The Missing Medium Page 3

  “What did he like to do?” Anna wanted to keep Mrs. Teplow talking. She knew from her field work that you had to prime the pump. Once people got comfortable talking, the real information would flow.

  “Brian was a creative boy,” she replied with an expression of motherly pride. “He used to draw pictures and write stories, but he never shared them.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I think he was afraid of being embarrassed. He wrote them in locked journals and hid them under his mattress.” Teplow grinned. “At least until there were so many that he couldn’t sleep in it as it was so lumpy. Then he put them in his bookcase. They filled an entire shelf almost.”

  “Did you ever read them?” The old woman looked sheepish.

  “I didn’t want to impose on his privacy,” she started, “but one time he fell asleep mid-sentence, and the book was open on the bed next to him.” She thought for a moment. “He must have been nine or ten.”

  “What had he written?” Lamb asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

  “It was some kind of fantasy about a city of devils.”

  Anna was intrigued. “A city of devils?”

  “I don’t think he called them devils, but they seemed so from his description.” She squinted, thinking back to that time. “If I remember right, he said they were tall and had short, curved horns and hooved feet. And big eyes that glowed red in the light!” Then an idea came to Teplow. “You know, those books are still up in his room. Do you want to see them?”

  “Yes, please,” Anna replied with unconcealed enthusiasm. “I would very much like to see what Brian wrote.”

  Chapter 4

  July 11, 1929

  Maureen Teplow opened the door to the upstairs bedroom and stepped inside, followed by Anna and the doctor. The room was larger than Anna had expected. The upstairs consisted of two bedrooms on either side of a bathroom. The smaller of the two had been Brian’s.

  “Of course, he hasn’t lived here since he became famous. He has an apartment in Manhattan.” The door was in the center of the wall facing a gabled window. On one side was an old but serviceable, twin bed. On the opposite side was a desk flanked by a pair of dressers with shelves of books on top of them.

  Anna examined the walls. Beneath a central molding that ran the circumference of the room, the walls were covered with a child’s drawings of knights and soldiers battling Napoleonic cavalry or dragons, and other fearsome beasts. Above the molding, much better quality drawings depicted a recurring pair of figures, one large and muscular, the other small and wiry, in various scenes.

  “Did Brian draw all of these?” she said, sweeping her hand around to indicate all of the drawings.

  “Yes,” the older woman replied with pride. “My Brian is a very talented artist.” She glanced around the room. “The ones closer to the floor are from when he was little.”

  “Indeed,” Anna said approvingly. “You can see the improvement over the years as you follow them from the floor to the ceiling.”

  “Brian arranged them that way himself when he was five.”

  Lamb looked over the bookcases. The highest shelf on each was filled with locked diaries. The ones to the left had black covers, while the ones on the right were brown. The other shelves contained a vast array of fantasy and adventure novels by the likes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and Edgar Rice Burroughs, as well as stacks of well-read Adventure, Argosy, Amazing Stories, and National Geographic magazines from roughly 1912 through 1920. The doctor pulled one of the brown volumes from the shelf. The outside cover was completely empty. The simple lock on the book would be easy to bypass.

  “Mrs. Teplow,” he said, “would it be all right with you if we looked at Brian’s journals?”

  “The keys were lost long ago,” she replied.

  “That won’t be a problem,” Lamb said, approaching her with the journal. “These are very simple locks. A pocket knife would be able to circumvent them without damaging the book.” Mrs. Teplow glanced from the book to Lamb to Anna and back.

  “We will not damage them in any way,” Anna said. “Whatever we can learn about Brian’s state of mind may help us find him.”

  “I suppose so,” the older woman replied. “But those were written years ago. How would they help you find him now?”

  “I think our paths have crossed before,” the anthropologist replied, pointing to an almost-lifelike drawing at eye level that closely resembled her, similar to the one Ganon had shown them in the subway. “When was this one drawn?”

  “Brian did that one just before his first collapse,” Mrs. Teplow replied. Then her eyes widened with surprise. “That looks just like you!”

  ◆

  Anna sat at the desk in Brian’s bedroom studying one of the black journals under the desk light. Following the revelation that Brian had had a precognition of Anna, his mother granted the two access to the journals, providing that they did not take any of them with them. She went so far as to provide some notebooks and pencils, as well as milk and homemade cookies, which she replenished each time she came to check up on her guests.

  Fortunately, Brian’s handwriting was legible. Anna had perused the black-bound journals while Lamb went through the brown ones. The locks had been easy enough for Anna to bypass with a paper clip. The black binders were the most recent. According to his mother, the black journals were written in the year or two before Brian’s first illness. The brown journals dated back to his early adolescence, approximately between ages eight and twelve.

  The brown binders contained amateurish tales of conventional heroes, such as knights slaying dragons, and expeditions into jungles fighting dinosaurs and giant beasts. Many were derivative of each other. Most were unfinished. The doctor found them tedious and predictable, as expected of a juvenile imagination.

  The black volumes had Anna’s rapt attention. They contained a series of well-crafted stories about a duo called Khan-Tral and Deb-Roh. They were set in a wondrous realm called Siashutara. In the stories, Khan-Tral was a mighty adventurer dressed in leather and furs who carried a great sword called Nightbane, the Razor of Delusions. Deb-Roh was a small but resourceful man The stories were Deb-Roh’s chronicles, much like Watson’s accounts of Sherlock Holmes’ cases. Together, the two wandered throughout Siashutara, righting wrongs and doing good wherever they went.

  “Has Dr. Faeber seen any of these journals?” Lamb asked Mrs. Teplow when she returned on one of her trips to refresh the milk and cookies.

  “No, he hasn’t,” she replied. “I don’t think anyone has read them before. You are the first!”

  “These stories are quite good,” Anna said, indicating the black volumes. “Brian should think about submitting them for publication.” She gestured to the stacks of magazines. “I would think that these publications might show an interest in them. Especially given his celebrity.”

  “Those are the ones he wrote after he came home from the hospital that first time.” Her expression became guarded. “He was different then,” she added blankly.

  “How so?” Lamb asked. His face showed professional concern. Mrs. Teplow sighed and sat on the corner of the bed.

  “Before his father died, Brian was a normal, outgoing child.” She smiled as pleasant memories came to her. “They would play ball in the street. It wasn’t so busy back then,” she added quickly. “Charles and Brian used to go ‘camping in the woods’ in the summer. That’s what they called it. They took their bedrolls and a picnic basket down to Highland Park and stayed there until he fell asleep in the evening.

  “That all changed when Charles was hit by that carriage.” The older woman anticipated Anna’s question and said, “That was when Brian was nine years old. He didn’t see it, thank the Lord, but his spirit was broken after that. He became quiet, and spent a lot of time alone in his room writing his stories.” The themes in the brown volumes made sense to Lamb now. The figure of Brian’s father performing various heroic deeds.

  “Those magazin
es were the only thing Brian looked forward to in those days,” Mrs. Teplow continued. “He started having his nightmares around that time as well. I thought he was working out the passing of his father, so I comforted him as best I could. I thought it would pass eventually.”

  “But it did not,” Anna probed.

  “No,” the older woman replied. Her composure was failing. “It got worse. First it was just tossing and turning. Then he started talking in his sleep.”

  “What did he say?” Lamb asked.

  “It was just gibberish. Things like oh golly, nib, or maybe nub, canned something, gaining, and nighty or nightly came up a lot.” Anna gave Lamb a furtive and knowing glance, but the doctor did not seem to have made the connection Anna had.

  Their host suddenly looked very tired. Anna set the volume she held down on the desk and walked over to Mrs. Teplow.

  “You should rest, Mrs. Teplow,” she said, taking the woman’s hands in hers. “I promise you we will take care of the journals, and we will wake you before we leave.”

  “You can trust us, ma’am,” Lamb added.

  Mrs. Teplow glanced from Lamb to Anna. “I’ll just sit for a while in the living room.” She rose slowly with Anna’s assistance. “Just call if you need anything.” Anna went with her out the bedroom door and down the stairs. She followed her host to a large arm chair.

  On the side table next to the chair was a framed photograph of three people: a young man with a pretty young woman on one side, and an older man in a bowler hat on the other. Mrs. Teplow noticed Anna looking at it. “That’s Brian. The girl is Liv Lee,” she said, looking upward in an expression of disbelief, ‘an actress.’ The man is Brian’s agent, Mr. Frank.”

  ◆

  After making Mrs. Teplow a cup of tea, Anna returned to Brian’s bedroom. She found Lamb flipping through a pad of plain paper she had not seen.

  “I saw this,” he said, pointing to another almost-lifelike pencil drawing, “at the farm in Stuckley!” The image was of the large, amorphous, greenish-brown blob that Lamb had seen during the ritual at the farm. In the picture he saw the arms, legs, giant eyes, humanoid and animal faces, and long, slippery-looking tentacles whipping around in all directions. “That is the exact thing I saw at the farm.” From his expression, Anna could see that he was serious.

  “None of the journals I looked at had pictures in them,” she said.

  “This was in the drawer,” Lamb replied, indicating the open desk drawer. It was neatly arranged with various pencils, erasers, a ruler, and other writing implements. Anna took the pad and examined the drawing. Suddenly, she pointed in the background, where the head of Arthur Cophen, huge tongue lolling out, could be seen behind the massive thing in the center.

  “This is not an image like your vision,” Anna said with astonishment, “this is your experience! Drawn ten years before you lived it!” She flipped through the pages from the beginning. A few pages later, she gasped. The drawing displayed the barren, flat, rocky plain she had seen in the subway, including the line of tall mountains, the pink sky, and that enormous full moon. As before, she had to view the landscape before the gigantic, monstrous, scaly humanoid with the enormous red trunk became apparent. And as before, the eyes in the palms of the enormous clawed hands seemed to be looking right at her. “And I saw this exact scene briefly in the subway right before we met Ganon!”

  They were posing as if for a photograph. A photograph! That was why the images were so lifelike. Somehow photographs were turned into these drawings. Photographs taken in the realm of Brian’s dreams!

  “We need to find Ganon,” Anna said as she closed the book and put it in her purse.

  Chapter 5

  July 11, 1929

  It was nearly six o’clock when Anna and Lamb left the Teplow home. Anna had awakened Mrs. Teplow on the sofa and informed her that they would be making inquiries in Manhattan.

  “You’ll call me if you learn anything?” The worry returned to the old mother’s eyes.

  “Of course we will,” Anna said with a smile, holding the old woman’s hands in hers. “We will keep you appraised of our progress. We will call you tomorrow.” Anna held up the notebook in which Mrs. Teplow had written her telephone number on the inside cover.

  They politely refused Mrs. Teplow’s offer to make them dinner, citing that they had filled up on the milk and cookies that had steadily flowed from Mrs. Teplow’s oven. Still, she handed the doctor a tin of a still-warm batch to take with him as they left.

  ◆

  Once they rounded the corner out of view of Mrs. Teplow, who had watched them as they walked away, Lamb turned and faced Anna.

  “There’s a lot more going on here than it appeared,” he said anxiously. “How did Brian Teplow see events in the future? And how did he draw them so accurately? And from other people’s perspectives?”

  “What is more important,” Anna replied, “is that we feature prominently in his visions.” She continued walking and Lamb caught up with her. “I have seen several brief visions myself since we set out on this trip.”

  “What kind of visions?” Lamb’s anxiety was growing.

  “On the train from Albany, I thought I saw a passing train where all of its passengers were pressed against the windows screaming in horror. But I could have been dreaming that,” she added as an afterthought. “Then, right before we met Ganon, I saw that giant thing with the tentacle face in the space between the passing of two trains. The opposite platform was gone, and that rocky tundra was there instead.” Lamb looked incredulous. “The landscape had a reddish-brown tone,” she added insistently. “There was no vegetation, the giant was scaly and green, and the large facial tentacle was blood red. Its shadow as it passed over me is what drew my attention to it.”

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” Lamb mumbled, his head drooping. Without warning, Anna turned and slapped him in the face. His anxiety was immediately replaced by bewilderment.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” Anna said sympathetically, “but you are getting distracted.” Before Lamb could interject, she put a finger to his lips. “It is true that there are strange things going on,” she said calmly, “but we need to focus on what is real now. We are somehow involved in this strange adventure, and we need to get some answers.” Lamb seemed more focused now.

  Anna continued walking and Lamb followed silently until they reached the eastbound entrance to the Halsey Street subway station. The tracks were elevated over Wyckoff Avenue, and they climbed the steps after paying the five-cent fare.

  “We must first find Ganon and see what he can tell us,” she continued. “Then we need to talk to Brian’s girlfriend and his agent. Mrs. Teplow gave me their addresses. Both of them live in Midtown, so we should get a hotel there and then talk to Ganon in private.”

  “You want to bring that bum to our hotel?” Lamb was indignant.

  “That man knew us,” Anna said as they stepped onto the westbound platform. A handful of people waited there, but no one took notice of the pair Anna lowered her voice. “He had a copy of a picture that Brian Teplow drew ten years ago that clearly depicts both of us, the possessed detective we met for the first time a few weeks ago, and Brian’s girlfriend.”

  “Who knows where he got that?” the doctor retorted. “Maybe Brian gave him a rough draft?”

  “Ganon’s drawing was on some kind of canvas or animal skin. Brian Teplow did not make that. For that matter, why are his drawings so lifelike?” She paused for a moment, and then said, “I think that Brian somehow traveled to the locations in his stories, which are accounts of actual events he experienced there.” Lamb was dumbfounded. “I think his ‘drawings’ are photographs, and the properties of that realm transform technology into simpler representations.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Lamb said, shortly before turning his back. He took several steps, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Anna followed him and grabbed his shoulder.

  “How do you explain what happened at the farm
? Or that blob-thing you saw? Or Wilson Longborough transforming into several people simultaneously? And disappearing when the ritual was completed?” She turned Lamb toward her and lowered her voice. “How do you explain these scars on my face that were made by a creature that appeared out of nowhere and left no trace after being struck with a blunt silver dagger?”

  Lamb closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. “This defies scientific explanation,” he said with resignation. “I have no idea how to even start.”

  “You are thinking in concrete, rational terms,” Anna said. “You need to think beyond your normal perspective as a doctor.” The doctor looked skeptical. “Fear not,” she added confidently. “Metaphysical matters are more my area of expertise.” The sound of a horn broke the awkward silence.

  “Right now, we need to get back to Canal Street and find Ganon,” she said as the train slowed to a halt. It stopped short of where they stood, so they ran to the closest doors. “He said he would wait for us on the westbound, Brighton Beach platform.”

  ◆

  The Canal Street station was bustling when their train stopped at the platform between the two sets of tracks. It was just after seven o’clock. Anna and Lamb made their way with the crowd toward the steps to the Brighton Beach platforms, which needed to be traversed to reach the Manhattan trains at the other end. To his surprise, Anna took the doctor’s hand and led him like a child through the tide of people.

  The majority of the crowd took the first stairway which led down to the eastbound platform, but Anna and Lamb continued on to the westbound platform, which was nearly deserted. As before, the intermittent lighting on the lower level created a pattern of light and shadow. The humidity of the July heat compounded the feeling of closeness and made their clothing stick to their moist skin. Anna released the doctor’s hand.