The Séance

2

Jed should have headed straight over to Christina’s house, and in fact he had meant to.

But he didn’t.

For some reason he found himself traveling down the road that led to one of the largest local cemeteries.

Beau Kidd had been laid to rest there. His parents and his sister, furious that Beau had been labeled a killer without a trial, grieving his death, had ordered a fine tombstone for him. A glorious angel in marble rested atop it, kneeling down in prayer.

It was dusk when he arrived, and the gates were closed, but the cemetery was one of the oldest in the area. Broken tombstones belonging to those who had served in the United States military as far back as the Seminole Wars could be found there. No one had ever spent the money for a high fence, so he was easily able to hop the low wall and enter. He knew this cemetery well. Too well, he thought.

Margaritte was buried here.

But he hadn’t come to mourn at her grave or feel sorry for himself. Not tonight.

He was losing it, he thought. Visiting a cemetery, as if Beau Kidd could talk to him from the grave and offer him help.

No, he told himself. He had simply decided to check on the monument, that was all. In the years after the killings and Kidd’s own death, the tombstone had been vandalized several times. Then Beau Kidd’s mother had appeared on television and made such a tearful plea to be let alone that the vandalism had stopped. No requests by law enforcement or even arrests could have put an end to the graffiti and damage the way her softly sobbed plea had done.

He could see the angel as he headed down the path. What surprised him was that he wasn’t the only one who had come to check on Beau Kidd’s grave tonight.

There was a young woman standing there. He frowned, for a moment thinking it might be Christina Hardy. This woman, too, had long red hair, and she was tall, slim and shapely, with elegantly straight posture.

But when she turned as Jed approached, he saw that though she was attractive, her features were quite different from Christina’s. For one thing, her eyes were a pale yellow-green color, not a brilliant blue.

He didn’t recognize her, but she obviously recognized him.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Do I know you?” he asked bluntly.

“Katherine Kidd, Beau’s sister,” she said.

“We’ve never met.”

“No? Sorry, but I know who you are. You’re an opportunist. You wrote a book about my brother. As if the events weren’t painful enough.”

“I wrote a work of fiction,” he said. Why defend himself? He should just let her lambaste him. That might work out better for both of them.

“Why are you here? Do you want to hammer a stake into my brother’s heart? Do you think he’s alive and killing again?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

He turned to go.

“If you’re lost, your wife’s grave is nowhere near here,” she called after him.

He squared his shoulders and kept walking.

“Wait!”

He was startled when she ran after him. Her eyes were troubled when she awkwardly touched his arm to get him to turn around. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “I don’t know, exactly. I guess…I wanted to think. Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Beau was never the killer,” she said.

“How can you be so certain?” he asked.

“He was my brother.”

He let out a soft sigh. “You do know that every homicidal maniac is some mother’s son?”

“I know you investigated when you wrote your book. I know you were a cop. And I know you have a license now as a private investigator. You came here because you’re feeling guilty for what you did to my brother’s reputation. You want absolution? Fine. Prove that’s not just a copycat out there. Prove Beau was innocent.”

He stared at her, unable to think of anything to say.

“I’ll pay you,” she offered suddenly.

He shook his head. “No. No, you won’t pay me.”

“You don’t really believe in Beau’s innocence, do you? Not even now, with the evidence lying in the morgue,” she said.

“I don’t know what I believe right now,” he told her honestly.

She shook her head. “I’ve read every word let out by the police, the newspapers, every single source. No copycat could be so exact.”

“I don’t know yet just how exact he was,” he said.

“I do. And I know that Beau wasn’t a killer, no matter how guilty he looked. And you…you used him.”

“I used a story, a real-life story,” he said quietly. “And I’m going to investigate, but no one owes me anything. I guess that’s why I was here tonight. This one is between the two of us, Beau and me,” he told her.

He nodded and walked away again. When he looked back, she was standing where he had left her, looking bereft and alone.

“I’ll keep you informed—when I can prove something,” he told her.

He thought that she smiled as she lifted a hand to wave goodbye.

There was a low ground fog beginning to rise. Looking up, he saw that the moon was full. Odd night. Most of the time around here, the fog came in the early morning. Between the moon and the fog, the cemetery seemed to be bathed in some kind of eerie glow.

As he headed to his car, he thought about Sherri Mason, lying on the autopsy table. Sherri…tall, slim, with long red hair.

Before he knew it, he was heading back into the cemetery. “Katherine!” he shouted, running.

She was standing by her brother’s monument again. She looked up, startled.

“You need to get out of here,” he told her. She stared at him blankly. “It’s dark, and there’s a killer loose. Where’s your car?”

“Along the street, just past the gate.”

“I’ll see you to it.”

“All right.” She sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t argue.

He walked her to the Honda parked by the curb. She must have arrived after the cemetery had officially closed, as well. She slid behind the driver’s seat and lowered the window. He ducked down to talk to her, but before he could speak, she said, “I know, long red hair. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m twenty-four, but I still live with my folks. I’ll be okay.”

He nodded as she turned her key in the ignition, and he watched the Honda’s lights disappear into the fog.

He stood there for a long moment, feeling a strange sensation of dread grip his spine like an iron claw. Beautiful women with long red hair.

Christina Hardy fell into that category, as well.

He had lost her tonight, thanks to the cop-turned-writer.

But he would prevail. He would behave normally. He was a special person, unique; amazing things went on in his mind. He could walk, talk, smile and act completely normal, and all the while he would be planning his next kill.

But there had been an almost frightening moment when he had felt as if he might combust, the opportunity had been so good.

She had been there, so appetizing.

He made himself breathe, told himself to function. There was his world, his inner world, and then there was the world beyond. Sometimes he could combine them, but it was over now.

Still, there had been those moments when he had almost been able to taste and feel the results of his brilliance. He had come here tonight by happenstance, unable to resist a visit to the grave of the man who had taken the blame for everything he himself had done all those years ago. And then…to see Kidd’s sister…

It was too good.

She was such a pretty thing. All that lovely hair…

Then he’d shown up.

Jed Braden was big and broad-shouldered, clearly capable of holding his own in a fight.

But that didn’t matter. The point lay in his own brilliance, not in something as crass as a physical fight. He loved watching the dumb fucks chase their tails while he went gleefully about his business.

God, he loved the press. The newscasters were so grave when they talked about the latest killing. Then, with the switch of a camera angle, a smile instead of a somber look. Suddenly it was “Lots of fun on tap for Halloween this year.”

But at home, watching their plasma TVs, the viewers would be reeling. No change in camera angle for them. A killer was on the loose….

The experts were all baffled. It would never be like the crime shows. He was far too intelligent. There would be no solving his murders in a one-hour show.

How he loved the attention. His double life. Defying profilers and “behavioralists,” knowing they were more confused than ever now.

And all thanks to his own brilliance.

Breathe. Be ready. Walk, talk, smile, and all while the other world lived on in his mind. The time would come again—and soon—when it would become real once again.

“Quit staring at me. You’re giving me chills,” Christina said to her cousins.

Mike shook his head, looking away. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I am careful. I’ve always been careful. I never go anywhere with strangers. I’m street smart, honest. You guys know that,” she said.

“Just keep your doors locked, okay?” Dan said.

“I told you, I’m always careful. I carry pepper spray, I don’t talk to strangers and I don’t open the door without checking through the peephole,” Christina assured him.

The doorbell rang.

Christina jumped, then flushed in embarrassment.

Mike said, “I’ll get it,” and headed down the hall.

“Remember how much fun we had with this thing?” Ana said, returning to the original subject. Christina wasn’t sure why, but she was sorry she’d kept the damn thing around. Ana seemed way too enamored of it.

“It’s Tony from next door,” Mike said when he returned a minute later, two more people in his wake. “And his fiancée,” he added, stressing the word.

Tony went over to Christina, took her shoulders and gave her a peck on the cheek. He’d been a gaunt, geeky boy, but he’d grown into a tall, well-built man. His eyes were gray, his hair sandy-colored, and his nose and ears were no longer too big for his face.

“Hey, Tony, thanks for coming,” Christina said.

“Nasty fog out there,” he said. “I couldn’t even see your house from mine.”

“Spooky,” Ilona agreed.

“Christina, you remember Ilona, don’t you?” Ana asked.

“We met at the funeral,” Ilona said, stepping forward to take Christina’s hand. She had a warm grip and sympathetic green eyes. She was slim, with long, straight blond hair and a pleasant way about her.

“Yes, of course we met,” Christina said warmly. “Congratulations. I didn’t know the two of you were engaged. When’s the big day?”

“Oh, we haven’t planned that far ahead yet,” Ilona said.

“I say we ask the Ouija board,” Ana suggested.

“I say we have a beer and some barbecue,” Mike protested from the doorway.

“Oh, all right, but then we do the Ouija board,” Ana insisted.

“What about Jed? Should we wait for him before we eat?” Christina asked.

“My dear cousin will get here in his own good time,” Ana said. “He can eat when he gets here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Christina agreed.

“Let’s eat, then,” Dan said.

“Worked up a real appetite being a fluffy, huh?” Ana teased.

Dan gave her a fake scowl as they all moved into the kitchen and started eating.

The conversation was general and pleasant as it moved from topic to topic. It turned out that Ilona had originally come from Ohio, which led to a discussion about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nice, easy stuff.

So why, Christina kept wondering, was she feeling so on edge?

Ilona asked Christina about her work, and she explained that writing advertising jingles was more difficult than most people thought, as well as a crucial element in selling the product. “If you can get people to remember a jingle, then they’ll remember the product,” she explained. As she spoke, she could hear Dan, Mike and Tony talking about the murdered woman who had been found beside the highway.

When everyone seemed to have finished eating, Ana reached over for Christina’s plate. “Done with this?”

“Cleanup time?” Dan said, noticing. “Let me help.” He came over with a large garbage bag and they all tossed their paper plates into it. “Gran wasn’t the type to let any of us get away without picking up after ourselves, right, Christie?”

“Right. But,” she added, smiling to take any sting out of the words, “it’s easier when all you have to do is grab a garbage bag.”

“Gran made us scour her copper collection every Sunday,” Mike put in, a nostalgic smile curving his lips.

“Yeah, and it was a pain in the butt,” Dan said, and grinned at Christina. “You gonna keep all that copper glowing forever?” he asked. His eyes indicated the array of copper pans and molds lining the special racks their grandfather had constructed to hold the collection.

“Of course,” she said.

“Better you than me,” Dan told her, laughing.

“Christina was always the keeper of the keys,” Tony said, lifting his beer to her.

“The keys?” Ilona said, puzzled.

“Christie was always the one who loved all the old family stuff,” Tony explained. He sounded slightly impatient.

“Oh,” Ilona said in a cool tone.

“I’m sorry,” Tony murmured, pulling her close.

“Get a room,” Dan teased.

Ilona laughed softly, blushing, and drew away from Tony.

“Why would they get a room when they have a perfectly good house?” Mike asked.

“Forget it, it’s Ouija board time,” Ana announced.

“The parlor is a mess,” Christina said.

“We can just sit on the floor,” Ana said, waving away her objection. “We’ll start with Tony and Ilona. Maybe the Ouija board can give us a wedding date.”

“Sure,” Tony said with a shrug.

Ilona giggled. “Shouldn’t we dim the lights or something?”

“Why not?” Mike asked with a shrug, moving to the switch that controlled the lights.

Dan made a sound as if a soft and wicked wind were moving through the room.

Christina, arms folded against her chest as she leaned against the arched doorway, groaned.

Ilona and Tony set their fingers on the planchette, which began to move, finally settling over the J.

“January,” Ana breathed.

“It’s gotta be at least July,” Tony said. “We’re just not ready yet.”

“Look at that,” Mike said as the planchette started moving around erratically. “She wants January, he won’t be ready until July, and poor Mr. Ouija doesn’t know what to do.”

“You’re pushing it,” Tony accused Ilona.

“No—you’re pushing it,” Ilona protested.

“Don’t take it so seriously. It’s just a game,” Mike said lightly, as if aware that a real argument was in the offing.

And that was all that it was: a game, Christina reminded herself.

“Fingers barely touching the planchette,” Ana advised. “Christina, come over here and help me show them how to do it.”

“Oh, all right. But we’re not doing this all night,” Christina protested. She flashed a smile at Ilona. “I want to learn more about how you and Tony got together. Who cares when the wedding is? We’ll all have a good time whenever you choose to have it—if we’re invited, of course.”

“Of course you’re invited,” Ilona said.

“All right, all right,” Ana said. “Just get down here.”

“Is it dark enough? Want it spookier?” Dan teased.

“That fog is spooky enough,” Ilona said, and shivered.

“It’s just fog,” Christina said, barely managing not to shout. Damn. It wasn’t like her to be so edgy, but it was unnerving to realize how closely she fit the description of the victim of a serial killer.

Either a copycat…

Or a maniac who had somehow escaped detection for twelve years.

“And don’t forget the moon,” Ilona added.

“Are you thinking werewolves?” Tony teased her.

“There are enough real monsters out there,” Christina said. “There’s no need to make up more.”

There was a sudden uncomfortable silence in the room. She realized she had snapped out the words rather than simply speaking them.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. What was wrong with her? It was just…

It was just that stupid Ouija board and the idea of talking to spirits. She suddenly found the past welling up in her mind, a vision that was far too real. She could see Gran, after her grandfather had died. Sitting in her chair, looking at her so somberly. She’d dreamed that she’d talked to her grandfather. A psychology professor had once told her that such dreams were defense mechanisms, a way to reconcile oneself to losing someone. But Gran had said, “It’s dangerous. You have opened a door….”

That was just Gran and the Irish speaking. She had never had such dreams again. Not even when she had lost her parents.

All of that was far behind her now. She was a perfectly rational, sane person, and it was just the Irish sense of fun that made them all pretend to believe in banshees and leprechauns and even dreams.

“Okay, Ana, let’s show everybody how it’s done,” she said, then lowered her voice teasingly. “It was a dark and stormy night…no, it was a dark and foggy night, with a strange, full moon rising above the mist.”

Her light banter didn’t seem to be helping her mood any, she thought, and apparently it was obvious.

“You okay, Christie?” Mike asked.

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

“My fault,” Mike said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at anyone. I guess I’m just tired.”

“You’re really okay?” Dan said softly.

“Yes, of course. Come on, Ana. Let’s do this Ouija thing and be done with it, okay?”

“Hello, Ouija board,” Ana said, as if she were greeting an old friend.

Christina forced a grin, then set her fingertips very lightly on the planchette, which took off, slowly spelling out “Hello, good evening.”

“Is there a spirit in you tonight, Ouija board?” Ana asked.

“Is she for real?” Christina heard Tony whisper to Dan.

“Who knows?” Dan replied.

“Real? Real is what we make it,” Mike put in.

Christina knew that she wasn’t moving the planchette, so Ana had to be the one causing it to spell out the answer.

“Y-E-S,” Ilona read softly.

“Who are you?” Ana asked.

They all stared as the planchette began to move again and Dan read aloud, “B-E-A-U-K-I-D-D…Bookid?”

“It must mean boo, kid,” Mike said. “Boo, like Halloween. Kid, like a trick-or-treater.”

“No,” Dan murmured. “B-E-A-U. Beau, like a man’s name.”

“Like General Beauregard, the Confederate military leader,” Tony offered. “Right?”

“Beau Kidd. The detective who was supposedly the Interstate Killer!” Dan gasped.

“You did that on purpose!” Mike accused Ana.

“The hell I did,” she retorted adamantly.

“The thing moves by the power of suggestion,” Mike said impatiently.

“Ask him what he wants,” Dan said. “Watch—it will spell out, ‘I was framed. I’m innocent.’”

“What do you want?” Ana asked the spirit softly, ignoring Dan.

Christina gritted her teeth, longing to lift her fingers from the planchette, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

The planchette continued to move.

It was Ana, damn her. She had to be forcing it.

But what was really unnerving Christina was that she didn’t think Ana was forcing it.

Dan whispered behind them, “Puh-lease. You’d think we were still teenagers, telling scary stories out in the woods.”

“Be quiet. It’s spelling something,” Ana said impatiently.

“H-E,” Mike began.

“L-P,” Dan finished.

“Help,” Ilona breathed.

“Hang on, it’s not finished,” Christina said.

“They must be moving it,” Tony whispered to Ilona. “But they’re good. Spooky, huh?”

“‘Help,’ again,” Mike said. “It’s getting kind of monotonous, don’t you think?”

What other letters added to “help” would make another word? Christina wondered as the planchette kept moving.

“‘Help me please,’” Dan whispered.

The planchette was practically racing around the board.

Help me please help me please help me please….

Then, suddenly, it came to a definite stop in the middle of the board.

The room fell dead silent, even the doubters momentarily spellbound.

A thunderous knocking broke the silence and brought a scream from Ilona’s lips. As if in response, the planchette seemed to rise and soar straight into the air.

And then they heard the front door burst open.

3

“What the hell?” Dan demanded.

Jed stared back at his old family friend, wondering why he looked so spooked. Okay, maybe he’d opened the door a bit more forcefully than necessary, but it hadn’t been locked.