Ghostwriting (27 page)

Once the unpleasantness was over, Karita noted from her reflection in the mirror that she was still dressed in the clothes that she'd worn to the gallery. She tried to remember getting home last night, but the brain strain made her feel queasy again. The last thing she remembered was drinking in the limo. The thought of booze was enough — she was sick again.

‘So,' Karita indignantly pulled herself up from driving the porcelain bus, ‘this is how it feels to be a millionaire.'

I'm sorry.
Tristan considered his get-rich scheme for Karita had backfired rather badly, and instead of making her happy, as he'd wished, he'd placed her in grave danger.
I suspect you were drugged.

‘Karita?'

Oh, my God!
The distinctive accent of Preston Molay was enough to send Karita into another mild panic.

‘Miss Torelle! Are you all right?' He sounded concerned, so she thought she ought to answer him.

‘I'll be right out, Preston!' They had got to a first name basis by the end of the evening.

‘Gee, I like what you've done with your place,' he commented in a far calmer tone.

‘You like it?' Karita desperately scrubbed her face clean. ‘It's called post-espionage.' She splashed her face with cool water and reached for the towel and her toothbrush.

‘What got stolen?'

Karita scrubbed furiously and spat. ‘Nothing that I can see.' She rinsed her mouth, wiped her face and grabbed for her bathrobe.

‘I told you I should have come in last night,' he stated, playfully.

Thank God you didn't.
Karita assumed he'd dropped her at the door, and was thankful not to have to ask how the evening had concluded.

‘No witty retort?' Preston pressed.

Karita emerged from her bathroom tying on her robe. ‘But you see, you would have had nowhere to hang your hat, as it were,' she joked, referring to the mess around them.

‘I never bother with hats.' He grinned and Karita considered that he was far too handsome to contend with this early in the day.

‘Shouldn't you have a hangover or something?' She protested at his witty mood. ‘You drank just as much as I did.' Karita headed for the kitchen to make coffee.

Preston followed. ‘So why would someone ransack your place if they didn't steal anything?'

‘Oh, I know who did it,' Karita announced in an agitated tone as she found the kettle, filled it with water and plugged it in. ‘This creep of a guy that came calling yesterday … Logan de Scott.'

‘De Scott?' Preston's interest was immediately struck. ‘Any relation to the Tristan de Scott who once owned this property?'

‘What is it … advertised somewhere?' Karita realised her cups were smashed all over the floor.

‘No, no.' Preston attempted to set her at ease on that count. ‘His was just a very special case in Masonic circles.'

She sighed, resigned to the fact that a cup of coffee would not be forthcoming, and grabbed her opportunity to ask, ‘And you move in such circles?'

‘I move through many circles,' he grinned, ‘and there are circles within circles, believe me.'

‘And all these … circles, are interested in finding a certain text that they suspect Tristan de Scott was referencing.' Karita stunned Preston with the comment, so much so that she felt suddenly wary of him. ‘The same text that they suspect
I
am referencing.' Her anger overcame her fear when she realised that Preston was probably only seducing her to find out if the lost texts existed. ‘Please leave,' Karita demanded, taking a step away from him.

‘I know what you're thinking and it couldn't be further from the truth.' He was so calm it was infuriating.

‘I have to call the police anyway.' Karita reached for her wall phone, to find it was no longer on the wall.

‘Of course, you'll have to find the phone first,' Preston commented timidly, to break the tension, and Karita began to laugh and then cry. This whole situation was absurd!

‘Look …' Preston took her hands and suggested, ‘Why don't you come out to my car and I'll make you a cup of tea?'

Karita looked into his eyes. He seemed so sincere, but deep down in her gut she knew that she only wanted to believe him because he'd just written her a cheque for in excess of a million dollars. She slipped her hands from his grasp and stepped away. ‘Thanks all the same, but I'll pass.'

Preston appeared to be perturbed that his charm wasn't working. ‘You're in grave danger, Karita. You have to let me help you. I know things you don't.'

She was shocked by the claim, but resolved not to give in to her fear. ‘Such as?' Karita folded her arms, delighted to have put him on the spot.

‘Well I could start by explaining the rest of your painting to you,' he suggested.

Karita pondered her decision long and hard. ‘All right, I'll let you make me a cup of
coffee
. But you can bring it to me inside my house.'

‘Not a problem,' he agreed, sporting a large smile of relief.

 

Tristan didn't like the American sitting so close to Karita, sipping coffee as they huddled to view a postcard-sized reproduction of her painting ‘The Lost Word'.

‘So, impress me.' Karita prompted Preston to get on with it and stop flirting with her.

Yes,
do
get on with it,
Tristan whispered in the visitor's ear, wishing that he could make the intruder hear him. But he could not.

Karita only heard Tristan because she was open to such possibilities and more so when she was asleep. By day she was too distracted, but at night Tristan had Karita all to himself. There was only one way to make himself heard in the material world and that was to possess a physical body. Tristan knew this was very draining on a physical form, especially if the person who owned the body was not psychically adept.

‘The beautiful celestial building beyond the pillars of your picture is the House of the Holy Spirits,' Preston began.

‘Spirits plural?' Karita clarified that it wasn't a slip of the tongue.

‘Yes. You see, it is believed that the true Rosicrucian Order consisted of a number of adepts who were no longer subject to the laws of humanity.'

‘The Rosicrucian order?' Karita cocked an eyebrow. ‘They were connected to the Knights Templar, weren't they?'

‘Sort of,' Preston frowned, ‘but much Masonic doctrine was drawn from theirs.'

‘I'm seeing the connection now.' Karita gestured for Preston to continue.

‘These adepts,' he started awkwardly, feeling that she wasn't taking him very seriously, ‘were considered to be superhuman and their temple existed in the spirit realm.'

‘And, let me guess,' Karita preempted the punchline. ‘These guys guard the triangular plate of gold on which is inscribed the secret word of creation.'

‘Perhaps,' Preston commented as if he had not considered that before.

‘So what does the solid, decorative altar-like stone in the etheric building represent?'

‘Masonic lodges lay cornerstones in new buildings. It is the first stone placed when the foundations are laid. You'll note the marker is in the northeast corner, midway between darkness in the north,' he pointed to the night sky at the top of her painting and then moved his finger to the right to point to the sunrise, ‘and the light in the east. This represents the place of non-judgement and union with a divine perspective.'

Not bad!
Tristan was impressed.
Still, you'll never figure the connection to this house.

Karita was staring at the tiny reproduction of her painting, unsure as to whether to believe Preston's account of what it meant. Then she noted how the tiny glyphs on her two pillars made them appear pitted when reduced to this size.
Pitted!
She had a sudden vision of the chimney stacks on the top of the house that she'd just had cleaned and tried not to gulp at her realisation.

‘Is something the matter?' Preston queried, seeing clearly that something had clicked in her brain.

‘No,' Karita smiled to curb her silent panic, ‘but I am wondering why you are telling me this. I don't know anything about these secret texts you're looking for. In fact, I'd never given the Masonic order a second thought before yesterday. I travel, yes, and I have admired many of the architectural and artistic feats to be found the world over, and of course they have subconsciously influenced me. But that is the extent of this mystery, I assure you.'

‘No, it isn't,' Preston announced, sitting back in his chair, now as wary of Karita as she was of him. ‘You see, I have seen the only pages of the historical text to survive through the past few centuries. It cannot be said for sure if these pages are an original text or if they are a copy, but I do know that you have some connection with these ancient documents.' He pulled a sheet of folded paper from his pocket.

‘No, I don't,' Karita insisted, until she saw the old, tattered black and white etching that had been
photocopied on to a piece of A4 paper. Her painting. Her jaw dropped. ‘I don't believe it.'

‘Indeed,' Preston agreed, ‘and now you see why I am having trouble believing you.'

Karita merely nodded, not knowing what to say.

‘Let me ask you this,' Preston ventured. ‘If you knew nothing about this, then why did you call this piece “The Lost Word”?'

Karita released a giggle, unable to believe a simple misunderstanding had caused her so much trouble. ‘I didn't call it “The Lost Word”. I called it “The Lost World”. Aldo heard me wrong and the picture got renamed. I didn't have the heart to tell him about the mistake and “The Lost Word” seemed a more mysterious title for the piece, so I let it be. Aldo is a little sensitive about his hearing problem.'

‘I see,' Preston said, his tone implying that she wasn't being very helpful.

‘Look, what can I tell you? It's the truth.' She stood, a little fed up with being interrogated in her own home — especially considering the upheaval her home was in. ‘You have the painting and every copy that will ever be known to man.' She handed back the postcard of her print and the photocopy on A4. ‘I can't help you any further than I have. I believe our business is closed.'

Preston remained seated, as if he had no intention of going anywhere. ‘I believe you.'

‘Good.' Karita was glad they'd established that. ‘Then would you please leave?'

‘I am still not convinced that you are in no way connected to these texts. You could be a channel,' he suggested over Karita's impending objection.

‘What?' Karita was completely bemused by this suggestion. As she knew next to nothing about psychic phenomena, it was not a subject she could argue.

‘A channel for Tristan de Scott,' Preston expanded on his theme, ‘who, I believe, still haunts this house.'

‘There's no ghost here!' Karita couldn't contain her chuckles of amazement. ‘Now you're really clutching at straws.'

Preston smiled at her mockery. ‘Would you mind if I brought a psychic channel along to investigate this house, just to be sure?'

Karita ceased to laugh. ‘Yes, I would mind! I'm telling you, there is no ghost in this house!'

‘I beg to differ.' Logan de Scott entered through the open front door and today he sported a bandage around his head.

‘What are you doing here?' Karita looked for a defensive weapon, but nothing suitable was handy.

‘I'm the psychic,' Logan explained, looking at Preston.

‘You're the bloody vandal,' Karita accused.

‘I hardly touched anything,' he informed her calmly. ‘It was your bloody ghost who did this.' He motioned to the state of her house and then to his head. ‘And this!'

Karita's panic was drowned by a numbing wave of shock. ‘You're working together.' She stated what was now obvious. ‘Well, that's just perfect.'

‘We are here to help you,' Preston insisted.

Karita wasn't buying his charming reassurance. The hazy moments of the last few days were replaying in her mind and she was starting to see a scenario. ‘You drugged me last night,' she accused Preston, ‘so that your buddy here could destroy my house unhindered. I don't remember walking in, because I was carried in.'

She's on to you, guys.
Tristan smiled, proud of Karita. He had been wondering how Logan de Scott had come to be carrying Karita's unconscious form last night. This was why Tristan had been unable to stop Logan from entering the house; he'd been forced to wait for the intruder to put Karita down.

Preston wasn't denying her claim and a pang of fear resounded through Karita's body as she realised the trouble she was in.

‘Don't fly into a mad panic.' Preston sat forward in his chair. ‘We just need you to help us solve this puzzle and then we'll disappear to where we came from and you will never see us again.'

‘No one will ever see me again. That is more the plan, I think.' Karita had seen too many spy movies where the informed witness usually ended up at the bottom of a river.

‘That depends on what we discover,' Logan said, seemingly impartial to the outcome in that regard.

‘Logan, there is no need to unduly alarm Miss Torelle,' Preston impressed on his colleague and then stood to address Karita. ‘Help us with this investigation and I shall personally see to your safety.'

‘Like you were seeing to my safety last night?' she retorted with daggers in her eyes. She didn't like being threatened in her own home. But before she could say more, Karita noted Logan de Scott having some kind of fit. ‘I think your friend might need help.' She motioned to Logan.

Preston startled Karita when he pulled a gun from inside his jacket and stepped away from her to ask. ‘Logan? What is happening?'