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  And then he was moving toward her, straight toward her, and she felt ice as his hand reached out to make contact.

  “Monty,” she screamed. And she was back, back in her husband’s arms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ellen’s skin felt clammy, icy to me; and she was trembling, clinging to me as if for dear life. And maybe she was.

  “Ellen, what the hell happened? Are you all right?” She slowly opened her eyes that had been squeezed shut. Just moments before, she had abruptly launched herself into my arms from her meditative stance. We were now both sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the bedroom.

  And I wanted to punch whatever had shaken her so. It was the most helpless feeling I’ve ever known. The waste of a good rage.

  “Monty,” she stammered, grasping me more tightly, if that was even possible.

  “Okay, you’re safe, honey. Settle down,” I said soothingly, suppressing my anger.

  “Beale’s awful icy feeling—it was like he was putting his hand right into me.”

  “What? Who was?” I didn’t like another man being inside my wife. No, not at all.

  Ellen pulled away and sat up with her legs tucked under her. “Beale touched me. I’m not sure what happened. I just felt this swirl of dizziness. Then you brought me back.”

  “I did what?” As far as I could tell, I was just sitting there, thinking of her.

  She looked at me strangely. “I called for you and you brought me back, Monty.”

  “I thought I heard you shout, but it could have been all in my mind.” I stood up, trying with little success to stretch the kinks out of my legs, then lending Ellen a hand to bring her back to her feet. “You saw Beale.”

  She frowned, “Yes, he’s a mess.”

  “In what sense?”

  She shook her head. “He’s so hard to read. One minute I feel sorry for him, the next I am charmed by him, and the next I think he’s a real asshole.”

  “Sounds like me. Except I’m two-thirds charming.”

  She smiled. “And he’s a chauvinist.”

  “Ah, well considering he lived a hundred years ago, that’s not all that unusual.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him,” she grimaced. “The problem is I didn’t get much of anywhere, except….”

  “Except?”

  “He did say ‘We’ll take care of them all.’”

  “Maybe he means the other spirits.”

  “Maybe, but there was something else. I couldn’t move beyond this room. When you’re in an astral state, you should be able to go anywhere. But it was as if something or someone was keeping me in just this room.”

  “Could Beale do that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know how. Of course, he was reading my mind, but we have limited powers of controlling others on the astral plane. You can’t really force someone to go toward the light or stop feeling sorry for themselves.”

  “He what?”

  “I think in life he was a bit of a psychic, a sensitive. He had unacknowledged gifts. I think that led to his breakdown and then his suicide. It’s one thing dealing with your own horror, but not being able to shut out everyone else’s in wartime….”

  “So he’s crazy?”

  She sighed. “Yes, maybe, I don’t know now. Can we go outside? I need to breathe.”

  I hooked my arm around her waist and led her out onto the balcony. Ellen put her hands on the banister and leaned over, inhaling deeply.

  “You know the real question,” I said. “Can we really do anything to help?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I don’t know. But they definitely don’t want us here, or at least something doesn’t. Loretta. . . “

  “Loretta?”

  “The suicidal woman from the stairs. She said they wanted us to leave, and then Beale made it crystal clear he wanted us out of here. Practically ordered us off the base.”

  “Well, it’s always nice to feel welcome.”

  “But why would they want us to go unless we are a threat somehow?”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  She glanced at me, her face still a tad bit too pale for my comfort. “Maybe they just want the place to themselves.”

  I glanced around. “I don’t know what the rent is, but as far as I’m concerned, they can keep it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I paced the gallery from one end to the next while Ellen sat perched on the top step of the staircase, trying recover from her ordeal. “So you said this Beale character didn’t really want to talk to you.”

  “He was reluctant.”

  “Because you’re a woman?”

  “I actually think that was an excuse. He seemed to think he was somehow helping all of the other ghosts. He said that soon none of them would suffer anymore.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  Ellen shook her head. “That part felt sincere, but I don’t know what he means.”

  “They’re already dead. What can he do to them?”

  “Life doesn’t end just because we shed our bodies. It just changes. All of these spirits are trapped, in some hellish betweenness where they are surrounded by their darkest time. They’re in the worst kind of rut, one that incessantly tortures them.”

  “Sounds like a kind of purgatory.”

  “Don’t think that the concept of purgatory wasn’t created as a reflection of this.”

  “But when is enough enough, honey? When do they move on and let all of this go?”

  “Good question. Sometimes when someone leads them on, sometimes when they’ve fulfilled some karmic obligation and sometimes….”

  “Sometimes?”

  “When whatever is stopping them gets out of the way.”

  “You know we need to go back in.”

  “Not in the shape you’re in.”

  “Let’s go for a walk. Maybe we can get some ice cream over at that little grocery on the base.”

  “Ice cream?”

  She stood up. “I need a sugar fix. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

  “Okay, any excuse to get away from this place.”

  I followed Ellen back onto the grounds of the base. I was getting so familiar with this area that I could find my way blindfolded.

  “Strange,” Ellen commented.

  “Hmm,” I said, still distracted with my own disgruntlement. “Lots of stuff is strange.”

  “It’s not helping much.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Usually getting away from the house helps to clear my head, but it’s not working.” She stopped in the midst of a grassy field that we were crossing and looked around. “What time is it, Monty?” she asked.

  I glanced down at my watch. “Three-thirty.”

  “That’s all? It’s crazy. It feels like we’ve been here forever and it still feels like the house. Like the energy in the house.” She looked at me with her blue eyes wide and filled with concern. “It’s spreading. Whatever is going on in there is spreading.”

  Great. Soon all of New Orleans would be haunted.

  If it wasn’t already.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ellen and I sat on a small cement bench just outside of the PX silently eating our Nutty Buddies. The PX was essentially a small brick building that housed a mini grocery store inside the barracks. The day was warm but was fading just as our energy was. We consumed our melting ice cream with the heavy knowledge that just round the corner was an unknown mountain to climb.

  “Oh I hope that’s not your dinner,” came a familiar female voice.

  We both glanced up into the remarkably animated face of Mathilda Vance. “Might be,” I grinned. In fact, just at the moment it felt a bit like a last meal.

  She squiggled in a bit aggressively onto the little spot on the bench that Ellen had left between herself and the edge. In a heavy whisper, she asked, “How’s the ghost hunting going?”

  Ellen looked at her a little blankly. Evidently that last encounter with Captain Beale had drained all the che
erfulness out of her. “Oh, we found some.”

  Her dark eyes widened, “Really? In Number Four?”

  “They’re all in Number Four. Step right up, folks. Start booking your paranormal group tours today, while supplies last.”

  Mathilda narrowed her eyes and arched those freaky eyebrows a bit. “Why are they gathered in one place?”

  I shrugged, “Beats me.”

  “It’s an unusual phenomena for sure,” Ellen said.

  “Something odd happened here on this plane as well,” Mathilda said. “Security had to break up a ruckus in the NCO, non-commisioned officers club. Huge fight broke out over practically nothing.”

  Ellen frowned turning to me, “That’s not good. Things are deteriorating.”

  Mathilda eyed her curiously, “Any idea why?”

  Ellen smiled. She still had the remnants of her ice cream glossing her lips. Kind of made me want to kiss her. Well, maybe not. “Not yet Mathilda, but we’re getting there.”

  She nodded, standing up and reaching into her rather large brown hand bag. “Here’s my card in case you come up with anything you need.”

  I took it out of her hand and silently read the curling script, “Mathilda Vance. Historian and Chief Archivist at Jackson Barracks Military Museum.” I wondered if there were any other archivists involved.

  “Thanks, Mathilda,” Ellen said.

  She smiled. “ I have a feeling about you two. I think you’ll figure this out.” She walked away in her jaunty style.

  “I wish I were that convinced.”

  “You know it’s the negative energy making us feel particularly depressed.”

  “Oh, I thought it was the futility of our endeavor and the ruined vacation and the fact that we hit the bed and fell right asleep.”

  She sighed, “We just need to regroup and strategize a bit.”

  “I don’t like the idea of taking you back into that house.”

  She patted my hand. “I know, but what we need is some distance.”

  A strange expression crossed Ellen’s face, something akin to a light bulb moment. Then in one fell swoop she scooped Mathilda’s card out of my hand and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

  “What are you doing?”

  She held her hand up waiting for the call to go through. “Mathilda? Hi, it’s Ellen Drew. Have you left the base? Good, because I’ve come up with a way you can help us. Could you please meet us at the museum? Yes, we’ll head straight over.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  We’re getting into Number Four from a distance. A safe distance.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “So we’re talking about a séance?”

  “Not exactly,” Ellen explained.

  We’d arrived at the doors of the museum just in time to be greeted by Mathilda walking up from another direction. Lucky for us she’d planned on closing the museum early today anyway. So we wouldn’t be disturbed.

  We had set up shop in a spacious back room softly illuminated by the museum’s track lighting. And the three of us were now seated on the cold, bare cement floor.

  “It’s actually more of a meditation.” Ellen went on. “You see, it’s important for Monty and me to get back into that house, but we are being blocked at every turn. So it occurred to me if we go in together, we would be more powerful. All we need is you to stay here, conscious of where you are, grounding us. Think you can do that?”

  Mathilda seemed overly eager to participate, as if she were already planning to tell her friends during the next meeting of the bridge club.

  I shifted on the impossibly hard floor, wondering exactly how my dear cousin Colonel Tom Nolan was ever going to make this up to me. “Sure this will work?” I asked Ellen, not quite sure of Mathilda’s motives.

  “Mathilda has a very strong energy, a grounding energy. I bet you’re an earth sign,” Ellen offered.

  “Actually, I’m a Taurus,” Mathilda said. That explained her bullishness.

  Ellen grinned. “Perfect. When you set your mind to something no one gets in the way.”

  I looked at Ellen a bit oddly. Since when had she ever been an astrology buff? But she was masterful at getting people to do what she wanted. Her encouraging words did seem to bolster Mathilda, who replied, “Yes of course, how do we proceed?”

  “We all join hands.” I grasped Ellen’s long cool hand and Mathilda’s somewhat clammy plumper hand. “Now close your eyes. Mathilda. You simply concentrate on remaining in this room. Your energy is the anchor that we are all connected to. Monty, focus on traveling with me.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked. Hoping it was the French Quarter but suspecting the worst.

  “Slowly, first we leave this building.”

  It was strange, like a slow gust of wind. And an accompanying disorientation, then Ellen and I were standing side by side outside the museum. But it was different. Night had fallen all around us. “Why?” I spoke or at least I thought that I had spoken.

  “It is night here,” Ellen said. “All the time, everything is masked, everything is hidden so that no one can see or think clearly.”

  “Oh, you mean it’s symbolic.”

  “Sort of.”

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Back to the house, but carefully. Just outside for now. I don’t know how long Mathilda will be able to ground us. It’s very draining, especially here.”

  And in the next instant, in a swirl of dizziness, we were standing in front of Number Four. Its great walls seemed to stretch upward into the shadows. And the thought crossed my mind briefly that even if it were completely cleared of all its ghosts this place would never be fit for the living.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The house was different this time. Ellen looked beside her, seeing Monty’s face etched with steely determination. She could actually feel his strength course through her. Together they were so much stronger.

  “Where do we start?”

  She heard his voice speaking directly into her mind. She’d been tempted to connect like this while making love, or when Monty was deep into one of his endearing romantic tributes, but she was always afraid some little lie would slip, some false thing that would unravel the intricate web they’d built with words and deeds.

  Pure thought left nowhere to hide, which she hoped to now use to their advantage against Captain Beale.

  Ellen stilled herself and allowed the impressions to sweep in. In one quick effort, her awareness moved past the front door and canvassed the first floor of the house. It was not as it had been before. Before, a barrier had been concentrated at the entrance but now it was weaker.

  As she moved through the silent rooms she could feel something odd that she hadn’t sensed before. The walls, they were filled with something that seemed to thicken them, a sort of strange sappy sort of energy.

  “Ellen, what are we doing?” Monty was becoming agitated again. It was hard to avoid. That dark energy and negativity was so pervasive.

  “Be calm, I’m just checking things out.”

  “I thought you said we didn’t have much time.”

  “We don’t. Easy,” she said.

  What she wanted, needed, was for them to check things out undetected. She let her mind be drawn to the spirits in the house, the life forces. Downstairs there were a few of the scattered and wandering but the concentration was definitely upstairs—all upstairs except for, oddly, in that one room.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Let’s move in,” she said. “Just past the front doorway.”

  And in the instant of a thought they were on the other side of the entrance. That was the way it was supposed to be in astral form—smooth, effortless, utterly natural in a weird way.

  But even in their present spirit state she could feel it. The air was simply thicker here. “Is it hard to breathe?” Monty asked.

  “No, not really, that’s just a physical response to a change in energy.”

  “What?” he looked
at her with confusion.

  “You expect your body to react. So your mind creates responses you would be comfortable with.”

  “Like not breathing?”

  “You’re breathing back in the museum. Let’s move on. They’re upstairs.”

  “So that’s where we’re going?”

  “I just want to see. I want to see what their activity looks like.”

  “Right, shall we take the stairs?”

  “No, I’ll simply concentrate on the hallway on the second floor.”

  Ellen completely sank her focus into the task but found rather quickly that the two of them hadn’t moved an inch, despite their relative weightlessness.

  Monty looked at her expectantly. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s not working.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s try this together. On the count of three. One, two, three.”

  With all her might Ellen focused on propelling the two of them up the stairs and with a great swirl of dizziness she found them just there, standing on the landing at the top of Number Four.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  My head was spinning. Exactly why, I wasn’t at all sure. But the sight before me, other than making me feel considerably nauseated, reminded me hauntingly of the one time I’d stood in line at a comic book convention, only without the body odor of Spiderman fanboys.

  “What the hell?” I murmured to no one in particular.

  The hallway was crammed with people who seemed a bit in costume. To one end of the hall there was a little huddle of soldiers in various styles of uniform pretty much ranging from Civil War to Vietnam. And at the opposite end were the women, but all costumed differently—one in blue jeans, one in a mid-length dress with a ruffle at the bottom, and one in a sleek, silvery evening gown. Then there were children sitting on the floor, knees drawn up huddled together, in dressy dated clothes. “Where are the Klingons?” I whispered.