Ghosts of Rosewood Asylum (9 page)

“No. It’s horseshit.”

“Let me guess,” Zach said. “Old Man
Winkler?”

“It’s not funny.” Sara put her hand on her
hip. “We wasted most of the morning here, and we don’t even have a client
walkthrough.”

“What the hell was the state thinking
sending us a schlock like that?” Zach asked.

“Follow the money, my friends,” Bryce said.
“Follow the money.”

After less than twenty-four hours, Bryce’s
arrogance had worn thin, but Zach was curious as to his theory. “What do you
mean?”

“Okay. It’s like this. They can’t tear this
place down because of this landmark status or whatever, right?”

He waited a second for confirmation, but
Zach said nothing. Sara merely twirled her hand for him to continue.

“So like, they want to sell this place,” he
said. “They give a shit if it’s haunted or not. All they need is the publicity.
From what I’ve heard, Illinois is one of the more ‘ethically casual’ states in
the country right?” Bryce was one of those people who used his fingers as quotation
marks around words when he spoke.

“Go on, please,” Zach said.

“Dude, they need the publicity. That’s where
we come in. If we show that it’s not haunted…Boom! They sell it off or can
justify reopening it as some hospital or something. Hell, probably somebody’s
brother-in-law gets the construction contract to gut the place and—”

“And if it is?” Zach asked.

“And if it is, what?”

“And if it’s
haunted
?”

“If it’s haunted, and we can prove it…”
Bryce’s face took on a smug satisfaction.

Zach looked at Sara; she wasn’t getting it
either.

Bryce sighed and rolled his eyes. “This
isn’t 1905. Do you know how many people out there are into the paranormal?
Dude, why do you think
we
and a dozen others like us have TV shows in
the first place? You know how many rich people would love to own a ‘verified’
haunted asylum built in the 1800s? I bet there are tax benefits up the yin yang
to owning a federally protected landmark. They come in and give tours of the
place. Or they turn it into some damn bed and breakfast. I dunno.”

“A bed and breakfast?” Zach echoed.
“Seriously?”

“Okay, maybe not that, but they could turn
it into something....something cool.”

Zach hated to admit it, but Bryce made
sense—at least a little. “So why send us Winkler, then?”

Bryce shrugged. “He’s the perfect guy for
the job. Whoever’s pulling the strings knows how he feels about this place, how
he’ll come across on TV. What better person to represent their official
nonchalance? This way, they don’t look pushy or desperate. We’re practically
their real estate brokers. All they have to do is sit back and field offers!”

“So, come on guys,” Sara said. “What
difference does it make? We’ve got a show to do. We need to film a tour of the
grounds. Ideas? Suggest—”

“I’ve got one,” Bryce said.

“Go.” Sara pointed as though they were on
camera.

“Well, Patrizia is a bit put out.” Bryce
eyed Zach. “She didn’t get any air time earlier and she helped Wendy with the
historical research until the wee hours of the night. I say we have her host a
tour of the place based on her research. We explain on the air that there’s no
guide from the state because we couldn’t get anyone willing to brave the
infamous Rosewood Asylum.”

Zach wondered how Bryce had done it. In one
fell swoop, he’d gone from numbskull to white knight. He’d not only rescued
Patrizia, but had restored balance to Sara’s show. Worst of all, he’d slyly
introduced a slightly dishonest spin that not only seemed justified but
entertaining. Sara said nothing, but by the way she gazed at Bryce, she could
have been about to say, “My hero.”

Chapter Nine

Even with the doors open an hour, they
hadn’t completely aired out Rosewood’s stale air. Angel had managed to sweep a
full box worth of dirt and dust out of the lobby with a broom procured from the
nearby
GrocersMart
. Pierre and Matthew had unloaded a slew of equipment
cases from the trucks and were investigating the hallways for logical spots to
place cameras.

Patrizia was pacing the length of the lobby
when Zach walked in. Her rugged boots clomped across the wood floorboards. Her
fingers pulled through strands of her long dark hair in slender groupings as
she again retraced her steps.

“Hey,” Zach said, as he approached. “Sorry
we didn’t get you on camera this morning. I’m looking forward to your tour.”

“Yeah.” She absentmindedly flicked her hair
from her hand and put both arms down at her sides.

Her nose slightly hooked, Zach guessed she
was of Greek or Italian descent. Equally as tall as him, her boots gave her a
few inches height advantage. He found himself sweating under her glare.

“Are you about ready...ready to begin?” He
ran his hand through his hair.

She didn’t answer and was intently staring
at his wrist. It was as if she were about to dissect him. “I like your tattoo,”
she said, pointing to the
Chi Rho
. “You have more, don’t you?”

“Like these?” Zach was unable to hide his
surprise.

How had she guessed?

“Just—any?” she asked, and then quickly
added, “I’ve got—here I’ll show you.”

She slipped off her white leather jacket
exposing a black sleeveless shirt and slender but toned arms. Covering her
right bicep and triceps from her shoulder to her elbow was a sepia-toned tattoo
of a buff angel. Dressed in warrior garb, his wings extended up on both sides
of her shoulder, beneath her shirt. His arms crossed over the handle of his
downward-pointed sword, and disappeared into clouds drawn near her elbow. His
jaw was determination incarnate—a badass, guardian angel in repose.

“Michael?”

“
San Michele Arcangelo
.”

“Huh?”

“Yes. Michael the Archangel.”

“So you’re Italian?”

“
Si
. At least my parents were.”

As though the question had inspired her, she
untucked her shirt and pulled it up to just below her chest. Exposing more than
her spandex top had shown the previous day, she revealed, just below her left
breast and close to her sternum, a red heart with a gold dagger running through
it. Dripping off the tip of the dagger was a single drop of crimson blood.

“That’s for love,” she said. “I have one
other that I cannot show you.”

Zach blurted the first thing that came to
mind. “A tramp stamp?”

It was probably the stupidest thing he could
have asked.

Her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed.
“No.”

Considering the look made him slightly
lightheaded, he didn’t follow that line of questioning. The faint scent of
Sailor
Black
tobacco was his first indication that he was getting overly excited.
His fingers went numb, and his feet lost some of their feeling.

“Show me yours,” she said.

Zach’s heart skipped a beat. “I can’t.”

She rolled her eyes and scowled.

“No, I mean there’s nothing really to see.
They’re like these.” He flashed his wrists, “Only they’re bigger and I’d have
to…”

“I understand,” she said, and then added a
pout.

Zach relented and reached for the top button
of his shirt. “Okay I’ll—”

“Hey you two!”

Saved by the Wendybird. Showing Patrizia the
tattoo on his side would have led to questions he didn’t want to answer.

“What’s up?” Wendy asked, looking completely
disinterested in an answer. “Zach, I need to tell you something before I
leave.”

“Oh, right. I’ll walk you out.” He turned
toward Patrizia. “Can you give me a second?”

Patrizia merely turned and walked away.

“God, she’s such a bitch,” Wendy said.

Zach watched Patrizia make her way down the
hallway. Feeling returned to his fingers and toes. His legs felt more stable
than when he’d been talking to her. Patrizia was something of an enigma; in his
mind, she was anything but a bitch.

He motioned Wendy toward the front doors.
“Okay, shoot. Whatcha got?”

“First, thanks for waiting until the last
minute to give me that information last night. I had to pull all kinds of
strings to get what I got at that hour and I’m still nowhere near finished.”

“The fires? I told you, it was a last-minute
tip.”

Wendy appeared all the more peeved that Zach
was ignoring her
prima donna
act. She wasn’t used to boys not falling
over themselves for her when she batted her crystal blue eyes.

“Anyway, I found something.”

“What?”

 “Well, I discovered something
late
last night after I’d written my presentation and after you told me to focus on
events relating to fires.”

Zach nodded. “Okay?”

“I knew you and Sara wouldn’t want me to
divulge this right up front in the historical section. It’s creepy as shit.”

“Okay, spill it already.”

“So, on July 4th 1899, on the site of the
female quarters destroyed by fire earlier that year, some guy doused himself
with kerosene and set himself ablaze.”

Zach realized his mouth was ajar, but
quickly composed himself. “Lit
himself
on fire? Who?”

“They didn’t have the technology back then
to determine his identity, but there had been an ongoing investigation into
series of fires including the
original
Pullman Market Hall that burned
down in 1892—”

“Wait, Market Hall? Same location as the one
that burned in ’72?”

“The one and only,” Wendy said.

“1892 was the same year that the hospital
opened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are they connected?”

“That’s what I need to research today. There
were a lot of fires around that time, including the White City in 1894.”

Evelyn had mentioned the White City the
prior night. Zach had looked it up online. “The site of the 1893 World’s Fair?”

“Well technically, it was called ‘The
World's Columbian Exposition,’ but yes.”

Zach ignored her anal retentiveness, and
motioned for her to continue.

“But here’s the kicker,” she said, “from
everything I gathered, after the suicide by fire here in 1899, high-profile
buildings in the area stopped being torched, the arson case was closed and—”

“And the haunting here at Rosewood started
full force.”

“Aren’t you a smart one?”

“Good work, Wendy.”

“Well,” she said donning her on-air
flirtation. “Is that all I get?”

“You come up with a connection between all
this and our haunting, and I promise you’ll get a lot more time in front of the
camera.”

By the glee on her face, he might as well
have just told her she’d won the lottery. She batted her eyes at him. “Well in
that case,” Wendy said, “it might be a coincidence, but that incident with the
Lovecroft girl?”

“Yes?”

“It happened one year
to the day
from
when that man set himself on fire.”

Chapter Ten

Bryce spoke in dramatic tones for the
cameras. “In a moment, giving us the opening tour of Rosewood Asylum will be
Demon
Hunters
very own
DemonHistorian
– Patrizia!” He extended his arm
toward her. “You may be asking yourselves, why is Patrizia leading the tour? As
most of you know both
Demon Hunters
and
XPI
typically have the
property owner give us a tour and point out the hot spots. Well friends, we
couldn’t find one person working for the State of Illinois who was brave enough
to walk us through Rosewood!

“But first, Zach wanted me to remind all you
amateur Demon Hunters and
XPI’ers
why a tour is so important.”

Zach had done no such thing. He set his jaw
and attempted to feign ambivalence.

“Knowing the ‘hot spots,’” Bryce continued,
“is necessary to document evidence of an intelligent haunting.”

No, Zach thought, they weren’t. It helped to
know where to look, but it wasn’t necessary. Even if Bryce’s facts
were
accurate, this kind of speech was the type of spoon-feeding the audience that
Zach often butted heads with Sara about. Next, Bryce would be telling the
audience the most basic of ghost hunting facts like that Electromagnetic Field
meters, or EMF meters, were used to detect the presence of spirits.

“Residual hauntings refer to the residue
attached to places and things a spirit had been connected to during their life.
They are like looped reruns of activity the ghost had participated in during
their lifetime—things like laughter, speaking, giggling, music and singing. In
comparison to these snippets of paranormal activity, intelligent hauntings are
very rare. Intelligent hauntings are when spirits attempt to contact or
interact with the living.”