Chapter Six

Atlanta

When Madame Dobrescu, a fat medium, slumped forward on her chair, rivulets of sweat ran down the sides of her flabby face, dripped from her nose, and formed a puddle on the polished oak floor. No wonder, the crowded room was stifling.

Summers in Atlanta often became oppressively hot, and this evening’s thundershower only increased the humidity. The draped windows and the backdrop of black curtains behind the medium made things worse—no air circulated.

Seated men and women filled the room, anxious to see what would happen next. They were overdressed for the heat, but at a society affair, one needed to maintain certain pretensions. Their shiny faces and drooping hairdos indicated the price they paid in addition to the admission.

In the front row, Annabelle Douglas and Sarah Bradbury fanned themselves with their programs. Within the folds of the makeshift fans, the text promised, an extraordinary exhibition of supernatural power by Madame Dobrescu!

Sarah only had limited ability to foresee events; nonetheless, she felt tonight would be a very different show. She also sensed she would find the man who haunted her sleep—someone who might save her life. That aspect alone convinced Professor James to pay for the trip and allow Annabelle and Edgar to accompany her. But Sarah could only provide his name, a vague description, and the sense he would be here tonight.

Sarah, Annabelle, and Edgar arrived early. A black servant ushered the two women to the front row, but he insisted Edgar stand in the rear, although empty chairs filled the room.

“So much for Southern hospitality,” Sarah said.

Annabelle hushed her.

This sort of thing rankled Sarah, but she also knew he could have been banned from the place altogether.

In the ensuing half-hour, the room filled with patrons. Relegated to the rear, Edgar positioned himself near the double doors and queried each man who entered.

None answered to Nigel Pickford.

Well-dressed men and women now filled the dimly-lit room, watching. Those seated in the back craned their necks to see. Despite the sweltering heat, no one complained. Discomfort seemed a small inconvenience in order to communicate with the beyond.

Behind the medium stood a tall mahogany cupboard. Sarah leaned over to Annabelle and whispered, “That’s where she keeps her best china for when the ghosts come to tea.”

Annabelle motioned for her to be quiet, but smiled nonetheless.

Sarah stopped her flippancy and sat back with a start when the medium’s rotund head came up to stare at the audience. The woman’s eyes glowed green.

Several women in the audience gasped and even men made low utterances of surprise.

The medium’s arms rose before her as electricity danced between the palms of her hands. She stood and raised her charged hands above her head, then threw her arms wide.

The room erupted in a flash of light with a deafening boom.

The medium collapsed back onto the chair as a green spectral girl formed in the mist floating above her head.

“Momma!” the girl wailed. “Help me, Momma. It hurts!”

A bejeweled woman in black, three chairs to Sarah’s right, jumped to her feet. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s her,” she cried. “Oh, God, it’s Mary!”

Standing, a bald man put a protective arm around the sobbing woman. The man looked up at the specter and then at the medium. His thick eyebrows knit together as he squeezed his eyes shut and fought back tears of his own. “We’ll pay whatever you ask. Just give our daughter peace!”

A faint smile passed over the medium’s lips.

Without warning, the entry doors behind the audience burst open like the gates of Hell. A demonic figure in dark rags stormed into the room, screaming.