"No Humans Involved" - читать интересную книгу автора (Armstrong Kelley)

DOWSING ROD FOR EVIL

"I FELT A STRONG PRESENCE down here the other night," Grady said as he led us into the basement. "I know, Becky, that you were simply using the best available space for the party, but you should be careful about bringing spiritualists to subterranean realms. They're simply rife with evil spirits."

"Jaime?" Becky said. "Are you picking up anything?"

"I don't have Mr. Grady's nose for evil, I'm afraid."

"Of course she doesn't," he said. "What evil would dare show its hideousness in the face of such beauty?"

Claudia looked like she couldn't decide whether to gag or scratch my eyes out.

Grady took a compact from his pocket, did a makeup check and hair fluffing, then drew himself up straight.

"Camera, please." He lifted his hands, like a pianist preparing to play. "Robert, are you there?" Pause. "Yes. Yes, he is. Thank you, Bob."

Grady opened his eyes. "I have made contact with my spirit guide."

Huh. That was easy. Eve? Are you taking notes?

"For this session, I have selected Black Robert McGee as my guide," Grady continued. "He was a notorious pirate who terrorized the Caribbean. In the afterlife, he is trying to make amends, seeking redemption by helping my quest against the dark forces. Having lived on that dark side, he is the perfect guide for this segment of my journey."

A pirate spirit guide. Cool. Eve had been known to hang out with pirates, but I don't think that counted. She was, however, well acquainted with dark forces. As for seeking redemption, though… questionable. Very questionable.

Grady and "Bob" proceeded to wander the basement, Grady with his hands out, dowsing rods for evil.

"I see a dark room. Very dark. I-" His head jerked up, eyes closed, and he let out a whimper, then said in a high-pitched voice. "It's dark, Mommy, so dark…"

His head twitched and bobbed like a bird, then his eyes flew open.

"Bob? Yes? Thank you, Bob."

He pivoted and stopped facing a half-door that led into a crawl space under the stairs. He gave an exaggerated shudder, then looked into the camera.

"Bob tells me we will find the source of this great evil under those stairs. Inside there is a room. A room whose walls once ran red with blood. A family slaughtered. The satanic altar is beneath those steps."

"Amityville?" I mouthed to Becky.

"Yes!" Grady's face was feverish now as he spit the word. "Thank you, Bob. Bob has reminded me of another case similar to this. An American case in Maine, I believe."

" Long Island," I mouthed for him.

He nodded his thanks. " Long Island, thank you, Bob. The infamous Amityville horror. I have long believed that the rituals conducted within those walls were part of a wider ring of satanic activity."

"Faked!" I mouthed, gesturing to get his attention.

"Yes, Bob? Bob is trying to tell me about something but- Bob? Are you still there?"

Grady signaled for the camera to stop filming. "He's gone, I fear. This happens from time to time, particularly in places with such intense negative energy." He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck, then looked at me. "Jaime, I believe you were saying something?"

"Amityville was a hoax," I said.

I explained. The house had been the site of infamous killings-a young man who'd murdered his parents and four siblings. A year later, a family bought the house, claimed they saw blood dripping down the walls, demonic pigs, what-have-you, but stayed there- with their terrified kids-until they had enough details for a book. A best-selling book. And the guy who killed his family? His lawyer had been trying for a "devil made me do it" defense, and had been in contact with the haunted homeowners. The lawyer later claimed he and the couple had dreamed the whole scheme up over a bottle of wine. The family had since admitted, in court, that at least some of the things they claimed had never happened.

When I finished, Grady glanced at Claudia, who eyed me as if suspecting I was making it up.

"All true," Becky said. "A couple of years ago the Catholic Church revealed it had submitted a list of inaccuracies to the book publisher… which ignored them. Big hoax. Paid well, though," she added with admiration.

"I'm not surprised," Claudia muttered. "It's America. Land of 'anything for a buck.' "

Grady waved her to silence and went still, head cocked as if listening. "Bob has returned. We may begin again."

The camera started rolling.

"Thank you, Bob. Bob tells me the events of Amityville were, I fear, a false case predicated on greed and the lust for fame." A slow, sad shake of his head. "Unfortunately, such counterfeits do exist and we must be vigilant for them. However, as Bob also says, we must be careful not to let one falsehood blind us to the overwhelming truth of evil. It seems those responsible for Amityville used real events elsewhere as the basis for their fabrication, and here, in this house, we see one such example-"

His head jerked back, eyes closing. Her started shaking so violently that Becky tensed as if fearing a convulsion, but Claudia waved her down.

Grady's arms shot around his body, hugging himself, his teeth chattering, and I realized that his "convulsions" were supposed to be shivering.

"Momma?" he said in that high-pitched voice. "It's cold, so cold and so dark. I'm's-s-scared." A whine, more like a car engine than a child. "The bad man is coming. The bad man is-"

Grady roared, his head whipping back, teeth bared. His eyes flew open, rolling. Anyone who'd watched enough of his shows would have seen this coming, but Becky jumped and dropped her clipboard. As she scrambled for it, Grady allowed himself a tiny smile of satisfaction that morphed into a snarl, his head jerking back and forth, hands clawing the air.

"He's fighting possession by an evil spirit," Claudia explained in a monotone.

"I see," Becky said. "Is there any chance this spirit will win?"

"About ninety-five percent."

Becky smiled.

Grady jolted up onto his tiptoes, then went still. A moment's pause before he collapsed against the wall, panting and trembling.

"Damn," Becky muttered.

"Wait," Claudia whispered.

"Outside," Grady said between gasps. "Bob has shown me a room, a small, dark room. We mistakenly believed it was this one, but now he has realized his error and says we must go outside, to a shed."

He motioned for the camera to stop filming.

As Grady marched for the stairs, Becky hurried up beside him.

"The shed idea is great," she said. "It avoids, you know, connotations of Amityville, but there's a small problem. There isn't one."

"One what?"

"Shed."

He threw a smug smile over his shoulder as he started up the steps. "My dear, I never said there is a shed. I said there was one. It has, of course, long since been torn down… to hide the evidence."

OUTSIDE WE went. On the way, Grady thanked me for the information about Amityville. While unwarranted, he appreciated the thought. It was a step back into his good graces.

He stopped beside a koi pond. As our shadows passed over the water, the fish zoomed from under the lilies, their mouths breaking the surface. Was someone feeding them in their owner's absence? Probably. They looked expensive.

"Here, Bob?"

Grady lifted a hand for silence, although no one had spoken. Then he checked to make sure the camera was rolling before continuing.

"The shed was here? You're quite certain?" He paused. "No, no, I understand."

Grady turned to the camera. "Bob says he can't be certain this is exactly the right spot. The sense of darkness in this entire yard is overwhelming. This, however, appears to be reasonably close to the original location."

And so, Grady picked up where he'd left off, channeling the "spirit" of the dead girl. I tried to relax, but startled at every noise and movement, waiting for the children to come and make their presence known.

"What the hell is that?"

I jumped and glanced over to see Kristof staring at Grady, who was waving his arms, rolling his eyes, shaking and moaning.

"I think he's possessed," I said.

"By what? Epilepsy?"

"He's a famous TV medium from the U.K.," I said, as if that explained everything.

Kristof sniffed. "Not so famous that he can afford a decent tailor, evidently. Or acting lessons."

"They aren't letting Eve come back, are they?"

"No." He spat the word. After a moment, he went on. "I have, in the past two years, on occasion, tried to find reasons for them to let Eve return, if only temporarily."

"And they think you're tricking them again."

A humorless laugh. "Not 'again.' I haven't tricked them yet, damnable spirits. Eve's tried too. No luck. You can't blame us, but they get…" A dismissive wave. "Offended, as if we're insulting them, when the fact is that we are the ones who should be offended. We play by their rules. We assist in their enterprises. We are-" a twist of his lips, "-their humble servants, and yet when we ask for the briefest respite from our bargain, you'd think we were the most unrepentant convicts asking for a day pass."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but knew he couldn't explain.

"So they said no."

"They'll 'look into it.' And, perhaps, should I prove to be telling the truth, they'll find someone to help you."

"But not Eve."

He looked away, but not before loneliness and disappointment pushed the bitterness from his eyes. "No. Not Eve."

He pushed to his feet. "This is ridiculous. They cannot expect us to wait on their forbearance and trust that they will find someone suitable. Eve isn't the only person who can help us. The Fates won't like my choice, but that is their problem."

It seems to me that forbearance and trust are things a higher power can reasonably expect from mere mortals. But men like Kristof Nast are not accustomed to being refused, and being dead didn't change that. If his insolent determination helped my case, I wouldn't argue.

"Who are you-?" I began.

A dismissive wave. "You'll see."