The Haunted Heart: Winter (12 page)

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the mini
video. Off screen, another voice, Kirk’s, was calmly questioning
the onscreen me. “What is it you want? Why are you here? Can you
speak English?”

The onscreen me seemed to wind down,
speaking more slowly, sleepily. My scalp crawled, listening.

Real life Kirk said gruffly, “Do you see
now?”

“I see I missed an easy A when I didn’t take
French as a high school elective.” I answered automatically, my
brain going a million miles a minute while I tried to make sense of
what I was watching on the small screen.

Possession? Was that what this was? I was
possessed by a ghost? A French lady ghost at that? Was she
somewhere inside me at that very instant? Or was she just renting
space in the evenings? It was unbelievable. I was the most ordinary
person I knew. But fuzzy though it was, that small image was
unmistakably me.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I
guess because of your loss, you’re more receptive to whatever this
is. A spirit, a ghost, an entity…you are vulnerable to it.”

I appreciated that he was trying to be more
tactful than the first time he’d suggested I was the catalyst, but
I had to point out, “How do we know? Nobody’s watching you sleep.
Maybe the same thing is happening to you when you’re counting
Zzzzs.”

Clearly the idea had never occurred to Kirk.
The scowl returned full force. “That’s not very likely.” He turned
off his phone, which was a relief.

“I’d have said the same thing, but you’re
holding the proof in your hand. Speaking of which, if that video
ever makes it onto YouTube, I guarantee to personally haunt you to
the end of your days.”

“You need to take this seriously, Flynn. I
don’t scare easy, but you scared the shit out of me last
night.”

I could believe that. I felt pretty shaken
too. I was very grateful he hadn’t called my parents or 911 when
I’d conked out. Either time. “Okay. So you think the solution is I
run home to Virginia and you deal with the mirror? How do you plan
on doing that?”

“I haven’t worked out the details. I was
thinking maybe of putting it in cold storage on the other side of
the state for the next fifty years.”

“I thought we were being serious.”

“Seems practical to me. We’ve speculated
that this spook has a limited range. So we isolate her — it — from
humans.”

“Fine. If that’s the solution, I’ll take
care of it myself and then I can get back to work cataloging Uncle
Winston’s collection.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And that would be because why?”

“Because we don’t know what else is up
there. Or down there. Because we don’t know for sure that our lady
in black is restricted to the mirror’s location. Because the risk
to you does not justify the gamble.”

“What do you care about the risk to me?” I
scoffed. “A hard ass ex-Ranger like you? No way. You just want your
isolation chamber back.”

“That’s true. I can’t get anything done with
you around. You’re one distraction after another. Interruption, I
mean. But also —” He stopped as though recalling himself.

“Also what?”

He sighed. “Also I promised your father that
no harm would come to you in that house. Not on my watch.”

“You…” I wasn’t sure if I was offended or
simply flabbergasted. “You promised my — when? When was this?”

“Friday morning. He phoned me.”

“My
dad
phoned you?” But come to
think of it, of course.
Of course
my parents were not going
to take it for granted all was well. They weren’t built like that.
Dad was ex-military intelligence and Mom was a lawyer who donated
her free time to a battered women’s shelter. They were neither of
them the sit-back-and-wait-to-see-how-things-developed type, and
they already blamed themselves for not seeing the “warning signs”
last November.

“One army man to another?”

Kirk gave me a wary look. “Sure.”

“So…nothing personal. You promised my
parents you wouldn’t let me stick my head in the oven. It’s not
like we’re actually friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

Whatever you think, I am your friend.
Well, people said things in the heat of the moment. I smiled,
though smiling was the last thing I felt like. “That must simplify
your life.”

Astonishingly, Kirk looked ceilingward. His
face worked as though he were in pain. At last, he looked directly
at me. “Of course we’re friends. I don’t know how and I don’t know
why, because the last thing I need or want is involvement with
another human. Especially a human carrying as much baggage as you.
But yeah, we’re friends. Which is why I want you to go. As soon as
possible.”

I had no clue what to say to that. I could
see he was dead serious. I chose my words carefully. “Believe it or
not, I feel better than I have in months. That was the best sleep
I’ve had. If I dreamed, I don’t remember it. And I’m hungry. I can
eat. I feel halfway normal again.”

“You feeling rested and refreshed after a
bout of ghostly possession isn’t exactly reassuring news.”

“It isn’t necessarily bad news.” I didn’t
have to force a smile this time. “Look, Kirk. You’re not
responsible for me. That’s one of the good things about friendship.
I’m not going to ask you for anything more than the occasional use
of your sofa or your truck.”

He glowered.

“In fact, I’m going to give you what you
want. Partly, anyway. I’m going to give you some space. I’m going
to Louisiana. I made my mind up while we’ve been talking. I think
the only way to resolve this is go back to the beginning.”

Kirk’s frown gave way to surprise. “I
thought you said that mirror was over a century old. You think
you’re going to find someone alive who can answer your
questions?”

“I don’t know. It makes sense to me that the
only way you end a haunting is by figuring out what’s keeping the
ghost stuck on the, er, mortal plain. At least that’s how it works
in all those movies and books.”

“What are your parents going to say about
that?”

“I’m not actually under house arrest.” I
wasn’t, right? A feeling of unease flickered at the back of my
mind. The topic of me traveling around the country had never
arisen, for obvious reasons. I hadn’t been in a touristy frame of
mind when I’d left the hospital. “I’m twenty-six. It’s not like I
haven’t been making my own decisions for years.”

“I’m just asking.”

“It’s a non-issue.”

“Sure. Are you independently wealthy or
something? Because you seem to have a lot of money for someone your
age.”

“I am, yeah.” Kirk’s questions were hitting
a nerve. Alan and I were pretty good at saving plus I did have a
trust fund, not to mention all of Uncle Winston’s dubious assets.
I’d never had to worry about money, but one of the problems in
being committed to a psychiatric hospital for any length of time is
you lose complete control of your life. And when you try to resume
that life, everything from having a license to drive to being able
to vote ultimately becomes someone else’s — or even the court’s —
decision. Technically, my parents were once again my legal
guardians. My finances had never been discussed, and as far as I
could tell, nothing had changed. That didn’t mean they couldn’t
yank my wallet out of my hands if they decided there was a
problem.

“Must be nice.”

“Do you think you could forward that video
of last night to my phone? I want to see if I can find someone to
translate.” I recited my number.

Kirk typed the number into his cell and
pressed send. “Done. When are you leaving?”

“This evening.” I was already checking
flight information on my phone. “I’m booking my flight now.”

“Book two seats,” Kirk said. “I’m coming
with you.”

I looked up, startled. “What? That’s crazy.
Listen, I’ve traveled a lot. I enjoy it. I like flying. And I’ll be
hundreds of miles away from the mirror.” But even as I said it, I
couldn’t deny that I liked the idea of Kirk coming along. Two heads
were better than one, especially when neither head knew what it was
doing. Kirk might be many things, most of which I had no inkling,
but he was sure as hell capable.

“Maybe so, but I’m still coming with you.”
He gave me a bleak look. “In case you never noticed in all those
movies and books, it’s the ghosts that usually win.”

* * * * *

It was raining when we touched down in Baton
Rouge. A light spring rain glittered the tarmac and mottled the
glass and concrete terminal buildings, bringing out the sharp
smells of dust and tar and a bite of sulfur. The night air felt
warm and moist, despite the fact that it was February and we had
left Connecticut blanketed in white and looking like a Christmas
card.

We collected our luggage and rental car, and
were on the road to St. Francisville by eleven-thirty. I drove. The
four lanes of Highway 61 were mostly empty that time of night. It
was a short drive, a little over half an hour. The windshield
wipers kept lazy time, beating out the gently rising and falling
miles of ancient oak trees, glimpses of silvery ribbons of river,
and moonlit antebellum plantations.

We didn’t talk much. The GPS had a southern
accent which provided a couple of laughs. We’d spoken equally
little on the flight. Kirk had ordered a couple of whisky sours,
read a few pages of
America’s Master Playwrights
by Stella
Adler, and then napped. He slept lightly though, waking himself up
each time he started to snore.

I was glad he wasn’t in a chatty frame of
mind. Not that I could really picture Kirk in a chatty frame of
mind. But I was particularly grateful for his terseness now. Glad
for a break from what felt like the emotional marathon of the last
few days. I realized one of the things I liked best about Kirk was
how quiet he was, how stoic. He reminded me a little of Alan in
that. Alan had been quiet. Not stoic, but gentle. Kirk wasn’t
gentle. Not that I’d noticed, but even when he was yelling, it felt
mostly impersonal. I found myself wondering about his comment about
not wanting or needing involvement. Not romance, not relationships,
involvement
. It seemed like a crucial difference.

For the first time in a very long time I was
curious, actively wondering about a fellow human being.

That was when I wasn’t busy wondering about
how to begin my investigation of the lady in black. I already knew
that Bellehaven was no longer a private home. It was a museum open
nine to five daily. The chances of finding a handy aged family
retainer were small to none. But I had to start somewhere.

“Have you ever been down this way?” I asked,
finally breaking the silence.

“No,” Kirk answered at once. “I spent some
time in Georgia. Georgia and Texas for Ranger School. That’s the
closest I’ve been to the Deep South.”

“You’re not from Connecticut though?”

“Sure I am. Why not? I’m not from Chester,
that’s true enough. I grew up in Smithfield. There’s the Best
Western sign.”

I turned off the main highway and parked in
the mostly empty front lot of the hotel. We got out and went around
to get our bags. The air was sweet and damp, moonlight gilded the
angles of the nondescript building. A light shone welcomingly in
the front lobby, though the rest of the hotel was dark.

The only other sign of life was a small
compact car slowly backing out of its slot, headlights sweeping the
concrete drive and scraggly trees.

We had both packed light, one bag each. As
we made our way across the drive, the compact rolled slowly past.
The car backfired, the bang carrying through the silent night.
Kirk, walking slightly ahead of me, went down like he’d been
shot.

For a confused instant, I thought he’d
tripped. Then I registered his position, the white knuckles, braced
shoulders, wild eyes, and I understood he had dove for the
ground.

I dropped my own bag, kneeling beside him.
“Kirk, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said thickly, head down.

The compact braked, windows rolled down, and
a couple of girls my age were inquiring if we were all right?

“Fuck off,” Kirk muttered, shoving up on his
hands and knees. “Just fuck off.”

“Great!” I called, waving them on. “He just
missed the step.” And no wonder, seeing that there wasn’t one.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! We’re good.”

They ducked back inside the car, and the
compact sped away. I tried to help Kirk up, and nearly got shoved
on my ass for my trouble. He got to his feet, and raked both hands
through his hair so that it stood out like his own personal storm
cloud.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I shut up at the
look he gave me.

He stooped and picked up his carryall,
slinging it over his shoulder, and stalked away through the sliding
glass doors. I followed.

Inside, a sleepy desk clerk checked us in,
handed over our room keys, informed us about the not-to-be-missed
continental breakfast, and directed us past the racks of travel
brochures and giant potted plants to the elevator.

Inside the elevator, Kirk said nothing,
staring fiercely straight ahead as though he was by himself. I
didn’t know what to say. That one glimpse of his dazed face — that
naked terror and rage — had shocked me speechless. It was an
unauthorized peek into another man’s private hell, and I knew
firsthand how hard it was to forgive someone for seeing that. For
Kirk’s sake I wished there was a way to unsee it.

“You’re not going to pay for your plane
fare,” I said as the second floor slid past. “And I want to
reimburse you for your hotel room.”

Kirk shook his head.

“You’re only here because of me, and I plan
on deducting this trip’s expense off whatever I make from selling
Uncle Winston’s collection; so yes, absolutely I’m reimbursing
you.” I met his dark, hollow gaze. “I don’t know that I could do
this without you.”