A New York Haunting: Pt. 06

Immediately Anders perceived the alley ended blindly a few dozen paces ahead of them, surrounded on three sides by brick buildings. A bloodthirsty whoop told them they had fallen perfectly into the ambush. They spun to see the six men lined up across the entrance to the alley.

"A bold move, scout-boys --- coming into our territory," one jeered. "We'll give you a message for Monk he won't fucking forget!"

One second Anders was eyeing a door in a building as a possible outlet, and the next they were set upon by the men --- four jumping him, two attacking 'Simon.' Her shriek split the darkness.

Anders' limbs flailed wildly, launching punches and kicks. His blows only momentarily thwarted the experienced brawlers, but by sheer strength, he managed to throw his assailants aside long enough to lunge towards the girl. One of the men was holding her arms behind her back, while the other was searching her pockets --- she snarling and kicking at him.

Anders' raging trajectory was abruptly halted by two men seizing his arms and jerking him back. A third man had picked himself up from the ground where Anders had thrown him and now lurched towards him in fury. Too fast to defend against, a booted foot swung at his groin. Anders' hoarse, bug-eyed scream terminated in dry retching as the pain and sick rushed from his soul to his throat. He heaved forward in agony, and the men obligingly assisted his momentum, hurling him face down to the ground.

One attacker dropped his weight on him, forcing him flat with a knee on his spine; the others twisted his arms behind his back and restrained his legs. Hands tore at his clothes, rifling through his pockets.

He groaned, his cheek pressed to the damp, foul stones. Before him, he could see the scuffling feet of Ondine and her assailants. A moment later, a shrill cry heralded the plop of a wool cap and brown wig onto the cobblestones a few feet in front of his horrified eyes.

"È una ragazza!" a man shouted.

Exultant cheers and crude hoots rose from the gang.

Pinned on his belly under multiple hands and knees, Anders wrenched in anguish --- then felt the sharp point of a knife dig into his neck.

The vile cacophony was cut short by a sudden shout. "Lei ha una pistola! Attenzione!" Two pairs of boots backed away from Ondine's.

"Get off him! Let him up!" she growled.

One set of boots leapt towards her ---

BLAAAM!!

A window shattered somewhere above his head and a small revolver clattered to the ground, skidding out of sight into the shadows. Another shriek --- then a ripping sound --- a handful of small buttons plinked to the stones in Anders' sightline, eliciting ribald cheers. He bucked under his captors, heedless of the knifepoint in his throat as he screamed, "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER, YOU BASTARDS!!"

A high-pitched whistle sounded above the ruckus.

The ruffians fell silent but maintained their grip on Anders. Twisting his head on the ground, he realized two additional men had emerged from a door in one of the buildings and were standing on a small wooden staircase overlooking the alley. The man in the lead barked a question.

One of the men near Ondine hollered a triumphant sounding reply.

An animated exchange ensued --- Anders straining to understand any word of the language. All he could deduce was the men were giving an accounting of the scene to the newcomers --- their deference indicating the speaker on the stairs was someone of consequence in the gang. The man seemed skeptical as he interrogated them, surveying the group with knitted brows. His chin jabbed towards Ondine. "Quella è una ragazza."

Protesting shouts came from the men.

The brusque response from the staircase silenced them anew and prompted the boots to step back from Ondine's.

The leader now descended to the alley and approached, his shoes halting a few inches from Anders' face. He uttered a curt question, his toe roughly nudging his forehead.

Someone muttered in return, but the weight lifted from his back. Grabbing him under the arms, two men heaved him upright to his knees, the blade yet pressed into his neck.

An immediate glance at Ondine reassured him she was unharmed, despite her partially fallen hair. In relief he saw the scattered buttons had come from her torn-open waistcoat. The shirt under it was intact.

His gaze darted to the man standing before him.

Like the rest of the gang members, he was a young, dark-haired tough. In his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, nothing about his garb indicated his elevated rank. The gleaming eyes narrowed as he studied Anders, a quizzical quirk of his black brows distorted by a jagged scar on his forehead.

Suddenly, the fellow's eyes widened. "Dr. Røkke!" A huge grin overspread his face. "My friend!" He pulled Anders to his feet, threw his arms around him, and kissed both his cheeks.

A face from the summer all at once came back to him. "Mr. Legnano!" Lucky Legnano, whose slashed femoral artery had inspired the triangulation repair technique!

Lucky vigorously shook Anders' shoulders. "This-a man, he save my leg! He save my life!" Turning to his confused comrades, he snapped, "Restituite loro i loro cappelli!" He gestured impatiently with his hand.

The men hastened to pick up Anders's and Ondine's hats and return them. The girl clutched her hat and wig to her chest.

"Why you come here, Dr. Røkke? It's not a good place for you --- not a good place for a girl. My men, they mistake you for a bastardo called 'The Swede'."

"We came to see Sophia Occhi."

"Ah, yes. Signorina Sophia." Lucky nodded. "And you saw her?"

"Yes."

"Alora --- we get you out." Lucky turned aside and addressed his men in Italian. Three of them stepped forward. "Andiamo! We take you --- where you want to go?"

"To find a cab?"

With a nod, Lucky pointed the way out of the alley. As they set out on the street, Legnano smacked his thigh heartily and said, "I walk good, yes? No limp. You fix it good."

The gang members escorted them the rest of the way through the slum to Broadway. Along the way, Lucky threw an arm over Anders' shoulders and said in a low voice by his ear, "Who is the beautiful girl, my friend? She is your wife?"

Anders shook his head, glancing uncomfortably at Ondine walking beside him, hoping she hadn't overheard. "She's ... erm ... a friend," he murmured.

"I want such a friend." Lucky winked. "Beautiful and coraggiosa --- how you say --- not-a scared."

"Brave. Yes, she is that," Anders said wistfully.

Upon reaching Broadway, Legnano embraced him once more, kissed Ondine's hand farewell, then disappeared back into the dark streets with his men.

They had but a moment to exchange an overwhelmed look before spotting a hansom cab coming around the corner. Hollering and waving, they ran towards it. Anders gave the cabbie the address of the Cornelissen mansion and they swung inside. A wave of relief flooded him as the carriage pulled away from the curb and proceeded north on the brightly-lit, smoothly-paved thoroughfare.

When he finally regained a measure of composure, he realized that, sitting side-by-side on the two-person carriage seat, their arms and legs were pressed together, and Ondine's hand was tightly clasped in his --- their joined hands resting upon his thigh. How dainty her hand felt in his large paw --- and yet the delicate fingers returned the squeezing pressure with seemingly equal fervor.

The girl glanced down and likewise seemed to discover their touching bodies. Simultaneously, they let go of each other's hands and scooted apart, putting several inches of seat between themselves.

Anders cleared his throat. "Mrs. Van der Veen, I'm truly sorry for exposing you to that depravity ... for what almost happened. Did they hurt you in any way?"

Ondine shook her head. "I'm fine. I---" Her face contorted. "My God, I've read the accounts in the newspapers, but they scarcely do justice to the reality. For people to struggle so when others live in excess just a few miles away ..." She sank back against the seat. "It's not right."

He nodded, his mouth a grim line.

The clip clop of the horse's hooves filled the lengthy pause that followed. The girl twisted and turned the wig in her hands, then watched him as he bent forward to extract the remaining money from his shoe.

Her soft voice broke the silence. "Mr. Røkke, if it is not too prying --- the money you gave Sophia Occhi must be a considerable sum in your circumstances. You must allow me to repay you."

"Please don't trouble yourself. I'll replenish my funds with a couple extra sessions posing naked." He chuckled wryly.

In the darkness, her shining eyes darted from his face to his chest, then shifted to the street. With the slight turn away of her head, the fallen locks of long dark hair shielded her face from his scrutiny. For several moments, his gaze lingered upon the thick wavy tresses ... glossy strands were almost touching his arm. The last time he had beheld her unfettered hair had been in her bedroom when he had gaped at the sight of her naked, open vagina and bottom hole clutching an invisible cock and had listened to the sounds of her arousal.

Anders swallowed and shifted on the seat, covertly adjusting his coat and returning his eyes forward, but naturally Fate had the last laugh --- there again on a building before them was the Heinz 57 pickle sign he had seen on the train ride downtown. Inwardly shaking his head, he forced his attention to the passing shops, theaters, and people.

Soon --- in relief for the distraction --- he recalled a question he had been intending to ask. "Did you bring a gun tonight, Mrs. Van der Veen?"

"Yes."

"How did it escape discovery by the pickpockets and those thugs?"

An impish smile flashed over her face. "I fashioned a special pocket for it on the back of my waistcoat. None of them felt back there."

Anders' eyebrows lifted. "Clever."

She shrugged. "Not that it helped --- the man knocked it out of my hand too quickly."

"No, I don't suppose they taught street fighting at your finishing school."

The girl laughed.

"How did you come by a gun?"

"I purchased it from a man in Central Park." She eyed him shrewdly. "If you were spying on me that day, surely you witnessed the exchange."

So that's what the strange package had been! "Touché." He acknowledged the playful barb with a sheepish grin. "Who was the man who sold it to you?"

"I'm not certain --- my coachman Braddock arranged the transaction. If I were to guess, he is an associate of your acquaintance Mr. Legnano."

"Erm ... may I ask, why did you want a gun?"

A lurch of the carriage bounced Ondine's light form, momentarily tilting her shoulder against his. She straightened. "Prior to your discovering the truth, the only thing I knew about my husband's nighttime visits was my fear. I was desperate for any means by which to protect myself." She shrugged and again said, "Not that it helped."

Anders nodded slowly. "Perhaps the medium's words will help. What do you think of what she said?"

Ondine turned to study him for a moment. "Just as we were sitting down inside the shop, she said something to you which you later referred to as a message from your mother."

"Yes, she spoke to me the exact words in Norwegian my mother used to say to me at bedtime: Jeg elsker deg, lille reinsdyr. It means I love you, little reindeer."

"Is that a common thing to say in Norway? Could Sophia have guessed you were Norwegian and simply repeated a common Norwegian phrase to win your credulity?"

Anders frowned. "The only clue might have been my subtle accent, which most people don't even notice. But to have detected it above the crying baby in that room seems impossible. And, as to your question, it's not a common phrase --- it's something my mother invented because of my fascination with reindeer when I was a little boy."

"Oh."

"Are you inclined to question her powers as a medium? Do you think she is a fraud?"

The girl shook her head. "I am merely endeavoring to exclude all alternative explanations."

It was the same methodical analysis she had applied to his revelation of the ghost. He replied, "How would she have known you to be female before you even spoke? You're not wearing any perfumes or scented powders, are you? How did she know about the wedding ... the green shape? And what about the hot air balloon? She described the exact scene you had painted, didn't she?"

Ondine lashes flicked. "Yes, that's true ... I see no other credible explanation for her words."

"Then the reason for the haunting is what we speculated! She said there was an unpunished wrong." Anders nodded eagerly. "What could it be? She mentioned jealousy and a man with a gun. We know Peter was not shot, but could he have shot somebody? Maybe the wrong was committed by him?"

"Maybe the man with the gun was simply Sophia seeing Peter in his usual state. It seemed more often than not he had a gun in his hand --- testing it, spinning the cylinder, showing it off." Her expression looked glum.

"What about the jealousy she mentioned? I understand there were some disappointed suitors for your hand."

"Who then did what? Peter was not murdered. The autopsy revealed an undiagnosed heart defect."

He thought for a moment. "Then what about his brother --- what is his name?"

"Hugo."

"Maybe the unpunished wrong is related to their falling out. What if Hugo committed some crime that might prompt Peter to return as a ghost?"

"But then why haunt me?"

She had an excellent point. Anders' shoulders slumped momentarily before inspiration flashed, and he countered, "How do we know he's not haunting Hugo as well?"

Ondine looked at him curiously.

"Perhaps he has a ghostly appointment book --- first he visits you for ... ahem ... recreation, then he torments his brother. Or maybe it's the reverse order." He spoke with levity, but who was to say it was not true?

She rolled her eyes.

"Can you obtain more information about their falling out?"

"To my knowledge, the only living person who knows the truth about that subject is Hugo Van der Veen. Unfortunately, he and I are not on speaking terms, and even if we were, I doubt he would divulge that information, or inform me of whether or not he is being haunted."

They sat for a moment without speaking. The cab passed a corner where a fiddle player with his upturned hat on the sidewalk entertained the strolling theater goers.

As the ironically lighthearted music receded behind them, Anders spoke again. "Sophia said there were two forces responsible for the haunting --- the man's and the woman's --- if I understood her. We must investigate this second force as well --- something related to a woman."

Ondine shifted on the seat, hugging herself.

"Do you have any idea what that might mean?"

She shook her head.

He thought once more about jealousy. "Did your husband have a mis... that is to say ... were there any other women who might have been upset by his marriage?"

The girl's startled eyes flew to him.

"I apologize, Mrs. Van der Veen. I didn't mean to offend you."

She quickly recovered her composure. "I could not say for sure about other women."

The conversation lapsed for several minutes, the sound of the hooves and carriage wheels echoing in the cold night air. Anders' eyes fixed abstractedly on the colored lights of the advertising signs sliding over the shining dark coat of the horse in front of them. The wheels were likewise turning in his mind, but he restrained himself from posing the uncomfortable questions his musings provoked. Next to him, Ondine's restless fingers fidgeted with the wig.

The cab turned onto Fifth Avenue, signaling the last stretch of the ride. The girl roused herself and doffed her cap, setting it on her lap. She began to put her disheveled hair to rights, re-fastening the escaped locks. Her upraised arm grazed Anders' shoulder. "Pardon me," she murmured.

The intimate motions of pinning her hair stirred something deep in his belly, and after watching her for a minute, he directed his longing eyes elsewhere.

"Mr. Røkke, I have a proposal regarding the next course of action," she said as she worked.

He kept his eyes chivalrously averted, but responded with an eager, "Yes?"

"Did you learn the technique of hypnosis during your clerkship with Dr. Schuller?"

"I read about it, and the doctor discussed it with me. Apart from observing yours, I witnessed him performing it on one other patient."

She picked up the wig, then, a few moments later, her cap. After a series of tugging motions, her hands lowered, and Anders judged it safe to look at her. Simon Sellers had been restored.

Ondine met his eyes. "I think you should try hypnotizing me. Perhaps it will help me recall details I'm not presently remembering."

His brows drew together in confusion. "Dr. Schuller already attempted it without success --- two times, I understand. Why do you suppose it would be any different if I hypnotized you?"

"I feel nervous in his presence," she said simply.

His heart latched onto the innocuous words and ran amok. They were both gazing straight ahead, but from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed her hand on the seat cushion next to his --- less than an inch separated their little fingers. Every outwardly motionless part of his body strained towards her, craving her touch. Unable to stop himself, he adjusted his yearning pinky a scant quarter inch, reducing the distance from hers to a hair's breadth.

"Okay, I'll try" he said.

The carriage pulled to a stop at the curb in front of the Cornelissen mansion.

"Can you come to the house on Sunday around eleven in the morning? My aunt and cousins are attending a luncheon and exhibit opening at the museum."

"Yes."

She hopped down to the sidewalk. "Enter the grounds at the back by the stable and come to the conservatory where I paint. I'll let you in there." At his nod, she hastened away, disappearing into the darkness along the side of the mansion.