McCann's Manor (25 page)

"Maybe we can coax John into helping as well; I'm sure he knows more about Latin than I do, at least—don't lawyers and doctors both have to study Latin, like priests do?” Liz asked.

"Good idea, but his Latin may be as rusty as my French,” Kim agreed. “So, let's get busy so Joel can get on with his
other
business."

Mid-October rolled around without any further encounters with spirits after the blessing and cleansing of the house and their attempt to bind Tarrh. Liz and Kim moved their two computers into the library and John brought his laptop so the machines were in close proximity to the texts. They scanned as much of the information from the tomes as they could into the computer and were able to accomplish a great deal with Joel and John supplementing on the terms the software was unable to identify.

Joel began giving the others lessons in the Celtic language as it was used in Tarrh's manuscripts. They made a pact none of them would work over any of the texts alone, but would pore over the information only when all of them could be present. Though this agreement made the rendering go more slowly, they all concurred it would be safer to work as a team.

The women also took on the project of cleaning the hidden second level of the house. The furniture there was austere and uncomfortable compared to the furnishings in the rest of the house, so the girls brought in plush cushions, pretty pictures, pastel flowers and accessories from their storage unit to soften the atmosphere and make the place more inviting. Liz suggested putting in some fluorescent stick lighting behind valances with lightweight drapes to give the illusion of windows. They purchased decorative, reflective metal ceiling tiles, replicas of some they had seen in old buildings, and placed them in varying patterns on the low ceiling, which further made the level appear more open and light.

Liz had chosen the conservatory on the third floor as her beading studio. It was a spacious room on the east end of the house above Kim's bedroom, which possessed the same large bay window as the ones on the first two floors. Though it was a much bigger space than Liz needed, she enjoyed working there in front of the huge bay window that looked out over the forest and afforded a view of the river, as well as the gazebo and McCann's final resting place.

As the weeks passed, Kim and Liz began to think of the house more and more as their home. They made plans to do some redecorating as well and added some screened-in areas to the first and second floor decks to allow the animals to spend more time in the fresh air without worry they would fall over the cliff and into the river or wander off into the forest. John helped them to install a couple of pet doors that led to the screened-in rooms. He designed and built a run from the first floor deck to the herb garden so Ghost could let himself out into a fenced-in area.

Spooky was content with spending much of his time in the screened-in area on the second floor deck where Kim had located a deluxe cat tree and a litter box for his comfort. The animals were satisfied with their new expansive surroundings, as were the two women. Everything seemed to be settling into a comfortable routine as Halloween approached and they made plans to entertain several psychics from the APG. Their quest to find all the hidden passages tabled in lieu of all their studies as well as readying the house for its first public visit in almost thirty years, they busied themselves with getting their things from storage all unpacked and integrated into the household.

Kim spent many of her evenings poring over Missy's records and researching the various aspects of multiple personality disorder. Missy's account of her father's death was recorded more than a dozen times in her records. Each time, she told the story of watching her father argue with Ptarmigan who snatched the gun and shot the older man in the face then cleaned the weapon and placed it again in Leonard's hand.

Each time, Missy concluded her story by going upstairs to wake her mother. No one ever asked her why her mother didn't hear the shot, so it might have been common knowledge Betty slept in earplugs. There was never any mention of the secret passage, nor was there ever any sufficient explanation given for Missy's being there to witness the murder at such a late hour. Perhaps, the girl had inherited her father's penchant for insomnia. Each time anyone said or did anything to indicate they doubted her story, she became agitated and had to be sedated, though this response could be understood whether or not her account was true.

There were a number of other explanations of various events in Missy's life that were documented numerous times, though these were less meticulous in the telling and sometimes had vague or different endings from the other times they were recorded. It was as though Missy had memorized the story of her father's death; the words she used and her manner of speaking was almost identical each time. None of the stories of other events shared this anomaly, and while one might argue none of the other episodes were as disturbing as her father's death, her inconsistency with the telling of the other incidents was still puzzling. Other factors such as the amount and type of medication she had been given prior to any session, which could have accounted for a lack of clarity on her part at one time or another, were constant in all instances.

Though Kim found nothing as conclusive as she had hoped to find in the documents, she was certain Missy had been a disturbed young woman. Dr. Winter took a personal interest in Missy and her condition, but there was nothing to implicate him in anything maleficent. The glaring questions remained as to the causes of Missy's problems. Kim found no clear indication as to whether Missy had indeed been a multiple. In fact, the documentation had the effect of convincing Kim that Missy was indeed plagued by multiple personality disorder as diagnosed—and yet—something told her the problems were not that simple to label. There
was
some sinister force at work, and Missy herself was just not that kind of girl.

Kim heard boards creak overhead and knew Liz was still up and working upstairs in the conservatory. She put away her papers, went up the stairs and into Liz's inner sanctum.

"Knock, knock?” she said as she tapped on the door, opened it.

Liz jumped at the intrusion, “Oh, it was so quiet—you startled me! What time is it, anyway?"

Kim walked into the room, peered over Liz's shoulder. “It's almost one-thirty in the morning. What are you working on?"

Liz shrugged, “I've been trying to do some drawings of some of the things on Missy's mind. They aren't all that pretty. The impression I keep having of Ptarmigan is that he is—
was—
older than Missy thought. And the whole blackmail thing—that doesn't work for me."

Kim nodded. “I agree. And what of Tarrh? Have you had any impressions you have put onto paper of him? Suppose Ptarmigan
was
Tarrh, as we have surmised before. He might be able to appear to be almost any age."

"That's a possibility, I suppose,” Liz agreed. “Here are the drawings that say Ptarmigan to me—none of them
look
like a monster, but she was petrified of him. I haven't tried to hone in on Tarrh, though, because I didn't want my thoughts to do anything to bring him back here."

"Yes, I know—maybe tomorrow afternoon while the others are here you can focus on him a bit. You know, if he is a dominating spirit, it would stand to reason that she would have been afraid of him, don't you think?” Kim asked.

"Logical, I suppose—but what could his motivation be?"

"I'm not sure he even has a motivation, other than the control and destruction of others,” Kim said as she sat on the corner of the big desk where Liz was working. “What is this?"

"Oh. I'll bet I have drawn that picture a dozen or more times. I keep discarding it, but then I sit down and draw it all over again. It is Missy standing over her father's body."

Kim stared at the sketch, felt her hackles rise. “Missy is holding the gun—what does it mean?"

Liz took a deep breath, hugged herself to ward off the shiver that was creeping up her spine. “See the shadow there, around her?” Kim nodded. “That is Ptarmigan—
controlling
Missy as
she
shoots her father."

Kim grimaced. “Are you saying Missy killed her father? Was she capable of that? Everything I've read says she adored him."

Liz nodded, looked at the picture and said, “Missy
didn't
kill him—not in and of herself, no."

"So are you suggesting Ptarmigan was in control of Missy and he
made
her kill her father?"

"Sound too far-fetched?"

"I don't know—but it sounds almost too weird—where is the logic in it? I find it more reasonable at this point to think Ptarmigan was in control of Leonard and made him shoot
himself,
” Kim said.

Liz walked around the room, returned to peer again at the sketch. “I know. Somehow, I believe the answer lies somewhere in the passage to the library—all those very old books and manuscripts—something in there tells
why
he would want to control and kill people. He must have a black soul, but even assuming that, why would he do all these things?"

"Have you
seen
something in there, Liz?"

"No. I haven't been back in there alone since I showed it to you and John. I have to believe when the translations are done, we will know all the whys and wherefores of everything—or at least enough of them to piece things together. I somehow keep coming back to the idea that Missy summoned the writer of those texts—Tarrh McCann—and he is
Ptarmigan
and that is how he came to control her. Everything I think and sense tells me this Ptarmigan is Tarrh and he is
the problem
and we have to deal with him to put Missy and all the others to rest.” Liz said.

Kim paced. “We don't know
how
to deal with him. He is a strong spirit, Liz. Maybe we aren't equal to the task. Maybe we are better off to let him be."

"It isn't like he is dormant now or that we aren't in danger from him, you know. I can
feel
him nearby all the time—even think I almost see him sometimes, but he's always just behind me or out of my line of sight. How long do you think it will be before he makes a move to control one or both of us? What makes you think he isn't
already
doing it?"

Kim eyed Liz for a few moments. Liz met her eyes with a steady gaze. “Are you out of control, Liz?"

Liz shook her head. “I don't know—there are thoughts in my mind that aren't mine—nothing dangerous, I don't
think
, but they are there—I find myself wanting to confront this spirit and face him down, despite the edge he has over me. I have thoughts of summoning him without having you there to protect me; so far nothing has come of any of these thoughts, but they are still there. I don't know if I'm strong enough to continue to resist them or not."

Kim was at a loss. “Well, thank you for telling me all this. I feel much better now! Should I be staying by your side all the time to keep you from succumbing to his wiles?"

"I don't have any answers, you know—which is why I'm talking to you about it."

"Why haven't you talked to me about all this before?"

"I don't know."

"Have you talked to John about it?"

"John would be scared to death if I told him
any
of this."

Kim went back to her pacing. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Well, then, what can we do?"

Liz scratched her head, cocked it to the side. “Maybe we could summon Ben and ask him. Ben probably knows something about Tarrh—or Ptarmigan—or both."

"Yeah, or we can wait until we get a little farther along on the translations. That way, if we accidentally conjure up anyone but Ben, we can send him back, instead of just having more and more cans of worms to try to deal with. Besides, it's almost two in the morning—we need a little rest before John and Joel arrive in a few hours,” Kim said, looking at the clock on Liz's desk.

Liz yawned, stretched, put all the drawings she had been working on in a neat stack. “You're right, but I haven't been sleeping very well, so I'm not sure going to bed will help all that much."

"You're not sleeping? How long has
that
been going on?"

"Oh, I don't know; couple of weeks maybe. Why?"

Kim studied Liz's tired eyes and asked, “Just since we started the translations, is that it?"

Liz stared back at Kim. “What are you saying?” she queried.

"Let me think; you aren't eating much, you aren't going out much and now you tell me you aren't sleeping much either. You have been spending lots of time up here all alone drawing pictures of
dead people
—don't you see any kind of pattern emerging here?"

"I'm just involved in trying to figure this thing out, Kim, what is the matter with you?"

"With me? What's the matter with
me
? You know, for a psychic, you are pretty dense sometimes. You, of all people, ought to know you shouldn't lock yourself up alone with all these spooks playing around in your head all the time. You need to spend some time doing other things. Go to the movies, write letters. Lay off the pictures, already! I thought you were beading up here; I had no idea you were dwelling on ghosts.” Kim picked up the pictures Liz had shown her, shook them in her friend's face for emphasis.

Liz snatched the pictures from Kim's hand, slapped them back onto her desk, stomped to the door, “
You
are the one who suggested I draw pictures to clarify my impressions; I was just trying to follow your suggestions. If you don't want me to do that, all you have to do is tell me; I don't need you to yell at me!"

"I'm
not
yelling at you. I just don't think it is a very good idea for you to sit up here all alone and focus so much attention on the spirits when you yourself have just said you didn't want to do anything that might bring Tarrh back here.” Kim threw both hands in the air.

Liz sighed, shook her head. “I don't think he's
gone
from here, Kim; do you? I mean, can't you feel him here? I think we succeeded in binding him for a while
, maybe
, from causing us any problems while we try to figure this out, but I don't think for one minute that he's
not here
, watching, waiting—listening. And maybe he isn't bound at all; he's just waiting until we think we're safe to spring out with some nasty new assault."