2 Spirit of Denial (9 page)

"I assure you," Wesley began, "that there was nothing playacting—"

"You mean to tell me this woman," Dr. Van Flemming pointed his finger at Clara, "saw the ghost of an Egyptian queen in a room controlling Pauline... I mean... a known actress of the lowest caliber?  Pauline was merely trifling with your sympathies and I cannot believe you fell for it."  The flush that crossed Dr. Van Flemming's face told the tale that his sympathies had fallen for Pauline's trifling more than he would like to admit.

"I am sure it seems unbelievable—" said Wesley.

"I do not take lightly to being taken for a fool."

"Please, Dr. Van Flemming," Clara said.  Her soft voice and the toll it took for her to speak up caused the men to stop their bickering.  "Obviously you are right that something is not as it seems."

"As I was saying," he said, giving an approving nod that Clara was so sensible.

"But I did see something, and this something seemed to have possessed Violet and Pauline!” she insisted.  “If it is not supernatural, then there must be a logical explanation.  Won't you help us to discover the cause?  We do not ask that you believe the events of such a bizarre evening, but surely there is a root cause of these mass hallucinations.  Only a man of science such as yourself holds the key to the answers."

Dr. Van Flemming sat back in his chair and heaved a great sigh.  "I cannot turn my back on such a plea."

"Thank you," Clara responded, her speech taking almost all of her energy from her.  She leaned heavily upon the arm of her chair.

"How did you know Pauline?" Wesley asked.

"She was always a vain creature." Dr. Van Flemming looked out the window.  "I met her at the burlesque.  In fact, the night I first met her was the happiest night of my life.  She began seeing me, thinking that somehow I, with my mind full of scientific knowledge, could reverse the aging process, could keep her young forever.  Her signature Egyptian performance?  It was because of the mummy downstairs.  Pauline became convinced that the Egyptians unlocked the secrets to eternal youth.  She had already stolen my heart before I realized that it was not me, but my knowledge, that she was after.  It was then that she and Phineas struck up their... friendship.  He, by all reports, should be dead.  His biological diseases are all fatal, and yet, he lives and does not seem to age."  Dr. Van Flemming stopped himself, embarrassed.  "She tried to come to see me about a week ago.  Sent a message.  Said that she was being haunted by dreams of Egyptians.  Said she felt like some sort of evil curse had wound itself around her.  Poor girl seemed delusional.  She asked if there were any items in ancient Egyptian culture to counter such curses."

"And what did you tell her?" asked Wesley.

"That she was reading too many ghost stories.  And after seeing her performance last night, the way she frightened Mrs. O'Hare here to the brink of feminine strength, well... I believe I made the right decision to send her away."

Clara stopped him.  "If this is all in her head," she said, knowing that it was not and the curse was very real, "sometimes the suggestion of a cure can change a person's health.  Is there anything in the ancient texts to counter such curses?"

"There are no such things as curses!  Thus nothing to counter!" Dr. Van Flemming erupted in exasperation.

"But on a mythological level..."

"If you want to avoid opening up an ancient Egyptian curse, don't go opening up any ancient Egyptian tombs," Dr. Van Flemming stated with finality.

"Was there a curse on the tomb that you opened?" demanded Clara with the last remains of her strength.

"This is preposterous..."

"Please, just humor us," said Wesley.  "Do you have any photographs or drawings of your dig site?  Something we could compare the artifacts in your basement to in order to see if there are any differences or clues."

Dr. Van Flemming rose. "I may be many things, but unorganized, I am not."  He tripped over a pile of books and knocked over a stack of papers on his way to the bookshelf.  He took down a large scrapbook, brought it over to the desk, and opened the pages to the photographs of the mummy's sarcophagus. 

"It looks like there is some damage here," said Clara, pointing to the face of a statue.

"Ah!" pontificated Dr. Van Flemming, only too happy to correct her.  "That is indeed what you would think.  The ancient Egyptians kept their works unfinished.  They believed if you completed a painting or sculpture, it would bind the subject's soul to the object."  He grumbled as he peered closer at the picture.  "That damned Dr. Mallfeld thought our mummy would look much better if he corrected the unfinished bits and painted them on himself."

"What did you say?" asked Wesley slowly.  "He completed an unfinished object which might have bound a soul?"

Dr. Van Flemming closed the book.  "Now, if you are going to get started on this idea of a curse again and tell me that a bit of paint unleashed a terrible power..."

"Please, Dr. Van Flemming," Clara responded.  "Could we not lift a bit of the paint from the mummy, just to see if it might help?"

"My good madam," he said rising.  "I fear that this illness which has struck you has made you take leave of your senses.  I advise you to go home and lie down."

"But please, can we not try?"

"I will not further damage this ancient artifact for the sake of some foolish notion you have gotten into your head!  And so I say, good day to you.  May I show you out?"

Clara and Wesley rose, knowing that it would be foolhardy to push any further, and headed for the door. 

"Thank you very much for your time," Wesley said.  "We apologize for any distress our inquiries might have caused."

Dr. Van Flemming seemed to soften a little.  "None at all.  But please do not reduce the important work and studies I do to flim-flammery."

"I assure you that was not the reason for our questioning."

Dr. Van Flemming looked over at Clara, who was leaning heavily upon Wesley's arm, and softened.  "Take Mrs. O'Hare home.  When she is feeling better, come back and we can discuss this further."

"Thank you," said Wesley, gently guiding Clara down the sidewalk.  "We appreciate your generosity."

Wesley hailed a cab and helped guide Clara inside.  She clutched his hand gratefully as she leaned her head against the back of the padded seat and closed her eyes.

"My darling," he said, wiping her feverish brow.  "You seem increasingly unwell."

"I do not know what has come over me," she replied.  "Phineas Stokeman came to my house earlier to see how I was faring after the séance, and it was then I started feeling ill."

He pressed the back of her hand to his lips and kept it clasped in his as the cab gently rocked down the road.

Clara finally spoke, her eyes still closed. "It is so strange that Mr. Stokeman and Dr. Van Flemming both knew Violet and Pauline."

"Have you been thinking this whole time?" chided Wesley good-naturedly.  "And here I thought I should keep quiet so that you could sleep."

"It is no use," Clara said.  "I could not quiet my mind if I wanted to.  Too much has happened and I fear that some terrible event marches closer to us every day."

"Don't fret about that now, Clara," Wesley said tenderly.  "Just rest.  Feel better.  Soon you will be fit as a fiddle and we can solve this blasted mystery."

"If the ghost controlling Pauline wanted the heart so greatly, why would Pauline have thrown it away?" Clara murmured, as she began to drift off to sleep despite her own protests.  “I wonder if Pauline ever had the heart at all...”

Wesley stroked her hand and rested his lips against her brow.

T
he sun was shining in Clara's room.  Opening her eyes caused sharp spikes of pain.  Her head was pounding as if a hundred drummers were beating rhythm on the inside of her skull.  Her mouth was parched.  Her eyes were dry.

"Whatever could be the matter?" Clara whispered to herself.

She slowly sat up and hung her legs over the side of her bed.  Nan knocked gently and then opened the door.  She seemed surprised to see Clara awake.

"Up and about already?" she said.  "I would have thought you would have slept until noon with the busy days you have been having."

"Oh, I wish I could have," said Clara.  "I feel quite out of sorts."

Nan looked at the scarab necklace hanging around Clara’s neck.  "Tsk!  Wore your jewelry to bed, dear?  That's an easy way to lose things in the bedclothes."

Clara touched it.  "How strange...  I thought for sure I had taken it off last night."

"Odd," said Nan.  "You were looking so peaked, you probably just forgot."

"Just so," said Clara.  She stood and then sat back down again.  "Oh, Nan.  I am afraid I am not feeling well enough to come down for breakfast."

Concerned, Nan came over and helped Clara get her legs back under the covers.  "Don't you worry a thing about such foolishness," she said.  "You staying in bed will give us time to give the dining room a good cleaning out.  Now, you just rest here.  I'll bring you some breakfast as soon as it is done.  You've been pushing yourself so hard, it is no wonder that you are not feeling well.  Today, you'll do nothing but rest.  I'll get you some books from the library, and we'll give your body a little time to recover from all this excitement."

Clara nodded in agreement, unable to come up with the energy to even feign protest.  "Could you get me my writing box?  I'd like to send Wesley a message to let him know I am not feeling well."

Nan smiled as she tucked Clara in.  "He is a special gentleman, isn't he?" noted Nan conspiringly.

"That is he," said Clara, finding her cheeks strangely warm.  "I care for him a great deal."

"I always liked him," said Nan.  "Ever since Minnie came to work for us, he would drop by to say hello.  Such a caring young man, looking out for her with such kindness."  Pointedly, she added, "I see him looking out for you with such kindness, too."

"Indeed," replied Clara tenderly.  "It is strange that after Thomas's death, I thought I would never love again.  And yet, somehow, Wesley was able to break through all of that darkness.
"

Nan sat down on the bed.  "That's the thing about love, my dear.  It comes when you least expect it, when you least want it, and when you have sworn to yourself you're done with such foolish dealings, POOF!  There is Mr. Wonderful standing right in front of you, stealing your heart away."

"Affection is such a strange thing."

"Here you can sit here seeing ghosts and hunting down curses, and yet find yourself having a hard time believing you could be struck by love again?  I'd say that you have seen stranger things."

Clara laughed.  "Well, if you put it in that light..."

"Enjoy it, dear," Nan encouraged.  "These things soon fade to comfort and we think back upon the heady days of infatuation with such fondness.  Eat it up."

"I shall," promised Clara, Nan's words settling truthfully in her heart.

"And speaking of eating up, let me get your breakfast!" said Nan rising quickly.  "You must be starving and here I'm talking your ear off."

Clara stopped her.  "It is wonderful to have someone to talk to," said Clara.

"For me, too, dear," said Nan.  "The years have been so quiet with just Willard, Minnie, and me, and no one else paying us mind."

"I am sorry that Minnie has not been back," said Clara.  "I know she was your friend.  I hope she is not lost."

"Oh!  Perhaps she has just moved on and doesn’t have to haunt this old house anymore,” Nan said in half-jest.

"I shall try my best to figure out how to give you rest,” Clara promised, earnestly.

Nan shook her head. "There is no rush.  Now that we have a family to take care of again, the hours pass quickly and I feel like I have purpose.  And no creaking bones or joint pain when doing the washing now!  Funny how when you're dead, you feel the exact opposite of dead tired."

Clara laughed.

"Speaking of, you close your eyes.  Don't want to push you so hard you cross before your time.  Rest!  I'll be back with breakfast before you even notice I'm gone."

"Thank you, Nan," said Clara.  "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"It is my pleasure," she replied as she shut the door.

Clara leaned her head back against the pillow.  The room began spinning. 

Suddenly, she clutched the bedclothes.  There was a force.  A great force.  It felt as if someone had grabbed her ankles and was trying to drag her out of the bed and onto the floor. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She grabbed the bedpost as her legs stretched towards the window.  Her hand slipped.

The scarab strained against her neck in the opposite direction.  It felt as if the thong might cut through her neck.  She grabbed it to release the pressure... and everything dropped and was still once more.

Clara looked around the room, terrified.  All appeared exactly as it should be.  She lay back, her hand wrapped around the turquoise necklace, feeling clear headed for the first time all morning.  Was it a dream?  Was she imagining things?  She felt her forehead, wondering if she had a fever.  An unnatural wave of exhaustion washed over her like she had been drugged, and she could not fight it.  She fell immediately asleep.

S
he awoke and it was morning again.  She did not know how long she had been asleep.  The door opened and Nan entered.  "You're awake!  You slept all day yesterday!"

Clara stretched.  "I must have needed it," she said.  "I feel extremely refreshed.  One hundred percent better."

"Oh, that is so good to hear.  You had me so worried," said Nan, coming in and placing a breakfast tray on the table beside Clara.  The poached eggs and toast smelled delicious this morning.  Clara reached over for her tea, feeling like she could take on the world.

"There is a message from Phineas Stokeman," said Nan, taking an envelope out of her apron pocket.  "I was going to write back and let him know you were not feeling well, but you seem to have survived the worst."

She handed it over, and Clara opened up the letter.  After giving it a quick read, she said to Nan, "It says he would like to meet this afternoon."