Chapter Seven Tuesday Afternoon August 19, 2014 Jack climbed the stairs to the second floor. He paused a moment at the door to Byrons office and looked down the hall to his left. Abruptly, he turned and walked into the office and laid his laptop on the big desk. Hed come up here to get a start on the report he was required to turn over to Ed Riles the following Monday morning. The big desk was just the place to work. He walked out of the room and started down the hall. He walked into what had once been Katherine Kurstons suite when she still lived at the mansion. He noticed the blue coloring Gail had told them about. He smiled. Only a woman would notice something like that. He walked through the door into the bedroom. He saw the white vanity and walked over to it. He sat in the chair and reached for the framed photograph. Immediately, he saw the difference in Byron Kurston. He certainly looked happy. Anyone looking at it would know that this was a couple who was very much in love. He wondered when the picture was taken. It was a professional shot and he saw the faded logo of the photographer in the lower right corner but could not make out the name. Then he looked closely at Byron. A thoughtful expression came to his face. There was a resemblance and he saw it without any trouble. He recalled that Jackson Tarpley mentioned it the night they talked at the Jibber Jabber. What had Ed Riles thought when they first met? he wondered. Had it unnerved him? There was no outward expression of surprise on his face that Jack could recall. He placed the picture back where it had rested for over fifty years. Jack stood and walked around to the far side of the big bed and looked down at the rumpled spot where Gail was when she felt the presence of Byron in the room. He stepped back and tried to visualize her jumping from the bed and crouching as she waited to confront a presence she could not see. He thought about her sixth sense and wondered what it would be like to have the ability to feel the presence of a dead man. Naturally, since he didnt believe, it was difficult to put himself in her place and understand the terror she must have felt as she stood alone with something she could not define. He shook his head. Jack stopped outside Katherines suit and stared at the closed door on the opposite wall. Byrons suite. His eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he stared hard at the tarnished brass knob. There was really no reason to enter the room. He did not have the same sense of discovery that Gail had and did not have a need to visit the private rooms of a man who had been dead for over fifty years. Until now. It was bewildering that he should suddenly have an overpowering desire to enter Byrons suite. Perhaps it was part of that unexplainable need to know the man. Since the moment he first walked inside Kurston Hall he had wanted to know more about him. In some ways, Byron was an enigma, a shadowy spirit that roamed the rooms of the old mansion, protecting it from intruders. Jack hated unexplained mysteries. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked and he winced. For a moment, Jack felt like a burglar, breaking and entering someones home. Maybe he should mention the hinges in his report to Ed Riles. Have your Tulsa crew squirt a little WD-40 on the hinges, Ed. The sitting room was the same size as Katherines but that was the only similarity. This was definitely a mans room. He pulled the protective covers from the sofa and two chairs. Heavy furniture that only a man would appreciate. Rich, dark brown leather cushions and armrests padded in the same dark leather looked very comfortable. He walked to the windows, pulled back the heavy drapes and pushed them up. Like Gail, he thought the room was a little crushing with the accumulation of dust over the years and the musty odor that came with it. He returned to the sofa and carefully sat down in the center. Just as it looked, the old sofa was very sturdy and the cushions were surprisingly pleasant to sit on. He leaned back and sighed. I could get used to living like this, he chuckled. There were paintings on the walls, many of them depicting oil wells and crews working them. He shrugged. Stands to reason that an oil man would have paintings of oil wells on his wall. Byron might have been a young man but...Jack frowned. Suddenly, without any good reason, he knew that this room still had the furninishings that Franklin Kurston selected when he was the master of Kuston Hall. He sat forward and took a closer look at the sitting room. How would he know that? The thought was brief but in that small space of time he understood that much of what had been Franklin Kurston was still in the suite. He must have taken his fathers death hard to keep his belongings. And what of Katherine? Had she made the conscious decision on her own not to replace Elizabeths furniture, or was that Byrons idea? These people must have had some deep issues, he thought. A large wooden box sat in the center of the heavy coffee table with two dark brown ashtrays bracketing it. He opened the box expecting to find more stale cigarettes as Gail had found in Katherines room. Instead he found it full of the same old stale cigars he found in the office. On one side was a dugout area full of long kitchen matches with a striker plate located to one side. He fished a match out of the box and swiped the end across the plate and was surpised to see the sudden spurt of flame. He quickly extinguished the match and dropped it in the closest ashtray. Jack looked around the sitting room and wondered if Byron had spent much time in it while he wound down from a long day at corporate headquarters. Or did he spend it in the office down the hall? If he and his wife both had sitting rooms, when did they find time to be alone? In the photograph on Katherines vanity, it was clear that the young couple were in love at one time and it just seemed reasonable to expect they would have shared the same bedroom. Not only did they not share a bedroom they had separate sitting rooms. He sighed. To each his own, he thought. Jack stood and walked into the bedroom and found the light switch beside the door. He whistled. Someone, presumably Franklin Kurston, had good taste. The four poster bed against the far wall was magnificent. The wood was as rich and dark as the furniture in the sitting room. So were the dresser, writing table and bedside tables. All of it was heavy, masculine and he could certainly understand why Byron had chosen to keep his fathers furniture. There was a door in one corner of the back wall and another in the opposite corner. Jack walked over to one and pulled it open. It was a bathroom. There was a large counter with a sink, a toilet, a bathtub and separate shower. Deep red bath and hand towels, and wash clothes, were placed on shelves by the sink and tub and shower. On the counter he saw a soap dish with a brush for shaving. Beside it was a straight razor. He stepped over to the counter and picked up the razor and unfolded it. There were two tiny spots of rust and Jack was glad to see that not everything had completely survived the long decades. He tested the blade and found it was indeed sharp. A little work, he thought, and a man could use this. Arrayed on the counter with the shaving gear was a variety of items, including after shave and cologne. As with Gail in Katherines room, he could not identify many of the brands and did not know if that was because they were old and no longer sold, or if they were very expensive and beyond his price range. He would bet on the latter. He picked a bottle of cologne with a name he couldnt pronounce and sprayed a small amount on both sides of his neck. Jack stepped away from the counter and grabbed the handle of a door near him. He had expected a closet with fresh towels and was surprised to find another bathroom. This one was decorated in a variety of blues and he grinned. Katherines private bathroom. He walked to another door and found himself in her bedroom. How had he not seen this door before. When he shut the door, the reason was immediate. Hidden door, crafted to blend in with the wall. There was a small area that was just a little darker than the rest of the wall and he pushed on it. The door popped open as he thought it would. Jack walked back into Byrons bedroom and around to the other side of the bed to the other door. This time he guessed correctly. A large, walk-in closet. Expensive looking suits in browns and grays and dark pinstripes hung in a neat row. Other clothing, obviously casual wear, were in a second row. A wooden box with several compartments held an assortment of shoes. He gently fingered a dark pinstripe with thin barely visible gray stripes and was surprised to find that the fabric was still durable. A rack to one side held an array of ties that he guessed were probably silk. Beside the door was a floor length mirror. Only the best for the best dressed oil man, he said with a shake of his head. Jack switched off the closet light and stepped back into the bedroom. He stood beside the bed for a long moment staring at it. On impulse, he bent and sniffed the top spread, carefully at first, then harder. He stood and looked down at the bed with surprise on his face. Just as Gail had mentioned earlier with Katherines bed, there wasnt an overpowering odor to the bedding. That was unexpected. Jack stretched out on the bed and sighed. Oh, yes, he thought, this is good. The bed was comfortable and he had the same thought as Gail. Maybe he should move into Byrons room. Since he did not believe in the supernatural, as she did, he could definitely enjoy sleeping in a big, comfortable bed for the rest of the week. It beat a sleeping bag! He looked around the large room, appreciatively. He knew so little of Franklin Kurston and wondered what it had been like for a man without much in the way of belongings to suddenly find himself wealthy beyond belief. He must have swelled with great pride and felt the keen benevolence of blessings he could barely contain. He was a humble man. Jack sat up and frowned. It seemed, although he would deny it, that a deep voice had found its way inside his head. He suddenly recalled Gails description of the voice she had heard when she experienced Byrons presence in Katherines bedroom. He nodded. Somehow, his mind had recreated a facsimile of that same voice. It was unnerving. He quickly thrust the thought, along with the strange voice out of his head. Jack wasnt about to go down the same road as Gail and start believing in ghostly voices. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sucked in a sudden breath. He was lightheaded. A dark shadow slipped slowly across his eyes and he shook his head. He understood immediately that this was the same feeling that nearly took him to the floor when he and Randy were in the crypt. This time, though, he was alone and Jack felt a sense of dread so acute that he began to tremble. If something happened while he was alone... NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! He said it softly at first, remembering how Andy had turned the chant into a personal mantra to fight the sudden and unwanted feeling of losing consciousness. Over and over he chanted, his voice growing stronger. Even his body that had become weak was now growing strong. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Jack stood and opened his eyes. The room seemed to wobble a little, he noticed, but that was because of the trembling in his legs. He took a step, then two, and felt power begin to ease back into his legs as he walked toward the sitting room. He stopped at the door, grabbed the doorknob and sucked in a deep breath. He wasnt sure what had just happened but it certainly caught his attention. The thought that he should call Ed Riles and ask about mold came to mind. It was the only reason for what had happened to him and Andy. There was no need to put their lives at risk. Maybe he would have Gail research mold. Jack walked back down the hall and into the office. He saw the laptop on the desk and shook his head. Right now he needed to shore up his weakened body and he knew exactly what to do. He turned to the hutch and dropped to one knee. Without even thinking about it he pulled an unopened bottle of brandy, an unopened box of cigars and a box of kitchen matches from the shelves and deposited them on the round conference table, along with a brandy snifter. It wasnt until he was seated at the table and about to open the brandy that he wondered how he had known the exact place of each item. He sat back in the padded leather chair and looked with surprise at the hutch. It was odd, he thought. Then he recalled looking in the hutch earlier and realized that he must have seen them and simply forgot. He looked at the box of cigars. That he could not explain since hed quit smoking cigarettes and never did enjoy cigars. Yet, for a reason he had difficulty understanding, Jack felt a powerful urge to smoke one. Even more than a cigar, he wanted a snifter of brandy. He emptied the humidor of stale cigars in a waste can beside the desk and filled the box with freah cigars and matches. In minutes he sat in the chair with a cigar in one hand and the snifter resting in the palm of the other. Jack felt an overwhelming sense of contentment as he watched the bluish smoke drift up to the ceiling. Jack brought the snifter to his nose and inhaled. He closed his eyes and a barely audible groan escaped his mouth. He took a small sip, then another of the brandy. It was an odd experience, as if hed waited a long time for a brandy. But the most baffling part of the experience was the feeling that he had consumed brandy - especially Courvoisier Napoleon Cognac - in the past and had liked it very much. And the taste now seemed very familiar. A startling, unforseen event began to unfold in his head. He saw images, episodes and people that he did not know. Strange, unknown events that were more a collection of fractured memories or a collage of mental pictures that were suppose to mean something. Voices that were dimmed by time and memory flooded into his head and none of them were familiar to him. He felt like a spectator at a great party where all of the guests knew one another, yet he did not recognize anyone. He sat sipping the expensive brandy and smoking the long cigar as a barrage of mental images continued to find their way inside his brain. Vaguely, he understood that his experience was not normal. This was something that should not happen to people. Then, just as quickly, the unfamiliar, unbidden images were gone. Jack refilled the snifter and walked to the desk. He set the brandy at one corner and jammed the cigar between his teeth. There were papers, yellowed with age and covered with the dust that lay everywhere within the old house, strewn about the top. He pushed pages of paperwork around the top of the desk until one hand closed on something long and metallic. He knew what it was by feel and this familiarity disturbed him. But, then, so many disturbing thoughts about people and objects had come up over the past two days that he was beginning to think of it as the norm. A long silver dagger that he realized was a letter opener. It must be the same opener that Bobby Lee Parker intended to take from the house so many years ago. He held it in one hand. It was lightweight and balanced, as a well made knife might be. The design work was subtle and beautiful. The pompous prick thought he could buy my acceptance with that ridiculous trinket. Jack raised a brow and looked up as the odd, unfamiliar voice filtered into his head. By chance, the first object he saw was the portrait of Byron. The dark eyes appeared to look directly at Jack, though he knew that was simply an optical illusion. It was still creepy, and the great kind of visual effects that come out of Hollywood. But not reality, he thought. On impulse, he walked around the desk and stared at the painting of the former owner of Kurston Hall. He looked into the eyes of the man who left life with a hateful bitterness that had turned his heart black. The painting looked no different than when he looked at it earlier. The face in the portrait still echoed the same loathing it had since the artist captured it so many years ago. Do not judge beyond your knowledge. Jack blinked. He looked down into the brandy, then back into the face of Byron Kurston. He canted his head to one side. Never in his life had he heard a voice inside of his head that was so distinctly different from his own. Twice in this room, within minutes, the strange and cultured voice interrupted his own thoughts. Where the hell had it come from? he wondered. The thoughts - or the voice that had uttered the words - was a low and pleasant baritone. Let me tell you something, Byron, old buddy, Jack said. Lets say for the sake of argument that you do exist as a ghost in this house. Do me the kindness of staying the hell out of my head. He started to turn away from the portrait, then stopped. He raised the snifter in a salute and added, You had great taste in booze. Jack walked around the desk feeling awkward that he had spoken to the portrait, especially when he did not believe in the existence of the supernatural. But the thoughts, words or whatever one wanted to call them, were getting old. And the sudden, inexplicable knowledge of objects in the house that he shouldnt have known were just as tiresome. He could not explain any of it but he simply wasnt ready to throw in the towel and say the old mansion was haunted. There had to be reasonable cause for all of the unexplained occurrences since the minute the four of them walked through the double front doors. To call the house haunted just seemed premature to him. A rap at the door and Jack looked up. Randy stood leaning against the door jam. He felt a slight irritation at the sudden intrusion and immediately felt a deep sense of shame. This was not only an employee but a good friend hed come to respect more than most people. He smiled and waved Randy inside the room and pointed to the hutch. Grab a snifter and help me drink some of this good booze. That I can do. Randy handed the snifter to Jack and watched his employer pour a couple of inches of brandy into the globed glass. He saw the cigar in Jacks hand and raised an eyebrow. Sitting alone dinking expensive cognac and smoking cigars that each probably cost as much as a pack of cigarettes. I thought you quit smoking. Jack smiled sheepishly and shrugged. Too much time on my hands, I guess. Gail will raise hell with you, Randy chuckled. Better put on some more of that cologne before you go down for supper. Jack sipped from the snifter and grinned. You can smell this stuff? Its strong, boss. Whered you get it? Doesnt smell like the stuff you usually put on. Byrons private bathroom. Theres a lot of stuff like this in there. You been in his room? Jack nodded and told his friend about Byrons private rooms, leaving out the unexplained voice in his head and the sudden bout of dizziness that was so much like what he experienced in the crypt. For now it seemed best that he keep that to himself. At least, until he understood it more. I have to admit that this is one hell of a house, Jack said. Ive been in a few mansions but this is the first time Ive stayed in one. He laughed. Itll be hard going back to my double wide. You ever wanted a place like this, Jack? I never gave it a lot of thought, Randy. Jack struck a kitchen match and relit the cigar. He rolled it between his fingers and grinned. Not bad for a fifty year old cigar. Randy watched his friend smoke the cigar and take a small sip from the globed snifter. He was especially surprised to see Jack bring the rim of the glass to his nose and inhale gently. The way he closed his eyes, the pleased look on his face and the sound of a contented sigh seemed different from the Jack hed known for the last couple of years. As he studied Jack, Randy noticed a few other things that seemed odd about him. His face. It was different somehow. The eyes seemed hard, almost resentful, and the set of his mouth was different. Jack had a tendency to slouch a little when he sat in a chair, something Randy had not paid a lot of attention to before, but now the stiff, almost proper bearing was so different that it stood out like night and day. For Randy, the sudden changes were startling. Say, Jack, I noticed the way you hold that round glass. He shrugged and grinned. Im just a Marine grunt and drinking cognac is a little different from beer. The haughty look on his face stunned Randy. The Jack he knew was one of the most humble men he had met in his life and this change was completely out of character for him. The most telling was the arrogant slash of a mouth that was supposed to be a smile. It was all Randy could do to maintain eye contact with his employer. First, you should know that a good cognac should never be swilled. You have guzzled yours like a drunken sailor. Jack smiled and the snobbery caught Randy off guard. Cradle the snifter in the palm of your hand, as I am, with the stem between fingers. The heat from your hand will warm the cognac and help bring out a delightful flavor. Swirl the liquid. Sniff the aroma. A good cognac, treated well, will be the most delightful drink you have ever consumed. Jack set the glass on the table and relit the cigar. A cloud of smoke swirled lazily around his head and he sighed. Randy, sitting with a cognac snifter in the palm of one hand, as Jack had instructed, watched his employer with speechless fascination. One other thing, Jack went on. Sip your cognac, Randy. Do not guzzle it. A Napoleon cognac is a drink that should be savored, not gulped as a five cent bottle of soda. I hope Ive been helpful. Ah, yeah, Jack. Sure. Randy brought the snifter to his nose and sniffed. Smells good. The two men heard the sound of voices coming up the stairs and both turned to the door. A moment later, Gail, followed by Andy entered the room. The expression on the young womans face changed as she smelled Jacks cigar. She wrinkled her nose. Youre smoking, she said. Yes, I believe youre right. But, you stopped smoking months ago. I stopped smoking cigarettes, he said as he stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray. An occasional cigar wont hurt anything. Are you alright? Gail asked, her face suddenly etched with concern. Youre sweating, Jack. Its hot today, he reminded her. Damn! Why hasnt someone turned on the air conditioner? Because there isnt one? Andy said from a chair beside Randy. The hell there isnt! I had it installed - Jack caught himself. Where the hell did that come from? Suddenly, he knew there was an air conditioning system and that it had been installed in the Spring of 1960. But he had nothing to do with it. He wasnt born until nineteen years later. What the hell was happening? Ah, Ill raise the windows, Gail said quickly. That should help. Randy and Andy traded looks. Randy shook his head and his friend nodded. It was a motion that said it all. Dont say anything. Well talk later. Randy raised the globe of cognac to his mouth, noticed that Jack wasnt watching, and gulped down the rest of the brandy. Gail returned to the table and sat down by Andy. That should do it. Listen guys, I need some stuff for supper so I need money and wheels. Andy and I thought you might want to tag along and get some fresh air. Hey, Im up for some fresh air, Randy said quickly. Jack shook his head. Someone needs to be here at all times, per the contract. Maybe Ill take a drive later tonight. You guys go and enjoy. Ok. Well... Gail looked at Randy and Andy. Randy shrugged and looked away while Andy looked at Jack with a thoughtful expression on his face. You need anything,Jack? He pushed some bills across the table to Gail. Pick up several bottles of fabric freshener. You can probably find it at Handy Dandy. He paused for a moment, then hurried on with an almost sheepish expression on his face. Ive decided to move into Byrons rooms. I was in there earlier and there is barely an odor to the bedding. Fabric freshener ought to take care of that. A big comfortable bed beats a sleeping bag on the floor. Youre moving into Byrons bedroom? She asked incredulously. Youre really going to sleep in there? Why not? Jack shrugged. Its just a bedroom. Ok. Well be back as soon as we can, Jack. An obviously worried Gail stood and scooped the money from the table and shoved it into a pocket of her jeans. Lets take my truck, Randy offered. Give Jacks Mustang a rest. At the door, Andy turned and said, Ill look into the air conditioning when I get back. Maybe I can get it going. Jack nodded and smiled his thanks. He watched as the three left the room, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. The air coming through the open windows felt good but it still felt warm. And it wasnt the heat that made him sweat. He was certain of that. * * * * * Somethings wrong, Gail said from the front passenger seat. I can feel it. Randy turned right at the end of the long drive and pointed the SUV in the direction of Craven. The old road hadnt been cared for in years since very few people used it anymore. He drove slower than usual. Gail shook her head, her impish face a mix of frustration and concern. I heard him say it and I know you guys heard it, too. He said he had the ac installed. What the hell was that about? Randy shrugged. Maybe the heat is getting to him. And it made him delusional? I dont know, Randy said, as he swerved to miss a pothole. And whats up with moving into Byrons rooms? Thats freaking creepy! Randy sighed. You should have been in there with him when he taught me to drink brandy. Randy sighed again and told the other two of the events in the office. He told them of the subtle changes in his appearance, his voice and the way he spoke. He related the arrogant demeanor that was very different from the Jack Evans he knew. He shook his head as he recalled the startling changes in their employer. You have to look close but the changes are there, he said. His eyes and mouth look different. His whole attitude is different. Oh, its a subtle change, but I saw it. He paused for a moment, then added, He actually said, Sip your cognac, Randy. Do not guzzle it. A Napoleon cognac is a drink that should be savored, not gulped as a five cent bottle of soda. When did you guys last see a bottle of Coke for a nickel? Never, Gail said with a shake of her head. Jack lectured me on the finer points of drinking cognac. His drink of choice is a cold beer. Just this morning he was asking Andy about the difference in the glasses. He had no clue. I remember that! Gail exclaimed. They drove on in silence, as Randy continued to dodge potholes. He passed a modest ranch home that was a few hundred yards back from the road. A white fence surrounded the house and a brown Ford pickup sat in front of a two car garage. It was a nice looking home, he thought. Hes changed, Gail observed softly. Its as if we were talking to someone else. That wasnt Jack, Andy said from the back. It was Byron. It was the first words hed uttered since leaving Kurston Hall. Randy slowed, then stopped the SUV at a stop sign. He quickly cut his eyes to the rearview mirror and looked hard at his friend. Gail fumbled with the seat belt and scrambled onto her knees facing the rear of the vehicle. Put your seatbelt back on. Stuff it, Randy. She looked into the backseat at Andy with wide eyes. That wasnt funny, Andy. I wasnt being funny. Gails mouth worked but no sound came out. To say she was stunned by his unexpected comment would have been a colossal understatement. She stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she turned, sat back in the seat and latched the seatbelt. She pushed fingers through the short, red hair. Softly, she said, Do you think its possible? I dont know much about that kind of stuff, Andy confessed. My grandma talks about it but I never pay much attention to it. This is even harder to buy than a ghostly haunting, Randy said. Then what would you call it? Gail snapped. She heard the harshness in her voice and winced. Sorry. Randy took one hand from the wheel and tossled her hair, something he knew she hated, and grinned. Dont worry. Theres a reason for our boss strange behavior. Hes probably stressed out. From what? Gail asked. Were staying in a huge mansion, getting a nice payday for it, and all we have to do is hang out. That doesnt move the needle on a stress meter. They were on a smooth, two lane road now and Randy pushed down on the accelerator. The silence in the car was thick, almost overpowering. No one dared speak for a long moment as the the outskirts of Craven came into view through the windshield. What youre saying, Randy said and glanced at the mirror, is that the ghost of Byron Kurston has somehow possessed Jacks body. I cant even go there. I hope youre right, Andy said. I really do. So what do we do? Gail asked. Buy the man some fabric freshener, Randy said. * * * * * Jack shook out a towel, face cloth and wash cloth. Years of dust billowed into the air and he coughed. The water in the sink and shower had been running for several minutes as the water turned from a dirty brown to a clear stream. His belongings were now in the bedroom and he quickly stripped from the sweaty clothes. A cool shower would help, he hoped. He caught his reflection in the mirror and froze. He stepped closer and looked at his face. There was something different in the way he looked but he wasnt sure what it was. He looked hard into the dark eyes, yet there didnt seem to be anything there he hadnt already seen over the years. He shook his head. What really troubled him was his behavior and the way hed treated his friends. He had no idea how he came to speak in a way he had never spoken before. He had no knowledge of cognac and how to drink it, yet he was suddenly an expert and lecturing Randy about it. And he certainly had no idea about an air conditioning system but he now knew there was one and when it was installed. Jack sighed and looked over to the shower. Suddenly, he wasnt sure that a shower was the answer. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror the only thing Jack felt was complete and utter helplessness.
Posted on: Sun, 25 Jan 2015 10:47:48 +0000
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