Page 3 of Hearts of Stone

“OK, what about Jared?”

“The big guy who had a wife and kids at home, who used ghost hunting as an excuse to go and pick up gay guys on the downlow?”

Daniel winced at my tone. My words had come out far frostier than I’d intended. But I’d hated the fact he’d slept with a married man the first time it had happened, let alone the second. Back then my displeasure had come from what I felt was a position of security. I’d said piously that if Jared was bi or gay, of course he needed an opportunity to explore that, but that he needed to be transparent with his wife about it so she could make her own decisions about what she wanted from therelationship. I’d doled out the advice blithely, unaware that my life was about to implode, in much the same way as Jared’s wife’s.

“OK, point taken.” Daniel nodded, conceding that he didn’t have the evidence to support his theory. “Wear whatever you like.” But then as he looked down at the box I was still rummaging through, he wrinkled his nose and snatched up a t-shirt I’d pushed to the side. “But nothing that belonged to Pencil Dick, OK?” He held up the old band t-shirt, which, like so many damn things in this apartment, brought back memories.

I couldn’t help but think of when we’d got that shirt. We’d travelled to the city for a one-off concert. I’d stuck close to an eighteen-year-old Trevor, feeling low key terrified by the walls of older men uniformly wearing denim and studded black leather.

“You OK?” he’d asked me, holding my hand tight. “We won’t go anywhere near the mosh pit, so—”

Anything he’d had to say was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the band took to the stage and that was when I’d felt it. It wasn’t just me or just Trevor or just the older guys standing in a row before us, black patches with the names of their favourite bands sewn onto their fraying denim jackets. The energy of the crowd was electrifying, spiking along with the plumes of fire that shot into the sky. The opening riff of the song rang out across the stadium, reverberating and growing louder and more powerful, as though pummelling you into submission. We weren’t fans any more, we were supplicants at a demonic altar, whipped up to take part in a dark rite.

I’d felt a part of something I hadn’t quite understood, and when he’d tugged me closer, cradling me in his arms like I was precious, I’d felt like I understood the music so much better. The raucous vocals, the loud guitars, it was all a giant ‘fuck you’ to the worries, the hassles, the on-going shit of the world and I’d been ready to get lost in it.

I blinked, coming back to myself, seeing the apartment with fresh eyes. Back then I’d thought I had the whole world at my feet; but now…? I grabbed the t-shirt from Daniel, screwed it up and threw it into the corner of the living room, something that would no doubt drive present-day Trevor nuts. Everything needed to be perfect, tidy, preserving the persona he fought hard to maintain.

“Nothing that belongs to Pencil Dick,” I agreed and then got dressed.

We jumpedin the car not long afterwards, making our way across town and into the leafy suburbs. It wasn’t an area I frequented often, as I didn’t need to go there for work, and I always felt too out of place to hang out in the nearby cafes or bars. But the suburb we were headed for, Burnside, was a strange one. As we drove, we passed beautiful house after beautiful house, typical of the monied side of town, all illuminated by the harsh street lights. Then, set back from these big homes on their big blocks, and dwarfing them all, was this place.

When I’d first come to the city, these kinds of houses had freaked me out because they’d seemed so incongruous. In a suburb full of normal house blocks, you’d find remnants of a grand colonial past. Estates, mansions, they’d once been stately homes far on the outskirts of when Adelaide had been a much smaller city. But as the urban sprawl had crept further and further out, these estates could no longer stay hidden gems out in the countryside. They’d become besieged on all sides by much smaller house blocks, swallowed up by suburbia, yet somehow remaining apart from it. I stared out the window as we approached the towering wrought iron fence and then turned to Daniel, my eyes wide.

“Here? Z Ward is here?!”

Suddenly, ghost hunting was looking a whole lot more appealing. Creaky old psych wards weren’t my jam. But beautiful old houses had a certain appeal. I didn’t know if it was because I was so over going to one shitty rental open inspection after another, but the prospect of traipsing through a stately home, seeing how the other half lived? Yeah, I was down with that.

“It was built on the grounds of The Eyrie,” Daniel said, braking gently to bring the car to a stop and then letting the engine idle as he nodded to the hulking Gothic mansion that lurked beyond the gates. All fancy old places seemed to earn themselves a name. “The mansion has a weird enough history all on its own. The components for this house were bought up, back in England, in a literal fire sale when a mansion called Wildfyre Hall was destroyed. The original building burnt down in a very suspicious fire. Ghost hunters love the original site back in the UK, because the original owner was involved in the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. He was one of those rich people titillated by occultism.” He shot me a sidelong look, eyes sparkling in a way that only happened when we were talking about the paranormal. “I’m fairly sure it was all just an excuse to throw wild orgies of drinking, eating rich food and fucking anything that moved. Can you imagine?”

“Considering people’s personal hygiene back then?” I wrinkled my nose. “No.”

“Bitch, you’d be riding the face of some guy with really bad dental work, with a glass of champagne in your hand. Just like the rest of us,” Daniel cackled, but when he turned back to the house, he grew more serious. “But, all good things come to an end. Wildfyre was burned to the ground, some say by a jealous husband or something.” He shot me a wild grin. “Because the lord of Wildfyre; he was a bit of a rake. Fairly sure he took ‘any holes the goal’ to a whole other level.”

“So does that mean we’re going to see ghosts of the horny past?” I asked. “Because getting groped by incorporeal beings is not my idea of a good time. Consent matters.”

“I would’ve thought some demon lover who was prepared to enact all your wildest fantasies would be right up your alley.” Daniel shot me a sly look. “At least a ghost would have you screaming, unlike Pencil Dick Trevor.”

I flushed then, not from what my friend was saying, but because of what it meant. I’d unloaded one drunken night, telling Danny all about what a shitty lover Trevor was, and how I knew Sabrina-Sharon-Susanhadto be faking it, because how could anyone get off from a few furtive clit rubs and then three pumps inside you? But the problem with telling Danny about it was that by damning Trevor, I’d damned myself. I’d been the one to put up with that kind of bullshit. I’d been the one to let him treat me that way and I’d— A sharp knock on the passenger side window had both of us jumping. Instead of a horny ghost, though, we saw a sweet-faced older woman standing there, waving.

“You’re here for the ghost tour?” she asked, after Daniel hit the button to put the window down.

“Sure are!” he said, leaning across to show her our digital tickets.

Which washow we came to be standing on the grounds of The Eyrie estate. The woman had directed us where to park then unlocked the gates and led us all through, a group of about ten or more people. A strange kind of hush fell over us all as soon as we were inside the grounds, because the darkened vista gave off perfectly creepy vibes. The lawns seemed to be perfectly uniform, rolling off towards the house like a green carpet, andI found myself taking a step forward, wanting to see more of where they led, but the tour leader stopped me.

“We’re not heading up to the main house,” she said, in a firm tone. “We only have access to Z Ward.” She held out an ancient looking ring of keys and rattled them. “But I think, with its history, everyone will find the tour fascinating. If you’ll come—”

“And that’s because someone lives in the house, is that right?” Where the hell had that question come from? It was out of my mouth before I could even think and, when the whole group turned to stare, I felt a rush of embarrassment. “I mean, that’s someone’s home and we—”

“The Eyrie is currently unoccupied,” the guide replied stiffly, “but, yes, the only people allowed to go inside are members of the family.” She turned to the rest of the group and smiled brightly. “And it's the fascinating history of the Whitely family, the one that built The Eyrie from the remains of a grand house in England, that we’ll learn more about tonight. Luther Whitely built Z Ward back at the turn of the last century. Privately funded sanatoriums were a rare thing, though sometimes well-to-do families invested in them, often to create a place fit to house some afflicted relatives—although Luther’s motivations were not quite so altruistic.”

She pursed her lips in disapproval, even as her eyes sparkled.

“The burgeoning field of psychology drew quite a lot of interest from some sectors of society, including amateur theorists who put forward ideas about mental illness being linked to a sensitivity to the world beyond ours. Luther’s decision to build an asylum for the criminally insane on the grounds of his stately home drew considerable criticism, but the state government was happy to offload that responsibility onto someone else, washing their hands of the inmates once they stepped inside the ward. That,” she emphasised, “was a mistake. Given free rein to do as he wished to the inmates, Lutherengaged in acts of depravity which only the most hardened would fail to be shocked by. Now, if you’ll follow me…”

I jumped when Daniel grabbed my hand, and he grinned at my response.

“Everyone loves a bad boy. Let’s go!”

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