Unholy Ground Page 4

  Behind him, Audrey pulled in a breath, and he realized she’d just recognized the couple as well.

  “That’s not possible,” she said, disbelief clear in her voice.

  Michael’s mind was trying to tell him the same thing, but it couldn’t refute the evidence he’d just registered with his own eyes.

  The smiling blonde woman in the photo was Susan Loomis…and the man in uniform next to her was none other than Jeffrey Whitcomb.

  Chapter 3

  Audrey’s heart skipped a beat. Well, actually, probably more like two or three beats, and a strange, icy cold surged through her body. Shock? Maybe. After all, this was impossible. It had to be. How in the world could Susan Loomis be in a picture with Jeffrey Whitcomb, let alone a photo that appeared to have been taken more than sixty years ago?

  At first she hadn’t recognized Susan, because the other woman was so much younger in the picture, probably twenty-four or twenty-five at the most. Also, the Susan Loomis that Audrey had known would never have worn red lipstick, or her hair in such an elaborate style. As for the man standing next to her….

  He, too, had been almost unrecognizable, since his uniform cap covered his black hair, and his dark eyes had been crinkled with laughter. She’d certainly never seen an expression like that on the face of the ghost she’d met…or the version of him possessed by a demon.

  She came up to Michael and held out a hand, and he gave her the photo. At once, she turned it over in her fingers, wondering if there might be an inscription on the back. Sure enough, in faded ink on the lower right-hand corner, someone had written in careful cursive the words, Eleanor and Harry, October 1943.

  “‘Eleanor and Harry’?” she echoed. “Michael, what is this?”

  “We know that Jeffrey Whitcomb — or at least the thing living inside him — must have taken on other identities through the years. This has to be one of them.”

  He looked calm and matter-of-fact as he spoke, as if what they were discussing wasn’t anything terribly out of the ordinary. Well, true, they’d known the Whitcomb-demon must have assumed different names during all the long years of his unnatural life, and had probably moved around a bit so no one would be able to remark on the way he never seemed to age. Still….

  “What about Susan?” Audrey asked. “Or Eleanor, or whoever she is?”

  One finger ran along the edge of the photograph, although he didn’t try to take it from her. “I have a feeling Eleanor is her real name. And if she was married to Whitcomb, he must have taught her how to switch identities as needed.” Michael’s expression darkened, his jaw going tight. “Or, more likely, he made sure she became possessed as well somewhere along the line. How else could she have only aged twenty or so years, when it’s been more than sixty-five years since this photo was taken?”

  That possibility hadn’t even crossed Audrey’s mind. She supposed it should have, since there was no way the Susan she’d known and the woman in this picture could have been the same person, unless some sort of supernatural forces were involved. “She thought she was in love with him,” she murmured, the fingers that held the photo now very cold. “And he did that to her.”

  “I think so,” Michael said. His tone was quiet, musing, but Audrey saw the way he swallowed, and she realized he was just as shaken by this development as she was. “Not right away, or the Susan Loomis we worked with would probably have looked even younger than the early forties we all thought she was. But still.”

  It was a terrible thought. The woman in the picture looked so happy, so in love with her handsome Army captain. Because in this particular image, the Whitcomb-demon did look handsome, even though Audrey normally would never have used that word to describe him. Maybe it was the uniform, or the way he grinned. And where had he gotten that uniform, anyway? Surely he couldn’t have really been in the Army, although she supposed a demon of his particular skills would have made sure he had a cushy job stateside where he could chase pretty blondes rather than get shot at in the jungles of the Philippines or the muddy fields of Belgium and France.

  More mysteries. In a strange way, the realization that Susan had been possessed all this time made Audrey feel a little better. That fatal fall down the stairs in Santa Barbara hadn’t killed her — it had freed her spirit from the thing that had been controlling her for decades.

  But then the skin at the back of her neck began to prickle, and her body went cold. For some reason, she looked over toward the closet door, which stood open.

  Out of the door, a strange, oily darkness began to ooze, crawling its way across the floor toward them. Michael saw it as well — he cursed and slammed the table lid shut, then took her free hand.

  “Time to go.”

  They ran, Audrey with the picture of Susan and Whitcomb still clutched in her fingers. Cold licked at their backs, agonizing as flame, and she let out a sob of terror, even as Michael’s hand tightened on hers, pulling her along.

  The duplex was tiny, but in that moment, the front door seemed as though it was at least a thousand miles away. But Michael kept hold of her, dragged her with him, while the cold felt as if it was somehow tangling in her loose hair. Something caught one of the strands and tugged sharply, and she screamed in fright and pain.

  But then Michael was opening the door, and they were outside in the warmth of an early spring afternoon in California, the sun bright and reassuring as it shone down on both of them. However, they didn’t pause, but kept running until they reached the Land Cruiser. Michael reached out with his free hand and threw open the passenger door, and all but shoved her inside. Still gasping, Audrey slammed the door shut as he ran around to the other side of the vehicle, then jumped in.

  She didn’t see him put the key in the ignition, but the ancient Toyota jumped forward when he stomped on the gas. They screeched away from the curb, smoke from the over-stressed tires billowing everywhere. This was a residential area, but Michael didn’t seem to care about that, kept them surging forward at a rate of speed that far exceeded the posted limit.

  At last, though, after he’d put at least half a mile behind them and they were about to reach the freeway, he slowed down, easing off the gas. Audrey looked over at him, at the pallor of his face, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

  “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

  He’d read about these things, but he’d never thought he would encounter the phenomenon in real life. His heart still raced as he thought about what a narrow escape they’d made.

  Glancing over at Audrey, at her white face, the way she clung to the photo they’d found, Michael slowly released a breath. “It’s…there really isn’t a name for what that was. I’ve read about it, though. There’s a very haunted farmhouse in Connecticut where several people have disappeared. Several eyewitnesses — survivors — said they saw a black cloud emerge from one of the closets and take those people away.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Michael knew He had nothing to do with any of this, but he agreed with the sentiment. “I know. And even now, experiencing it for myself…I still don’t know exactly what it was. An entity? Some kind of ambulatory black hole?”

  “It was evil,” Audrey said flatly. “I know that much. Black holes aren’t evil. They just…are. But that thing?” She shuddered and shifted in her seat, as if she wanted to get closer to him but couldn’t because of the way the safety belt held her in place. “I could feel it when it caught hold of my hair.” Another shiver as she murmured, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be warm again.”

  “You will,” he promised her. “We’ll be home soon, and I’ll make a fire and some coffee or tea. Sound good?”

  She managed a weak smile. “I’m not sure a fire is necessary. It’s seventy degrees out.”

  “Blankets, then. Whatever you need.”

  Still smiling a little, she said, “Just you. And maybe some brandy in that coffee.”

  “Done.”

  A pause, and she ventured, “Should we call J
ill and tell her not to go back to the duplex? What if that thing tries to go after her?”

  At once, he shook his head. “She was in there for a while alone and it didn’t attack her. I think it went after us on purpose. We were a possible threat…Jill isn’t.”

  His words didn’t appear to reassure Audrey very much. She bit her lip and glanced out the window before returning her gaze to him. “You’re sure?”

  I can’t be sure about anything in this whole crazy mess, he thought, but he nodded. “I think so. Besides, she won’t be going back there until she has a priest with her. Holy water would be enough to drive it off.”

  This explanation seemed to satisfy Audrey, because she gave a brief nod and hugged her arms around herself, her slender body shivering. He needed to get her home and warmed up.

  Unfortunately, they didn’t get back to his house as soon as Michael would have liked, because now they were slogging eastward with all the thousands of other commuters who were coming from downtown or points even farther west. Audrey was silent as he drove, one hand wrapped around the strap of her safety belt, the other still clutching the photograph they’d retrieved. Luckily, she’d left her purse tucked under the seat when they went into Susan’s duplex, so there hadn’t been any worry about leaving it behind.

  Still, he worried about her, worried about how pale she looked. That thing had managed to touch her hair, even if it hadn’t been able to really get hold of her. Even though it was, as she’d pointed out earlier, a mild, pleasant day, he still turned on the heat in the car, hoping that might help a little.

  At last they pulled into the driveway of his house. Audrey was able to get out of the vehicle under her own power, but she stumbled a little in her high heels. However, she essayed a rueful smile and said, “I knew I should have changed before we headed over there.”

  “Well, you can get into something more comfortable now that you’re home,” Michael told her. “I’ll bring some clothes downstairs for you so you don’t have to go up to change.”

  “That sounds good.” And she did seem grateful, even though he couldn’t help noticing how quickly her smile faded.

  They went into the living room, where he got her settled on the couch and spread a throw over her, figuring that should help for now. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. “And then I’ll get the coffee going, and the fire.”

  “Perfect.”

  He took the stairs two at a time and went into the spare room. Audrey stored most of her clothes there, even though she slept in his room every night. It was a little fiction they’d created, the notion that she hadn’t formally moved in with him…even though she really had.

  Yoga pants and a sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks. That seemed as though it would do well enough for now. Michael went back downstairs, clothes in hand, and found Audrey halfway in a doze, head slumped back against the pillows on the couch, eyes nearly shut.

  “Hey,” he said gently, although a stir of fear went through him. Whatever that thing had been, it seemed its slightest touch had been enough to drain her of an inordinate amount of energy.

  But then her eyes opened, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position. “I’ll take those,” she told him, and reached for the clothes he held.

  He handed them over, then said he would go make the coffee while she changed. It just seemed more polite to handle the situation that way, even though of course he’d seen her naked plenty of times. She didn’t argue, but only nodded as she began to unbutton her blouse.

  Into the kitchen, where he got out the remainder of the coffee he’d ground yesterday, then put it in the coffeemaker. Soon enough, its warm, rich aroma began to fill the room, making him feel a bit better. He hoped its scent would cheer Audrey up a little as well.

  Once the coffee was done perking, he got a bottle of brandy down from the shelf and poured about a shot’s worth into each mug. He didn’t want to overdo things, but they were both in dire need of a pick-me-up.

  When he went into the living room, Audrey was changed out of her business clothes and into the far more comfortable attire he’d brought her. Or at least, he assumed she was; her blouse and skirt were draped over the arm of the couch, but she had the knitted throw he’d given her pulled up nearly to her neck, so it was hard to see for sure what she was wearing.

  “Here you go,” he said, and reached out with one of the mugs.

  She slipped a hand past the throw to take the mug from him. “That smells amazing.” And she blew on the coffee a few times, then took a very cautious sip. Almost at once, some color returned to her cheeks, and Michael found himself relaxing slightly. She’d had a shock. That was all. She was going to be fine.

  He allowed himself a sip from his own mug. Yes, that was good. Hot and bracing, thanks to the dash of brandy he’d added. “I’ll just see about that fire.”

  “You really don’t have to — ”

  “I want to. It was warm today, but the sun’s going down and it’s going to get chilly. Besides, I’ve had this firewood sitting here all winter — it’s about time I used up some of it.”

  Her only response was a smile and a shake of the head as she settled back against the pillows and blew on her coffee some more. Clearly, she wasn’t going to offer any further protests.

  Building the fire was good, because it gave him something concrete to focus on, something real. He was still a little rattled, not only by the entity that had emerged from the closet and tried to drag them in, but by the realization that Susan Loomis was not who he’d thought she was, that she’d fooled him and numerous other people in the L.A. film and television community for years.

  But…why? Clearly, her subterfuge hadn’t been driven by a pursuit of wealth and power.

  Once the fire was going, sending a wave of welcome heat into the room, he turned back toward Audrey. She was sipping at her coffee, pink showing in her cheeks. In fact, she looked simultaneously beautiful and adorable right then, with the wine-colored throw pulled up so it covered almost all of her Pomona College sweatshirt, and a bit of her sock feet showing at the end of the couch.

  “You’re frowning,” she said, and he shrugged.

  “I do that a lot.”

  “I know. But I’m learning to read your frowns. This doesn’t look like a garden-variety one.”

  Michael came over to the couch and retrieved his mug from where he’d left it on the coffee table. Because Audrey looked so comfortable, he didn’t try to sit down next to her, but sat in the love seat across from the sofa. “I’m just thinking about the reasons for Susan inserting herself into our crew the way she did.”

  “I thought Colin hired her.”

  “Well, he did, but it was on my recommendation. I’d worked with her before, but it was also because I knew she could handle anything we threw at her.” He reached up and rubbed his chin, thinking. “I guess she was so unflappable because she knew nothing we were facing on those shoots could really hurt her. But why was she working in the film business in the first place?”

  “Because she would be in a position to stop you if she had to,” Audrey said, and Michael looked at her in surprise.

  “How could she have known?” he asked. “Colin came to me with the Project Demon Hunters concept less than six months ago, and Susan’s been working in the business much longer than that.”

  Audrey tilted her head to one side as she ran a finger along the rim of the mug she held. Her hands seemed much steadier now, and once again Michael allowed himself a brief moment of relief. Whatever that thing had done to her, it didn’t appear to be permanent.

  “Had she been working as a sound operator longer than you’ve been doing the conference circuit?”

  He had to stop and think about that for a moment. Had he ever seen Susan’s CV? He didn’t think so; Colin had handled that part of the process. But Michael knew Susan had crossed his orbit about four years ago, which lined up with the time when Jill Armentrout said that Susan had rented the duplex from her.

  �
�No,” he said slowly. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing for almost eight years now.”

  “Well, then,” Audrey said, as if that explained everything.

  “You mean…Whitcomb sent her here to keep an eye on me?”

  “Something like that. Or,” she added, her expression thoughtful, “more like he knew you might possibly be a threat one day. It’s not as if you’ve made much of a secret of your demon-hunting activities — and it’s not as if demon hunters are exactly thick on the ground in L.A. With the way ghost-hunting shows have gotten so popular the last few years, he probably figured out that a demon-hunting one was going to happen sooner or later, and so he wanted to make sure he had an inside man. Woman. Whatever.”

  Audrey’s theory sounded plausible. Or maybe Michael was willing to accept it as a possibility because he couldn’t come up with a better explanation for how one of the Whitcomb-demon’s minions had ended up on his crew.

  Because that’s what she had been, clearly. Once she had been a laughing young woman named Eleanor who had fallen in love with possibly the worst person she could have chosen, but that young woman was long gone. Her spirit had been subsumed years — decades — earlier. That explained the soulless quality of the place where she had lived — she’d only furnished the duplex with the bare minimum necessary for existence, just enough to fool the casual observer, although Michael guessed she had done her best to keep people away.

  A strange little detail popped into this mind, one he’d brushed aside because the past few weeks had been full of such strangeness that he hadn’t given it much thought. “She wasn’t wearing the cross.”

  “What?” Audrey asked, brow creasing a little.

  “Remember how I told you I gave her a cross to wear, and Colin a keychain with black tourmaline for protection?”