Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (17 page)

Zach interrupted the fun and guesses by
announcing a two-hour break for cast and crew. He planned on making a coffee
run before Hunter arrived. He quickly took everyone’s order.

“Wait!” Wendy marched through the Rosewood
lobby wearing high-heeled boots. Her hair and makeup looked impeccable. With
such a grand entrance, she obviously was planning on additional airtime.

“Zach, I have an update on my research!”

Sara ordered both cameramen to film her presentation.
“Go!” she called out to Wendy.

“On July 4, 1899, approximately five months
after the female quarters were destroyed in a suspicious fire, a man doused
himself with kerosene and set himself ablaze on that very site.” She paused for
dramatic effect and then waited for the group’s murmurs to die down.
“Ironically and perhaps not coincidentally, it was July 4, 1900 that nurse,
Abigail Lovecroft, and her daughter, Amelia, experienced a paranormal event
that caused Abigail to quit her nursing post.”

“Did you find a connection between those two
events, Wendy?” Zach asked.

“Well, late this evening,” Wendy said. “I
may have uncovered historical documents which can provide that link. At the
very least, it will give us an eye-witness account of both of them.”

“What kind of documents?”

“Doctor Louis Johansson was the
Physician-in-Chief of Rosewood Psychiatric from 1896 until his death in 1903.
He kept detailed records of each patient and the happenings at Rosewood in a
professional daily record.”

“That’s great!” Zach said, not even needing
to amp up his enthusiasm for the cameras. “Patrizia, would you mind helping
Wendy go through those records tomorrow?”

She hesitated, but then nodded and flashed a
thumbs-up sign.

“From everything I gathered,” Wendy said.
“If we can figure out the identity of the 1899 suicide, we’ll solve several
high-profile arson cases. In 1892, the original Pullman Market Hall, the one
used by all Pullman employees to purchase their goods, was destroyed by fire.
In 1894, at the height of the Pullman strike, much of the World's Columbian
Exposition fair grounds were destroyed in a fire.”

“The site of the 1893 World’s Fair?” Zach
asked. “Known as ‘The White City’?”

“Correct,” she said. “And in 1895, the hotel
known as ‘The Castle’ which was built and used by H.H. Holmes, the
serial-killing physician who murdered many during the Columbian Exposition,
burned down under mysterious circumstances.”

“Then in 1899, the female quarters at
Rosewood were torched.” Zach said. “Great work, Wendy.”

“But Zach, I haven’t told you the most
exciting news of all!”

She’d gotten him again.

“Yes, Wendy?”

She clutched his arm. “This is something
that holds the potential to throw enough light on the mystery surrounding
Rosewood’s haunting to forever solve the case!”

“Tell us!” Sara called out.

“Just before Rosewood Hospital shut down
forever in 1903, an attending physician noted something odd in Doctor Louis
Johansson’s professional record. Doctor Johansson had passed away earlier that
year of heart failure.” She reached for a water bottle and took a sip. Wendy
was milking the attention for all it was worth. Zach supposed that she had
practiced the timing of her presentation for hours.

“It was a mention of a
personal
diary
that he’d begun keeping in order to, and I quote, ‘keep certain delicate and
private matters of certain patients and their families extremely confidential.’
Doctor Johansson indicated that he’d hidden this diary somewhere on the
Rosewood grounds—a personal diary that to date, has never been found.”

Chapter Eighteen

Unlike their Pacific Northwest rivals,
Muses
Coffee House
insisted that every store remained open until midnight every
night. Allegedly, in the early days, the policy had been a bone of contention
since malls closed at either nine or ten and wouldn’t allow a midnight closing
time.
Muses’
CEO had held firm to his conviction that decaf coffee and
teas would serve as the perfect nighttime drink, and would not launch a store
unless it could remain open until midnight.

Muses
advertised heavily in schools to students needing after hours
caffeine jolts, so many were located near college campuses. Typically, during
the later hours, people wrapping up dates and students in the midst of pulling
an all-night cramming session populated the stores. However, when Zach arrived,
Muses
was completely deserted—no sign of Evelyn.

There were still a dozen cars in the lot
when Zach had pulled in just before 11:00, so apparently,
GrocersMart
stayed open late as well. Zach enjoyed the aroma of ground coffee and attempted
to keep his mind off the case by reading
Muses Coffee House
marketing
material while the young guy behind the counter prepared his Café’ Americano.

The Muses of Greek mythology were goddesses
who inspired the creation of literature. Daughters of
Zeus
and
Mnemosyne
,
the goddess of memory, they have aroused the process of creation through song,
writing and dance. The Muses were the physical embodiment of performed speech
of all types. Today, the word “muse” is implicit in words and phrases such as
"amuse,” "music" and even “museum.”

Muses Coffee House
specifically recognizes and honors in their
logo, five of the Muses:

Clio
—the muse of history and writing; the desire to find truth and
knowledge.

Calliope
—the goddess of eloquence and storytelling.

Polyhymnia
—the muse of oratory, poetry and symbolism.

Melpomene
—the muse of tragedy.

and—

“Hello, handsome,” a seductive voice said.

Zach flinched and whirled around.

“Evelyn.”

She wore a similar dress to the one she had
the last time they’d met and had wrapped a simple white shawl around her
shoulders.

“I’d hoped to run into you here again,” she
said smiling.

If Zach didn’t know better, he’d think she
was flirting with him. Then again, maybe he didn’t know better. “As did I,” he
said. “Your leads were quite impressive.”

“Café’ Americano.”

Zach motioned to Evelyn to wait one moment
as the apron-adorned kid behind the counter handed over his drink.

Zach gave him a written order for the
desired beverages of cast and crew. “Can I get these to go?”

The kid appeared confused. “You want
all
these?”

“Yes, is that a problem?” After a long day,
Zach was annoyed at the barista’s attitude.

“I need you to pay in advance.” The barista
glanced towards Evelyn, and then cast Zach a suspicious look.

 “Fine.”

As they concluded their business at the cash
register, a bell signaled the arrival of more customers, a group of boisterous
teens.

“You can make my drinks after theirs,” Zach
said.

The barista rolled his eyes. Zach led Evelyn
outside and made sure to hold the door for her. She picked a corner table not
far from a propane heater.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, did you want something
to drink? Water even?”

She shook her head.

“Are you going to be warm enough out here?”
Zach asked.

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman,” she said.
“Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“No. Thank
you
for the information.”

“You learned of the fires that destroyed the
female quarters on this acreage back in 1898—and the others?”

Zach nodded. “Unfortunately, there’s only so
much we’ve been able to verify, and I want to ask you about some specific
things we’ve discovered.”

“Yes, of course.”

Zach read from a list he’d made in his
journal. “Did your mother ever say anything about room 217?”

“No. Not that I recall.”

“How about the man who lit his room on
fire?”

“No.”

“Do the names Abigail or Amelia Lovecroft
mean anything to you?”

“No.”

 “Did your mother ever mention anything
about a lady found living in Rosewood’s basement?”

Evelyn’s mouth twitched as it had a few times
during their first visit. “No.”

Zach no longer believed it to be a nervous
tic. There was something untruthful about the way that she’d answered. Should
he press the issue or move on? He decided on the latter. “Does the name Doctor
Louis Johansson ring any bells?”

She squinted and looked into the night sky.
“That name sounds familiar, but I just can’t place it, although it is a rather
common sounding name.”

“It is. Here’s one,” Zach said, not exactly
sure how to phrase it. “Have you ever heard anything about ‘Boy’? Not ‘a boy’
or ‘the boy’ but just Boy?”

Evelyn’s jaw dropped. Her eyes widened and
she likely realized that there was no use in trying to hide her reaction. “How
do you know about Boy?”

“C’mon now. I’m the one asking the questions
tonight. Tell me what you know, please.”

She said nothing. It looked as though she
couldn’t speak.

“Evelyn, pardon the expression, but you look
as white as a ghost. Please tell me, and I promise to keep what you say in
confidence.”

“Zachary.” Her face was somber. “I promise
to tell you what I know. First, I need you to tell me who has seen Boy.”

He debated his options. Don’t tell, offend
her and probably learn nothing. Tell her and risk her not keeping her
promise—unlikely. Tell her and trust that she would open up more to him. He
didn’t need upper level psychology to make his decision.

“Alright. I’ll tell you, but I need your
word…”

“You have it.”

Zach relayed first the odd responses of
Sashza. He expected more of a reaction from Evelyn, but she seemed nonplussed.
However, when he mentioned what Joey had said, the elderly lady became visibly
distressed.

“Which house does this Joey live in?” she
asked.

“The one closest the street on the far— Hey!
You’re supposed to be telling me what you know.”

“You’ll research this without telling anyone
where you got the information?” she asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“John Paramour was born on the afternoon of
April 14, 1865.”

Zach was no historian, but even he knew that
to be the day of Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. The fact that someone
connected to this investigation was born on that day amazed him.

“You may wish to take notes, Mr. Kalusky?”

He opened his journal and began jotting the
information down. “Yes, of course. This John is the spirit of ‘Boy?’”

“John’s mother, a woman of Russian decent,
adored President Lincoln and--”

“And this John,” Zach said. “Who is he to
your mother? Was this your dad?”

“Mr. Kalusky—”

“Zach. Please call me Zach.”

“Alright Zach, this is extremely difficult
for me to speak about,” she said. “Please just let me tell you in my own way.”

“Yes, ma’am. Go ahead.”

“Ma Paramour, Mrs. Paramour suffered from
some sort of mental affliction. She likely would have been considered as a
patient of Rosewood had she lived long enough. In any event, she was cruel to
him and somehow, because of the day of his birth, blamed him for the loss of
the president.”

“Just because he—” He’d interrupted again
already. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

“Who knows why? She was a very ill woman and
evil to the core. Her condition and John’s punishments worsened after her
husband left. Of course she blamed John for that. He was only four.” Evelyn
peered up at the stars, as though she had tried to banish these stories from
her mind and the night sky was helping her recall them. “He was beaten often,
but her favorite punishment involved scraping burning embers from the fireplace
and using them to scald his feet. She told him that wicked people were burned
at the stake. She insisted if he continued in his evil ways, he’d burn for his
sins, and she threatened to sacrifice him in a fire.”

“Good Lord.” Zach made the sign of the
cross.

“Then, in October of 1871—”

“Oh!” Zach couldn’t stay quiet. “That was
the Great Chicago Fire!”

Evelyn appeared on the verge of tears. “Yes.
John was six years old. I shudder to imagine what that woman must have done to
him during that time. Whatever it was, it scarred him for the rest of his life
and led him to…”

“He was the arsonist, wasn’t he?”

She said nothing.

“Was he the one who set himself on fire in
1899?”

As though on cue, the bell on the door to
Muses
Coffee House
tinkled. The young barista came out with a box neatly packed
with caffeinated beverages and set it on the table in front of Zach. “Anything
else for you, tonight?”