As twilight faded over the cemetery, Lex performed his equipment check. The zipper on the ripped backpack resisted his pull for a moment, so he had to give it a swift tug. It contained only five items, but Lex planned on checking all of them. First, the flashlight. On, off, on, off. To the normal observer, it resembled a typical flashlight. But Lex had strict requirements, and this beauty met all of them, including a lifetime warranty.
He slid the flashlight in its protective case and pulled out the next item, a digital EMF and temperature meter. The device resembled a 1990s cell phone due to its clunky buttons and blocky shape. Despite its appearance, the meter was unique. It combined two functions into one, which meant he could keep one of his hands free.
First, it measured temperature and alerted him to any drastic shifts. It also recorded EMF, or electromagnetic fields. EMF could be emitted by TV antennas, electrical sockets, and even thunderstorms.
Those weren't the types of EMF readings he wanted, though.
Before putting it back, he ran his check. On, off, on, off. No problems.
The last electronic device was an EVP recorder wristband. From a distance, it resembled one of those expensive fitness trackers. The recorder could be left on all night, and he could dump the audio files into his laptop at home for analysis.
He dreaded that part of the work. Listening to hours of his own shuffling footsteps and breathing could be dull. It was like hunting for the proverbial needle in the haystack.
However, he had found a few needles. And what fascinating and mesmerizing needles they were. They made it all worth it.
After securing the recorder to his wrist, he pulled out a long, skinny item wrapped in a dish towel. Setting the towel in his lap, he uncovered an object that resembled a giant wishbone. Lex knew better. He didn't use it often, but the dowsing rod had helped him out of a few rough spots. With care, he returned the rod to the backpack.
The last item was the most precious. It was a creased, leather-bound journal. Letters had been pounded into the cover reading "Julian James Sterling." Inside, half of the pages were filled with his father's looping handwriting, while the other half were covered in Lex's indecipherable chicken scratch. After returning the journal, he zipped the backpack and stood up from the wooden bench.
Lights from a golf cart came bouncing in his direction. He shielded his eyes from the glare by turning his head away.
As typical, most of his facial features were obscured in the deep shadows of his hoodie. His outfits rarely varied beyond his black hoodies, jeans, black skater shoes, and ripped backpack. And, of course, he was an African-American male teenager wandering around by himself at night. That made some morons nervous.
People. Ugh.
The golf cart stopped, and the driver turned off the headlights and the engine. Before his eyes could adjust, a voice called out. "Hey, there, Lex."
He sighed and smiled. "Hey, Gladys."
An elderly woman with wispy white hair and thick eyeglasses stepped out. Around her neck, she wore a badge that read "Bellefontaine Cemetery Volunteer." She sat on the bench and patted the spot next to her. "Have a seat, young man. The night is young."
"Yes, ma'am." He shrugged the backpack off and joined her.
For a moment, they were quiet. He relaxed his shoulders and his breathing. He had been in scary cemeteries. This wasn't one of them. This one radiated peace and belonging. The headstones, mausoleums, and tombs seemed as naturally placed in the environment as the tall, ancient trees.
Overhead lamps lit the cemetery's main paths, so the graves themselves were blanketed in soft shadows. The evening calls of the birds, the chirping of a nearby frog, and the hum of nocturnal insects orchestrated the evening's soundtrack.
"I found your skateboard by the entrance. I moved it inside the gate before locking it for the night."
"Thanks, Gladys."
After a few more minutes of sharing quiet space together, Gladys asked, "How's school?"
"Not great, ma'am."
She smiled at him and patted his knee. "I know." She gestured to the surrounding graves. "Who are you visiting this evening?"
"Probably Kate Brewington Bennett again."
"You do love a tragic female, don't you? I hope the same isn't true for your love life."
He scoffed. "Love life? I don't need a love life. My ladies on the other side take all my time."
"A lady like Kate, though? I don't know if she's someone I would court more than once. Vanity is a wretched sin, and it killed her. She claimed to be the most beautiful woman in St. Louis. And what was her beauty secret? Arsenic. Not a smart choice. Dead in 1855 at the age of thirty-seven."
Lex smiled in appreciation. "Do you have all their stories memorized?"
"All of them? Oh, no. There are 87,000 stories laid to rest in this cemetery. I just remember the noteworthy or historical ones for the tours. And a few extras for my own amusement."
Using the arm of the bench for support, Gladys stood and glared down at Lex. She took on the voice and posture of an angry guard. "Ahem. Young man, you are to vacate the premises this instant. I'm not responsible for the consequences if you get caught again."
He sighed. "I know. Don't worry. I won't get you in trouble, Gladys. Just me. I'm used to it."
She examined him over the rim of her glasses, scowling a little. She almost said something, but stopped herself. "Good luck on your date."
"Thanks." He hurried over to give her a hand into her golf cart. She started to reach for the keys, but Lex said, "Hey, Gladys?"
"Yes, Lex?"
"Why do you volunteer here?"
She reached out and patted his cheek. "The same reason you chase them. I can't let go of somebody." The little engine flared to life, and Gladys nodded in goodbye.
Lex watched her taillights disappear around a windy bend. Gladys's words swam like little fish inside his gut. She had seen right through him. He tried to force the discomfort away, but his grief didn't work like that. It came and went, and he just had to live with it. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and approached his chosen subject for the evening.
After the puttering of Gladys' cart faded to nothing, Lex couldn't hear any other vehicles. Any lingering guests had vacated the cemetery at closing time about two hours ago. The volunteers and staffers who remained, he knew, would be few, and Gladys had his back. With a little caution and awareness, he should be left undisturbed.
Undisturbed by people, anyway. The weather was already getting on his nerves. His hoodie had felt too warm on him earlier in the day, but with the sun setting, the temperature plummeted. Late winter and early spring in St. Louis could bring snow, rain, hail, pleasant sunshine, ice. Any of it was possible in March, sometimes in the span of one week. Tonight, the forecast predicted dipping temperatures as well as freezing rain after midnight.
Because Mrs. Bennett's monument sat beside a chapel that drew plenty of tour groups and funerals, Lex approached with care. He watched the little building for a few minutes, lingering in the shadows behind an old elm tree. No movement or light betrayed any delinquent visitors. With quick, long strides, he slinked around the right side of the chapel and hurried to the grave.
There, he saw her, resting atop her ornate four-poster canopy bed of white marble. It wasn't her, of course, but her likeness carved into the gravestone. Her husband had wanted to preserve her beauty forever, so he had purchased the massive, bleak tribute to her. As Lex approached the prone statue, he searched its features for Mrs. Bennett's legendary beauty.
Time had worn away the details. All that remained was an old, white statue lying on a creepy stone bed. A similarly worn figure of an angel watched over her. Many cemetery visitors had stopped by the huge marble artwork to see the macabre lady as well as to marvel at the bed, which rose high above Lex's head.
Lex had seen it plenty of times before, so the novelty had worn off. He sat in the grass, leaning his back against the grave and staying on the side that faced away from the chapel and road. Then, he set to work. After he flipped on the digital EMF and temperature meter, he rested it on a level spot on the bed. The dowsing rod and flashlight waited in his lap in case he needed them. After gathering his thoughts, Lex pressed the EVP recorder's "on" button.
"This is Alexander 'Lex' Sterling. The date is Tuesday, March eighth. Time is 2015 Central Military Time or 8:15 P.M. Central Daylight Time. Location is Bellefontaine Cemetery at the monument of Kate Brewington Bennett. This is my third visit to Mrs. Bennett, and both previous visits have been completely unsuccessful. No temperature changes. No unidentifiable sounds on the audio. Not even a weird EMF reading. I'm not too optimistic about meeting the missus tonight."
He adjusted his position to warm himself. "Honestly, I never get anything when I come to Bellefontaine. Probably because this is sacred ground. But I'm bored. My home life sucks, school sucks, and it's Tuesday, so it's not like I can schedule a real investigation. And this place is on an easy bus route from my house, so what else am I going to do? I'll start the observation now. After adding notes to the journal, I'll make my first attempt at contact."
Using his system of abbreviations and shorthand, Lex spent less than a minute writing a status report. Then he tried to settle himself in the appropriate frame of mind.
His father had narrated most of his hunts by hand, only using an EVP recorder for communication with "them." Consequently, Lex had spent countless hours poring through every one of his father's words in his journals, trying to piece together his methods and habits.
One of them was the meditative mind. To reach out to his desired subjects, Lex needed to open his awareness to possibility. He had to turn off the churning, whirling, chugging thoughts inside his head as well as steady his emotions.
Lex had plenty of practice at this, and he didn't view it as a necessary chore. This was part of the escape. He could leave reality behind as he relaxed his muscles, steadied his breathing, and slowed his heart rate. Even the chill outside lost some of its bite as he fixated on reaching outside of himself.
With this heightened focus, he sought out Kate. He tried to imagine her as she would want to be imagined—youthful, charming, and stunningly beautiful. Then, he spoke. "Kate Brewington Bennett. Mrs. Bennett. Kate. Tell me your story."
He glanced at his EMF and temperature meter, but observed no change.
"Tell me your story," he repeated. He waited, letting the silence of the cemetery settle around him. He imagined grasping her lily-white hand, helping her to emerge from a shadowy gloom. "Show me your face."
After a few more minutes of inactivity, he spoke again, but this time in a drier tone. "No readings noticed. Contact will be attempted again in sixty minutes. Any voices heard in between now and nine twenty-one are not my own unless identified."
He leaned against the stone but maintained his meditative mind. It was not a sleepy feeling, but he wouldn't describe it as relaxed, either. He felt alert and reflective. He hovered in between the world in front of him and the gateway to the other roads that opened within him and extended outward.
His eyes always remained open so he could glance at his meter and recorder, but only half his mind could process what he was seeing. The other half was searching for Kate.
The flow of time also lost its typical power. During past hunts, Lex had allowed entire evenings to pass while in meditative mind. He had only realized he was going to be late for school when the sun touched his face.
Tonight felt no different. Even though the wrist recorder showed the time, he didn't pay attention to it until he was due for another communication attempt. As a result, he didn't know how long he had been sitting by Kate's grave when he heard footsteps.
Footsteps.
For a second, his heart soared. But then, he saw a flashlight's beam. His subjects didn't carry flashlights.
"Dammit," he seethed, the word leaking out from between clenched teeth.
Irritated, he made sure his belongings were tucked close to him so he couldn't be spotted from the road. Keeping the hood pulled low over his face, he peered around the corner.
It was a girl, at least he thought it was a girl, and she was coming right for him. In one hand, she carried the flashlight. The other hand glowed with the murky light of a cell phone. He watched her strides for a moment. She appeared to be in a hurry, but her rigid posture as well as her frequent stops to check landmarks and road signs suggested she was both nervous and lost.
Lex began eliminating possibilities. She wasn't a regular volunteer or employee, and she didn't resemble the trespassers or thrill seekers that sometimes crossed his path. Idiots liked cemeteries and old, abandoned houses. Lex didn't like idiots, but this girl, judging by her frantic searching, wasn't his typical idiot.
Lex watched her approach until she was about the length of a school bus from him. Then, her wandering eyes found Kate's bed, and she began to hurry toward it and him. Lex ducked behind the grave.
I'll wait her out, he decided. Hopefully, she'll glance at the grave and walk away. She might not even come around this side. He turned his meter over to hide the screen's light, curled his legs close to his body, and held his breath.
The footsteps came so close that Lex could hear individual leaves and sticks popping under her shoes. Then, he could hear her huffing and puffing. She was right there on the other side, her flashlight shining on the grave itself.
"Kate Brewington Bennett, found you. Now, where is the—oh, oh shit!" That quickly she had spotted him.
With a groan, Lex stood up. He kept the hood over his face so the only feature she could see was a deep frown.
The teen swallowed and stepped away from him. "Do you, do you work here?"
"No. Do you?"
"No. No, I don't."
He could see her better now. Choppy green hair, thin face, short stature, skinny jeans, and a T-shirt from a musical. She was young, either his age or a year younger. "So." He raised an eyebrow as he scanned her over. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I'm trying to solve a puzzle so I can find this, this group, I guess, but—hey, what are you doing here?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "Talking to Kate. What else?"
"Oh. Well, I guess I won't interrupt your conversation. I just need to see the month of her death, fifth letter." She stepped forward with hesitation, straining to see the details of the monument.
Lex held up a hand to stop her. "It's 'M.' She died in November. What are you spelling?"
"It's supposed to tell me where to meet with these people, and I have to be there by nine oh eight. I already have the letters 'H,' 'U,' and 'M,' so now I need to find the grave of—"
"Don't bother. It's Humboldt. It's the cemetery entrance that dumps into Broadway Avenue, but it's locked. I bet your friends are waiting there." He glanced her over. "Pretty crappy friends, sending you on a scavenger hunt at night by yourself."
She shook her head. "They're not my friends. It's for a story. I'm a student journalist."
Mumbling and grumbling to himself, Lex packed his backpack and walked closer to her. "My EVP recording is all shot to shit anyway. Come on. I'll take you over there. It's a long way, and you're short on time."
"Wow. That's nice. What's your name again?"
"Don't worry about it." Without checking to make sure she was following, Lex began moving toward one of the roads. "Just keep up. And please, please don't get all freaked out or something. They're just graves. But." He turned back to her, his eyes boring into hers. "If you see anything unnatural, let me know right away."
He flashed his teeth at her, more of a grimace than a smile, and started jogging.