Chapter Eleven #4
The revenant—if that was what he should be called, I really had no clue—moved past Phil as if he weren’t there.
The other spirits in the room formed a tight barrier between me and the rider.
A kind gesture. He stopped just shy of the protective line of phantoms then, in a voice so deep it made my fillings tremble, picked up the mantra to Papa Legba.
Phil moved around us, the camera light bright, and I had to wonder what our viewers were thinking right now.
To them, all there was to see was some skinny Asian dork waving a cold cup of dark roast and a pouch of tobacco in the air.
Not exactly must-see TV, but as they say, any content is good content, or something like that.
A crackle of energy snapped into existence by one of the boarded-up windows.
The small ball of red began to elongate, stretch, and then show its true form.
A wrought iron gate, spikes on the top of the finials, creaked open inch by inch, revealing a winding road lined with monstrously tall bald cypress trees thick with Spanish moss that touched the dirt road.
My mouth went dry, the invitation now a croaking gasp as a lanky, old Black man in a straw hat, dark red robes, and a corncob pipe resting between his lips stepped out of the gate, leaving it open behind him.
Around his neck hung a gold key. His gait was slow, pained, and he walked with a limp.
“I think he’s here,” I whispered to the side.
“I don’t see him. Just a small slice of red energy, which is kind of cool and also making the hair on my arms stand up,” Phil softly replied.
I was thrilled. At least the viewers would get some sort of cool and inexplicable supernatural sighting.
No matter if it would be debunked in five minutes, it was something, so go us.
“Mambo Kiwi asked if he has arrived?” Phil questioned, still hearing her in his ear, and I nodded as I held out the pipe to the Loa.
His face was craggy with age, his cheeks weathered like leather, his eyes hidden in the shadows that the brim of his hat cast. “I can hear her. She’s crying.
Not sure in joy or scared but…no, okay, joy.
She says to place the offerings back on the altar, move back, and then make your request,” Phil added.
“Oh crap, sorry.” I rushed to drop the cigar back beside the key and coffee.
I lowered my eyes to my trembling hands.
The spirits, and the rider, were as silent as mice.
“Papa Legba, I am humbled by your appearance. There are spirits here that have been trapped or summoned to this plane and wish to enter the land of the dead so their souls may find peace. May the phantoms gathered here be allowed to step through the gate?”
I peeked up, just a bit, my sight skimming the top of my filthy glasses, to see Papa Legba take all of our offerings with a swipe of his hand, leaving the card table barren of any gifts.
Then, wordlessly, with a thin stream of smoke now climbing from his corncob pipe, he motioned to the gate that stood open nearby.
“Go on, go through the open gate,” I told the wary spirits. “Go find peace, all of you.” I glanced at the rider.
“You are saying this will lead me to my wife and sons on the other side?” the mare rider asked, and I bobbed my head. “It has been so long since I held them…”
The others filed through. Flapper Fanny took Timothy by his hand.
The lad gave me a wave and then was gone, nothing left but tiny gold motes that floated about in the cold wind before winking out of existence on this plane.
The rider moved through as well, its smoky form clarifying for just a moment as it floated through the opening.
I glimpsed a ruddy man, dark hair, dark eyes, a wide brow and nose.
Whatever had taken his life, I saw nothing notable.
Common sort of fellow, with broad shoulders, who said “Dzi?kuj?” before he was pulled into the land of the dead, leaving a clump of evergreen motes. Then they were gone.
“Thank you, Papa Legba, for accepting those souls into the beyond. May all beings be well, happy, and peaceful.”
The smoke from his pipe curled into an intricate key that floated above us and then fell, with a clatter, to the table where his offerings had laid.
He turned, leaning on his cane, and moved back to the heavy metal gate, his steps much like my grandfather’s.
When he moved through, the visage burst into small red curls, like pipe smoke, that blew away on a bitter gust.
I looked at Phil. Phil looked at me. “That was amazing!” I cough/laughed and then staggered to the nearest wall to catch my breath.
My lungs felt tight as if I’d breathed in a ton of smoke, but the air was clear, aside from the turpentine.
“He was here. One of the Loa, a deity, was here. Oh shit, that was incredible!”
“I saw the red energy. Arch, we saw it!” Phil exclaimed, rushing over to gather me into his arms to kiss me on the face as we both clung to each other. “I saw it. The viewers are saying they saw it too! Archie, that was amazing. You’re amazing. I love you so much!”
With that, he kissed me on the mouth, the kiss overflowing with emotion.
I kissed him back, uncaring if the camera caught it or not.
Roxie was all about the BL romance on camera so this would tickle her in all the right places.
When we broke for air, I smushed my face into his chest, breathed him in, and exhaled the last traces of pipe smoke.
I made sure to pick up the key Papa Legba had left for us.
“Did the rider get through the gate?” Phil asked as we cuddled for a long, long moment.
“He did. He seemed…glad to be freed from this side. The Loa took all the lingering spirits with him to the other side. Now they can move on in their journeys. No more spirits will be found inside. The ones on the grounds…” I sighed into his coat.
That was another worry we’d have to look into—and soon.
“We’ll see what we can do to get the people who own this place to investigate things.
For now, I’m frozen, my head hurts, and I want to go home and sleep off this paranormal hangover for a day or two.
” I pulled back from Phil’s marvelous arms, rose up to peck his chin, and then gazed into the camera resting on his shoulder.
Ah, so our little kissing session had been sent out live.
Well, the shippers would be shipping all night.
It was only a matter of time until the fan art started, I bet.
So I looked at the camera and said, “Viewers and subs, and all of our patrons and sponsors, thank you for giving us this second chance to investigate a sorrowful place where we could bring a little serenity to the specters who lingered. I hope you enjoyed the stream. Remember to support us in any way that you can. Small sub-tiers are now available as well as larger ones. All funds raised go to keep our bookstore, a historical site even if the township hasn’t given it a designation yet, open and serving the public of Liverswell.
Goodnight, gods bless and may your journey be a kind and loving one. ”
“Peace out,” Phil added, tossed in a peace sign in front of our faces, and then the green light went red.
I nuzzled in tighter. The sanitarium was still.
At least inside. The thumping in my head had lessened, but my chi was low as was Phil’s.
We were running on empty. “You okay to help clean up our gear or do you need me to go get a wheelchair?”
I glanced up. He was totally sincere. Gods, this man was everything. “I’m able to help and walk, but thanks, babe.”
“Let’s blow this place. Like honestly if I never come back here again that will be fine with me.”
Yeah, same. We set into picking up, both of us weary beyond belief and ready for a hot shower, some sweets, and a nice warm bed filled with a nice hot man.
We texted our families as we walked, ensuring them we’d be home within an hour with an amazing story.
Roxie and Tray told us our subscribers had climbed by two thousand and we’d picked up a new sponsor as well, so yay monies.
The walk down the hall and into the lobby was slow, both of us dragging our asses, but lighter in spirit.
Phil and I had done something good here.
At least partially. This was what, I felt, being a Kee was about in this modern age.
Yes, sure, there would be instances where I’d probably have to whip out the ghost hunting methods of the ancients, but for now, eradicating a spirit was the very last resort.
The lobby was silent, no scared specters of patients filling the first floor with despair.
I glanced up the dilapidated stairs but saw no signs of any lingering souls trapped here.
It struck me that if we could invite Papa Legba at will, and he came, which was not a guarantee, I could potentially free Reggie and Eloise and Caleb.
They could move onto the next leg of their journeys, whatever their religious or personal beliefs held that to be.
I’d discuss that with Monique as soon as we got home.
“See anyone?” Phil asked, taking my hand while staring upward.
“No, nothing. I think this place is cleansed inside.” I let my head fall onto his shoulder. We continued on, out into the dark night, hand-in-hand. “When we get home, I want to take a long, hot shower with you. I love when you wash my hair.”
“I love washing your hair,” he replied, giving my hand a squeeze as we crunched our way to the truck. I felt a tug at my senses, the pull of the remaining spirits out back, but had to let that rest for now.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered. The vow was one that I planned on acting on as soon as I had my legs under me. Ah soon we’d have warm air and a soft seat to rest our weary—
“What’s this?” Phil asked, pulling me out of my daydream about tired asses meeting soft bench seats. I looked up to see red and blue lights flying toward us. A local cop car pulled in behind Phil’s truck. Two uniformed officers exited the vehicle, serious as heart attacks.
“Boys,” the rounder cop said as they exited their cruiser.
“What are you fellows doing here?” I saw he was older—around fifty or so—as he stepped into the beams of the cop car’s headlights.
White, wearing a hat and thick jacket, badge properly displayed.
His partner was younger, thirties or so, also White as snow, bundled up in a thick hat, jacket with ear flaps.
“We were investigating the sanitarium for a livestream about paranormal situations,” I replied slowly and calmly. Neither of them seemed especially anxious, just tired and cold.
“Do you have permission to be on this property for your little ghost show?” older cop asked, but I suspected he probably already knew the answer.
“No, sir, we do not.” No point in lying.
“You do realize that trespassing is a misdemeanor in this state?” I shook my head. Phil was making choking sounds at my side. “Well, it is, with the possibility of a hundred-dollar fine or up to thirty days in jail.”
Well shit. So there went the money raised on subs and PPV royalties. I glanced at the slimmer cop, but he said nothing, just stood there, arms crossed, listening. Judging our reactions, I imagined.
“That’s reasonable,” I eventually said in reply. “Are the property owners going to press charges?”
“They’ve not decided yet,” younger cop answered, the wind shaking bits of snow off the naked trees to our left and right. “But the decision to prosecute is with the district attorney, not the property owners, so we can either issue a citation or—”
“Maybe no one should do anything to us because not only did my boyfriend here summon a major deity to this realm to help about a dozen or so ghosts plus a mare rider that ate dream energy from inside my head, he also talked to the dead people buried out back and they told him there was a mass grave by the incinerator building filled with patients,” Phil blurted out, his voice a half octave higher than normal.
I winced as that information hit the airwaves.
The tone of the encounter went from cops dealing with stupid college dudes to high alert these guys are involved in something terrible in a breath. One cop looked at the other.
“Maybe you two need to come to the station and explain just how you know about a mass grave,” older cop stated with all the authority I needed to get me to drop my head and place my arms behind me for the cuffs. Explaining this to the police was not going to go well, I was pretty sure of it.
“Should I not have said that?” Phil asked on a whisper a few minutes later as we were riding in the back of the cruiser, hands cuffed behind our backs, all of our gear in the trunk, as the arresting cops now thought we were nefarious individuals who had been read their rights on the spot.
I shook my head. Phil moaned. “Sorry, I tend to get talky when I’m nervous. My parents are going to come unhinged.”
I dropped my head onto his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. We’ll explain things better at the station, and it will all sort itself out.”
“Really?”
I reassured him all would be fine, but inside I knew that hot shower and shampoo were not happening anytime soon.