Flesh Gothic by Edward Lee (11 page)

Nyvysk surveyed Mack's face. He's serious! "I ... can't
wait for my first expedition to the toilet."

"Nobody will be looking." Mack smiled and went on
with more instructions for the videocom, keeping his finger
on the transception button. Nyvysk heard voices and saw
on the screen a numbered list. A red light blinked at one
listing: 7) SOUTH ATRIUM. "The red light means people
are talking there, so you-" then he pushed the #7 key.
"There. See?" The screen changed to video; Nyvysk could
see Willis and the others, sitting on several long, gold-velvet
scroll-armed couches. "And if you don't know where the
South Atrium is-" Mack pushed another button which
read MAP. The screen now showed a map of the mansion's
south wing. "The system covers the entire house and parts
of the grounds. Just like Windows XP!" Mack joked.

Nyvysk was impressed, and already considering an essential modification for their stay. "This is an impressive system. It must have cost-"

"Couple million. Chump change to Mr. Hildreth."

"I'd like to see the communications room."

"Sure. But let's go to the South Atrium first, get stuff settled." -

Mack pulled open the doors and showed Nyvysk into
what was easily a five-thousand square-foot room. More
imported oval carpets covered a shining hardwood floor.
Long tables, scroll-top desks, and meticulous stands and daybeds filled the vast space. Heavily draped bow windows
lined one wall; banistered stairs cut diagonally up another. A
number of chandeliers glittered from oak rafters above, a
prism-angled vaulted ceiling which rose thirty feet. Above
the rafters, Nyvysk even noticed veneered catwalks with
long mahogany rails, leading to small door-like panels, each
marked by a carved lion's head. The House of Seven Gables,
Nyvysk thought. The overall effect seemed focused on the
ambience, which he guessed was what Hildreth wanted.

Then Nyvysk winced.

Two main walls were paneled to dado level; from the
molding up, then, the walls were covered in a rich avocadogreen velour that shimmered depending on the angle one
stood. A bas-relief pattern of minutely detailed shield-shapes
(scutations) printed against the velour. Three couches provided the room's point of congress, and what totally spoiled
the effect for him was an immense flat-screen television before which the other members of the party sat, drinking coffee and sodas.

They were watching the Food Network.

"Nyvysk!" exclaimed Cathleen Godwin, sitting up
alertly. "Your beard's longer!"

"I suppose it is, Cathleen. Good to see you."

Cathleen dressed provocatively as ever in stonewashed
skirt-shorts and a clinging raspberry scoopneck, long legs
crossed and a transparent slide-sandal-luminous pink-dangling off a foot. Slouched at the other end of the couch was
Adrianne Saundlund, the telethesist. Her eyes drooped at the
TV. Probably on downers, Nyvysk speculated. Her slim body
looked tiny in the denim overall shorts and baggy green
t-shirt beneath. Dead to the world, or at least this one ... Nyvysk
knew her story from a variety of sources. "Hello,Adrianne."

She didn't even notice him until his voice dragged her eyes
up. "Oh, hi. Sorry-['m just out of it right now, really tired."

"Well, perhaps this little excursion will perk us all up."

"I could use that."

Willis rose from the other couch. "She's engrossed in the
Food Network, which might do us some good, 'cos we're
going to need someone to cook"

"I can't cook," Cathleen asserted.

Adrianne half-laughed. "Neither can [, but the kitchen
and pantry are incredible here."

Willis came over and shook Nyvysk's hand. Nyvysk
knew that Willis didn't really have friends-he avoided
proximities as much as possible-but now he seemed less
down-trodden than when they'd spoken in the foyer. Perhaps he was happy to see a familiar face. "This was some
rabbit out of the hat, huh?"

"It could wind up being more than a rabbit," Nyvysk
said, not surprised that the man wore gloves. Tactionists entering middle-age often wore them, since the "current"
possessed by tainted objects and people were more perceptible at this time of life.

"Sure, it could be a monster." Willis laughed. "But I gotta
be honest, I need the money so bad I'll take the chance."

Mack offered a comment. "Really? I heard you were a
successful doctor," but there was an edge to the words, a
buried snideness.

"I'm not a doctor anymore," Willis said, smirking.

"And Nyvysk's not a priest anymore, and Adrianne's not
a party animal anymore," Cathleen laughed. "And, me?
Let's see, I'm not ... twenty anymore."

"Looks like everybody here used to be something that we
no longer are."

"I'd rather look at it as evolvement," Nyvysk offered.
"It's not what we aren't anymore. It's more important what
we've become."

"Thank you, Aristotle," Adrianne said.

But Willis was casting a darker eye toward Mack. "What
about you? What aren't you anymore?"

"I'm what I've always been, Doctor Willis. A security
manager."

More indecipherable barbs. I'm going to have to find out
about this, Nyvysk thought. He'd never been interested in
gossip, but mental hostilities-especially among paranor- malists-could effect scientific sensors, sometimes drastically. Why do these men dislike each other? he asked himself.

"Have you seen the rest of the mansion?" Cathleen asked.

"No, I just arrived."

"There's thirteen bedrooms," Willis informed.

"Mr. Hildreth liked that number," Mack said. "But there
are sixty-six rooms in the house, all told."

"Jeez," Adrianne said. "I'm already thinking the guy was
an idiot. I'll bet his hero was Anton LeVey."

Nyvysk chose not to guess this early. Ninety percent of
the time there was nothing genuine behind any so-called
occultist, but Nyvysk had seen that other ten percent too
many times. And so have they, he reminded himself, looking
back at the others.

"Have you seen this?" Willis asked. He'd drifted back toward the entrance, was looking at the videocom. "The
whole mansion's wired. I'll bet your brain's already ticking
on this one."

"Of course it is. Depending on the central system's specs,
I should be able to monitor EVP on it without having to set
up my own network. IR, thermal, and magnetic-mass sensors might work too."

"Ever the ghost buster," Adrianne said. "We bring our
bodies, he brings his toys."

"I brought some toys, too," Cathleen remarked, then
laughed. "Oh, those kind of toys."

"You probably have a whole suitcase of them," Willis said.

"Or maybe a steamer trunk. Adrianne the born-again celibate is here. She might need a little plastic boredom relief."

"That's not true celibacy," Adrianne reminded. "Right,
Nyvysk?"

"Quite true. Constantial celibacy is the willful abandonment of all sexual release."

Mack smirked. "If you guys are talking about vibrators,
there's a parlor upstairs full of them."

"That's right, this place used to be a porn studio," Willis
remarked.

Cathleen stretched her legs across to a rosette-engraved
ottoman. "That's enticing. I wonder what's left over from
that."

"That's part of what we're here to find out," Nyvysk said.

The jokes about vibrators, etc.-Nyvysk knew-were
meant as good-natured humor. But it wasn't coming off.
Already, there was something in the undercurrent here. People like this, in close quarters, always start tearing each other up
eventually, Nyvysk realized. He suspected that some fuses
had already been lit.

"Look at Willis," Cathleen said. "He's staring at that awful bust of Copernicus."

The blank-eyed statue of white, unpolished stone sat on a
carved pedestal, a determined looking man in a cloak and
fur-minivered cap, a book clasped to his chest.

"That's Copernicus?" Willis asked. He touched it-unafraid-with his gloved hand.

"No," Nyvysk said. "It's Julian the Apostate. He was an
anthropmancer-he read the future by the casting of human entrails."

"Oh, that's just lovely," Adrianne said.

"At least I think that's who it is ... Cathleen, you
should know."

She looked at the bust and shrugged. "I don't know But
don't laugh at divination."

Willis shot another cryptic comment to Mack. "Mack
probably thinks it's Ron Jeremy."

Mack exchanged a glare, and some confusing moments
ticked by, in silence.

Adrianne scratched her head. "Who the hell is Ron Jeremy?"

Nyvysk had no idea.

Cathleen glanced at the TV. "Well, Martha Stewart's over
now so I guess Adrianne's back with us. Instead of sitting
around, why don't we all go choose our bedrooms?"

"We're standing in our bedrooms," Nyvysk said.

"What?" several people said at once.

"Our client, Mrs. Hildreth, agreed that I should be the
coordinator-"

"Bullshit!" Cathleen objected.

"Not in charge, per se," Nyvysk hastened to quell her
ego, "but the domestic coordinator during our stay. She
agreed to that, and I think we should all go by it."

"That's fine with me," Willis said.

Adrianne shrugged, but Cathleen said, "Why? Why
?
you.*,

"Because it makes more sense from a practical standpoint."

"Just like a man!"

Adrianne looked bored. "He's right, Cathleen. He's just a
technician. You, Willis, and I aren't exactly stable in certain
circumstances. This place could be charged."

"You all have psychic sensitivities. I don't," Nyvysk finished.

Cathleen lay back on the couch, head staring up at a curious brass chandelier. "Okay, fine. But what's this about
bedrooms?"

Nyvysk addressed them all. "I feel it's essential that we all
sleep in the same area. This South Atrium seems perfect. It's
large enough that we'll all have privacy when we need it.
We need to be together when we're asleep-especially psychics, and especially if this house is charged. We're all more
vulnerable in a sleep-state. Sleeping in separate rooms could be a catastrophe. The Suit Manor Case, Wroxton Hall in
Maryland, the Immanuel Rectory in New York City. All of
those places had serious accidents that could have been prevented had the investigators not slept in separate rooms."

Cathleen conceded. "As usual, you're right. But-damn
it-I had my heart set on that huge suite on the fourth floor
with the dark-blue wallpaper and crystal crosses."

Mack suddenly looked pale. "The, uh, that would be the
Aldinoch Suite. That's where Mr. Hildreth had his autosexual asphyxia parties.11

Cathleen blanched. "Like I said, this room is perfect."

"But where will we sleep?" Adrianne asked. "On these
couches? The daybeds?"

"A delivery truck should be here any minute. Beds, partitions, nightstands, everything we need." He pointed toward the north wall and its green-velour wallcovering.
"We'll set up the sleeping area over there, and over here-"
he pointed to the windowed side of the room-"this will
be our meeting area. We might have to bring some extra tables in, and move some of this furniture, but I doubt that
Mrs. Hildreth would object."

"You can do anything you want," Mack said. "You guys
have free run."

"When will we actually get started?" Willis asked Nyvysk.
"With a game plan, I mean?"

"Tonight, maybe. I need to get my equipment set up. But
I don't see any reason why the three of you can't start any
time, with your own brand of preliminaries."

"I'm not doing anything today," Adrianne said. "I'm tired,
and-Emeril's on, and he's doing fried turkeys."

Cathleen grinned. "Adrianne, you are a fried turkey," and
then she shoved the other woman's shoulder. "I'm kidding!"

"I'll go check on my gear and wait for the delivery
truck," Nyvysk said. He looked up at the pendulum clock
by the fireplace. "Let's all meet again around seven and get
something together for dinner."

"I'm all for that," Cathleen said and bounced up. Her
large breasts bounced too, which was likely intentional.
"Right now I'm going to find the fanciest bathroom in this
whole place and take a bubble bath." She strode out of the
room.

"What about you, Willis?" Nyvysk asked. "What are you
going to do now?"

"I'm gonna start right now; I'm getting ... feelings."
He looked at Mack. "Which room did the murders take
place in?"

"There were dead bodies on the stairs, in the first parlor on
the second floor, and some of the guest suites, also on the second floor. But the majority of the people were killed in the
largest suite of the fifth floor. Mr. Hildreth called it the Scarlet Room. You can find it on any of the videocom maps."

"Right." Willis hesitantly took off his gloves and left the
room.

"I'll be back in a couple hours," Mack said. "If you need
anything ..." He held up his cell phone.

When Mack left, Nyvysk felt odd, alone with Adrianne.
She stared at the TV, but he had to wonder how much of it
she was really watching.

"When was the last time you OBE'd, Adrianne?"

"About a month ago. It was an Army check-up at Fort
Meade."

"You still work for them?"

"Almost never. They consider me retirement-disabled.
Now I get a check every month instead of orders."

"How did the OBE go?"

"All right. They were just testing my responses on lower
doses of Lobrogaine."

Nyvysk held on to a concern. One way or another, they
were all damaged. But Adrianne had the worst fears to face
if this mansion was for real.

"You're still a Christian, aren't you?"

"Yeah," was all she said.

"Be careful."

"I will." She looked up suddenly, curious. She blinked
out of her laze. "There's somebody else coming, too, right?
A local writer?"

"I think so," Nyvysk said.

"I wonder where he is."

The cover photography blared white background behind a
long, lean brunette with bright blue eyes and a big white
smile, skintight t-shirt adhered to erect, 34C breasts. The
t-shirt had a Viagra pill on it, and the words GOT WOOD?
The top of the box read: T&T ENTERPRISES PRESENTS:
GABRIELLE COX IN GABRIELLE'S BIG BANG. The
brightness of the cover, that crystal-like clarity, seemed to hypnotize Westmore for a moment. But it wasn't just the obvious
beauty of the woman, nor the glaring sexual provocation. It's
her reality, he thought. That's a real person on this ww..