Return to the Wells (Part 2)
Project Director's Log. Admiral Albert Calavicci recording. The return of the luscious Wells sisters marked our return to the world of supernatural happenings. As Sage Peterson, a friend of Cyfer Wells Hettinger, Sam helped vanquish a rogue spirit firm Cyfer's home. Since Sam had leaped after six days and seventeen hours in 1970 it can be concluded that he completed his mission correcting an error in the past. Project equipment, people and Ziggy all performed well above established norms. It should be noted that this leap required Doctor Beckett to channel a dead spirit during a séance. In addition, it should be noted that Cyfer Hettinger saw and heard my neurological hologram during the séance. No indications that it affected the leap or the lives of those involved. Report faithfully submitted the 17th of April, 2008 Admiral Al Calavicci. End recording.
Back in the Quantum Leap Control Room, everyone was ecstatic about the completion of another successful leap. The staff didn't break into thunderous applause, but each one dealt with it in their own personal way.
Donna Beckett closed her eyes and prayed that Sam would be coming home the next leap even if it was for just a short visit.
Dominic made a little scratch on his desk indicating another good leap totaling over fifty scratches or leaps for that he had personally supervised.
Sammy Jo nodded toward Donna, gave her thumbs up and then lifted up her water bottle toasting her father.
Stephie Hartmann put down her headset, sighed deeply and then went back to her work. Her work and her friends at the project were the only things that kept her from dwelling on her unrequited love of Sam Beckett. She sat back at her workstation and a bitterly cold breeze hit her, though her trained mind noted that not even the smallest piece of paper on her desk was disturbed. The chill passed as suddenly as it came though it left a deep and lasting memory throughout her body.
Donna Beckett opened her eyes while standing next to the main console. She was about to say something to Dominic when a deadly deathly chill passed around her. And under her. And through her. She pulled her sweater tightly around her body.
"Brr! Ziggy, how cold is it in here?" she quickly asked.
"The mean temperature of the Control Room is seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. Really, Doctor Beckett. I do pride myself in maintaining an adequate environment for both myself and those who inhabit the Control Room," she said a bit snottily.
Donna could see Dominic shivering.
"No matter your perfection, please increase the temperature Miss Zig Zag by two degrees. It is not at its usual comfort level," Dominic quickly shot back.
"Yes, Professor Lofton," replied a contrite Ziggy.
A couple of other staff members felt the same chill as a technician standing near the maintenance shaft shivered as it seemed to leave the PQL Control Room.
Admiral Albert Calavicci finished the short walk from the Imaging Chamber to the Control Room in twice the usual amount of time. His cigar had long gone out though it still hung at the side of his mouth. His shoulders dropped a bit as he deposited his handlink back in the brightly colored main control panel. Tossing his well used butt into the nearest trash container, he leaned on the console and surveyed the Control Room staff.
"People we finished another leap, quite successfully I might add. My congratulations to you all since everyone contributed and performed admirably. All final reports should be in my inbox by 0800 the day after tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me, after six days running around with one strange leap, I am heading home. Thank you all again!" he said nodding his head in appreciation. Unstated in his little speech, but written his face, was the weariness from a marathon leap session and his uneasiness from another little incursion into the supernatural world.
Donna Beckett did see how rundown Al looked. She had developed a close relationship with the one man who was in constant contact with her husband or at least in contact with him when he was performing his observing duties. She followed him out of the Control Room and into the corridor.
As Donna started her mother hen routine, Al gave her thumbs up that everything was fine, though it wasn't. He headed for the elevators, ascended eight floors, left the reception area, crawled into "Bette the Vette" and headed out through the front gate of Mitchell Airbase.
Driving his decades old Chevrolet Corvette calmed him down as nothing else could accept the woman that knew him better than anyone. Racing down the deserted desert road Al knew that Beth would be waiting for him. In the darkness around him an occasional tree or cactus passed in the distance or a rundown shack would appear out of the darkness and then disappear as quickly. Despite all the people and all the years involved in Project Quantum Leap, the base was still isolated from the world as project employees lived in Stallions Gate, Casa Verde or the other more modern bedroom communities nearby.
The headlights shone low on the road in front of him. The dotted center line came at him like white tracers from one of the antiaircraft guns on the USS Hornet. The rhythmic pattern kept coming at him as nothing else was there to distract him from his journey home. Eventually all thoughts of being tired or worried passed from Al's mind as the rhythm became a beat and the beat a melody and before he knew it he was tapping out an old Johnny Cash railroad song on the stirring wheel that seemed to match the rhythm of the road. Humming along he shifted gears and took off down the road leaving a trail of desert dust behind him.
Four miles and a new song later Al was busily tapping the steering wheel musically leaving Folsom Prison when the feeling he had between his fingers and the road felt loose. For just an instant he felt like he was flying, not a bad feeling for a pilot when in the air. Then the feeling continued as the road veered from in front of him and the desert came into view. Tires screeched as Al tried to correct the car, but it kept on spinning. Al was thrown against the door as he vainly tried to pull the car back on the road. In another instant the desert began rotating in front of him followed by the road and the desert and back to the road again as Al spun around and around. Unable to regain control of his car he covered his face with his arms and waited for the inevitable crash.
Suddenly all motion stopped with a sudden jerk. His headlights shined into the desert showing a few scrub brush plants and a sandy rocky desert floor. Checking himself out Al found nothing more than sore muscles and a shortness of breath. Surveying the ground around him Al was surprised and delighted that he had spun off the road, but the sparse flat desert had given him a great deal of space to spin out in. He unstrapped himself and stood up. The sky and stars around him were quite bright since there was no light pollution this far from civilization. Bett appeared to be in good shape, though he wondered about the condition of the low undercarriage after spinning across the rocky desert floor. He followed the curved tire tracks back to the road and walked back to where his skidding had started.
"Darn it. Not an oil slick, wet spot or road kill in sight," he said out loud.
Patting his pockets he couldn't find a cigar to calm his nerves since he had left them in his briefcase. He looked down at his hands that were shaking just a bit. His car was in its usual peak mechanical condition. He had no logical reason why the car flew of the road. As the started up the car he thanked God that he had made it and ended his prayer with, "Oh boy!"
Nothing on the highway indicated why he went into a spin. His mind was totally on his drive home. And he had been feeling much better about work as he cruised home except for this bone chilling breeze that passed him just a little ways out of town.
"Then why had his car spun out?" was the only question on Al's mind as he flipped open his cell phone to call Beth. During an extra long ring Al shivered. He felt an unearthly chill pass through which was unusual for as warm as these desert nights were. He called Beth to get a tow truck because he wasn't going to trust driving Bett back over the rocky terrain. (His car had been named after his wife many years before.) He had to have her checked out after their little mishap and he hoped the mechanic could explain the cause of the accident. Al had no idea and it worried him.
Leaving his run-amuck car at Manny's Precision Autowerks, Beth picked up her husband and drove Al home in silence. She was sure that Al had been out in the desert driving like some hotshot teenager with his father's sports car. She knew that Al could never get the taste of speed out of his system since he was no longer hot dogging across enemy territory at 500 miles an hour 500 feet off the ground. In others words, he longed for his youthful days as a Navy pilot as he was back in the 1960's. She shut off the car and looked over at Al who had fallen asleep on the long, long drive back to La Casa Calavicci.
Beth was actually wrong since Al was extremely tired. Boring as it might be his old corvette was more of a nostalgia piece and commuter car and not an instrument to fulfill his childish youthful fantasies. Beth sighed and then slightly poked him in the shoulder. "Al. Al. Wake up. We're home. AL!" she called out.
"Who? What? Oh, hi babe. What a night! Man, it's almost two?" he moaned looking at the car clock. He shook the sleep from his head, thanked Beth for the early morning taxi run and got out of the car. He stretched and then caught a musty stale odor. "Must be something that crawled into the garage and died," he thought not wanting to alarm his wife.
Beth closed up the car as Al watched as one who still appreciated her sleek lines after living with and putting up with him for more years than he wished to remember.
"Coming to bed?" she asked.
"Yea," he sighed as that same odor seemed to pass by him. A rattling sound made him look up at the shelf storing some old leftover paint cans above him.
"What the hell?" he asked out loud as they rattled and danced about him and then came a wooden ripping sound the entire shelf came down on him. Paint and paint cans hit his head and shoulders and he the side of Beth's car.
"AL!" screamed Beth as the last can rattled and bounce on the hard floor.
Al was now covered with a variety of pastels and earthy paint colors that dripped over him and unfortunately her car. He was about to say something and then just walked over and grabbed a rag and started to wipe off he gooey mess.
"Are you all right, sweetie?" she asked trying not to giggle at her multicolored husband. Her mood turned sour when she saw the side of the car which had a similar random paint job.
Al shook his head. "Yea, I'm OK. What a NIGHT! This suit is heading to the rag bin. Anything else you got for me?" he asked looking upwards.
Beth looked at him, but didn't approach him since he was such a mess. Al took her look to say, "I know. I should have gotten rid of them years ago."
He continued to wipe off his suit and then added, "Back the car out and we'll hose down your car. It should come right off. As for me, a long soak in the tub would do me good."
Heading to bed, Beth and Al collapsed close to dawn. As far as Al was concerned, Donna could handle the staff tomorrow. The Project was almost as busy the day after a leap was completed as during Sam's leap and then it settled down to a mundane routine until Ziggy again announced that Sam had leaped into another host.
Throughout his early morning sleep Al kept waking up and going back to sleep. While Beth slept soundly curled up next to him, Al got a half hour's sleep and then woke up and turned over. A cold breeze kept disturbing his sleep and an annoying sound reverberated in the walls of their small attached bathroom. The pipes kept making noises that he usually associated with running water. But Beth was in bed with him and none of his beautiful daughters still lived at home.
"Gotta get a plumber out here," Al mumbled to himself as he went back to sleep for the fourth time.
The sun shone through the window as Al rolled over and saw 11:17 on his bedside clock radio. Stretching he felt good having accumulated enough Z's through his disconnected series of short naps that had started in the early morning hours. Another smell got his attention as he slipped on his slippers and grabbed his old worn-out robe. Bacon. The smell of frying bacon felled the air. Wandering into the kitchen he saw a cheery Elizabeth O'Dwyer Calavicci busy frying away.
"Smells good, but I thought we were cutting down on the "you know what's," he said giving her a very good peck on the lips.
"After last night, I knew you'd appreciate a big breakfast, darling," she said looking at him lovingly.
"And tomorrow back to the beans sprouts and alfalfa bread?" he kidded giving her a big hug.
"Not quite that extreme!" she giggled.
Al grabbed a cup of coffee as Beth finished up the bacon. Reaching to turn off the stove a group of sparks jumped out at her. The bolt of electricity momentarily lit up the kitchen in an eerie blue-white light. Beth screamed and then fell backwards onto the hard tile kitchen floor.
Al dived toward her, but missed. "Beth!" he cried as both of them ended up in a pile on the floor. Holding her hand, Beth asked Al to please get up and get her the washcloth. A strange smell came up through the drain that Al didn't seem to notice.
"What in hell was THAT?" asked Al.
"Some kind of electrical shock. It didn't burn me much. Take the skillet off the stove, please Al," she said getting up quite sore in the rear area.
"And I'm pulling the plug on that damn thing! Guess I'm calling the electrician too," sighed Al as he disconnected the stove.
Patting herself down Beth didn't find any broken bones, but her hand hurt like hell. She went into the bathroom to apply a little medical first aid. Being a nurse came in handy during family emergencies.
"Forget about the fancy breakfast! Get dressed and I'm taking you to the Crossroads Diner," Al said. "And maybe to the emergency room?"
"I'm fine, but the lunch out would be nice," she said lovingly while bandaging her hand.
Al nodded in agreement and then gave the stove an unceremonious kick in the oven door.
With no charity or nursing volunteer work this fine weekday, Beth Calavicci spent the afternoon working on her computer going through useless emails and correspondences with a multitude of friends from the Navy, medical and PQL circles she had run around over the years. Setting the computer on standby she pushed back from the desk and sighed knowing that housework and dinner were still on her long agenda.
Working in the living room she noticed a stale annoying odor. Out came the powder to freshen up the carpet. The plug of the sweeper sparked when plugged in causing Beth to give a little yip. She rubbed the bandage on her hand absent-mindedly and then went back to the sweeping. Finishing up the living room by sorting everything in sight, Beth started preparing the dinner ingredients. Nothing too fancy since she had to nuke it in the microwave. All throughout her preparations, an evil smell came up through the sink drain. Dumping some baking soda down the drain seemed to stop it from bothering her, though a funny gurgling sound could be heard from way down in the pipes.
A ringing of the old hardwired phone caused Beth to leave the kitchen and go into the hallway. After ten minutes she had had a pleasant conversation with Donna who had invited them over for dinner that weekend. Returning to the kitchen she found all the food she had prepared unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
"What in heaven's name?" she asked herself. "Checking the back door she found that it was locked so no animals had been in her house. She emphasized the HER part for this is the only house she and Al had ever stayed in more than three years with all his job transfers. And this is where her children grew up. And unfortunately it left her a very empty nest, but a nest she was very peculiar about in how it looked…and smelled.
Looking around for any evidence of mischief, she wandered back into the living room and smelled that same rotten odor which had returned even more pungent than earlier. She almost cursed the rug as she grabbed her sweeper and cleaned. Again.
Al who had been given a ride by Chief Fulton, Sammy Jo's husband, had returned home in a good mood after his short day at the project. Whistling an old Beach Boys tune, he did love his years he spend in San Diego, he called out to his wife, "Beth? Hi darling! Did you hear yet from Manny about the car?"
Nothing. No reply. Just silence.
"Beth?" he repeated poking his nose in and out of the various rooms in his single floor ranch house.
Grumbling noises could be heard from the main bathroom as Al found her in the tub gloves on scrubbing the tile furiously. "Beth!" he exclaimed glad to see his wife who was much too occupied to greet him.
She looked up at him through tussled hair and streaked makeup as if she was about to pounce. She blew off one piece of hair from her face and then returned to scrubbing the tile.
"From the looks of things I won't ask about your day. Mine was… uneventful," Al said trying to be tactful. In fact his day had been a great relief to him. Nothing occurred out of the ordinary.
Beth straightened her back staying on her knees and then pushed all of the tussled hair out of her face.
"Awful!" was the single word description she had for her day which only started at 1 PM. Other words which had a greater emotional impact could have better expressed herself, but she was just too tired to tap into her mental thesaurus.
She stood up and did give him a quick peck, sighed the sigh of a very tired person and then pointing to the tile she asked, "Have you ever seen brown mold? That stuff won't come off with anything that won't seriously damage our tile. Albert, I have never seen anything like it!"
"Doesn't look very inviting. Smelly too," her hubby added. "I'm sorry."
"And the living room rug and the kitchen drain. Nothing went right. And then dinner just leaped off the counter for no apparent reason," she said pointing to the kitchen. "I'm about ready to move into that retirement community in Phoenix."
"Come here, my little hard worker," he said taking her in his strong arms.
She held him tightly and sighed. "What work? Nothing got finished! At least tomorrow is another day!"
"There, there, Scarlet. Husband Al does give a damn! I'll run down and pick up Chinese. You go, sit and do nothing!" he said.
Beth nodded, but didn't want to let go of him.
Near midnight, Al stepped into the shower in their bathroom. More than just mold could be seen on the tile since Al could actually wipe it off with his finger. With all of his scientifically training, all Al could call it was "goo". Brown thick pasty goo. Thinking that he'd have the lab guys at work look at the strange substance, he wiped away what he could and turned on the shower. Adjusting the water temperature was second nature to Al. It was nice and warm and then suddenly went dead cold.
"Yeo-wee!" he cried trying to readjust the flow. Nothing he did changed the water temperature. Even turning it off didn't stop it. He was about to jump out when the water changed very quickly to scalding hot. Water that was so hot that the bathroom instantly filled up with steam. Al hopped from the tub his skin now a bright red. The air irritated his now sensitive skin. Al did not find himself physically burned, just emotionally bruised.
In his fright he thought he heard a mournful bit of laughter coming from the walls, but he wasn't sure. Scratching the normal nightly shower he wrapped himself up and went to bed. More of the very low mournful sounds could be heard, though it could have been some coyotes having a festival under the nearly full moon. Al decided to ignore it and turned over to get some badly needed rest.
Dreaming of a tropical paradise, Al was drifting along a sun splashed beach, drinking his favorite tropical alcohol beverage while dozens of sun baked hula girls threw orchid blossoms at him. He continued his pleasant dreamy interlude until he was wakened by a horrifying scream. "ALBERT!" cried out Beth Calavicci who Al found standing at the foot of their bed. She was wearing her midnight housecoat that she used on cold desert nights. Her hands were on her hips and she had not looked that mad except the night he had threatened to reenlist after a spat when he had just returned from Vietnam.
"Ah, Bethy? What's wrong," he said trying to rub his hair and sit up at the same time.
"The tub. Mud or some disgusting substance is backing up from the drain," she said pointing toward the hall bathroom.
"Must be the sewers backing up. I'll call the city building inspector in the morning," he said going to lie down again.
"That is not sewage when it smells like death itself, ALBERT! Our house. Our home is acting like some kind of cheap horror picture!" she said.
"Yea, I kind of noticed that. But how can I deal with the super-duper-natural?" he asked.
"This is Stallion's Gate not Amityville, ALBERT! And I am not going to be driven from MY home! You and I've seen enough of the supernatural hocus-pocus with Sam's leaps," she said trying to stare him down. "What are you going to do about it?"
Al couldn't shake Beth's evil stare. He wanted to close his eyes and forget about it, but he knew unlike the rest of the world he had to deal with his wife. And Beth could be very formidable.
He sat back up and looked at Beth, "I know. I didn't want to admit it, but I'd say our house is possessed."
"And you BETTER do something about it. What if something happened serious to you or me or worse to our daughters or grandchildren? Those weird noises are out to get us! One more night of it and I'll be joining those damn coyotes out on the mesa!" she said nodding toward the nearly full moon.
"And I think I know why. That spirit that I thought the Wells sister took care of had it in for a 19th century guy named Calavicci. Funny ain't it?" he asked.
"No! And he came after you?" asked Beth.
"Over a hundred years of unrequited hate can make you things, but who knows how a ghost thinks? I never really believed in this stuff until Sam started coming across them. And all our problems were having seemed to mirror what was happening in Cyfer's house back in New York in 1970. The only house exorcists I know are the same women we came across twice before. Just a second!" he said holding up his pointing finger.
Al grabbed his portable wrist communicator. "Ziggy?"
"A little early for you, Admiral?" she asked.
"Well, I knew that you'd be up," quipped Al. "Are any of the Wells women still in the ghost business?" asked Al.
"Who you gonna call?" asked Ziggy.
Al hit his communicator too hard. "Don't even say it! I need to find them for a personal haunting consultation."
"No current record of any of the Wells sisters operating a de-house-haunting organization; however Chris Hettinger does operate a strange encounter consulting company in New York City under the name of Wells Investigations," replied Ziggy.
"Sounds promising," said Al. "What's he investigate?"
"Think X-Files!" replied Ziggy. "And Admiral, I would suggest you visit it personally. This isn't like ordering a toaster from Macy's over the Internet."
"Thanks Ziggy. Download the contact info into my inbox and get me a couple of airline tickets to New York. Calavicci out!" he said hitting the off button. "Beth, despite your best instincts why don't you spend a few days with Donna? I don't know how long this is going to take."
"No! This is my house..." she started to say.
Al took her by her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "I know that. I just don't want anything to happen to you. You're more important to me than anyone. I'll be gone a couple of days tops. And then after that, who knows? Go visit with Donna and Stevie. We'll whip this, I promise!" he said holding up one hand.
"All right! But you better get things done fast, Bingo-Bango!" she said lovingly.
Walking through the lower Eastside of New York City, Al found an office building that had seen a hundred years come and go. Going up the creaky stairs, the second door on the right had the name "Wells Investigations" painted on the translucent glass. Inside was a bright and cheery office as a smartly dressed fifty something woman looked up at Al.
"Hi there. May I help you?" she asked.
"Sagebrush?" asked Al as his mouth dropped open.
Her smile turned to a little pout as she lost the twinkle in her eye. "That's me quite a long time ago!"
"And now you're the receptionist?" asked Al scratching the back of his neck.
Sage took a bit of offense from the comment. "No, actually I'm an equal partner. This is just a very SMALL office. Chris Hettinger sits in there. I'm out here. See? Now HOW can I help you?"
Al stood up straight and then asked. "Um, yes. I am familiar with your company. Where are the Wells sisters?"
"Technically and actually they retired from the business long ago. Circa 1962! Mrs. Hettinger's son and I have the franchise. What is your problem? Please provide me with the facts!" she said pulling out a pad of paper.
Al hesitated, shrugged and started on an abbreviated tale of his car accident and the strange behavior of his house in Stallion's Gate, New Mexico.
Sage checked a few references on her computer, did some quick calculations and then announced. "Hmm. Class 2 problem, Albert. Let's go talk to our chief investigator, Mr. Hettinger. Follow me!"
she said ushering into the inner office.
Inside was a young man between thirty and forty sitting with his feet up on his desk reading USA Today wearing an old tan suit and hat with pistol sticking our from under his jacket.
"Hiya chief. This here is Al, Al Calavicci and he has a little class 2 vacating problem," she said throwing a file on his desk.
Chris Hettinger threw down his paper, sat up and inspected the manila folder.
"Thanks, doll. Sit down Al," he said motioning to the only other chair in the sparsely furnished office.
Al looked over at this junior detective and then added. "Didn't I same see this act in Murder, My Sweet? with Dick Powell and Claire Trevor?"
Chris looked up at Al. "We do try to provide our clientele with a bit of film noir atmosphere. Thanks, cookie. That's all," he said motioning toward the door.
Al thumbed at the door. "Isn't that your Aunt Sage there and not Mary Astor?"
"Yea, we run a small operation here," he said glancing up momentarily from his folder.
"Pretty little, I'd say. Is this forties motif just for the customers or is it due to your current budget constraints?" asked Al now lighting up. "Care for one, Bogey?" he asked.
"Thanks, I don't," he replied shaking his head. "I will admit that we haven't been doing too well lately, but our clients are always satisfied. And since we deal with the unusual and unexplainable, I like to give them a bit of hard-fast reality in our office and in our other dealings with them."
"This is reality? You don't fill me with much confidence kid, but your heritage is quite impressive. I've seen your aunts and your own mother in action. Definitely out of the ordinary, but effective," admitted Al as he puffed away. He knew he had to see the originator of all this hooey to get his own problem solved.
"Well, my family thanks you. My mother is long retired from the business. My Aunt Sue was a news photographer who died during a Scud missile attack in Saudi Arabia in 1991. My Aunt CeCe I can talk into helping out occasionally. Well once," he admitted. He would have giving anything to have been involved with them in their golden days.
"I just didn't know that you guys had been discounted so heavily by Wal-Mart. I still need to see the original ghost eliminators. You see I'm sure that my house haunter once occupied your old house up in Poughkeepsie."
"I know the case or spirit if you like. I was just a kid and that was almost forty years ago. Sage get in here," Chris called through the door.
Sage swaggered in moving her hips as if she was pitching on the deck of the Hornet during the '68 typhoon.
Al shook his head trying to get the vision of her motion of her hips and this damn noir narration out of his head. The Bogey atmosphere was starting to get to him.
Even Chris could tell that any extras were lost on Al Calavicci. "Cut the ambiance, Sage. Did Al here mention that he thinks the ghost that Mom got rid of back in …" stuttered Chris as he searched his earliest memories.
Sage interrupted. "Sure 1970. I remember the time, but not the incident. My mind somehow completely erased it. Can you imagine my FIRST ghost? Lost my spiritual virginity then," she said bobbing her head up and down.
Al knew that Sam had occupied her place when it happened and that she was safely in the Waiting Room throughout the entire incident. She couldn't remember it because she wasn't there.
"Well, could I please speak with your mother? If I can't get rid of it then I'll HAVE to move. And there will be NO living with my wife after THAT!" explained Al.
"So it's really Eunice you want to see? All right then I'll see what I can do but I make no promises," said Sage as she picked up the phone.
Al tapped his cigar on the bottom of his shoe still hoping for the best.
The next morning Al got a call from detective Chris even before his alarm went off.
"Hey, Al baby. The mum took the bait. You and I rendezvous at her pad at noontime," he announced.
Al rubbed his hand through his hair and then felt a sour feeling in his stomach. "Look Sam Spade cut the accent and Mickey Spillane dialog. If you meant we have a 12 noon appointment with Mrs. Eunice Hettinger then say so, kid," said Al who was a bit impatient before seven o'clock in the morning.
Silence.
"Christopher?" asked Al.
"Yes, Mr. Calavicci. I apologize for my act, but everyone needs a handle and in my business you have to stand out," explained the dime-novel knockoff artist.
"Noted. I'll meet you in the lobby. Is that satisfactory?" asked Al Calavicci.
"Yes, Mr. Calavicci. I really didn't think that my mother would be interested, but when she heard your name she reluctantly agreed. Do you know why you would hold such a weight with her?" Chris asked his one and only client.
Al pieced his lips together. "That may come out in our meeting. At the moment I would rather not say, kid."
"You're the customer. Ten o'clock in the lobby," he reiterated.
"Yea, ten o'clock. Good morning," he sighed looking over at the clock that read 6:45. Al hung-up and went back to counting his … well that's between Al and his nocturnal accountant. There WAS a big smile on his face.
At noon Al, Chris and his Aunt Sage pulled up to the Hettinger residence on the banks of the majestic Hudson. The house had changed little since Al first saw it over thirty-five years before. The tree covered driveway had thickened and the gardens in the front yard were now quite extensive.
Stepping on the loose stone, Al walked through the same world he had only seen as a holographic projection. This time the wind blew cold around him, the stone made noise under his feet and there was another major difference. Instead of the slightly stale office air, Al smelled the flowers and other flowering plants in the gardens surrounding him.
"Kinda depressing, don't you think?" asked Sage turning up her lip sadly and then shaking her head.
Al disagreed. "Though I'm not into these big houses, I still find them somewhat impressive."
"That's the point. All this room and here is poor Cyfer living alone in this big old drafty house," lamented Sage.
"Aunt Sage. I grew up here, but there is something missing without Dad being here. Lots of memories. This way, Mr. Calavicci," he said ushering Al to the front door. Chris knocked.
After about a minute the door opened and there stood the present day Mrs. Eunice Marie Wells Hettinger. Her hair was barely streaked with grey and the same length as Al remembered from his last encounter with her. Though slightly wrinkled with her almost seventy years, no one who ever knew her would mistake the smile and the twinkle in her eye. Her expression darkened a bit when she seemed to recognize Al.
"Oh my goodness! You must be that Al Calavicci. Please come in. Hello Chris, Sage," she said shaking Al's hand and hugging the other two. "Please excuse my staring. Not very polite I must admit, but I do seem to remember you. Yes, most definitely. And that is why I agreed to meet with you, Mr. Calavicci.," explained Eunice. "Please come into the parlor."
"Mother, this is the living room," said Chris quietly as he followed her with his hands in his pockets feeling much younger in the presence of his mother.
"By tradition this would have been the parlor. The house was built in 1818 by Colonel Thomas Dominic. And was owned by several sea captains into the last century. Please be seated," she said offering Al the large settee.
"She is quite the history buff," Chris said to Al.
She smiled slightly and sat on an old small chair across from the three visitors. "Yes, looking for the odd fact in odd places was one of my pastimes. And along those lines, how may I help you, Mr. Calavicci?" she asked. A slight quiver in her voice did indicate a bit of hesitation on her part.
Al glanced down at his hands not knowing what to do with them without his ever present tobacco stick. He nodded, took one breath and then began. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I or rather my wife and I seem to have a problem with this ghost. Moaning, rattling in the pipes, strange green misty forms floating around the house."
"I see. And why do you think it's a spirit that I would be involved with, Mr. Calavicci?" asked Cyfer tilting her head to the right side.
"Because you ...um... discharged a ghost from here with the same features or characteristics. I...um... read about it in my...um... research," the Admiral said looking Cyfer in the eyes without blinking.
Sage's eyes opened wide. "We never wrote about THAT GHOST! Eunice wanted it hush-hush so that her home wouldn't turn into a stop on the local historical society Halloween tour."
"Yes that's true. You see, Mr. Calavicci, I'm an author. Fiona Feinstein. And since my scary stories are for young readers, I didn't want to become an eccentric living in an honest-to-goodness haunted house," she said.
"Most sensible. Of course there was your earlier work with your sisters. That was with the real thing," suggested Al.
"You and I do see things alike Mr. Calavicci. Imagine if they knew that I was a real ghost hunter. I would never live in peace. And I desire and enjoy my solitude here. With all the interest in the occult with the movies and books, I'd have Goth kids camped out on my lawn all year round," she replied. More than once she had been invaded by an overzealous fan in the thirty years she had lived there.
"Very likely," agreed Al.
"And I really haven't been involved with my son and his aunt in their supernatural cases," said Cyfer. "Peace and tranquility is all I desire. But the reason you peeked my interest was I think we have met at one time."
"I've never really been in this area before," denied Al.
"Yes, I am sure of it. At the time the ghost you mentioned was in the dining room of this very house I know I saw you. It was just before we banished him in March of 1970," she said thinking back.
Chris nodded. "That's right, Mom."
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hettinger, but at that time I was a POW being held in North Vietnam," admitted Al.
"Really?" asked Chris. "It must have been a terrible experience. I feel for you," said Cyfer patting his knee.
"Well that's was a long time ago, Mrs. Hettinger," said Al who really appreciated the sensitivity of this woman.
"But you see, Mr. Calavicci. I am so very sure I saw you because your name was mentioned as was your ancestor's name. Both were involved in the events that preceded the demise of the spirit," explained a confident Cyfer.
"There is no really proof that I am related to this other Calavicci," stated Al. He sincerely hoped that there was no direct bloodline to the banker that this spirit hated so much.
Cyfer leaned closer to Al looking for some logical answers. "How do you know all these unpublished facts if you weren't there? Mr. Calavicci, really. I've never once met the flesh and blood embodiment of one of our ghostly apparitions. You appeared as clear to me as the ghostly Mr. Van Dusen. Even clearer than him for you actually looked human. That is why I have questions and that is why I agreed to help you today."
Sage and Chris looked closely at Al, as he shifted in his seat. "How do I deal Cyfer? Not only has she seen me, but she is determined to find the truth," he said to himself.
Al knew that he couldn't reveal the presence of the project to people who had been so affected by Sam's leaps. Finally he replied, "There may be connection, but I can't elaborate. I'm sorry."
"Skeletons dancing in your family closet?" she asked cutely.
"I wish it was that easy. There are certain things that I can not discuss and that could have far reaching effects on you and others, Mrs. Hettinger," Al tried to explain.
Cyfer looked over at Sage. "This is most distressing. You show up here opening up old mysteries and can't provide the answers to things that I haven't thought about in decades. You are a man full of secrets, Mr. Calavicci. And solving mysteries is my specialty.
Maybe if we help you out you can help me out too!"
"Then you can take my case?" asked Al.
Sage popped in. "Absolutely! May we have complete access to your house to determine if that is the ghost of Erik van Dusen?"
"Of course since we are not even residing there. The house is yours," replied Al.
"Sure thing, buddy," replied Chris in his Bogey imitation.
Cyfer stood up quickly. "Count me in too!"
"Mom?" Chris asked looking more shocked than surprised.
"My dear Mr. Calavicci, I am at your disposal. If we didn't deal with him thirty-five years ago, then we will now. We always guaranteed our work even if we botched the deghostation of my own home," she said looking a bit embarrassed.
"All of us?" asked Sage.
Cyfer nodded.
"I guess Wells Investigations is off to New Mexico!" Sage said gleefully throwing up her hands.
Four days later on a harsh cool desert morning with the sun barely lighting up the horizon, a van marked Wells Investigations pulled up in front of La Casa Calavicci. Out stepped Sage and Christopher. Another car pulled up bearing a US Government license plate with Sammy Jo Fulton at the wheel. Al, Beth and Cyfer Wells got out of the car.
While Chris was unloading their equipment, Sammy Jo was the first to approach the house. The normally cheerful home kept by Beth Calavicci for her friends, children and grandchildren took on a certain urban eeriness like the spooky house owned by the local eccentric that scared young children. No lights shone from any of the windows though the sound of a loose shutter could be heard banging against the side of the house. Loose leaves and dead plant growth blew across the once neat yard making the house look long deserted.
Sammy Jo was fascinated by the supernatural possibilities within the house while the eeriness of HER house made Beth Calavicci's blood run cold.
Sammy Jo went straight for the front door when Sage called her back. "Wait! We want to scan the house before any human heat or energy radiates inside," Sagebrush called out waving her hands a bit too wildly.
"Really? How?" Sammy Jo asked as her scientific mind ran through the multiple possibilities. Cyfer's ears also perked up because she had been away from the hunt for a LONG time.
"Trade secrets," shot back Chris quickly.
"Chris," replied Cyfer. "These nice people have asked a question and in fact I am more than a bit curious myself."
Sage opened up a big plastic storage container and pulled out a set of goggles. "Remember what happened to a certain cat. But hey, we're family here and you guys seem to be in tune to all this scientific mumbo-jumbo."
Sammy Jo looked a bit peeved as did Cyfer standing right next to her. "My doctorate is in quantum physics and not metaphysics, but I have seen some very strange things in my work..."
"Amen!" shouted out Brother Albert Calavicci.
"...and I would be interested in the type of scanning you do in a project such as this. I also work with our sensors systems especially when we need to adjust our scanning capability to verify the signatures we use all the frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum."
"Sammy JO!" cried out Al.
"The horse is still locked up in the barn, Mother Al," she replied a bit whimsically.
Sage tossed her hair to one side. "What the hell! When it comes to science I'd say we're closer to finding aliens at Roswell rather than some university research center. It's not rocket science. We're checking the infrared and ultraviolet light bands," she said pulling out another goggle set.
Cyfer put her hand on her face. "Really? That's how we started out with Sue. Bless her heart. Only it took all afternoon to develop her photographs. And we only did it in the heat related side," said Piper as her mind waxed nostalgically.
"Infrared. And we do it in real-time," she said snapping on the goggles. "Chris, here are your UV specs."
"Roger that! I'll go around back and check the parameter," he called out as he ran around the house.
"Front of the house clear! Running around the side," he called out from afar.
Al looked impressed at the busy Sage. "She is really into this ghost business a lot more than when you started."
"You bet your buttress. When Sage grabbed onto something she didn't quit till she get's it right! And how would you know what we were like decades ago unless you WERE there?" asked Cyfer as she put her hands on her hips.
Beth looked at Al who was a bit uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot and puffing rather quickly on his cigar.
"My dear little ghost hunter…" started Al.
"Ex-ghost hunter. I merely have an interest in YOUR case," she said a bit miffed.
Al started again. "I cannot divulge my sources which I might add are classified."
A strange look came over Cyfer's face. "A top secret ghost? That is new one and I thought I'd heard it all. Maybe the government is hiding supernatural things from us average citizens. Area 51. Hanger 18. Some other urban legend? Maybe? Um?"
Beth broke in. "Many of our own experiences have been shall I say been quite unique and through our work we came across that ... that... thing that is ruining OUR house." She stopped to catch her breath as Al held her tightly.
"I will tell you what I can about the devil mist just not where the 411 came from, Cyfer. Let me assure you that our information is correct," said Al looking like his high school physics teacher.
"All right. I dug through my files on the history of my house and found my notes on that ghost we used way back in '70. (Which to Al was only last week).The royal pain goblin is named Erik Van Dusen, a sea captain and ship owner in the middle of the nineteenth century. After a bad experience with his partner and financier, Rufus Calavicci, he died a broken man not long thereafter. Most spooks who do hang around have unfinished business here and sometimes, though rarely, we helped them finish it up and then they left on their own accord."
"Ghosts with unresolved conflicts? Bena would have a field day helping them out," mused Beth wondering how you psychologically help a floating apparition.
"Done that a bit myself with Chris here. Spirits are funny that way. No tissues, lots of issues," quipped Sage.
"Ah yea," broke in Cyfer. "Now is Rufus somewhere in your genetic makeup Mr. Calavicci?"
"I've been looking into it and I can't trace him in our family. I believe my grandfather Calavicci came into this country in the 1880's, but I'm not for certain since I was orphaned at an early age. And who knows if he had a brother or someone else already living here."
Sage asked, "Good point. But if you're an orphan, how do you even know?"
"I was left at an orphanage by my parents, but I did have some contact with my family over the years. I had a sister, a couple of uncles, but no current living relatives or their offspring. What about tracing him up to the present?" asked Al.
"Again, no known offspring. But that doesn't mean he can't have a many times removed cousin or a many times great-uncle. And the last of his business concerns went belly up during the Great Depression," said Cyfer going over her old handwritten notes.
"The outside of the house is clean," explained Chris Hettinger. "No sign that he was there recently. Now we go inside, but not all of us," he said indicating the other interested parties.
"So who's on the away mission Captain Kirk?" asked Cyfer cocking her head to one side.
"Sage and me. We don't want to spook him," quickly replied Chris.
"Too late for that, Chris," she said holding back a smile.
Sage jumped in. "Ha! Chris and I have done this many times. If we can't find him hovering around somewhere..."
"Check the drainpipes," broke in Cyfer.
"Right! If he's not anywhere visible then we can all go in to look for him or signs of him or just hang around unto he shows," said Sage explaining their standard modus operendi.
"That could take a while. The Wendell spirit in ArboroCastle in the Thousand Islands only manifested itself once every full moon,"
said Cyfer cutely.
"This guy was there almost every hour on the hour, Ms. Hettinger," said Al. "Thank the Lord."
"Rattling his bones or chains or pipes and scaring the life out of us. All because we have the name Calavicci!" lamented Beth. Even though she wanted the spirit eradicated, being with all these people who dealt them on an everyday basis gave her the creeps.
"A fine name I've always been proud of," retorted Al. "Though I guess in this case it did get us into trouble."
"Then if this house checks out, we'll all take positions and try and find the spook," explained Sage as she flipped down her infrared goggles.
"Cool!" admitted Sammy Jo who had been looking for a diversion from tracking quantum particles and the whereabouts of a daughter in the midst of her Terrible Twos.
Chris and Sage both adjusted their goggles and stepped into the house. Without flipping on the overhead lights they stepped into the living room of La Casa Calavicci. In their red or blue tinted views of the room it appeared well lived in with magazines scattered about the furniture and the two comfortable chairs pulled into the middle of the room to view the large screen television.
Sage started to move around cautiously until she saw a row of books from the second shelf of the open bookcase. The entire row had been thrown from the shelf but landed in a neat row on the floor.
Nearby on the end table next to the television, all of the knick-knacks were scattered about on the table or on the floor next to the table. She pointed to both disturbances as Chris silently nodded.
Behind the table were some dark marks that would have appeared in their natural brown color without the goggles. Chris picked out a small clear box. He reached over, scraped a sample of the strange goo off the wall and then snapped the box shut. With thumbs up they proceeded.
Off to the left went Sage and to the right went her pseudo-nephew. While the living room was fairly neat, the kitchen had either been hastily vacated or thoroughly trashed by a mischievous and vengeful entity. Cupboards were emptied, food from the refrigerator was scattered on the floor, chairs were upended and the kitchen table had been cleaned off with one copious swipe. Picking their way through the mess, the destruction seemed to center around the kitchen sink located under the normally big friendly window.
Chris looked down into the messy sink bottom. "Aha. Some more of that brown goo."
"Yep. It's been playtime in the spirit world," she whispered. "He's not here now."
"Next room!" Chris said motioning to the door. In the dining room and family room, like the kitchen they found some items thrown about and a bit of bleeding through the walls, but no sign of anarchy. The main bathroom was in disarray, but fared better than the kitchen. In the spare bedrooms or the children's bedrooms everything had barely been touched. Where the Calavicci's slept and especially their bathroom had been trashed as only a drugged-up psycho could. Drawers were upended and dumped, bedclothes were thrown across the room, pictures and knickknacks were thrown on the floor and the outside wall looked like remains of the international tobacco spitting contest. Inside the small bathroom even the walls and ceiling had been pulled down. Plaster covered everything that had been thrown onto the floor. Brown goo had spread everywhere. The room smelled of mold, dampness and death.
"My word! I've never seen such a mess from something that was so long dead!" exclaimed Sage. "Most of our spirits are beguine or at worse mischievous."
"I would say that he took out decades of frustration on poor Mr. Calavicci. I still don't see a trace of him. He certainly didn't get tired," lamented Chris shaking his head looking at the remains of the bathroom.
"Some of those drifting cloud thingies still have a good dose of human impatience," commented Sage.
Chris agreed. "And one long memory for grudges. We still have to figure out how to give this spook the boot for good. And save poor Mr. Calavicci."
Sage kicked at the mess in the bathroom and sneered, "I'd say his wife has a few thousand things to say about that too! Turn on all the lights and cautiously break the news to our clients."
"Not the best term, Aunty!" he said talking off his goggles and heading toward the backdoor.
From the outside Al stood holding tightly onto Beth. Through the windows they could see the green and violet lights shining from the vision devices. No strange sounds came from the house. Outside they could hear the usual morning neighborhood sounds AND the beating of their hearts.
Cyfer bit her lip as her own son and her best friend stepped into an unknown situation in an unknown town far away from the familiar.
None of her strangest novels ever gave her the fright or the anticipation that this little scenario did.
A lone figure appeared from around the edge of La Casa Calavicci.
"Coast is clear!" called out Chris. "We can proceed inside."
Beth and Al let out simultaneous sighs of relief.
"Your bedroom and bathroom are pretty trashed though!" admitted Chris.
Al narrowed his eyes looking rather mad while Beth held her breath letting out a small sigh. She took Al's hand tightly and they proceeded inside followed by Sammy Jo and Cyfer.
The kitchen startled Beth, though it didn't worry her too much knowing the worst was coming.
Sammy Jo picked up the chairs and closed the refrigerator door. She approached the sink and then stuck her finger in the brown muck, sniffed it and looked at it very closely.
"Definitely biological in origin. Some sulfur, benzene and mud?" she remarked looking perplexed. "In my lab we can look do a spectral ..."
"Later, dear. My, you're the analytical one," Cyfer said pushing her through the door. "Let's keep moving."
"It's in my genes," Sammy Jo remarked as they heard a gasp and tears from Beth Calavicci.
"MY GOD!" exclaimed Sammy Jo looking at their bedroom.
"Good gracious!" sighed Cyfer. "I have never seen such results from a ghost. Moving things around, displacing some objects, but never in my life did I see such anger released."
"No! My Grandmother O'Dwyer's jewelry box," gasped Beth as she picked up the pieces of the only remembrance she had of her.
"We'll get it fixed, Beth," said Al quietly. "I promise. Along with the rest of the house. Jeez!" he said surveying the damage. "Um, don't look in the bathroom!"
All eyes immediately turned on the next room as the water pipes began to creak and shiver and rattle. An eerie green glow came from the doorway as a misty presence hovered pulsating with energy and then moved toward them.
"Sage get a shot!" called out Chris.
Everyone backed up and took a safer position against the nearest wall. Sammy Jo found herself in the corner with Cyfer. Al and Beth crouched next to her dresser as Sage straightened up and approached the entity as it hovered in the middle of the room.
The same green glowing semi-transparent mass that Al had seen in the Imaging Chamber now hovered near his ceiling.
Sage got her picture as Chris watched it through his infrared goggles.
"Strange shapes and colors. No known composition. It seems to appear and disappears like...I don't know. Like space around it is waving or bending," Chris said throwing out some kind of "sci fi" explanation.
"You almost think that space was warping," replied Sammy Jo looking at the entity. "Fascinating!"
Chris took another cautious step toward it. "It's like I'm looking through a complex funhouse mirror. But even those mirrors keep changing shape. Very weird."
"Then that ghost isn't completely in this dimension. He's wavering between our reality and some other place, time or ethereal existence," suggested Sammy Jo.
"Heaven, hell? That's awfully spiritual for your scientific mind, Sammy Jo," said Al looking at her only for a moment and then back at the thing.
"Motherhood and childbirth give you a look at the bigger picture. Life and immortality, you know," Sammy Jo said as she took a couple of steps toward it.
Cyfer looked on impressed. "We could have used you years ago, Doctor Fulton."
The spook reacted to Sammy Jo's motion as it moved closer to Al and Beth.
"Stay away from me, you crazy Casper! I never did anything to you," called out Al. "Leave us along you creature from the other side. I've seen enough of your kind!" he called out pushing Beth down and then waving his arms at the ghost trying to get him to leave. The object came closer and closer as Al literally sat on Beth to protect her. She tried to pull him away, but Al stood up rocking on his heels trying to bat at it like it was a swarm of mayflies. "Back! Out! Now! Leave us alone, you... you... overgrown reject from a B horror flick! You demon from hell…" he cried out in pain. The entity grabbed or rather descended over Al's arms encasing it in the light green mist.
Strange sensations Al ran up and down his arms. Neither pain nor heat nor pressure, but more like every nerve of his arms tingled with sensitivity. Al waved them as if they were on fire.
"Albert!" called out Beth who could not help him out since she was trapped underneath him. The green specter went from a clear green to a darker uglier shade, became less transparent and began to sparkle. The lights in the room flickered off and on as a chorus of gravel voiced hellhounds could be heard emanating from the formless entity.
Chris and Sammy Jo raced across the room grabbed Al only to be thrown back by the ghost. They landed in a heap on the plush carpet.
Al cried out for Beth to get away.
She pushed Al away from the wall, stood up and grabbed him around the waist. Chris came from behind and then pushed Al from the room with Beth. When they stumbled through the door the thing let loose and stayed in the bedroom as Cyfer and Sammy Jo ducked under it and ran from the house.
Outside Al collapsed on the ground. His breathing was ragged, but he quickly recovered. "Damn that thing!" he said grabbing on tightly to his beloved wife. "You know, it almost felt like half of me was going to leap! That's when all of your senses go wacko!" he said shaking his head and looking shocked.
"Leap?" asked Cyfer. "Never heard that reaction before! What are you talking about?"
Sammy Jo looked at the dazed Al and then did a nervous Beckett-like laugh and recovery. "Leap. You know, jump. He felt like part of his body was going to jump off the other part of his body."
"Is that right, Mr. Calavicci?" asked Sage intently.
"Yea. No. What?" asked Al.
"We're taking you back to Donna's or to the hospital. No physical damage that I can see. It's all psychosomatic!" said a determined Beth as she helped him up.
"Or just plain psychic!" retorted Sage.
Cyfer thought for a moment. "Interesting that you say that. I've never seen as vicious a spook before. We really need to know what he wants!"
"MY HUSBAND!" yelled Beth. "That is terribly obvious even to me!"
Chris nodded. "Very true. He hid himself until Mr. C showed up. We'll protect you!"
"And we will, but that's not the long term problem. What are this wacko ghost's motives? Why here and now? How did he get here? And HOW can we push his astral butt into the next dimension?" said Cyfer very passionately.
"Now that's the Cyfer I remember!" explained Sage.
"And to answer that question we need a spiritual means of communication. A telephone operator to the other side!" she said holding up a finger.
"CeCe!" exclaimed Cyfer and Sage together.