Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (11 page)

The two groups proceeded to the 3rd floor.
Sara was repeatedly checking her watch. Either they were overdue for a break,
or she’d suddenly become an obsessive compulsive. From behind them on the
stairs, Zach noticed how the two groups appeared to be intermingling rather
well. They gathered at the door to room 362.

Patrizia cleared her throat. “In July of
1901, a patient by the name of Stanwick Hartwell managed to set fire to his
room and suffered second and third degree burns over much of his body. He
claimed voices had prompted him to do it and had supplied him with the
matches.”

“Yo! That sounds like what happened in ’98
at the Pullman factory,” Rico said.

“Was he ever suspected in the burning of the
female quarters?” Zach asked.

“No. He wasn’t a patient of Rosewood in
1898.”

“Did he end up dying here?” Zach pressed.

“We don’t know,” Patrizia said. “After the
fire, I couldn’t find any records of him.”

Sara had moseyed over next to Zach.
“Legally,” she whispered to him, “the cast and crew need a lunch break.”

“We haven’t seen the basement yet,” Zach
said. “Can you, me, Bryce and Patrizia go down there with a night vision
camera?”

She frowned. “What part of ‘
legally’
do you not understand?”

Zach surrendered and made the announcement
to the group. After a two-hour break, tech guys were instructed to set up
cameras and equipment. Others were instructed to pitch tents. A scaled-down
group would tour the basement after the break.

“Are you keeping investigative partners the
same as normal?” Shelly asked.

“Yes,” Zach said. “This investigation we’re
putting together three teams that will explore and film. Bryce will stick with
Rico, Rebecca will investigate with me, and tonight we’re going to match up
Shelly with Patrizia.”

While most happily chatted about what they’d
do or where they’d go during the upcoming free time, Matthew spoke to no one
and the disappointment on his face was evident. Shelly didn’t look particularly
pleased either. Was she disappointed at being teamed with a new investigator,
or because she’d been matched up with a
Demon Hunter
?

Day one was just getting underway and
besides feeling stretched both mentally and emotionally, Zach seemed to be
alienating the members of
XPI
one after the next.

Chapter Eleven

“Are you asking about the ghosts?” the blond
boy asked.

After gobbling down sandwiches, Zach and
Sara, armed with a mini digital camera, had conducted interviews with the
residents east of the asylum who lived on what was former Rosewood property. A
few on camera, and a few who asked not to be identified, acknowledged ongoing
paranormal activity in their homes. They described events from poltergeists opening
cabinets and slamming drawers, to hearing mysterious sounds at night.

One, Mrs. Radkey, an elderly woman who Zach
thought resembled a younger version of Evelyn, admitted to having seen a
shadowy female figure in her kitchen after nightfall. When pressed for details,
she clammed up and refused to say anything further.

After walking down one side of the street
and back up the other, no one seemed willing to allow them the opportunity to
investigate their property—especially after dark. They had approached the final
house on the block before the empty lot—the home closest the main asylum
building. The boy had been throwing a rubber baseball up against the concrete
stairs of the house and fielding it as it bounced back.

“What ghosts do you mean?” Zach asked before
Sara could respond and begin filming. Rosewood experience aside, if he was to
be a child psychologist one day, an opportunity to interact with a boy
currently undergoing a haunting would be an invaluable experience.

“The ones setting the fires?” The kid took a
step back.

Zach guessed the boy to be six-years old,
maybe seven. He stood with his glove-hand on his hip and wore a Chicago Cubs
jersey.

“Hey, you’re a Cubs fan?” Zach asked, with
enthusiasm. “So am I, but isn’t this White Sox territory?”

“My grandpa’s a Cubs fan,” he said. “Why are
you one?”

“Well, maybe like you and your grandpa, I
like to cheer for the underdog.”

“My grandpa is dead,” the boy said flatly.

Sara stifled a chuckle.

“My name is Zach.” He held out his hand the
same way he would to an adult.

“I’m Joey.”

“Nice to meet you, Joey.” They shook. “Is
your mom or dad home? I’d like to get permission to talk with you more about
these ghosts.”

“My mom is home, but she don’t believe in
them.”

“Well, can I—”

The front door flew open and a short, stocky
woman wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt emerged from the house. Her brown
hair was tied back in a ponytail and she looked none too happy.

“What’s going on out here?” She bolted down
the steps and shielded Joey from them, pushing him behind her.

“Hello, ma’am. I was just asking Joey to get
you so that we could—”

“Well, you should have done that even before
you even asked him his name, shouldn’t you?” She crossed her arms.

“Technically, yes ma’am, I should have, but
we’re just here conducting some scientific—”

“Scientific, my ass. Science isn’t conducted
with video cameras.” She turned to Joey. “Go in the house, hon. I’ll be in in a
minute.”

“But mom, I didn’t tell him about ‘Boy,’
yet.”

“Go in the house, Joey.”

He stood there picking imaginary dirt off
his baseball glove.

“Now, young man. In.”

“Yes, mom.” He climbed the steps bouncing
his mitt off his thigh the way major leaguers often did. He opened the door and
before going in, turned back to Zach and waved.

“What did he mean by ‘boy?’” Zach asked.

“He didn’t mean anything. Let me be
perfectly clear with you, Mister…”

“Kalusky. Zach Kalusky.” He held out his
hand, but she didn’t accept it.

“
Mister
Kalusky, if you or your
people at,” she peered at the logo on Sara’s shirt, “Sci-D TV, use any videos
of Joey without my permission, I’ll have my lawyer up your network’s ass faster
than you can say ‘child exploitation.’”

She headed toward the house.

“Ma’am, wait.”

He turned toward Sara and signaled her to
cut the taping just as her cell phone rang. Sara answered it and backed away
giving Zach some privacy. He saw an opportunity.

 “Ma’am, please, off camera. We’re just
person to person, now.”

She stopped in the middle of the concrete
steps.

“Here’s my business card. I’m a paranormal
researcher. I help people who are struggling with supernatural experiences. If
anything weird happens, my cell phone is on here. I’m available day or night.”

He gingerly inched toward her with the card
extended. She flashed an inkling of vulnerability. “Okay.”

He was a bit surprised that she took it.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Virginia Forster.” Again, she crossed her
arms across her bosom.

“Virginia
, off the record
, what did
he mean by ‘not telling us about the boy?’”

She hesitated ever so briefly. “Look, Joey’s
got an imaginary friend. That’s all. It doesn’t make him crazy. Now please, get
off of my property.”

With that, she stormed up the rest of the
stairs and into the house. The door slammed. At the apex of Zach’s
disappointment, Uncle Henry spoke to him for the first time that day.

Joey holds the key.

The key to what? Joey is just a little boy,
Zach thought. How is he going to help solve the mystery of a century old haunt?

Behind him, Sara slammed her cell phone
shut. “Fuck.”

“Now what?” Zach asked.

“That was Bryce. Sashza isn’t coming.”

“What? I thought he said he talked to her
and she’d show.”

“Well apparently, she prayed about it and
decided she can’t tolerate all the ‘lies and deception.’”

Chapter Twelve

“Are we awake?” The voice asked.

Zach had known better than to expect a
‘hello’ on the other end of the phone line.

“I don’t know. Are we...black?” Zach
responded.

“Yes, we are.”

Zach could never recite this part without a
chuckle. “Then we’re awake. But we’re
very
confused.”

The exchange of movie lines from the 1974
classic comedy,
Blazing Saddles,
had become a tradition for Zach and
Hunter Martin. It was not only fitting since Hunter closely resembled the lead
of the film, Cleavon Little, but it also mocked the stereotype that black
people, at least those not practicing Voodoo in New Orleans, weren’t psychic
and never dabbled in the occult.

“Hey buddy, how did you know it was me?”
Zach asked.

“I’m psychic, remember?” Hunter spoke with a
faint lisp.

“Yeah. You
psychically
looked at your
caller ID.” Dealing with Hunter was always a pleasure, and with Sashza
threatening to no-show, Zach was glad to call on the consultant for help.

Bringing in a professional psychic for cases
had been Sci-D TV
’s
directive, and Zach originally had fought the idea.
He didn’t like outsiders influencing
XPI’s
investigations. Hunter proved
his worth on the very first case. The entire team was stumped as to why a
family was hearing groans and unintelligible words from an upstairs closet.
Hunter connected to the spirit—the ghost of a deaf boy who had been abused,
thrown into the closet, and neglected during his short life. The lead helped
Wendy identify the spirit and
XPI
had been able to release the ghost and
successfully solve their first televised case.

There was another reason Zach liked Hunter.
They enjoyed an unspoken “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in regards to each
other’s abilities. Hunter had to know that there was something unusual about
Zach. But Hunter clearly understood the two shared mutual oddities, and the
tone of their relationship had always been light.

“Caller ID? What’s that? Zachary, is there a
purpose for this call or did you just want to brag to an old man about all your
technologically advanced gizmos and toys?”

“Priceless,” Zach said. “Hey, what are you
doing tonight?”

“I’ve got three words for you.
Murder,
She Wrote
.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously? Okay, I’ve got an appointment
from seven until eight o’clock and after that I’m free. Are you finally setting
me up with that Rebecca?” Hunter was mildly effeminate, but he was not gay. In
fact, he left no doubt about his feelings for Rebecca—and apparently for
Hunter, lust was considered a feeling.

“Something better.”

“Better? Rebecca’s coming over for
Murder,
She Wrote
?”

“Better.”

“Oh these games, Zachary. Tell me.”

“How would you like to join Rebecca, myself
and some more of our friends for a psychic walkthrough of Rosewood Asylum?”

“Riiiiiiight. I’m hanging up now.”

“I’m dead serious, Hunter.”

Silence.

“Cat got yer tongue?” Zach asked.

“Wow. Gee, thanks for the advanced notice.
One of the most haunted places in America and you want me there in twenty
minutes? Whoever will I get on such short notice to style my hair?”

Hunter was nearly bald.

“I don’t need you in twenty minutes. Can you
be here around midnight?”

“You’re there...you’re there now? What’s it
like?”

Zach looked around at the tents on the lawn
and the equipment vans parked in the driveway. The sky was blue; the weather
was warm. Robins intermingled with sparrows in the treetops, while cardinals
whistled their signature song back and forth. Even in the heat of the Indian
summer day, the scent of autumn clung to the occasional breeze.

But something was just not right.

“Get here before midnight,” Zach said into
the phone. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Patrizia’s flashlight beam bobbed and weaved
ahead of them in the darkness as they descended into the basement. Already ten
or fifteen degrees cooler than the lobby, the underground level smelled of
humid earth and sewage. Of course that’s while Zach wasn’t bombarded by Bryce’s
beer-stenched breath. Apparently, his co-host and Pierre had consumed quite the
liquid lunch.

“This basement was mostly used for
storage—cleaning supplies and canned foods,” Patrizia said. She waved her
flashlight toward a doorway ahead of them.

Zach wondered if the underground corridor
had looked any different one hundred years ago. Exposed ducts ran along the
length of the ceiling which was only about seven feet high. Bryce seemed uncomfortable
with the rusty pipes so close to his head. He crouched as they made their way
down the tunnel-like hall. The barren concrete walls may have once bore paint,
but Zach doubted the place had ever exuded an atmosphere other than brooding.
Unlike the upper stories which had experienced obvious renovations, the
basement had never been upgraded.