think I’m here?” she asked.

Truman smiled. “Do we have to do this?”

“I’d just like to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Truman looked at her for a second, his eyes searching hers, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Alright. Then let me take a guess. You’re here because of my great, great granddaddy Isaac. And about that house in the woods where all the bad shit lives.”

“How…” It was all Emma could manage to stammer before Truman broke into another booming laugh.

“I’ll tell you all about it. First up though, let’s get some more coffee. It looks like you might need it.”

III

The coffee helped, although she was still pretty shaken. She had built up to the idea of presenting her case to Truman on the expectation that he wouldn’t believe it. The fact that not only did he believe her, but knew what she was there for, was a little too much to handle.

“So you dreamed about me?”

“It sounds creepy when you put it like that, but I suppose I did. I started to see that place whenever I went to sleep. A dream but not a dream. Like I was seeing something in the real world but at the same time not. It’s hard to explain, but I know that place,” Truman said, sipping his drink.

“Depends if we’re talking about the same place. Can you describe it?”

“It’s quiet there. In the woods. The house is set in a little cove, like a cut out in the forest. It’s a good size, and there’s a circular wall on the east corner running the full height of the house. Around back, there’s a river and a bridge, and above the road in the forest leadin’ to the house, there’s a sign hanging on a wooden frame. The sign has the word ‘hope’ on it.”

“How do you know this?”

Truman shrugged. “All I’m tellin’ you is what I see in my dreams. I see other stuff too. Stuff I don’t understand.”

“What kind of things?” Emma said, leaning forward in her seat.

“Just images mostly. Things. I see him sometimes. He’s the one told me someone would be comin’, that I should listen to what they tell me. There are other things too.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… snapshots. Clips of things that have happen’ at that place over the years. He tells me his body was freed ‘cus it was taken far away from the bad place by the river waters. It’s those unlucky sons of bitches who died there that are stuck. Trapped. I see what happen’ to some o’ them. I see all the people that died there, and I feel what happened to them. I know it’s just dreams, but to me, it’s real.”

“What if I told you I knew what your dreams were about?”

“I’d be curious, but not too surprised. As I said, I guessed a way back these were more than dreams. It’s just not the kind of thing you can go talk to someone about without lookin’ like some kinda nut, ya know? I figured I’d just wait and see if someone turned up looking for me about it all. I guess this means I’m either crazy or involved in some freaky shit.”

“Do you know anything about the place from your dreams? The real place?” Emma asked.

“I looked it up. Did some research online. A lot of what I read kind of tied in to my dreams. What I wanna know is, where the hell
you
come into this.”

“When you were researching, did you read anything about the hotel?”

“Course I did. It was pretty much all there was about the place until I decided to dig a little deeper. Sounds like some nasty shit went down there over the years. Some real nasty shit.”

“I was there. I survived it.”

Truman gave her the look. The one she always got from people who knew she was one of those who’d lived to tell the tale. “Holy shit. Then I guess maybe you
do
know what the hell I’m talking about. Sounds like you were lucky,” Truman said.

“If you can call it that. I…” she took a drink of her coffee. It was almost cold, but she barely noticed. “I lost some friends. Some good friends. They were killed that night.”

“Yeah, well, losing people is never easy. If it makes a difference, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My family has a history there. It’s… well, it’s something I don’t want to get into right now. When we know each other a little better, maybe. For now though, it’s not important.”

“Alright, no problem,” Truman said, still gazing at her intently. “But I do need you to tell me what you want with me, and how you think I can help. As you can see, I’m just a guy who washes dishes for a livin’.”

“How much do you know about your ancestor?”

“Not much. I tried to look into his past, but I couldn’t find much. I know he came over as a slave in the early nineteenth century. I know he was married and had a wife and kid, other than that I couldn’t find anything. If you came here to ask me what he has to do with that house, then I’m sorry but I ain’t got a clue.”

“I do. That house, the one from your dreams. He helped build it. He was working for a man called Michael Jones.”

Truman nodded. “I read about
that
motherfucker. His company went under a few months after the house was built. He just upped and left one day. All of his debts were left to his brother and business partner. Good riddance if you ask me. Damn slave trader.”

“That’s the official story. What you don’t know is your ancestor was the first man to die on those grounds when the house was being built.”

“How do you know that?” Truman said, the mistrustful look appearing in his eyes again.

“The documented history of that place is only part of the story. My grandmother was from Oakwell, she lived there all her life. The townspeople buried a lot of things from the public. A lot of it was never officially recorded.”

“So what happened to him?” Truman asked.

“There were a series of letters, correspondence between Michael Jones and Governor Hughes, which showed Michael’s degeneration into madness. Later, after Michael had stopped responding to the letters, Michael’s brother Francis contacted the Governor to announce the death of his brother, and made reference to a suicide – a hanging of one of the slave workers on the site. That worker was your ancestor. Like his brother before him, Francis’s letters took on a very dark and disturbing tone, and soon he too stopped responding. Concerned by the mention of the deaths on site and lack of communication from either of the Jones brothers, Governor Hughes sent some men to find out what was going on. They didn’t find anything at the house, however they did locate the bodies of both Michael and Isaac. They had drifted downriver, and were found almost twenty miles away. My best guess is that Michael was trying to get rid of the body so it wouldn’t hold up construction. The assumption is that he slipped whilst trying to dump the body in the river, and got washed away along with your grandfather. He wasn’t a good swimmer, although anyone who knows the history of that place knows it was no accident. It rarely ever is in that place.”

“What happened to the other brother, uhh Francis?”

“Nobody knows. His body was never found, and he was never seen or heard from again. My guess is his bones are out there somewhere, undiscovered in the trees.”

“This is some crazy shit, lady,” Truman said, smiling nervously. “What does it have to do with me?”

She reached into her bag on the seat beside her, took out a folder and slid it across the table. “This is all the information I have on your ancestor and the house. It’s everything I’ve found out about how I think we can stop this thing. My number is on the back. I can only stay for a few days before I have to move on as there are others who I need to help me with this. It’s important for you to know I need everyone if I’m to make this work. Just think about it, okay?”

Truman pulled the folder toward him and leafed through the pages.

“I need some time with this. I need to get my head straight, it’s buzzin’ right now.”

“I understand. The address where you can find me is in the front there.”

“Let me think it over,” Truman said, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll give you a call if I think I can help you.”

Emma nodded, watching as he went back into the kitchen. She sat for a few more minutes then decided whatever happened next was out of her hands. She glanced toward the kitchen, but couldn’t see Truman. Finishing her coffee, she left in the hope that he would decide to join her.

CHAPTER 15

“You must be the new guy,” the orderly said, striding across the room and thrusting out a shovel-like hand. “Name’s Barry. People in here call me Bear.”

It was an apt name, as Bear stood a good half foot taller than Barlow, who was almost six feet tall himself. Barlow shook the offered hand, watching as his own skinny appendage was swallowed by an ocean of cocoa.

“Pleased to meet you,” Barlow said, filled with the nervous unease felt by those starting a new job. “I’m Ron.”

Bear grinned. He had kind eyes and a dazzling smile which was infectious and set the new arrival at ease. “Well, Ron, you stick with me and you’ll be just fine. I’ve been asked to show you around. You got your swipe card yet?”

“Yeah,” Barlow replied.

“Door passcodes?”

“Uh, not yet.”

“We’ll sort those out later. For now, let me give you the grand tour of chez Crease.”

Bear led Barlow through the main reception area and punched in his key code, granting access to the inner sanctum of the hospital. Eggshell colored walls were the prevailing theme as the décor tried its best to make up for the grilles on the windows and the locks on the doors.

“So, how long have you worked here?” Barlow asked.

“Twelve years now.”

“Impressive. I take it you like the job?”

“Not all the time,” Bear said, flashing that infectious grin again. “But for the most part, it’s rewarding as hell, that is if you can handle it. This job isn’t for everyone.”

Barlow nodded, happy to stay on the fence rather than offer an opinion until he knew Bear a little better. “So,” he said instead, “anyone in particular here I should be wary of?”

“You need to be wary of all of the patients here, for your own safety as well as theirs. If you’re talking about anyone you might have heard of in the news, then the answer is yes.”

“Who?” Barlow asked.

They came to a security door. Bear swiped the card that he wore on a lanyard around his neck. The magnetic lock clicked, and Bear held the door open, gesturing for Barlow to go through. They were at the top of a staircase, and Bear led the way as they descended three floors, the lighting now much duller compared to the bright, airy feel upstairs.

“I take it you’re asking about the Oakwell massacre?” Bear said, pausing in the corridor.

Barlow said nothing, and Bear gave another grin. “It’s alright. Everyone wants to know about that. Believe me, soon enough the hype will wear off and you’ll be as sick as the rest of us of hearing about it. Come on, I’ll show you what you want to see.”

At the foot of the steps was a caged security station, manned by a small, wrinkled old woman who gave them both a bland look. Bear gave her a cursory nod and again punched in his code, granting them access to a long corridor with doors spaced regularly down both sides. As they walked, their shoes echoed on the polished floors.

“You know what happened I take it? During the massacre?” Bear said.

Barlow nodded, noting even Bear had lost some of his exuberance as they entered the secure wing of the hospital.