Life to Life: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective Read online

  Herman was also Clara Boone's nephew. Both he and McSweeney were occasional participants in Clara's past-lives study group.

  Now Clara's half-sister, Mary, the silent film star, is the mother of Annie's first husband, Nathan, which means that Ann was briefly related by marriage to Herman—but look out for this one—Herman's mother, and I have no idea what her name is (nor do I wish to know)—Herman's mother was Nathan's father's sister, so that makes Wayne Sturgis the uncle of Herman Milhaul and therefore related by one device or another to McSweeney.

  But I am not finished with this.

  Clara Boone's brother (whom we have not and will not meet here) was married to Maizey McCall before Maizey was married to Tony Mathison, Ann's father. And Tony Mathison, believe it or not, was married to Clara's sister, Mary—Wayne Sturgis's present wife—when Tony met Maizey. (Which could explain why the sisters were estranged all those years; Maizey and Clara were good buddies.)

  Got all that?

  Okay, here's some more. Donald Huntzermann, Annie's second husband, had been married briefly to Wayne Sturgis's sister, Herman Milhaul's mother. And Milhaul's natural father had been killed in a traffic accident involving George Farrel, Ann's fourth and latest husband, when Milhaul was only two years old.

  And, of course, Farrel was Bruce Janulski's natural father.

  That brings us to Larry Preston, Annie's third husband, the dry cleaner whose truck exploded on a freeway. Ready? Larry's first wife was Charlie McSweeney's sister.

  Is it any wonder that David Carver was half crazy trying to unravel this thing, especially since we already know that Annie's second husband was his grandfather, which makes Annie his step-grandmother, and I hope you caught the connection with Milhaul: Carver's grandfather had briefly been Milhaul's stepfather.

  One small item here: Carver's mother also is a member of the past-lives group involving Clara, Milhaul, and McSweeney.

  And a final tidbit that may mean nothing whatever but I toss it in merely to round out the picture. Janulski's mother was a sixteen-year-old named Mary Magdalene who died shortly after his birth.

  So there's our cast of players. Have you noticed the string of names that begin with the letter M? It's probably no more than a curiosity...the same as another interesting string I've noted—John, James, Judas, Jesus, Jerusalem, Jehovah...

  And so what do you make of our game, at this point?

  Keep in mind, before you leap, what I said earlier about the two patterns of death: the one preceding Annie's apparent state of independence and the one since.

  And please remember something that my dear old dad said to me: the antecedent follows the precedent. Has something to do with fruition, I believe.

  Here is the translation of the tutorial, with a dash of synthesis to tie it all together:

  "There is extreme danger if you persist in the present activity."

  "You have been warned of the high price to pay if you lose the disciplines."

  "Now you have lost all discipline. The group is no longer the group."

  "Your project grows desperate and the leaders without the will to lead."

  "You are now under relentless attack, and they will not deal kindly with you."

  "You must stop the outward flow and reconcentrate the energies if you intend to persist."

  "Otherwise all is death and the game is lost."

  "You must follow the leader, and the leader must follow the disciplines."

  "The leader is the disciplines, find the disciplines must lead."

  "Otherwise, we see failure."

  "The entire world will rise up to refute you."

  "You have lost the object of the game yet you think that you have found it."

  "That which you now desire will destroy you."

  "Return to the disciplines."

  "Beware of foolish behavior."

  "Remain firm in your game!"

  "Get out of Hollywood!"

  "Sever all ties that seek to use you for personal gain!"

  There you go. In a nutshell, this was a warning that everything was going to hell. The work of years (or maybe centuries!) was in jeopardy because of a sudden loss of direction. Only a quick and decisive turnaround could save the game. And apparently Francois Mirabel and his plans for Annie were at the root of all the trouble. But I detected a note of something else, too, and I needed time to think about that.

  Problem was, all the time had run out, it seems, and this route had already been scrubbed.

  But I still wanted to know why.

  I hesitate to mention it because already I have dwelt too long with the Jesus story, but this whole thing gave a new poignancy to that story. It provides a very personal look at the inside drama involving the fruition at Jerusalem as Jesus considered his fate in the garden at Gethsemane. I think he wanted out.

  Let's pick it up at Matthew 36:

  Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to the disciples, "Sit here, while I go yonder and pray." And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me." And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, "So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."

  Jesus then returned and prayed again, "My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, thy will be done."

  He went back and found the disciples again asleep, so he returned and prayed a third time, "saying the same words."

  Apparently he finally got his answer, because it is written, Matthew 45:

  Then he came to the disciples and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand."

  The cup would not pass, so Jesus accepted it, steeled himself, and went out to fulfill his destiny. I think he was a hell of a man.

  By and large, I think, the masters come at us with no games at all. They come quietly to enlighten, to lead, to inspire. They might come via music or literature, science or industry, even politics and the military, sometimes through religion.

  But when they come with a game, it is because things have become a bit desperate on earth. And the games, when successful, always move the earth—though perhaps not always in a direction which we with the earthbound view would call delightful.

  The setup, as I understand it, can take generations to put into place. A theater must first be chosen and the stage prepared. A script must be developed, actors selected and all the roles cast. There must be the "wayshowers" like John the Baptist and the villains like Herod and Caiphus, the loyalists like Peter and the traitors like Judas. And finally, of course, there must be a star: the master himself or herself, and this master must have the depth to carry the role. At special times, more than one master.

  As I see it, the games are most often designed to irritate and arouse. They are goads, and we—you and me—are the goadees.

  I still did not know the name of Annie's game.

  But my father in heaven had told me: "You're the boss. It's what you make it."

  I would have to see about that.

  Chapter Thirty: The Man

  Before I even got out of the building, I knew that I had to talk to Annie. I returned to Stewart's office and told him that.

  The cop fixed me with a troubled gaze and said, "Just when I thought we were getting to be friends."

  I told him, "Has nothing to do with friendship. I'm not on anybody's fee right now. I want the same thing you want; the truth. I believe I am only one step away from it. Let me talk to her."

  He seemed to be considering the request as he replied, "The D.A. probably would not
like that."

  I suggested, "Okay, so friendship is involved. Or trust. You can fix it. Do it."

  "Just one step away, huh?"

  "I think so, yeah."

  "Maybe if I wired you for sound..."

  I said, "Or maybe if you pretended to do that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I am not going to take a wire in there, Paul. But if the D.A. thinks I am..."

  The cop showed me a thin smile as he replied, "You don't mind asking for anything, do you. Tell me something: why should I do this? If you can give me one word..."

  I replied, "I can give you two. David Carver."

  Our gazes locked for a very pregnant moment—then he sighed and reached for the telephone. "I will have to wire you. You do what you think you have to do with it after you get in there."

  I knew how to handle that, sure. Wires were my business, once.

  Annie had not been informed of the tragedy at her Center of Light. They had moved her to a jail ward at County General following the hemorrhage but she looked okay—a bit pale but otherwise okay. The nurse pulled the curtains to give us the only privacy possible in a room with nine other patients. There was a moment of awkwardness, once we were alone, but that passed rather quickly.

  I asked her, "How you doing, kid?"

  She replied, "Fine, thanks."

  I took her hand and said, "I bring bad news."

  But she already had it, deep in the eyes. She said, "I know."

  I took a deep breath; said, "They're all dead, Annie."

  She closed her eyes for a moment then turned them to the curtain as she opened them. "Then it's over," she whispered.

  "Scrubbed," I told her.

  "I see."

  "What went wrong?"

  She continued to eye the curtain. "I'm afraid it has been wrong for a long time."

  "Since Francois?"

  "Before that, even."

  "Did you set him up?"

  She turned the lovely head to look at me, blinked the eyes rapidly several times; asked, "What?"

  I said, "Never mind"; showed her a picture from Clara's old album; asked, "Who is this?"

  She took the faded snapshot from my hand and glanced at it; handed it back and told me, "She was my mother."

  "Recognize the guy?"

  "My mother's lover."

  "Remember his name?"

  "Read my mind," she replied quietly.

  I said, "Then you've known all along that Francois was..."

  She said, "Of course I've known.''

  "Now you read my mind," I said.

  She looked at me for a long moment then smiled and said, "Of course I know what happened. Why do you think I am in this hospital bed? Didn't I tell you we'd fall in love?"

  I chuckled and said, "I didn't know you meant that literally."

  The smile faded. She asked me. "When did they die?"

  I said, "Very soon after that."

  A tear oozed along her cheek. She whispered, "Why?"

  I sighed and told her, "Hell I don't know why, Annie. I was hoping you could tell me why."

  She replied in a whisper: "It was not written."

  I said, "Maybe somebody penciled it in."

  She turned back to the curtain; whispered, "Perhaps."

  I stood there silently for a moment then asked her, "Why me, Annie?"

  She whispered, "Read my mind."

  "I don't want to read your mind. I want you to tell me. After all these years and all those husbands...why me?"

  She looked at me, then, as she replied, "It did not really happen, you know. This flesh is still virgin flesh."

  I asked, "Why is that so important?"

  She said, "Please leave me alone, now. My spirit weeps."

  I said, "I know...I know," and pulled the curtain back.

  She took my hand and said, "Thank you."

  I said, "For what?"

  She smiled weakly and said, "Read my mind."

  I was reading it, yeah, and it was tearing me up.

  I asked, "Where would I find Bruce?"

  She whispered, "Golgotha."

  I said, "Like that, eh."

  "Yes."

  "Are you Mary, then?"

  She just gave me a sad, sweet smile and turned away from me. So I went out of there and met Paul Stewart in the waiting room.

  He asked, "How'd it go?"

  I reported, "About the way I expected it to. Now I need to find Golgotha."

  He said, "Who the hell is that?"

  "It's not a who," I told him. "It's a where. A hill, maybe."

  Stewart said, "There's a thousand hills in this town but I never heard of that one."

  I thought maybe I had. Yeah, maybe I had.

  I figured Arnold Tostermann, the screenwriter, for just the guy to give me a quick answer to a simple question, and I'd figured right. A thirty-second telephone conversation with Tostermann gave me what I needed to know.

  I had left the Maserati at the police station and gone with Stewart in his official vehicle to County General. I would need him again in his official capacity to gain entrance to "Golgotha" and I figured it was just as well to have him in on this thing, anyway, so we set off together from the hospital in his car.

  There are not a lot of back lots left in Hollywood since the studios began dismantling themselves and selling off their valuable land, but I had remembered one in particular that was still around and there was something vague in the memory about a particular old movie set that had never been demolished. Tostermann confirmed and refined that vague memory and sent us hurtling across town in search of a master gamesman.

  Stewart's badge got us through the studio main gate. We left the car at the entrance to the darkened back lot and went the rest of the way on foot.

  We found our Golgotha, yeah. Wasn't exactly a hid, after all; just a small mound of earth in a corner of the lot. It was dark back there but not so dark that we could not find our way without artificial lighting; I did not want to use flashlights. There was a muted glow, anyway, from the city lights; the city itself lay just beyond a ten-foot-high wooden fence.

  I was not all that sure what I would find there. I did expect to find Janulski...but I did not know what else to expect.

  Well...I should have known.

  This was, after all, the only Golgotha in town. And Golgotha was named in the Bible as the place where Jesus was crucified.

  The crosses from the old movie set were still in place. They had built them with small platforms placed at the proper height on which the actors could rest their feet while crucified and there was portable scaffolding at the rear to facilitate an easy on and off.

  Janulski was up on the middle cross. He had draped a bedsheet or something like that from the crossbar and it was covering him from the neck down.

  I cautioned Stewart to remain in the shadows at the bottom of the mound and I went on up alone.

  I guess Janulski heard my approach because he called out in a trembly voice, "Who is there?"

  I went on to within a few paces from the base of the cross before I stopped and lit a cigarette. I took my time at that; wanted him to get a good look at my face. Then I told him, "Surely you know who is here."

  He had a kind of crazy look in his eyes. I could see him perfectly, every feature in clear detail. I guess he could see me okay, too, because he replied, "I knew who you were when first I laid eyes on you."

  I said, "That's nice. Who am I, then?"

  He warned me, "I have a gun. Don't come any closer."

  I had been edging forward when he said that. I glanced back toward the bottom of the mound where I had left Stewart. I could see him, vaguely, and I knew that he could see me even better than I could see him. I just hoped he could hear, as well.

  I told Janulski, "You don't need a gun for me, pal. I just came to talk."

  "Too late for that," he said emotionally.

  I replied, "Yeah. I caught your work at the center. Why'd you have to do that, Bruce?"

&n
bsp; He said, "It is over."

  I said, "Sure is. For those folks, anyway. Why?"

  "It was their choice," he told me.

  "So what did they prove?"

  "Nothing to prove," he replied. "Something to accomplish."

  "What was accomplished, then?"

  He wet his lips with his tongue and said, "A quick return. We could yet succeed."

  I asked, "Succeed in what?"

  He said, "You know what."

  I said, "It was your game all the time, wasn't it. Not Annie's game. Your game. Her spotlight but your stage."

  "Let it be," he said.

  "I can't let it be, pal. Too many people are dead. You know you can't play the game that way. You blew it. What was it? The Mirabel money? Was that so tempting?"

  "I lost the way," he said humbly. "Don't rub it in."

  "Come down and let's talk about it."

  "You know that I cannot come down."

  The poor guy was sweating, the face all beaded and dripping with it; I knew that he was under severe stress. And I did not know what was beneath that sheet.

  I urged him, "We can do it better than this. Come on down."

  "I cannot come down."

  "Why did you want McSweeney dead?"

  He grimaced. "Pervert! He would pull it all apart. For a sexual thrill. He needed to die. He had to die."

  "Herman, too? Herman had to die?"

  "Of course he had to die! You know who those two were!"

  No, I did not, but I let it pass to ask him, "How'd you game it?"

  He smiled, coughed lightly, replied, "Patrolman Malloy was with us."

  Malloy, eh? With an M. I glanced again toward Stewart; said to Janulski, "Malloy did not get Herman."

  He smiled from the cross. "You did."

  I said, "You son of a bitch."