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Later that evening, everyone had settled back into the parlor.
"Vin, what do you want?" Casey asked when Tanner walked over to her side and waited. Vin moved across the room by a cabinet and waited. Shrugging, Casey walked over and opened the lid. "Hey! It's a record player. How'd you know Vin? I doubt it will work, this is very old," Casey sighed.
"Vin loves music, it's one of the few things he reacts too," Nettie smiled.
"See Vin, it doesn't work," Casey said, trying to lead him away after attempting to bring the old machine to life. Tanner pulled his hand free and went back. Keeping his horse securely tucked into the crook of his left arm, Tannerplaceda heavy old record on the turntable and soon the dulcet tones of Benny Goodman filled the air. Vin carefully sat his horse down by the stereo and turned to Casey holding out his hands.
"Sure I'll dance Vin," Casey laughed and took Tanner's offered hands.
"Where in blue blazes did the boy learn to dance to swing?" Buck chuckled.
"I taught him. It's one way to get him moving, and its good exercise," Nettie smiled warmly, watching her children 'cut the rug'.
Josiah muttered to himself in disbelief. "How long does this last? He's reacting directly to stimuli. He's interacting with Casey."
"Ms. Wells," Josiah began.
"Call me Nettie," Nettie Wells turned toward the big man.
"Call it professional curiosity. If it wouldn't be presumptuous on my part. Would you mind answering a few questions for me, about Vin?"
"It depends on what kind of questions." Nettie's eyes held a wary look.
"Vin seems to be fixated on the horse. Does he ever leave it anywhere?" Josiah asked curiously.
"He'll set it down just long enough to dance; it's the only thing the child had when I brought him home with me," Nettie sighed.
"He never speaks at all?"
"Three . . . no four words now, in eight years. Three at the hospital, and then one today." Nettie answered sadly.
"Do you know if he ever talked?" Josiah's thoughtful eyes lingered on Vin moving through a series of intricate steps.
"I know he talked when he was five. The officers interviewed him after his mother was hit by a car. Terrible thing, they were walking to church. The driver of the car had a heart attack. Vin told the women officer his name and age. The report indicated he wasn't comfortable with the male officer. He was talking and welcomed the woman officer's comfort but wouldn't turn loose of his toy horse. He had scars consistent with physical abuse, probably a light cord or something similar and what appeared to be healed gashes. His mother's body had them as well. There was so little ID on Vin's mother that Social Services figured she was hiding from an abusive spouse or boyfriend. They couldn't find any family, so Vin went into foster care," Nettie reported.
"A bad situation?" Josiah asked carefully.
"When Vin was ten, his foster parent's house exploded. Killing his foster father Eli Joe and three of his sons," Nettie's voice was carefully controlled. "The firemen found Vin locked in a closet. Later the investigators discovered that Vin had no school records, no immunization records, no records to indicate Helena Barber, his social worker, had ever seen the boy once she placed him with the Nichol's family."
"I was a pediatric nurse at General Hospital in Denver when they brought Vin in. Filthy, emaciated, terrified of everyone. He looked about seven. Stupid intern never even tried to calm him, just sedated him and put him in restraints. That fool never even looked at Vin. Said he wasn't worth his time," Nettie fumed.
"I was working 3rd shift. I had a real good supervisor, Monica Eston. She arranged things to give me as much time as possible with Vin. Lights hurt his eyes and he wouldn't open them, noises scared him to death, even as drugged up as he was. I started singing to him so he wouldn't startle so bad. First thing, I gave that child a bath. I'm not sure he had one in all his time with those people. The more dirt that came off the madder I got. He had a broken leg and a broken forearm, welts, bruises, a concussion, his poor little hands were an infected mess. None of which came from that explosion. Finally he opened those huge blue eyes and looked at me. I told him my name was Nettie and I was there to take care of him.
Vin said his first word, 'pony', when Mike Hass, an investigator with the fire department, showed up with that wooden horse. He had found it in the closet after he went to do the investigation. There was nothing in that house to have caused the explosion. Mike was trying to find out why the epicenter was Vin's closet and the boy wasn't hurt.
Ten days later social services showed up to take him. He held on to me so tight and just shook. 'Nettie, home,' he said. I took my boy home. Social services didn't give me any trouble really. Finding homes for special needs children is difficult at the best of times.
'Ma' Nichols claimed they were trying to drive the devil out of him. That the evil from their children went into Vin and had to be beaten out. Why? She was a good God fearing Christian woman, and the devil was in that boy. He was the one that killed her husband and sons. He was throwing things at them using his demons." Nettie snarled. "She was finally committed, found incompetent to stand trial."
"Social Services did have him in therapy, I assume?" Josiah asked shakily.
"If you could call Lieberman a therapist," Nettie snapped.
"Lieberman," Josiah scowled. "What did he say about Vin's condition?"
"That Vin was autistic and to never expect him to improve," Nettie revealed softly.
"He knew about Vin dancing?" Josiah questioned.
Nettie nodded silently.
"Nettie, would you bring Vin to see me? If he doesn't want to 'talk' with me, he can spend some time in Hannah's garden. It's a healing place. I don't charge my patients any more than insurance covers. Grants and donations cover my expenses."
"Why do you want to see my boy?" Nettie frowned.
"I don't think he's autistic at all. I need to see his records and do a few tests, but I think Vin is in a severe disassociate state due to PTSD." Josiah said softly.
"PTSD? Isn't that like what soldiers get?" Nettie demanded.
"Crime victims and survivors of disasters also suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Josiah added.
"And if Vin has this PTSD, what then?" Nettie asked sharply.
"Then he should respond to treatment. How much he might recover, I can't tell you, but if I'm right, Vin could go on to have a reasonably normal life." Josiah offered.
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"Who'd have thought the dummy could dance like that?" Cedric sniffed.
"Did you enjoy your maggots, Cedric? If you keep messing with Vin, you better get used to them. Ms. Nettie sure isn't going to feed someone who's mean to her boy," Angel smiled sweetly.
"Ms. Nettie better keep an eye on her boy. I saw 'Poison Ivy' watching him," Bruce shuddered.
"That's just sick" Tony said.
"As long as all the parts work, do you really think Ivy cares if he has a brain?" Cedric smirked.
"Ivy's hunting elsewhere tonight," Angel looked uncomfortable.
"Who?" Cedric demanded.
"The man in black," Angel said.
"Larabee? You're kidding!" Bruce goggled.
"He's rich, handsome, and has a definite presence," Angel snorted. "Of course she's prowling."
"What about the professor?" Tony asked.
"She knows how to keep Sydney happy," Angel chewed her lip.
Conversation ceased as Larabee strolled past.
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"Professor Crooks is running a con," Ezra Standish noted calmly from his seat near the hearth.
"Not everyone's like you Standish," Nathan grunted, not looking up from the chessboard sitting between them.
"Dr. Jackson, do you have a thermometer in your medical bag?" Ezra smiled faintly.
"Sure, what do you need it for?" Nathan asked distractedly.
"Where in your bag is the thermometer located?" Standish asked calmly.
"Upper right corner on the latch side," Nathan muttered.
"Would you consider a thermometer to be an extremely important tool in an emergency?" Ezra smirked.
"No," Nathan looked up and frowned.
"Yet, you could tell me exactly where to find it," Ezra reminded. "Doesn't it seem . . . suspect that the good professor was incapable of assembling his paraphernalia without assistance? The equipment is not new. At no point during the evening has the good doctor stopped to examine those instruments. Even the announced presence of a ghost, by the younger Ms. Wells and Mr. Dunne, has failed to elicit a response from our iniquitous professor."
"He doesn't have the first idea of what he's doing," Nathan blinked. "So what's he after?"
"I wonder what manner of remuneration the good professor is receiving from this little study . . and how much more, he envisions defrauding from Ms. Travis?" Ezra mused.
"Why are you telling me this," Nathan demanding sitting back and studying Ezra.
"Because I might require your abilities before this soiree is over," Ezra answered seriously.
"Why? Are you ill?" Nathan studied Ezra closely.
"No, Mr. Jackson. I'm in fine health. However, I find it very taxing to interact with the 'dearly departed'," Ezra admitted.
"So this place really is haunted?" Nathan asked.
"Certainly, your unobtrusive assistance would be appreciated at this juncture. If you would be so kind as to check the readouts on the instruments located near the windows," Ezra smiled warmly and nodded toward the equipment on Nathan's left.
"Twenty-five," the 'conman' stated mysteriously as he rose and moved in the opposite direction.
Nathan frowned and watched as Ezra meandered around the room, discreetly checking the readouts on his side while he supposedly stretched his legs and admired the grace exhibited by the dancers.
What an attractive pair, and graceful. Nathan mused as the dancers moved past. Hoping to appear nonchalant he stood and moved toward the windows. Nathan stifled a gasped as the instrument readout came into view. Forty-one people? Forty-one take away sixteen is…. twenty-five!...But how?... As Nathan turned around to inform someone that the equipment wasn't working properly, a movement in the window caught his eye. Damn that Standish! I do NOT see dead people; that's his job…. The power of suggestion that's what it is. Looking at the room itself he saw nothing. Looking back at the reflection in the window, however, still revealed the ghosts now milling around the enormous room.
"Brother Nathan?" Josiah asked.
Nathan jumped and squeaked when a large hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Don't you be doing that kind of thing," Nathan panted while glaring at his big friend.
"Are you going for the white boy look?" Josiah teased, studying the pale man.
"You scared the shit out of me," Nathan muttered. "I must be about the same shade as Larabee right now."
"Are you all right?" Josiah asked worriedly.
"Look at the reflection in the window," Nathan hissed.
After a long moment Josiah spoke. "They do seem to be enjoying themselves don't they?"
"Is that all you have to say," Nathan snarled.
"I believe the rather 'Rubenesque' lady is attempting to flirt with Buck Wilmington." Josiah answered calmly.
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"Mr. Larabee, how did you become the owner of the Folly? If my research is correct, you are not family," Sydney Crooks asked.
"Just the 'lucky' lottery winner," Chris quipped.
Mary leaned close and hissed in his ear, "Chris, behave! Professor Crooks is attempting to be sociable, the least you can do is answer him."
"My family raised horses since the late 1800's. Mrs. Petrie was crazy about horses, and had the funds to support her hobby. In the early 1900's, they started doing business together and when Barbara Petrie disappeared, with no heir, she left this place, and the funding to support it, to a Larabee son. It took almost sixty years for the lawyers to stop contesting the will since there was no actual proof of her death. Like I said, I was the 'lucky' lottery winner," Chris said shortly, attempting to 'humor' Mary.
"Barbara Petrie was a very wealthy woman: mining companies, stocks, bonds, railroads, very diversified. Legend has it that she outlived several wealthy husbands. She was a shrewd business woman and built her inheritance into an empire," Mary added. "Gossip of the day suggested that some of the Larabee men may have been more than friends."
"Doubt it, Barbara Petrie chewed men up and spit them out regularly. She didn't socialize with her 'men'." Chris snorted.
"Be nice or the house will eat you too, Chris," Mary laughed.
Chris scowled and nodded to the pair before walking away, Mary's laughter still ringing in his ears.
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The music came to the end. As the last note drifted away, Vin put his hands up over his face and peeked through his fingers, smiling sweetly at Casey.
"You want me to put on another record, Casey," Chris Larabee asked from where he was leaning against the cabinet, Buck standing by his side, while they watched the dancers.
"No, I need a breather. Vin wore me out," Casey laughed.
Vin's hands dropped, the 'not here' look sliding back in place. He went over and picked up Pony and began petting it once more. Dropping down to the rug he began rocking and moving Pony on the floor.
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"This is just weird," Angel huffed, looking around the parlor.
"I know what you mean," Bruce muttered. "Was the professor this bad before? I mean he's always been kind of an elitist but I've never known him to be . . . rude?"
"He's just got his nose bent out of shape at not being in charge," Tony Dellga shrugged.
"He's just not used to dealing with the uneducated masses," Cedric sniffed, looking over at Buck Wilmington.
"I'm not talking about the professor," Angel snapped. "I'm talking about this house. Gas? Electric? Water? and it's not hooked up to services?"
"It's clean," Nettie spoke as she passed them with serving cart holding a coffee service.
"What?" Cedric sniffed.
"You might not have noticed, but there isn't a cleaning staff, yet the house is spotless," Nettie reminded.
"That's just wrong," Angel muttered.
"Where's Ivy?" Cedric asked looking around.
"Who knows, did you check the prof's lap?" Bruce blurted than flushed in embarrassment.
"Young man, that's out of line," Nettie snapped.
"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry Ms. Nettie," Bruce sighed.
Nettie nodded before rolling the cart on past the group and over to a sideboard.
"It's still the truth though," Bruce muttered under his breath.
"Casey's going to flunk after this, you know," Angel frowned.
"Why do you suddenly care?" Tony asked in disbelief.
"Casey stands up for her principles. I can admire that," Angel admitted.
"She's nothing special, I noticed she snatched Dunne right out of your claws, kitten." Cedric smirked.
"Cedric, it's been over a year. Get over it. Casey told you no," Bruce grumbled.
"Little goody-too-shoes, that's what she is," Cedric scowled.
"You shouldn't have tried to pay her to sleep with you, man. That was so lame," Tony smirked. "She sure whipped your butt."
"Shut up, Tony!" Cedric snarled.