What Haunts Me (5 page)

Phil continued. The previous animation had returned to his voice and demeanor, and while I wasn't sure if that was the whiskey taking effect, I didn't care. I liked this Phil better than the somber Phil.

“So, I decided to make ghosts and the paranormal my career, and that's what I did for years…I worked with doctors and researchers. Then I branched out on my own with the ghost tour business….” He smiled. “Well, I had some help from your people.” I wasn't sure what that meant and I guess my expression told him so, because he explained.

“Before I got started I asked a buddy of mine who was passing through town to help me find some ghosts, ones that did stuff, but not bad stuff. We prowled the streets of the city for about a week, and when we were done, he'd killed a few demons and pointed out a few harmless apparitions. I did my research, learned about them, and
ta-da
! Ghost tour: complete with real ghosts.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink. I had to laugh; as eccentric as he was, it was a great business plan, and I had only one question.

“How did you find out that your Victorian lady could move stuff? I've never seen a ghost do that.”

He shrugged. “I needed a parlor trick of some sort and I'd heard over the years that some of the ghosts could do stuff. So I asked my buddy if he could try and communicate with her. He wouldn't let me be there when he did it, but he told me later that she said to bring a key next time I stopped by. So, I got an old skeleton key and hung out around the mansion one day. I had no way of knowing if she was around because I can't see her, but after an hour or so the key starts to vibrate in my hand, then it turns over and I just figured that was her deal, she was gonna move the key around. So I started that little routine like you saw tonight. It's been a hit ever since.”

We sipped our whiskey in silence for a while. It was getting pretty late and Phil must have thought so too, because he pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. He looked tired and I knew I was, but I had one more topic to broach before we parted.

“You think this Edgar guy is going to come around?” I asked a little nervously.

Phil was turning his glass around in circles on the table, making the condensation ring bigger with each twirl. “Probably. I mean, he touched you, so he saw her and that also means he knows what you are. If you're the guy at the center of all these rumors….” He gave me a wink, as if to confirm that even though I didn't believe I was the rumored guy, he did. “Vokkel will definitely want to talk to you, so you should steer clear of him if you can.” With that Phil drained his glass and began to slide out of the booth.

“Wait, one more thing.” My tone was pleading and I hated the helpless feeling of my ignorance. “How can I kill them? Aren't they already dead?”

Phil smiled and said, “There are things in this world that we can't explain, and the demons that haunt are one of them. They're wrong, they don't belong here. But for every wrong there needs to be a right, and you George—you and the other ghost killers—are that right.”

He pulled a business card out of the other vest pocket and handed it to me. “Call this number in two days.” He stood, tossed some money on the table, grabbed his coat, tipped his hat in my direction, and left the bar. I picked up the card and turned it over to read it; it had seven numbers on it, no more, no less.

I stared after him, finally lifting my glass to my lips and draining it. I walked home…it wasn't that far, but there were a few steep hills between my place and lower Pacific Heights. However, the walk and fresh air did me some good. I kept my senses and sights on alert for Edgar and the Watchers, not that I knew what they looked like…

I didn't sleep much that night and when I finally drifted off, I was plagued with strange dreams about evil doctors and their unfriendly apprentices, specifically Edgar. After some breakfast and a lot of coffee, I decided that I needed to know more about Dr. Vokkel. So I retired to the couch, laptop in hand, and began to scour the Internet. Unfortunately, I didn't find a whole lot more than what I already knew.

I wondered if I could locate his house, perhaps take a stroll by it and see what I could see. The thought intrigued me so, still having access to my real estate data bases from work, I logged onto the one we used to determine property ownership and plugged in Vokkel's full name. I wasn't surprised to find that no one with the last name Vokkel owned property in the city; it wasn't uncommon, especially for rich or eccentric people, to put the properties into corporations or trusts that bore little or no resemblance to themselves. I tried some variations and happened upon a corporation under the initials of FV. The property asset was in Pacific Heights, and I jotted down the address with the intention of taking a little walk later that afternoon.

The address was in a section of Pacific Heights where you would typically find nothing but mansions, pretty swanky digs if you could afford them. I stood on the opposite side of the street under the shadow of a large tree. The place was pretty impressive, a stunning Second Empire Victorian, complete with slate mansard roof, double door entrance, and central tower that rose above the main structure. The house was painted Charleston Green, so dark it was almost black. It was surrounded by an eight foot tall brick wall with a wrought iron gate in the center. Most of the brick was covered with rich green ivy that played nicely off the house color. To the left of the gate was a polished brass panel, and as I stood staring, the mailman approached and pressed a button in the panel while digging some sort of package out of his pouch. Beyond the gate I could see the large double oak front doors. One opened and Edgar stepped onto the porch, made his way to the gate, accepted the package without a word to the mail carrier, and turned back to the house. The mail carrier moved on, but when Edgar reached the top of the stoop, he turned and looked right at me.

I was startled; not only was I under the shadow of a large tree, but I was standing partially behind its massive trunk. To make matters worse, the sun was shining directly in Edgar's eyes, yet he wasn't squinting. We stared at each other for over a minute. Finally he motioned me forward with a wave of his hand. Without having any memory of crossing the street, I suddenly found myself standing at the front gate. I felt like I was in some sort of trance, conscious of my surroundings, but unable to control myself. He walked to meet me, and when we were face to face he said, “Mr. Sinclair, Dr. Vokkel would like to make your acquaintance. Come in.”

I couldn't say a word in response, but when he opened the gate I went through it and followed him up the walkway and into the house. Somewhere deep inside my head I could hear screaming, a warning telling me to turn and run, but I couldn't seem to heed it. If Edgar said anything more, I didn't hear it, and the next thing I knew I was alone in a large foyer.

The floors were highly polished marble that reflected the light coming off the ornate chandelier above my head. But even with the light on, the room was dark, probably due to the rich blue wall color and dark woodwork. To the right side of the foyer, a carved staircase ascended, with a hallway flanking its left side, I assumed that was where Edgar had disappeared to. A painting hung halfway up the staircase, and I moved closer to get a better look at it. It was the only artwork in the space. It was large, probably close to six feet in length and four feet in width. The edges of the canvas were dark and faded inward to lighter shades of blues, almost like a twilight sky. The eye was drawn to the center of the painting where a form appeared, perhaps a person, but to me it looked like a ghost—more specifically, like the swirling grey ghosts that met the tip of my trusty number two pencil. As if to confirm this, another form, yellowish and more human in shape, seemed to be pointing at the grey mass.

I was seeing all of this in a dreamlike state when suddenly car horns started blaring and I heard yelling. It shook me, woke me from whatever spell I was under, and I took one more look at the painting, shivered, and then quickly left the house. When I reached the gate I could see my saviors; a delivery van had double parked, blocking the narrow street and making it impossible for anything bigger than a bicycle to pass. Several cars and a trash truck were all trying to get by. I didn't wait around to see who was going to win—I needed to get away from Edgar and Vokkel as fast as I could, so I ran.

At that point, I felt a bit on the loony-tunes side of things. After all, I'd been warned about Edgar and Vokkel, and yet I not only went to their house, I got caught
and
I went inside, where they could have killed me, cut me into little pieces, and sent me down the garbage disposal without anyone being the wiser.

At some point I had stopped running and was now walking in a daze of confusion, paying little attention to my surroundings. I was surprised when I found myself suddenly standing in front of my building, with no recollection of having directed myself there. And I wasn't alone.

Most buildings in the city didn't have front gardens or lawns, but mine had a small front courtyard that recessed into the building. It was adorned with a few topiary trees in large planters and two stone benches flanking the double front doors. Sitting on one of these benches, fiddling with something in her hands, was a woman with long, slightly tangled jet black hair that covered most of her face. She was wearing all black clothing that looked a little rough around the edges, as if she'd been on the road for a while. A large, battered backpack was sitting on the bench next to her, which seemed to confirm her vagabond condition.

When she noticed me, she turned in my direction. Her skin was pale and smooth and accentuated by very dark lipstick. Most importantly, she was wearing the Harry Potter/John Lennon glasses. I stopped abruptly and began to dig around in my pockets for my little yellow friend.

I must have been staring too, because she suddenly said, “What are you lookin' at?”

I stepped back in surprise. The ghosts had never talked to me before. Then I noticed what she'd been so preoccupied with. She had been reading something on her cell phone; my ghosts weren't of this day and age, so no cell phones. The second thing that struck me was that her glasses weren't eyeglasses, but sunglasses…although in my defense, the lens tint was very light for the most part. She must have been a real woman, and of course the “real woman” thought made me laugh out loud, which made her scowl.

“Sorry, you just startled me. Can I help you? Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.

She stood up and her hair swung away from her face, giving me a clearer view. She wasn't super-model pretty, but there was certainly something about her that made you want to stare just a second or two past what would be considered polite.

“Of course I'm waiting for someone, why else would I be sitting here?” she asked sarcastically.

I arched one eyebrow and replied with equal sarcasm. “And who might that be?”

She didn't lose the attitude when she responded, “I'm waiting for my aunt, that's who.”

She was starting to piss me off. “Does your aunt have a name?”

This time she snickered and said, “Of course she has a name.”

That was it! I'd had a rough day so far and wasn't in the mood for this lady, and suddenly wished she
was
a ghost so I could poke her with my trusty number two and go about my business. Instead, I tossed out the old standby for whenever I found an unwanted visitor in our little courtyard.

“Lady, this is private property. Unless you have legitimate business with one of the residents, get out of here or I'll call the cops.”

She snickered again, but then it turned into a smirk that was almost a smile and said, “Sorry. I'm waiting for my Aunt Justine, Justine Wilkinson.”

Now that was a real problem. Justine had told me on many occasions that she was an only child and had no living family. I was immediately suspicious and started to reach into my pocket for my cell phone. Perhaps calling the police wasn't a bad idea after all.

“I know her and she doesn't have any siblings
or
family for that matter. I'm calling the cops now. You have until I finish dialing to get out of here,” I said as I entered the pass-code on my phone.

The woman shrugged and reached for her backpack, shouldering it with surprising ease despite its size, and said, “Call 'em if you want. Justine just sent me a text and said she'd be here soon. I'll wait on the sidewalk.” She walked past me and plopped down on the curb, dropping the backpack as she did so.

I wasn't sure what to do. Should I wait to see if Justine really was on her way, or should I just call the cops? I decided to go inside and wait on the steps in the lobby. If Justine showed up soon and recognized the woman, then at least I would feel better about her loitering.

The woman was right. Justine arrived by cab not ten minutes later. I watched them hug before they both turned to enter the building. I didn't want to confront her again, so I high-tailed it up the stairs before they made it to the door.

I thought I'd check in with Justine in a little while to be sure all was well. I waited fifteen minutes and then called, and she answered with her usual cheerful tone. I'd learned a while ago that Justine preferred straightforward people, so I didn't bother trying to sugarcoat my concerns.

“Hi Justine, how are you?”

She recognized my voice immediately. “Oh George dear, I'm just fabulous. How are you?”

“I'm good. I wanted to check in on you. There was a woman waiting for you earlier. She wasn't exactly friendly. Is everything okay?” I asked.

She laughed mischievously. “Yes dear, everything is fine. That was my niece Billy…well she's my cousin's granddaughter, but niece is much easier to explain. I do apologize dear. The girl can be a bit brazen at times. She mentioned your meeting and I intended to ring you. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? Be here at seven dear—smooch, smooch.” She hung up before I could respond. I suddenly had dinner plans with my favorite neighbor
and
her brazen niece.