“You set up a house and hired someone to take care of it?” he asked taking another drink.
“Yes. Apparently I felt the need to have a sanctuary,” I said ruefully.
“I can see the need for that,” he agreed. “What exactly would the caretaker have to do?”
“Well, maintain the house, you know, make sure the plumbing works and nothing falls into disrepair. He doesn’t have to fix it as long as he hires someone to do it. And then, you know, let any Diana that came along stay in it and provide money when necessary. A foundation actually owns the house and a trust was set up that a law firm manages to provide the salary and all maintenance costs.”
“And do demons go around the house?” he asked with just a hint of nervousness still.
“No, not that I know of. It’s supposed to be a refuge. Someplace I can go to rest if I need to.”
“Okay, you’re looking at your guy.”
“Well…”
“No seriously, I play the piano, and I enjoy it, but I also have a degree in business from Harvard University. My father wanted me to go into the corporate world, but I hate sitting behind a desk, so I thought, hey, why not the piano? Truly I’m not a slacker. I can manage a house with my eyes closed.” And then he added the real clincher, “Besides, I believe you. Who else are you going to get that will believe about demons and that you’ve come back from the dead?” He actually had a valid point.
“Well, first I have to go to the law firm and substantiate my claim on the house before I can hire anyone. Why don’t you come with me tomorrow? I have an appointment at two o’clock with Martin Rossi, Esquire, at Crowley, Rossi & Jakes.”
Once Jarvis had calmed sufficiently, we went our separate ways; he to go home and me to my hotel. We agreed to meet at the lawyer's office the next day.
Crowley, Rossi & Jakes had a hushed atmosphere, almost like a library when Jarvis and I arrived for the appointment. The reception area had dark leather chairs and the tables had newspapers such as The Wall Street Journal, New York Times and several magazines lying on them but not hiding the tables' rich finishes. The receptionist, Sally according to her nameplate, sat discretely flipping through a Cosmopolitan and occasionally answering the telephone.
After just a short wait, Mr. Rossi came out to greet us and lead us back to his office. He was just over six feet with black hair and brown eyes, remarkably Italian looking.
Once we were seated, he said, “Well, what can I do for you?”
“As I said on the telephone, I am inquiring about the Light House on Third Street.”
“And?”
“And I would like to establish that I am Diana.”
“I think you are under a misapprehension, miss.”
“I really don’t think that I am. There is a safe in this office that twenty-two years ago had a combination of 5-33-26. Into that safe, a box was placed that you are to open to establish who I am.” He looked startled at my knowledge.
“You’ll forgive me but with Mr. Trelawyn’s passing, several crackpots have come out of the woodwork.”
“I don’t think you’ll find that I’m a crackpot, Mr. Rossi, I am Diana reborn. Which is why this process has been set up. In that box is another sealed package that contains the identifying information. As long as you have fulfilled your trust and the package is yet unopened, then my knowledge of what it contains will prove who I claim to be.” As I saw his hesitation, I wondered if it had already been opened.
“Very well. It is required that I attempt to verify any claim.” He went to the far left wall, and behind what looked like the original Renoir oil painting called The Swing, he opened a wall safe.
After sitting back at his desk and placing the container down, he asked, “Can you tell me the first identifier?”
“Yes. The first level of identification contains the names of the bedrooms within the house: The Blue Room, The Red Room, The Ecru Room, The White Room and The Silver Room. They were to be named in that order, so that their initials would spell BREWS.”
“Very good. Now for the next level.” He had opened the box and withdrew a sealed envelope with the number one on it. Its unopened status meant that no one had ever tried to establish a Diana identity.
“In that envelope you will find a listing of my childhood pets: Muffy the cat, AJ the gold fish, and Mac the Scottish terrier.” He opened the envelope, withdrew a sheet of paper and quickly read the list.
“Again good. Next.”
“The next barrier was not to ascertain my personal likes or dislikes but those of Mr. Crowley. He placed a list of his favorite meals in the next envelope with the first being a T-bone steak with baked potato and the second being spaghetti with meat balls.” Mr. Rossi opened the next envelope and perused the list.
“Very good.” He gestured for me to continue.
“In that last envelope is the poem by Robert Frost called The Road Not Taken with two lines underlined:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by.
“No one, not even Mr. Crowley, was aware of what I put in that envelope.” As I ended, he opened the envelope and nodded.
“Very well. What are your instructions?” Mr. Rossi ended by having to cancel the rest of his appointments that day. We needed to modify the Foundation and the trust, hire Jarvis, and set up a new set of identifiers for the next Diana. As it was, I felt lucky I had dreamed of the house and how to access it.
* * * *
The Present
I had stayed with Jarvis only long enough for him to get settled in, and then I’d felt a new compulsion that headed me to the West Coast and had never gone back. Looking at him now, I was happy to see him again. Though his face was lined, his eyes still sparkled as they had when he’d been young.
“It’s wonderful to see you as well.” I smiled at him.
“The others are in the library.”
“The others?” I wondered how many others there were. I remember that I had told Jarret about the house and offered it to him for refuge in a different time (and life). And I had told him that if he met others like ourselves to share the word. I guess he had.
“Yes, Jarret has lived here off and on for many years, of course, but the rest just started showing up this past week,” he smiled as he opened the door further to invite me in. The entrance hall was cool and light with a round dark table that had a huge display of flowers as a centerpiece directly below a crystal chandelier. The scent of roses permeated the room, and I had a sense of welcome.
“You’re really here,” he said closing the door behind me. “When Jarret first showed up almost twenty years ago, I was very excited thinking that, after all that time, I would see you again. That it all hadn’t been a dream. You see, I had started to feel that it must not have happened. And then, boom, there he was. When he told me that he’d met you but that you’d died, I was sad. But I knew that you were out there—out there doing what you do. You’re life is incredible, and I have been very happy and proud to be a part of it.” His eyes were a little misty which would be expected when you realize that your life had just been vindicated. Really he had worked far past what I would have expected. He should have stopped working long ago.
“Jarvis, why are you still answering the door? Haven’t you been able to find a replacement so that you could retire?” I asked as I put my backpack on the table.
“Well as a matter of fact, my grandson is in training now. He is Jarvis Wilhelm Gratwick, III. So we call him Third,” he said with a chuckle. Then in a more serious tone, “But this has been a good life, and I have not felt the need to leave it. Ah, here he is now. Third, this is Diana.” Third gave a grimace at the sound of his name. He was probably twenty-five and also wore a black suit. I guess he hated the nickname, but I rather liked it. It seemed to suit him.
“Hello Diana,” he said pleasantly, and I nodded. “I will be happy to escort you to the library where the others are waiting. The Silver Room, as always, is a
vailable for you to sleep in. Shall I drop your bag there?” he asked, picking up my backpack. The Silver Room was not actually silver although it had light gray walls. It had a silvery blue carpet, soothing accent colors, a beautiful dark four-poster bed, and slate gray drapes framing the window.
“That would be great, thanks,” I said as he led me down the hall.
There were four people lounging in different chairs when I entered the room. The library was floor to ceiling books on two sides. Surrounded by enclosed cabinets, a large, empty fireplace seemed to take up the opposing wall. The final wall was filled with a large window flanked by dark, red velvet drapes, currently flung open to let in the fading evening light. There were several comfy looking chairs with tables placed conveniently close by, one large mahogany desk behind which sat a massive leather chair, and a couple of oak desks you would see in a college library where students could conduct research complete with laptops.
They all stood and smiled at my entrance. I only recognized one. A tall, solidly built man with broad shoulders, probably fortyish, with an open face and ready smile said, “I’m Jarret.” I’d met him almost twenty years ago just before this incarnation. As he reached out to hug me, chill bumps raised the hair on my arms, and I remembered that I had died in his arms.
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” I smiled hesitantly and nodded in response.
5 Jarret
Diana didn’t look like the girl I’d met so briefly in Florida back in 1992, except for the light shining in her eyes. The meeting with her had altered my life so completely, and yet, I’d not have had it any other way. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and I felt I would have known Diana, even if I had simply seen her walking down a crowded street—if I could just see her eyes, of course. It made me remember that last moment with her.
* * * *
1992 CE
It was the middle of hurricane season, and it looked like we were going to be hit! Of course, the way Florida stuck out into the Gulf, it was hit often, but Hurricane Andrew was a Category 5 storm, which was pretty severe. Lots of people were heading north. Not me, man, I was going to ride the waves!
Life in the region of Miami revolved around the ocean and water sports, and I’d been surfing my entire life. With a Cat 5 in the area, the waves would be awesome! I was stoked! While messing around in the garage getting my gear together, my friend Danny showed up with his jeep so that we could load the boards and hit the waves.
“Hey, man, your folks already gone?” He asked in greeting. Danny was blonde, buff, and tan, wearing some red jams and a yellow t-shirt. His fingernails had a perpetual black line under them from working on engines—didn’t matter what kind, car, boat, jet ski. He was some kind of mechanical genius. The story went that he took apart the family lawn mower when he was three, and actually put it back together in working order!
“Yeah, they left a couple of hours ago. When they realize I didn’t leave, they’re going to freak,” I grinned. My mom was okay I guess, but my dad was just a complete jackass. Whatever I did, it was always the wrong thing or not good enough. He would have done it this way or done it differently. Whatever. Most of my time was spent either at the beach or at Danny’s place. His mom always had a spot for me on the couch.
“Well, let’s hit it, man,” he said enthusiastically after we had loaded the boards, and we headed down the road.
We were just about to get to the Fontainbleau Hotel when I saw the girl running. The hotel was famous and usually filled to capacity, but Miami was deserted due to the evacuation. We were trying to avoid the National Guard—so far so good. The hotel had been built in 1954, and people like Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra had performed there; and the James Bond movie Goldfinger was filmed there.
As no one else was around, she was pretty noticeable. She had short, curly, black hair and was dressed totally in black—black t-shirt, black army pants with all the pockets down the thighs, and black combat boots. From this distance, it even looked like her lips were black on her extremely pale face.
She came out of a side street full blast and skidded around the corner by grabbing a fence post to help her swing about. She took a quick glance over her shoulder when she released the fence, then continued on. As she headed up the shallow steps to the hotel and gained the entrance, a large animal appeared, following her rapidly.
“Whoa, did you see that? That thing was huge!” I yelled. When Danny stomped on the brakes a half a block away, the jeep skidded to a stop. We heard the crash of breaking glass in the silence of the deserted city and watched as the animal disappeared up the steps after her.
“Was that a wolf?” he asked in astonishment.
“It couldn’t have been. For one thing it was black, and I don’t think wolves are black, and for another, we’re in south Florida for Christ’s sake!”
“Maybe it escaped from the zoo.”
“Man, the hurricane hasn’t even hit yet.” We could see the distinct line of clouds in the distance—still far enough off not to have brought the really heavy winds, yet it was pushing the water to create the swells we wanted to surf. “How would it escape?” I wanted to know.
After a few seconds, I stated, “We have to help her.” I didn’t know what we could do, but there was a burning sensation in my stomach, and I knew there was no turning my back on the girl in black that had been chased into the Fontainbleau.
“Open the glove box.” As the lid fell open, I saw a pistol, a .38 revolver to be exact.
“Where’d this come from?” I asked in shock.
“I didn’t want to drive cross country without protection. I figured we’d be sleeping in the jeep mostly sooo…” he trailed off with a shrug. We’d planned on leaving right after the hurricane to head for southern California. I had abided by my folks’ desire for me to go to college. In fact, I had just graduated with a degree in finance. Yes, I was good with numbers. But being stuck in an office would just suck! I wanted the wind and the waves, man.
I’d been working part-time at Eddie’s Garage where Danny worked as a full-time mechanic. We’d saved enough money to make the trip and have a couple of weeks to get settled before we even had to look for jobs. I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of California. Surf’s up! But then I looked back at the gun in my hand and shivered.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
We cautiously followed the two up the steps and saw that the glass entrance door had been smashed—apparently by utilizing one of the posts that used rope to control foot traffic.
“Careful,” Danny whispered, as we eased through the shattered glass in our flip-flops. The silence in the hotel was eerie. It made me jittery. It was difficult to realize I was so used to people. Even if it was just next door, there was always someone around.
I would not have been surprised if Rod Serling had stepped out from behind one of the columns of the hotel entrance. He’d be casually holding a cigarette, flicking a little ash, and would state calmly, “The guys think they’re entering a hotel, but in reality, they’re about to check into The Twilight Zone.” The scene would be complete with a dramatic pause and sinister music.
I felt like we were already in that episode where the old guy just wanted to be alone so that he could read. In a cruel twist of fate, when everyone was gone, he breaks his glasses and can’t read. So there he was all alone, nobody anywhere. I was really creepin’ myself out.
I definitely didn’t want to do this, but I knew we couldn’t leave her on her own. If we can even find her before the wolf finds us, I thought. I sniffed. Phew! Something must have died in here. I saw Danny wrinkle his nose too. As we hesitated in the lobby, we heard a crash followed by a roaring growl to our left.
“I think the kitchen is through the dining area there,” I said. Then we heard a slamming door. “What was that?”
“Maybe the stairwell door? Or is there a back door? Let’s go,” Danny replied. Great maybe she was gone, and we were the only ones stuck with the wolf thi
ng now.
As we maneuvered through the swinging kitchen door, it was all quiet again. We paused to get our bearings, and Danny gestured with his chin towards the back where we could see a short, wide hall and a closed door with a “Stairs” sign over it. We had made it about half way to the stairwell door when the wolf suddenly jumped up on one of the counters, scattering clanging pans and utensils everywhere. Danny took aim with the .38 and shot the wolf. It was hit, and it even paused, but it just seemed to shake itself and then crouched for another spring.
Danny gave me a shove and yelled, “Run!”
I slammed into the stairwell door scrabbling at the handle. Danny rammed into my back, and we were through the door, racing up the stairs on our hands and feet. We entered into a dimly lit stairwell. It was on an outer wall and had windows, fortunately, because the city had cut the power off in preparation for the hurricane. Otherwise, we would have entered into darkness. I had made it up one level and made the turn for the next when I heard Danny scream from behind me. His voice was higher by several octaves than I’d ever heard it—didn’t know it could even make that sound. Several more levels up, a face peered down the center of the well.
“Danny!” I shouted and turned to go back down but paused when several explosions momentarily deafened me. Danny was firing the gun point blank at the wolf, which had pinned him to the stairs with one paw on his stomach and another across his lower legs. It was chewing its way up Danny’s thigh. It paused with each shot and gave itself a shake, blood splattering from its mouth, before latching back onto Danny.
“Come on!” The girl shouted down the stairs at me.
“Danny!” I yelled staring at him.
He looked up at me despairingly and gave a hoarse shout, “Go!”
The wolf had worked its way up to Danny’s side and tore a chunk of flesh from his midsection and swallowed. Danny was staring down at himself in shock, blood and a wispy white substance flowing rapidly from his horrendous wounds, knowing they could only be mortal. Danny placed the gun barrel in his mouth, and then there was one final shot.