A New York Haunting: Pt. 06

Ondine spoke first. "So, what did you learn from the sample you collected?"

He described the experiments he had performed on the handkerchief, concluding with, "The Florence test established that some substance had indeed infiltrated the fibers. But it appears to differ from its human counterpart. Not surprisingly, I suppose."

She nodded slowly, deep in thought. A pair of strolling men glanced at her as they passed. Anders watched them from the corner of his eye until they turned onto Terrace Drive and disappeared.

"In addition to that evidence, I thought of another source of proof," she said. To his inquiring expression, she continued, "If the ghost has enough physical presence to effect the visible alterations you described, then my ... ahem ... virtue will have long ago been put asunder by these visits. With my anatomy textbook for reference, I should be able to detect it in a mirror."

It took him a moment to understand her meaning. He cleared his throat. "Well ... to that point, as I was collecting the sample, I observed a most extraordinary thing. The ghost's seed vanished and your ... erm ... hymen, which had indeed been breached, magically reconstituted itself to a virginal state."

Ondine's stride faltered and her mouth fell open. Collecting herself, her lips pressed together and her arms crossed over her chest. A silent moment passed with them walking side-by-side. At length, she raised her chin and inhaled. "You certainly looked your fill, Mr. Røkke, didn't you?"

He fumbled for words.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose I can console myself that after your obstetrics and gynecology clerkships, you look upon that piece of anatomy no differently than a ... than a wrist."

Hardly! Anders guessed her tone of wry humor was an attempt to contend with her true discomposure, but he was uncertain if a reply was expected. Indeed, he didn't know how to reply --- it might be just as bad to lie and say he wasn't affected by the sight of her naked genitals as to say he was. Was it better to wound her vanity or her dignity?

Truly, he had always previously felt a professional detachment when viewing a female patient's private parts --- his brain had automatically separated the realms of science and eroticism. He knew not why this mechanism had failed with Ondine. No matter how vociferously he had told himself she was a patient, from the very first glimpse of her face four weeks ago, a visceral male instinct had been roused in his otherwise orderly mind and well-regulated body.

With a rueful glance in her direction, he tried, "Well, in my opinion, wrists are an underappreciated portion of anatomy."

An owl's hoot sounded from the nearby trees, but the girl responded not.

"Ond--- Mrs. Van der Veen, I meant no disrespect, but I will readily admit to being more of a scientist than a gentleman. The unearthly incident undeniably fixed my attention."

Her staid demeanor was at last broken by a growing smile. "Those are almost the very words my uncle used to describe you --- more of a scientist than a gentleman." Uncrossing her arms, she slid her hands into the pockets of her skirt.

Anders unconsciously echoed her, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. For a few minutes, they ambled side-by-side without speaking, intermittently kicking small drifts of fallen leaves. By-and-by, Ondine withdrew a watch from her pocket and observed, "I must return soon."

They had reached the end of the walkway and made a circuit past the statues of Shakespeare and Columbus before reversing course and heading in the direction of the Cornelissen mansion.

He hastened to speak. "Despite my long-standing commitment to the scientific method, I fear this is a case in which we must accept the absence of tangible proof and proceed with our objective based only on our belief --- the objective being ridding you of the ghost's attentions."

She rejoined in a wistful murmur, "What a miracle it would be to pass a night free of apprehension."

"To that end, I have spent the past week reading everything I could find about ghosts and hauntings. I was surprised to discover numerous esteemed scientists have attempted to apply the scientific method to the study of the supernatural --- unfortunately without conclusive success." Anders proceeded to summarize his findings. "In short, I am uncertain if this is a case that will require an exorcism by a priest or would be better served by the powers of a medium."

Ondine's eyes widened.

He continued, "A recurring theme is that ghostly activity results from unsettled matters in the earthly sphere. The unsettled matters fall into three general categories, as far as I can tell. Some of the cases linked the hauntings to unfinished projects, such as the ghost of a writer with an incomplete novel, or an architect whose masterpiece was incomplete, or someone with an unrequited love. Other ghosts had suffered wrongs that had gone unpunished: a man swindled by his business partner, a woman betrayed by a philandering husband, victims of unsolved murders. And then there are apparently ghosts who themselves were the perpetrators of wrongs, whose tormenting guilt bars them from a restful afterlife."

"In your readings, does the subject of the ghost's attentions correlate with the specific unsettled matter?"

Anders pondered the question. "In many of the accounts, the ghosts were observed by a variety of people, some unconnected with the unsettled matter. In cases where the ghosts had been wronged in life, they haunted the wrongdoer, although not necessarily exclusively."

Ondine's brows drew together in concentration. "As to unfinished projects, Peter frequently alluded to ideas for new gun designs --- but his latest one had just been put into production before the wedding, so I would hesitate to call it unfinished."

"What of unresolved wrongs?"

"Well, the autopsy concluded his death was natural, so we can eliminate murder." She shrugged. "I know he was not on good terms with his brother, but I am not familiar with the details of their falling out."

"Was this brother also wealthy? Was he a partner in Peter's company?"

"No. The dispute between them preceded the founding of the company. I believe his brother worked as a coachman for a lawyer prior to Peter's death."

"Ah." The fraternal quarrel might be a salient point to further investigate. "And had Peter wronged anyone, to your knowledge?"

"If he had, he did not confide in me."

Anders glanced at her, speculating aloud, "I suppose there was at least one unsettled matter we can identify in your case --- your marriage was unconsummated, correct?"

Ondine paused in her step, regarding him skeptically. "Yes, but that hardly seems a compelling enough reason that a ghost would wander the earth in purgatory."

I would if I had been in his shoes ... especially if such purgatory included copulating with her sweet, nubile body. Even without looking at the girl, he was stirred by her nearness. Ah, how innocent she was of passion's urges!

"If such truly is the reason for his haunting me, then we are in trouble," she mused. "If that compulsion has not yet been satiated after all his visits, I fear it never will be."

The sounds of horses' hooves and carriage wheels on nearby East Drive intruded into that troubling thought. When the noise receded, Anders spoke again. "I think the next logical step is to attempt to communicate with the ghost."

"How? In his presence, you're paralyzed and I'm in a trance."

"My thought would be through a medium."

Her brows arched. "My only experience with a medium was at an after-theater party, and I must say I was not favorably impressed with the veracity of the so-called communication."

He nodded. "I had a similar experience. What we need is a real medium --- if there is such a thing --- and not a charlatan. How to find one, I have no idea. I've seen advertising posters about town for séances, but they all have seemed quite theatrical." He rubbed his chin. "I suppose I can inquire among my acquaintances."

"I as well, although I do not have many true acquaintances outside of superficial social connections."

They had reached the park entrance across Fifth Avenue from the mansion.

"If you learn anything, will you please let me know?" she asked. "You can safely send me messages by the coachman Braddock --- his rooms are above the carriage house."

"I will." Suddenly remembering, Anders extracted the folded stocking from his jacket pocket. "Wait, this is yours."

The girl accepted it, her puzzled fingers partially unfurling it.

"You dropped it near the fountain last month."

Her eyes flew to his. "You were following me that day?"

He nodded.

Her blush was appreciable even in the lamplight. "That must have been before I marked your presence," she mumbled. "Umm ... did you report that particular incident to Dr. Schuller?"

"No, I did not feel it necessary for him to know about it."

Ondine's luminous eyes searched his face. "Aren't you the cagey one?" she commented, a teasing smile tickling the corners of her lips. "I can't decide whether you are a gentleman or a rogue --- on top of being a daffy scientist." With a step backwards, she pocketed the stocking and gave him a nod of farewell. "Good night Mr. Røkke."

Anders tipped his hat. "Good night, Mrs. Van der Veen." He watched her cross Fifth Avenue, but instead of entering the mansion through the front entrance, she disappeared in the darkness down a small street along its side.

Chapter 23. WISDOM EYES

Where the devil was he going to find a genuine medium?! Anders racked his brain over the task. Almost everyone he knew was connected with the medical profession and most likely would laugh at the question --- as he himself would have done not two weeks earlier. Inquiring among the lodgers at the boardinghouse produced no leads.

He consulted the city directory, but unsurprisingly, it was not a line of work that lent itself to a formal listing. Only two candidates did he find. One was Madame Bolivar, Medium and Spiritualist --- but when he went to the listed address, the lady no longer resided there, having vanished to parts unknown last year --- according to the landlord. The second was the Schein Brothers Theatrical Goods and Bookings. In keeping with its inauspicious name, when Anders made his inquiry of the owner, he was presented with the choice of three levels of séance performance: Standard, Enhanced, and Deluxe according to duration and gadgets used.

Again and again throughout the day, his thoughts returned to the vexing problem. The preposterous thought occurred to him of inquiring among the Coney Island fortunetellers, but at this time of year would they even be there? Then an idea struck him: Mr. Bridgman! As an artist and art instructor, he had a wide acquaintance among people in all walks of life and had explored every corner of the city in his quest for subjects to paint.

Yes! As soon as rounds on the ward were done, he would go to the art school!

"Mr. Røkke, we are waiting," an impatient voice interrupted his thoughts.

Anders blinked. He was standing with the surgical team at the foot of a patient's bed on the ward. Everyone --- the attending surgeon Dr. Weir, the residents, his classmates --- were staring at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Weir, I didn't hear the question."

"I inquired about the patient's vital signs."

Flustered, he flipped through the pages of his small book, his face growing redder and redder as Dr. Weir's foot tapped in the background. At last, he found his notes and recited the requested information. In chagrin, he forced himself to focus for the remainder of rounds.

Afterwards, one of the residents drew him aside and inquired if all was well with him. "This recent inattention to your work is quite uncharacteristic."

"Thank you for your concern, sir. It's a personal matter. It won't happen again."

As soon as he was dismissed, Anders rushed to the Art Students League building, but he was too late --- Mr. Bridgman had already departed for the evening.

The following day, he skipped lunch and used the half-hour to return to the building. Fortunately, he found the art instructor leaving a classroom in the wake of a stream of students.

"Mr. Bridgman!"

"Anders! Hello! This is a strange time to see you. What brings you here?"

"Have you a moment to talk?"

"Of course." Bridgman motioned with his arm. "Let's go to my office."

Inside the small, cluttered office, Anders immediately launched into his query. "I'm looking for a medium --- not a theatrical performer, but a genuine clairvoyant who can communicate with ghosts. Do you know of any such person?"

Thank God, Mr. Bridgman did not laugh. His brow creased as he studied Anders' face. "Are you the victim of a haunting?"

"I'm trying to help someone who is."

The instructor nodded. "I believe I know someone who could assist you." He turned to the crowded bookshelf and began searching through the book spines. "I discovered her quite by accident last year when a friend and I were sketching street scenes in the Five Points neighborhood. There was a sign posted on a building for Spirit Consultations."

Bridgman pulled out a large folio and paged through it, revealing numerous pencil sketches. "My friend had recently lost his wife and wanted to investigate. I accompanied him and observed his 'consultation'." He replaced the sketchbook and pulled out another. "I confess I had been skeptical initially, but I was so impressed with her skills, I took down her name and address on my drawing."

The flipping pages stopped. "Ah ha! Here it is! I'll write it down for you." He rummaged among the disarray of books, paintbrushes, and paint tubes on his desk and produced a pencil and piece of paper. "Her name is Sophia Occhi and you can find her at her family's grocery on Mulberry Street."

Anders eagerly accepted the scrap of paper. "Thank you, sir."

"Mind you, that's a rough neighborhood. Be as unobtrusive as possible and carry no valuables in your pockets. But be sure to compensate her fairly --- they're a poor family."

"Understood." His mind raced. He hadn't time before class to get a message to Ondine himself --- and moreover could not chance being seen near the mansion by her aunt or uncle. "Mr. Bridgman, I'd like to inform my friend of this news. Is there anyone here who could carry a message for me?"

"Ask Jack, I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige. Here's an envelope if you'd like."

Hastening to the first floor, Anders tore a page from his notebook and wrote:

Mr. Bridgman supplied the name of a medium, but her address is in a dangerous neighborhood. I will find her tonight and ask if she will meet us in a safer location.

On the folded paper he wrote Mrs. Van der Veen; on the sealed envelope he wrote Mr. Braddock.

He found Jack, the school secretary's eighteen-year-old son and building handy-man. For a small sum, he agreed to carry the message. Anders gave him the mansion's address and described the coachman Braddock. "Follow the small street along the side to the carriage house. You can find him there. Be sure to put it directly into his hands --- and only his hands."

*****

What if the message were intercepted by Mr. or Mrs. Cornelissen?

Unfortunate scenarios brewed in Anders' disquieted mind as he prepared for the night's excursion. He donned the suit and shoes he used in the morgue and anatomy lab but left off the shirt collar and cuffs. Likewise, tie and pocket watch were dispensed with. The top button of his shirt was left unfastened, and for good measure, he pulled a button off his waistcoat (carefully placing it on the dresser to reattach later).

The mirror revealed golden bristles on his jaw --- in his recent state of distraction, he had not shaved for two days. Tonight, the stubble would serve him in good stead. He debated between the wool cap and bowler, then selected the less costly cap. His pockets were confirmed to be empty apart from coins for the El train and a handkerchief. He hid more money in his shoe.

Stepping out of the boardinghouse into a cool November evening, he beheld the usual street scene of playing children and loafing men. As he turned east towards the El train station, an urchin roused himself from the lamppost against which he was leaning and accosted him.

"I'm sorry, I haven't any spare coins tonight," Anders said. As the persistent beggar continued to walk alongside him, he turned and repeated, "Truly, I haven't any ---" He froze in mid stride. "Mr. Sellers!"

Ondine grinned at him. She was again dressed in the cap, wig, and ill-fitting male garb, and like him had left off the collar, cuffs, and tie. In addition, there were dirty smudges on her hands and face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you to come out. I'm going with you."

Anders shook his head vigorously. "Are you familiar with the Five Points neighborhood? It's far too dangerous a place for you. Most of the stabbing and gunshot victims we get at the hospital and in the morgue are from there."

"But those are members of gangs, are they not?"

He shrugged.

"As we are not gang members, why would they bother us?"

Shaking his head, Anders said, "It's still too dangerous. I'm not bringing you there."

"Then I shall obtain the name from Mr. Bridgman and go myself. After all, I am the one being harassed by the ghost --- surely, I have some say in the matter."

Christ! She going by herself would be even worse. His shoulders slumped. "Fine." He resumed briskly walking. "But hurry, we only have a few minutes before the train arrives." As she fell into step beside him, he muttered, "You're a very willful, erm ... lad, Mr. Sellers."

"So my family often bemoans," she giggled. "But no need to be so formal --- call me Simon."

"Call me Anders," he rejoined glumly.

They had to run the last half block to catch the Sixth Avenue train, where they found adjacent front-facing seats. "Make sure you don't have anything valuable in your pockets," he advised.

As Ondine searched her clothes, he asked, "How did you escape your family tonight?"

"It's the height of the Social season --- my aunt and uncle have engagements almost every night. One advantage of being a grieving widow is that no one faults my reticence in attending such gatherings. At least, not so far. But such an excuse will not serve me much longer."

"Ah."

On the long ride downtown, Anders' initial dismay at her company subsided, but the cadenced motion and clacking wheels were a persistent pulse keeping his senses in a state of heightened awareness. When they stopped at the Broadway station, he sensed Ondine studying him in the light spilling into the car from the platform. Glancing at her, he saw her eyes trace over his face. Self-consciously, he mumbled, "I haven't shaved in a couple days. Please excuse my uncouth appearance."

She looked away. "One would think it could only enhance our invisibility in this neighborhood."

"My thought as well. Like what you put on your face."

"It's soot."

He stole another look at Ondine's face, admiring her side-profile --- the curve of her long lashes, the soft pout of her sensual lips --- her distinctive beauty rendered yet more alluring by contrast with the smudges on her nose and cheeks. After weeks of longing, it was hard not to drink his fill of the girl's nearness in the shadowed car ... hard not to feel a pang when the train rounded corners and their arms touched.

"What is the name of the medium?" she asked.

"Sophia Occhi."

Her face turned towards him with a bemused expression. "Is that a stage name?"

"I don't know. Mr. Bridgman said it was her family's name as well."