Lady in White Page 13

  "That doesn't preclude there having been a colonial-era homestead or even something pre-Columbian on the site. Reliable records for this area only really began around 1800, just before we became part of the Union. The university library or even the Smithsonian may be able to help there."

  "Good idea, although…"

  "Although what, Marty?"

  "Although I have a gut feeling the reason for this haunting originated in the hospital, not before."

  "Then go with that feeling. Look, I’ve got to go, dear. Don't forget I'll be home earlier, and say hi to that sister of mine for me."

  "Will do. I'll have something ready to eat when you get home. You have a good one, darling."

  "You too, dear. Bye!"

  * * * *

  Jay read the rejection e-mail from the editor again, his annoyance rising word by word.

  Louie passed the opening of the cubicle, a jelly donut in his hand. He backtracked and peered in. "What's up?"

  Jay glanced around at him. "Thelma rejected my follow-up piece on ghosts haunting the hospital. She says there's not enough to it to be worth publishing."

  "That sucks, but it happens." Louie leaned in and took a bite of the donut. "Accept it, move on, have a drink in the bar later and bitch about the editorial staff. It works for me."

  "Yeah, but I got the feeling there's a story here, Louie," he replied, surreptitiously wiping a stray glob of donut from the back of his neck where it had landed from Louie's mouth when he'd spoken.

  "So chase it up! Dig around and find out what the score is. You got anything better to do?"

  "Nah, just a high-school reunion to cover over on the East side."

  "There ya go. Go with your hunch, pal; then write a piece fit to blow Thelma out the window."

  He disappeared, and Jay examined his feeling. "There's something there, I know there is!" he said quietly.

  * * * *

  Burwell sat in his office, idly massaging his lower back as he gazed out at the distant line of the river. The report into the Mendoza incident lay in his outbox, ready for dispatch to the board. It rankled with him that there were no obvious reasons for the patient's sudden change in behavior, and as to where he'd gotten a scalpel from, it was a complete mystery.

  He'd examined the item before making sure it was locked away; from the design, the rusty article had to be at least fifty years old. Stainless steel had been around back then, but from the look of the scalpel as usual the contract for providing surgical equipment had gone to the lowest bidder. The quality was only adequate for short-term use. Mendoza would have to answer a pointed question as to where he'd found it—unless a ghost gave it to him! Although Burwell liked what he saw of Martin Grey, the ideas the Englishman proposed involving the paranormal were still just that little too far-fetched for his scientific mind to accept.

  The daylight was fading, and he glanced at his watch. Caroline would be signing out and on her way home. His thoughts turned to her, and he smiled with regret. She'd have no reason whatsoever to call by his office and say goodnight, but he found himself hoping she would do just that. Although he maintained a professional decorum with all those around him, he wished it were possible to ask her for a date.

  His back felt better, and he got up and walked to the window and lowered the blinds on what remained of the day. A soft knock sounded on the inner door, and he turned around. Caroline was leaning in, a tired smile on her face. "I just stopped by to say goodnight, Doctor."

  Blinking with surprise, he felt his heart give a stronger beat, and he smiled back. "That's kind of you, Caroline." He sought for something else to say, wanting to prolong the intimacy of the unexpected out-of-hours contact. "Got something good planned for tonight?"

  Her expression took on a curious enigmatic air, and she nodded. "Oh, I'm going over to my sister's place to talk with Martin about this ghost business." She cocked her head. "Do you have any plans, Doctor?"

  He thought of the evening's chapter meeting. "I’m just going to hang out with some friends. I can think of better things to do," he said, smiling and thinking how nice it would be to sit across a dinner table from her. "but, hey, I’m holding you up," he said with reluctance. "Goodnight, Caroline, and drive safely now, you hear?"

  "I will, Doctor. Goodnight."

  She departed, and he went over to the inner door and leaned on the jamb. "Who said the age of miracles was dead?" he asked the air.

  * * * *

  Caroline couldn't define for herself the feeling she had. It was as if something inside her wasn't right. Something felt at a remove which shifted away from her perception whenever she tried to concentrate on it. Stopping by to wish the doctor goodnight had been a spontaneous decision; she'd felt a sudden desire to see to a friendly face, as if, on some level, she thought she might not see him again. It was a relief to sign out and head for her car. Martin would be waiting for her, and she felt a warm glow at the thought.

  * * * *

  Winifred watched the young woman head for her car from the roof of the old building, and felt desperation welling up inside her. The minions of the darkness had been prowling all day. She felt they weren't really looking for her; it was more a case of running interference to prevent her getting near the young nurse. She looked to the west; the sun was setting, and she could feel the gathering of night. The powers of the dark spirits would be enhanced. She had to take her chance.

  "Now or never," she said to herself. She cast one last look around, gathered her resolve and swept down from the roof. She knew she could escape observation by the darkness if she stayed close to the new wing with its sparkle of human life and personality. Both were anathema to the dark one; he preferred cold, black, piteous inertia. Such was his nature in life—and death.

  Sweeping low over the side of the building that faced the river, she felt the life and stray thoughts of those within. One thought made her pause, in spite of her haste. She looked down, her senses piercing the roof, seeking out the thinker. A doctor, not her favorite kind of individual, but this one had a kindly nature and he was wondering if Caroline liked him.

  A dark spirit surged out from hiding behind a skylight and enfolded her before she could react. You're mine! it hissed, wrapping its bonds tight about her.

  Then she reacted. As the dark spirit battered at the wards she'd set up about her being against this very contingency, she tapped her reserve of goodly power. The wards held off the dark spirit's intellect long enough for her to detonate that power. It blasted out, a short, incredibly intense burst of light that tore the creature to shreds, leaving her unharmed.

  Winifred felt pity for the wretched thing she'd just destroyed and anger at the dark one who'd controlled it and forced her to such a point. But the danger of her situation had increased. She looked around. Like a flare on a dark night, the burst had attracted attention. Other minions were heading her way; she could see their dark shapes flitting toward her through the gathering gloom. With a despairing glance, she saw the young woman had reached her car and was starting the engine. Focusing her powers, she sent a mental call to her. You're in danger!

  It was all she had time to do. Vaulting into the clear, cold air, she sped back to her refuge, twisting and rolling to escape the clutches of the minions.

  * * * *

  Down in her car, Caroline blinked and shook her head. Danger? She looked around. The voice had spoken as clear as if a person was sitting in the back seat of her car. Twisting around, she checked that the seat was empty.

  Inside her mind, the thread of darkness worked feverishly to cut off her thoughts on the matter. It was difficult; the white spirit had power, but slowly, gradually, the young woman's mind became quiet.

  "I've had a long day, is all," she sighed, putting the car in drive and heading for the entrance.

  * * * *

  Martin set aside his notes and lay back on the sofa. The details of the case lined up in his mind for assessment, and he felt frustrated at how scanty they were. He had to find out
more of the history of the place and then get access to the central building; instinct and observation combined to tell him that was the seat of all the phenomena. Somewhere in the musty old halls lay the key to the mystery, and he had to turn that key to shut it down.

  Unfolding his cell phone, he made a call. Burwell answered; he sounded tired. "Hello, John, it's Martin Grey here."

  "Hi, Martin, how's it going?"

  "It's going slowly, I'm afraid. John, I really need to examine any historical records of the hospital that may exist before I make any further progress. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction."

  "Hmm. Most everything connected to the place is now in the state archive."

  Martin could hear the crunch of footsteps on snow then the beep-boop of a car alarm being deactivated. "Wait one," Burwell said, and a door opened and closed. "Jeez, it's getting cold! What exactly do you need?"

  He checked his list. "A plan of the place would be useful."

  "The maintenance office would have one for certain. I can ask; with the place scheduled for demolition, they won't make a fuss over giving me a copy. What else?"

  The next point on his list was a delicate one. "Patient records?"

  "Nothing doin'!" came the instant reply.

  "I mean old patient records, Doctor; those belonging to patients who died long ago."

  Burwell sighed, and he heard the sound of a car engine being started. "Martin, even those can be sensitive."

  "I realize that, and I wouldn't have asked without good cause. John," he said softly, "at the heart of every haunting lies one fact—it involves the spirits of those who were once people."

  There was a pause, then the doctor sighed. "Okay, I guess you're right. I'll look into that for you. I'm too tired to think of it now, but I'm sure there's a cut-off point where case files are no longer regarded as sensitive."

  "Thanks."

  "You want anything else, Martin?

  "Anything pertaining to events in the hospital's history, especially major crises would be useful too."

  Burwell chuckled. "It's a mental asylum, Martin. If the staff doesn't get a major crisis at least once a day, we become the ones who need medication for shock! Look, I got to go. Catch you later."

  Martin closed the call and relaxed. He felt as if he was making progress once more.

  There came a knock at the door.

  * * * *

  Caroline felt nearly breathless with anticipation as she waited for her knock to be answered. For the second time since pulling up in the parking lot, she drew her compact from her purse and checked her face in the mirror.

  Martin opened the door and smiled, releasing a gust of warm air into the night and a gush of warm wetness between her thighs. "Hello, Caroline! Come right in, the kettle's on." He took her coat and led her through to the sitting room. "How was your day?"

  "Too long and too busy," she replied, sitting down. Her hands trembled, and she clasped them before her agitation became obvious.

  "Did you suffer any repercussions from yesterday?" he asked, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen.

  "No. Doctor Burwell and I took a look around the wing, trying to trace Mr. Mendoza's movements, but we found nothing out of the ordinary." Something inside her seemed to twitch as she spoke, and she experienced a momentary feeling of coldness. "How was your day?" she asked, distracted.

  "Busy and frustrating," he said with a half-smile as he ducked into the kitchen.

  "How so?" The cold feeling passed, to be replaced by one of heat. For a moment she wondered if she'd caught a fever, or if it was a side-effect of the anti-toxin medication.

  "I'm trying to work with too little data." Spoons rattled in mugs as he prepared coffee. The sound of his calm British accent made her feel all the more agitated. "Just before you arrived I spoke to Doctor Burwell on the phone. I think he's coming round to the idea that there may be something in my work after all."

  "The doc's a nice guy," she said, and her teeth chattered.

  "Yes, he is. He's going to look into the prospect of getting hold of the hospital records for me."

  The something stirred in her again as he spoke, and the desire for him heightened. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and she found herself breathing quickly. Fishing a tissue from her pocket, she wiped her brow, and then unbuttoned the throat of her uniform blouse.

  Martin returned just then, bearing two mugs on a tray along with a plate of cookies. "If it's okay with you, once we've drunk this, I'll get to work on your protection."

  "Fine!" she said in a near yelp, and stood up.

  He blinked in surprise. "Are you okay? You look rather pale."

  "I'm fine." I just want to rip your clothes off! "I… I need the bathroom; I didn't go before I left the hospital."

  "It's just through there," he said with a quizzical smile, setting the tray down on the table and pointing to the hall. "The first door on your right."

  She fled the room and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her and locking it. Clutching the basin for support, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Sweat beaded her brow again, and her pale skin showed spots of high color over her cheeks. Even as she watched, she began to feel calmer. Some outside influence was at work, for she knew she, herself, was no longer capable of calming down. On a remote level it bothered her, but that concern didn't impinge on her control.

  Martin was outside; that sexy Englishman her lucky sister had hooked up with! It wasn't fair that Claudie should have the intense pleasure of feeling him between her legs, of—the thought brought a fresh gush of moisture to her pussy—of feeling him inside her. At least she would have the gift of her virginity. All men liked to take a virgin.

  Without more ado, she drew the silver ring from her finger and set it on the shelf above the washbasin. Then she began to undress.

  * * * *

  Martin looked up as Caroline emerged from the bathroom and walked into the room. She was naked but for a white domino mask over her eyes. Her long titian hair fell cleanly over her shoulders, and her red lips were curved in a sensuous smile as he gaped and half-rose to his feet. He stared at her. She just stood there, one foot advanced, with her hands resting on her flanks, and he tried but failed to keep his gaze away from her small, pert breasts with their light pink rosebud nipples and the knot of curly red hair on her mound.

  "Caroline, what on earth are you doing?" He got up; his voice sounded strained to his ears.

  "Seducing you, I hope!" She lowered her eyelids and gave him a coquettish look. "Don't you like what you see?"

  "That's not the point!" he said, holding up his hands and averting his gaze. "Look, Caroline, I'm with Claudia. You know I love her and want to be with her. How can you do something like this to your own sister?"

  "She need never know," she said, and moved toward him.

  "She will because I'll tell her!" He backed away until his heel collided with the table leg.

  "Aw, why would you spoil my fun?" she said with a pout, and rushed him.

  Off-balance from the collision, he toppled under her weight. She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him onto the sofa. He suddenly found his hands full of firm female flesh.

  Caroline squirmed and wriggled on top of him, her legs on either side of his hips in a way that reminded him disturbingly of Claudia's favorite position. Even her labia—swollen and coral-pink and very obvious—looked the same, and to his shame, his cock stirred at the sight. He felt shocked at her strength as she seized his hands and clamped them over her breasts. Her tongue showed between her parted lips; her eyes gleamed with lust. He felt her nipples hardening under his palms and struggled to find leverage to get out from under her, but she was using what weight she had to pin him down.

  "Caroline, stop this! I'm not going to hurt Claudia!"

  "She need never know!" she said again, releasing his hands to work on pulling up his sweatshirt. "I want you!" she shouted.

  "Caroline, I'm going to tell her!
" he roared in desperation.

  "So tell her—but make love to me first!" She'd managed to push his sweatshirt up around his shoulders and turned her attention to his pants. "I'm a virgin, Marty, did you know? I'm giving myself to you!"

  She had to lift her butt from his thighs in order to get at his pants, and he seized the moment. Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her with main strength and writhed out from under her body, sliding to the floor and impacting hard enough to bruise his hip before twisting and scrambling to his feet.

  Caroline leapt off the sofa and clung to him, her hands seeking to get inside his pants. "Oh, don't struggle!" she said. "I want my first time to be fun."

  Cursing the need, he took her wrist and twisted her around, hauling her arm up in a half-Nelson and clamping his other arm around her waist. It offended his gentleman's nature to manhandle a woman, but he could see no option. "Caroline," he said as gently as he could, "I am not going to take your virginity. I do not want to make love to you!"

  All the fight seemed to go out of her at once. "Don't you like me?" she said in a quavering voice. Her skin felt burning hot under his grip, and he narrowed his eyes. Caroline didn't appear feverish in the medical sense, so why?

  "Of course I do, which is why I'm not going to do this for you." Acting on the instinct, he allowed his perceptions to shift, and studied the neat red head close to his face. There was a trace of something there, a controlling force in her mind. It was subtle—but it was there. It seemed to sense his attention and began to writhe away into the recesses of her mind. "Something's making you do this, Caroline," he said. "You've got to realize this isn't the way you normally behave."

  "How do you know?" she said, sounding bitter. "You've only known me a while."

  "I know you well enough, dear."

  He gathered power, focused it like a laser beam, and directed it at the shape. It jerked, writhed, shriveled, and faded to nothing.

  Caroline released a heartfelt sigh. Seeming to wake from a deep, disturbing dream, she looked down at her nakedness then around her at the apartment. "Marty? What's happening to me?" Her voice sounded panicky.

  "You were being controlled by some dark entity. Don't worry!" he said as she stiffened in his grasp. "I've dispelled it. Once you have protection, it won't be back, I promise. Do you remember what you've just done?"