Evil Unearthed: Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Chris, give that man his money back! It's no good here." Kathleen O'Dell walked quickly over to the table where Bill Temple was sitting and ordered a white wine for herself and paid for his rum and coke.

"I know I'm currently unemployed, Miss O'Dell," said Bill, "but I can afford a drink or two."

"Hey," said Kathleen. "I arranged this meeting, so the least I can do is stand you to some refreshment."

"Well, thanks. Now, what is it that I can help you with? Should you even be talking to me? I'm now in your boss's bad books, remember?"

"I remember," said Kathleen, "and I remember something else. I remember Miss Desmond telling you to keep reporting to me about the progress of the hotel even though she was here. The fact that she later changed this state of affairs doesn't matter to me. I want to know what's been going on there for the past week or so, and God knows Julia Desmond isn't going to tell me."

"Well," said Bill, "I've worked on Desmond building projects before this, and they've all been very straightforward. I've had a pretty free hand once the main plans were finished, and I've always been well paid, and I've always had good workers to direct."

"Alright, so what happened with this project? You and I hired your workers together. We both thought they were the best in the business and we were even able to keep costs down by hiring locally."

"I remember. You treated me to dinner then in celebration." Bill laughed, but Kathleen noticed that his smile did not reach his eyes.

"Come on, Bill," she said. "Something has spooked you. I can see that. Now just tell me!"

"Alright." Bill took a long swig from his glass and leaned back in his chair.

They were seated in an out-of-the-way corner of the French Leaf Cafe, and while tourists came and went, mingling in impromptu groups or breaking up into romantic pairings, Kathleen listened as Bill told his tale.

"When I got to work on the day after we found that portrait," he began, "I was surprised to learn that you had left. Miss Desmond was holding court in your office and I was surprised to see the portrait hanging where that tapestry of the deer-hunt had been. I could tell that she hadn't slept, and when she finally deigned to look up from her work and speak to me, she informed me in no uncertain terms that the plans for the hotel were being scrapped. She suddenly wanted to restore the mansion to its original state, and when I tried to explain that building codes for hotels were different from those for houses, she interrupted me and said that it was alright. We weren't going to build a hotel anymore. She played the grand lady with me, telling me of her family's ancient roots on this island and her need to be in touch with them again.

"As it was, I didn't care. I was more than willing to dig up the old plans for the mansion and work with them, but when I informed my crew of what we were going to be doing once excavations were complete, more than half of them gave their notice immediately, and the remainder left when I finally quit."

"Well, apart from the departure of your workers, what made you quit? You said you didn't mind the change in plans, so what was it?"

"I asked one of the workers why they were leaving," Bill Continued, "and all that he would say was that this sudden change of plans was proof of the return of some mysterious evil out of the past. As you know, I'm not scared easily, so I managed to find more workers. Of course, I had to hire them from The States and get them down here which blew our budget completely out of the water, but Miss Desmond didn't mind a bit. All she wanted was for the building to happen as quickly as it could, and once we determined that the outer walls of the house were relatively intact, she wanted us to do our best to start the building as soon as we could.

"She actually made me hire another shift of workers and set up huge lights so that they could work at night. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the work is done in as little as a month. She doesn't sleep anymore, and she's prepared to spend whatever money she has to spend in order to get the job done."

"But there's still something you're not telling me."

"Well," said Bill, "it happened the day before yesterday. Miss Desmond had called me up to her office, and as I got to the top of the stairs, I heard her talking to someone. She was asking this person for more time and she wanted a promise kept. As I opened the door, I found no one in the room except Miss Desmond, and from the way she was standing, it looked as though she was speaking to that portrait. She turned when she heard me coming and let loose such a flood of accusations and insults that I could think of nothing to do but to quit. Something's really wrong over there, Miss O'Dell, and I think you're the only one who might be able to stop it!"

"At this point," said Kathleen, trying hard to take in what he had just said, "I don't know how I can. If she talks to me, it's only to give me orders or to ask me to report to her."

"Can I ask what she's having you do over here?"

"I seem to have become the Desmond family historian," said Kathleen. "All she wants from me is research."

"Does it have to do with that man in the portrait, Jacques Eloi des Mondes?"

"Not as such," said Kathleen. "but it's about his time. She told me that my plans for the hotel were all wrong and that she wanted to create an authentic seventeenth-century atmosphere for her guests. You see? She didn't even tell me the truth of what she's doing over there! Miss Desmond has never lied to me before, and I think she never meant for you to tell me anything either."

"So you think she's deliberately keeping you busy for some reason?"

"Exactly. I suppose that all I can do is wait for an invitation to Maljardin. Since she hasn't sent me home yet, I'm sure she's got some plan in mind for my eventual return."

"Well, I'm staying here for another two days. If you want to talk again, let me know, and if there's anything I can do to help you, I will."

"Thanks, Bill. Thanks a lot."

"Thank you for the drink, Miss O'Dell! Now, I think I'm off to the beach to look at the sunset. I might as well enjoy my last few days here and take the vacation I've never given myself."

"Have fun!"

Kathleen watched him walk away and pondered what he had just told her. She had to find a way to get to Maljardin, even if it meant losing her job, or worse, her friend. She had not told anyone about Julia's Cancer returning, but she feared that it was this which had pushed her over the edge. Perhaps, she thought, it was time for her to enlist some outside help, but the only other person she really knew on the island was Dr. Robert Barrett, and he didn't strike her as being much of a people-person. Of course, there was also Stephen Dawson. He had told her that he was a priest as well as a professor, and these two professions combined gave him an air of trustworthiness and authority in her mind that only an intellectual who had attended an Irish parochial school during childhood and adolescence like herself could understand. She was unsure of him though, since he had problems of his own, but she could think of no one else to talk to about this, and besides, here he was now, walking sleepily into the cafe and heading straight for her table.

"I was just thinking about you," she said as he sat down and ordered a coffee.

"I honestly cannot say the same thing," he said with a deep sigh, "but I'm glad not to be sitting here alone."

"I'm about to order dinner," said Kathleen. "Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous! I'll have the fish and rice curry," he said to the waitress who came to take their order.

"I'll have what he's having," said Kathleen absently.

"I see you haven't had to endure solitude," said Stephen, noticing Bill's empty glass. "Did the elusive Miss Desmond grace you with her presence?"

"No, but she was the subject of conversation. I was having a meeting with the now former construction foreman for the soon-to-be-former Chateau Xanadu."

"Run that by me again?"

"The foreman with whom I had been working very successfully till Julia took over last week has now quit. What's more, many of the crew that he and I originally hired from around these parts have quit as well. Why do you think that was?"

"I couldn't possibly guess!"

"Oh come on. Just try!"

"They weren't making enough money?"

"No. Try again."

"Poor working conditions?"

"Sorry! Also not correct."

"I really don't know!"

"Oh come, Fr. Stephen! It's right up your street!"

"It's against their religion to build a hotel?"

"Close enough," said Kathleen. "The fact is that they believe that it's bad mojo for Julia to change the hotel plans and to restore the original mansion to the way it was before the fire."

"Is that what she's doing? Spooky!"

"Oh! Not you too!"

"Well, my uncle was last seen in that mansion, and as I now know almost definitively, that mansion was where he died. So all this talk of restoring it is rather spooky to me."

"True," said Kathleen as their dinners were placed in front of them. "I wasn't thinking."

"Well, I can see you're spooked as well," said Stephen. "Why don't you tell me what's eating you? Maybe we can help each other out."

Kathleen told Stephen what Bill had told her, and she was surprised at how seriously he was taking it. She had supposed that he would listen politely to her problems, but she was not prepared for the intense way he looked at her as she described Julia's changes of mood.

"Stephen," she said when she had finished, "are you alright? You look like a ghost just walked up and tapped you on the shoulder."

"In a strange way," he replied, "that's exactly what has happened. I had a meeting of my own recently, last night in fact, and I was given a journal which my uncle kept during his visit here."

"Yes?"

"Well, though I've only begun reading it, I've found the name Jacques Eloi des Mondes mentioned several times, and he describes Jean Paul Desmond as a man of many moods. His obsession was restoring his dead wife to life by means of cryonics, but Uncle Matt mentions the portrait as oddly transfixing Jean Paul at times. I think you and I do need to help each other. I fear that history may be repeating itself in more ways than one over there on Maljardin!".

"But who gave you that journal? Was it Dr. Barrett?"

"It was someone he knows and who seems to have known my uncle."

"How very mysterious! Ah well, I'm not one to pry into what isn't mine to know. Still, would you mind if I looked at the journal sometime?"

"I think it's a task very suited to your abilities. I've been reading it all day between naps, but I haven't been able to sleep very well and I absolutely need to get my eight hours tonight."

"Well, with what Bill told me, I don't think I could sleep if I tried, so if you're alright with me taking it, I think it could shed a lot of light on my own mystery as well as on yours."

"Well, here it is," said Stephen. "Knock yourself out."

Kathleen took the blue notebook reverently and watched as Stephen raised his water glass.

"I know I'm not drinking," he said, "but this will have to do. I'd like to propose a toast."

"Alright," said Kathleen, raising her glass of Chardonnay. "Go ahead!"

"To partnership!"

"No," said Kathleen impulsively. "To friendship!"

"Fair enough," said Stephen. "To friendship!"

They clinked their glasses solemnly and drank at exactly the same time.

"Shall we meet tomorrow for lunch?"

"Why not make it breakfast? I don't want to lose any time with Julia the way she is."

"Very well then. Breakfast it is. Perhaps I can get Dr. Barrett to join us. I have the distinct impression that he knows more about Maljardin than he's told either of us."

"True enough," said Kathleen with a small smile. "He has given me that impression as well. Alright then. I'll see you here tomorrow at about 9:00 A.M."

"Till then, then. Goodnight!"

"Sleep well!"

As Stephen exited the cafe, Kathleen watched him with a longing look. She realized that she was beginning to act with him the way she acted with men she was attracted to, and she hoped he hadn't noticed. Still, she thought, why did he have to be a priest? He was witty, good-looking, gentlemanly and kind. He was a man that she could see herself marrying one day, and it was all in vain because of a choice he made several years ago. Yet, she thought, perhaps crumbs are almost as good as a loaf. He had returned her declaration of friendship, hadn't he? She'd have to live on that for a while as best as she could. For now, she could help him by reading and making notes on his uncle's journal. This at least would keep her busy, and it had the bonus of possibly helping Julia as well. She resolved therefore to put all her energy into it, and she thought that there was no time like the present to get started.

Finishing her wine, she went to pay her bill and was surprised to find that Stephen had already done so. After debating whether to disturb him in his room and pay him back or to insist that she pick up the tab for breakfast, she decided upon the latter course and made her way back to her own room, blue notebook in hand.

Sitting down at the desk, she opened the book and then hesitated. Here in front of her was the last written record of a man who had now been dead for forty years or more. She wondered why this should frighten her, since she was accustomed to reading books written by people who had long ago gone to dust, but, she supposed, those books were not the private and personal thoughts of those writers, and this journal was. It was only now that she realized what she had in her possession, and all of a sudden, she felt like an interloper.

"But Stephen could use a fresh eye on this," she said out loud to the empty room. "I'm not being nosy on my own behalf, but I'm looking at this book with his permission. Alright then. Here goes nothing!"

As she began thumbing the pages, Kathleen was struck by the insightfulness of this man. He truly was called to his pastoral duties, she thought, but she did wonder just who this Holly Marshall was and exactly what he saw in her. As far as she could tell, the girl was truculent and angry, very immature and without very many redeeming qualities. However, he did appear to genuinely care for her welfare, and not only on an objective level. It was quite clear from his writings that he loved her as a man loves a woman, and by the time she had reached the journal entries which took place on Maljardin, Kathleen found herself feeling sympathy for this deeply-compassionate man who had left everything familiar to him to pursue a dream which likely had no hope of coming true.

From the beginning, Matthew Dawson's pursuance of Holly Marshall seemed portentous. He had met "a very mysterious and special woman named Evangeline (or Vangie as everyone calls her) Abbott who reads fortunes and waits tables" in the very cafe where Kathleen had just had dinner with his nephew, and she had spoken of Holly being surrounded by unknown dangers. She had further warned Matthew that he was needed on Maljardin as a minister in order to defeat the evil that seemed to be walking there.

"Well, Miss Abbott," she said aloud as she leaned back in her chair to rest her eyes, "I wish I had your gift at fortune-telling. I wonder now if these Tarot cards I rescued from Maljardin were yours?"

She idly shuffled the pack as she pondered what Matthew Dawson's words might be leading to, and as she did so, a card fell to the desktop in front of her. She looked at it, trying to remember the very small amount of Tarot lore she had learned from some occult enthusiasts she had known in university. This was the King of Wands, she knew, and then she looked at the journal again. Most of Matt's reflections dwelt on The Fool, as Vangie had seemed to think that this card represented himself, but he had written her thoughts on the King of Wands as well, and in its reversed position as this card was now, she had said that it was a card of ill omen betokening the presence of no one less than Jacques Eloi des Mondes himself.

"Well," she said, "if these Tarot cards are trying to tell me something, I'm listening. I just don't know what to do about it! Still, all this seems so surreal! I mean, Jean Paul Desmond lost his wife. Julia Desmond has Cancer. They're both really traumatic events and both these people are masters of the grand gesture. Julia has just as much eccentricity potential as her father did. It doesn't mean there's an actual devil involved. I think I have to stop now. I'm driving myself crazy. Goodnight, Matthew Dawson, and Miss Abbott, I'll take care of these cards for you."

She closed the book and straightened the cards into a pile, being sure to hide the King of Wands well, and then looking at the clock, she noticed that it was three A.M.

Hmmm... That's strange, she thought. Vangie Abbott told Matt to tell Raxl that the third hour was best for her if they were both to read the cards together. I wonder if it still is? Could she be watching over all this from some other plane of existence?

But these ponderings were too deep for her at this time of night, and despite her earlier professions of insomnia, she suddenly felt very tired indeed. So, resolving to leave all these strange and supernatural things out of the Readers' Digest version of the journal that she was going to give Stephen at breakfast, she undressed and lay down on her bed, falling deeply asleep almost instantly.