Chapter 17

Plummeting downward, icy pellets of rain pierced his skin while the howling wind buffeted his body and forced his eyes closed. A high pitched screaming accompanied him and John sincerely hoped the noise wasn't emitting from his own mouth. How wonderful to die from embarrassment as well as the bone breaking fall – at that moment he realized he was diving head first from a second floor window; he might just survive this if he landed correctly.

Tuck and roll, roll and tuck, splat like a bug, what was it for a crash landing? The lightning was flashing a pulsating rhythm through the thin skin of his eyelids and he forced them open just in time to see a blurry expanse of green, right before he landed in it. His body, curled inward, registered the feel of leaves and sticks before he promptly bounced off the top of the hedge and dropped into what felt like two inches of mud.

Now on his belly, Johnny gingerly lifted his head and spat out a disgusting concoction of liquid, dirt, and unknowns. He carefully rolled over and looked up, letting out an involuntary squeak at the sight of a huge, winged angel hovering above him. It bore an eerie resemblance to the pair flanking the Gantry Mortuary, except that this one was coated with a layer of moss, lichen, or whatever that stuff was that grew on tombstones and other marble ornaments in cemeteries.

He sneezed and rolled again, but just to his side and away from the menacing stone statue. He propped himself up on an arm, making sure everything was working while he stared at the thick slab of concrete the angel was perched on; a base that his head had missed by mere inches. Shuddering, he planted a hand on the smooth, cold surface and pushed his body upwards.

"Johnny! Johnny!"

The welcome sound of his name being called floated over the head high fence of greenery. He tried to reply but a hoarse croak was the result; he shoved to his feet and cleared his throat before he attempted a reply again.

"Here, I'm over here!" He shouted, feeling the mud squish between his toes and tug insistently at his bare feet as he hastily stepped backwards and turned his back on the cold, insolent stare of the angel.

A crack of thunder echoed behind his call and covered the answering shouts. Despite his misgivings, he remained in place and waited for his rescuers to find him. An eternity later, the wavering beams of flashlights appeared.

"Johnny! You okay?" It was Roy who reached him first, a hand outstretched to catch his arm. Mike was right behind him, wielding a large umbrella and sheltering Maria, who was clutching his arm with one hand and the front of a kimono type robe with the other.

"I'm good, I think, cold though…." He finally replied, eyeing the metal on top of the umbrella with a wary look as the rest of the 51 crew gathered around him.

"You sure, can you walk, did you hit your head..." Roy's concerned voice trailed off as Gage made an impatient slashing motion with his hand.

Mrs. Torres detached herself from the engineer's arm and tugged him forward to stay under shelter as she moved to Roy's side.

"Let's get your friend inside, as well as the rest of us, shall we Mr. DeSoto?" She suggested forcefully, touching him lightly on the arm. "Perhaps you can stay by his side and monitor his progress?"
"Before I turn into an icicle," Johnny added, teeth chattering now as his partner nodded in resignation and began walking with him, touching his elbow every few seconds as if to assure himself of his friend's condition. They sloshed through the saturated yard and entered the house through a side door, which opened directly into a spacious kitchen.

Mr. Lacey, still wearing the black suit he'd had on earlier, stood by a wide, tiled counter and passed out thick towels as the men filed by him. Except for Mike and Marco's great aunt, everyone was soaked. As Johnny toweled off his head, he noted with some amusement that the crew were all in various stages of undress, as well as bare or socked feet. Mrs. Torres had sat down in a chair and Mike was kneeling in front of her, pulling off a pair of huge rubber boots. She noticed Johnny's sweeping gaze, caught his attention, and smiled.

"My late husband's fishing boots – I always keep them by the back door." She patted Stoker's hand in thanks as he stood up but kept her eyes pinned on the paramedic. Johnny broke eye contact and stared at the floor, the towel draped over his head and an end clutched in each hand, his brief spurt of gaiety gone.

His thoughts turned back to the window, and that hard push that had sent him flying. There was no doubt that Alice was intent on harming or killing him, and she was assuredly getting closer to that goal with every attack. He didn't believe for one moment that she was targeting him because "she hated men, and wanted revenge". If that was true, why wasn't she wreaking havoc on everyone else?

He sighed, wide awake now and not wanting to be. He raised his head, dragging the towel from it and noticed that the kitchen had emptied of everyone but their hostess. Surprised, especially that Roy had disappeared, he stood up, stepping on the towel to dry his cold feet.

"Here Mr. Gage, some tea to warm you up and take the chill from you bones," Marie said, thrusting a steaming mug into his hand. He accepted it cautiously, trying to keep it level.

"Where did everyone go?" He asked, blowing on the liquid before taking a tentative sip. It was heavily sugared but tasted just right.

"I sent them all upstairs – Mr. Lacey is procuring warm, dry garments for those who need them. He'll be along shortly with something for you, although I wonder perhaps if you would like to shower first."

Johnny looked up and frowned at the tin stamped ceiling. While a hot shower sounded perfect, the thunder hooves pounding on the roof far above dissuaded him from that idea. "No ma'am, not with all the electricity coursing through the air. A wet washcloth would work just fine."

"Of course, I didn't think about that." She moved around to the sink, retrieved a folded cloth from under the sink, and ran it under the spigot. John accepted the wrung out towel with a smile of thanks.

"Now, if you would, you must tell me the story of what brought you all here to have a séance." She perched on the chair next to him, folded her hands, and regarded him with bright eyes.

Gage, busy cleaning the remaining mud off his feet, paused only a second before telling her the events of the last few shifts. She listened without interruption, nodding or tilting her head to encourage him on. When he had finished, he went to the sink, turning his back on her to rinse the washcloth and give her a moment to process his story.

"Yes, I see," she said slowly, tapping a finger in thought against her upper lip. "We must resolve this distressing situation today if possible, as this Alice is behaving in a most unacceptable manner and must be persuaded to leave this world. Marco was correct about this house being the perfect place to force her away; have you noticed that this is the only time she has visited you off shift, here?"

Johnny shook his head and rejoined her. "I didn't realize that."

"Ah, Mr. Lacey, here you are. Are all the other guests now warm and dry?"

Her assistant nodded his oddly shaped head and held out an armful of clothes towards John. Thanking him, Gage took the bundle, good manners holding him back from checking to see exactly what he was about to change into.

"There's a small powder room through that alcove over there, young man, go ahead and change and meet us in the room where we held that séance. Leave your wet things in a pile by the door and Mr. Lacey will take care of them for you." She rose to her feet, regal as a queen, and sailed from the room with her assistant following in her wake.

Laughing soundlessly, Johnny did as he had been instructed. He stripped to bare skin, buffed himself completely dry with a fluffy towel, and put on the borrowed garments. Staring down at his new duds, he shook his head in dismay and laughed out loud this time. Following the instructions, he left the small room, dumped his soaked clothes on the floor, and headed for the front room carrying the oil lamp with one hand and holding up his pants with the other.

Despite the events of the night and early morning that were preying on his mind, the smile remained on his lips when he entered the parlor and saw the whole crew already there. Roy, who was waiting for him by the door, was in his own clothes as was Marco, both men having run outside clad in only their shorts and t-shirts. Their footwear caught Johnny's attention – huge fluffy slippers in two different shades of pink. He wondered what size feet their previous owner had.

Mike of course was still in most of his own clothes thanks to the umbrella; he had, however, removed his muddy shoes and shed his damp, rain splattered outer shirt. Over the green tank top he had been using as an undershirt he was now sporting a white, silky flounced shirt that reminded John of the kind of shirts pirates always seemed to be wearing in movies. Except that it was a bit short in the sleeves, it actually looked fairly decent on the lanky engineer.

It was the outfits of Hank and Chet that stopped Johnny in his tracks, however; he plopped down in the nearest chair, breaking out in laughter at the sight of his captain and co-worker in borrowed finery that exceeded even his in flamboyance.

Chet, scowling, made a threatening gesture towards the paramedic but then joined in the laughter, pointing at his clothes and then Johnny's with childish glee. He sidled up to his chair and bent over to whisper.

"Man, I never thought I would be wearing clothes like this." He plucked at the flowery fabric trailing from his hips and snickered. He did a slow turn, modeling the trim housedress and the bright orange pants visible from the knees down. "At least you didn't get a dress, Johnny boy. Do you think these duds belonged to the former, uh, inhabitants of this house?"

Johnny shook his head, looking down at the furry purple robe he was wearing. "Way too modern for that, not that I know that much about fashion."

Kelly leaned in closer, his mouth inches from Johnny's ear. "Then maybe, just maybe, this is still a house of, ya know…"

"Chet!" Johnny hissed incredulously, but he had to admit he was a bit curious as to where all the clothes had come from. "Probably a relative or someone that lived here, since they're way too big to fit Mrs. Torres."

He scratched at his knee and then pinched the material between his fingers, trying to figure out what it was. Rayon maybe? He wasn't sure but it was eye catching with huge yellow flowers on a green background. And while the waist was too big, the flared hem came to well above his ankles. The shirt was a little calmer, in the same material but a bright yellow. It was huge though, and he pulled the robe tighter around him trying to keep in the little warmth he had achieved with the tea and the towel. Looking around the room for their hostess, he wondered if he could sneak up to his room and at least grab his socks to replace the fuzzy orange ones loaned to him.

Captain Stanley negated that idea, however, as he marched over and stood next to his lineman, effectively blocking Gage's escape route. He stared down at them, regal in his silk flowered robe and matching pajamas; the only jarring note to the ensemble, aside from the fact that he was wearing women's garments, was that like Johnny's, the pants ended mid-calf. It didn't really matter, though, because on his feet he was wearing bright red cowboy boots that covered the bare expanse of skin.

"Not a word, you two twits," he growled, rocking back on his booted heels and tucking his thumbs in the belt of the robe. "Gage, are you all right?"

"Sure, Cap, I'm just fine," he replied, resisting the urge to tell their leader that of all the men, he looked the best.

"What the hell happened? Did you fall out the window, and what were you up to in the middle of the night?"

Johnny opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it shut as everyone in the room sidled over to hear the answer. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling a sense of foreboding wash over him. It was going to end today, in this house, one way or another, but what the final result would be…..

Gulping, he reluctantly forced his eyes open and stared at the black and grey pit of ashes in the fireplace while he told the story once more; although his words came out flat and emotionless he could feel still feel the inhuman hands forcing him over the window ledge. The cold, clutching fingers burning through the material of his clothes, the surprise of the attack, and then the seconds of terror as he fell – all these things taunted him.

"Hey," Roy said softly, snapping him from the horrors he was reliving. He nodded in silent thanks and studied the circle of men gathered about him, grateful that they were there to support and believe in him.

They talked quietly for a while, tossing about ideas and then rejecting them. Mr. Lacey joined them at some point, proffering a tray that held coffee, tea, and hot cocoa. Once they were settled with their warming drinks, the silent man cleaned the fireplace and started a fire. He settled the metal screen in front of the flickering flames and vanished from the room without uttering a word.

"Don't worry guys, he's always like that," Marco informed them. "He's been with Aunt Maria for years, floating in and out like a wraith."

Johnny groaned at the comparison, not wanting to be reminded of spirits of any kind. He stood up, set his mug down on the coaster, and stretched, trying to work out the soreness. He ambled over to the table they had used for the séance and peered out one of the windows. Out in the darkness, the storm continued without pause, pounding its anger upon the countryside.

"I sure hope they have a good roof on this house," Mike commented. Johnny jumped, bumping his hip on the table.

"Mike, for cripe's sake, don't do that!" He yelped, rubbing the injured hip with one hand and pressing the other one against the purple fuzz of his robe.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Stoker apologized. Throwing up his hands, he warily backed up a step.

Shivering, John rubbed his arms and shook his head. "It's okay; I'm just a little jumpy."

"I think under the circumstances, you have every right to be jumpy," a new voice suggested and both men turned.

Maria Torres had returned. Now wearing a blue velour pantsuit, she appeared wide awake and ready to do battle. She peered up at the taller men, waving her flashlight like a baton. "Now, your clothes will be ready shortly, and once they are, we will proceed to the room where the spirits like to gather."

"It's not right here?" Gage asked, gesturing vaguely around him.

"It was for a moment earlier, at least for your pair. But tell me, Mr. Gage, do you feel anything in this area now?"

Taking his time Johnny scrutinized the alcove and realized their hostess was right. Earlier he had felt a presence, an evil one. Now, however, there was nothing except his frayed nerves and the damp that seemed to permeate every pore of his body. "You're right, it's pretty normal."

"It's just as I thought, young man. If they're still about, as I'm sure they are, they will be lurking in the cellar."

"So why would it be the cellar?" Chet asked curiously, coming up soundlessly behind them. The oil lamp he was holding high in the air cast strange shadows over his face; his eyes glowed weirdly from within the light and dark contrasts playing across his features.

Maria smiled slyly. "There is a wine cellar in the basement. From what I hear, some strange events have occurred there in the past."

Kelly carefully set the lamp down on the table and scratched his head. "Um, what kind of stuff Mrs. Torres?"

"Oh, let's just say there were a few scandals concerning some of the ladies here and their gentlemen friends. There are definitely a lot of strange noises that float up from that direction in the wee hours of the morning…."

All three men stared at her, wondering if she was being serious. Mr. Lacey chose that moment to enter the room, bearing stacks of clean, neatly folded clothes. All the attention turned to the assistant as the firemen hastened to get their clothes. John, Hank, and Chet dispersed to different rooms and hastily changed, meeting in the large hall by the stairs where the rest awaited them.

Maria waved her flashlight in the air. "Please check your lights and follow me, everybody."

She marched in the direction of the kitchen but stopped at a closed door. Slipping a hand into her pants pocket, she pulled out a key and unlocked the door. It creaked ominously as she opened it, the noise loud in the quiet hall.

They filed down the plain wooden stairs one at a time, with Marco leading the way. One foot on the top riser, Johnny turned and grabbed Roy's arm.

"Hey," he whispered. "Where's that medium lady? I haven't seen her since we all went to our rooms."

"You're right! Where is she?" Roy asked, puzzled. "I haven't seen her either."

"I can't believe she's slept through all this. Fake or not, she should be here if we're gonna try and raise the spirits, or whatever the hell it is that we're doing." Johnny snorted and resumed his downward trek, placing feet carefully and keeping his distance from their engineer who was in front of him.

They all made it safely to the bottom, pausing to stand on the grey concrete near Mrs. Torres, who was unlocking a second door. She flung it open with a flourish and turned to face her guests.

"This, my dears, is where we keep the wine. There are several tables and chairs for an informal tasting area which I myself have never used but was quite popular in the house's heyday."

Leading the way, she entered the room and they all dutifully followed. Damp, chilled air met Johnny as he entered and he grimaced. He felt like he was in the bowels of a beast between the peculiar odor wafting about him and the pitch black of the room, barely touched by the lamps and flashlights they were all wielding. There were no tiny windows in this room as there had been in the room with the stairs, probably to keep the room cooler. The advantage to that was the storm was muted here; no flashes of lightning visible and the thunder a mere rumble that could hardly be heard.

"Where's that drip coming from?" Chet asked. Johnny tipped his head up and listened. There was indeed a steady drip, several in fact. He shrugged, dismissing the small annoyance, and scanned the area. Chet trotting at his heels, he joined the rest of the group gathered around the two tables.

"Where's Mrs. Butler? Is she joining us?" Marco asked, echoing the paramedics' earlier musings.

"How very strange that she hasn't joined us. I saw her in the hallway earlier after I had changed; she was most distraught over your misfortunes, Mr. Gage."

"I bet she was," Chet mumbled, bumping Gage in the shoulder.

"I'm sure Mr. Lacey will find her and bring her down," Mrs. Torres soothed, but John didn't miss the flash of worry across her face that accompanied her words.

He took a seat on one of the straight backed chairs, unconsciously rubbing a hand across his stomach. The fall from the window had aggravated the raw skin, courtesy of that dumb waiter hole, which had been tormenting him since they had arrived here; he was sure he had missed a few splinters and they were now making themselves known. He was going to have to give in and have it checked.

"What's wrong?" Roy asked, dropping into the chair next to him.

"I'll tell you later," he promised, gripping the flashlight tighter between his fingers and focusing his attention on the cold air eddying about his legs. He felt bitter bile rising in his throat and knew it wasn't from his sore belly. Alice was back…

~TBC~

Happy Halloween!