Deadly Curiosities (3 page)

“But the movies won out, didn’t they,” I said.

“For a while,” Teag replied. “It closed in the 1970s, and it was empty for a long time. The local arts community managed to keep it from being torn down. Some well-heeled investors finally put the Academy back in business.”

Those investors must have had pretty high heels and deep pockets, I thought, looking around at the opulent decor. Every detail had been lovingly restored, a nod to an era that believed too much was never enough.

“We’re in the Grand Tier,” Teag reminded me as we climbed the sweeping marble steps. Even the railing was an ornate masterpiece, and each step seemed to bring us closer to the huge, sparkling crystal chandelier that was the centerpiece of the lobby. “So we should have a great view of the stage as well as the theater itself.”

We found our seats. The view was amazing. Once we were settled, I pulled the opera glasses from my purse. The mother-of-pearl inlay glistened in the lights. The opera glasses consisted of a petite set of adjustable magnifying lenses on a single inlaid vertical handle. I could hold the lenses up to my eyes with the handle like a carnival mask, without having to take a two-handed grip like a crazed bird-watcher. It all felt very glamorous in an old-fashioned movie-star kind of way.

Yet as I touched the opera glasses, I felt something that had not been present in the store; I felt uneasy, as if something were about to happen.

“Are you getting any vibes from this place?” I asked.

Teag was trying to eavesdrop on the couple sitting in the row ahead of us. My comment startled him.

“Vibes? Just awe in the presence of this much bling,” he replied.

I had to agree, the Academy reminded me of a wealthy woman who had decided to wear her entire diamond collection – and perhaps all of Tiffany’s – at the same time. But I didn’t think the feeling I was getting from the opera glasses was a fashion statement.

I lifted the glasses to my eyes, and looked around the theater. No one was on stage yet, but with the lenses, I felt as if I were right in the footlights. Something moved off to the side, but when I turned my head, I saw no one. I continued to pan the theater, spying on the people in the box seats, admiring the outfits and jewelry of other theater-goers. From somewhere, I heard a child crying. I froze. It wasn’t the sound of a baby fussing or a testy toddler. The sound was faint, but it was a howl of fear and anguish that made my blood run cold.

“Cassidy, are you okay?” Teag looked at me anxiously.

“Did you hear that?” I struggled to keep my voice down.

“Hear what?” Teag’s expression was sincerely confused.

“I swear I just heard a child screaming for his life, and before that, I thought I saw a black shadow to the side of the stage.”

Teag shook his head. “I’ve been staring at the stage for the last several minutes, and I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anyone screaming, either.” I must have looked unconvinced. “Look around, Cassidy. If a child were screaming bloody murder, don’t you think people would be restless, trying to figure out what was going on?”

The other patrons were engrossed in conversation or studying their programs. I eyed the opera glasses with suspicion and a little trepidation. “I’m beginning to get an idea of what Trinket saw,” I murmured.

The orchestra was just warming up. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts float free. Now, as I sat in my comfortable velvet seat, I began to get snippets of images that seemed utterly out of place.

A pirate. Dancing girls. The old woman who lived in a shoe. I shook my head, wondering where the images were coming from, but more flickered in my mind. I saw a building that looked like a Greek temple on the outside, and a lavish Victorian palace on the inside. On a busy street, snow lay banked along the sidewalk, and I shivered as if a gust of winter wind had suddenly swept past me.

“It’s starting,” Teag murmured, jostling me out of my vision. Shaken by what I had seen, I was glad to be brought back to the present. I opened my eyes, and for an instant, the Academy Theater I had entered was gone. I saw a stage set with scenery like a castle, and heard the faint strains of a waltz played by an orchestra. In front of me were a row of women in fancy velvet and silk shawls and men in dark coats with stiff white collars. I glanced down at my lap and saw the opera glasses as well as the long satin sleeves and full skirt of my dress, my high-button shoes just peaking their toes from beneath the hem.

I blinked my eyes and everything was as it should be. Gone were the castle sets, the old-fashioned clothing and winter wraps, and the waltz. My pastel cotton sundress was as cheery as ever, my arms were bare and my hem ended above my knees. I resisted the urge to bolt from my seat, and tried to stop shaking by taking several deep breaths.

“Cassidy?” Teag’s voice was a low stage whisper. “What’s going on?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know yet, but I have the feeling I’m going to find out.”

I tried to regain my composure. The opera glasses remained on top of my evening purse, not touching my skin. On stage, the classic play unfolded just as I remembered from high school. The audience loved it, but I couldn’t shake a growing sense of doom.

The brightly lit exit signs caught my attention. They suddenly seemed far away. Panic tightened in my chest.
How long would it take to reach the doors?
I wondered.
Could I climb over the seats if I had to?
What about all the children in the aisles?
Children in the aisles?
I thought, shaking myself out of my reverie. The aisles were empty.

Teag was watching me with a worried expression. The woman on the other side of me glanced away quickly when I looked in her direction. She was probably wondering if I had forgotten to take my medication.

I let out a long sigh and got up the courage to lift the opera glasses once more. At first, the binoculars gave me a bird’s eye view of the play we’d come to see. But the longer I watched, the more often I caught glimpses of shadows crossing the stage. I was about to put the opera glasses down when a spark of light near the catwalk caught my eye.

I peered through the glasses, scanning the rigging that moved the scenery. A light flared, then disappeared. A few seconds later, I saw it again. Was that a flame? Before I could grab for Teag’s arm, a new onslaught of images overwhelmed me.

Fire billowed above the stage. Voices began to shout and the people around me pointed toward the curtain, which had now burst into flames. A man on stage shouted for us to remain calm and begged the orchestra to keep on playing, but people were already climbing out of their seats, running toward the doors. Doors? Where were the doors? I grabbed my son’s hand, dragging him over the seat in front of us, as he cried and whimpered, knowing we had just a few moments before the smoke made escape impossible.
Smoke filled the theater. The lights went out. Nothing but darkness and flame. I held tight to my son’s hand, and pushed toward where I had seen a door. I’d never felt a press of bodies like this, and I gathered my son into my arms, knowing that if we fell we would be trampled. An elbow caught me in the ribs, but I kept on, maneuvering into the places between people where there was a little space. I could hear shrieks behind us, and it felt as if an ocean wave was building, set to carry us out or roll us under.
The doors gave way and cold winter air hit us. We stumbled out into the snow, pushed from behind. I was gulping in great lungfuls of cold winter air but everything still smelled like smoke…

“Cassidy? Cassidy!” I could hear Teag’s voice from a distance, but I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to answer. I was shaking from remembered cold, from a long-dead woman’s mortal terror, and from grief, because I knew in my heart that so many of those in the vision had not made it out alive. “Does she have seizures like this often?” A stranger’s voice was matter-of-fact.

“Sometimes she forgets her pills,” Teag replied in a confidential tone. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m sorry for the disruption.”

“Maybe we’d better take her to the hospital, check her over,” the stranger, a security guard, said. I was coming back to myself, and embarrassment replaced terror. I had a vague idea of what must have happened, and if I was right, I’d probably never be able to show my face in this theater again.

“Really, she’ll be fine,” Teag protested. “Just let me get her home, let her get some rest, and she’ll be better by morning.”

“I’m fine,” I managed groggily. “Really.”

Teag and the guard helped me to my feet, one man under each arm. The patrons next to me had already vacated their seats, giving me one more reason to want to sink into the earth and disappear.

“Keep your head down and lean on us,” Teag whispered. “That way fewer people can see your face and people will feel sorry for you because you’re sick.”

I groaned, but kept my face averted and let my rescuers half-carry me to the lobby.

“If you change your mind about the ambulance –” the guard said.

“She’s going to be fine,” Teag said, with his friendliest puppy-dog grin. “Her color is coming back already. I can get her out to the car from here. Thank you so much.”

The guard grunted something I didn’t quite catch, then retreated. Teag scooped an arm under my shoulders and helped me stand, then steered me toward the ladies room.

There was a lounge area in the rest room, and I sat for a few minutes to catch my breath, then went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders as I walked out to the lobby. Teag was waiting by the door.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, leading me toward the side entrance, into the alley. “I’ll tell you all about it in the car.” By the time we reached the outside, I had my wits about me once more. We walked the few blocks to his car in silence.

I waited until we had paid the attendant and Teag had pulled out onto the street before I spoke. “Did I –”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” I said defensively.

Teag rolled his eyes. “You had a full-blown vision, right during the second act. You started shaking, and you pointed toward the top of the stage. If I hadn’t clapped my hand over your mouth, I’m betting you would have yelled ‘fire!’ in a crowded theater, which would have gotten you – and probably me – thrown into jail.” He shook his left hand. “As it was, you bit me.”

“Really?”

He turned his palm so I could see it and sure enough, teeth marks were already causing a vivid bruise. I felt my cheeks get hot. “I’m so sorry.”

“It beat spending the night in lock-up,” Teag replied. I could tell from his voice that he was more concerned than angry.

I told him about the vision. Teag had seen enough of my talent to know that I didn't make this stuff up.

At the moment, I was seriously re-thinking my chosen line of work.

“You saw the theater catch on fire,” Teag repeated. “Somewhere it snowed, so it was winter.”

“It was around the holidays,” I said, then stopped. “I’m not sure how I know that, but it’s true. Just before or after Christmas.” I searched my memories. “Some of the performers were in holiday outfits.”

“Did you see anything else?”

I recounted the images I had glimpsed before the vision overwhelmed me. Teag frowned. “A pirate? At a holiday play?”

I shrugged. “It didn’t make sense to me, either. And I kept hearing a waltz.” I shook my head. “Do you have any ideas?” “Trinket said the opera glasses came from her great-grandmother, who came from the North, right?”

“Right,” I replied.

“Okay, so if Trinket is seventy, her great-grandparents might have been born around 1880 or so, give or take a few years,” Teag said.

“Sounds about right.” I thought for a moment. “The woman in the vision had a small child with her, and I had the distinct feeling that I was seeing her thoughts, not the boy’s,” I said, trying to focus on my memory of the images. “I’m guessing from the clothing that whatever it was happened right around 1900.” I looked over at Teag. “Where are the opera glasses?”

“They’re in my pocket,” he said. “And no, I’m not giving them back to you today.”

“Fine with me.”

We pulled up in front of my house, and Teag parked by the curb. I was recovered enough to walk up to the piazza by myself and let us in. As with most Charleston single houses, side of the house faces the street and so the door opens into the piazza, not the main house. The real front door looks out onto a little private garden enclosed by a brick wall with a wrought-iron gate.

We walked into the house, letting the air conditioning revive us, and Baxter skittered up to greet us, dancing on his hind feet until I picked him up to nuzzle him. Once I had said hello, Baxter insisted on being handed off to Teag for acknowledgement, and then wiggled to be put down.

“Would you like a soda?” I asked, resolved to be polite although I was beginning to feel the aftereffects of the visions.

Teag rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can find the fridge. Go sit down. I’ll get something for both of us.”

Relieved, I collapsed onto the couch, and Baxter pranced beside me until I picked him up. He settled on my lap, and I leaned back against the cushions and closed my eyes. A few moments later, Teag returned with two sodas.

“Mind if I switch on your laptop?” he asked. “Go ahead. You’re just lucky I brought it back from the store.”

Teag powered up the computer. “All right, let’s see what we can find,” he said. He actually sounded excited about tracking down what I had seen. “Let’s start with famous theater fires,” he mused, typing the information into the search bar.

I stroked Baxter’s silky fur and tried to relax, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of the vision. Although I knew it was only my imagination, the smell of smoke lingered, not the pleasant smell of a campfire, but the acrid smoke of burning fabric, and a faint scent of burning meat. I tried hard not to think about that. My stomach twisted.

“Anything?” I asked to get my mind off the memories.

“There’s a pretty long list,” Teag replied, “but if you’re right about the time period, that narrows it down some.”