Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (34 page)

Matthew shook his head. “No officer. No
charges.”

The cop nodded and looked relieved that this
incident may not make the airwaves.

“Look children. The party here is over. Git
out now!” Winkler wasn’t as sauced as the prior night, but it was early. He
still had time.

“Let’s go people,” Sara called out. “Grab
what you can and throw it in the trucks. Pronto!”

Both teams started moving. They unplugged
monitors and packed their ghost hunting equipment into metal cases.

“No grabbing your playthings. I said to git
out now!”

Everyone froze.

“Oh I’m sure the policemen won’t mind if we
grab just a few expensive items on our way out. Would you,
Officer White
?”

He made eye contact with his partner and
turned back to her. “No, ma’am. We’ll wait outside, but we can only give you
five minutes. Grab what you can and contact Mr. Winkler tomorrow for the rest.”

Sara smiled. “Thank you, sir!” Without
moving her lips, and under her breath, Zach could have sworn she added,
“Fucker.”

“Hey, no!” Winkler screeched. “I said
widdout their shit!”

“Outside, sir.” Officer White pointed to the
door. “Now.”

Apparently state cops didn’t take orders
from state custodians. Winkler reluctantly stumbled towards the door. As the
threesome exited, the other state trooper turned to Winkler. “You’re not
planning on driving home tonight, are you, sir?”

“Zach and Bryce,” Sara called out. “Tomorrow
morning. First thing. Sci-D headquarters. The rest of you, I’ll text you if and
when we’ll need you to help us clear out the rest of this equipment. For now,
grab the small stuff. Detectors and gadgets. Anything that people could walk
away with.”

If Sara could possibly have known what would
happen at Rosewood shortly after midnight, she’d never have allowed anything to
be left behind.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Welcomed by
Muses
door chime, Zach
spotted Evelyn sitting at a table in the back. It appeared they’d have relative
privacy. Four teenage girls sat a few tables away chatting and laughing, their
movements and sounds resembling a gaggle of geese.

After having been escorted out Rosewood’s
gate by Winkler and an ever-growing number of Illinois state troopers, Zach
knew he needed to get back to
Muses
. Afterwards he’d catch Ray before he
got off work. Sara and Rebecca had chosen to call it an early night and headed
home. When Angel heard that Zach was going to the strip club, he decided a few
drinks would do him well. Turk agreed and it hadn’t taken much convincing to
get Shelly and Wendy to tag along. Then again, they were so shocked that Angel
and Turk
agreed
on something, they could hardly object. Matthew,
obviously, wasn’t invited. He slunk out without saying anything to anyone and
his fate, according to Sara, would be decided at the following morning’s
meeting with Dr. Benz. Zach had sent his friends on ahead and had stopped to
rendezvous with Evelyn at
Muses
.

Being denied access to Rosewood didn’t mean
the case was over. For Zach, a paranormal investigation was over, not just when
most of the mysteries were solved, but when
all
elements of the haunting
were set straight.

He sat down. “Evelyn, no more fooling
around. I need answers.” Zach’s adrenaline was flowing and pleasantries with
her had gotten him nowhere.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do you know what was written in Dr.
Johansson’s journal about John Paramour?”

“I didn’t know Dr. Johansson kept a
journal.” Her mouth twitched.

“You’re lying!” Zach slammed his hand on the
table.

Loud whispering came from the teenage girls.
One looked over her shoulder at them, whispered something to another and they’d
all giggle. Considering their age group was dead smack in the middle of his new
demographic base, they were likely fans.

“Cut the crap, Evelyn. Why have you been so
secretive?”

“I was instructed to withhold information
from you.”

“By whom?”

“By your...patron.”

“My
patron
?”

“Yes,” she said, softly.

Was she referring to Sara? Dr. Benz? Or was
this merely a diversionary tactic? Zach decided to ignore it and bear down.
“Paramour was a relative of yours, wasn’t he?”

“No.”

“You’re lying. I know you’re lying!” Zach
slapped the table again out of frustration. Evelyn’s mouth hadn’t twitched, but
Paramour
must
have been a relative.

Tables away, the teens’ whispers and giggles
had transitioned to full-fledged laughs. Embarrassed, Zach lowered his voice.
“He’s too old to have been your father. Was he an uncle? Your grandfather?”

“No.”

“Who was he?” Zach whispered. “Who?”

“He was an arsonist.”

“C’mon, Evelyn, I figured that much out. He
was also Pullman’s Police Chief and he killed the hospital orderly, Thomas
Carter, too. But why? ”

Her lips pursed and her eyes filled with
tears before she fluttered them and looked away. “Honestly, I’m not certain.”

“Why try and implicate the woman living in
the basement of the crime?”

Her teary eyes cleared with what looked to
be amazement. She peered at him. “Wait, how did you know that?”

“John Paramour was the man who burned
himself alive, wasn’t he?”

She appeared perplexed. “I don’t...he did?”

“But who was he to you? Your mother’s first
husb—”

One of the teenaged girls, one with long
dark hair and wearing braces, had taken on the role of  The Leader. She
approached cautiously and stood halfway between her table and Zach’s.

“You’re the guy from that show, right?” she
called out.

“I just might be.” He tried to make his
smile as pleasant as possible, given the circumstances.

“Do you talk to ghosts?” she asked, inching
closer.

Behind her, the friends grabbed each other
and embraced in giggles. Zach thought he heard one whisper,
“He talks to
dead people.”

“From time to time, I do,” Zach said, still
smiling.

“Oh,” she said. “’Um, ‘cuz my friends were
wondering—are you talking to one now?”

“What?” Zach asked shaking his head and
flashing an apologetic look at his companion.

Evelyn wasn’t smiling. Since the girl had
approached, Evelyn had sat there staring with a blank expression—she seemed
frozen, as though on pause waiting for him to resume their conversation. The
unmistakable scent of
Sailor Black
tobacco had enveloped them.

“Well, like, we don’t see you with a headset
or an earphone and,” the girl looked back for support at her two friends who,
at that point, were doubled up with silent laughter. “And if you’re not on the
phone, then...”

“Then, what?” Zach asked, trying to hide his
annoyance. What were girls this age doing out this late on a school night in
the first place?

“Then, who are you talking to?”

This time, the voice in Zach’s head was his
own.

The store was completely deserted.

The secretive old girl kept some late hours.

Evelyn snapped out of her trance-like state.
Her eyes grew wide, as though she was offended but afraid to say anything.
Things other people had said replayed in Zach’s mind.

“Anything for your friends tonight?”

 “What’s up, boss?” “What woman?”

Evelyn’s wrinkled face had changed,
transformed. Her skin looked hard, scorched. And then, as overwhelming as the
pungent bouquet of
Sailor Black
during one of his episodes, it hit him.

Evelyn had zipped around the corner of the
building and was gone.

“I cannot be seen with you.”

Evelyn’s skin continued to transform—into
charred, black flesh.  Her hair burned away leaving ragged, uneven stalks.
Some peeled from her skull. In addition to the
Sailor Black,
Zach now
smelled soot and ash.

In his head, he replayed the EVP recording
in the basement. His subconscious mind finally supplied the missing parts:

Female voice:  Meet me.

Female voice:  Zach go there.

Charred flesh covered Evelyn’s face. The
smell of
Sailor Black
hit Zach so strongly that he wanted to vomit. He
heard the voice of his godfather; however the words had been Wendy’s. “
The
only reference we have are the initials, PM.E.”

Her figure morphed again—blonde hair chopped
short, delicate features, an impeccable complexion and those same kind eyes—the
face Turk had discovered in the video footage of the basement! Evelyn’s right
hand was smeared with black ink. She was the woman who had been in Dr.
Johansson’s office—the one he’d fingerprinted. The one hiding in the basement
and accused of murdering the orderly.

The only reference we have are the initials,
PM.E.

“Paramour, M-something, Evelyn,” Zach
mumbled.

“Evelyn Marie Paramour,” she whispered,
almost apologetically, and then smiled as though noting the recognition in his
eyes.

She vanished.

Behind the counter, a tray of glasses
rattled seemingly of their own accord. The bell on the store entrance chimed as
the door opened and then banged close.

“OH MY GOD,” the leader girl said to the
others. “Did you see that? Did you see her?”

“Yes!” they screamed in unison. They waved
their hands around in staccato tempo, as their yells filled the coffee shop.

One of them screeched, “There was a woman
sitting there.”

In a teeming flailing bunch, they rushed
outside; a chime marked their departure. Only then did Zach recall that the
door had never chimed when Evelyn had entered
Muses.

He sprinted towards the door. Before he
could exit, the snotty barista tossed out a feeble semi-warning. “Dude, if you
come in here again...”

“Don’t worry,” Zach said, storming through
the door. “I won’t be back.”

He knew he wouldn’t find Evelyn outside, but
he knew where she’d be—the basement of Rosewood. He couldn’t get to her there.
Or could he?

But it wouldn’t be alone.

As Zach sped down the 94 freeway to catch up
with the others at Ray’s club, the shock of Evelyn being a spirit wore off.
He’d seen spirits before, however they were typically only passing glimpses or
apparitions. He’d never interacted with one like that. Except for his Uncle
Henry.

But that was different.

With Evelyn, he’d had no idea that she was a
spirit. Still, the pieces fit and on some level, maybe he’d known
subconsciously all along. What plagued him were the whys. Why did she contact
him? Why had she been so secretive?

The vacant freeway offered no answers, and
the hum of the road seemed almost to be mocking him. Zach flicked on the radio,
but with his thoughts racing, he barely paid attention to the noise.

Why hadn’t he pressed her on what she meant
by “his patron”?

In everyday language a “patron” referred to
a regular customer. However in the past, perhaps Evelyn’s time, it was common
to use the word for someone who supports or champions someone. Used in the term
“patron saint” by the Catholic Church, it meant a saint who advances a particular
cause or group. Evelyn could have only referred to one person with that term.

Zach’s godfather, his Uncle Henry.

Ironically, the word patron came from the
Latin, “patronus,” meaning “father.” Before he was able to ruminate on his
godfather instructing other spirits to withhold information from him on cases,
Zach arrived at the club.

Standing in the side parking lot was the
pared-down group of
XPI
:  Angel, Turk, Wendy and Shelly.

“It took you long enough,
mi hijo
.” Angel
said.

Wendy elbowed him in the ribs.

“Sorry, I had to make a stop first,” Zach
said. “Let’s go find Ray.”

He led them around to the front of the
building.

“What the hell happened?” Ray yelled out to
them. He was standing under the black awning of
Wine, Women &
Thong. 
He had positioned himself behind a purple velvet rope that
connected two gold plated poles not quite waist high.

Zach shrugged. Behind him, the others
remained silent.

“Nice to see you too, buddy,” Zach said.

“Everything okay?” Ray asked, opening the
velvet barrier to their admission.

“If by ‘okay’ you mean, ‘holy fuck-me
crazy,’” Angel said. “Then yes. All is okay.”

“You got alcohol in there or what?” Turk
asked.