Authors: Tamara Thorne
Red Cay Moose Lodge: 7:12 P.M.
Theo Pelinore wished Jerry Romero would stop interviewing the local yokels for a few minutes and pay attention to her, but he kept going from person to person, smiling, asking questions, and giving instructions to his three-man crew in between.
She didn't feel very bad about ignoring David Masters in favor of the darkly handsome telejournalist. David was nice, but he lacked the fire she so desired, and when he did heat up, she usually felt like she was a substitute for someone else, probably that Melanie creature that that spoiled brat Amber kept throwing in her face.
She'd thought there was hope for a passionate relationship with David when they'd encountered the spirit of Christabel last week. David had been caught, for a few brief moments, in the passion that surrounded the spirit, though he soon regained himself and tried to drive it away. Coward! He couldn't let himself go. Theo, on the other hand, sensed that Christabel was her kindred spirit, for the ghost possessed a passion and appetite for pleasure that matched her own. She had welcomed the girl's spirit into her body, much as she welcomed Spiros each week.
The experience had frightened her in some ways--Christabel was stronger than she--but she didn't resist and soon found that she could share her body with the spirit, retaining full consciousness, and could feel many times over the depth of passion that she herself so needed.
Tonight in the car, Theo had been a little irritated when David had accused her of pretending her possession, but then she realized that he'd only been trying to hurt her. She smiled to herself, pleased that she could arouse jealousy in the man. She glanced at Jerry, who was speaking animatedly with Gary Morris. The mayor of Red Cay was dressed as Sherlock Holmes and his wife stood next to him, her eyes twinkling with merriment behind her Dr. Watson mustache. Last year they'd shown up in Civil War costumes--a Union officer and a nurse--and had won the costume contest. The only reason they'd won--Theo had expected the grand prize and was still a little miffed--was because Mary had been the officer and Gary the nurse and, evidently, the town had loved the sight of their mayor in drag.
Romero was laughing at something the couple had said and Theo, bored stiff, looked around just in time to see the Galiano boy hand something to his little schoolmate, the daughter of the Radsum couple who had bought the Cape Cod two-story out at the end of Cottage Street. The girl carefully set the something down, then took the boy's hand and led him onto the dance floor. Puppy love. How tiresome. Theo sighed, wondering what the boy had given her to get her to dance with him.
Jerry was still talking as she saw that redneck cop, Swenson, and David standing in a corner. David was watching the kids dance and looked positively diabetic over them. No wonder he has no passion—he’s nothing but a romantic. Theo didn't have time for things like that, things that took away from the zest and reality of life and replaced them with false dreams.
"Excuse me," she said to Jerry, who didn't even reply.
Casually, she crossed the room, stopping to chat with friends and acquaintances along the way. Finally, she made it to the chair where the Radsum girl's belongings had been placed. Using her wide courtesan's skirt to bump the pink plastic purse off the dark object below, she bent to retrieve the purse, taking her sweet time so that she could examine the object.
It was a doll. A broken doll, obviously from the Baudey collection. It was slightly damp and sandy, as if he'd fished it out of the sea.
Furtively, she glanced around. No one was watching. As she placed the purse on the chair, she slipped the doll into a vast pocket hidden beneath the apron of her skirt. Then, utterly pleased with herself, she wandered to the punch table where a stranger, a tall man in black seaman's clothes, smiled at her from behind a black beard. His eyes were fierce and passionate, and Theo felt a thrill travel down through her belly to nest warmly in her crotch. The crop of a short black cat o' nine tails poked out from beneath his arm.
He didn't say a word, just handed her a cup of punch, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Her fingers tingled where his chilled hand had touched hers and, unconsciously, she put them to her lips. They tasted of salt water and smelled of bay rum.
Red Cay Moose Lodge: 7:25 P.M.
"David Masters," Jerry Romero said as he pushed the microphone into David's face, "why would the most popular horror writer in this country--or any country, for that matter--choose to live in a sleepy little town like Red Cay?"
The camera lights blinded him, but David smiled and answered Romero's questions, one after another, with as much aplomb as he could muster. Gaylord had warned him that Romero was known for his refusal to edit out embarrassing gaffes--he considered others' mistakes to be the meatiest part of an interview. In fact, it was more likely that Romero would edit out his best answers and keep the ones that David bungled.
At least the questions Romero threw at him now were fairly easy to give Teflon answers to--how he liked Red Cay, if he believed in reincarnation, how his daughter was getting along. The hard questions would come tomorrow, at Body House.
Romero launched into a brief introduction to Body House itself, then said, "David, I know there's a fascinating--and romantic--story behind the sea captain's uniform you're wearing this evening. Would you care to tell us about it?" He paused, turning to his assistant "Make sure we cut in a shot of the portrait of Lizzie Baudey at the right moment when we put this together, maybe an overlay with David so it looks good and ripe." He turned back to David, saying. "Sorry, didn't want to forget that," then pushed the microphone back into his face. "Go ahead."
Glancing at the door once more, hoping to see his daughter, David began recounting the romance of Lizzie Baudey and Ezra Wilder, embellishing upon it the way he did in his new novel. Soon, he was completely caught up in the telling of the tale, which was really no surprise: as the weeks had passed, it had become his favorite tale and the most important aspect of Mephisto Palace.
He could barely see past the camera lights, but as the tale drew to a close he realized that a large, silent crowd had gathered to listen, and he thought fondly that perhaps the love story, not the flashy journalist, had caused the intense quiet. "And, to this very day," he finished softly, "Lizzie, as beautiful as ever with her red hair and emerald-green gown dyed to match her eyes, is imprisoned within the walls of the old stone mansion on Byron's Finger. Here, she awaits her beloved Ezra's return while, only a few hundred feet away, Captain Wilder forever walks the spiral staircase of the old lighthouse."
A tear sprang to his eye and, unashamed, he wiped it away.
"For eighty years, the murdered lovers have been so condemned, and through all those years, their hearts have been heavy with the aching sorrow which only those who have known and lost their one true love can ever understand."
"What a story, folks," Romero said, his voice shaking with feigned emotion. "What a story. And David is dressed in the very uniform that the good captain wore while he courted his beloved Lizzie." He wiped an equally fake tear from his cheek. "Perhaps later in tonight's program we'll get a glimpse of one, or both, of the ghostly lovers."
At that moment, the crowd began to applaud and the lighting technician and minicam operator swiveled to pan over the audience, leaving David blinking away spots as his vision returned.
He began to scan the audience for Amber, but only managed to briefly lock eyes with Theo Pelinore, who didn't even bother to disguise the look of contempt on her face. She probably laughed when Bambi’s mother died.
The applause began to die down, then it grew again, louder than ever. Suddenly, people were parting, making a path to let someone through. Romero glanced at David, obviously wondering if he knew what was going on. David gave him a barely perceptible shrug, which the journalist acknowledged with a nod before he moved forward to greet whoever it was.
A few feet into the crowd Romero halted, his crew with him, then they all began to move backward as the person or persons advanced.
From where he stood, David could see nothing but the backs of Romero and his men. Then the crew swung to one side and Romero to the other, revealing the woman in green.
"Lizzie?" he whispered, uncomprehendingly. For an instant, he thought he was seeing her ghost.
Her smile trembled on her lips and Romero was pattering on and on, but David heard none of it, aware only of the vision before him.
Melanie? No, it can't be! She wore Lizzie's dress, the one from the portrait, and her hair, caressed by a green ostrich feather, was piled on top of her head, though a few fiery tendrils dared to kiss her neck. Her green eyes were luminous, and her skin pale, though there was a high flush on her cheeks and across her breasts that David recognized, a characteristic blush that appeared on Melanie Lord whenever she was embarrassed--or had an orgasm.
"Melanie?" he asked, his throat dry, his voice a bare rasp. It can't be, she’s in New York. It’s someone Romero planted to look like Lizzie. Its theatrics. Don't fall for it.
But then she spoke. "David?"
"My God," he gasped. "My God, it is you! What are you doing here?''
She hesitated, obviously unsure of his reaction, which made sense, since he didn't quite know what he was feeling.
"Amber?" he asked.
Melanie's nod was barely perceptible. "I'm sorry--" She faltered, glancing at Romero and his camera. "I didn't mean to intrude…"
And then he knew his feelings. "Mel," he said, stepping toward her.
Instantly she was within the circle of his arms and he forgot everything else as he swept her up, finding her lips as her gentle, warm hands pushed into his hair, toppling his captain's cap to the floor. He drank in the scent of her skin and hair, tasted her lips, and explored the silky smooth feel of her shoulders and neck with his fingertips. "Melanie."
And then the world inserted itself between them in the person of Jerry Romero, who was gushing on about how famous author David Masters had obviously thought he'd lost his one true love, folks, but here she is, and if poor star-crossed lovers Lizzie and Ezra are looking on--
David and Melanie sprang apart, Melanie's skin flushed with embarrassment, his own face burning.
Romero asked them a few questions and they both answered noncommittally, professionally, without meeting each other's eyes.
"How did you happen to be here tonight to surprise David?" Romero asked Melanie.
"It was Amber's idea," she said, and Romero bit into that like a pit bull, calling for David's daughter to join them.
Amber finally came forward, pushed by her giggling friends, and David gasped again as he saw what she wore the filmy black dress, the red lipstick, the provocative hairstyle. She couldn't know that she wore the very dress that Christabel had appeared in on the day she materialized to fight with Lizzie.
Despite his swimming head, David finished the interview fairly smoothly, helped by Theo Pelinore's hateful glare. Though it was primarily directed at Melanie, it kept a little part of him grounded. Mel, too, was well aware of it and holding her own with a look of breezy disdain that indicated that she considered Theo as important as a fly on the wall.
After Romero wandered off, Melanie and David stayed close together, though they were unable to exchange two words due to the press of people that continually gathered around them. Occasionally, David caught Theo's scowl and every time he did, the urge to protect Melanie from the witch--Amber had named her correctly--nearly overpowered him. He did nothing, however, since the woman was again attached to Romero and showed no sign of letting go for a little petty vengeance.
Between the mindless chatter and Theo's freezing gaze, he also managed to keep an eye on his daughter. He wanted to send her home to change her clothes, but decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Besides, her date, Rick Feldspar, seemed to be keeping his hands to himself, and simultaneously guarding her from the approaches of other boys.
So David did nothing but maintain. The costume contest gave him a brief respite, and when he and Melanie won without even entering, he felt like they'd been named King and Queen of the prom. It felt good and that helped him enjoy, rather than endure, the next couple of hours of socializing. Finally, around eleven, he and Melanie had a few moments alone, and he filled her in on the plans for the rest of the evening.
"You don't sound too happy about this séance business," she said.
"I'm not."
After their initial scramble into each other's arms, he'd felt painfully awkward with Melanie. Perhaps she felt the same, because instead of talking about their relationship, she began asking him questions about Body House. Gratefully, he answered them and soon, as they discussed the phenomena, the awkwardness disappeared.
They slipped away at eleven-thirty to walk down to the beach--a two-minute hike--and once they were totally alone, David told her not only all about Theo Pelinore, but also about the seeming possession, as well as the wet dreams, the apparent succubus visits, and the fight between the ghosts of the mother and daughter. Mel listened intently, without judgment, just as she always had, and he felt as if the biggest weight in the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Finally, he had Melanie to talk to again. He'd missed that more than anything.