Author Notes

Flash Summary and Characters - Prologue -- Bayside's darkest criminals escape during a staged bus accident Chapter 1 - Eleanor senses trouble at the Vineyard and discovers Miriam is missing Chapter 2 - Rebecca meets her new neighbor, Grayson Webb , and the New York Mob realizes they have been double-crossed by the Chinese, Zhang Wei Chapter 3 - Garth and Donatelli piece together forensic findings, and Eleanor finds a child's shoe at the Vineyard that belongs to a missing boy. Chapter 4 - Eleanor searches for clues as to where Miriam may be, and Cornelius Webb holds Miriam captive within the mystery mirror Chapter 5 - Miriam's lost soul begs Antonio to help her, and at the Vineyard, he is confronted by Cornelius Webb. Grayson Webb takes advantage of Rebecca's fears and makes his first move to win her heart and steal the Vineyard. Chapter 6 - Cornelius's spirit clashes with his nephew -- both determined to claim the riches hidden beneath the grounds of the Vineyard , and Althea Cascio is alone in a motel -- fearful that the NY Mob will murder her son, Travis, if she doesn't do what they want concerning the Vineyard Chapter 7 -- Althea gives the will and birth certificate to the lawyer saying she is part heir to the Vineyard and Eleanor bumps into her and senses something is not right Chapter 8 - Antonio finds clues to the missing boy and finds Miriam trapped in a mirror and Cornelius dragging her away Chapter 9 - Eleanorgives the backstory to Donatelli and Garth Chapter 10 - Grayson steps up his game between the mob and Zhang Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York Mob

The wind howled around Eleanor as she materialized in the field near the Webb Estate, her shimmering form taking shape amidst the tall grass. The gale tugged at her, throwing her slightly off balance, and with a less-than-graceful stumble, she landed on the uneven ground. Her stylish yet practical shoes skidded against hidden rocks, sending her tumbling to the earth.

For a moment, she lay there — her face brushing against the cool, fragrant grass. Then, with a laugh that echoed her irrepressible spirit, she pushed herself up and brushed off her coat. "Well, that was dignified," she muttered with a wry smile. "Guess I need a refresher course about proper landings."

Standing upright, she closed her eyes and let her senses attune to the land's energy —the faint but persistent whispers of the spirits mingled with the pull of Althea's fear. The emotions were raw and jagged, cutting through the noise of the wind like a beacon. She let them guide her.

A shimmering glow enveloped her as she disappeared from her landing spot, reappearing moments later in a secluded clearing overgrown with tangled vines and wildflowers. As if sensing her presence, the wind stilled, the tall grasses swaying gently under a pale, glowing moon.

She took a moment to steady herself, muttering under her breath, "Much better."

Ahead, partially hidden by the thick vines, stood the cellar door. Its weathered wood blended into the shadows, but Eleanor's sharp eyes caught a faint glow of energy clinging to the latch. The area carried an unsettling weight, as if the emotions left behind had seeped into the ground.

Her steps crunched softly against the gravel as she approached. "Althea?" she called quietly, careful not to let her voice carry. She crouched by the door, running her fingers over the rough surface. A faint sound — muffled and distant — caught her attention — a weak cry.

Eleanor placed her hands on the door, closing her eyes to focus. She let her senses reach into the wood, picking up traces of fear and desperation.

"Hold on," she murmured urgently. Summoning her strength, she focused on the rusted latch. With a sharp crack, the lock gave way, and the door creaked open, its hinges protesting in the quiet night.

A cold, damp draft wafted out as she peered inside. The cellar was dim and unwelcoming, the dirt floor slick and uneven. In the corner, Althea lay crumpled on the ground, her figure barely visible. Dirt streaked her face, and her whole body shook from exhaustion. At the sound of the door opening, her eyes fluttered open, wide with fear.

"Please," Althea whispered, her voice hoarse. "Help me."

Eleanor stepped carefully into the cellar, her shoes sinking slightly into the soft earth. She knelt beside Althea, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's me —Eleanor," she said gently. "Let's get you out of here before Grayson or anyone else returns."

Althea's trembling hands reached for Eleanor's arm, clinging tightly. "I thought I'd die down here," she stammered, her voice breaking. "He said it was for my protection. I couldn't —"

"You're stronger than you realize," Eleanor said firmly, cutting through her panic. "But we need to hurry. This isn't over yet."

Althea nodded weakly, trusting Eleanor despite her fear. With a calm strength, Eleanor helped her to her feet and steadied her as they moved toward the exit. The night outside was still, the moon casting long shadows over the field.

Eleanor stopped at the edge of the clearing, her gaze scanning the surroundings. Something felt off — a lingering tension in the air, as though danger was just out of sight. She turned to Althea. "Stay close to me," she said quietly. "And keep quiet."

Althea clutched her arm — her shallow breaths audible in the silence. Together, they moved through the tall grass, Eleanor leading the way with sharp, purposeful steps. Even as the night remained calm, Eleanor's instincts stayed on edge, the sensation of being watched crawling over her skin.

*****
Rebecca stood near the table, her arms crossed as she listened to Antonio. His words pressed down on her like a heavy shroud, each revelation about Cornelius and the tunnels deepening her unease.

"What do we do?" Rebecca asked, her voice trembling. "How do we save Miriam?"

Antonio opened his mouth to respond, but his expression shifted suddenly. He stiffened, his gaze snapping toward the window as if he'd heard something beyond the glass.

Rebecca frowned. "What is it?"

Antonio raised a hand, silencing her. "It might be nothing but the wind, but I thought I sensed something."

The air in the cottage seemed to shift, growing colder. Rebecca felt a faint prickle at the back of her neck, like an unseen gaze watching her.

Antonio's form flickered faintly, and he turned toward the door. "There's a presence nearby. Someone's here."

Rebecca's stomach knotted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Who? Do you think it's — Cornelius?"

Antonio shook his head, his expression unreadable. "I don't know. Stay here. Don't move."

"Wait — what if it's dangerous?" Rebecca protested, her voice rising slightly.

"I'll handle it," Antonio said firmly. He looked around and handed her a poker from the fireplace. "Just a precaution. Stay inside. I'll be back soon."

Before she could respond, he stepped toward the door. The sound of it creaking open made her flinch, and a sudden chill swept through the room as he disappeared into the night.

*****
Antonio stepped out into the night, his ethereal form flickering faintly in the moonlight. He moved cautiously, scanning the yard for the presence he'd sensed earlier. The air was still, the quiet broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.

His gaze traveled toward the edge of the Vineyard. A figure moved in the shadows. Antonio narrowed his eyes, watching as the man approached the main house.

"Who is that?" Antonio muttered to himself, his form becoming more translucent as he drew closer to the edge of the yard.

The man climbed the steps to the front door and knocked sharply. Under the porch light, Antonio saw the Stetson. The tension from his shoulders eased. It was Rebecca's cowboy.

Not feeling any sense of danger, Antonio turned back toward the cottage. "I'd better tell Rebecca she has a visitor," he murmured.

*****
Meanwhile, Rebecca sat at the small table. She replayed Antonio's words in her mind. The weight of everything — the tunnels, Cornelius Webb's greed, and the danger hanging over her family — pressed down on her like a heavy shroud.

She glanced toward the corner mirror, its surface faintly shimmering in the dim light. A familiar chill crept through the room, making her shiver.

"Grandma?" she whispered, rising from her chair. The mirror seemed to pulse faintly, almost like it had heard her.

Rebecca took a hesitant step forward, her heart pounding. "Are you there?"

The mirror's surface rippled, and a faint voice echoed. "Rebecca —"

Her breath caught. She moved closer, her hands trembling as she approached the cold glass. "Grandma, is that you?"

The voice grew clearer, soft, and pleading, "Do not give up."

Tears welled in Rebecca's eyes as her hands pressed to the mirror. "I don't understand. Where are you?"

But instead of an answer, the shimmering surface darkened. The chill in the room intensified, and the faint echo of her grandmother's voice faded, replaced by a deeper, more sinister tone.

"You've wandered into something far beyond your understanding, Rebecca," the voice said, smooth and chilling.

Rebecca froze, her hands trembling against the glass. "Who — who are you?"

The figure of a man began to take shape within the mirror, his features sharp and shadowed. His eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory light, and his thin lips curled into a faint, menacing smile.

"Cornelius Webb," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Rebecca stumbled back, her heart racing. "You're dead!"

Cornelius chuckled, the sound low and cruel. "And yet here I am, child. This Vineyard is mine. It always has been."

Rebecca's mind raced, her thoughts colliding in a chaotic blur. "What do you want?"

"I want what's owed to me," Cornelius hissed. His eyes glinted as he leaned closer, his form pressing against the glass as if testing its boundaries. "And you, Rebecca, are a part of that."

The air grew heavier, suffocating her as his presence seemed to spill out from the mirror. Rebecca tried to move, but her legs felt rooted to the spot.

"Run, Rebecca," Miriam whispered faintly, almost drowned out by Cornelius's malevolent laughter. "Run."

Rebecca broke free of her paralysis and stumbled toward the door, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She threw it open and disappeared into the night.

*****
When Antonio stepped back into the cottage, the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. His gaze swept the room, and his chest tightened.

"Rebecca?" he called, his voice echoing faintly.

The room was empty. The shawl Rebecca had worn earlier was draped across the back of a chair, but there was no sign of her. Antonio's eyes narrowed as he stepped further into the room.

The faintest chill brushed past him, and his gaze darted toward the mirror. Its surface was dark, and shadows seemed to twist and writhe within.

"Rebecca?" he called again.

Silence answered him.

Antonio's form flickered as he moved toward the door.

He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on the mirror. "Cornelius," Antonio said, his voice filled with anger and dread. "Where is she?"

Cornelius's devilish laughter echoed inside the cottage. "You're so pathetic. No wonder Miriam left you. Maybe I will taste the honey of your granddaughter, too. And there's nothing you can do."

Antonio beat his fist against the mirror, his anger out of control. "Give me back my granddaughter."

*****
Inside the mansion, Garth called, "Rebecca? It's Garth. Are you home?"

There was no answer. Everything seemed in place — no sign of a struggle, no indication Rebecca had left in a hurry.

"Rebecca?" he called again, his voice echoing through the empty house.

Still nothing.

Garth ran a hand through his hair, a knot forming in his stomach. Eleanor's warning about danger lingered in his mind, and the thought of Rebecca wandering the grounds alone made his chest tighten.

Grabbing his radio, he pressed the button. "Danni, this is Garth. I'm at the Vineyard, but Rebecca's not here. Have you heard from her?"

Static crackled, followed by the police dispatcher's voice. "Sorry, Garth. Danni's on a call with DeLuca. And Donatelli's headed to the Webb Estate. Have you checked with Jenna?"

"I'll check now," Garth muttered. "Thanks."

Willow's loud brays reached Garth as he stood in the drive. Turning toward the barnyard, he called, "Rebecca, are you down there?"

No one answered, but he did see what appeared to be a light inside the cottage. He hurried down the path. His brow furrowed when he saw the door was ajar.

"Rebecca?" he called, pushing the door open cautiously.

The beam of his flashlight swept the room, illuminating the dust-covered furniture and the faintly glowing mirror in the corner. As he stepped further inside, his gaze landed on a shawl draped over the back of a chair, one end brushing the floor. On the ground nearby, a pair of earrings glinted in the moonlight.

Garth crouched, picking up the earrings. "Rebecca —" he muttered, his chest tightening.

His instincts screamed that something was wrong. He straightened, gripping his radio and pressing the button.

"Dispatch, this is Garth," he said, his voice tense. "I'm at the Vineyard, in the cottage this time. Rebecca's not here, but something's off."

Static crackled, followed by the dispatcher's voice. "What do you mean 'off'? Did you find anything?"

"A shawl and earrings," Garth said, glancing around the room. It's like she left in a hurry or was taken. Has Danni or Donatelli spoken to her?"

"No, both of them are still off the grid," she replied. "But if you think Rebecca's in danger —"

Garth didn't let her finish. "She is in danger. Get someone out here. Now."

He released the button, his heart pounding as he turned back toward the room.

"Rebecca?" he called again, though he knew it was futile.

The air shifted suddenly, growing colder. Garth froze, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun at his side.

A faint shimmer of light flickered in the corner of the room. Garth's hand tightened on his weapon as the figure of a man began to take shape.

"What the —" Garth muttered, his eyes narrowing.

The man's form became clearer — a tall, broad-shouldered figure with a kind but weathered face. His eyes met Garth's, calm but serious.

"Don't be alarmed," the man said, his voice low and steady. "I mean you no harm."

Garth raised his gun slightly, his FBI instincts kicking in. "Who are you? And how did you get in here?"

"My name is Antonio," the man replied, his tone calm. "I'm Rebecca's grandfather."

Garth blinked, his grip on his weapon faltering. "Grandfather? That's impossible. He's —"

"Dead," Antonio finished. "Yes, I know. But I'm here because Miriam called me to help her."

Garth's breath caught as he studied the figure. There was no denying the faint glow surrounding Antonio or the way his form flickered faintly at the edges.

"Right," Garth said slowly, lowering his weapon slightly but keeping his guard up. "If you're here to help, then tell me where Rebecca is."

Antonio's expression darkened, and his form flickered. "That's what I'm trying to find out. I went to check on you when you arrived at the house, and when I returned, she was gone. I believe Cornelius Webb is involved."

Garth's jaw tightened. "Cornelius? The same Cornelius who's been dead for years?"

"The very same," Antonio replied. "And if we don't act quickly, Rebecca could be in grave danger."

Garth stared at him for a long moment, his mind racing. Finally, he holstered his weapon, his voice grim. "All right. Let's figure this out. But if you're not telling me the truth."

"I am," Antonio said firmly. "And time is running out."

 

Author Notes

Flash Summary and Characters - Prologue -- Bayside's darkest criminals escape during a staged bus accident Chapter 1 - Eleanor senses trouble at the Vineyard and discovers Miriam is missing Chapter 2 - Rebecca meets her new neighbor, Grayson Webb , and the New York Mob realizes they have been double-crossed by the Chinese, Zhang Wei Chapter 3 - Garth and Donatelli piece together forensic findings, and Eleanor finds a child's shoe at the Vineyard that belongs to a missing boy. Chapter 4 - Eleanor searches for clues as to where Miriam may be, and Cornelius Webb holds Miriam captive within the mystery mirror Chapter 5 - Miriam's lost soul begs Antonio to help her, and at the Vineyard, he is confronted by Cornelius Webb. Grayson Webb takes advantage of Rebecca's fears and makes his first move to win her heart and steal the Vineyard. Chapter 6 - Cornelius's spirit clashes with his nephew -- both determined to claim the riches hidden beneath the grounds of the Vineyard , and Althea Cascio is alone in a motel -- fearful that the NY Mob will murder her son, Travis, if she doesn't do what they want concerning the Vineyard Chapter 7 -- Althea gives the will and birth certificate to the lawyer saying she is part heir to the Vineyard and Eleanor bumps into her and senses something is not right Chapter 8 - Antonio finds clues to the missing boy and finds Miriam trapped in a mirror and Cornelius dragging her away Chapter 9 - Eleanorgives the backstory to Donatelli and Garth Chapter 10 - Grayson steps up his game between the mob and Zhang Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York Mob

Chapter 15
Veil of Secrets - Chap 15

By Begin Again

Grayson paced the study, his eyes darting to the darkened window. Paranoia swirled inside his head, amplifying every sound. His breaths were shallow, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the revolver holstered beneath his jacket.

He froze as the faint sound of footsteps reached his ears — soft but deliberate, just beyond the heavy door to the study. His heart thundered in his chest as adrenaline surged through him.

Crossing the room, Grayson leaned close to the door and pressed his ear to it, straining to hear. For a moment, there was nothing — just the whistle of the wind as it whipped across the veranda. Perhaps he'd imagined it. The old house was always restless at night.

But he wasn't taking any chances.

Slowly, he slipped the revolver from its holster, his palm slick with sweat. The cool steel felt heavier than usual. With a quiet exhale, he reached for the lock. His fingers slowly twisted it until he heard the faint click that signaled it unlocked. His grip tightened on the gun as he gripped the door handle, his knuckles white with tension.

Click by click, he turned the handle, careful not to make a sound. The door inched open, the cold draft brushing his face as the space beyond came into view.

In the instant that the crack widened, a fist shot through the opening and slammed into his face with brutal force. The impact sent him reeling backward, pain exploding across his jaw as he staggered and crashed into the edge of his desk. His vision blurred as he struggled to regain his footing, blinking through the haze of shock and disorientation.

Two figures stepped into the room. The first, lean and sharp-eyed, was Doyle, his expression a mixture of triumph and malice. Beside him loomed a heavyset man with a cruel smirk plastered across his face. The thug cracked his knuckles, the motion deliberate and menacing.

"Good evening — Grayson, right?" Doyle sneered, his voice low and mocking as he strode forward, his shadow stretching across the room. "Looks like you've got yourself some unexpected company."

Grayson's fingers fumbled for the revolver, which had slipped from his grasp during the fall. But the larger man kicked it away before he could reach it, sending it skidding across the polished floor.

"Zhang sends his regards," Doyle smirked and strolled around the room, examining the antiques and artwork. "You inherited yourself quite the place. Too bad you got greedy."

"Who are you?" Grayson muttered — though he knew exactly who he was. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he growled, "And what does Zhang Wei have to do with me?"

Doyle chuckled. "Did you just crawl out from under a turnip green? Everyone knows who I am." Doyle opened the cigar case on the desk, chose one, and rolled it through his fingers. His arrogance dripped from his lips. "I owned this county, and I will again. Zhang Wei is just a stepping stone to getting what I want."

Grayson struggled to his feet, but the larger man shoved him back into the chair, the barrel of a pistol pressed against his temple. "Ah, the infamous John Doyle. For your information, you should be thanking me instead of busting in here and letting your goon use my face for a punching bag."

"Thanking you? I can't imagine what your sniveling self could have done for me."

Grayson's steely blue eyes stared at Doyle as he regained a little of his courage. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. "Who do you think gave Zhang the information so he could outsmart New York?"

Doyle raised an eyebrow while analyzing Grayson and what he'd said about the mob. He'd wondered how Zhang had gotten the upper hand, but he'd never suspected a wanna-be like Grayson Webb.

"Unfortunately, you made mistakes," Doyle said, his tone mocking. "Did you think you could play both sides and come out unscathed? You're in over your head. Zhang wants in on the action. And he asked me to pay you a visit. I know about the tunnels and the smuggling operation, but there's more than that going on. What's the deal with the woman and the kid?"

Grayson forced a weak laugh despite the blood trickling down his lip. "You think roughing me up will get you what you want? You're wasting your time."

Doyle's smirk vanished as he grabbed Grayson by the collar, yanking him forward. "No, Grayson. You're wasting my time. Zhang doesn't tolerate loose ends, and neither do I. Now start talking, or this gets uglier."

The larger man delivered a swift punch to Grayson's ribs, forcing a gasp from his lips.

 

"The tunnels," Doyle growled. "Who knows about them? Where did the woman take the boy?"

"I don't know!" Grayson spat, coughing as pain radiated through his chest. "She didn't tell me anything!"

Doyle leaned in closer, his breath hot and foul. "Lying isn't going to save you. Zhang's people are already watching. They don't like failures, Grayson."

Before Doyle could land another blow, the temperature in the room dropped. A chilling wind swept through, snuffing out the fire in the hearth. Shadows lengthened, and an eerie silence fell. The men exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering.

From the darkness, Cornelius materialized, his spectral form towering and malevolent. His voice was a low growl, echoing with otherworldly power. "So Bayside's idiot of a judge turned criminal thinks he still wields all the power." He sneered at the thug. "I advise you to not lay another hand on my blood kin or you will find yourself in another world."

Doyle's eyes widened as he instinctively raised his gun, firing a shot. The bullet passed through Cornelius, embedding itself in the wall behind him. The ghost's laughter rang out, a cold, mocking sound that sent shivers down their spines.

"You think you can harm me with mortal weapons?" Cornelius hissed, his form flickering with malice. "I've seen men like you come and go, desperate and foolish. But I remain. Let this sink into your feeble mind — I am Cornelius Webb. Bayside belongs to me."

"Webb?" Doyle swallowed, struggling to prevent Cornelius from detecting his reaction to that knowledge. The flash of another ghost — Eleanor — struck like a bolt of lightning. "You're a ghost. I've faced others like you."

Cornelius laughed again. "There aren't any like me."

The larger man trembled, his grip on the pistol wavering as he backed toward the door. Doyle, however, forced a sneer. "Ghost or not, you can't stop what's coming."

Cornelius moved closer, his translucent hand brushing against Doyle's chest. Doyle gasped, his knees buckling as an icy cold seeped into his bones. "You don't belong here," Cornelius said, his voice low and threatening. "Leave now, or I will show you what happens to those who trespass on my land."

Doyle, shaking, stumbled back toward the door, dragging his companion with him. But as they reached the threshold, Doyle turned, his expression twisted with rage. He raised his gun and fired — not at Cornelius, but at Grayson.

Grayson cried out as the bullet struck him, pain erupting in his abdomen. He collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Cornelius let out a roar of fury, his form shifting into a whirlwind of shadows that chased Doyle and his accomplice from the house. The sound of their retreating footsteps faded, leaving the study in silence.

Cornelius turned to Grayson, his expression softening. The ghost knelt beside his nephew, his translucent hand hovering over the wound. "Foolish boy," Cornelius murmured. "You should have known better than to play with forces beyond your control."

Grayson's breathing was shallow, his eyes glazed with pain. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Cornelius reached out, his hand passing over Grayson's face like a ghostly caress.

"Rest now," Cornelius said, his voice tinged with regret.

As Grayson lost consciousness, Cornelius's form began to fade. He glanced at his fallen nephew before disappearing into the shadows, his voice lingering in the room like a whisper. "This isn't over, Doyle. You'll pay for this."

 

*****

Doyle and his accomplice stumbled out into the night, their breath visible in the icy air. The chill didn't bother Doyle; adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He barked orders, his tone sharp and commanding. "Get in!" Doyle snarled. "I know these back roads better than anyone."

They were halfway to the car when the sudden sweep of headlights illuminated the driveway. The crunch of tires on gravel signaled the arrival of someone they hadn't accounted for.

Doyle spun, his lips curling into a sneer as Detective Matthew Donatelli stepped out of his cruiser, revolver already drawn.

Donatelli's sharp gaze scanned the scene, assessing the danger. His eyes lingered on Doyle, who stood near the car with his gun hanging loosely at his side. "Hands where I can see them, Doyle," Donatelli barked.

Doyle smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Detective — always a step too late, aren't you?"

"Drop the weapon," Donatelli ordered, his tone firm and unwavering. "This ends here."

Doyle's accomplice crouched behind the car, his bulky frame blending into the shadows. His hand inched toward his waistband, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol.

Before Donatelli could react, the thug drew his weapon and fired. The shot splintered the porch railing as Donatelli dove for cover, his body rolling behind the heavy wooden beams.

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the quiet night, reverberating across the estate. Donatelli returned fire, his shots precise, forcing the thug to retreat behind the car.
Doyle's laugh cut through the chaos, cold and mocking. "There's no way out, Detective. You're cornered."

A shot whizzed past Donatelli's shoulder, splintering a beam behind him. Pressing his back to the wall, he ejected his spent magazine and fumbled to reload.

He didn't see Doyle circling to his left, moving with a predator's precision.

"Got you now," Doyle muttered, leveling his gun.

The sound of gunfire split the night. Donatelli staggered, his hand clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers. His revolver slipped from his grip, clattering to the porch.

He dropped to his knees, gasping for air as Doyle strode forward, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Looks like your luck's run out," Doyle said, his voice low and venomous. He cocked his pistol, aiming it at Donatelli's head.

*****

The crack of gunshots shattered the silence at the shed where Eleanor had hidden Althea. Eleanor froze, her entire form trembling as a tidal wave of darkness crashed over her senses. A icy coldness gripped the air.

A vision struck her like a lightning bolt — Donatelli sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Doyle loomed above — his gun raised for the final blow.

For the first time since her death, Eleanor felt true grief — a piercing, all-consuming sorrow that brought her to her knees. Rage, a fiery determination that coursed through her like an electric current, followed. She needed to go and fast.

"I need you to stay here," Eleanor told Althea, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "Don't come out, no matter what you hear. I'll come back for you. Do you understand?"

Althea's eyes widened, her fear evident. She nodded her affirmation. "Be careful," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Eleanor placed a gentle hand on Althea's shoulder. "I will," she promised.

With that, Eleanor's form shimmered, her resolve turning her energy into something almost tangible. The moon's faint light seemed to dim as she disappeared into the night, her focus honed on Donatelli and Doyle.

 

*****
The sound of approaching sirens sent Zhang's warrior into warp mode. He grabbed Doyle's arm, yanking him as the gun fired. "We're out of here, man."

Both men raced to the car and sped out of the drive as the first string of red and blue lights appeared in the distance. Their taillights disappeared as DeLuca's unmarked cruiser pulled into the long driveway of the Webb Estate. Behind them, the flashing lights of patrol cars lit up the night, their red and blue glow washing over the sprawling grounds.

Danni leaped from the car the moment it stopped, her sharp gaze sweeping the scene. Her instincts were sharp, her senses attuned to something amiss in the air. She didn't need to be told — trouble was close — too close.

DeLuca stepped out more cautiously, adjusting his weapon in its holster. "All right," he barked to the officers spilling out of the cruisers. "Fan out and search the grounds. No one gets in or out without my say-so."

The officers moved, flashlights cutting through the darkness as they spread out in pairs. Some veered toward the perimeter, while others moved cautiously toward the main house.

Danni's focus remained razor-sharp, her gaze fixed on the house. "DeLuca," she said, her voice low but firm. "that's Matthew's car."

DeLuca turned to her, his brow furrowing. "Maybe he's inside."

"Donatelli's hurt," Danni said, her voice trembling slightly. "I can feel him."

DeLuca's expression softened for a moment, but his pragmatism returned quickly. "If he's here, we'll find him. But don't jump the gun, Danni. We need to be smart about this."

"I know," Danni snapped, her tone sharper than intended. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "But if he's hurt —"

A faint sound cut through the stillness, a muffled groan carried on the wind. Danni froze, her head snapping toward the bushes near the driveway's edge. Her heart lurched.

"Matt," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Without waiting for DeLuca's approval, she moved toward the sound, her steps quick but deliberate.

"Danni, wait!" DeLuca called after her, but she ignored him.


 

Author Notes

Flash Summary and Characters - Prologue -- Bayside's darkest criminals escape during a staged bus accident Chapter 1 - Eleanor senses trouble at the Vineyard and discovers Miriam is missing Chapter 2 - Rebecca meets her new neighbor, Grayson Webb , and the New York Mob realizes they have been double-crossed by the Chinese, Zhang Wei Chapter 3 - Garth and Donatelli piece together forensic findings, and Eleanor finds a child's shoe at the Vineyard that belongs to a missing boy. Chapter 4 - Eleanor searches for clues as to where Miriam may be, and Cornelius Webb holds Miriam captive within the mystery mirror Chapter 5 - Miriam's lost soul begs Antonio to help her, and at the Vineyard, he is confronted by Cornelius Webb. Grayson Webb takes advantage of Rebecca's fears and makes his first move to win her heart and steal the Vineyard. Chapter 6 - Cornelius's spirit clashes with his nephew -- both determined to claim the riches hidden beneath the grounds of the Vineyard , and Althea Cascio is alone in a motel -- fearful that the NY Mob will murder her son, Travis, if she doesn't do what they want concerning the Vineyard Chapter 7 -- Althea gives the will and birth certificate to the lawyer saying she is part heir to the Vineyard and Eleanor bumps into her and senses something is not right Chapter 8 - Antonio finds clues to the missing boy and finds Miriam trapped in a mirror and Cornelius dragging her away Chapter 9 - Eleanorgives the backstory to Donatelli and Garth Chapter 10 - Grayson steps up his game between the mob and Zhang Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York Mob

Chapter 16
Veil of Secrets - Chap 16

By Begin Again

Danni crouched near the bushes, her heart sinking as her eyes landed on Donatelli's prone form. He was lying on his side, partially hidden by the overgrown foliage, blood staining his shirt and pooling beneath him.

"Matthew," she cried, her voice breaking as she knelt beside him.

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"Danni," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Knew you'd show up."

Tears stung her eyes as she touched his cheek, her voice trembling. "Of course I did. You think I'd let you do this without me?"

DeLuca appeared behind her, his breath catching as he saw Donatelli. "Jesus," he muttered, pulling out his radio. "We need medics at the front. Now!"

Danni leaned closer, her voice low and urgent. "Matthew, hang on. Help's coming."

Donatelli's breathing was shallow, his words slurred. "Don't — let him — get away," he managed, a burning fire in his eyes.

Danni's brow furrowed. "Who?"

Donatelli's eyes closed, and a deep gasp slipped from his lips. Danni screamed. "Donatelli, don't you die on me! Who did this?"

His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. She placed her ear by his mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Was it Grayson? The mob? Matthew, tell me so I can make them pay."

Donatelli gave the faintest nod before his eyes fluttered shut again.

"Stay with me, Matt!" Danni pleaded, her voice rising.

DeLuca knelt beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "He's still breathing. He's not going to give up without a fight."

Danni nodded reluctantly — her gaze locked on Donatelli's pale face. She could feel the faint pulse of his life slipping through her fingers, and her frustration boiled beneath the surface.

Suddenly, Garth's voice crackled over the radio, urgent and panicked. "Donatelli, come in. I'm at the Vineyard, and I can't find Rebecca. Do you copy?"

Danni's fingers trembled as she reached for Donatelli's blood-splattered radio. She swallowed and picked it up, pushing the button as she did. "Garth, it's Danni. Matthew's been shot."

"Shot? Where? By Grayson?" Garth's voice escalated. "Is he —"

"He's alive, but he's holding on by a thread. Is Eleanor with you?"

"No, just Antonio and me. Tango and the guys are on their way. I notified dispatch for more backup." Garth took a deep breath. "I gotta go. Tango's here. Hang in there, Danni. He's a tough one. He'll make it."

Danni's eyes flickered to Donatelli as she answered, "I know. He's got to for Jenna and Maggie." She swallowed hard and mumbled, "For all of us."

An icy breeze, far colder than usual, swirled around Danni and Deluca. The detective shivered, pulling his jacket tighter. "What the heck was that?"

Danni lifted her tear-stained face and glanced around. "Eleanor."

Eleanor's form materialized near the driveway, her eyes dark with rage as they landed on Donatelli's bloodied body.

Her breath hitched, her form flickering as she took a step forward. "Matthew," she murmured, her voice heavy with emotion.

Danni stood, moving to Eleanor's side. "He's still alive," she said quickly, her tone urgent. "But it's bad. And there's more."

Eleanor turned to her, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

Danni hesitated, glancing between Eleanor and Donatelli. "Garth's at the Vineyard, and Rebecca's missing."

Eleanor's form rippled with unease, the weight of the revelations settling over her. "Rebecca and Matthew. How could this all be happening at once?"

She shivered as she dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his wound. "Matthew—"

Donatelli's eyes fluttered open briefly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Eleanor," he said weakly.

Eleanor's voice trembled as she leaned closer. "Danni and I are here. Just hold on. You're going to be okay."

But even as she spoke, her energy rippled with fury. Her gaze snapped toward the driveway, where the faint vision of Doyle's car speeding into the dark burned in her mind.

"Eleanor, he was coming to talk to Grayson. Do you think he did this?" Danni's voice was etched with worry. She hoped for answers, someplace to direct her pain.
Eleanor rose to her feet, her form solidifying with an intensity that made Danni step back.

"No, it wasn't Grayson." Eleanor's eyes appeared blank as she stared into the darkness. "It was Doyle."

DeLuca gasped. "Are you sure? Why would he return to Bayside?"

A coldness emanated from Eleanor. "It's Doyle, and I don't have all the answers, but I am sure he's here to destroy us."

DeLuca grabbed his radio and started rattling off information about the location to the dispatcher. He continued to bark orders into his radio, his voice sharp and

commanding. "Secure the perimeter. Nobody leaves without being cleared first."

As the paramedics lifted Donatelli onto a stretcher, Eleanor drifted toward the driveway. Danni hurried after her, grabbing her arm. "Where are you going?" Danni asked, her voice sharp.

"To finish this," Eleanor said coldly. Her form shimmered and vanished.

*****

The roar of Doyle's engine echoed along the winding country road as he pushed the car to its limits. His knuckles tightened on the wheel, his mind racing.

Suddenly, blindingly bright headlights appeared in the distance. Doyle squinted, his heart slamming against his chest, as a massive semi-truck pulled out onto the road ahead. His passenger braced himself.

"Shit!" he shouted, slamming on the brakes.

The car skidded, tires screeching as it swerved violently to avoid the truck. The vehicle hit the shoulder, flipping twice before landing upside-down in the ditch.

The impact threw Doyle clear of the car, and his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. He lay still for a moment, gasping for air as pain radiated through his body.

A chill crept over him, making his breath hitch. He rolled onto his back, his vision blurry, and froze when he saw a figure standing above him.

"Eleanor," he muttered, his voice trembling.

Her form was solid now, her eyes burning with an intensity that made him flinch. "John Doyle," she said coldly, stepping closer.

Doyle scrambled backward, his hands clawing at the dirt. "Stay away from me!"

"You shot Donatelli," Eleanor continued, her voice low and filled with fury. "You've hurt too many people. Your reign of terror ends now."

"Don't do this," Doyle pleaded, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean to —"

"Don't lie to me," Eleanor snapped, her energy surging like a storm.

Doyle tried to stand, but his body gave out, leaving him sprawled in the dirt. "Please —"

Eleanor's gaze hardened as she knelt beside Doyle, her face inches from his. His gasps were shallow, his body weakened but still fighting against the inevitable. She leaned closer, her voice low and unyielding.

"You deserve worse than this," she whispered, her words cutting through the tense night like a blade. "You're never going to hurt anyone again."

Her hand hovered over his chest, trembling as she considered what she wanted to do — what she could do. Doyle's eyes widened as he recognized the fury radiating from her, but he was too broken to form a coherent plea.

Eleanor's energy surged, and Doyle convulsed violently, a gasp escaping his lips. She drew back, her form flickering as her emotions battled for control. For a fleeting moment, her vengeful thoughts urged her forward.

She smiled  — a dark, sadistic smile exposing a different Eleanor. Any sign of the loving, caring woman was gone. Her hand reached into the air, and a glass bottle appeared in her grasp. "Your favorite, I believe."

With slow deliberation, she uncorked it. "Let's have a drink to old friends." A chuckle gurgled from deep inside her body. "Sorry, I don't have any glasses." She tipped the bottle to her lips and swallowed. She hated the taste almost as much as she despised the man lying on the ground.

She poured the liquor over him — the liquid soaking his clothes and filling the air with its sharp scent.

Doyle's head lolled to the side; his breath ragged as he groaned, desperately pleading, "Don't do this."

Eleanor lit a match, the small flame flickering in the darkness. She held it inches from him, the firelight dancing in her eyes. "Margaret and Donatelli send their regards," she said, her voice as cold as the night.

But as the flame trembled in her fingers, she froze. Her conscience stirred, and the weight of who she was — who she had always been — held her back. She blew the match out with a steady breath, letting the darkness reclaim the night.

Her fingers curled into fists. "You're not worth it," she said through gritted teeth, her voice shaking. She pulled back and stood, her piercing gaze locked on him.

Doyle's rasping laugh broke the silence. "Couldn't do it, could you?" he croaked, his voice filled with spite even in his weakened state. "You're just like the rest of them — weak and pathetic."

Eleanor's lips tightened into a thin line, but she didn't respond. She took a step back, her form glowing faintly in the moonlight. "You don't deserve mercy," she said, her voice steady. "But I won't become like you."

 

A loud pop behind her startled her as she turned away.

She spun around in time to see flames licking at the car's engine. The wreckage finally gave way, and sparks flew as gasoline began to pool and ignite. The fire surged, creeping toward the ground near Doyle.

"No —" Eleanor's voice faltered as the flames found the gasoline-soaked earth. The fire raced across the ground, igniting Doyle's clothes before he could scream.

Flames consumed his body, the eerie glow reflecting in Eleanor's eyes. She stood frozen, the heat washing over her, her hands trembling at her sides. She had stopped herself — but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The acrid scent of burning fuel and fabric filled the air. Doyle's cries rose briefly, but the roar of the flames drowned them out. Eleanor didn't move; her expression was unreadable as she stared into the fire.

"I gave you a chance," she murmured, her voice almost drowned out by the crackling blaze. "You chose this."

Eleanor's hands trembled at her sides — not from fear but the storm of emotions roiling inside her. The energy pulse from the smoldering wreckage mirrored the raw fury still coursing through her. She had done what needed to be done. Doyle's reign of terror was over, but it didn't feel like a victory.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. The faces of those she cared for flashed in her mind: Margaret's car crash, Donatelli, bleeding out on the ground, his life slipping away; Althea, trembling in the shed, hiding from a world that had betrayed her; and now, Garth's voice, raw and desperate, calling her name.

"Eleanor."

She heard it again, louder this time. His pain and fear were evident, pulling her back from the brink of the void threatening to engulf her.

"Dammit," she muttered, running a hand through her hair as if trying to ground herself. "There's too much."

For a brief moment, Eleanor felt the weight of it all pressing down on her, threatening to crack the carefully constructed composure she'd maintained for decades. Even for a ghost, this was too much. The rage she had unleashed on Doyle still burned hot in her veins, but now, guilt crept in, insidious and unwelcome.

Matthew. Her friend. Her partner in so many cases. She had felt his pain ripple through the spiritual plane like a knife to her chest. He needed her. Althea, so fragile and broken, needed her. Travis is still missing. And now Garth — Garth, who had always been steady and strong — was calling for her, his voice shaking with fear for the woman he loved.

Eleanor's fists clenched as she tried to focus, but the chaos swirled in her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. "Pull it together," she whispered harshly to herself. "They're counting on you."

The wind shifted, carrying Garth's voice to her again. "Eleanor! Please!" His cry pierced through the haze of emotions, grounding her.

She opened her eyes, her expression hardening with resolve. She couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. There would be time later to grieve, process, and question her choices tonight. But for now, she had to keep moving, though she didn't know how.

A familiar warmth washed over her, cutting through the cold chaos of her thoughts. Her breath caught as she turned, and there he was — Charles. His presence was radiant yet familiar, his soft eyes filled with the same love she remembered from years ago.

"Charles," she whispered, her voice trembling. Her composure cracked for the first time that night, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "You shouldn't be here."

"And yet, here I am," he said gently, his tone steady and calm. "I couldn't stay away, Eleanor. I felt you — your anger, your grief. You don't have to carry this alone."

She looked away, her hands trembling. "I've already lost so much. Matthew's been shot, Garth is falling apart, and Rebecca's missing. I can't —" Her voice broke. "I can't lose anyone else, Charles."

He stepped closer, his hand touching hers. "You're stronger than this, Eleanor. You've faced worse, and you've survived. You've held all of us together, even when we didn't deserve it. You can do this."

Eleanor shook her head. "But at what cost? How many more people do I have to lose? How much more can I give?"

Charles's expression softened, his presence radiating reassurance. "You're not doing this alone. Look around you — Matthew, Garth, even Jenna, and baby Maggie —they're all here because of you. They need you to be the Eleanor they love."

She closed her eyes, letting his words settle over her like a calming balm. "I'm so tired, Charles."

"I know," he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. "But you're not finished yet, and you don't have to be. I'll help you however I can."

Eleanor met his gaze, her own filled with unshed tears. "Stay with me."

Charles smiled faintly. "For as long as you need." He tilted his head slightly, his expression growing more serious as he pulled her close, pressing his lips against her silver hair. "Forever, Eleanor, forever.

 

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam’s first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson’s alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle’s escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night’s tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer

Chapter 17
Veil of Secrets - Chap 17

By Begin Again

The acrid scent of burning fuel and charred metal lingered in the air as Eleanor stood near the edge of the wreckage. The crash site was alive with activity now — emergency responders had arrived, their flashing lights painting the dark road in flashes of red and blue. Firefighters worked methodically to douse the last smoldering flames, water hissing as it hit the twisted remains of Doyle's car.

A fire captain barked orders, his voice rising above the chaos. "Get that engine cooled! I don't want this thing reigniting."

Paramedics moved carefully around the scene, their stretcher waiting nearby. One knelt by Doyle's charred body, checking for the impossible — signs of life. Another attended to the second man — the thug who had been in the passenger seat — finding no pulse. The coroner's van idled nearby, its presence a quiet testament to the grim reality of the crash.

Charles stood beside Eleanor. She hadn't said a word since the responders arrived. Her gaze was on Doyle, whose body lay crumpled at the edge of the ditch.

A police officer approached the fire chief, his flashlight cutting through the smoky haze. "We've got IDs on them," he said, flipping open his notepad. "The driver was John Doyle, the infamous judge and escapee. The passenger's ID didn't come up in the system. It's probably a fake. He's likely one of Doyle's crew. No survivors."

The fire chief grunted. "Wonder what Doyle was doing back in Bayside. After someone sprung him from prison, you'd think he would have stayed far away." The chief shrugged. "Cost him his life, whatever it was."

Eleanor's jaw tightened. She hadn't wanted to be here when the authorities arrived, but couldn't leave yet. Charles, sensing her turmoil, placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Eleanor," he hissed, his voice cutting through the surrounding noise. "There's nothing more you can do here."

She exhaled slowly, her hands clenching into fists. "It should feel like justice," she murmured. "After everything Doyle's done, but it doesn't."

Charles didn't respond right away. He stood beside her, letting her process the chaos. The crackle of the firefighters' radios and the low murmur of the paramedics filled the silence between them.

Another officer, Detective DeLuca, arrived on the scene, his sharp gaze sweeping over the wreckage. He stepped toward the fire chief, nodding at the car. "Is it Doyle?"

The chief nodded. "What's left of him."

DeLuca sighed, his expression hardening. "And the passenger?"

"Gone too," the chief replied. "Not much else to report. They weren't wearing seatbelts, and the car flipped twice before it hit the ditch. We're ruling it an accident unless you tell us otherwise."

DeLuca grunted, scribbling in his notepad. "Accident or not, this man was a problem for a lot of people. I'll need statements from anyone who saw it go down."

"I've not heard of anyone. The man who called it in is over there — the blue sedan. He says it was burning when he arrived. He thought a semi might have pulled off the side road. Guess it happens a lot along this road."

DeLuca surveyed the scene. "Guess if there was a trucker, he didn't stick around."

"Guess not. You ask me, he did society a service. Or maybe Doyle was speeding and lost control. Either way, Bayside's lucky that he won't be destroying any more lives."

Eleanor stepped back into the shadows as DeLuca's gaze briefly swept the area. She was invisible, but she didn't need him asking questions — not now. Charles followed her, his expression calm but watchful.

As they moved further away from the wreckage, Eleanor spoke again, her voice low. "I can't leave Althea out there. She's terrified, and Cornelius will find her if I don't get to her first."

Charles nodded. "And I'll go to Jenna. She needs to hear about Donatelli and will need someone to hold her together."

Eleanor hesitated, her gaze flicking back toward the crash site. "I should be the one to tell her."

"You'll have your chance," Charles said gently. "But tonight, Althea needs you. — tonight, she'll have to settle for Dad."

She nodded reluctantly, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly. "All right," she said. "But Charles — don't leave her until I get there. Promise me."

"I promise," he said, his voice steady. "Just make sure you find Althea before it's too late."

The faintest smile touched Eleanor's lips. "You always were better at the softer stuff."

"And you've always been better at the fight," Charles replied. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I need you to promise me something."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Stay with her," Eleanor said, her voice trembling just slightly. "Don't leave until she's ready."

"I promise," he said. Then, with an almost teasing grin, he added, "But you need to promise me something too."

Eleanor tilted her head, her lips curving faintly. "And what would that be?"

"Be careful," Charles said, his tone turning serious. "Cornelius isn't playing games anymore, and neither are the people he's tangled up with. Don't let your anger get the better of you."

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of steel. "I'll be careful," she said. "But if I find Cornelius —" She left the rest unsaid, but the fire in her eyes was answer enough.

Charles leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "That's my Eleanor," he said, his voice warm. "Go now. You have work to do."

Eleanor nodded, her steps purposeful as she turned and vanished into the night. Charles watched her go, the faintest hint of worry in his expression. He watched the paramedics load the bodies into the coroner's van before he faded into the mist, heading toward Jenna. He didn't like being the bearer of bad news, but it was necessary tonight.

*****.

The baby monitor emitted soft static inside Jenna's quiet home as Maggie slept soundly in her crib. Jenna was curled on the couch, flipping through photos on her phone, when a faint chill ran down her spine. She looked up, her brow furrowing.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice tinged with apprehension.

The air in the room seemed to shift, and for a moment, everything stilled. A figure began to form in the dim light of the lamp. Jenna's breath hitched as she recognized him.

"Dad?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is it really you?"

Charles stepped closer, his form shimmering faintly. "It's me, Jenna."

Tears welled in her eyes as she stood, her legs unsteady. "I thought I might never see you again. You don't travel like Mom."

He smiled, his expression filled with love. "I've always been here, watching over you and Maggie. And I'm so proud of you. But right now, there's something you need to know."

Jenna's heart clenched at the seriousness in his tone. "What is it? What's happened?"

"It's Matthew," Charles said, his voice heavy. "He's been shot."

The blood drained from Jenna's face. "What? How —"

"There's no time to explain," Charles interrupted gently. "Danni is with him, but it's bad. He needs you, Jenna. He needs you to be strong."

"Where's Mom? Does she know?" Jenna shook her head and mumbled, "Of course, she knows."

"She was with him, but duty called." Charles hoped to ease her distraught, but he only added fuel to the fire.

"Duty? Something more important than Donatelli's life?" Tears sprang into her eyes, and she turned away, choking on the bile in her throat. "He's Maggie's father."

"Jenna, you're upset. Don't accuse if you don't know all the circumstances."

"I'm sorry. It's just she's always in the middle of something."

"Jenna, she can't help Matthew with the gunshot wound. That's in the hands of the doctors, but Miriam, Travis, Althea, and now, Rebecca are missing."

Jenna thought she couldn't feel more troubled, but the thought of so many missing, including Rebecca, was overwhelming. "I — I didn't know."

Charles wrapped his arms around his daughter, pulling her tight. "That's because your mother, Danni, and Matthew shield you from so much."

"I feel so foolish. Do you know what happened?"

Charles shook his head. "I know Garth reached out to your mom, frantic because he couldn't find Rebecca at the mansion. I wish I had more to tell you, but for now, you must focus on Matthew."

Jenna swallowed hard, her mind racing. "You're right, Dad. I'll go to him. But Maggie—"

"She's safe here," Charles assured her. "I'll stay with her until you return."

Jenna hesitated, torn between her baby and the man she loved. But Charles's certainty gave her strength. She nodded, grabbing her coat and keys. "Thank you, Dad. For everything."

He smiled, his form glowing softly. "Go. He's waiting for you. Maggie and I will be fine."

As Jenna rushed out the door, Charles turned toward the baby monitor. Maggie's faint coos and soft breaths filled the room, and his expression softened. "You'll always have me, little one," he whispered, his voice full of love.

*****
As Eleanor faded from the wreckage, she struggled to focus on the task at hand. She needed to leave Doyle behind and concentrate on saving the people she loved. Flashes of the match and how close she had come to crossing the line swirled in her mind. Then she remembered Charles' comforting arms, and she was grounded again.

 

A quiet strength was whirring inside her body when she materialized outside the shed.
She glanced toward the house and then quickly eased the shed door open. As she stepped inside, a piece of wood sailed through her head. She ducked and spun to see who her attacker might be.

Althea clutched another piece of timber, her hands trembling and her body language screaming fear. She yelled, "Stay back."

"It's okay, Althea. You're safe now," Eleanor said softly, stepping closer and calmly releasing Althea's fingers from the wood. "I'm here."

Althea's shoulders sagged, relief washing over her like a wave. "Eleanor," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You don't know how scared I've been. I thought — I thought he was going to find me."

Eleanor pulled the frightened woman into her arms, murmuring, "You're safe. Nothing's going to happen to you."

Eleanor noticed the hound dog sitting protectively at Althea's side, his golden-brown coat matted with dirt. The dog growled softly, his gaze fixed toward the edge of the trees as if sensing something unseen.

Althea's trembling hand smoothed over the dog's head. "I don't even know where he came from," she said. "He showed up after I hid here. He wouldn't leave. He just stayed with me."

Eleanor reached out, gently patting the dog. "He's smarter than most people I know," she said with a smile. "It seems like he knows when he's needed."

The tension in the shed eased momentarily, and Althea exhaled, her grip on the wooden plank loosening. Eleanor stood and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet. "We need to get you somewhere safe," she said firmly. "Come on."

Althea hesitated, glancing toward the dog, who had shifted his stance, his growls deepening. "What is it?" she whispered.

Eleanor froze, her senses heightened as the surrounding air grew colder. The dog's growl wasn't a warning but a response to something unnatural. Her gaze flicked toward the edge of the tree line, where shadows seemed to shift.

"Cornelius," Eleanor muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She turned back to Althea, her voice sharp. "You can't come with me."

Althea stared at her, confused. "What? I'm not staying here! He'll find me."

Eleanor's tone softened, but her words were resolute. "He's already nearby, and I can't protect you if we run into him. I need you to stay here, where it's safer."

"But —" Althea began to protest, but Eleanor cut her off with a firm shake of her head.
"You'll be safer with police," she said. Her gaze darted toward the house, where a forensic technician stood near a cluster of evidence markers. "Wait here."

Eleanor stepped out of the shed and waved down the officer. He looked up, startled, but jogged over as she approached. "Ma'am?" he asked, glancing at her." This is a crime scene. You shouldn't be out here."

"She's a witness," Eleanor said quickly, gesturing toward Althea. "She's in danger. Stay with her until backup arrives."

The officer nodded, his expression serious. "Understood. I'll make sure she's safe."

Eleanor turned back to Althea, her expression softening. "Stay with him. You'll be all right," she said before adding, "I'll come back for you."

Reluctantly, Althea nodded, her grip tightening on the dog's collar as he pressed close to her side. "Be careful," she said.

Eleanor patted the dog's head. "You're in charge. Keep her safe." She gave Althea a faint smile before walking away.

*****
Hoping for word on Donatelli, Eleanor drifted toward the ambulance, her form fading into invisibility as she approached. Although flashing lights illuminated the chaotic scene, her attention remained fixed on Grayson. His body lay battered and broken on the stretcher, his breath shallow and ragged.

"Hang in there, buddy," one paramedic murmured, working quickly to try and stabilize him. "Just breathe. Don't try to talk."

But Grayson's lips moved, forming incoherent sounds. Sensing Grayson was trying to share something important, Eleanor slipped closer, her invisible form allowing her to lean in unnoticed.

"Cellar —" he rasped. "Althea."

The paramedic leaned down, straining to catch the words. "What's he saying? Something about a cellar?"

Grayson's eyelids fluttered, and his voice slurred as he mumbled, "Start there — tunnels — Zhang — mob." His breath hitched, and his chest stilled.

The paramedic's head snapped up. "We're losing him! No pulse!" He checked his watch. "Time of death —"

"Not yet," Eleanor whispered to herself.

Before the paramedic could finish the proclamation, Eleanor's hands glowed as she pressed them to Grayson's chest. The paramedics didn't see her, only the faint, shimmering light that seemed to hover over his body.

"Grayson," she said firmly, her voice steady and commanding. "You're not done. Not yet."

A ripple of energy surged through her hands, a gentle shock that made Grayson's body jolt on the stretcher. The paramedics froze, startled as the monitor beeped.

"Holy — what was that?" one muttered, his wide eyes fixed on the sudden change. His hand wavered as he pointed at the light. "Am I seeing things?"

Grayson's eyes flew open, and his breath rushed out in a gasp. His startlingly clear gaze locked onto Eleanor briefly before he spoke.

"The tunnels—" His voice was raw. "They run under the vineyard from our estate — smuggling — human trafficking." His eyes closed. Eleanor wanted more. The green orb glowed as she touched him again.

His eyes flickered, and his hand reached out to Eleanor, almost as if it were floating. His voice was weaker as he stammered, "Zhang Wei and the mob — fighting for the tunnels. They're moving people. Start in the cellar."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed as she absorbed the revelation.

Grayson slumped back onto the stretcher, his energy disappearing as he gasped. "Stop, my uncle."

Eleanor whispered, "I will. Go in peace, Grayson."

As the paramedics placed the paddles on his chest, jolting him, he took one last breath, and Eleanor felt his soul departing. The paramedics stared at each other, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Finally, one of them looked at his watch while the other pulled the sheet over Grayson's face. "Time of death —"

Eleanor stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. The glow around her faded as they loaded Grayson into the ambulance and slammed the doors shut.

Grayson's words echoed in her mind. The cellar. The tunnels. The mob and Zhang Wei.

She heard someone's radio squawk. "Detective DeLuca," the officer said into his radio. "Before expiring, the patient mentioned tunnels on the Webb estate, a smuggling operation, and possible entrances near the cliffs."

There it was — confirmation of what she had suspected all along. Eleanor's mind raced, piecing together the scattered threads. Cornelius, the smuggling, Rebecca's disappearance — it was all connected. Her jaw tightened as she turned away from the ambulance.

"Thank you, Grayson," she murmured under her breath.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and vanished into the shadows, her course set. Whatever lay beneath the Webb estate had to be stopped and if Rebecca was there, she'd find her.

Now, she needed to get to Garth and the Vineyard.

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam's first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson's alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle's escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night's tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer

Chapter 18
Veil of Secrets - Chap 18

By Begin Again

Jenna's hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Her sobs wracked her body, each one a testament to the depth of her pain. "Please, God," she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. "Don't take him. Please let him live."

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes as she sped down the dark, empty road. The flashing beacon from the hospital's helipad lit up the night sky ahead, a glaring reminder of what awaited her.

Her heart sank as the stoplight ahead turned red, bathing the road in an angry glow — making Jenna envision a pool of blood — Donatelli's blood.

"Come on!" she moaned, slamming her palm against the steering wheel as she stared at the light. The seconds felt like an eternity, her sobs choking into gasps as she pleaded, "Change already!"

 

She scanned the empty road. Not a single car in sight.

Her mind was a whirlwind, every second stretching into eternity. Finally, she made her decision. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, and she blew through the red light, tires screeching as she turned onto the hospital drive. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered, her heart pounding in her ears. "But I can't wait. Matthew needs me."

She sped into the emergency room parking lot, throwing the car into park before the engine settled. Jenna leaped out, her tennis shoes pounding against the pavement as she raced toward the automatic doors. The frosty night air burned her lungs, but she didn't slow down. Not for a second.

Jenna's wild eyes scanned the waiting room as she entered the hospital. She gasped for air and steadied herself until she spotted the front desk and rushed toward it.

"Matthew Donatelli!" she demanded, slamming her hands on the counter as tears streamed down her face. "I need to see him. Please! Where is he?"

The receptionist looked up, startled, her calm demeanor doing little to soothe Jenna's panic. "Ma'am, I need you to calm down," she began, her tone measured but firm. "Are you family?"

Jenna froze, her chest heaving as the question hung in the air. "I — I'm his fiance," she stammered, her voice breaking. "Please, I need to see him! I need to know he's okay!"

The receptionist looked at her, understanding how difficult it was, but shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't release any information unless you're immediate family or have proof of marriage."

"No," Jenna whispered, her voice trembling as fresh tears filled her eyes. "No, you don't understand. I need to know if he's alive! He has a little girl — she needs him! I need him!" Her voice cracked as she pleaded, "Please, help me!"

"I'm sorry," the receptionist said again, her tone soft but resolute. "I truly am. Please have a seat; someone will update you when they can."

Jenna's knees buckled, but she caught herself against the counter, her tears falling freely now. "You have to tell me something!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the waiting room. The people waiting and some medical staff glanced her way, their faces a mix of curiosity and pity.

Jenna's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she collapsed into a plastic chair in the waiting room. Her hands trembled in her lap, the image of Donatelli still in her mind's eye. Every second felt like an hour, and the sterile hum of the hospital only heightened her panic. She wiped her tear-streaked face, trying to compose herself, but every attempt failed.

"Jenna."

The voice was calm and familiar.

 

Jenna turned sharply, her breath catching as she saw Danni standing a few feet away. She stared, trying to process what she was seeing. Crimson streaks of Donatelli's blood stained Danni's clothes. Her hands, though cleaned as best as they could be, still bore faint smears of red. The sight sent a fresh wave of horror crashing over Jenna.

"No," Jenna whispered, shaking her head as her vision blurred with tears. She stood abruptly, backing away. "No, no, no. This can't — he can't —" Her words dissolved into a sob, her chest heaving as hysteria gripped her.

Danni rushed to her friend's side. Her calm authority cut through Jenna's panic. "Jenna," she said firmly, clutching her hand to stop her from spiraling further. Her badge glinted under the fluorescent lights. "I'm here. I've got this. You need to breathe."

"How can you be calm right now?" Jenna cried, her voice rising. Her gaze locked onto Danni's blood-stained clothes, and her hands flew to her mouth, muffling a sob. "That's his blood. Oh God, Danni, tell me he's okay! Please tell me he's alive!"

Danni exhaled slowly. Though her face remained composed, the concern in her eyes was unmistakable. "Listen to me, Jenna. Donatelli is in surgery. He's alive, but I can't lie to you; it's bad. They're doing everything they can to save him. You have to trust the doctors."

Jenna's knees buckled, and she sank back into the chair, her hands gripping the edge as though it might anchor her to reality. "I can't lose him," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't — I won't. Maggie needs him. I need him."

Danni crouched down to her level, keeping her voice calm and measured. "And that's exactly why you need to stay strong right now. He's fighting, Jenna. You know how stubborn he is. But you need to let the doctors do their job, and I need to do mine."

Jenna's tear-filled eyes met Danni's steady gaze. "What can I do? Please, tell me what to do."

"For now, you sit tight," Danni said firmly. "Let me handle this. I'll get you answers, but you have to promise me you won't fall apart."

Jenna nodded weakly, though her entire body trembled. "Okay," she murmured. "I'll try."

Danni stood, brushing her hands down her bloodied shirt as though shaking off the tension of the moment. She turned back to Jenna, her expression softening just slightly. "He's going to need you when this is over. So stay strong, Jenna. For him."

And with that, Danni strode toward the restricted doors, her badge held high, ready to push past whatever barriers stood in her way. Behind her, Jenna buried her face in her hands, silently praying for a miracle.

Danni approached the double doors of the surgical wing, the sound of muffled chaos filtering through the small glass panes. She peered inside, her sharp eyes locking on the flurry of movement surrounding Donatelli. Her chest tightened at the sight of his pale form on the table, almost unrecognizable. The medical team moved with precision, but she could feel the tension in the room, the unspoken fear that they might lose him.

The nurse at the doors glanced her way, suspicion flickering in her eyes. Danni knew she couldn't risk being caught standing there, not when every second counted. Taking a step back, she turned down the corridor and ducked into a nearby linen closet. The faint smell of detergent and antiseptic filled the cramped space as she closed the door.

Taking a deep breath, Danni let herself fade. Her physical form shimmered briefly, then vanished completely, leaving only the faintest chill in the air. Moments later, she reappeared on the other side of the surgical room doors, now invisible and unnoticed.

Inside, the room was alive with urgency. Monitors beeped erratically, their shrill tones warning of Donatelli's worsening condition. The surgeon, his scrubs soaked with sweat and blood, barked commands as nurses rushed to comply.

"Suction! Now! We're losing visibility," the surgeon snapped. A nurse quickly handed him an instrument, her hands trembling slightly.

"He's losing blood too fast," another nurse called out, rushing forward with a fresh bag. "Pressure's dropping — he's at 80 over 40 and falling."

Danni drifted closer, her ghostly presence unnoticed as she hovered near the table. Her breath caught as she looked down at Donatelli. His face was gray, his lips tinged with blue, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. He looked fragile, far too delicate for someone as strong and stubborn as Matthew Donatelli.

"Come on, Matthew," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "You're tougher than this. Don't you dare give up now!"

A sudden shout drew her attention back to the team. "Heart rate's crashing!" one nurse yelled.

The heart monitor spaced its beeps farther apart, slowing until a long, shrill tone filled the room. The flatline sent a ripple of shock through the team, but they sprang into action with practiced efficiency.

"Paddles, now!" the surgeon barked, holding out his hands.

A nurse handed him the defibrillator paddles, her movements quick but shaky.

 

"Charging to 200," she announced while mentally whispering, "Come on, Donatelli."

The surgeon pressed the paddles to Donatelli's chest. "Clear!" he called out. Donatelli's body arched violently as the current surged through him, then fell limp again.

Danni clenched her fists, her jaw tight as she edged closer to the table. "Come on, Donatelli," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You've fought through worse. Don't make me go back out there without good news."

"Still no rhythm!" the nurse cried out, her voice cracking.

 

The surgeon didn't hesitate. "Charge to 300! Clear!" Another shock sent Donatelli's body jolting off the table, but the monitor remained flat. The steady, piercing tone seemed louder now, mocking their efforts.

Danni's composure cracked. She stepped closer, her voice low and urgent. "Matthew, you're not done here. Fight, damn it. Fight."

The surgeon's face was grim as he ordered another charge. "This is it. Charge to 360. Clear!"

The paddles connected once more, and Donatelli's body jerked violently. The room was silent for a moment, every eye on the heart monitor. Then, a faint blip appeared on the screen, followed by another and another. The heart monitor's rhythmic beeping returned, weak but steady.

Danni released a shaky breath, relief flooding through her, though her fists remained clenched at her sides. She wasn't ready to relax, not yet. The fight wasn't over.

"He's not out of the woods," the surgeon said, his tone grave but determined. "We need to stop the bleeding. Clamp it now."

Danni stepped back, her invisible form slipping out of the operating room and into the hallway. A mix of fear and desperate hope replaced her usual calm resolve. She wanted to stay, to make sure he pulled through, but she knew there was nothing more she could do here. Jenna needed her.

As the team worked to stabilize Donatelli, Danni whispered one final plea into the room. "Keep fighting, Matthew. We still need you."

Jenna's heart raced as she paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. Every second felt like an eternity. She had called Garth twice, but there was no answer. She'd tried Eleanor, too, but the line went straight to voicemail. The empty silence on the other end of each call only added to the suffocating pressure on her chest.

"Where are they?" she whispered, her voice shaky and filled with desperation. I can't do this alone."

The sterile hum of the waiting room seemed louder now, grating on her already frayed nerves. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging slightly as if the motion could calm her. It didn't. Her mind spiraled, images of Donatelli lying lifeless flooding her thoughts. She clenched her fists, trying to block out the terrifying possibilities, but they kept coming.

A nurse approached, her face softening as she saw Jenna's distress. "Ma'am," she whispered, holding out a small paper cup of water. You should sit down. Try to drink this. It'll help."

Jenna shook her head vehemently, stepping back. "I can't," she said, her voice trembling. "I can't sit. I can't do anything. I need to know he's okay."

The nurse hesitated but didn't push further. "If you need anything, let me know," she said softly before leaving Jenna with her spiraling thoughts again.

Jenna's legs finally gave out, and she sank into a chair, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. She whispered a prayer under her breath, her tears falling freely now. "Please, God. Don't take him. Please."

Suddenly, a faint chill brushed past her, sending a shiver down her spine. Jenna's head snapped up, her breath catching as she realized Danni was standing there.

"Danni!" Jenna shot to her feet. Seeing Danni gave her a brief spark of hope, but it quickly faltered as she saw the grave expression on Danni's face.

"He's alive, Jenna," Danni said as she struggled to sound calm and reassuring. "But barely. They're doing everything they can."

Jenna's hands flew to her chest, her breath hitching as if Danni had punched her. "Barely?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What do you mean, barely? What's wrong?"

Danni stepped closer, her usual calm presence unshaken. "He's holding on," she breathed. "But you need to prepare yourself for the worst."

Jenna's face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes. For a moment, it seemed like she might collapse again. But then, as if some inner fire ignited, her expression shifted. The despair in her eyes hardened into determination. "No," she said firmly, her voice gaining strength. "Matthew's fought through worse before. He'll fight through this." She clenched her fists, her tears still falling, but her resolve was unshaken. "He's going to make it. I know he will."

Danni studied her for a moment, her own expression unreadable. She wanted to believe Jenna, but the sight of Donatelli on that operating table lingered. "I hope you're right," she said softly before turning away.

As she walked toward the quiet waiting room corner, her steps faltered slightly. The calm facade she maintained was cracking. Her fingers curled into her palm as she released a low, frustrated breath. Donatelli's life hung by a thread, and Jenna's faith might not be enough to tip the scales.

Closing her eyes, Danni focused inward, letting the faint hum of her ghostly energy expand outward. "Eleanor," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I need you. Donatelli needs you. Please, hear me." She had a unique connection to Eleanor, a bond transcending the boundaries of life and death, and she was counting on it now.

The chill in the air deepened slightly, and for a moment, Danni thought she felt the faintest ripple in the fabric of her ghostly existence, a whisper of acknowledgment. She opened her eyes, her jaw tightening.

"Come on, Eleanor," she muttered under her breath. "Don't leave me hanging."

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam's first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson's alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle's escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night's tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 19
Veil of Secrets - chap 19

By Begin Again

Garth felt as if his life was unraveling right in front of him. Rebecca was missing, Donatelli, his best friend, might be taking his last breath, and the man who thought he always had all the answers now found himself utterly clueless.

The certainty he relied on — the ability to solve any problem, to protect the people he cared about — was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. His heart was a storm of emotions, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, and he struggled to keep his composure in the face of such overwhelming uncertainty.

He paced the cottage floor, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His jaw, sharp as a chiseled rock, betrayed the tension coiling within him. Each step echoed in the dim room, a restless, rhythmic thud. Antonio stood nearby, his expression solemn as he watched the FBI agent wrestle with his emotions.
"You can't carry all this alone, Garth," Antonio said finally, his voice calm but weighted. "Let me help."

Garth froze mid-step, turning sharply toward him. His eyes burned with frustration and pain. "Help? How, Antonio? Are you going to magically bring Donatelli back to full health? Or Rebecca — are you going to conjure her out of thin air? Because unless you've got some kind of miracle up your sleeve, I don't see how you can help."

Antonio didn't flinch under Garth's sharp tone. Instead, he met his gaze evenly. "I've been where you are," he said softly. "Feeling helpless, like every decision is the wrong one. But this isn't the time to fall apart. You've got to channel that fire into action."

Garth's bitter laugh echoed in the room. "Action? You want action? I don't even know where to begin. Rebecca's gone, Antonio. She's out there, and every moment I'm here feels like a moment wasted."

Antonio stepped forward, his voice firm. "Then start with what you know. Rebecca was on foot. The Vineyard is vast, but she could have taken only so many paths. You're not the kind of man who gives up, Garth. Don't start now."

Before Garth could respond, the air in the room shifted, a sudden chill sweeping through the space. Both men turned toward the door as Eleanor materialized, her form shimmering faintly in the dim light. Her expression was solemn, but her eyes carried a quiet urgency.

"Eleanor," Garth said, his voice tight. "It's about time."

Her gaze flicked between the two men, taking in the tension in the room. "I know," she said softly. "But there's no time for that now. We have bigger problems."

Garth's jaw tightened. "Bigger than Rebecca being missing? Bigger than Donatelli fighting for his life?"

Eleanor moved closer. "It's all connected, Garth. Rebecca, Donatelli, Cornelius — none of this is happening by chance."

"Then start talking," Garth snapped. "Because I'm running out of patience, and I'm not interested in playing guessing games."

Eleanor's gaze hardened, her usual calm shaken by the day's events. "Rebecca didn't just disappear. Cornelius is involved. The Vineyard, the tunnels, everything points back to him. And Donatelli's condition? That's no coincidence either. Cornelius's reach is deeper than we realized, and he's pulling strings from every direction."

"I don't care about tunnels or ghosts or whatever game Cornelius is playing!" Garth barked, his voice rising. "Rebecca's missing, Eleanor. She's out there somewhere, and I can't protect her if I don't know where to start!"

Antonio stepped forward, his tone measured. "What about Miriam? Could she have guided Rebecca somewhere safe?"

Eleanor hesitated, her form flickering slightly. "It's possible. But Miriam's power has been limited. Cornelius has been interfering with her ability to reach us. She's trying, but —" She trailed off, her voice heavy with frustration. "Right now, all I know is that Rebecca is in danger. And if we don't act fast, Cornelius will win."

Garth's jaw tightened as he turned to Antonio. "And why the hell didn't you stop her?"

Antonio's shoulders sagged, his tone steady but laced with regret. "She was already gone by the time I got here. I couldn't stop what I didn't see."

Eleanor stepped closer, her voice cutting through the tension. "Garth, I understand your frustration, but you're not thinking clearly.

Garth ran a hand over his face, his frustration mounting. "So what do we do? Where do we start?"

Eleanor moved to the center of the room, her gaze steady. "You and Tango need to search the Vineyard. If Rebecca's out there, you'll find her.

Garth hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. "And if we're too late?"

Eleanor's expression didn't waver. "We won't be. But we can't waste another second."

Garth exhaled sharply, turning toward the door. "Tango's outside. We'll start in the lower vineyard and work our way up. If you find anything on Cornelius, you get word to me immediately."

Eleanor nodded. "And Garth — be careful. Cornelius isn't the only threat out there."

Garth paused in the doorway, his expression dark. "I always am." Without another word, he disappeared into the night, the crunch of his boots on gravel fading as he joined Tango outside.

He didn't waste a second. His voice, a thunderous call, echoed across the silent rows of vines. "Tango!" he bellowed, urgency dripping from every syllable. "Let's go!"

The crunch of boots on gravel signaled Tango's arrival. "What's the plan, boss?" he asked, his tone sharp and ready.

"We head into the vineyard," Garth said, climbing into the driver's seat of his SUV. "Rebecca was on foot, so she didn't make it far. If we keep to the main paths, we might be able to catch up to her."

Tango nodded and slid into the passenger seat. "And if we don't?"

"Then we keep looking," Garth growled, slamming the door shut. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle's headlights illuminated the frost-covered vines stretching endlessly into the distance. Without another word, Garth shifted into gear and drove off, the SUV rumbling down the narrow dirt road leading deeper into the vineyard.

Eleanor stood in the doorway, watching the taillights disappear among the darkened vines. Antonio joined her, his expression conflicted. "Do you think they'll find her?" he asked quietly.

"They'll try," Eleanor said, her voice soft but uncertain. "But this vineyard holds more secrets than even Cornelius knows. If Rebecca stumbled into something —"

 

*****

The sterile hallway outside the surgical ward buzzed with activity. Jenna sat in a rigid chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. The waiting room was nearly empty, the hum of the overhead lights mingling with the faint beeping of distant monitors.

The double doors swung open, and a doctor in scrubs emerged, his face drawn with exhaustion. Jenna shot to her feet, her heart pounding. "Dr. Reyes," she said, her voice trembling. "Is he — how is Matthew?"

Danni moved to Jenna's side as the doctor approached.

Exhausted from the lengthy surgery, Dr Reyes hesitated, his silence stretching unbearably before he spoke. "Detective Donatelli is out of surgery. He survived the procedure, but —" He exhaled, the weight of his words evident. "It was touch and go. The bullet caused significant damage, and we're monitoring him closely. He's stable for now, but the next 24 hours are critical."

Jenna's knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of the chair for support. "But he'll make it, right?" she pressed, her voice cracking. "He has to."

Dr. Reyes placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "We're doing everything we can. Right now, it's up to him. He's a fighter, Jenna. Don't lose hope." He paused and glanced at Danni. "Your partner is lucky you were there to help him until the medics arrived. For tonight, he's on a respirator —"

"Respirator? He's not breathing on his own?" Jenna clutched Danni's arm. "You said he was stable."

"He is, but with situations like this, we like to give the patients every support we can. One of Matthew's lungs collapsed, so he needs help with his breathing."

The doctor's pager buzzed, and with a murmured apology, he excused himself, leaving Jenna and Danni alone. Jenna sank into the chair, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her mind racing. How had it come to this? Matthew had always seemed indestructible, the one who could face anything and come out the other side. But now —"

A faint chill brushed against her, and Jenna looked up sharply. The air in the room seemed to shift, a presence she couldn't see but could feel.

"Mom," she whispered, her voice breaking.

The spectral figure materialized near the window. Eleanor's gaze was soft, filled with understanding and sorrow. "Jenna," she said gently, her voice carrying a calm that belied the tension in the room.

Jenna stood, her legs unsteady. "He's — he's not okay, Mom. The doctor said he's stable, but they don't know if he'll —" Her voice faltered, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

Eleanor moved closer, her presence a quiet calm against Jenna's anguish. "Matthew is strong," she said firmly. "Stronger than most. He's fought through worse, Jenna. Don't give up on him."

Jenna's hands balled into fists, her grief giving way to a fierce anger. "This shouldn't have happened. He didn't deserve this." She turned away, her voice trembling with emotion.

The doctor's news had shaken Danni. Her eyes searched Eleanor's face for answers. "Why is this happening, Eleanor? Why does it feel like everything is falling apart?"

Eleanor's expression darkened, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her features. "Because it is," she admitted. "There's more at play here than any of us anticipated.  And now, Matthew is caught in the crossfire."

Jenna turned back to her, her eyes wide with desperation. "Then fix it. You're a ghost — you can do things we can't. Help him, Eleanor. Help us."

Eleanor hesitated, moved by the enormity of Jenna's plea. "I will do everything I can," she promised. "But Jenna, you need to stay strong. This fight isn't over, and we need you in it."

Jenna nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I don't know how much more I can take," she whispered.

"You need to dig deeper," Eleanor said, her voice unwavering.

"Mom," Jenna cried, "What if it's too late? What if we lose him?"

Eleanor's gaze held hers, steady and resolute. "We won't," she said. "I'm going to go see him."

"They won't —"

Eleanor smiled and patted Jenna's arm, "There's no way they can stop me."

*****
The room was eerily quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the breathing machine. The pale light from the hospital corridor seeped through the partially open door, casting long shadows across the sterile walls. Donatelli lay motionless on the bed, his usually sharp features softened by the pale cast of his skin. Tubes and wires connected him to machines that monitored every fragile breath.

Eleanor materialized at the foot of the bed, her translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. For a moment, she stood silently, watching the man who had been her ally through countless battles. His vulnerability struck her like a physical blow.

"Matthew," she whispered, her voice trembling. She moved closer, standing at his side. Her ghostly hand hovered over his, wanting to offer some kind of comfort.

"You're too stubborn to let this be the end," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the machines. "You've faced trouble before and always came out on top. Don't let this be any different."

Her gaze swept over his face, searching for any sign of the man she knew. His brow, always furrowed in thought, was smooth now, almost unrecognizable. Her chest tightened. "Jenna needs you, Matthew," she said, her voice breaking. "Maggie needs you. And damn it, I need you."

A faint ripple of energy passed through the room, and Eleanor felt the faintest pull, like a thread connecting her to something deeper. She closed her eyes, focusing on that connection. "If you can hear me, if you're still in there, fight. Fight for all of us."

The heart monitor beeped steadily, oblivious to her words. Eleanor lingered, her form flickering as the intensity of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

"I can't do this without you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You've always been the one who kept us grounded, the one who reminded me that even in death, there's a purpose. So don't you dare let go now."

Her voice grew firmer, a note of steel beneath the sorrow. "This isn't over, Matthew. I'll make sure of it."

She turned abruptly, her form shimmering as she stepped into the corner of the room, where the shadows swallowed her entirely. From the depths of the veil, she reached out with her energy, sending her presence outward like a ripple in a still pond. Donatelli stirred as if he felt the gift she was giving him — her strength bonding with what little he had of his own. As her strength left, she slumped into a nearby chair, her breathing was shallow.

After a time, Eleanor pulled out her phone, rolled through her contacts, and dialed. The voice at the other end answered, "Hello."

"Sam, it's Eleanor. I need to talk to Frank."

There was a pause before a low, familiar voice answered her. "Eleanor?" The voice was gruff and laced with concern. "What's going on?"

"It's Donatelli," she said, her tone urgent. "He's in critical condition, Frank. He was shot, and now —" Her voice faltered for a moment, but she forced herself to continue. "Now, we're losing him."

Frank's voice tightened. "Who did this? What happened?"

"That's what we need to figure out," Eleanor said, her tone hardening. "But right now, Matthew needs all of us. I don't care what strings you have to pull or who you have to lean on — find out what you can."

Frank hesitated for a moment, his tone softening. "You know I'll do whatever it takes, Eleanor. Matthew's like a brother to me. But are you sure you're ready for what you might uncover? This could be bigger than we're ready for."

Eleanor's form flickered, her resolve unshaken. "I don't care how big it is, Frank. Matthew's life is on the line, and so many others. Whatever we're up against, we face it together. Just tell me you're in."

There was a long pause, the silence stretching thin, before Frank's voice came through — firm and unyielding. "I'm in. Tell me where to start."

Eleanor's gaze shifted back to Donatelli, her expression softening. "Transferring Donatelli to your place first. Then, start with the Vineyard," she said. "The tunnels, the smuggling —everything points back there. And Frank —" Her voice softened, carrying a weight that only someone who knew loss could understand. "Garth needs you too." Trying to control her emotions, she paused before whispering, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Frank replied. "Just make sure our boys know we're fighting for them. And Eleanor — take care of yourself, too."

She nodded, her form flickering once before she disappeared entirely. The room fell silent again, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Donatelli remained still, but the faintest shift in his energy told Eleanor one thing: he wasn't done fighting yet.

 

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam's first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson's alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle's escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night's tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 20
Veil of Secrets - Chap 20

By Begin Again

Rebecca stumbled through the vineyard's darkened paths, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The ground was a blur as the moonlight struggled to break through the dense canopy of trees along the cliffs. Her bare feet throbbed, scratched, and bruised from the unforgiving terrain. Twigs snapped underfoot, and sharp stones bit into her soles, but she didn't dare to stop.

Cornelius's cold and mocking voice echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the terror she fled. Miriam's frantic scream for her to run had carried her deeper into the unknown — unfamiliar terrain.

 

The wind carried faint sounds — the distant crash of waves against the cliffs, muted cries of terror, and voices — each making her flinch. She wasn't sure if it was real or if her fear had conjured it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was close, closing in on her like a predator stalking its prey.

Her chest heaved as she pushed herself harder, darting between rows of twisted vines, the scent of damp earth and overripe grapes clinging to her skin. Somewhere in her frantic flight, she had lost her shoes, and the torn hem of her dress snagged on the brambles, slowing her down. She yanked it free with trembling hands as her pulse pounded in her ears.

She stopped abruptly, her body shaking as she crouched low behind a gnarled vine. Her fingers dug into the dirt as she strained to hear over the sound of her labored breathing.

There it was  — voices. This time, she was sure they were real.

They were distant at first, muffled and indistinct, but they grew louder, more defined. Rebecca's heart leaped into her throat. Was it Cornelius? Had he found her?

She stood and ran further into the shadows, praying she'd escape.

*****
The crumbling remains of the old workers' shed sat deep in the vineyard's overgrown outskirts, shrouded in shadows and tangled ivy. Once a bustling hub for vineyard workers long ago, it had become nothing more than a forgotten ruin — a perfect place for the smugglers to hide their activities.

Tonight — it wasn't forgotten. Instead, it was alive with evil.

One of Vito's roughnecks stood near the shed's entrance. He lit a cigarette, his eyes scanning the darkness of the surrounding vineyard. "Hurry up," he muttered, flicking ash to the ground. "The vans will be here soon."

A match flared, and another man lit a cigarette. "Calm down. We're ready." He inhaled and watched the smoke curl upward.

"Just stay alert. We aren't in the Big Apple anymore."

From the corner of his eye, he thought something moved. He stiffened and peered into the dark. At first, he thought it was nothing — a trick of the shadows or an animal darting through the underbrush. But then he saw a figure running between the tall grasses and overgrown vines.

"Hey!" he shouted. "There's someone out there!"

The other men froze, their heads snapping toward him. "What are you talking about?" one of them growled.

"I saw someone running. Over there!" He pointed toward the tree line, where Rebecca's fleeting silhouette vanished into the darkness.

"Shit," the leader muttered, grabbing a flashlight. "Whoever it is, they're not supposed to be here. Find them. This could mean big trouble."

Rebecca's breath came fast and shallow as she darted through the grasses, her bare feet skimming over the cold, uneven ground.

"Over here!" one of the men shouted, his flashlight landing on the torn piece of Rebecca's dress snagged on a branch.

Rebecca bolted, her heart pounding as she ran mindlessly through the night. The ground beneath her feet was rough and unforgiving, each step sending sharp jolts of pain up her legs. She didn't care. She had to keep moving.

"Don't let her get away!" one of the men yelled.

She chose an outcrop of rocks and tall grass to hide. She thought she was safe —hidden — but now the beam of a flashlight sliced through the darkness, sweeping toward her. Panic clawed at her chest.

The bushes near her hiding place rustled, and a flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, landing just inches from her foot. She pressed herself harder against the rock, her entire body shaking.

"There's nowhere to hide out here," the voice said, his tone sharp and cruel. "Are you sure you saw someone?"

The other man laughed darkly. "Maybe he saw one of those ghosts." Several others laughed as well.

"Shut up! All of you! I know what I saw. Someone's out there."

Rebecca clenched her fists, willing herself to stay silent, but her heart hammered so loudly in her chest that she was sure they could hear it.

Then the light swung toward her, and she saw their faces —hard and unrelenting. "There she is!" one of them barked.

Branches scraped at Rebecca's arms, and her dress tore further as she scrambled over a fallen log. Her foot slipped, and she crashed to the ground, gasping as the wind was knocked from her lungs. She pushed herself up, desperate to keep going, but it was too late. Rough hands grabbed her, yanking her to her feet.

"Got you," a man sneered, his breath hot against her ear. Rebecca struggled, kicking and clawing, but the man's grip was unrelenting. Her necklace snapped from her neck in the scuffle, falling to the ground unnoticed.

"Enough," the leader snapped. "Get her to the shed. We've got to get her and us out of sight. Someone might be looking for her."

Rebecca bit down hard on the hand near her face, earning a sharp curse. But her small victory was fleeting. A heavy fist slammed into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She collapsed, coughing.

They shoved a rag against her mouth, muffling her cries. Rebecca's mind swam as they hauled her forward, her feet dragging against the ground. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the crumbling old shed ahead, its roof sagging and walls overrun with ivy. One of the men kicked open the door, revealing the dark, foreboding entrance to the tunnels beneath.

The flicker of a lantern cast eerie shadows on the rough stone walls, and the metallic scent of damp iron filled her nostrils.

They pulled her deeper into the tunnels, their grip unrelenting. Finally, they stopped in front of a rusted cage welded into the stone floor.

"Put her in," one of the men barked.

Rebecca's panic surged as they opened the cage, ripped the rag from her mouth, and shoved her inside. The door slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking into place. She threw herself against the bars, her voice hoarse as she screamed, "Let me out! Please, you can't leave me here!"

*****
Unbeknownst to anyone, Travis huddled in a narrow crevice, his small body pressed so tight against the jagged rocks that he could feel the cold seep through his clothes. The air was damp and stale, thick with a rancid mixture of mold, rot, and something metallic — blood, perhaps. Every shallow breath made his chest ache, but he dared not take a deeper one. Any sound, even the faintest gasp, might betray him.

He had watched the dim lantern lights sway and flicker from his hiding spot, high above the tunnel floor, growing closer with every passing second.

He'd peeked through a gap in the rocks just in time to see the two men dragging a woman between them. Her dark hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and tears. She looked defeated; her clothing was disheveled, and her arms were limp.

The men had stopped near the rusted cages lining the far wall. One of them yanked the heavy iron door open with a loud screech that echoed through the cavern. Travis flinched, his nails digging into his palms as he watched the woman stumble forward, barely catching herself against the bars.

"Get in there!" one of the men had growled, shoving her roughly inside. Their voices sent chills down his spine when the menacing voice barked, "You've earned yourself a place on the boat!"

The woman cried out as she fell to her knees on the cold, filthy floor. The sound echoed, raw and piercing, before being muffled by the clang of the door slamming shut.

"She's a looker." The taller man smirked, his slick hair shining in the flickering lantern light. "A shame we don't have time to enjoy this one."

The other man laughed, stepping closer to the cage. He reached through the bars, his filthy fingers brushing her cheek. The woman recoiled, scrambling to the far corner. "Feisty," he sneered. "But she won't be for long. Where she's going, the men don't tolerate disobedience."

Travis pressed his hands over his mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. His heart pounded so hard he was sure it would give him away, its thudding louder than the men's cruel laughter. Consumed by fear, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they would leave.

"Let's go," the taller man said at last, his tone laced with impatience. "The others should be arriving soon."

The two men turned away, their lanterns casting grotesque shadows on the walls as they moved down the tunnel. Travis's entire body trembled as he waited until their footsteps faded into silence. Only then did he dare to look again.

The woman was slumped against the bars, her shoulders shaking as quiet sobs racked her body. She looked so small and broken that it sent a wave of pain crashing over him. He wanted to help her, to do anything — but he was just a kid. And he was terrified.

His movement shifted slightly, causing a small pebble to dislodge and tumble down the rock face. It clinked against the stone floor, faint but distinct. His breath caught as the woman's sobs hitched, and she lifted her head, her tear-streaked face turning toward the sound.

For a moment, their eyes met. Travis froze, paralyzed with fear. Then, as quickly as the connection had formed, he retreated deeper into his hiding spot, praying she wouldn't call out and the men wouldn't return.

But her whispered words reached him, nonetheless. "Please help me."

Travis bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. He wanted to answer, but his throat felt filled with stones. All he could do was watch as the woman slumped back against the bars, and her tears streamed down her face as the reality of her situation settled over her.

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam's first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson's alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle's escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night's tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 21
Veil of Secrets - Chap 21

By Begin Again

Zhang sat at the head of the long, dark oak table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the polished surface. Smoke curled lazily from his cigarette, coiling like a snake.

The room was a pressure cooker. The silence was broken only by the faint creak of chairs as men shifted uneasily. All eyes were on Zhang, his calm, almost serene expression a stark contrast to the weight of his presence that pressed down on everyone.

Zhang had spent a lifetime building power, weaving alliances, and exacting retribution. Doyle's death had been a mess, a public spectacle, and now Donatelli — a thorn in his side — was clinging to life in a Bayside hospital.

He flicked the ash from his cigarette, his gaze cutting to Rossi, who stood at the edge of the room, his back rigid and his jaw tight. The nervous twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth — a tell that didn't escape Zhang's notice.

"You owe me, Rossi," Zhang said, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor-sharp blade. "Doyle might have been the one to screw up, but I saved your ass. And I don't like debts." His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it.

Rossi cleared his throat, nodding stiffly. "I'll take care of it," he said, his voice steady despite the cold sweat trickling down his back. "Donatelli won't leave that hospital alive."

Zhang leaned back in his chair, studying Rossi with the intensity of a predator sizing up his prey. "Good," he said after a pause, flicking ash from his cigarette. "But you've always been an opportunist, Rossi. Always sniffing around for a better deal."

Rossi's mouth opened to protest, but Zhang raised a hand, silencing him. "Which is why you won't be alone. Jin will accompany you."

Jin, seated to Zhang's right, rose silently. His massive frame cast a shadow across the table, and his eyes — cold, impassive — settled on Rossi like a hammer. A flicker of amusement played across his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"You'll go with him," Zhang said, nodding toward Rossi. "Make sure he finishes the job. And if he doesn't —" Zhang's smirk widened, his meaning clear.

Jin nodded once, the faintest flicker of amusement in his otherwise impassive face. "Understood."

For a moment, the room was deathly silent. Rossi swallowed hard, forcing his expression to remain neutral. "I won't fail," he said, though his voice lacked the hoped-for conviction.

Zhang crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and rose. "See that you don't," he said, his tone smooth but final, leaving no room for misunderstanding. As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. "And remember, Rossi — I gave you your life back. Don't make me regret it."

Jin glared at Rossi. "We leave in an hour."

Rossi nodded and left the room.

*****
As Rossi paced the dingy motel room, the memory of Zhang's "lesson" clawed its way to the surface, unbidden. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but it didn't stop the images from coming.

The cold steel table beneath his arms. The blinding light overhead. The sound of his own panicked breathing, loud and ragged. Zhang's men had strapped him down. Across from him, two other men — strangers — squirmed in their restraints, their muffled cries a desperate symphony of terror.

Zhang entered, calm as ever, a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He strolled between the tables like a host at a dinner party, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"You all disappoint me," Zhang said, slowly sipping his wine. "But mistakes — mistakes are opportunities for learning."

One of his men stepped forward, blindfolded, and took hold of a Butterfly Sword. The blade gleamed under the harsh light as Zhang nodded approvingly.

"It's a simple game," Zhang said, his voice smooth as silk. "Throw the blade. Whoever hits a target wins. Simple, no?" He chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor.

Rossi's breath hitched as the first blade flew, embedding itself inches from his arm. The room erupted in cheers and laughter, but Rossi heard none of it. His eyes remained fixated on Zhang, who watched the spectacle with a faint smile, as if it were a sport.

The third throw found its mark. A scream tore through the air as one of the strangers' hands was pinned to the table, blood pooling beneath it. Zhang clapped slowly, his smile widening.

"Winner!" he announced, gesturing for his man to remove the blindfold. The man stepped forward, knife in hand, and with a single, brutal motion, severed the pinned hand from its wrist.

The memory was so vivid that Rossi stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the motel dresser. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He wiped a trembling hand across his face, his breath shallow.

"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Just... focus."

*****

The clock on the bedside table ticked loudly, reminding him of the hour he didn't have to waste. Zhang's orders had been clear, and Jin wasn't a man who left jobs unfinished. Rossi's hand shook as he dialed Jack Lexington's private line, hoping against reason that the man would pick up.

The line rang twice before Jack's familiar, steely voice answered. "You've got a lot of balls calling me."

Rossi wasted no time. "Just don't hang up."

There was a pause, and then Jack's voice turned sharp. "I have nothing to say to you, Rossi, except this — you've got half the country looking for you with orders to shoot on sight. Enjoy whatever time you've got left."

"Wait, Jack! Listen to me. Zhang's sending me to take Donatelli out."

The line went silent for a moment. "You're dealing with Zhang. Word was that New York busted you out."

"They did, but somehow Zhang heard about it, and he got to us first."

"Interesting! So, what's this about Donatelli? He's dying as we speak."

Jack's senses went on alert. He wasn't Donatelli's best friend, but he knew how Frank felt about him, and that was enough to make him care.

"Zhang wants to make sure."

"When?"

"We leave in an hour," Rossi said, his voice quick and breathless. "I'll have to case the place, see what I'm up against."

"So why the hell are you calling me?" Jack snarled.

"Because I thought you could help me out."
Jack let out a bitter laugh. "You're joking, right? After what you pulled, do you think I'd help you? And bring the heat down on me when I'm considering retiring."

"I've got information," Rossi said quickly, desperate to keep Jack on the line. "Stuff you'd like to know about."

"Don't play with me, Rossi. What could a low life like you possibly know that would interest me?"

Rossi hesitated, then threw out his trump card. "The smuggling operation in Bayside. How the mob and Zhang plan to take you out of the equation."

There was a beat of silence before Jack's voice turned deadly quiet. "And why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know when this job is finished, Zhang's man will never let me live," Rossi said, his voice cracking slightly. "He's sending Jin with me, Jack. I'm dead the second this is over. But I can give you everything you need on Zhang, the NY mob, all of it. Just — help me make it out of that hospital alive."

Jack didn't answer right away. Rossi could hear the faint sound of ice clinking in a glass on the other end, a slow, deliberate pause that made his heart race.

Finally, Jack spoke. "Okay. One question."

"Sure, what is it?" Rossi had already promised to tell Jack what he knew, so he was curious about what else he wanted to know. Did he want to know why he'd joined with Doyle? Or did he wonder if any other of his men were in on it? "Ask me anything, Jack. After all, it's all in the past, right?"

"Relax, Vince. You tried to climb the ladder, even thought you'd take my place, and it didn't quite turn out like you wanted, now did it?"

Vince cleared his throat. He needed Jack's help and if it meant groveling, then that's what he would do. "Uh, I screwed up, Jack. Doyle — well, he convinced me to get on his bandwagon and promised me the world."

Jack laughed. "Didn't see much of that from those prison walls now, did you?"

"Naw, it didn't go as expected. Is that what you wanted to know — if I knew I'd been blown out of the water."

"No, there's a rumor I heard. The package the mob received with your cuff links."

"Zhang's evil side is not for the weak."

"Was it yours?"

"No!" Rossi flexed his fingers as an icy shiver ran up his spine. "No, it wasn't."

Jack tipped the bottle of bourbon, topping off his glass. He took a sip, letting the warmth soothe his throat. Finally, he spoke, "I'm in. Tell me everything you know about Zhang and the NY mob, and I'll make sure you leave that hospital alive."

Relief washed over Rossi, but he didn't have time to enjoy it. Jack's voice hardened as he continued. "Here's how this is going to go down. You follow my lead to the letter, Rossi, or Zhang won't have to kill you — I will."

Fifteen minutes later, Jack leaned back in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. On the speakerphone, Rossi's voice carried the nervous energy of a man clinging to his last shred of hope.

"You got everything straight?" Jack asked, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

"Yeah, I got it," Rossi replied, his voice steadier now. "I go in, do my thing, and get out through the stairwell. You'll have the gun where I can grab it?"

"Don't worry about that," Jack said coolly. "I'll make sure everything's in place. Just make it look convincing when you take the shot."

Rossi let out a shaky laugh. "Convincing's not going to be the problem. And you?"

Jack's voice turned icy. "Don't worry about my end, Rossi. Just stick to the plan, and I'll take care of Jin."

"Right!" Rossi rubbed his wrist — a reminder of how Zhang played the game. "I better go. Jin will be waiting."

The silence felt like an eternity, the weight of their pact settling between them. Finally, Jack ended the call with a simple, "Don't screw this up."

Jack reached into his desk drawer, took out another phone, and pushed the speed call button. The phone in Frank DiVito's drawer rang.

Frank answered on the second ring. "Jack, what's going on?"

"I know you're en route to get Donatelli, but I just got a call from Vince Rossi. It's urgent," Jack said, his voice tense.

"Rossi? What's that guy calling you for?"

Jack's words went straight to the point. "Zhang's put out a hit on Donatelli."

Frank said nothing, but tossed Sam the car keys as he digested what Jack Lexington had told him.

"Frank, you still with me?"

"Yeah, Jack, I'm here. I'll call you from the car, and you can fill me in. I'm sending my guys to Bayside, but I can always make a few changes if necessary."

"Trust me, Frankie. This is going to be a tricky one."

"Then we better pull a rabbit out of the hat."

Author Notes

Summary: Eleanor discovers Miriam is missing and trapped in a mirror by Cornelius Webb, whose schemes threaten the Vineyard. Rebecca meets Grayson Webb, a manipulative descendant of Cornelius, while a missing boy tied to the Vineyard raises the stakes. Althea Cascio, connected to both the Vineyard and the Mob, fears for her son as Grayson abducts her under Cornelius's orders. Antonio, Miriam's first love, returns to help and reveals the Vineyard's dark history to Rebecca. Eleanor and her allies work to protect the Vineyard as Grayson's alliance with Zhang collapses, leading to betrayal, violence, and a confrontation between Grayson, Doyle, and Cornelius. Donatelli is wounded during Doyle's escape, leaving the group fractured as the danger grows. Donatelli is critically wounded by Doyle during a confrontation. Danni, Eleanor, and DeLuca rally to save him, but chaos ensues as Rebecca goes missing. Eleanor tracks Doyle, confronting him after his car crashes. Her fury burns hot, but she ultimately spares him, only for fate to seal his end in the wreckage's flames. Overwhelmed by the night's tragedies, Eleanor is grounded by Charles's comforting presence, renewing her resolve to protect those she loves. Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 22
Veil of Secrets - Chap 22

By Begin Again

NOTE:

THIS IS THE FIRST HALF OF THE HOSPITAL SCENE.... CHAP. 23 FOLLOWS

The early morning hours were quiet, the kind of silence that signaled the end of a long, difficult shift. Pale light seeped through the windows, stretching across the empty hallway outside Donatelli's room. Most of the staff moved sluggishly, eager to clock out and leave the night behind.

Frank adjusted the collar of his doctor's coat, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric. The beeping of the monitors filled the silence, a cruel reminder of how fragile Donatelli's condition was. Tubes and wires snaked around the bed, keeping the detective tethered to life. Frank clenched his fists at the sight of his old friend, but his voice was steady as he leaned close.

"Hang in there, Matthew," Frank said, his gruff voice softening. "I'm not letting these bastards win. You hear me? You're gonna make it."

One of Frank's men, Marco, stood by the door and kept watch. The other, his right-hand man, Sam, hovered by the monitors, his face grim as he studied the readings. "We shouldn't move him," Sam muttered. "Not in this state."

Frank shot him a sharp look. "The doctors here said they've done all they can. I don't believe that for a second. My people are the best. They'll keep him alive."

Sam didn't argue, but the tension in the room was apparent. Frank turned back to Donatelli, his thick hand gripping the edge of the bed. The weight of the decision bore down on him — moving Donatelli was a gamble, but leaving him here was suicide.

The shrill buzz of Frank's phone broke the stillness. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.

Jack Lexington.

Frank answered, his voice low. "Everything's set on my end. How about yours?"

Jack's voice was calm but laced with the confidence that only came with years of walking the edge. "We're ready. I've let everyone know what to expect. I've the honors of being one of Bayside's finest."

"You — a police officer? Matthew would love to see that."

"What? You don't think he'd approve?"

"Honestly, I'm sure he'd laugh his ass off." Frank chuckled, appreciating the moment of humor.

"You two can have a good laugh after this is over. For now, let's focus. As a police officer, I can relieve the guard outside Donatelli's room. Once I'm in position, I'll signal Rossi to make his move."

Frank moved to the foot of the bed. "You sure Rossi's going to play along?"

"He doesn't have a choice," Jack replied smoothly. "He'll enter the room, shoot the corpse we've prepared, and make his escape through the stairwell. Tango and his team will be waiting there to take him down."

 

Frank scowled. "Tango? Where's Garth?"

 

"He's embroiled in another mess at the Vineyard. Let's get through this first, and then I'll fill you in."

 

Aware of what was at stake, Frank brought his attention back to Donatelli. "And Zhang's men?" he asked, his voice dropping. "You know they'll be lurking."

"I'm sure Jin is here," Jack said. "I just don't know where. Keep your eyes open, Frank. This has to be perfect."

Frank exhaled heavily, his eyes fixed on Donatelli's still form. "Perfect, huh? Nothing about this is perfect, Jack. But we'll make it work."

Jack chuckled softly on the other end. "That's why I called you. Just get Donatelli to the helipad. I'll handle the rest."

Frank ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He turned to his men. "All right, listen up. Marco, you're with me when we move Donatelli. Sam, you stay here and prep the corpse. Make it look convincing."

Sam nodded, pulling a vial from his pocket and a fake blood packet—setting to work on the body behind the screen—none of them asking where it had come from. "This'll fool anyone who doesn't get too close," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

 

Marco checked the hallway. "It's clear."

Frank moved to the head of the bed, glancing once more at the monitors. "Let's move fast. The longer we stay, the more time Zhang's people have to figure this out."

*****
Jack Lexington strode down the hallway in his police uniform, his steps measured and purposeful. The guard stationed outside Donatelli's room, a young officer with tired eyes, straightened as Jack approached.

"Change of shift," Jack said, flashing a fake badge. "Take a break. I've got it from here."

The guard hesitated, his gaze flicking to Jack's badge and then his face. "I wasn't told about a shift change."

Jack's easy smile didn't waver. "You weren't told about the FBI swarming this place either, were you? Orders from the top. Go grab a coffee."

After a tense beat, the guard nodded and stepped aside. Jack leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he scanned the hallway. His heart was thumping against his chest, but he kept his cool. He tapped the earpiece, his mind rehearsing the scene that was about to unfold.

"Rossi, you're up. Make it look real."

 

*****

Dressed in hospital scrubs, Jin stood by a gurney near the ICU entrance, blending seamlessly with the early morning routine. He nodded at two nurses who walked by, eager to end their shift. Though the halls were void of visitors, except for a grieving family nearby, his attention to detail had his sharp gaze analyzing every movement.
His cold eyes shifted to the elevator as the doors opened, and Rossi stepped out, pushing a janitorial mop and bucket. His palms were slick with sweat as he approached Jin and the ICU doors. Jin's gaze locked on him like a hunter sizing up prey.

Rossi exhaled sharply, trying to steady his nerves as he scanned his keycard, waited for the doors to open, and walked down the corridor, pushing his bucket. Ahead, Donatelli's room came into view. His heart pounded as he mentally rehearsed the plan.

Before the door closed, Jin pushed the gurney into the ICU, stopping to get a drink from the fountain. His eyes narrowed as he glanced toward Rossi, who was closing in on the room.

Through the slightly ajar door, Jack Lexington stood in a police uniform, leaning casually against the wall. Jin's lips curled into a faint sneer. A police guard might complicate things — for Rossi. Not that it mattered as long as the job got done.

Rossi pushed the mop and bucket toward Donatelli's room, each step feeling heavier as his nerves threatened to undo him. The early morning stillness of the ICU only heightened his unease. As he approached the door, a nurse entered the hallway from a patient's room, her sharp gaze zeroing in on the mop bucket.

"Hold on," she said, her tone tinged with suspicion. "What are you doing here? Nobody notified the nurse's station about any cleanup in this room."

Rossi froze, sweat running down his back as he struggled to respond. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Inside Donatelli's room, Jack Lexington had been monitoring the hallway through the small window in the door. He caught the exchange immediately, his sharp instincts warning him that Rossi was about to botch the cover. Jack stepped to the door and cracked it open, his voice smooth and authoritative.

"It's okay," Jack said, leaning partially out of the room in his police uniform. He gestured toward the mop and bucket. "I spilled coffee just inside here a few minutes ago. Didn't want to make a mess for you to clean up after a long shift, so I called maintenance."

The nurse hesitated, her gaze flicking between Jack and Rossi. "No one told me about this."

Jack gave her a practiced, disarming smile. "It wasn't worth making a big deal over. You've been working hard enough tonight, and I didn't want to bother you with it."

The nurse studied him for another moment and sighed. "Just don't take too long. This room has restricted access."

"Understood," Jack said with a polite nod. "Thank you."

The nurse turned back toward her station, leaving the hallway quiet again. Jack's expression hardened as he locked eyes with Rossi. "Get in here. Now."

Rossi entered the room cautiously, his steps slow and deliberate. He looked at the figure on the bed, motionless and frail. The sight made his stomach churn, but he knew he had no choice.

A moment later, Jack followed him into the room, his face a perfect mask of calm. He closed the door behind him and turned to Rossi. "You know what to do," Jack said. But you're going to need a little help to sell this."

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

Jack smirked faintly. "I'm the cop who let you in. If they find you with the gun, this whole thing falls apart. You'll knock me out, grab my weapon, and do the job. I'll play dead while you take the shot. No gun to tie you to the scene, no loose ends."

Rossi hesitated. "You serious?"

Jack stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Zhang's not playing games, Rossi. Do it my way, or you're as good as dead."

Rossi exhaled shakily and nodded. "Fine."

Jack turned his back slightly, presenting the side of his head. Rossi hesitated, his mind racing, but the weight of the situation left him no choice. He swung the mop handle with a sharp crack, hitting Jack hard enough to send him sprawling onto the floor. Jack let out a low groan, staying perfectly still as though unconscious.

Rossi bent down quickly, pulling Jack's gun from its holster. His hands trembled as he stood, the weapon feeling impossibly heavy in his grip. He turned toward the bed, his breathing ragged.

His chest tightened as he raised the gun, aiming at the body under the sheet. The suppressor muted the shots to dull pops as fake blood splattered across the sheets.

 

Rossi fired again for good measure, leaving the corpse untouched otherwise.

The door opened behind him, and Rossi spun just as Jin entered. The enforcer's eyes swept the room, taking in Jack's crumpled form and the bloodied bed.

"It's done," Rossi said, his voice tight. "The cop tried to stop me, but I handled it."

Jin stepped closer, his imposing frame crowding Rossi's space. "Handled it, huh?" he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You didn't think Zhang would let you walk away, did you?"

Rossi's mouth went dry as Jin drew his weapon, the silencer glinting faintly under the dim hospital light.

"Wait —" Rossi stammered, stepping back, but Jin's cold smile cut him off.

Before Jin could pull the trigger, a faint pop sounded behind him. He froze, his expression shifting to one of surprise as blood blossomed across his chest. He staggered, his gun slipping from his hand, and crumpled to the floor.

Sam stepped out from behind the privacy curtain, his silenced pistol still aimed at Jin's fallen form. Wasting no time, Sam crossed to the bed, pulled out a vial of acid, and splashed it over the corpse's face. The chemical hissed and bubbled, filling the room with a sharp, acrid stench as smoke curled from the disfigured flesh.

"Move!" Sam hissed, shoving Rossi toward the door.

Rossi didn't need to be told twice. He bolted, his legs moving on pure instinct, as Sam followed close behind. They burst into the stairwell, Rossi's breath ragged as he descended the steps two at a time.

On the landing below, Tango and his FBI team waited, their weapons drawn. Rossi skidded to a stop, his hands shooting into the air.

"Don't shoot!" he gasped. "I'm unarmed!"

Tango's sharp eyes flicked to Sam, then back to Rossi. "Where's Jin?" Tango demanded.

"Dead," Sam said curtly. "He tried to take us out."

Tango nodded, motioning to his men. Two agents grabbed Rossi, cuffing him roughly, while another swept past them toward the stairwell above.

"You better hope Jack's alive," Tango growled, glaring at Rossi. "Because if he's not, you're not making it to the station."

Rossi said nothing, his shoulders slumping as the agents hauled him away. Behind him, Sam lingered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he glanced up the stairwell. His thoughts were with his boss and Donatelli.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Pays 10 points and 52 member cents.

Chapter 23
Veil of Secrets - Chap 23

By Begin Again

NOTE:
THIS IS THE 2ND HALF OF THE HOSPITAL SCENE

CATCH CHAP. 22 FIRST

Meanwhile, Jack Lexington pulled himself from the floor, glancing into the mirror. He winced at the bruising, muttering. "A small price to pay, I guess."

He could hear voices in the hallway. Shifts were changing. He moved fast, tugging the janitor coveralls from beneath the mattress.

Moments later, he pulled the cap low over his face and nonchalantly pushed the mob bucket down the hall. No one gave him a second glance.

The service elevator slid open. Jack stepped inside, pressing the button to the second floor. As the doors closed, he let out a slow breath. His heartbeat had barely spiked.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped off. Over the PA system, he could hear a voice requesting security to the ICU stat. The second floor was buzzing with the changing of shifts and the current gossip about what was happening in the ICU.

Leaving the mop bucket behind, Jack eased his way down the hallway and entered the bathroom.

A man was drying his hands near the sink. He tossed the damp paper in the waste collector and moved toward the door. His eyes met Jack's for a second, and then he was gone.

Jack walked into the wheelchair-accessible stall. His favorite suit was waiting. A smile crossed his face as he quickly changed, jamming the coveralls into a briefcase.

He left the bathroom and headed for the stairwell, descending quickly. On the ground floor, he exited the building, where a dark sedan idled at the curb. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh morning air, and looked upward, hoping Donatelli was still alive.

As he slipped into the passenger seat, his driver grinned. "Everything go as planned, boss?"

"Like clockwork, Morgan. It was the best few minutes of reminiscing I've had in a long time." He smiled at his driver. "I'm starving. I know this off-street cafe that serves the best steak and eggs, and the waitresses aren't bad either." Both men laughed.

Before Jenna ever saw the breaking news alert, before hospital security rushed to the ICU, Jack Lexington was already vanishing into the morning haze. The game had just begun.

*****
Danni flipped through a magazine — the same one she'd been flipping through for hours. The pages were blurred as she worried about her partner, clinging to life down the hall. Across the waiting room, Jenna was curled up on a small sofa, asleep, exhaustion written all over her face.

Danni's phone buzzed, and a text message from DeLuca flashed across the screen. "ICU Stat."

Her eyes shifted to Jenna for a moment before rushing down the hall, her boots barely making a sound against the polished hospital floor.

As she passed the elevator, the doors slid open. A group of hospital security guards stormed out, their radios crackling. Their expressions were tight — something was very wrong. Danni picked up her pace, following close behind as they moved toward the ICU.

A uniformed officer stood at the entrance, blocking the way. Without breaking stride, Danni flashed her badge. "What's going on?" she demanded.

The officer barely spared her a glance before nodding toward the hallway. "Somebody did a number on Detective Donatelli."

Danni's breath caught. No. No, this can't be happening. Heart hammering, she pushed past the officer and sprinted toward Donatelli's room.

Then she saw it.

The body on the bed.

Blood soaked the pristine hospital sheets, staining the once-white fabric a deep crimson. The machines were still beeping, their tones warbling like a funeral dirge.

Danni's entire form shuddered, an unnatural cold crawling over her. The tether — her bond to Donatelli — frayed, snapping like a taut rope under too much strain. For one breathless second, she thought she was losing him. How could Donatelli be dead?

A strong hand gripped her arm, jerking her back. He hissed, "Danni, it's not him!"

DeLuca was standing there.

She twisted in his grip, wild with confusion. "Not him? What the hell are you talking about?" Her eyes darted back to the room.

"It's not him."

DeLuca pulled her into an empty room, shutting the door behind them. His voice was low but firm. Danni's body was trembling. "Listen to me. That's not Donatelli's body."
Danni's breath came in quick, shallow gasps. "But the blood — the Feds —"

"It's staged," DeLuca said, his tone deadly serious. "Jack Lexington got word there was a hit out on Donatelli. He tipped off Frank DiVito, who told the Feds. There wasn't enough time to loop us in."

Danni's head spun. She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to process. "So where is he? And whose body is that?"

Before DeLuca could answer, both their phones buzzed simultaneously. A news alert lit up their screens.

BREAKING NEWS: Bayside's Decorated Detective Matthew Donatelli Confirmed Dead
The FBI and local authorities have not released further details at this time.

Danni's stomach plummeted. "Jenna!"

Panic seized her as she bolted from the room, sprinting back to the waiting area.

*****
Jenna stirred, blinking sleepily at the phone in her hands. Then the words sank in.
A strangled cry tore from her throat. "NOOOOO!"

She jumped to her feet, the phone clattering to the ground as a gut-wrenching scream ripped through the hospital.

Danni reached her just in time as Jenna's knees buckled. She caught her, holding her tight as sobs wracked her body.

"It's not real," Danni whispered in her ear. "Do you hear me? It's not real."

Jenna's nails dug into Danni's arms, her breathing ragged. "The news says he's dead."

"No," Danni swore, locking eyes with her. "Listen to me, Jenna. He's not." People were watching. Danni needed Jenna to calm down, but she had to be careful to keep the truth under wraps. "Jenna, listen to me. We have to play along until we figure out what the hell is going on."

Jenna's sobs quieted into shaky breaths, but her entire body trembled. "If he's not dead, where is he?"

Danni exhaled, glancing over her shoulder. "That's what we're about to find out."

As they turned toward the hallway, a sudden chill passed through the waiting area — not the cold of the hospital air conditioning, but something else.

Danni stopped mid-step, her detective instincts kicking in. She turned just in time to see Eleanor exit a room near the entrance to the waiting room.

Jenna's breath hitched the moment she saw her.

The moment their eyes met, Eleanor's heart clenched. The pain radiating from her daughter was unbearable.

"Jenna —" Eleanor started, but Jenna shook her head violently, stepping back like her mother's presence was a physical blow.

"No!" Jenna's voice was sharp and furious. "No — you don't get to do this."

Eleanor took a hesitant step forward. "Jenna, I —"

"You should have known!" Jenna's face was flushed with rage and anguish. "You always know, Mom!" Jenna's voice cracked as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "But not this time? Not when it mattered most?"

Eleanor swallowed hard, shaking her head. "Jenna, I —" But what excuse could she give? For once, her instincts had failed her.

"Where were you?" Jenna demanded. "I was screaming in that waiting room. And you —" She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You were nowhere."

Eleanor swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay steady. "Jenna, that's not fair. I felt something was wrong. I did. But I thought —" she hesitated, the truth feeling inadequate. "I thought I was feeling his pain from being shot. And with everything happening at the Vineyard, I couldn't separate it. I didn't realize it was you."

Jenna let out a sharp, shaky breath, her body stiff. "You didn't realize?" she repeated, her voice dangerously soft. "You always realize, Mom."

Eleanor's fingers twitched at her sides. "So much has been happening. I was wrong."

Danni, standing close, finally interjected. "Let's take this inside." Her voice was firm, though not unkind. "We all need to talk."

Jenna let out another shaky breath, her anger still burning hot, but she turned on her heel and stormed toward the consultation room.

Eleanor closed her eyes briefly before following.
 

The moment they stepped inside the private consultation room, Jenna whirled around, her face red with emotion. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she took in the people around her — Danni, DeLuca, and her mother.

"You all just let me think he was dead?" Jenna's voice cracked, raw from crying. "You let me fall apart out there, begging for answers, while you stood there."

Danni took a step forward, trying to calm her. "Jenna, we didn't —"

"Don't." Jenna's eyes burned with fury, and her hands clenched into fists. "You expect me to believe none of you knew?" Her gaze landed on DeLuca before shifting to Danni. "You two are detectives. You were supposed to have his back. Both of you do this for a living, and you're telling me you had no idea?"

DeLuca exhaled, his voice steady but weary. "Jenna, we only found out after the fact. The moment we knew, Donatelli was already gone."

Jenna scoffed, shaking her head. "Gone? Where? Another room in the hospital? And why does the news think he's dead?"

The silence was deafening.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her pulse hammering against her skull. "Where is he?" she repeated.

Eleanor's phone buzzed. She glanced at the caller ID — €"Frank".

She hesitated before answering, stepping away from Jenna's gaze. "Frank?"

"He's safe, Eleanor."

Relief and guilt crashed over her. "Where? With you?"

"My team is doing everything possible." Frank paused. "He made the trip, but I can't promise anything. Matthew's in critical condition. He's safe. No one will get to him, and no one will leak his location."

Eleanor's shoulders sagged as she whispered, "Thank you, Frank."

"We're family, Eleanor. Don't forget it. Send Jenna and Maggie and you, of course. I'll have the helicopter ready within the hour."

Eleanor closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "I can't leave. Rebecca is missing, and Garth is out there looking for her."

Frank sighed. "I hadn't heard." He felt torn between Donatelli and Garth now. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. "Jenna doesn't need to be in that hospital another second. Can Danni come with her?"

Eleanor turned back to her daughter. Jenna's entire body was trembling — rage, grief, exhaustion all threatening to consume her.

"Jenna," Eleanor's voice was gentle but firm. "Donatelli is alive. He's in critical condition but safe with Frank's people."

Jenna froze, her throat tightening. "He's alive?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes. But he's not out of danger."

Hope flickered in Jenna's eyes for a second, but the weight of everything else quickly drowned it. "Then I'm going to him."

Eleanor took a slow step closer. "Frank's sending the helicopter. It'll take you and Maggie to him."

Jenna's chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. "You're not coming?"

Eleanor's heart ached at the question, but she couldn't lie. "I can't. Rebecca is missing, and Garth needs me here."

Jenna let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Of course." Her voice cracked as her shoulders slumped. "Of course, you're staying here. There's always something more important, isn't there?"

Eleanor flinched, guilt clawing at her chest. "Jenna, that's not fair. I love Matthew as if he is my son."

"Really?" Jenna's voice rose, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "So why didn't you sense this? Why weren't you there when I was losing my mind thinking the father of my child was dead?"

Eleanor swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I was torn in too many directions. I felt something was wrong, but I thought I was feeling his distress over being shot. And everything at the Vineyard — I didn't realize it was you."

Jenna let out a shaky breath, rubbing her hands over her face. "I just —" Her voice broke, and she shook her head. "I just need to see him."

Eleanor reached out hesitantly. "Jenna —"

Jenna took a step back, blinking rapidly. "No," she whispered. "Just get me on that damn helicopter."

Eleanor's throat tightened, but she nodded.

Danni placed a firm hand on Jenna's shoulder. "I'll go with you," she said softly. "You won't be alone."

Jenna sniffled, nodding stiffly.

DeLuca, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "I'll make sure you both get out of here without drawing attention."

"Frank's helicopter lands in an hour. Danni, can you take Jenna to get Maggie?"

Danni nodded.

Eleanor watched as Jenna turned away, refusing to meet her gaze.

She had lost her daughter's trust tonight.

And that wound cut deeper than any bullet ever could.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 24
Veil of Secrets Chap 24

By Begin Again

Rebecca's breath was shallow, her body trembling as she sat curled in the corner of the cage. The iron bars felt cold against her back.

Her gaze wandered across the space, adjusting to the faint, flickering lantern light that barely illuminated the cavernous room. What she saw made her stomach lurch.

 

Someone had welded two rows of cages into the floor and walls — most were empty, but not all.

In some, skeletal remains slumped against the bars, their hollow eye sockets staring into nothingness. Rebecca clamped a hand over her mouth, her tears stinging as she fought the urge to retch.

"What is this place?" she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. A faint sound reached her ears — at first, she thought it was her imagination, but then it grew louder.
Voices. Men's voices. She strained to hear them, her body stiffening. The voices were coming closer. Rebecca shrank further into the shadows of her cage, her fingers gripping the bars as she willed herself to become invisible.

The sound of boots echoed through the tunnels, accompanied by the faint clinking of chains. Then she heard it — crying — women's voices, rising in desperation. Her stomach dropped.

From the shadows of the tunnel, a group of men emerged, their faces partially obscured by the dim light of their lanterns. They herded a group of women between them, shoving some who stumbled. The women's faces were pale and tear-streaked, their cries blending into a chorus of terror.

One of them tripped, falling to her knees, only to be yanked roughly to her feet by a man who sneered down at her. "Keep moving!" he barked.

Rebecca pressed herself into the corner of her cage, her body trembling violently. She prayed the darkness would hide her, but her mind raced with questions. Who were these men? Why were they bringing these women here? The answers eluded her, but one thing was clear — this was a place of cruelty and despair, and now she was trapped in it, too.

The men began unlocking cages, shoving the women inside. Their cries grew louder as rough hands forced them into the rusted enclosures, the locks clicking shut with finality. One woman clutched at the bars, her voice breaking as she sobbed, "Please, don't leave us here!"

Rebecca's hands trembled as she gripped her knees, her lips moving silently in a desperate prayer.

"Shut up," one of the men growled. He stepped forward, raising his hand toward the nearest cage, pointing a gun. The woman inside flinched, shrinking back against the wall.

 

The sound of gunfire echoed through the tunnel.

 

Desperate cries of fear responded, followed by sobbing.

The bullet hit the dirt and limestone far above her head. The woman sank to the floor, muffling her sobs.

A sickly silence filled the cavern.

Rebecca bit down on her knuckles to stifle a whimper. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her own fear. She wanted to run, to scream, to fight, but she knew she had no way out.

Her thoughts spun as the men finished locking the cages and began murmuring among themselves. This couldn't be real. She'd been dragged into some nightmare, someplace so far removed from reality that it defied comprehension.

"Why?" she mouthed silently, her mind grasping for answers. Why were these women here? Who were these men? What did they want? And, more terrifyingly, what were they planning to do? The questions crashed into her like waves, one after another, until she felt dizzy.

Her tears blurred her vision, but she didn't dare wipe them away, didn't dare make a sound. The men finally turned back toward the tunnel, their footsteps echoing as they moved away. One of them barked a final order: "Watch the entrance. No one in or out without the boss knowing."

Rebecca's breath caught as their voices faded into the distance. The silence that followed was almost as deafening as the noise had been. She could still hear the faint sobs of the surrounding women, their despair filling the empty spaces of the cavern.

 

She closed her eyes, her trembling hands pressed to her temples. She couldn't stay here. If she didn't find a way out, she would end up like the others — forgotten, lost to the shadows of this horrific place.

A soft whimper caught her attention.

She turned her head, squinting in the dim light. In the next cage, a young girl, no older than eight, huddled on the floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her small frame shook with silent cries, her face streaked with dirt and tears.

Rebecca swallowed hard, her own fear momentarily eclipsed by the sight of the child. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hey," she murmured. "It's okay. I'm Rebecca. What's your name?"

The girl looked up, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking on Rebecca's. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"It's all right," Rebecca said gently. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Do you — do you know what's happening? Do you know who these men are?"

She shook her head, but another voice cut through the darkness — a harsh, bitter voice that made Rebecca flinch.

"Welcome to the real world, little one," a woman sneered from the cage across the way. A shadow partially obscured her face, but her tone was sharp and crude, hardened by despair. "You and your friend over there are now the guests of smugglers."

Rebecca's stomach churned as the woman continued, her words laced with bitterness. "Tomorrow, maybe the next day, the boss will decide who's worth keeping. The pretty ones — the cream of the crop, as they like to say — will be taken by boat to be sold to the highest bidder."

Rebecca felt her throat tighten, bile rising as the woman's words sank in. "And the others?" she asked, her voice trembling.

The woman laughed darkly, the sound bitter and hollow. "The others?" she echoed. "Look around you. They were left to rot. To die."

Rebecca's gaze shifted, taking in the skeletal remains slumped in the other cages. Her stomach turned, and she gripped the bars of her own cage to steady herself. The young girl let out a soft sob, burying her face in her arms.

"No," Rebecca whispered, shaking her head. "No, this can't be happening."

The woman in the shadows snorted. "Happening? Honey, it's been happening for years. You're just unlucky enough to be here for it."

Rebecca's mind raced. She couldn't let this happen — not to herself, the girl, or any of them. She leaned closer to the girl, her voice trembling but resolute. "We're going to get out of here," she whispered. "I promise. You hear me? We'll find a way."

The girl looked up at her, hope flickering faintly in her tear-filled eyes. But Rebecca could feel the crude woman's gaze from across the way.

"Good luck with that," the woman said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "No one escapes. Not alive, anyway."

Rebecca clenched her jaw, determination flickering to life in her chest. She didn't have a plan yet, but she knew one thing — she wouldn't let these men win. She wasn't going to let this darkness consume her or anyone else.

*****
Travis crouched in the small cavern, his small body pressed against the damp limestone wall.

 

The faint lantern light from the mobsters' passage flickered below him, casting eerie shadows that danced on the jagged surfaces of the tunnels. He had crawled into this hidden alcove hours or maybe days ago, his heart pounding as he listened to the voices echoing through the underground maze.

He hadn't eaten in what felt like days, and his throat was raw from thirst, but fear kept him still and silent. His legs ached from being curled into such a tight space, but he didn't dare move.

He pressed his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp. His stomach twisted as the men's laughter faded into the distance, their lantern light disappearing around a bend. The tunnels fell silent again, except for the faint sobbing of the women.

Rebecca, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her body trembling with fear and exhaustion, clung to the cold bars of the cage. Her knuckles were white from the force of her grip as she tested the strength of the bars. They didn't budge.

Her muscles ached, but her mind had already shifted — away from her own terror and onto the young girl in the cage across from hers.

The child barely breathed, her tiny fingers clutching her tattered dress, knuckles white. Rebecca had seen fear before, but never like this — paralyzing, all-consuming. The girl had long stopped crying, her eyes hollow, her soul retreating somewhere deep inside her, where the horrors of this place couldn't touch her.

A faint clink echoed from above. Pieces of dirt fell from above. Rebecca tensed, her fingers tightening around the bars. For a breathless moment, she thought the men had returned. But then, a shadow moved.

"Psst!"

Rebecca's head snapped upward, heart hammering.

There, unexpectedly, was a boy crouched in a narrow opening above. His sudden appearance sent Rebecca's heart into a frenzy.

His dirt-smudged face peered through the dim lantern light, his blue eyes flickering with something she hadn't seen in days — hope.

Rebecca exhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice both a plea and a prayer.

"I'm Travis."

Rebecca gasped. "The missing boy."

"A woman saw them bring me here. She saved me."

"A woman. Who was she, and where did she go?"

Travis thought about what he was about to say. He doubted the woman would believe him. Finally, he offered the woman's name. "Miriam. She said her name was Miriam."

Rebecca's breath caught in her throat. Could her grandmother have saved the boy before something happened to her? Is that what she'd meant when she'd whispered from the mirror?

"Miriam," Rebecca's voice faltered. "Is my grandmother. You saw her?"

Travis nodded. "A scary man threatened her, but she wouldn't tell him where I was. Then —" His mouth was dry, and he pressed his fingers against his cracked lips. "The man tossed shiny black dust in the air, and they disappeared — just vanished."

Rebecca understood but also knew how frightening it must have been for him.

"I found a way through the tunnels," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. "There's a gap up here — but it's too small for anyone but me."

Rebecca's stomach twisted. "Can you unlock the cages?"

He shook his head, eyes darting nervously toward the tunnel entrance. "No keys. But — I've been studying." His gaze lifted to a corroded section of bars at the top of her cage. "I think you can climb out."

Rebecca followed his stare, and for the first time, she saw it — a gap, not much, but if she could reach it.

Hope surged through her veins like wildfire.

Travis shifted, his small fingers fumbling with something near his feet. In the dim glow of lantern light, she saw him untangling a coil of rope.

"I'll tie this up," he said, his voice laced with fierce determination. "You have to climb."

Rebecca's pulse pounded.

"Travis, we need to get the girl and the other women."

"The men — they'll be back. There isn't much time."

One of the women from the girl's cage stepped forward, her face lined with exhaustion and fear. "You don't have time to free all of us," she whispered urgently. "Take the girl and go."

Rebecca shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I can't just leave you here."

Another woman grasped the bars, her voice steely. "You don't have a choice. If they catch you, it's over for all of us. We'll buy you time."

Rebecca hesitated, torn between the urgency of escape and the guilt of leaving the others behind.

"Take the girl." The woman's voice dropped as she glanced at the girl. "Her mother was a friend. Take her and get help."

Travis scrambled across the top of the cages, pulling the rusted bars apart.

The woman gently lifted the child and held her up as Travis lowered the rope into their cage. The girl's small hands trembled as she clung to it.

"Come on, sweetheart," Rebecca urged. "Hold on tight."

The woman steadied the girl's grip and whispered, "Go, little one. Be brave."

Rebecca's breath caught as Travis began hoisting the girl up, inch by inch. The rope strained, the child's small frame swinging slightly. She let out a whimper, and Rebecca's heart pounded.

"You're doing great," Travis whispered. "Just a little more."

A loud creak.

Rebecca froze.

The rope shifted, jerking slightly as the girl clutched it tighter.

Travis gritted his teeth and pulled harder. When the girl reached the top, he grabbed her under the arms and helped her over the bars until she could safely drop onto the tunnel floor below.

Rebecca exhaled shakily. "Now me."

She turned to the women who were watching. One of them yanked loudly on her cage door, sending an echo through the tunnel. Another woman screamed, throwing herself against the bars.

Then Travis did something unexpected.

He untied a second piece of rope from his belt and quickly tossed it to the woman.
"Stretch it across the tunnel — low enough to trip him," he whispered urgently. "I saw it in a comic book."
The woman's eyes widened in understanding. She nodded, grabbed the rope, The woman with the harsh voice, stretched out her arm, "Toss it to me."

The man at the far end of the tunnel barked, "You women better quiet down."

"Go!" one of the women hissed.

Travis's makeshift rope ladder dangled down, swaying slightly. "Now or never," Travis whispered.

Rebecca grabbed the first rung, her arms burning with exhaustion as she hauled herself up. The rusted metal groaned under their weight, flaking beneath her fingers. One wrong move, one loud sound, and the guards would hear."

The bars creaked.

Rebecca froze.

The rope shifted. The rusted section of the bars groaned ominously.

Travis's breath hitched. "Hurry!"

Rebecca clenched her jaw, forcing herself up, inch by inch, teeth gritted against the strain.

Travis leaned down. "Just a little more.

"Keep climbing!" the woman hissed under her breath.

Rebecca swung a leg over the top and released the rope, dropping down onto the tunnel floor below. Her knees buckled slightly on impact, but she gritted her teeth and pushed up.

The girl stood next to her, wide-eyed, waiting. Rebecca grabbed her hand.

The woman hissed, "He's coming."

The bobbing lantern came closer, and then he stepped into the cavern. He spotted Rebecca and broke into a run, wildly waving his arms. "Stop, or you're dead."

The moment he charged forward, his boot snagged on the hidden rope.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat as he pitched forward, arms flailing, his lantern flying from his grip and smashing against the stone. His head struck a stone, and he groaned in agony.

The tunnel plunged into darkness.

Rebecca twisted, locking eyes with the woman who had urged her to go.

She saw the woman shove the rope under her dress in the flickering remnants of the shattered lantern's light.

Then, as the guard struggled to push himself up, the women huddled together, their bodies blending into the darkness.

The guard shook his head, disoriented. His fingers fumbled for his weapon as he scanned the tunnel wildly.

But the women were motionless. Silent. Invisible in the dark.

"Run," the woman mouthed.

Rebecca swallowed the sob in her throat — then turned and ran, yanking the girl forward.

Travis took off beside them, the tunnel echoing with the sounds of the guard's groans.


 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 25
Veil of Secrets Chap 25

By Begin Again

Travis crouched near the remains of a forgotten chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His fingers traced the jagged wood as if searching for something — strength, maybe, just the reassurance that they had made it this far. Rebecca knelt beside him, holding the young girl close, the child's small fingers digging into Rebecca's sleeve like a lifeline.

"It's not much further," Travis whispered.

Rebecca peered into the darkness ahead. "Are you sure? I thought we'd see light when we found the way out."

"I'm sure," Travis insisted. "I found it yesterday, or —" He wiped his mouth with his hand. "Honestly, I don't know. Everything's a blur. But I know it's there."

"Then why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"

Travis exhaled sharply. "Because of the river. You'll see when we get there — if we do."

The girl jerked her head upward, her frightened eyes locking into Rebecca's. "If we do? You mean we aren't safe yet?"

Rebecca forced a smile, brushing damp hair from the child's face. "Shh, it's okay. He just meant unless we find another way out."

But when she looked at Travis again, something in his expression unsettled her. For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes. This boy had been so brave, so determined, but now — so close to escape — doubt crept in. He wasn't afraid of the smugglers. He was afraid of what lay ahead.

They pressed on. The tunnel sloped downward, the walls slick with moisture. The scent of damp stone and something earthy filled the air. The distant rush of water grew louder, no longer just a sound but a force they could feel in the cool air curling through the passage. The dim light cast eerie shadows on the wet walls, adding to the sense of foreboding.

Then, light — faint but discernible — seeped through the rock ahead.

Rebecca exhaled in relief. They had found the exit. But as they stepped forward, she saw why Travis hadn't escaped. The tunnel opened into a cavern, more expansive than she expected, and at the far end — a sheer drop, six feet down, into the churning river below.

The surface was dark, swollen from the rain, and coiling like something alive. What had started as a drizzle now spattered against the stone, slipping through cracks in the rock and dripping into the river below.

Rebecca's eyes focused on the odd-looking hill in the river not far from the opening. Her pulse raced. Branches and debris were deliberately piled near the cave entrance, half-concealing it. Someone had hidden this place, but there was just enough space for something—or someone—to get through.

She stepped closer, scanning the area. And that's when she saw it.

A rope ladder, knotted and weathered, dangled just within reach. Travis had missed it before. It blended in with the branches, but Rebecca recognized it for what it was — a way down.

She tested the ropes with her hands. They were damp but held firm. "We have a way down," she whispered.

Travis crouched near the edge, peering into the swirling blackness below. "You can climb, but the river — it's deep, and the current —"

Rebecca tried to reassure him. "We'll take it one step at a time."

The girl tugged at Rebecca's sleeve. "I can swim. My mom taught me when I was four."

Rebecca smiled despite the situation. "Good. That'll help."

But Travis stood frozen.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca asked.

His fingers curled around the rope. He couldn't look at her. "I never left when I found the opening because —" His voice dropped. "I don't know how to swim."

Silence hung between them. The only sound was the steady patter of rain and the river's whispering current.

Rebecca nodded firmly. "Then I'll take you one at a time."

Travis looked ready to argue, but she was already moving.

Rebecca climbed over the edge, her pulse hammering as her feet found the swaying rungs. The rope was slick, shifting slightly under her weight, but it held. She moved quickly, reaching the jagged rocks at the water's edge.

"The girl first," she called, keeping her voice steady.

The child hesitated, then gripped the ladder with determined hands. Travis helped her over the edge, whispering something Rebecca couldn't hear. The girl climbed down carefully, trembling but focused.

When her feet touched the rocks, Rebecca pulled her close. "You're doing great."

She waded into the river, and the cold stole her breath. The girl wrapped her arms around Rebecca's neck, and with slow, steady strokes, Rebecca swam to the logs, the rain spattering against her face.

When they reached the tangled pile, she helped the girl onto a stable section of wood and turned back.

"Travis, your turn."

Travis hesitated. His knuckles were white against the rope.

"You can do this," Rebecca said.

Swallowing hard, he climbed down. When he reached the bottom, his whole body shook.

"I've got you," Rebecca said.

His hands clenched around her arm as she waded into the river.

"Hold on tight," she instructed.

Travis stiffened the moment the water touched him. His breath came in panicked gasps.

"You're okay," Rebecca whispered. "I won't let go."

She pushed through, the current dragging at her legs, forcing her to move against the river's pull. When they reached the logs, Travis scrambled up, breathing hard.

Rebecca rested for only a second, and then she saw it, hidden among the branches, a boat. It was old, half-filled with rainwater, but moored to a thick root jutting from the hill.
A forgotten smugglers' boat.

Rebecca gripped the mooring rope, pulling the boat from its wedged position against the rocks and tree roots. The wooden hull bobbed slightly, and rainwater sloshed inside.

Her heart sank. They couldn't row like this. It would sink before they got downriver.

She turned to the children. "We need to get some of this water out before we can go."

Travis, still shaking from the swim, swiped rain from his face. "How?"

Rebecca's eyes darted around. They had nothing — no bucket, no cup — nothing except their hands.

"Use whatever we can," she ordered.

She scooped her hands into the chilly water, tossing it over the side. The girl followed suit, using her cupped palms to splash water out.

Travis hesitated before yanking off his soaked shoe, using it as a makeshift scoop.

They worked fast, only stopping when a noise echoed through the cave. A beam of light swept across the cave walls.

Rebecca and the children froze.

A figure stood at the top of the ledge, just inside the cave, holding a lantern. The warm glow spilled onto the rock, illuminating the cave's mouth.

The smuggler's boots scuffed against the stone as he peered downward. "Think they made it out?" he muttered.

Another voice, unseen, answered from inside the tunnel. "Doubt it."

The first man squinted toward the water, then up at the sky. Dark clouds rolled overhead. The storm was coming. "If they're in that river," the man said, lowering his lantern, "they won't last long."

Hidden behind a few scant saplings growing in the crevices, Rebecca pressed herself and the children against the logs, barely daring to breathe.

The smuggler turned back into the tunnel, his lantern glow fading.

Only then did Rebecca whisper, "Travis, get in."

The boy climbed into the boat, positioning himself low. Rebecca lifted the girl in after him, then followed, her soaked dress clinging to her legs.

The boat rocked under their weight, but it held.

A growl of thunder rolled overhead.

Her fingers fumbled in the cold as she tugged until the rope came loose.

The boat lurched, the river's current seizing them instantly.

Rebecca barely had time to grab the oars before the water pulled them away from the shore, spinning them into the storm.

At first, the current was manageable, guiding them forward. Now, the cliffs stretched high behind them, closing them off from any retreat. The children huddled low in the boat, their arms wrapped around each other as the rain poured down.

Rebecca gritted her teeth and rowed, fighting the pull of the water.

The first wave hit hard, slamming against the side of the boat and spraying icy water over them. The little girl cried, her small hands grasping Rebecca's arm.

"Hold on to the sides!" Rebecca ordered. "Stay low!"

Travis did as she said, his fingers curling around the boat's edge.

The river wasn't just moving faster — it was alive, rolling and twisting like a writhing beast.

Lightning split the sky.

For a split second, Rebecca saw the river ahead — jagged rocks, fast-moving rapids, and a narrow bend that would be impossible to steer through.

She dug the oars into the water, rowing harder, trying to turn them before they hit the bend.

A gust of wind slammed into them.

The boat rocked violently, teetering on the edge of control. A huge wave pounded against the boat.

Rebecca barely had time to brace herself before it came crashing down. The impact was like a fist to the chest.

The boat flipped, wood splintering as it slammed into the rocks.

Rebecca hit the water so hard that the impact ripped her breath from her lungs. The river swallowed her whole, twisting and dragging her under. For a terrifying moment, there was nothing but darkness and silence, the current forcing her downward.

Then she remembered the children.

She kicked hard, breaking the surface, gasping for air.

Travis was thrashing nearby, his head barely above water. The girl was caught in the rushing current, her hands reaching for anything.

Rebecca lunged toward Travis first, grabbing his wrist before he went under. "Hold on to me!" she gasped.

His fingers dug into her arm, his grip desperate.

She turned to see the girl being carried toward a half-submerged log. If she hit it the wrong way, she would go under. Rebecca screamed at Travis, "Hang onto the boat."

 

She let go of the broken boat, the only thing keeping her afloat, and kicked toward the girl.

The current was a relentless adversary, pulling at them with all its might.

She stretched out her hand — fingertips brushing the girl's soaked dress — then caught hold. With one final, desperate pull, she yanked the child into her arms.

The river fought to take them back, but Rebecca kicked and clawed her way toward the shore, pulling the splintered boat and Travis and the girl, clinging to her neck.

Her lungs burned, her muscles screamed, but she didn't let go.

She half-dragged, half-carried the girl as she stumbled onto the muddy grass.

Travis let go of the wreckage and crawled up beside them, chest heaving.

The storm still raged above, rain pouring down in sheets, but they were out of the river.
They were alive.

Travis coughed violently, curling into himself, his thin frame shaking.

The girl pressed her face against Rebecca's shoulder, her sobs muffled by the wind.
Rebecca took a deep, shuddering breath. Her whole body ached, trembling from exhaustion.

The cliffs were behind them now, and the dark stretch of forest was ahead. They were somewhere past the vineyard, but she had no idea where.

Her limbs felt like lead, her skin too cold yet feverish all at once.

Travis touched her shoulder gently, his voice small. "Rebecca?"

She forced a weak smile. "I'm okay," she whispered. But the truth was, she wasn't sure.

She shifted slightly, feeling the girl still clinging to her. Gently, she brushed damp strands of hair from the child's face.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

The child shivered, her lips trembling, but she managed a whisper. "A—Amelia."

Rebecca's arms tightened around her. "You're safe now, Amelia. We've got you."

She tried to take another breath, but the world suddenly tilted. Her vision blurred.
Rebecca pressed a hand to her temple, trying to steady herself, but the dizziness was too much. Her body swayed.

Travis reached for her, his fingers brushing her arm as she toppled sideways onto the ground.

He crouched beside Rebecca's still form, watching her chest's shallow rise and fall. Her skin was burning hot, yet she shivered uncontrollably.

Amelia pressed against her side, trying to keep her warm. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Travis swallowed hard. He didn't know.

The rain continued pouring, and the biting cold penetrated his bones. They couldn't afford to remain exposed like this.

His eyes scanned the area, searching for shelter. A cluster of thick bushes and fallen branches caught his eye just beyond the tree line. It wasn't much, but it might be enough.

He worked quickly, dragging over broken branches and weaving them together into a crude lean-to against the base of a tree. The storm had tossed debris everywhere, and he was lucky enough to find an old, half-buried fishing tarp caught in the undergrowth. It smelled like mildew and decaying fish, but it would keep the rain off them.
He draped it over the shelter's frame and tucked the edges beneath heavy stones. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

Amelia watched him with wide, tired eyes, holding onto Rebecca's arm like a lifeline.

"We can't leave her out in the rain," Travis muttered, more to himself than her.
With effort, he dragged Rebecca beneath the shelter. Amelia crawled in beside her, pressing close for warmth.

Travis hesitated. He had done what he could, but they needed real help.

His gaze drifted toward the dark forest beyond the cliffs. Somewhere out there, there had to be a road. A house. Someone who could help.

A flicker of movement made him glance down.

Rebecca's eyes fluttered open for a moment, unfocused. She mumbled something — a name? Her words were lost in the wind.

Travis clenched his fists. He wanted to stay. But if he didn't find help, Rebecca wouldn't survive the night.

"We need to find someone," he said, his voice rough.

Amelia's head snapped up. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Travis hesitated, his mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts and emotions. If he took her with him, she might slow him down. But if he left her behind, she'd be alone.
Finally, he made his choice.

"You stay with her," he said firmly. "She needs you to keep her warm."

The girl bit her lip but nodded.

Travis bent down, brushing a few strands of wet hair from Rebecca's face. He turned, then stopped. He spotted something near the tree line — small green apples scattered beneath a wind-blown tree.

He ran over and grabbed as many as possible, brushing off the dirt. "Here, have one," he said, placing them in Amelia's lap. "If she wakes up, try to get her to eat."

The girl clutched one tightly. "You promise you'll come back?"

Travis nodded.

Then, before he could lose his nerve, he turned and ran.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - young girl swept up by the smugglers Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 26
Veil of Secrets - Chap 26

By Begin Again

The raging storm was unlike anything Bayside residents had ever experienced. The wind shrieked through the Vineyard, tearing at the vines with a fury that sent branches snapping and leaves whipping through the air.

Sheets of rain hammered the earth, turning dirt paths into rivers of mud that slithered down the hillside in thick, choking waves. The Vineyard, usually well-tended and orderly, was now a tangled mess of broken trellises and half-uprooted vines. The relentless downpour blurred the landscape, washing away footprints, loose gravel, and any trace of those who had passed through.

Inside the house, the candle flames flickered violently, struggling against the unseen force that rattled the windows and groaned through the beams.
Exhausted, Eleanor sat near the mansion's fireplace, staring into the flickering flames, her mind distant and troubled.

Jenna was gone now, off to see Donatelli, but not before berating her mother, leaving Eleanor feeling drained, empty, and questioning herself. She should have done more. She should have known.

Lightning split the sky outside, and she felt a shift in the air the moment it flashed.
A presence.

Antonio, a translucent figure with a haunting presence, shimmered and appeared.

Something about his posture — his rigid stance, the way his fingers curled at his sides — made her uneasy. "What is it, Antonio?"

His dark eyes were solemn, his voice barely above the storm's howl. "The storm is hiding things," he murmured.

Eleanor frowned, gripping the arms of her chair. "What do you mean? Has something happened?" She'd felt it, too, but had dismissed it because of her feelings surrounding Jenna and Matthew. She didn't know what it was, but she knew something was there, something she'd never dealt with.

Antonio moved toward the window, staring out at the Vineyard. His gaze was distant, lost in time as he spoke. She could hear raw pain in his voice as he recounted how, long ago in Italy, people took women from the villages — stealing them from their homes and families.

Eleanor stiffened. "Taken?"

Antonio nodded, his face dark. "There were never any clues. No footprints. No tracks. The storm swept away any sign of what had happened. My grandmother was one of them."

Eleanor swallowed, unease settling deep in her chest. "You're saying someone used the storm to cover their crimes?"

Antonio's voice was filled with sadness — haunted. "Some said the women ran away on their own, but the legend said something different. They said a sorcerer, or perhaps something worse, had cast a spell — hiding the truth behind nature's fury. Making it look like nothing had ever happened."

The wind howled again, louder this time as if answering him. The walls shuddered from its relentless force.

Eleanor's hands curled together. "Antonio," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, "is that what you think is happening here?"

He hesitated before answering, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know only this," he said. "Cornelius brought black magic to the Vineyard when he stole Miriam. It has stained this place. Poisoned it."

Eleanor felt a chill creep up her spine, a tangible fear she couldn't shake off. She had pushed her thoughts away, unwilling to let fear take hold — expecting evil but refusing to see.

Antonio's voice dropped lower as if afraid the storm itself might hear. "It is possible that it has come to the Vineyard. First, Miriam, the boy, Rebecca, and maybe others."

Before Eleanor could respond, a loud crack of thunder split the sky. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, then plunged it back into candlelight.

A new sound joined the storm.

Footsteps — heavy, uneven, slamming against the floorboards in the hall.

Then  — shouts of anger. "That's enough!"

Eleanor turned sharply toward the doorway and Garth.

He stood there, drenched from head to toe, his clothes caked in mud, his eyes wild with frustration. Water dripped from his hair, trailing down his face, but he didn't notice. His hands were clenched at his sides, his boots leaving smeared tracks across the wooden floor. He had been out searching for Rebecca, fighting against the storm, the wind, the hopelessness.

Now he came in to find them talking about legends and magic.

His voice was hoarse, raw with exhaustion. "Enough of you and your foolishness."

Eleanor straightened in her chair, but Antonio remained still, observing him.

Garth took a step forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I won't believe that some damned black magic has Rebecca!"

His voice cracked, filled with something that sounded dangerously close to despair.
"I've been knee-deep in the mud, searching for her, praying that she's just lost — just waiting for me to find her. And you —" His gaze snapped to Antonio, his voice laced with fury. "Why should I trust a ghost who's been dead for fifty years?"

The storm roared outside, rattling the windows as if mocking his rage. Garth dragged a hand through his soaked hair, shaking his head, his chest heaving. "I won't have it," he muttered. "I won't let myself believe something unnatural has taken her."

Antonio's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was calm when he spoke.
"It does not matter what you believe, Garth. It matters only what is real."

The words sent a chill through the room.

Deep down, Eleanor grappled with the uncertainty of what was out there, whether it was legend or reality. And inside her, she felt that Cornelius might have something to do with it. How could she expect Garth to understand?

Without another word, Garth shook his head in disgust and stormed back outside into the rain.

"Garth!" Her call fell on deaf ears. She moved to the window, looking over the ravaged vineyard, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself even though the fire crackled behind her. Antonio's words had left her feeling cold.

"The storm is hiding things."

"Cornelius brought black magic to this place."

"What if it's here again?"

She wanted to dismiss it, to believe this was just another tragedy, but she couldn't let go. Something was telling her it was more than a storm.

 

Without warning, a strange warmth spread through her body, and her vision blurred. This wasn't a new occurrence, but it seldom meant something good. A vision —

She could see the river churning.

A gasp escaped her throat.

Rebecca was lying on the riverbank, her face pale, her body shaking from fever.
A young girl pressed herself against her side to keep warm.
Rebecca's lips moved — she whispered something, but her words were broken.

Eleanor strained to hear.

The vision ghosted into the cold air. With a sudden jolt to Eleanor's body, the vision shattered, leaving her gasping and stumbling backward. Her head throbbed, her heart pounded.

Antonio rushed to her side, trying to steady her. "What did you see?"

Eleanor's eyes met his as she swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. "She's alive," she whispered. "She's fighting for her life."

Antonio nodded as if he'd known.

"She's not alone," Eleanor added. "There's a child with her."

Antonio's voice sounded like a prayer, "Then we must hope she holds on."

Eleanor closed her eyes, exhaling as she whispered, "Hold on, Rebecca."

The front door burst open, bringing wind and rain as Garth once again stormed inside, carrying the storm's fury with him.

Eleanor turned, startled at his sudden entrance. She felt his rage. Before she could speak, he lifted the locket and the torn fabric, remnants of Rebecca's dress.
His voice was rough, demanding to be heard. "She was there in the vineyard." He rolled the broken necklace in his hand. "Alone and probably hurt. And you're standing here talking about storms hiding things? About black magic?"

Eleanor flinched, but Antonio remained still. "Garth," she started, her voice calm and careful as she struggled to explain.

But he wasn't done.

He wasn't about to let anyone rein in his rage. His temper flared, yelling, "I don't care about legends. I don't care about curses or spirits or whatever the hell else you two think is happening." He stepped closer, his grip tight on the locket. "I care about finding Rebecca."

Eleanor took a slow breath, steadying herself. "Then listen," she said, harsher than she intended.

Surprised, Garth stopped his current tirade and stared at her.

She met his fierce, determined gaze. "I saw her."

The room went still.

Garth stared at her, his grip on the locket tightening.

Eleanor saw the flicker of emotion behind his frustration — hope, hesitant but fierce.
His voice dropped, rougher, almost menacing. His FBI persona returned as he snarled, "Don't mess around, Eleanor. No more of your foolishness. Give me some facts."

Eleanor shrugged her shoulders, walked to the window, and stared out, knowing he would reject her words. "It was a vision."

"You and your vision crap." As soon as the words escaped his lips, he felt ill. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. You don't deserve that. You've always given your best."

Eleanor turned to look directly at him. "The same way I saw Donatelli and the others. You don't have to believe me, Garth, but I did see Rebecca alive."

Garth exhaled sharply, his body going rigid. "Where?"

Eleanor hesitated. "It's a vision, not a detailed map. I don't know the answer to what you're asking."

Garth's expression darkened again. "Then what good is it?"

Eleanor pressed her lips together, forcing herself to remain calm. "Some would be happy to know she was alive."

Garth tossed his Stetson on the table and slumped into a chair. He squeezed the locket in his hand. "I just wanted something tangible. Something that would bring her back to me."

"I understand. We all want that." Eleanor turned back to the window. "I don't tell the visions what to show me, Garth. They just happen."

Garth ran a mud-streaked hand through his hair, breathing hard. "So, what? You saw her alive, but that's it? That's all you got?"

Eleanor's patience snapped. "You think I don't want more?"

Garth flinched, not expecting the sharpness in her voice.

Eleanor stepped forward, her own exhaustion pressing down on her. "Do you think I enjoy seeing flashes of suffering? Of loss? That I take comfort in only knowing that someone I care about is still breathing, but not knowing where they are?"

Her voice trembled with frustration. "I am trying, Garth. I will keep trying."

He stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling, his anger flickering into something else.

Something closer to understanding.

Eleanor let out a shaky breath, looking away. "I saw her lying on the ground, fevered but fighting. A child was with her — a girl. They were near the water, but I couldn't see where." She sighed. "I saw her, Garth. That has to be enough for now."

Garth exhaled, rolling his shoulders, grounding himself. Finally, he met Eleanor's gaze again. "You said she's alive," he murmured.

Eleanor nodded. "Yes."

His fists clenched, then released. "Then I start again at first light."

And without another word, he turned and walked out.

*****
The morgue was silent, save for the faint hum of refrigeration units. The fluorescent lights buzzed weakly overhead, their glow casting sharp shadows across the tiled floor. The air was thick with antiseptic and something more pungent — the unmistakable scent of death.

Zhang stood over the autopsy table, his expression unreadable as he eyed the sheet-covered corpse. His disguise was simple — nothing elaborate — just a gray overcoat and a badge clipped to his chest, enough to blend in without drawing attention.

With his hands in his pockets, Jack Lexington leaned lazily against the counter, watching. He had no disguise, no need for one. The stage was his, and he belonged here tonight.

The coroner, a wiry man with dark circles under his eyes, pulled back the sheet. The acid had disfigured the body underneath beyond recognition, mutilating its face.

Jack caught it — the briefest flicker of interest in Zhang's expression. Not concern. Not grief. Just cold assessment.

"Acid," Zhang murmured, tilting his head. "Messy. Inefficient."

Jack smirked. "Guess Rossi wanted to make sure there was no coming back."

Zhang barely spared him a glance. "Rossi?" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Rossi's a cockroach. This wasn't him."

Jack's smirk didn't fade. "Well, it wasn't me. Maybe Jin?"

Zhang's eyes lingered on him a second longer before flicking back to the body.

"Donatelli," he mused. "I heard stories. Tough bastard." He reached out, gripping the dead man's wrist, turning it slightly, as if evaluating something no one else could see. Then he let it drop. "I would've liked to have killed him myself."

Jack shrugged. "Life's full of disappointments."

Zhang chuckled — sharp, mirthless. "Not for me." He gestured to the coroner. "Bag him."

The coroner pulled the sheet back over the body, but Zhang didn't move. Instead, he let his gaze settle on Jack. Cold. Calculating. "Jin and Rossi, both dead," he mused. "Convenient."

Jack met his stare without blinking. "For some."

Zhang's smirk was slow, deliberate. "Funny thing about power, Jack. When men like Jin die, others step in. But the weak?" He glanced down at the body. "The weak get erased."

Jack chuckled, reaching into his jacket for a cigarette, though he never lit it. Just the motion. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

Zhang studied him for another beat before shaking his head, amused. "Not bad, Jack. Arrogant talk for a man on his way out."

Jack grinned, tapping the unlit cigarette against his palm. "On my way out — maybe. But I assure you I'll stand long after you realize you should've paid closer attention to me." His words were a taunt.

Zhang's smirk faltered for half a second. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He turned without another word, his coat sweeping behind him as he strode toward the exit.

Jack watched him go, then flicked the cigarette into the trash before following.

Zhang thought he was running the game.

Jack knew otherwise.

*****

He watched Zhang disappear into the storm, his coat sweeping behind him as he hurried toward the waiting car.

The job was done. Zhang saw what he needed to see. But that didn't mean he bought it. Jack pulled out his phone and dialed.

Frank picked up on the second ring.

"It's done."

Frank exhaled. "He saw the body?"

"Up close and personal," Jack smirked, shifting against the wall. "Coroner played his part. The body's unrecognizable. Zhang didn't question it — at least, not out loud."

A beat of silence.

Jack flicked his cigarette lighter but didn't use it. Just the motion, the habit.
"Zhang buys what benefits him. Whether he believes Donatelli's dead or not doesn't matter. What matters is what he does next." Frank knew not to second guess Zhang.

Jack shifted gears, his mind moving forward. "You hear anything about the docks?"

Frank grunted. "My source says Vito is still proceeding."

"No word on where he's holding them?"

"Only that they'll go out on fishing boats."

"Fishing boats? Does seem like Vito's style."

"Time's running out. He's desperate."

Jack smirked. "Desperation makes men sloppy."

Frank exhaled. "It also makes them dangerous."

Jack tilted his head. "You think Zhang is planning to intercept?"
A pause.

Then Frank muttered, "I think Zhang was always planning to intercept."

Jack's fingers tightened slightly around his unlit cigarette. "Zhang never plays for second place. A shame Doyle didn't realize that."

"Doyle thought he was one of the top dogs, but he was merely a pawn."

"Quite the chess game. Now, which one is digging the grave, and which one will be in it?"

"Be careful, Jack. They're both snakes."

"I'm always careful, Frank. That's why guys like you and me are still around." Jack chuckled. "Always sleep with one eye open and a gun in my hand."

Frank sighed. "Good night, Jack."

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 27
Veil of Secrets - Chap 27

By Begin Again

Three trucks rumbled into the clearing, their heavy-duty tires grinding through the muck, engines growling under the weight of their cargo.

Sal climbed out of the lead truck, his boots sinking into the wet ground, water sloshing over the edges. He swore under his breath. The tunnel entrance was blocked.

Two massive trees, their roots upturned and twisted, had collapsed across the path—branches tangled like dead fingers, creating an obstacle no truck was getting past.

Tony "The Hawk" hopped down beside him, lighting a cigar, the cherry-red glow flickering against the mist. He took a long drag, surveying the chaos before letting out an unimpressed sigh.

"Vito didn't say nothing about no damn trees," Tony muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. "This wasn't part of the plan."

Sal kicked at the mud, his patience wearing thin.

"This is a mistake," he said, shaking his head. "You know those tunnels haven't been touched in years."

Tony shot him a look. "Vito says we move through them, we move through them."

Sal let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? And when the whole thing collapses on top of us? What then?"

Tony shrugged, unfazed. "Then we dig our way out."

Sal's jaw clenched. "We've been using the Vineyard tunnel. We could wait another day, let the roads dry out—"

"We don't have another day," Tony snapped. "We miss the deadline, and we don't just lose the business. We lose our heads."

Sal exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair. "This ain't just business anymore. It's a damned graveyard waiting to happen."

Tony rolled his shoulders, unconcerned. "Then you better start praying, huh?"

One of the younger men, standing near the second truck, stepped forward. "What if Sal's right?" he asked hesitantly. "We could wait—find another way."

Tony's gaze locked on him. "You wanna be the guy to call Vito and tell him we're stalling?"

The man paled. Nobody wanted to make that call.

Tony smirked, tossing his cigar to the ground and grinding it out with his boot. "Then shut up and clear the damn trees."

Sal pulled out his phone, his stomach twisting.

The longer they stood there, the worse this felt.

And then—it rang.

Vito.

Sal hesitated.

Tony grinned, watching him. "Go on, tell the boss we're thinking about stalling."

Sal swore under his breath and answered, "Yeah, Boss."

"Tell me you're at the tunnel." Vito's voice was sharp, impatient.

Sal licked his lips, glancing toward the tangled mess of trees ahead. "We're here. But —"

"Then why the hell aren't you moving?"

Sal hesitated. "Trees are down. Roads are—"

"I don't want to hear about the roads. I want to hear that you're in the damn tunnels."

Sal closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself. "Look, boss, these tunnels—"

"I don't care."

Vito's voice grew colder.

"You move 'em out. You know what happens if we miss this window."

Sal's grip on the phone tightened. "Yeah. I know."

"Then quit wasting my time." The line went dead.

Sal exhaled sharply, staring at the phone like it had burned him.

Tony smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. "Guess we're moving, huh?"

Sal nodded and yelled to the others. "Those trees aren't going to move by themselves."

 A handful of men moved forward, grabbing chainsaws and axes from the truck beds. The chainsaws roared as the men quickly hacked away enough of the fallen trees to push forward.

Tony took a deep breath, kissed his St. Christopher medal, and called to the guys, "Times a-wasting. Let's get 'em unloaded."

The men hoisted their weapons and started shoving the women from the trucks, their shackles clanking as they stumbled onto the muddy ground. A few women glanced at each other, sensing the tension.

Sal glanced toward the dark mouth of the tunnel, feeling a cold weight settle in his gut.

This was a mistake. But mistakes didn't matter when Vito had made up his mind. He turned to the men. "Move 'em in."

And one by one, they disappeared into the darkness.

Sal walked toward the front of the line, his grip tight around his flashlight, his eyes darting toward the uneven ceiling above them.

He hated this. Every part of him was screaming that this was wrong. And judging by the quiet murmurs among the other men, he wasn't the only one.

One of the younger guys, Nico, was whispering to another trafficker. "You feel that?" he muttered. "Like the ground's moving?"

Sal didn't want to hear that — because he felt it, too. Not a significant shift, not something obvious. Just a low, deep tremor beneath their feet. Like the earth itself was waiting. Watching.

"Keep moving," Tony snapped from ahead.

Nico didn't argue, but his grip on his gun tightened.

The further they went, the colder it got.

One of the women, a sharp-eyed brunette with shackles digging into her wrists, stiffened. She felt it in her bones before she heard it.

The pressure. The feeling of being buried alive.

Her lips parted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's waking up."

The woman beside her, younger, trembling, stared at her in confusion. "What is?"

But the woman didn't answer. She just kept walking because what else could she do?

The men were tense but not listening. And when the earth takes what it wants, it doesn't warn twice.

Sal had just stepped over a puddle when it happened.

A sharp, splintering crack—quiet but distinct—ran up the tunnel wall.

His breath caught.

A tiny piece of rock slipped free, bounced against the floor, and landed with a soft splash in the water.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Then—another piece of rock tumbled loose.

Another. Then—a deep, slow groan from above.

Sal's blood ran cold.

Nico froze mid-step. "Boss—"

"MOVE!" Tony yelled.

But it was too late. The tunnel screamed. The ground lurched violently, throwing people off balance. The ceiling buckled. And then—

Everything came crashing down. The collapse was deafening—a thunderous roar of earth and stone, a monstrous sound that drowned out the screams.

Sal was thrown backward, his body slamming into the tunnel wall as the air filled with choking dust.

Someone shouted orders—but the chaos drowned out the words. An enormous slab of rock crashed down, taking one of the traffickers with it.

The women screamed, some falling, others scrambling toward any opening.

Nico, coughing violently, reached for his gun as if it could somehow help him.

Another tunnel support gave way, sending a cascade of rocks and wooden beams tumbling down. Then, suddenly— everything was silent.

Suffocating dust hung thick in the air. The tunnel entrance was gone. Completely sealed shut.

The remaining flashlights flickered, bouncing off the newly collapsed walls, revealing the horrifying truth they were trapped.

Sal forced himself to sit up, his head pounding, his breath ragged.

Nico stumbled forward, hands bracing against a rock.

"The entrance—" Nico turned toward him, eyes wild, desperate. "It's gone. Boss, we're—"

Sal already knew. No way back. No way out.

The only option was forward.

Some of the women huddled together, their faces streaked with dirt, eyes wide with terror. One woman stood up slowly, her arms still bound, her gaze sharp.

She wasn't just afraid. She was watching them.

And Sal realized something then. The women weren't just prisoners anymore. They were survivors.

And desperate survivors fight back.

Outside, Cornelius leaned against one of the fallen trees, smoking his cigar. As the smoke spiraled upward, he watched in twisted amusement.

The screams, the gasping breaths, the last remnants of control slipping from the men's hands.

He let out a low, dark chuckle. They thought they could own this land. They thought they could use his tunnels and steal what was his. No! The vineyard was his. The land was his. And now? Now, so were they.

The storm had hidden his sins once before, and now it would do it again. His laughter echoed across the estate as he yelled, "No one takes from Cornelius Webb."

*****

Eleanor woke with a gasp, her entire body trembling.

Her breath came hard, uneven, her chest tightening.

She felt cold—like the weight of something heavy had fallen over her.

Something had happened. Something terrible.

Her shimmering image left her bedroom and appeared in the downstairs study. She turned sharply, her eyes immediately finding Antonio standing near the window.

He was already watching her. "You felt it," he murmured.

Eleanor swallowed hard, nodding. "What was it?"

Antonio's voice was calm, steady. "The tunnels."

Eleanor exhaled shakily. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. "Not Rebecca?"

"No, but someone — I sense many — is trapped beneath the earth."

Eleanor gasped, her eyes locking with Antonio's. "Here on the vineyard."

Antonio turned to the window, looking out over the remains of the vineyard. "I can't see them, Eleanor, but I know if they aren't found in time—" His words trailed off.

Eleanor joined him at the window, finishing his thought. "They will die." He nodded as the two stood side by side, unable to do anything but hope.

Travis shifted, his body aching as he stretched. He was tucked beneath the exposed roots of a massive tree, its tangled limbs forming a natural alcove that had shielded him from the worst of the rain.

The wind had died down, but the forest was still unnervingly quiet. There were no birds, no rustling leaves, just silence.

His stomach clenched as thoughts of yesterday washed over him. Rebecca was still out there, sick. He needed to find help.

Using the tree for balance, he pulled himself up, his legs shaky from being curled up for so long. He took a few unsteady steps forward, then stopped.

Something was watching him. He felt it before he saw it. It was close, unmoving, but alive.

And then—

A low, deep growl rumbled through the trees.

Travis’s heart lurched into his throat. His body went rigid, every instinct screaming at him to run.

Then, through the mist and shadows of the early morning light, it emerged—a massive, dark-furred beast with golden eyes locked onto him.

Half-wolf, half-dog.

The animal was larger than any stray Travis had ever seen, its fur matted from the storm, its powerful shoulders rippling with every careful step.

Travis swallowed hard. This was no ordinary dog. It was wild — unpredictable. And it was staring right at him.

The wolfdog didn’t charge. It didn’t snarl, didn’t lunge. It just watched and waited.

Travis’s pulse hammered. His brain screamed to run — to bolt into the trees, to climb, to do something, but his legs wouldn’t move.

And then, something strange happened.

The wolfdog tilted its head slightly, its ears flicking back as if considering him—not as prey, not as a threat, just observing.

Travis forced himself to breathe. He knew enough about animals to understand one thing — if he ran, it would chase him.

His pulse pounded, but he held still. Slowly, he lowered his hands, showing he had nothing. No weapons. No food.

The wolfdog’s nose twitched. Then, cautiously, it took another step forward.

Travis’s fingers curled into fists, but he didn’t move.

The animal was testing him. Not as an enemy. As something else.

Travis swallowed, his throat dry. “I—I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, rough from the cold.

The wolfdog’s ears flicked slightly, but it didn’t back away. It just stood there.

Travis risked a slow, cautious movement, lowering himself slightly, not cowering but showing he wasn’t a threat.

The wolfdog huffed, nostrils flaring. Then, to Travis’s complete shock — it sat, a surprising turn of events that left Travis stunned.

Travis blinked. “What?”

The wolfdog tilted its head again.

Travis had no idea what was happening, but somehow, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever — boy and beast, staring at each other through the morning mist.

Then, finally — the wolfdog stood and turned. It took a few slow steps, then stopped. Looking back. Waiting.

Travis hesitated. His heart was pounding as he took a step forward.

The wolfdog didn’t run. He didn’t growl. It just walked.

Travis swallowed hard and followed, feeling this wolfdog was leading him somewhere. And right now — it was the closest thing to a guide he had.

The ground wasn’t easy to walk on — soft mud sucked at Travis’s boots, making every step heavier, harder.

The wolfdog, on the other hand, moved effortlessly.

Travis exhaled sharply, his legs burning from exhaustion.

Then he heard a sound — a low, eerie creaking. Travis froze.

The wolfdog stopped, too, its ears perking, nose twitching toward the air.

Then, the groaning sound came again. Travis tilted his head, searching, and his stomach dropped. A massive tree, split at the base, was tilting dangerously above him. He barely had time to move before—

CRACK.

The tree gave way completely, its massive trunk crashing toward him. Travis turned to run, but he was too slow.

Pain shot through Travis’s leg as the tree landed across it, pinning him against the ground.

He let out a strangled yell, twisting, trying to pull himself free, but the weight was too much.

Panic set in fast. He was stuck. No one knew where he was. And Rebecca and Amelia were still out there, waiting.

He clenched his teeth, digging his fingers into the mud, trying again, but the pain was sharp and unforgiving.

He was trapped. As he lay there in fear and pain, he heard a low whine. The wolfdog had stopped a few feet away, its golden eyes locked onto him, ears twitching forward. It padded closer, sniffing the air around him, then the tree.

Travis exhaled sharply. “Hey — I could use some help.”

The wolfdog tilted its head.

Travis’s fingers clenched. His voice was desperate now. “Get help.” He had no idea if the animal understood, but he hoped so because he had no other avenue of escape.

The wolfdog sniffed his leg, then the air before he turned and ran.

Travis’s stomach twisted. Was it leaving him? Had it been following him out of curiosity, only to abandon him when he needed it most?

He closed his eyes, his breath shaky. His mind shifted to Rebecca. She had counted on him, and he’d failed.

*****

Time passed in aching slowness.

Travis’s leg throbbed, his body cold and exhausted. He was drifting—his thoughts fading, his muscles too weak to try again. He felt a surge of despair. He had failed Rebecca, and now he was going to die alone in the forest.

Then he heard something — footsteps.

Not just paws. Boots. A voice.

“What in God’s name—”

Travis forced his eyes open.

A woman stood above him, her dark cloak trailing along the wet ground, her piercing eyes scanning him, unsure of the situation. Her face was weathered, with lines etched by years of living in the wild, and her hands were calloused from hard work.

The wolfdog stood beside her, panting, watching.

She knelt, her fingers pressing lightly against his pulse, against his trapped leg.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured.

Travis blinked. His voice was hoarse. “You—you know him?” He gestured toward the wolfdog.

The woman’s lips curved slightly. “I raised him.”

Travis’s breath shuddered out.

“My friend — she’s sick. Needs—needs help.”

The woman’s expression shifted slightly. Something unreadable crossed her face, and then she nodded.

“Let’s get you out first.”

She turned toward the wolfdog, nodding once,

and for the first time, Travis felt hope again.

 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 28
Veil of Secrets - Chap 28

By Begin Again

The storm had passed, but its fury lingered. Rain-soaked earth sagged and shifted, uncertain of its footing. Newly formed ribbons of rainwater snaked down the slopes, carving paths through the mud and washing away soil and roots. Water, relentless and searching, pushed into cracks and crevices, seeping into the unseen depths below.
Beneath the surface, the tunnels trembled.

A deep, ominous crack splintered through the underground passage, then collapsed.

Dirt and stone plummeted like a landslide, filling the air with choking dust. A deafening roar echoed through the tunnels as the earth gave way. Darkness swallowed everything.

Breathing was suddenly a struggle — from the dust and the sheer terror gripping every soul trapped inside.

A ragged cough broke the silence. Then another.

"Help—" A woman's voice, choked and weak.

"No, no, no —Jesus!" One of the captors, Paolo, clawed at the fallen debris, his fingernails scraping against cold stone, pushing and fighting to free himself.

"Shut up!" snarled Anders, his flashlight flickering in his unsteady grip. His breathing was sharp and erratic. He wasn't used to tight spaces, to tunnels. He was a New York man, a city man — his world was streets and alleys, not this goddamn graveyard beneath the earth.

A low, pained moan came from somewhere in the dust-clogged air. One of the women, Camila, coughed violently, her body half-buried under chunks of rock. Her ribs screamed with pain, but she didn't dare stop struggling. She had to get out. Had to.
"I'm trapped," she croaked, trying to move. A hand closed around her arm.

"I got you." The smallest among them, Maria, was trembling, but her fingers clawed at the dirt and rocks, pulling Camila free from the rubble.

Other women were coughing, moaning, struggling to stand. The men were in pure chaos. They weren't invincible down here. They weren't holding the power anymore. The walls were closing in.

"What the hell just happened?" One of them, Mickey, turned in circles, his breath heaving. A tear marred his expensive leather jacket, and dirt streaked his face. He looked more like a lost boy than a killer.

"The ground gave out, you dumbass!" Anders snapped, wiping blood from his forehead. His voice was strained, not so sure of itself anymore.

"The exit —" Paolo turned his flashlight toward where they'd come from, but it was gone. Not blocked. Gone. The walls had shifted, sealing them inside.

Something wet and warm slid down the back of Paolo's neck. He touched it and shuddered — blood. From where? His? Someone else's? It didn't matter. He was going to be buried alive down here.

Anders turned sharply to the women, pointing his finger at all of them. "You! Find a way out! Start digging! NOW!"

When no one moved fast enough, he kicked a woman in the ribs. She curled into herself, coughing, but Camila threw herself over her before he could kick her again.
"You're gonna die in here, same as us," she spat.

Ander's lip curled. "The hell I am."

Then, as if someone had opened a freezer, the temperature changed — not a slow shift — a snap. The sweat on their skin became ice cold. The already thin air seemed to thicken. A long, slow creak echoed through the tunnel.

Everyone screamed, expecting something to collapse again.

But everything remained as it was, and then each man and woman heard it. A low, bone-chilling laugh rolled through the darkness. It wasn't friendly or amusing. It was the laugh of a man who had long waited to take back the land, which he thought was his.

"You pathetic little worms," the voice sneered.

The flashlight beams jerked wildly, bouncing off the tunnel walls. Eyes were wide, some registering fear, as their lights landed on a figure.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like something out of another time.

His voice, deep as thunder, filled the tunnel. "You dare disturb my land?"

The gangsters froze. Anders' hand went for his gun — a reflex. But when his fingers wrapped around it, his hand wouldn't move. Cold sweat dripped down his back.

Paolo tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn't work.

Anders, shaking off his unease, took a step forward. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure moved. One moment, he was near the wall. The next — he was standing right in front of the men. Not walking and not stepping, but moving.

The lantern flickered, casting shadows deep into the hollows of his eyes. "I am the one who has watched men like you soil my land for decades. The one who does not forget." His breath smelled like something rotting beneath the vines.

"You talk too much," Anders growled, trying to keep control. He raised his gun and fired. The shot rang through the tunnel. Dust fell from the ceiling. The bullet passed through the figure and slammed into the rock behind him.

The man didn't flinch.

Anders swore and stumbled back. "This ain't real," he hissed. "This ain't—"

Cornelius' face twisted with rage. "No, boy. This is VERY real." Cornelius' voice boomed. "You will not leave this place unpunished."

And that was the only warning they got before the walls shook again — another collapse threatening to bury them alive.

Anders and Paolo pressed their bodies against the piles of dirt and stone, neither able to understand what had just happened.

While the men were distracted and most of the women dug at the dirt, one woman who constantly repeated her rosary suddenly saw her prayers answered.

Light filtered through the smallest of holes above them — small, barely wide enough for a child or a petite four-foot-three woman.

Camila touched Maria's arm and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "There's a hole!"

Maria's heart pounded as her hands tightened on her rosary. She whispered, "Thank you, God."

Knowing every second counted, Camila whispered, "Go!"

"But you and the others —" More dirt rained down on them, and Maria choked on the dust.

"Do I look like I would fit through that small hole? You can —" Camila coughed. The other women were digging frantically in the spot where the tunnel entrance should have been. She nudged Maria. "Go. Get help before we all die."

Terrified, Maria glanced at the men, huddled together, arguing about what to do, and decided. She forced herself through the opening, gasping, kicking, pushing, and then — open air.

She tumbled out, sucking in deep gulps of oxygen, her body shaking violently. She was free, but she was lost.

And behind her, the tunnel roared with another collapse.

She whimpered, calling her new friend's name "Camila" before she scrambled through the soggy tall grasses.

*****

Garth sat at the kitchen table, staring into his coffee, the steam curling into the air in lazy tendrils. His body ached with exhaustion, but sleep had been a luxury he couldn't afford.

The house, a centuries-old mansion, was quiet except for the slow ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling.

Eleanor moved about the kitchen, her movements measured but tense. She placed a muffin on a small plate and set it in front of him. "Eat," she breathed. "You need your strength."

Garth's fingers tightened around the mug, his knuckles turning white. "You had another vision," he said, his voice hoarse with concern.

Eleanor hesitated.

His eyes lifted, filled with a glimmer of desperate hope. "Tell me it's about Rebecca."

The silence stretched. Eleanor couldn't lie to him. "Not Rebecca," she admitted gently.

The flicker of hope died in his eyes. He exhaled sharply, looking away, staring at nothing. His jaw clenched, his throat working around something unsaid.

Eleanor didn't push him. Instead, she nudged the plate closer. "Just eat," she repeated softly. "Please."

For a moment, it seemed like he might not. Then, finally, he picked up the muffin.
Eleanor watched him in silence.

Then — unexpected as usual — the world shifted. The kitchen blurred.

A woman was crawling, stumbling, and running. Her hands were raw and bloodied, clawing at the earth.

 

The sound of her sobs filled Eleanor's ears.

Eleanor's body tensed, her breath hitching as the vision slammed into her. She flinched violently, pressing a hand to her temple.

Garth noticed immediately. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Eleanor?" His voice was sharp and urgent.

She gasped, fingers digging into the table's edge.

"What is it?" Garth demanded.

She could barely catch her breath. "I see — a woman," she whispered.

Garth leaned in. "Rebecca?"

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus. Shadows, movement, and terror distorted the image. "I can't see her face," she said through gritted teeth. "But she's running. Crawling. She's hysterical."

Garth tightened his grip on her wrist. "Where is she?"

Eleanor's fingers twitched. She let out a ragged breath. "I don't know."

Garth's shoulders tensed.

His grip loosened, then dropped away entirely. For a moment, he didn't move.

Then, they both heard a knock at the door. It opened, and Tango stepped inside without waiting. His eyes scanned the room, reading the tension instantly.
"Boss," he said, all business. "Where do you want the men to start?"

Garth exhaled hard, pushing himself out of his chair. "The vineyard," he said. "The cliffs. Everywhere. There's a woman out there running for her life."

Tango nodded sharply, already pulling out his radio. "Team One spread toward the cliffs. Team Two fan out along the vineyard. If anyone spots movement, call it in. No one moves alone." He turned back to Garth. "I'll lead a team myself."

Garth grabbed his coat, his movements sharper now, fueled by purpose.

Eleanor gasped and collapsed into the chair. Her body went rigid as another wave of sensation crashed over her. She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers gripping Garth's arm. A cold shock rippled through her. Her eyes flew wide. And she saw it.

The collapsed tunnel. A gaping wound in the earth. A place where the ground had swallowed something whole. A tremor ran through her as she turned, her voice barely above a whisper. "Garth —"

He spun to her, startled by the raw fear in her eyes.

She lifted a shaking hand and pointed past the porch toward the property boundaries. Her voice trembled. "There are women trapped beneath the ground."

The two men stared at her, afraid of what else she would say.

Tango's radio crackled, but no one spoke. Garth's expression hardened.
Tango lifted his radio. "Change of plans," he barked. "Get men to the Webb Estate now. Bring digging equipment."

A sick feeling settled in Garth's gut. If Eleanor was right —there wasn't much time.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 29
Veil of Secrets - Chap 29

By Begin Again

Maria's breath came in sharp, jagged gasps, rattling in her throat before bursting from her chest. She ran, fell, crawled, and ran again across the field until her legs gave out, and now she crouched in the tall, wet grasses, her body trembling.

Her gaze darted across the land behind her. Were they following? Was she alone, or were they out there somewhere? Her mind spun, tangled in the nightmare of how she had ended up here.

Four days ago, she had been a cocktail waitress in a sleazy dive, working for tips and survival. She lived in a third-floor walk-up — a two-room attic where the only toilet was on the second floor, and freeloading mice scurried like uninvited boarders.

Her boss, a greasy lowlife, had tossed her a problem she couldn't afford to refuse.

"Manuel can't take the deposit tonight. You do it."

Maria's gut had screamed, "No way," but saying it out loud would have cost her the job.

So, at 3 A.M., she had yanked a pair of jeans over her skimpy uniform, thrown on an oversized sweatshirt, and hurried the two blocks to the bank's night deposit.
She'd dropped the bag into the slot when hands clamped over her mouth — rough and unrelenting. Instantly, with the money gone, she knew it wasn't a robbery. They wanted her.

Someone pressed a cloth soaked in something sickly sweet against her face. The world had tilted. Then — nothing.

The next thing she remembered was waking up inside a swaying railroad car, crammed between other women, cows, and four men with guns.

Guards transferred them from the train into cattle trucks (minus the cows), drove them through the night, and then moved them again into the trucks that brought them to this God-forsaken death trap.

Now — soaked, terrified, and shivering, she used the rest stop to catch her breath and scan the land — nothing but tall grasses and wide-open spaces. She didn't see any smoke that might indicate a house, nor did she see or hear any animals — a dog barking, cows mooing, anything that showed civilization and help.

The low-hanging clouds were gray and threatened to open up, dropping more buckets of unwanted rain. She needed to find help, but she didn't know where.

Another level of fear lit up her eyes as her head snapped around. Had she heard something, or was it her imagination?

An icy chill ran down her spine. Someone was coming.

She'd heard something — not the sounds of footsteps or angry voices. It was a man's voice singing. She couldn't detect the words but feared whoever it might be. And he was moving closer.

His voice became louder, and the words were clearer. She crouched low to the ground, and her mind told her it couldn't be — but it was.

He sang as if playing a child's game. "Come out! Come out! Wherever you may be. It doesn't pay to hide from me."

Loud laughter followed the ditty, rumbling through the air, slow and taunting. His voice curled around her, creeping like fingers along her spine.

"Come out, come out, little rabbit," he mocked. "I can smell your fear."

Maria squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. The grass rustled, parting, yet she couldn't see anyone. Then he appeared — just like in the tunnel.

 

Poof!

Cornelius Webb, a tall and imposing figure, towered above her trembling body. Maria, no longer frightened that anyone would hear and prayed they would, screamed a blood-curdling, ear-shattering, desperate cry for help, her face contorted with fear and desperation.

Cornelius's laughter heightened the hysteria, sending vibes across the estate and the vineyard. Thankfully, as Eleanor stood on the back porch of the mansion, facing the Webb Estate, the horrific energy reached her, and she knew where the girl was.

She closed her eyes, envisioned the spot she'd seen, and with one deep breath, she stepped out of the grasses — standing between Cornelius and the young woman — in the blink of an eye.

Maria gasped, her entire body stiff with fear. Now, there wasn't just one—but two. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision—it couldn't be real.

The woman spoke, her voice angry. "Leave her alone."

Cornelius tilted his head, grinning. "Or what?" His eyes gleamed with amusement — his presence filled with arrogance. "You've never had power over me before, Eleanor. What makes you think that's changed?" The tension between them was thick, crackling in the air like electricity.

Eleanor stood her ground, her shoulders squared, her face set like stone. "Because," she said smoothly, "the girl has nothing to do with anything. You are merely toying with her. But somewhere deep inside your dark heart, you believe in family. Maybe not hers, but yours, I am sure. Family to carry on your name. Cornelius." She paused, letting her words settle in. "Travis is out there. Lost. Hurt. Maybe dying. Your concern should lie there."

For the briefest second, Cornelius's expression flickered. It was a moment so quick most would have missed it. But Eleanor didn't. She pressed forward. "Your grandson needs you, Cornelius. You waste your time playing cruel games while he suffers."

Cornelius' smirk faltered just slightly.

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "Don't let him rot in the mess you created," she said softly. "Think! He's your flesh and blood. He might not make it."

Cornelius' face darkened. His fingers twitched slightly. But then his laughter returned. "I don't care for weaklings," he said smoothly. "Travis is of no consequence to me." His words were sharp, cutting. Final.

Eleanor gritted her teeth, but before she could speak again.

Another voice spoke. "That's a lie," Antonio said coldly.

Cornelius turned sharply, coming face to face with him.

Antonio stepped closer. Something small and dark dangled from his fingers — a velvet bag.

Cornelius' smirk returned. "Ah, Antonio." His voice dripped with mockery. "Finally found your courage?"

Antonio didn't answer. Instead, he loosened the strings of the bag.

Cornelius' amusement dimmed. His gaze dropped sharply to Antonio's hand.

Antonio's fingers dipped inside, retrieving a pinch of black powder.

Cornelius went still.

Eleanor saw it now. Not fear. Something worse. Recognition. A flicker of uncertainty. He knew what it was.

Antonio stared at the evil form looming near him. He wanted nothing better than to destroy and banish him forever, but now was not the time, nor was it his choice. Still, he stared at Cornelius and asked, "Look familiar?"

"Where did you get that?" Cornelius' voice was low now, less mocking.

Antonio smiled faintly. "Did you forget something at the cottage?"

Cornelius' eyes flashed. "You're bluffing."

Antonio didn't blink. With deliberate calm, he tilted his hand. The black powder spilled into his palm. A harsh wind kicked up around them, swirling the dust in the air.

Cornelius' expression finally shifted, and he took a step away.

It was one thing to see the bag; seeing the powder exposed and alive in the open air was another.

Eleanor felt the tension coil tighter.

Antonio's voice remained smooth and steady. "One handful is all it takes," he said. "You should know that better than anyone."

Cornelius' fingers twitched, but he didn't move forward.

Antonio took a single step toward him. "Are you willing to risk it?"

For the first time, Cornelius didn't have an answer. The smirk, the bravado — it didn't reach his eyes now. His uncertainty starkly contrasted with his usual confidence, a clear shift in the power dynamics.

A long, heavy pause stretched between them.

Then, he took a step back. And another.

Eleanor felt her breath catch in her throat. He wasn't running. But he wasn't challenging them either.

Cornelius' eyes flicked between Antonio and the powder and then back to Eleanor. His voice was dangerous when he spoke. "This isn't over." A slow, chilling smile curled his lips again. But it wasn't the same. Eleanor saw it now. Cornelius' confidence wavered, leaving a lingering uncertainty. Then, in a blink, he vanished.

Antonio's breath escaped in a slow, deliberate exhale as he closed the velvet bag, concealing its contents from view.

Maria let out a sob, collapsing into the grass, trembling uncontrollably.

Eleanor swallowed hard, forcing herself to steady her breathing. She sank to the ground, pulling Maria into her arms before turning to Antonio.

He was already looking at her. Neither of them said what they were thinking.

Had Antonio indeed found Cornelius' forgotten weapon? Or had he just bluffed his nemesis into backing down?

Eleanor exhaled slowly. For now, it didn't matter. Cornelius was gone. But for how long?

*****
Rebecca's fever raged on, an unrelenting fire that consumed her from the inside out. Her body convulsed with each shiver, her breaths shallow and erratic, a stark reminder of her condition.

Heat and cold wrapped around her, twisting through the haze of her mind. Shapes blurred, sounds faded.

Only one thing remained. A name. One that slipped across her dry, parched lips repeatedly and swirled relentlessly in her mind.

It was barely a whisper, a faint breath of sound that barely escaped her lips. "Garth."

Miles away, the cowboy stood tense and stiff, his eyes scanning the thick tree line. His Stetson shaded the rising sun.

The search teams moved through the forest, voices crackling over the radio, boots crunching against damp earth, scattered branches, and debris.

Tango muttered something under his breath, but Garth barely heard him.

His fists clenched at his sides, and a chill ran down his spine. For a moment — just a second — he swore he'd heard someone call his name. He turned sharply. The forest stretched out before him — dark, silent. No one was there. His jaw tightened.

Something inside him twisted sharply, a feeling he couldn't shake.

Unable to hide his emotions, he called out for the only woman he knew who could help him. "Eleanor, she's calling. I can feel it. Please forgive me. Help me."

He knew she was his only hope of finding Rebecca alive. But he also knew he had doubted her, tossed his anger and disbelief in her face. Now, when he desperately needed her, would she come?

*****
Amelia sniffled, her small hands clutching the edge of her damp sweater as she stared at Rebecca's still form.

She had tried everything. She had pressed cool river water to Rebecca's skin. She had covered her with her sweater, even though it left her shivering in the evening air. She had found dry leaves buried under the branches and used them as a makeshift blanket. She had held her hand, whispered stories, and prayed.

But Rebecca wasn't getting better.

The sun had started to set, casting long golden streaks over the muddy riverbank. Amelia wiped at her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

She looked at Rebecca, at the way her chest barely moved. The young girl wasn't sure if she was breathing or if she was, for how long. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered. "Travis, you promised to come back. Don't leave us here."

Her voice was so small, so full of heartbreak, that she didn't hear the hoofbeats at first.
She didn't hear the crack of branches and the rustling of movement through the trees.
A dog barked, and Travis yelled, "Amelia!"

Her eyes snapped open. Her heart stuttered. A shape emerged from the trees. A gray spotted pony with a slight sway in its back. A travois dragging behind it. And then —Travis.

Amelia let out a sob. "Travis!" she cried, scrambling to her feet.

He was pale, blood dried on his temple, his limp more pronounced than before. But he was here. She ran towards him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his chest.

Travis winced but held on to her, his arms trembling. "Hey, kid," he whispered. "I told you I'd be back." Then, his gaze locked onto Rebecca. His chest tightened painfully. "Lenore —" he rasped.

"I see her." The cloaked woman dismounted, her eyes sharp and knowing, as she hurriedly knelt beside Rebecca. She pressed her fingers against Rebecca's forehead and throat. "Fever's deep," she murmured.

Travis ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Can you help her?" he pleaded. "Can we move her?"

Lenore didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached for the leather pouch at her belt, pulling out bundles of dried herbs, a small stone vial, and a carved wooden bowl.
"If we don't break the fever," she said, "she won't survive the journey. We need a fire."

Travis moved quickly, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest. His hands were unsteady as he gathered wood, stacking it into a small pile near the clearing.

Amelia, her face streaked with dirt and worry, helped, grabbing sticks.

The wolf-dog circled the clearing, alert, pacing.

Within minutes, flames flickered to life, helped by the dry paper and small pieces of wood they'd brought with them. They danced high, casting flickering shadows across the clearing.

The wolf dog lay beside Amelia, its body stretched out, its eyes never leaving Rebecca.

Lenore sat cross-legged beside the fire, grinding the dried herbs with a smooth black stone. Her voice was low, murmuring something Travis couldn't understand.

Amelia curled tightly against Travis's shivering body and felt safe. "What's she saying?" she whispered.

Travis shook his head. "I don't know," he murmured. "But I hope it works."

Lenore poured a few drops from the stone vial into the mixture, creating a thick, pungent paste. She dipped her fingers into it, pressing the mixture against Rebecca's skin.

Her temples.

Her throat.

Her chest.

Then — she began to sing.

It was not in English or any language that Travis recognized. But it wrapped around them, weaving through the trees, sinking into the fire's crackling rhythm. Each word carried a magic of its own.

The pony stood motionless except for an occasional flick of his ears. The wolf dog let out a soft howl, tipping his head toward the sky.

For a long time, nothing happened, and then Rebecca's breath hitched. Amelia gasped. Lenore's voice faded into silence.

Rebecca's body stopped shaking. Her breathing evened out. Still weak. Still pale. But stable.

Lenore wiped her hands on her cloak and stood. "It's time," she murmured.

Travis exhaled sharply, jumping up and hurrying to Lenore's side.

Amelia scrambled up, watching as Lenore and Travis carefully lifted Rebecca onto the travois, securing her with soft blankets and leather straps.

The pony shifted but remained steady. Lenore turned to Travis. "You'll walk beside her. The wolf dog will lead us."

Travis nodded.

Amelia hesitated. "And me?"

Lenore's expression softened for the first time. "You'll ride," she said, lifting Amelia onto the pony's back.

Amelia's eyes widened with awe. She clutched the pony's mane, careful but excited. Then, without another word, they set off.

The forest closed around them, mist rising like ghosts between the trees. Travis couldn't put his finger on it, nor did he understand, but he felt they were being protected by something or someone during their trek.

Rebecca's breathing was steady, but she never stirred.

The journey to the cottage had begun.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 30
Veil of Secrets - Chap 30

By Begin Again

Maria's body trembled as she clung to Eleanor. Her words came between gulps for air. "Who — was he? And you — where did — you — come from?" She lifted her head to stare at Eleanor. "Am I having — a nightmare? Are you — a hallucination?"

Eleanor wrapped her arms tighter around the young woman. Now wasn't the time to explain that she was a ghost. She'd seen the collapsing tunnels, but she had to be careful how she approached things with the girl.

Instead, she held Maria while she listened to their surroundings. The storm had disrupted the energy, and the currents the wind and rain left filled the air. She could sense other people, but nothing was clear or specific. "Maria, how did you get here? Are you visiting someone and got lost?"

Maria shook her head. "I don't know where here is, but they trucked us a long way. I am from New York."

"New York? Gracious! Are you alone?"

"No! There are more girls and mean, horrible men. They were moving us through the tunnels. It collapsed."

Eleanor tried to connect with the other women, but the storm had disrupted the energy. "Can you show me where?"

Maria shook her head. "I think — I came from that way." She glanced around the field, spotting the tall oak tree in the distance. "No, I remember trying to focus on the tree, so I must have come from that way."

Eleanor looked at Antonio, who remained silent while she had questioned Maria. "I think they are in the tunnels that run along the cliffs. Those tunnels probably haven't been used since Miriam's first visit to the Vineyard. It's very dangerous down there."

"Can Garth use the digging equipment?"

"I doubt it. It sounds like the land is very unstable."

Maria nodded. "It was collapsing every few minutes. Some were buried. The women were trying to dig out but only had their hands."

Eleanor nodded. "Listen, Maria, Antonio will take you to the house. Althea will be there, and she will help you."

"No, I have to help the others. I can't leave them." She clutched Eleanor's arm.

"Trust me. I'll get the others out, but you should be somewhere safe in case Cornelius decides to return."

Maria nodded, not because she was sure she should leave, but because she didn't want to risk seeing Cornelius again.

Eleanor stood and pulled Maria to her feet. "Do you trust me?"

The young woman looked into Eleanor's eyes and nodded.

"Good. I want you to place your hands in Antonio's hands and close your eyes tight. He will take you to the house, and I'll explain everything later. Okay?"

Her gaze darted between Eleanor and Antonio, then she placed her hands on Antonio's. The coldness surprised her as it shot through her body.

Eleanor touched her. "It's only for a second, and then you'll be safe." She nodded to Antonio before telling Maria, "Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

A second later, they were gone.

 

*****
When Maria and Antonio vanished, the air seemed to thicken around Eleanor. The wind whispered through the grass, carrying the scent of rain from the nearby cliffs. She turned in the direction Maria had pointed, her translucent form barely disturbing the air as she moved.

The storm had disrupted the energy around the vineyard, making it nearly impossible for Eleanor to sense the location of the women in the tunnels. Yet, she persisted, stretching her awareness as she drifted across the land, the urgency of the situation pressing against her.

A flicker — faint but there. A pulse of fear. She'd felt it.

Then she heard it — a muffled cry, desperate and raw, carried by the wind.

Eleanor quickened her pace, her form shimmering in and out of visibility as she neared the cliffs. The tunnels lay abandoned for years, but Maria was right—this was probably where the smugglers had taken the women.

She moved carefully, stepping over jagged stones and fallen branches until she was closer to the cliffs. The ground was unstable, cracked from the storm's wrath. She knelt, placing her hands against the cool, damp earth, trying again to reach through the stone and mud barrier.

Once again, she felt faint whispers — struggling thoughts mixed with fear.

Then, a sudden burst of noise — panicked voices from beneath. Eleanor didn't hear them, but she felt them. She felt the ground shift. There was another collapse somewhere — hopefully, not on the women.

Inside the tunnel, the air was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Everyone was coughing and choking, and there was no longer any light.

The women huddled together in the darkness near the small opening where Maria had escaped. Now, several splintered beams blocked the entrance.

Tony, his frustration boiling over, ran a hand through his tangled hair. His voice was sharp and angry. "Why aren't they digging? We're going to die down here, thanks to the boss."

Mark leaned against a broken support beam. He exhaled heavily and shook his head. "Shut it, Tony. Pointing fingers won't dig us out. We need a plan."

In the corner, Jake and another smuggler huddled together, a flask exchanging hands. The acrid scent of whiskey curled through the air, momentarily drowning out the stench of death.

Jake took a long, greedy swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "Might as well enjoy ourselves."

Lisa, sitting on the ground, wiped the sweat from her brow. When she turned toward Jake, her eyes burned with fury. "Are you serious? While you're getting drunk, we're all stuck down here! We need every hand sober to dig out!"

Jake staggered to his feet, his whiskey-dulled gaze locking onto Lisa with sudden hostility. "Watch your mouth, woman." He stepped toward her, his movements unsteady. Lisa flinched but held her ground, her fists clenched at her sides.

Then, before anyone could react, a deafening crack echoed through the tunnel. The ceiling above Jake gave way in a rush of stone and dirt.

A scream. A sickening thud.

Dust billowed around them, choking the air. When it settled, Jake was gone — buried beneath the rubble.

A stunned silence followed.

The remaining smugglers, their bravado shattered, slumped against the walls. Tony reached for the whiskey flask, his hands shaking. "May we all rest in peace."

Lisa, swallowing down the rising panic in her throat, turned toward Sarah.

Sarah whispered, "Can we fit through that opening?"

Lisa exhaled shakily, scanning the narrow gap where the collapse had left a sliver of hope. "It's tight, but it's our only chance. The timbers are in the way where Maria went out. Hopefully, she can find help. In the meantime, we take turns digging around the timbers."

The women, weary and battered, gathered around the small opening. Despite their raw hands and broken nails, they dug with unwavering determination, their muscles aching and their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they clawed at the loose rock.

The last collapse left a partial wall of dirt, mud, rock, and splintered wood separating the women from the men. It was a small comfort but one they could use to their advantage.

Huddled around the tiny opening, they took turns using their hands and splintered boards to chip away at the edges, pausing each time to check for any signs of the ground collapsing again.

A gust of wind filtered through the hole. The sudden rush of fresh air carried the faint promise of survival. It wasn't an escape route — not yet — but it was enough to remind them they were still alive. They gasped, their chests rising and falling. The air was thin, but it was something — a small victory.

Above ground, Eleanor stood at the cliff's edge, the wind tearing through her translucent form. She closed her eyes, stretching her awareness beyond the physical. She felt it — the energy shifting beneath the surface.

Fear. Pain. Desperation.

Eleanor pressed her hand to the ground, whispering into the night. "Hold on. Just a little longer."

Then a flicker of movement caught her eye. Lanterns. Eleanor sighed. It had to be Garth and his team.

She yelled, "Over here!" Of course, they couldn't hear her.

 

But the wind carried her energy, and Garth slowed, turning instinctively. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkened landscape. "Did you hear that?"

One of his men shook his head. "Hear what?"

Garth frowned. He felt it. "It's Eleanor. She's found something or someone and called for us."

He raised his lantern higher, stepping forward. And then — his stomach twisted. He heard his name this time, but it wasn't Eleanor. The voice belonged to Rebecca.

*****

The women sat huddled in the darkness, their breathing shallow. The whiskey-stinking smugglers had long since resigned to their fate and slumped against the dirt walls. But the women? They weren't giving up.

Lisa pressed her hand to the cool, damp timber blocking their exit. She could feel the air and hear dirt shifting as it settled around them, but the wood was too heavy. They weren't getting out on their own.

Sarah whispered, "How long do you think we have?"

Lisa didn't answer. She wasn't sure. But then her head snapped toward Sarah, who was staring at her. "Did you hear that?"

Sarah nodded. "Someone's out there."

Soft at first, barely a breath against the still air. "Help is coming. Just hold on."

Lisa gasped. "Who — who's there?"

"I can hear you. We're getting you out."

Lisa's chest tightened, tears burning her exhausted eyes. "We're running out of time," she whispered, half to Eleanor, half to the silence pressing in on them.

Eleanor turned toward the lanterns in the distance. She had to move.

 

*****
 

Garth's pulse thundered in his ears.

He could feel Eleanor, her presence like a shift in the wind, tugging at the edge of his awareness. But at the same time — he felt Rebecca. Her voice was weak and distant but piercing straight into his soul. She was calling for him.

"Garth — help me —"

His breath hitched. His instincts told him to run — but where? Where was she?

Then, suddenly, Eleanor appeared in front of him.

Without thinking, Garth reached for her, his grip firm, desperate. "She's calling me, Eleanor. She's calling for me."

Eleanor's expression softened, but her urgency didn't waver. "I understand, Garth. But we don't know where she is. We have women trapped in that tunnel, and they won't last much longer."

Garth clenched his jaw. His fingers twitched against Eleanor's arm as if physically holding onto her would anchor him.

"But Rebecca —"

"Garth, I know your pain. But I can't tell you where she is. But I believe that we can save these women. Now."

Garth exhaled shakily. His mind was at war, but Eleanor wasn't wrong. If they didn't act fast, those women would die. He couldn't leave these women to die despite his love for Rebecca.

Tango had been standing back, waiting for orders. He'd seen his boss distracted before, but this was different. Garth wasn't there. He was spiraling.

Tango turned to Eleanor. "What do we need to do?"

Eleanor turned toward him, grateful that someone was thinking clearly. "We can't use digging equipment. The tunnels are too unstable. If we bring in machines, we could bury them all alive."

Tango nodded, already shifting gears. He turned to his men. "Hand tools only. No heavy machinery."

A younger agent hesitated. "Then how do we get through?"

Eleanor took a breath. "I'll show you."

She led Tango toward the collapsed area and gestured to the tiny hole where air still slipped through. "We dig a trench toward the hole, working slowly. No sudden shifts. We'll widen it without causing another collapse."

Tango examined the space, then looked at his men. "You heard her. We do this carefully. Move."

The team got to work, shovels and hands scraping away at the earth. Every movement had to be measured and deliberate.

Eleanor glanced at Garth. His clenched fists vibrated at his sides, his body trembling with the urgent need to leave. She reached for him, her voice softer now. "We will find Rebecca. But right now, this? This is what we can do."

Garth swallowed hard, then exhaled. "Then let's get it done." And with that, he picked up a shovel and started digging.

 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob

Chapter 31
Veil of Secrets - Chap 31

By Begin Again

 

 

Maria felt the icy chill of Antonio's hands, heard Eleanor's voice telling her to close her eyes, then the wind — a roar she'd never heard — and then a soft jolt before she opened her eyes.

Her mind was spiraling out of control. Each thought threatened to overwhelm her.
One moment, she was soaked, shaking, and crawling through the mud, then Antonio touched her hands, and then —

Maria's eyes darted wildly across the grand hallway where she now stood. Wooden floors gleamed under the sparkling chandelier. The faint scent of burning firewood and lavender flowers filled the air. The rain she had felt moments ago was gone.

She spun on her heels so fast she nearly fell. Antonio stood a few feet away, unmoving. Her pulse pounded in her throat.

"No., this can't be." She took a staggering step back. "This isn't real."

Antonio said nothing. The house was silent until she heard the footsteps.

Maria's head snapped toward the staircase, where a woman was descending. She looked a little older than she was, taller and chunkier, her dark brown hair pulled back, her eyes warm but assessing. She moved with an air of caution.

Immediately, Maria felt a kinship. Something in her eyes and her demeanor suggested the world hadn't been kind to her either. She might not have been in the tunnels, but she'd faced hardships.

Maria tensed. Who was she?

The woman stopped a few steps from the landing, her gaze steady. "You're safe," she said.

Maria's eyes narrowed. She took another step back, her breath still too fast, her body still remembering the terror of the tunnels.

"Who — who are you?" she demanded, voice hoarse.

The woman hesitated as if weighing her answer. Finally, she said, "My name is Althea."

Maria blinked rapidly, her mind spinning. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

"It's called The Vineyard and belongs to my family."

Maria whirled on Antonio, her voice rising. "And what the hell did you do to me?"

Antonio tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I helped you."

Maria's chest heaved. Her fingers clenched into fists. "I was just there," she whispered. "In the field. I was running. I — I was trying to —" Her voice cracked, memories crashing down. "Lisa and Sarah — the others —" Tears spilled down her face.

Althea's voice remained calm. "People are looking for them now."

Maria shook her head fiercely. "No — no, you don't understand. I was just there!" Her breathing came in sharp, panicked bursts. "I was crawling —" She grabbed at her arms, feeling the lingering cold in her skin.

She turned back to Antonio, staring at him now, really looking. His clothes were untouched by the mud she had dragged herself through. His boots were clean. His breath didn't fog the air.

Maria's stomach twisted violently. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What are you?"

Antonio didn't move. He wasn't prepared to answer her.

Maria let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. "Oh my God." She pressed her palm to her forehead, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. She stumbled away from him, backing against the grand staircase. "I'm losing my mind," she breathed. "This isn't happening. None of this can possibly be real."

Althea reached out gently. "Maria."

Maria jerked, and her eyes narrowed. She took another step back, her breath still too fast, her body still remembering the terror of the tunnels.

Her mind was spinning. "Where am I? How did I get here?" She whirled on Antonio, her voice rising. "And what the hell did you do to me?"

Antonio finally spoke, his voice low. "I brought you to a safe place — nothing else. You wouldn't have come if I'd told you the truth first."

Maria exhaled sharply, a tremor running through her. "And what truth is that?"

Antonio said nothing.

But Maria already knew. She let out a shaky breath. "You're dead."

Silence.

Althea's gaze softened. "Yes, he is."

Maria shuddered. She turned, her eyes darting toward Althea, suspicion creeping back in. "Are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Althea's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "No," she said. "I'm troubled, just like you. My son is missing — taken. But I do know the people — the ghosts you are fearing right now- will be kinder than anyone you've ever known. They only mean to help."

Maria wasn't sure she believed her. Everything — all of this — was too strange.
She pressed her fingers against her temples, eyes squeezed shut. "None of this makes sense."

Althea stepped forward. "Come with me. You are cold and exhausted. There is nothing to fear here."

Maria's jaw clenched. "I should be out there. Helping them."

Althea sighed, patient and unwavering. "The best way to help them is not to collapse yourself." She gestured up the stairs. "Come. Have a bath, wear warm clothes, and rest."

Maria wavered. The fight in her wasn't gone, but the exhaustion was taking over. She shot Antonio one last look, searching for anything that made sense. She found nothing.

With a shaky breath, Maria turned and let Althea guide her upstairs. But in the back of her mind, she knew she wouldn't sleep tonight, not after what she had seen.

And not while a ghost walked freely among the living.
*****

The sound of shovels scraping against dirt echoed through the underground passage, punctuated by the occasional deep groan of shifting earth. The dim light from the remaining flashlight flickered against the crumbling walls.

Lisa pressed herself against Sarah, whispering, "They're coming through." But a greater fear overshadowed the relief that should have come with those words — the men weren't giving up.

Paolo, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, shoved a woman aside, knocking her to the ground. "We go first," he growled to the remaining men. Looking at Anders, whose grip on his pistol tightened.

Anders wiped sweat and dirt from his eyes, voice sharp and desperate. "That's right! We ain't dying here! If they're digging us out, we make a deal — us for them." His gaze flicked toward the women.

Sarah spat at his feet. "You won't get out of this."

Anders grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him, making Lisa and the others scream. "We'll see about that." He pressed the gun against Sarah's temple. "Get us out first, or I'll paint these walls red."

Lisa lunged at him, clawing at his face. "You son of a —"

 

Paolo grabbed her, slapping her before he shoved her to the ground.

A deep, low chuckle rippled through the tunnel. It wasn't from any of them. And the team outside hadn't broken through yet.

A cold wind blew through the space, carrying a whisper that wasn't human. "Fools! You are already dead."

The smugglers froze. Paolo's breath turned misty, and his hands began to shake.

Anders barked, "Shut up! That ghost crap doesn't scare me. I don't know how your magic works, but I assure you I'm not dying here."

A sharp crunch. Anders let out a strangled cry. His gun hand was bent at a sickening angle  — snapped as if crushed by an invisible force. He dropped the gun, his knees buckling.

The women stared in shock, muffling their sobs. Their captors were suddenly helpless.

Lisa didn't hesitate. She grabbed the gun from the floor, cocked it, and aimed it at Paolo's chest. "Looks like you're the one making a deal now."

Behind them, rock shifting and falling away signaled their salvation. Tango's team broke through. Light poured in, illuminating the terrified expressions of the smugglers and the fierce determination in the women's eyes.

Tango's voice boomed. "Hands up! Now!" as two of his team dropped into the tunnel.
The smugglers, still shaken, obeyed except for one — Paolo. He made a desperate dash toward the gap, but something caught his ankle.

A shadow moved unnaturally fast, a cold, skeletal hand of mist gripping his leg and then yanking. Paolo screamed. Something pulled him into the darkness, and the tunnel collapsed, sealing him away.

Cornelius materialized, glaring at those that remained. "Leave while you still can."
His form faded, but his words lingered like a curse. "Or I'll bury you all. This is my land!"

Then — he was gone.

Silence.

Tango barked, "MOVE, NOW!" as he remained in control despite feeling shaken.

Lisa, still clutching the gun, exhaled, tears streaming down her mud-caked face. "It's over."

An agent gently removed the gun from her hand and whispered, "Yup, it's over, and you're alive."

 

*****

Maria sat wrapped in a thick robe, her damp clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair. Her wet hair clung to her neck, and her fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea she hadn't touched yet.
She was too wired to sleep, too exhausted to think, and too overwhelmed to breathe properly. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion, each thought crashing into the next.

The silence was oppressive — a heavy blanket that smothered any attempt at peace.

Her mind replayed everything—the tunnel collapse, the frantic escape, the impossible journey to the mansion, and Antonio—a ghost. Visions of Cornelius and Eleanor flashed through her troubled mind. She mumbled, "This can't be happening."

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the cup. A soft knock at the door made her jump. She turned sharply, half-expecting Althea again, but her breath caught in her throat when the door eased open.

It was her — the woman from the field. Maria stared, wide-eyed, not knowing what to say.
Eleanor's presence, serene yet commanding, was as soft as the candlelight; her silver-threaded hair was in a tight bun, and her calm, knowing gaze met Maria's.
 

For a brief moment, Maria's fear cracked — just a little, because even though she didn't understand why, seeing Eleanor made her feel safe.

Eleanor smiled gently, stepping inside, the door clicking softly behind her. "May I sit?"
Maria swallowed, then nodded stiffly. Eleanor settled into the chair across from her, crossing her legs with practiced grace. Her eyes scanned Maria, reading her like an open book before speaking. "You have nothing to fear. You're safe now."

Maria let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Everyone keeps saying that."

Eleanor tilted her head slightly, studying her. "But you don't feel it, do you?"

Maria's chest tightened. She set the tea down abruptly, shaking her head. "I don't even know where to start. I — I don't know what's real anymore. That man —"

Eleanor remained silent, waiting.

Maria's eyes flickered to the door, then back to Eleanor. "That man — Antonio."

Eleanor's expression didn't change. "Yes."

Maria leaned forward, voice shaking. "He's not—" Her trembling hand flew to her mouth as she mumbled, "He's not alive, is he?"

Eleanor sighed softly, her voice gentle and filled with compassion. "No. He's not."

Maria shivered, running her hands over her arms. "But — but he carried me. He spoke to me. He —" She swallowed hard. "Ghosts can't do that."

Eleanor's smile was wistful. "Some can. Not all spirits that walk the earth are here to harm others. Some have a mission to wipe away the hurt and pain."

Maria's pulse pounded. She searched Eleanor's face, looking for anything that made sense. And then — a memory surfaced. She had been on the ground, broken and bleeding. Terrified of that man. And the woman — Eleanor had found her. She had touched Maria's face and whispered something soothing, but Maria hadn't questioned why she hadn't been there before.

Maria's breath hitched. "You —" Her voice cracked as she sat up straighter. "You were there. In the field. Before Antonio."

Eleanor's smile softened, and she nodded.

Maria's stomach twisted violently. She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're not real either, are you?"

Eleanor exhaled softly.

Silence. The answer was in her sad smile, in the way her presence was too calm, too still. Maria pressed her hands to her mouth, shutting her eyes. "Oh, my God."

She felt Eleanor's warmth before she even spoke. "No, child. I am real," Eleanor said softly. "Just not as you know it."

Maria's hands dropped slowly. Her eyes stung. "What does that even mean?"

Eleanor smiled gently, patient. "It means I am here because you needed me."

Maria swallowed hard. "But you're dead."

Eleanor nodded. "Yes." She moved closer and wrapped her arms around Maria, sending all her love and caring into the trembling woman's body.

Maria let out a shaky breath. "Then why do you feel real?"

Eleanor's expression changed, just a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. "That, Maria, is a much longer conversation for another day."

Maria shivered again, not from the cold, but from something else. She was sitting in a room with a ghost.

A ghost who had saved her.

A ghost who was looking at her with more understanding than anyone ever had.

Maria exhaled, her hands falling into her lap. She was too tired to run, too shaken to fight. Her voice broke when she finally spoke. "What happens now?"

Eleanor studied her for a moment and then said, "Now, you rest. The others are safe as well."

Maria's body sagged.

And for the first time since the nightmare began, she let herself believe it might be true.
She was safe. For now, with Eleanor.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 32
Veil of Secrets - Chap 32

By Begin Again

The storm had passed, but the tension was suffocating inside the cottage — but the worst was yet to come.

Rebecca lay still, her skin clammy and pale, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.
Travis paced near the hearth, his hands clenched into fists. "She's burning up," he muttered. "We need to do something."

Lenore, kneeling beside Rebecca, pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. "I am doing something."

Travis exhaled sharply. "You know what I mean," he snapped. "This isn't — this isn't normal. Her fever — it's not just from exhaustion." His voice cracked as his thoughts reminded him he was only a child. "Is she —" He swallowed hard. "She could die."

Lenore didn't argue. Instead, she gently placed her hands over Rebecca's chest, her fingers moving slowly and in circular motions. A soft hum filled the air, barely audible, a whisper of something ancient.

Travis stiffened. "What are you doing?"

Lenore's voice was calm, unwavering. "Listening."

Rebecca stirred, her lips parting. She muttered something too soft to hear.

Travis leaned forward.

Rebecca's lashes fluttered, and her lips trembled. Her inner spirit was calling for someone, but she didn't call for Garth this time.

Barely a whisper, she called, "Miriam."

Travis froze. His stomach clenched. Miriam was the woman who had saved him from the kidnappers.

Lenore's eyes flickered up to meet his. She had heard it, too.

Travis swallowed hard, voice tight. "She's calling for Miriam."

Lenore nodded slowly. "Yes."

Rebecca twitched as if trying to fight through whatever fever dream held her. Her breathing hitched.

A cold shiver ran down Travis's spine.

Lenore took a slow breath. "She is connected to this Miriam? As I sense you are."

Travis ran a hand through his hair. "Miriam saved my life. She lives at The Vineyard, where the men took me. They brought Rebecca to the tunnels, too. That's where I met her and Amelia." He glanced toward the young girl, asleep in the corner amidst a stack of pillows.

Lenore's hands trembled as she pressed a damp cloth to Rebecca's forehead. "The Vineyard?" The old woman's gaze was glassy as her mind raced, digging through memories she'd buried long ago.

Travis paced, his frustration barely contained. "This isn't working! She's getting worse." His voice was tinged with desperation and his fear for Rebecca's life.

Lenore barely heard him. Her fingers brushed over Rebecca's wrist, and something cold slipped through her — something from long ago.

The wedding.

The townspeople.

.
The sound of screaming.

Lenore's breath hitched as she was transported back in time, her memories rushing back.

She was young — just a little girl, standing behind the crowd, clutching her mother's skirts. Miriam stood on the platform in her wedding dress, a noose tight around her throat, her dark eyes burning with something fierce — not fear or hatred, but a deep sense of defiance.

Lenore could still hear her mother whispering, telling her not to watch. But she had.

 

She had seen Miriam's eyes searching the crowd. Had Miriam looked for help? For mercy? Or had she been looking for someone to remember?

Lenore's chest ached as she struggled to maintain her composure, the image of Miriam's defiance still vivid. Rebecca's fevered and restless face blurred before her.

Travis's voice cut through the haze. "Lenore?"

She exhaled sharply, blinking hard. "I was there," she whispered.

Travis frowned. "What?"

Lenore met his gaze, her voice steady despite the old pain curling in her chest. "I saw Miriam die."

Travis stiffened. "Now?"

"No — long ago when I was a child."

"When you were a child? That can't be. Miriam just saved my life."

Rebecca stirred, her lips moving faintly. Lenore's fingers tightened around the cloth.
"She was looking for someone," she murmured. "And maybe — she's still waiting." She stood and wrapped her shawl around her.

"Where are you going?"

"To pray and listen," she whispered as she opened the door with the wolf-dog at her side.

*****
The cottage door closed behind Lenore with a quiet click, shutting out the warmth of the fire and the voices inside.

Outside, the air was still thick with the scent of rain. Water dripped from the eaves, the trees whispering as a cool wind moved through their branches.

The wolf-dog waited at her side, his body low, ears twitching as if he, too, could sense something beyond what the eye could see.

Lenore took a slow breath and stepped forward, her feet knowing the path even as her mind wrestled with what she sought.

She walked past the wild grass that had overtaken the old garden, beyond the worn footpath leading toward the cliffs. The land here had history—some of it whispered in the wind, some buried beneath the soil, and some still clinging to the echoes of what had once been.

She reached the old fire pit near the clearing. It was not much now, just a blackened ring of stones half-buried in the earth. Long ago, it was a place where people whispered prayers and released their burdens into the night around the fire,

Lenore stood at its edge, pressing a hand against her shawl, gathering it around her shoulders as the wind curled around her.

She did not kneel. She did not bow her head. She simply closed her eyes. And listened.

A whisper of air moved through the trees, carrying something just beneath the wind, a murmur of voices, long since faded, yet never truly gone.

Lenore let out a slow exhale. "I am listening," she murmured.

The wolf-dog's ears flicked. Then, a deep, mournful howl escaped his chest and the whispering began.

Lenore did not move. She stood at the edge of the fire pit, her breath slow and steady, waiting. She had done this before, when she was younger with her mother, when she was listening, not speaking. Now she knew what she didn't know then — that Miriam, too, had been there.

A breeze stirred the trees.

The murmur of voices was distant yet close enough to brush against her skin like the breath of an unseen presence. She did not flinch.

These were not the wailing voices of the restless dead. They were remnants, echoes of those who had walked this land before her. These were the voices of the good and those who fought for the land.

"She walks between," the voices murmured, threading into the wind.

Lenore's breath hitched. Did they mean Rebecca?

"The past pulls her, the present binds her, and the future is waiting."

Lenore swallowed, closing her fingers over the edge of her shawl. "Miriam," she whispered.

A gust of wind curled through the trees, shifting the embers of something unseen.

"She was wronged. She was betrayed. The earth remembers her suffering, and so does she."

Lenore exhaled slowly. "Then why does she linger?"

The night was silent.

Then — a presence — not a figure, not an apparition, but something heavier in the air, something that pressed against her bones, something she had felt once before, long ago, when she was a child.

"Because she still fights."

Lenore closed her eyes, and for the briefest moment, the world around her shifted.
It wasn't a vision — it was a knowing.

Miriam stood before the mirror, her palm pressed against the glass, her reflection staring back. Her lips moved, though no words reached the living. A sorrow so deep had rooted itself into the very land.

Then, Rebecca, trembling, whispered her name in fevered delirium.

Lenore's eyes snapped open. The connection was clear. "Miriam is holding her," she whispered. The air seemed to tighten around her. The wolf-dog let out a low growl, not in fear, but in warning.

"She does not mean to," the voices answered, soft as drifting leaves. "But her love binds the girl to the threshold. She calls her, not knowing she is keeping her between."

Lenore's throat tightened. "Then how do I break the hold?"

A beat of silence. Then — a whisper, barely audible but absolute. "She must choose. To hold on or to let go."

The wolf-dog let out another deep, resonant howl. The night pulsed with something unseen. And Lenore understood. The voices had faded.

She stood still, her hands clenched at her sides, the weight of realization pressing deep into her chest. She knew now. She knew why Rebecca had not woken fully. She knew why Miriam lingered. And she knew what she had to do.

The wolf-dog let out a final, quiet huff, pressing its side gently against her leg.
Lenore closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "I understand," she whispered.

Her voice did not shake. "I'm no longer a child, and I won't fail you this time."

She turned back toward the cottage.

Toward Rebecca.

Toward the choice that had to be made.

 

*****

Rebecca's feverish body lay still, almost lifeless, on the bed, but her spirit was no longer there. Lenore stroked her hand and placed cool compresses on her forehead. Like others who walked this world unseen, Rebecca's spirit was somewhere cold. Somewhere dark — a field, perhaps. Near the cliffs.

 

She turned slowly. Miriam stood at the edge of the clearing, her dress torn, her bare feet muddy. Rebecca's breath hitched. "Grandma?"

Miriam lifted her head, her dark eyes filled with something unreadable. "You are too close," she whispered. "You must go back, my love."

Rebecca tried to step forward, but her limbs felt heavy as if she were moving through water.

Miriam shook her head. "It is not your time."

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but a wind howled through the trees, drowning out her voice. Miriam looked past her as if watching something approaching. Her lips parted. Was it fear? A warning?

Rebecca felt herself being pulled away. Miriam's form blurred, her voice distant,
"Tell Lenore—"

Darkness claimed her, and her spirit returned.
________________________________________

Rebecca gasped, bolting upright.

Lenore's hands were already on her, steadying her, keeping her grounded.
"You are back," Lenore murmured.

Rebecca's head swam. Her skin was damp with sweat, her body weak, but the fever had eased. Her voice was hoarse. "Grandma—" She swallowed hard. "She was here."

Lenore's jaw tightened.

Rebecca grabbed Lenore's wrist suddenly, her fingers trembling. "She said to tell you something."

Lenore stilled. Rebecca's breath hitched. "She said, "Tell Lenore." Rebecca blinked, disoriented. "Then, she was gone."

Travis swore under his breath. "She's not making sense. She's getting worse."

Lenore's hand pressed gently against Rebecca's forehead, this time not to check for fever but to anchor her in the present. "You are here, child," she whispered, her voice steady. "You must stay with us."

Rebecca blinked, her chest rising and falling with effort. Lenore held her gaze.
"You heard Miriam's words. Now listen to them."

Rebecca swallowed. "She told me to go back."

Lenore nodded. "Then do as she said."

Rebecca exhaled sharply, the weight in her chest lifting, her body sinking into the pillows.

Lenore sat beside her, studying the girl's pale face. Her fragile fingers were still curled in the bedsheets.

Miriam had tried to warn her.

To reach her.

To tell her something.

Travis felt the frustration boiling inside him. They couldn't just sit here.
"She's not getting better," he said suddenly, his voice sharper than he intended. "What if it happens again? What if she—" His voice caught. He couldn't finish the thought.

Lenore met his gaze, her expression calm but firm. "I won't let it."

Travis looked at Rebecca — pale, exhausted, barely holding onto consciousness. And then at Amelia, curled up in the corner, her small body trembling in restless sleep.
Lenore wasn't enough. They needed real help.

"I'm going," Travis said, reaching for his jacket.

Lenore's expression flickered. "It's dangerous."

Travis shoved his arms through the sleeves. "It was dangerous when those men took us, too."

Lenore didn't stop him. She couldn't because he was right.

Rebecca slumped back onto the thin blanket beneath her, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. The fever had not fully broken, but the fire raging inside her had dimmed. She had delivered the message. Miriam was still there. Trapped. Waiting.

Not for much longer.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters, and Travis flinched. He had been silent until now, but the weight of the moment pressed on him. Rebecca still needed help.

Lenore turned to him, her gaze sharp. "You must go now."

Travis's stomach knotted. Go?

"You want me to leave you here? With—" He gestured vaguely at Rebecca, still fevered, and the strange old woman whose very presence unsettled him. "What if something happens?"

Lenore's voice was calm, but unshakable. "Then I will do what must be done."

Travis swallowed hard. He had no choice. His gaze flickered to Amelia, the quiet girl who had clung to Rebecca since they found her. "You're coming with me, right?"

A long silence.

Amelia looked at him, then at Lenore. Something deep and unspoken passed between them. The girl took a small step back. "I'll stay," she whispered.

Travis stared at her. A lump formed in his throat. It didn't make sense. Why would she stay? How could she trust Lenore?

His hands curled into fists. He wanted to argue, but there was no time. With one last glance at Rebecca, he took a shaky breath and turned toward the door.

Lenore watched Travis hesitate in the doorway, his shoulders rigid, fists clenched at his sides. He didn't want to leave, not without Rebecca and Amelia.

She stepped closer, her voice low and even. "You must go to the Vineyard."

Travis turned, his brow furrowing. "Which way?" he demanded, frustration laced in his voice. "I don't even know where we are."

Lenore's lips pressed together in thought. Then, she crouched beside the wolf-dog, placing a weathered hand against its massive head.

The animal stilled. Its deep, golden eyes locked onto hers as if listening.

Travis's stomach twisted. Something about how she did it —so sure, so steady —made his skin prickle.

Lenore leaned in and whispered something against the wolf-dog's fur. The words were too soft for Travis to hear, too fleeting to make sense of.

When she pulled back, the wolf-dog let out a low huff —not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.

"He will take you," Lenore said, standing. "Follow him, and you will find your way."

Travis narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you mean, follow him? He's a dog."

Lenore held his gaze, unflinching. "And yet, he knows more than most men."

A chill ran down Travis's spine. He didn't like this, and he didn't trust it, but Rebecca needed help, and he had no other choice. Still, he hesitated, glancing one last time at Amelia.

"You're sure?" he asked her. "You wanna stay?"

The girl nodded, stepping closer to Lenore's side.

Travis swallowed hard, pushing down the unease clawing at his chest. "Fine," he muttered. He turned toward the door. The wolf-dog trotted ahead, pausing only once to look back, as if waiting.

Travis squared his shoulders and followed him into the night.

Lenore watched them go. Then, at last, she turned back to Rebecca. She reached out, brushing damp hair from the girl's forehead, her hand steady now.

For the first time, she understood. Miriam had been preparing her for this moment her whole life. Lenore pressed her palm lightly against Rebecca's skin, her voice barely a whisper. "It's time."

And this time, she would not fail.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 33
Veil of Secrets - Chap 33

By Begin Again

Travis had no idea where he was or how far he had to go. He could be lost or walking into a killer's den, and he wouldn't know it. All he knew was that his legs were tired, his clothes were wet from the tall grasses, and a dog was leading him somewhere.

The wolf-dog had stopped near a fallen tree. He stared at Travis as if he expected him to sit down. Whether that was the message or not, Travis willingly collapsed on the log, stretching his legs and sighing with relief.

"Man, you must have read my mind. I was about to collapse."

The wolf-dog laid his head against Travis's leg. The boy smiled and scratched between his ears. "It's just you, me, and the man in the moon. We're lucky for that full moon. Well, probably more me than you because I sense you can see anything, but forgetting to bring a lantern or a flashlight wasn't too bright. I hope we don't have much farther to go."

A low growl rumbled from the wolf-dog's throat. It stiffened its body and pinned back its ears.

Travis froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He'd heard it too — a rustling in the underbrush. He pulled his jacket tighter, his breath coming in quick, sharp exhales.

He strained to see into the pitch-dark night, and his eyes focused on several boulders. A pair of yellow eyes glinted in the blackness as they stared at him. Then, he saw another and another.

Coyotes.

He'd read stories about them — lean, hungry things that hunted in packs. Alone, they were wary. But together — they were fearless. And now, they were watching him.

A snarl ripped through the night. The first coyote lunged from the shadows. Its lean body moved with terrifying speed, eyes locked on Travis, teeth flashing in the moonlight. Travis opened his mouth to scream, but the sound caught in his throat, escaping only as a ragged gasp. Fear gripped him, paralyzing his legs and tightening his chest.

His instincts screamed at him to run, but another coyote darted from the brush before he could force his body to move. Then another. They were surrounding him.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he staggered backward, his foot catching on something solid. He nearly fell, his arms flying up instinctively as if they could shield him from the attack. His breath came too fast, too shallow. They weren't just watching anymore. They were moving in.

The first coyote tensed, muscles coiling beneath its wiry fur. Then, it lunged. Travis couldn't react before the first one was upon him, jaws snapping, teeth flashing. He barely had time to move before another one charged from the side.

It happened too fast. A streak of fur. A flash of yellow eyes. Then — the pain.

Sharp teeth raked across his forearm, tearing through fabric and into flesh. A burst of white-hot agony shot up his arm, and he cried out, stumbling backward. His other hand clamped over the wound, warm blood seeping through his fingers.

The coyote backed away, hackles raised, lips curling. It was testing him, waiting for another opening.

A blur of fur and muscle slammed into the lead coyote, sending it sprawling into the dirt. A yelp. A growl. A vicious snarl. The pack hesitated, but only for a second. Then they swarmed.

Travis had no weapon. No way to fight. All he could do was watch as the wolf-dog tore into them, teeth flashing, eyes burning with a wild, untamed fury.

One coyote latched onto the wolf-dog's hind leg. The wolf-dog let out a pained yelp but didn't falter. It turned, sinking its teeth into the attacker's throat.

Another coyote lunged, snapping at its side. The wolf-dog staggered.

Travis's heart clenched. Too many. There were too many.

"Run," Travis screamed. "Run, you idiot!" But the wolf-dog didn't. It stood its ground even as the pack circled and the blood matted its fur.

Then, the wolf-dog was there again, snapping at the attacker, forcing it away from Travis. The coyote yelped as the wolf-dog's teeth tore into its hind leg, sending it skittering back into the brush.

Travis sucked in his breath, his arm throbbing. The cut wasn't deep, but it burned.

Suddenly, the coyotes froze. Their snarls faded into uneasy whimpers. Travis's breath caught. Something had changed. The air was cold. Colder than it should have been.
The wind had stilled, and the night felt too quiet in its absence.

Travis's heart hammered against his ribs. Not the wind. Not the trees. Something was moving. Was it more coyotes or something worse?

A low chuckle drifted through the trees. Cold. Hollow. Eerie.

Travis turned sharply, his chest tight. A figure stood at the tree line. Tall. Motionless. A long coat draped over his frame, dark as the night itself.

Cornelius Webb.

His pale eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight, unreadable — unblinking, just watching.

The coyotes let out low, uneasy growls but did not attack. They lingered, their backs arched, and their bodies stiff, as if they were unsure whether to run or bow.

Cornelius tilted his head. He smiled. Travis felt his stomach turn to ice.

Cornelius tilted his head. "Lost, boy?" His voice was like wind through dead leaves — cold, hollow, edged with something that didn't belong in this world.

Travis's skin prickled, his instincts screaming at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move.

Cornelius took a slow step forward, his boots making no sound against the earth. "You shouldn't be out here alone, boy," Cornelius murmured, sending shivers down Travis's spine.

Travis swallowed hard, his pulse hammering. "I'm not alone."

Cornelius's gaze flickered to the wolf-dog, bleeding but still standing. He exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh. "That," he mused, "remains to be seen."

Travis's fists clenched. He didn't know where Cornelius had come from or who he was, but he did know that the wolf-dog was dying.

Cornelius studied the wolf-dog for a long moment, then reached into his coat. Travis tensed, expecting a weapon. Instead, Cornelius pulled out a small pouch. A pinch of black powder rested between his fingers.

Travis frowned. "What is that?"

Cornelius knelt beside the wolf-dog, his expression unreadable. "A second chance," he murmured. He sprinkled the powder over the wolf-dog's wounds with a slow, deliberate movement. For a moment — nothing happened. Then a faint wisp of smoke curled from the injuries. The wolf-dog twitched. Its breathing was now steady.

Travis stared.

Cornelius rose to his feet. "There," he said, brushing off his hands. "Good as new."

Travis didn't believe it. He dropped to his knees, running a hand over the wolf-dog's fur. The wounds were still there, but they were closing — faster than they should have been. Travis's skin crawled. "What the hell did you do?"

Cornelius's eyes gleamed. "Would you rather I hadn't?"

Travis didn't answer. The wolf-dog released a low huff, shifting its weight but no longer trembling.

Cornelius smirked. "Be careful out here, boy. There are things in these woods you don't understand." He turned and walked back into the trees.

The coyotes followed, not as hunters, but as if they belonged to him.

Travis sat frozen in place. He looked down at the wolf-dog — alive, healing, breathing. He struggled to stand, but he soon was on his feet. There was only one thought left in his mind now  — get to the Vineyard.

 

*****

The path beneath Travis's boots was uneven, shifting between patches of damp earth and jagged roots that clawed at his feet. His limbs felt like they were lead, every step heavier than the last. His head pounded, and the throbbing burn in his arm had settled into something worse—a deep, bone-aching heat — infection.

He knew the signs. The wound from the coyote's bite was hot and swollen, radiating a sickly warmth up to his shoulder. Sweat clung to his skin, but the cool night air chilled him to the bone. His body couldn't decide if it was burning or freezing. He stumbled, catching himself on the rough bark of a tree, his breath coming in gulps.

His stomach ached with hunger, but the thirst gnawed at him now. His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy.

The wolf-dog padded beside him, his golden eyes watching Travis closely. He never strayed, never ran ahead. He knew.

Travis let out a weak chuckle, his voice hoarse and cracked. "You know I'm not gonna make it, don't you, buddy?"

The wolf-dog whined, ears twitching. He lifted his nose to the air, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the wind.

Travis barely noticed — his vision swam, the trees blurring together. The forest was too quiet. Not even the usual sounds of the night — the chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves — nothing. A slow unease crawled up his spine, but he was too tired to care.
Then — the wolf-dog moved. Not away. Not toward danger. Forward as if leading Travis somewhere.

The boy forced his legs to move, trailing behind, his steps uneven. The trees thinned out slightly, and then he saw it. A spring. Small, half-hidden among the twisted roots of an old tree, water bubbled up from beneath smooth stones, forming a shallow, clear pool.

Relief crashed over him. His legs gave out, but he didn't care. He crawled forward, dragging himself to the water's edge. His hands trembled as he cupped the cool liquid, bringing it to his lips. It was clean and cold. It saved him.

For a moment, his body rejoiced, and then his arms gave out. The ground tilted beneath him, his vision swimming with spots of black and gold. He barely felt the impact as his body hit the dirt.

His last thought was the wolf-dog pressing against his side, standing guard. Then —darkness.

 

*****

Eleanor paused mid-step, the book in her hands suddenly feeling heavy. She wasn't sure why — only that something was calling.

Across the room, Antonio looked up from the map he had been studying. His brow furrowed. "You feel it, too?" he asked quietly.

Eleanor nodded slowly. "Something's coming."

Then, they heard a distant howl. Both of them froze. The sound wasn't threatening. It was a call —a plea.

Eleanor exchanged a glance with Antonio before stepping outside.

The night air was cool and the stars bright, but something pressed against her chest —a feeling she couldn't name. There was sudden movement near the trees. The wolf-dog emerged from the darkness. Alone.

Before either of them could move, Garth stepped out onto the porch. His sharp gaze locked onto the wolf-dog. His hand went to his gun. Garth raised his weapon. "It's just a damn wild animal," he muttered.

The wolf-dog didn't flinch. He stood his ground, his golden eyes locked on them.

Antonio grabbed Garth's arm. "Don't shoot."

Garth snorted. "Then what the hell is it doing here?"

Eleanor stepped forward. "Look at him," she murmured. "He's not attacking. He's waiting."

As if on cue, the wolf-dog turned and trotted back toward the trees. He stopped and looked back, waiting.

Eleanor's breath hitched. "He's leading us." Without another word, she followed. Antonio and Garth hurried behind her.

Travis lay still in the grass, his body burning with fever.

Antonio checked his pulse while Eleanor wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Travis stirred. His fingers twitched in the grass. His breath hitched, his cracked lips parting. He mumbled something.

At first, no one understood the jumble of words from a fevered and confused boy — "river — cages — trapped."

Eleanor leaned closer. "Travis? Can you hear me? Are there more women?"

"Amelia." His voice was weak. It was barely audible when he whispered, "Rebecca."

Antonio's head snapped up. 

 

Garth went rigid. "What did he say?" Garth demanded. He dropped to the ground, his eyes wide. "He said Rebecca."

Antonio frowned, shaking Travis lightly. "Travis, who is Amelia? Do you know Rebecca? Where are they?"

But Travis had already drifted out of consciousness again. Silence stretched between them.

Garth's voice was sharp as a blade. "He knows where she is." His jaw clenched.
Travis lay limp in Antonio's arms, his fevered body barely responding. His breath came in shallow gasps, his skin damp with sweat. He was already barking orders. "We don't have time for this!" he snapped. "We need to find Rebecca now! Get him to talk. She might be out there."

But Eleanor wasn't having it. She planted herself in front of him, her eyes sharp, her voice firm. "You will not risk this boy's life for your impatience."

Garth glared. "Damn it, Eleanor."

"No!" she snapped, stepping closer. "He is barely alive. Look at him, Garth. He's burning up. You take him through those trees half-dead, and you'll kill him before he can tell you a damn thing."

Garth gritted his teeth. But she was right.

Antonio adjusted Travis's weight in his arms. "He's not going anywhere until we get him warm, get some fluids in him, and see if we can bring his fever down."

"And then," Eleanor added, turning back to Garth, "you will get your answers. But not before."

Garth let out a frustrated growl, but he didn't argue further.

Eleanor turned to Tango, who had joined them. "Get Willow. We'll take the cart back."
Tango nodded, already moving.

The wolf-dog stayed close, its golden eyes flicking between Travis and Garth as if it sensed the tension.

Eleanor turned back to Garth, her voice softer now. "I want to find Rebecca too." The cowboy held her gaze as she said, "But we do it the right way."

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 34
Veil of Secrets - Chap 34

By Begin Again

The sound of hurried footsteps, loud voices, and flashlight beams reached Althea before she saw anyone. She had been sitting in the parlor with Maria, trying to push back the restless anxiety that had settled deep in her bones.

Then, from outside, she heard the unmistakable sound of wagon wheels rumbling over gravel and Willow braying.

Althea frowned, exchanging a glance with Maria before rising from her chair. She barely made it to the doorway before the front doors swung open.

Tango and Poppa stepped inside first, their faces grim, their arms straining under the weight of the unconscious boy they carried between them.

Althea's breath caught in her throat." What happened? Who is it?"

She couldn't see his face at first. Blankets wrapped him, his head lolling slightly, arms limp at his sides. Antonio and Eleanor followed close behind, moving quickly, voices urgent.

Tango shifted his grip, and Althea saw him.

Everything stopped. A jagged, choking breath tore from her throat. "Travis!"

The scream ripped through the house, raw, shaking with something primal and desperate. She pushed forward, shoving past Maria, past Antonio, her hands reaching, her chest tightening so fast she couldn't breathe. "Nooo — nooo, noooo! Travis!" Her stomach lurched violently.

Her fingers found Travis's burning skin, damp with fever and sweat. His head lolled to the side, his lips dry and cracked, his chest rising and falling too shallow, too slow. "Baby, please — please, wake up!"

Her hands trembled against his face, cupping his cheeks. She felt the heat radiating from him, but he didn't stir. He didn't open his eyes to look at her.

A crushing weight slammed into her chest. Her breath came too fast and sharp. She couldn't get enough air. "God, no — Travis, please!" she moaned, desperate.

Antonio reached for her arm, steady but firm. "Althea, let us get him settled."

"No! Don't take him! Give him to me!" She fought him and tried to hold on, but Maria suddenly appeared, wrapping an arm around her and keeping her steady.

"Althea, listen to me!" Maria's voice was firm but not unkind. "Let them get him upstairs."

Althea's body shook violently, but her mind felt distant and detached as if the world was shifting around her and she wasn't entirely in it. She felt her knees start to give out, her legs refusing to hold her weight, but Maria tightened her grip, keeping her upright.

"Come on, honey," Maria murmured, guiding her as Antonio and Eleanor moved swiftly up the stairs. "We'll go with them. We won't leave him."

She didn't remember taking the first step or how they made it down the hall. All she knew was that Travis was still too pale and silent when they reached the bedroom.

"Oh, dear God." Her voice cracked. "Is he —"

"He's alive," Antonio said firmly. "But he's fevered and weak. We need to get him settled now."

Maria placed a gentle hand on her back. "Let them work, Althea. They'll take care of him."

Althea let out a shaky breath, but she couldn't step away. Even when Travis was placed in bed, even when Antonio checked his wound and Eleanor pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, Althea didn't move from his side.

She had lost him once. She wasn't going to let it happen again. And as she watched them work, her grief and fear hardened into something else — whoever had hurt her son would pay.

*****
The room was dimly lit. The scent of damp cloth and herbs filled the air. A basin of water sat beside the bed, the rag inside it warm from where Eleanor had been wiping Travis's face.

He hadn't stirred since they laid him down. His breathing had steadied some, but the fever still burned through him, his skin slick with sweat. The infection from the coyote bite had spread, leaving him weak, disoriented, lost in dreams he couldn't escape.

Althea hadn't left his side. Maria stayed with her, resting a hand on her back when she trembled too hard, whispering words of reassurance neither fully believed.

Antonio sat nearby, watching, waiting for any sign that Travis was coming around. Garth had disappeared onto the porch, pacing, mumbling, and shouting as if he were a caged animal.

Inside, Travis stirred. A soft murmur at first, barely audible. His head moved slightly, shifting against the pillow, his brows drawing together like he saw something they couldn't.

Althea's fingers curled tightly around his, her breath hitching. "Travis?" Her voice was hopeful, but his eyes didn't open. "Sweetheart, it's Mom."

His lips parted again, voice raw and hoarse. "The rope — the tree — Miriam."

Althea frowned, brushing a hand over his damp forehead. "Shh, baby. You're safe now." Her eyes were wild with thoughts of what her son might have faced.

But he wasn't talking to her.

"The hanging —" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent a chill through the room. Althea gasped, shivering.

Antonio and Eleanor exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them.

Travis shifted again, breathing unevenly, his body restless beneath the fever's hold. "Lenore — she saw it — she saw everything."

Althea's grip tightened. "Who's Lenore?" Her eyes widened as her son's words settled in. "What does he mean Miriam was hung?"

 

His body relaxed again, head rolling as he sank back into unconsciousness. Silence stretched between them.

Antonio leaned forward, his jaw set. "Who the hell is Lenore?"

Eleanor didn't answer. She had no idea. But something told her they needed to find out.

 

*****

Garth felt useless.

Antonio was tending to Travis, carefully working to bring the boy's fever down. Eleanor hovered nearby, offering quiet assistance where she could. Maria sat close to Althea, steady and unwavering, keeping her grounded as she whispered reassurances that none of them believed yet.

And Garth — he could do nothing.

Helplessness sat like a stone in his gut, heavy and unmovable. He had spent a lifetime acting, fixing, protecting, but now he was forced to wait.

The walls of the house felt too tight, pressing in on him, suffocating him. So, he left.

The night air was cool, thick with the scent of lingering rain. He walked a few steps into the yard before staring at the distant hills. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, then released.

It wasn't enough. None of this was enough. Rebecca was out there, alone or worse, and he was standing here, doing nothing. He exhaled sharply, lifting his gaze to the sky. The stars were scattered — distant, cold pinpricks of silver against the blackness. 

 

His jaw tightened. "What do I do, Allie?"

The words slipped out before he could stop them, carried away on the breeze.
There was no answer. He hadn't expected one. But something about the stillness of the night made his chest ache. He moved away from the house, closer to the water's edge.

He remembered sitting here with Rebecca, enjoying the stillness. Now, that quiet felt like damnation. He wanted to scream and never stop screaming until he got answers.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. A whisper of movement behind him, so soft he almost missed it. He turned, and there she was.

Allie.

She stood at the edge of the garden, bathed in soft moonlight, her expression calm and knowing. His breath caught. She wasn't some shadowy specter of death, twisted by memory or grief. She was as she had been in life.

Her smile was soft, and her eyes were warm and familiar. The wind played in her loose curls, lifting them gently. She didn't step forward or speak immediately; she simply watched him.

Garth's throat tightened. He didn't trust himself to move, to breathe, to believe. "Allie?" His voice came out rough, uncertain, barely more than a whisper.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him as though she could still read every thought he didn't speak. "You already know the answers, Garth."

His fists clenched at his sides. His voice cracked. "I don't know anything. I failed again."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "You're talking foolishness. Garth, think with your brain, not your heart. You've never failed and won't this time, but you need patience — something you don't like."

He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, forcing down the frustration curling hot in his chest.
"The boy knows something," he muttered. "He knows where Rebecca is. I should be out there. I should be—€"

"But you can't." Her voice was gentle, cutting through his thoughts as quickly as it always had.

He opened his eyes. "You know I can't just sit here. It's not me."

"You have to trust them, Garth. Trust Rebecca. Trust that things are unfolding the way they must."

His chest ached. "I don't like waiting, Allie. I feel like I did when I had no control over you and the cancer. I wasn't given choices. I had to stand there and wait, knowing I was losing you. It's just like that again." He buried his face into his hands. "It hurts too much."

She laughed softly, stepping forward at last, just enough that the moonlight caught the glow of her skin, the familiar tilt of her smile. "You always did need a woman's hand to steady you. That fire burns inside, Garth. Rebecca can feel it the same way I still do."

Garth swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "I can't lose her too."

The humor in her expression faded, replaced by something softer, something endless and knowing. "You won't. The love you share with me, Rebecca, and the others you care about will ultimately win. Just breathe, my love."

For a moment, the world felt suspended. Then, a gust of wind rustled the leaves, brushing cool air against his skin. He blinked.

Without knowing it, he cried out, reaching for her. "Allie."

But she was gone.

The ache in his chest didn't fade. He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face, then turned back toward the house. He hesitated as he heard her voice in the wind, "Patience, my love."

He would wait. But not for long.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 35
Veil of Secrets - Chap 35

By Begin Again

"Hey, Garth, slow down." Tango took a deep breath, slumping onto a fallen tree trunk.

Garth stopped, pivoting back toward Tango. His voice was gruff, still edged with frustration. "What's the matter? You can't keep up with the old man?"

Tango huffed a dry laugh. "Old man? There's not a guy out here who can hold a candle to you when you're on a mission."

"If there are women out here, it's our job to find them. DeLuca's crew will be here in about an hour, and I'd rather put this one to bed before they take over. I need to focus on Rebecca."

Tango unscrewed the lid of his thermos and poured a steaming cup of coffee. He held it out. "Then pace yourself. We're no good to anyone if we drop."

Garth took the cup, saluting Tango with it before taking a sip. The heat burned his throat, grounding him for a moment. "You're a good man to have around."

"Just doing my job, boss. We all want to get to Rebecca, but if we don't do this right, we won't get to either job."

Garth turned, scanning the vineyard and the open stretch of land leading to the cliffs. The storm had reshaped the landscape — fallen branches, deep ruts in the mud, and twisted vines.

"We're missing something, Tango. She was here. They all were." His voice tightened, his gaze locked onto the earth as if willing it to give up its secrets. "But we only have torn pieces of fabric and her locket."

Tango exhaled, shifting his weight. "The storm didn't help. Whatever clues that were here got washed away."

"No," Garth said, shaking his head. "She was here, Tango. I can feel it in my damn bones." His fingers curled into fists. If he had been faster, smarter, or just listened, maybe Rebecca wouldn't be missing.

"She might have been, but the boy came from the opposite direction, through the trees and up toward the hills." Tango hesitated, then added, "By the looks of his arms, they were in coyote country."

"I know," Garth said through gritted teeth. "You think I haven't thought about that all night? She could still be out there or —" He cut himself off before the thought fully formed.

"Don't go there," Tango warned. "She's somewhere safe. Maybe with this Lenore woman, he keeps mumbling about."

"You mean the woman who saw Miriam hung? That's just a twisted-up memory in his head."

"Maybe," Tango admitted. "But that doesn't mean she isn't real. And if she's real, she might be keeping Rebecca safe."

Garth tossed out the last of his coffee, his jaw tight. "Standing here talking isn't finding her. Let's move."

Before they could take another step, a voice said, "I can help — if you'll let me."

Both men spun, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons before recognition set in. They hadn't seen or heard anyone approaching.

Antonio materialized.

Tango greeted him first. "At this point, I'll take all the help we can get. The storm did a lot of damage."

Antonio's gaze passed over Garth and then settled on Tango. "The spirits were angry."

Garth snorted, his patience thinning. "Spirits." He spat the word out like a bad taste in his mouth. "The only thing that storm did was wash away every damn clue we had." He turned back to the cliffs. "Now, there's nothing."

Antonio shook his head, his expression calm but firm. "You're wrong. Because of the storm, you saved the other women and locked up the men." He swept his gaze across the field, eyes settling on the wreckage. Nature's fury had reshaped the landscape. His eyes were dark as he said, "But there's something hidden here."

"I don't have time for this." Garth's patience snapped. "If those women are still out here, they're dying. If we aren't already too late." He turned on his heel, barking orders as he walked away. "Tango, have the men spread out. Move toward the cliffs."

Antonio remained still, unwavering. "Do you have something of hers?"

Tango glanced at Garth, knowing he carried the locket in his pocket. "Garth," Tango called out, his tone careful. "You don't have to believe him. But what does it hurt to let him try?"

Garth's fingers clenched around the locket in his pocket. He hadn't let go of it since they found it. It felt like a taunt — a cruel reminder of how close he had been to finding her — only to lose her again.

Time was running out. If the women were in that tunnel, the collapse could have buried them alive.

Tango took a step closer. "Come on, boss. We don't have any other clues."

Garth hesitated. His jaw flexed, his face shadowed beneath the brim of his Stetson, but finally, he pulled out the locket. He tossed it to Antonio. "Here. But when you're done with your magic tricks, I want it back."

Antonio caught it, shaking his head slightly. "It is not magic." He pressed the locket to his chest, whispering something too soft for the others to hear. Then, louder, he said, "Faith comes from the soul. You must believe."

He turned and took a few steps, holding the locket against his chest. Garth and Tango watched him — one with hope, the other buried in turmoil.

Suddenly, Antonio's body trembled. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees. His face contorted in pain.

Both men rushed forward, but Antonio held up a hand, the locket dangling from his fingers. His lips parted, his words barely a whisper. "She's been here."

He pointed past the wreckage toward fallen trees and tangled vines. Then, as if the weight of the revelation had completely drained him, he slumped to the ground.

While Tango tended to Antonio, Garth spun, his heart pounding.

A voice rang out from the cliffs. "Over here!"

Garth charged forward, shoving through low-hanging limbs, their wet leaves slapping against his jacket. "What is it?"

The man pointed, his flashlight illuminating something half-buried beneath a thick tangle of vines and broken wood — a rotting wooden shack.

The dangerous sagging roof had decaying slats, warped and blackened by time and weather. One entire side had collapsed inward, exposing the jagged mouth of a tunnel entrance beneath it.

Garth's stomach twisted. How had they missed this before?

His fingers curled into fists. Rebecca had been right here, right in front of him. And he hadn't seen it. A violent surge of rage and regret slammed through him, but there was no time for that now.

"Move those branches!" he bellowed.

The team jumped into action, tearing away vines and debris. As the men cleared the last heavy branch, the tunnel revealed itself — a black, gaping void leading into the earth.

The men heard the sounds — faint at first —then clearer — muffled screams.

Garth's stomach clenched. He didn't hesitate. He shouted, "We're going in."

*****
The air inside the tunnel was stale.

Water trickled from the ceiling, running down the rough stone walls in thin, glistening streams. Their boots splashed through shallow pools, sending ripples through the murky floodwaters.

Garth moved quickly, flashlight beam bouncing off the damp walls, scanning for any sign of movement.

Then — they hit the wall. Garth proceeded swiftly, directing the flashlight beam along the damp walls, meticulously scanning for any indication of movement. The tunnel entrance had caved in — a solid collapse of stone, mud, and twisted beams.

"Damn it!" Tango cursed, slamming his fist against the rock.

Garth pressed both hands to the earth, his heart hammering in his chest. His stomach clenched. "They're still in there!"

One of the men stepped forward, examining the wreckage. "The collapse is too deep — we can't break through by hand."

"Then we dig," Garth snarled.

Tango hesitated. "Boss, the structure — if we start breaking through the wrong way, the whole thing could—"

Garth grabbed his jacket, shoving him back. "I don't care what it takes! We dig them out!"

Tango cursed and nodded. He knew that Garth was beyond rationalizing things. The bent-up frustration was now driving him forward. He had a mission.

"Go back to the house!" Garth bellowed. "Get shovels, pickaxes, whatever you can carry!"

Tango didn't argue. He turned and sprinted back up the tunnel, his footsteps echoing as he called to the others.

Garth stayed, pressing his ear to the rock. He whispered, his words inaudible. He jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Antonio. He couldn't say thank you, but his eyes said it all.

Antonio handed Garth the locket and then faded away.

 

*****

Near the women, the tunnel was collapsing around them. They'd lost track of time. Had it been days? It felt like weeks. Their stomachs had shriveled with hunger — their lips cracked, their tongues swollen from thirst. Some had stopped speaking entirely, their eyes hollow and unfocused.

The water had come, rising to their ankles and dragging debris with it. A section of rotted wooden beam knocked against Ashley's leg, scraping her skin. She shoved it aside, her pulse racing. "We have to move!" she gasped, her voice weak but sharp.

Kristen's voice trembled, "Did you hear those voices? It's the men. They'll save us."

Ashley hissed, "Save us? So, they can sell us like a piece of meat?"

Tanya yanked on the rusted cell door. "We can't get out."

A deep groan rattled through the tunnel. Ashley's head snapped up as a section of the ceiling cracked, then crumbled. A chunk of stone dropped into the water. The walls were breaking apart. Several of the women screamed. Others cowered in the corner of their cages.

Tanya sobbed, "The woman said she'd send help. Maybe that's who's coming."

Ashley, though terrified, was determined not to stand around and wait. Their only hope was to escape the same way Rebecca and Travis had done — with ropes. In her mind, the voices they heard belonged to the smugglers, and she wasn't going to let them touch her again. If she were going to die, she'd do it on her terms.

She sloshed through the water until she found the rope. Lifting it out, she held it up so the others could see it. "If they got out that way, we can too."

"I can't." Tanya cried. "Let's just wait."

Ashley shook her head. "You can wait if you want, but I'm going. It's your choice, but I'm not leaving my life in someone else's hands."

As she tried to toss the rope over the overhead bars, Lee Ann stepped up. "Here, let me help. I'll lift you so you can reach the bars easier."

Ashley nodded and slipped her wet shoe into Lee Ann's cupped hand. Lee Ann's weak body swayed under the extra weight, and Ashley toppled into the water. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was."

Ashley stood, squeezing the water from her shirt. "Don't worry. Let's try again."

This time, it worked, and she tossed the rope ladder around the bars. As she stepped off Lee Ann's hands, she gave her a high five. "It's not very long."

"It's long enough." Lee Ann turned toward the others. "There's another rope somewhere under the water. If any of you others are coming, I suggest you find it and do exactly what Ashley and I did."

Some didn't move. They stared as if their defeat was inevitable, but soon others started wading through the water, clearing away debris, until one girl yelled, "I found it!"

Their escape was underway.

*****

Ashley turned toward the girl who had found the second rope. "Good! Now tie it off the same way I did." The girl hesitated, but another woman stepped in to help, securing it with steady hands.

The ground rumbled beneath them again, a groaning protest from the collapsing tunnel. The water had risen to their knees, making every movement sluggish. Ashley could hear the distant echoes of voices — some deep and sharp, others frantic.

"Whoever's coming, we don't want to be here when they arrive," she said, gripping the rope ladder and pulling herself up.

One by one, they climbed. Ashley was the first to hoist herself over the rusted bars at the top, her muscles screaming with exhaustion. She reached down, helping the next girl over, then the next. When Tanya reached the top, she turned to see the others still frozen below.

Three women stepped back, pressing themselves against the cold stone. "We're waiting," one of them said, her voice shaking but firm. "If it's help, they'll find us."

"And if it's not —" Ashley shrugged and didn't wait for their answer.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 36
Veil of Secrets - Chap 36

By Begin Again

Vince Rossi snuffed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. When the Feds had said they were finding him a safe house, this wasn't what he'd expected. It was temporary, but regardless, it was a cheap motel room that stank of mildew, booze, and cigarettes.

Rossi had lived in filth before, but in the last few years, he'd become accustomed to swankier places. This wasn't living. This was hiding.

The air conditioner wheezed against the sweltering heat, pushing stale air through vents caked with dust. The small television flickered, cycling through static-filled news stations, the volume barely audible. A half-empty whiskey bottle sat on the chipped nightstand next to a loaded revolver.

A knock on the door sent Rossi hustling across the floor to grab the gun, tucking it underneath his dark blue work shirt — the name Maxwell embroidered above the pocket. Gone were the days of hundred-dollar silk shirts and Italian suits.

The knock came again — three raps, a pause, and two more.

Rossi walked to the door, his hand still resting on the butt of the gun. "Yeah, who's there?"

A gruff voice answered, "Peter Cottontail."

Vince slid the bolt lock and opened the door, his eyes darting around the parking lot as Peter Cottontail slipped inside.

Vince dropped the gun on the table. "Are you looking to get shot, Terry? It's not Thursday, so I wasn't expecting you." Terry was an old friend from Vince's days in the business, a reliable source of information, and a fellow survivor in this dangerous game.

Terry picked up an empty glass, wiped it with his shirttail, and poured whiskey into it. He slammed the first one down and raised the bottle to Vince. "You want one?"

"Don't mind if I do since the Feds are paying." He grabbed another glass from the nightstand. Terry refilled his and then topped off Rossi's glass. Vince raised the glass to his lips, sipped, and asked, "What brings you here? You're taking chances of being seen."

"I shouldn't even be telling you this, but you deserve to know. If what I heard is true, Zhang will be too busy to bother you and me, at least for a while."

"What makes you think that?" Rossi took a bigger gulp of the amber-colored liquor this time. Thoughts of Zhang always put his nerves on edge.

Terry settled into the only comfortable chair and leaned forward toward Rossi. "Zhang found out where they're keeping Donatelli. Someone's got a leak."

"Impossible! That guy's got connections with connections. You mean he knows Donatelli isn't dead?"

"That's what I heard, and he's out for blood. He plans to clean house of just about everyone he suspects was involved."

"Meaning me?" Rossi tipped back his glass and finished the drink.

"I imagine your name is on the list, but not at the top. He's planning on taking out the detective and his family and, at the same time, snatching up the botched deal with the women."

"Women?" Vince raised an eyebrow. "You talking about Vito's smuggling deal?"

"Is he still in charge in New York? With half his guys getting caught by the Feds, I thought he'd be looking for a new place to hang."

"He might be. I only know about it because Doyle had his connections with Vito before Zhang decided to cut himself into the action and grabbed the judge and me."

"My source — Manny, a second cousin who works on the docks for one of Zhang's companies, overheard two dockworkers saying they'd be taking the boats out for a run soon — something about women being held in the tunnels. "Okay, but how'd you hear about Donatelli?"

"That's a good one. It was after hours, and a bunch of us were playing poker. This black town car pulled up outside the overhead doors, and this Chinese guy got out, dressed to kill. I'd never seen Zhang before, but some guys at the table had seen him around a time or two. You could have heard a pin drop when they saw him."

Terry took a long drink of the whiskey and leaned closer to Vince as if he were sharing a secret. "Those same two guys hustled their butt over there. The conversation was short, and Zhang got in his car and left. These guys started asking a few guys if they wanted to get in on some action. Said the pay was top rate, but so was the danger because Zhang wanted Detective Donatelli taken out. Of course, most of the guys thought it was a joke; after all, isn't he already dead?"

Vince ran his hand across his face and stared into the mirror, evaluating what he'd just heard. If any of this was true, his life wasn't worth a wooden nickel, Feds or not. Vince snarled, "How reliable is this Manny guy?"

"He's a good guy. He's working the docks because he's got five mouths to feed. I slip him a few extra bucks whenever I see him. I don't think he'd feed me a line unless it were true. He sounded worried when I talked to him."

Vince mulled over everything he'd just learned. This might be his ticket out of this place if he played his cards right. If he didn't, he'd probably be dead anyhow. "Thanks for the info, Terry. I owe you one, but you better get out of here before the Feds send one of their goons to do their daily check."

"Yeah, you're right. You can't be too careful. Watch your back, Vince, because Zhang's probably got a target on it." He cracked open the door, checked the parking lot, and slipped out, pulling the door closed.

Vince shoved the bolt lock into place seconds later. He poured himself another drink and settled into the chair. He needed to think this through. If Zhang had found out where the Feds had hidden Donatelli, there was no doubt in his mind that he also knew where they had him holed up. If he worked it right, he should be able to get a fat upgrade, and the faster, the better.

He reached under the mattress and pulled out a burner phone, another gift from Terry. He'd done the guy some favors back in the day, and luckily for him, Terry hadn't forgotten.

He knew the number by heart — old habits don't die. He dialed and waited. The line rang twice, and then Jack Lexington's icy, crisp voice answered. "Yeah."

"It's Rossi."

"Have you lost your mind calling me? And where did you get the phone? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

"I've got a hot piece of news you might be interested in."

"Tell it to the Feds. You're their guest, aren't you? Or have you skipped out on that, too?"

"I don't trust the Feds; besides, this would mean more to you."

"What could you possibly know that would interest me? Just because we did the job together doesn't put you back in good graces with me."

"Does the name Zhang do anything for you?"

Jack paused and took a long drag on his cigarette. "It's a name I could do without."

"Me, too. Thanks to you and your friends, he's got a target on my back."

"You put yourself in that position, Vince. Not me."

"Yeah, I suppose. But right now, I'm trying to make up for it. I've heard about a big hit and what Zhang's next move is."

Jack smashed his cigarette into the ashtray, swallowed some water, and forced himself to ask, "This big news, what's it got to do with me?"

"Not so fast. I want something in return."

"News flash — you're living off the Feds now."

A snarky laugh came through the line. "I wouldn't put a flea-infested cat in this dump. I want out."

"That's something you'll have to take up with them, not me."

"I know you, Jack. You've got pull. And what I've got to tell you is worth far more than I'm asking for — just get me into a decent place. One that's safe."

"Say, I do — what do I get?"

"You'll be saving a lot of lives, including the detective. Nice bit of fluff as you retire."

Jack took a slow drag from his cigarette, letting Rossi sweat on the other end of the line. If this was a setup, it would be a damn good one.

"Nobody said I was retiring, but okay, I'll bite. Supposing I do pass along your request for better living arrangements, it doesn't mean you walk free. Understood?"

"It's a deal. Just get me out of this place."

"Then spill it — and this better be worth it or the deals off."

Vince cleared his throat. "It is. Zhang's making a move. Today. He's taking out Donatelli. But that's not the job. It's a cover."

Jack's gut twisted. "Go on.

"They're taking his kid." Jack went completely still. His grip tightened on the phone. His breathing slowed, and controlled rage settled into his veins. "How do you know?"

"Does it matter? If I'm lying, you'll take me out. If I stay here, Zhang will have me dead by morning."

Jack's jaw clenched. Then Rossi dropped the second bombshell. "That's not all."

Jack's voice came hard and sharp. "Then spit it out."

Rossi exhaled. "The tunnels."

Jack's stomach dropped. "What tunnels?"

"The ones at the vineyard. The ones nobody's supposed to know about. The missing women. That's the escape route. Zhang's men are moving them today."

Jack felt like he'd been gut-punched. If this was true — If Zhang's people were already positioned — this wasn't just an attack. This was a damn takeover.

Jack pushed back from his desk, already grabbing his gun. "Where is Zhang hitting first?"

"Frank's hospital. They're going to finish the job on Donatelli and kidnap the kid. Another team is going to move into the vineyard for the women."

"How are they going to do that without being seen? The vineyards open field."

"Boats."

Jack smashed his cigarette into the ashtray, exhaling through his nose. Boats. That changed everything. He didn't hesitate. "You better pray this isn't a trap, Rossi."

"If it were, we'd both already be dead."

Jack leaned back in his chair, the phone still warm in his hand.

The air in the room was thick with the scent of burnt tobacco and old memories. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, forcing his pulse to slow. He didn't need or want this fight. He was supposed to be retiring—living the good life.

One last deal. One last favor. That was the plan. Then it was over. But here he was, staring at the same fork in the road.

Rossi's call had opened something inside him — something he might never close again — if he lived through it.

Donatelli was one thing. He had done his part there. Had bled, fought, and nearly killed to set things right. And now this? His grip tightened around the phone.

Another job. Another war.

He'd spent years standing on the edge of a knife with Frank. Rivals. Enemies. But the moment Maggie had come into the world, something had shifted.

Jack wasn't sure what to call it. They weren't friends. But they weren't enemies anymore, either.

And Maggie — Good God — Maggie.

His blood ran in her veins. He had saved her life with the transfusion, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known even then — she was family.

He didn't need this fight. But he didn't have a choice.

Jack released a slow, measured breath, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Frank picked up on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"We've got a problem."

Frank's voice was tight, controlled. "I'm listening."

Jack's jaw clenched. "I just got a call from someone I shouldn't have."

Frank's gut twisted.

Jack didn't wait for a response. "There's a hit planned. On Donatelli. On you. Maybe even on me."

Frank gasped, then controlled his voice again. "How's anyone know he's here? He's supposed to be dead."

"Zhang must have been willing to pay something big for the information."

Frank's mind was racing. How had Zhang infiltrated his place, or was there a leak with the Feds or, heaven forbid, Donatelli's own crew? Frank was so quiet that Jack asked, "Frank, are you still with me?"

"Yeah, I'm here, but I better get this place locked down."

"Wait, Frank. There's more."

Frank's fingers curled around his phone. "Then what the hell is it?"

Jack didn't hesitate. "They're planning on taking Maggie."

Frank went still, like a cat ready to pounce. Then his chair scraped back violently as he stood. He yelled for Sam, hoping he was just outside his office.

Jack wasn't finished. "Something is going down at the vineyards too."

"Garth and Rebecca's place?" Frank shouted as he spun around, pacing.

"I don't know about that. My source just said the Vineyards. Sounds like Zhang has picked up Doyle's old tricks. Trafficking women."

Frank was already moving, switching his monitors, scanning every feed. "How sure are we that this isn't a setup?"

"I'm not." Jack's voice was steady. "But if it's real, it's happening now."

Frank's eyes flicked to the surveillance monitors — nothing yet.

Seconds later, Sam burst into the room. His face was pale, his expression grim. "Boss. You need to see this."

Frank didn't even hang up. He just turned back to the monitors. A convoy of SUVs were moving up the mountain road.

Jack's voice came through the phone, calm but sharp. "Talk to me, Frank."

Frank's grip tightened. "They're already here."

Jack exhaled. Frank was already issuing orders."You focus on the vineyard. I'll handle the hospital."

"I'll call Garth, but I'm coming to you. You don't have the manpower that Zhang does. The helicopter will have me there in thirty minutes."

"If Zhang's using the water to move those women, they'll need to cut him off before he even gets near the open sea."

Jack pushed a button inside his desk drawer, and the bookcase moved, exposing an artillery of weapons. He snarled his last words to Frank, "Don't let them get to that little girl."

The phone line went dead.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 37
Veil of Secrets - Chap 37

By Begin Again

"Answer the damn phone!" Frank cursed and paced the floor, listening to the gunfire. Walls surrounding the hospital and stately mansion were constructed to deter intruders, but Zhang was undeterred. Frank's men, well trained in combat, would stand their ground, and all the steel plates that covered every window and door would prevent any chance of entrance — he hoped.

He redialed Garth's number, and it failed. He hit another call on speed dial, only there because of Donatelli's last visit. He pushed the number and waited, fuming under his breath. "Come on, Eleanor, pick up the phone."

It went to voicemail.

Frustrated, he snarled, "Eleanor, listen to me! It's Frank. Zhang has boats in the channel, and he's after the women. You have to warn them!"

Gunfire erupted in the background, followed by screams. The hospital was under attack. Frank spun toward the entrance, his heart pounding. It wasn't his first gunfight, but it had been a while.

Sam's voice rang out from the doorway. "Zhang has helicopters coming in!" Sam yelled, his face pale with urgency.

Frank gritted his teeth. "Get men to the roof now! Hold them off as long as you can!"
Another explosion rocked the ground beneath him. He turned back to the phone. "We're under attack — He exchanged his cell phone for a gun and raced out into the hall.
*****
Eleanor returned to Travis's room with a fresh basin of water and a clean cloth. Althea's head rested on the side of the bed. She stretched and sat up in the chair, reaching for the cloth Eleanor had just brought. "I'll do it."

Eleanor nodded and touched his forehead. "Has he said anything more?"

"He mumbles, but nothing makes sense. I just want him to open his eyes to see that I am here."

"Talk to him, Althea. He knows you're here."

"Do you think so, Eleanor? Do you think he hears me?"

"I'm positive. And your loving voice is the best medicine for him right now. The doctor said he would come again today and give him another shot. That should help him."

Eleanor glanced at her phone; a missed call notification flashed on the screen. She pressed play on the voicemail. Frank's urgent, tense voice came through before breaking into static with his chilling last words, muffled gunfire, and screams in the background.

She gasped, gripping the phone tightly. There was no time to hesitate. "Althea, Maria will be up with coffee and a little breakfast —"

"I'm not hungry." Althea squeezed the water from the cloth and placed it on Travis's forehead.

Staring at the phone in her hand, she tried to keep her voice calm. "Just try to eat something, dear. I'm going to catch up with Garth and his team."

She stepped out into the hall and vanished from the mansion.

*****
The air in the tunnel was stale and damp as Garth and his men heaved away the last stubborn slab of collapsed stone. They were almost through. Sweat, mud, and pain covered their faces, and their muscles ached from the relentless work of digging through the rocks, splintered timber, and mud.

"One more push!" Garth barked, shoving his shoulder into the debris. With a final groan, the stone shifted, leaving a narrow passage open.

Before he could take another breath, Eleanor materialized before them.

"Not now," Garth growled, assuming another distraction.

"Listen to me!" Eleanor's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Frank called. Zhang is in the channel — he's capturing the women!"

Her words struck Garth like a hammer. His eyes darkened as he turned to his men. "Zhang? Here?"

"Yes, he's after the women."

"Move! Now!" he ordered, waving toward the tunnel." We've got company at the other end." Following his men, he yelled to Eleanor, "Call the Coast Guard. Master Chief Lindsey."

*****
As the agents surged forward, they found the cages — three desperate women still trapped, their eyes wide with fear.

"FBI!" the agents bellowed as they rushed in. Several agents slammed pickaxes against the locks, releasing the sobbing women from the cages. The men wrapped their arms around them, assisting the women out.

"Hurry! Get back up the tunnel!" an agent ordered as the women stumbled forward. He glanced around the cages and shivered at the bones, remnants of the past. Making the sign of the cross, he turned back to the crisis at hand.

Garth and the rest of the team rushed toward the tunnel's mouth. The air hit them like a wave as they emerged into the large cavern at the opening, only to see women swimming for the boats. A few women clung to a beached log on a small island, and others screamed from the boats, but the wind carried their words away.

"Stop! It's a trap!" Garth roared, but his warning came too late.

Zhang's men were already upon them, dragging them out of the water. The sound of speedboats revving filled the air as the captured women screamed, struggling against their captors. Some of the women realized the danger and fought back, clawing at their captors. A few made a desperate decision and threw themselves back into the water, trying to swim away.

Bullets ripped through the night as Zhang's men opened fire on Garth and his team. The agents dove for cover, returning fire in a desperate attempt to suppress the ambush. Garth gritted his teeth, eyes scanning the water for any sign of survivors.
"Get to them! Now!" he barked, motioning his men to go after the women who had jumped back into the water.

One of Zhang's boats turned sharply, circling to cut off their escape. The speedboats churned the water, and the women struggled to keep their heads above the waves.

Garth and his team dodged bullets, trying to reach the women still fighting for freedom. The situation was slipping through their fingers, but they still fought.

*****
Eleanor reappeared inside the mansion, her fingers flying over her phone screen as she dialed emergency services.

"Coast Guard! This is urgent! Master Chief Lindsey, please."

"Ma'am, this is Petty Officer Jones speaking. What is your emergency?"

"I'm calling for FBI Agent Garth Woodman. I must speak with the Master Chief."

"Ma'am, slow down. Where exactly —"

"Hello, this is Master Chief Lindsey. What's the problem?"

"My name is Eleanor Bennett. It's happening right now. Near the estate! The tunnel comes out on the property. They're using speedboats, and FBI Agent Garth Woodman told me to call."

There was a pause. Then, the operator's voice sharpened with recognition. 

 

"Wait — Eleanor? Eleanor Bennett? This is John Lindsey. Years back, you helped take down Zhang and Doyle in that smuggling case."

"Yes! And he's back, taking women. You have to stop them! He's in the river behind the Vineyard off Highway 7."

"Understood. We're dispatching units immediately. Stay on the line."

"No time. Just get there!" Eleanor snapped, ending the call. She clenched her fists. Now, all she could do was pray they got there in time.

Her next call was to Jenna's phone, which went to voicemail. She immediately dialed Donatelli and then Frank, but she got no answer from either of them. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what was going on and praying her family was saved.

A vision flashed in front of her, and she knew her prayers wouldn't be answered.

*****

"Maggie!" The sound of gunfire and the baby's cries cut through Donatelli's hospital room. Jenna screamed and then rushed toward the door.

"Jenna, wait!" Matthew lay helpless in the bed, tethered by IVs and machines. "Frank's men will get her." Their eyes locked together — one knowing he couldn't help and the other knowing she had to.

Jenna's eyes were filled with panic and fear, but her mother instinct screamed that her child needed her now. "I can get to her, Matthew. It's only a few doors away."

"No, I'll go." He threw off the covers and attempted to sit up but collapsed backward.

"Stay where you are, Matthew. You can't go, but I can." She rushed out the door and was met by gunfire. She pressed into the narrow alcove outside another room, her stomach clenching. A bullet shattered the window in the door, sending glass flying like deadly shards. She screamed, covering her head with her arms.

Maggie's cries and the sound of gunfire further down the hall sent terror through her. Jenna crawled forward, staying low, edging closer and closer to the room she shared with her daughter.

Where was the guard?

She heard another shot and then a thud. A man charged out of the room carrying Maggie. Her tiny arms flailed as she screamed.

"Nooo!" Jenna shrieked, leaping to her feet.

Jenna saw the flash as another man exited the room, firing his weapon. She ducked in time as the first bullet embedded itself in the wall behind her, and another splintered the door frame.

Donatelli's roar of pain and fury blasted from inside his room. The hospital bed rattled as he forced himself up, ripping out IVs and tearing open the stitches in his stomach. Blood bloomed across his bandages, but he didn't stop. He grabbed his gun from the bedside table, staggering toward the door.

"You bastards aren't taking my daughter!" he bellowed, firing blindly down the hall. His strength failed him as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

The men rushed toward the stairwell, Maggie's cries echoing down the corridor. Zhang's team was getting away.

Jenna ran to Donatelli, falling to her knees. "No, no, stay with me!" She pressed her hands against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding as he struggled to remain conscious.

His last words before slipping into the darkness were, "Maggie."

Her sobs filled the room. "They took her! Frank! Someone, help!"

Overhead, the rhythmic chop of helicopter blades grew louder. The sound vibrated through the walls as Zhang's men made their escape.
________________________________________

The wind howled across the dark water as the speedboats cut through the choppy waves, their engines snarling against the night. The cliffs loomed behind them — forty, maybe fifty feet high —sheer rock with no escape. Garth had counted on that. The cliffs prevented Zhang and his men from disappearing, and although Garth alerted the Coast Guard, they were still too far away. It would be a race to the river opening before Zhang reached the open water.

On the deck of the lead boat, the women fought as Zhang's men shoved them toward the hatch. Ashley lashed out, landing a solid kick to one of her captors' ribs. He snarled, backhanding her across the face. She stumbled, but another shove sent her toppling over the side. The other women cowered and entered the open hatch. The heavy steel door slammed shut behind them, muffling their cries.

"Keep moving!" Zhang barked, gripping the edge of the boat as he scanned the water.

"Should we swing back and get her?"

"No, let her drown." Zhang snarled.

Then, the shot rang out from high on the cliff — an agent with a rifle.

Zhang barely registered the sound before the impact hit him — hot, searing pain ripping through his side. He buckled, hand clamping over the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. His head snapped up, wild eyes darting toward the shoreline. Too far. The cliffs were no use now.

"Get closer to the shore!" he snarled at the man at the wheel, his voice strained but still holding authority. He pointed upstream.

"But, sir —"

"Do it!" Zhang's breath was coming fast now. He felt the burn deep in his gut. He refused to be caught like this.

The boat veered, cutting closer to the shoreline where the cliffs had given way to rocky outcroppings and thick brush. Zhang took a steadying breath, ignoring the pounding of his pulse. The second the boat reached the nearest point, he didn't hesitate.
With one final push off the railing, he plunged into the dark water.

The icy rush swallowed him whole. Pain exploded in his side as he fought against the current, but adrenaline kept him moving. Above, the speedboat accelerated, veering sharply away, its crew unaware of his escape.

Zhang, battered and bleeding, resurfaced beyond the cliffs, where the current carried him toward shore, disappearing into the dense underbrush.

By the time the Coast Guard closed in, there was no Zhang on board.

Garth wouldn't know the truth until later when his men scoured the shoreline and found the blood — evidence that Zhang had made it to land and disappeared.

*****
Frank stood on the hospital rooftop, gun in hand, watching as Zhang's men climbed into helicopters parked on the front lawn. The deafening roar of the engines sent dust and debris swirling into the air. Squad cars screeched to a halt below, but it was too late. The black SUVs were empty — their passengers had vanished.

Jack Lexington's helicopter appeared on the horizon, closing in fast, but the enemy was already lifting off. He landed hard on the rooftop, the force of the descent shaking the ground beneath Frank's feet. As soon as the doors opened, Frank climbed in.

"They've taken Maggie!" Frank's voice cut through the roar of the blades. "Zhang's men are heading east. We have to go after them, now!"

Jack didn't hesitate. "Hang on."

The helicopter surged forward, chasing after the disappearing aircraft in the distance. Frank gritted his teeth. This wasn't over — not by a long shot.

 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 38
Veil of Secrets - Chap 38

By Begin Again

Althea and Maria stood at the bedroom window, staring across the Vineyard. From inside the mansion, they'd heard gunfire near the cliffs. As Eleanor returned to see about Travis, both women were nervous and eager to question her about what the gunfire was about.

"Eleanor, what's happening?"

"Is that gunfire we heard?"

"Yes," Eleanor answered, stepping further into the room. "Garth's team found the women in the tunnel, and so did the smugglers. They came by boat. There was a stand-off."

A low moan from the bed grabbed everyone's attention.

Althea spun toward her son, racing to his side. "Travis, honey, I've been so scared." Her voice trembled with fear as she held his hand, asking, "Do you hurt anywhere? Do you need anything?"

He struggled to sit up, and Maria hurried to the other side of the bed. "Here, let me help you."

Eleanor stood near Althea, her eyes fixed on Travis as he struggled to sit up. His mother hovered over him, her concern palpable. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, but his lips parted as if trying to speak.

"Travis, do you remember anything about where you've been or what happened to you?" Eleanor asked gently.

A furrow formed on his forehead as his breath hitched. "Gunfire," he mumbled, "I heard it. They're back."

Althea squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Travis. No one is here."

"The women — not safe."

Eleanor stepped closer to the bed, her pulse quickening. "Did you know there were women in the tunnel, Travis?"

Althea's head snapped toward Eleanor, her posture stiffening. "Of course he didn't, Eleanor. How would he know anything about tunnels?"

Travis gripped his mother's hand, his fingers trembling. "We escaped the tunnel, swept away by the river."

Eleanor latched onto his words. "We? Was there someone else with you?"

His breathing grew uneven. "Yes." He stopped and inhaled sharply.

Althea stiffened further, her protective instincts flaring. "Eleanor, don't push him. Can't you see he's exhausted? He's delirious and rambling about things he knows nothing about."

"No!" Travis's voice was barely a whisper, "Rebecca needs help."

Eleanor inhaled sharply. So, Rebecca had been in the tunnel. And if she'd escaped downriver, she could be anywhere. "Is she alone?"

"Eleanor, stop!" Althea pushed back her chair and stood, blocking Eleanor from Travis as if shielding him.

Travis moaned, his head turning slightly, his hand reaching feebly toward his mother.
Maria noticed his movement first. "Althea, he's reaching for you."

Althea hesitated, her gaze flickering between Eleanor and Travis before finally turning back to him. "It's alright, honey. Just rest. You've got plenty of time to answer questions later."

His trembling intensified as he lifted his head slightly, staring into his mother's eyes. "No, Rebecca might die."

Eleanor's stomach clenched. This wasn't about exhaustion — Travis knew something important.

"Mom," his voice rasped, "that's why the dog brought me here."

Althea frowned. "The dog? What dog?"

"The wolf-dog," Travis mumbled. "He saved me more than once."

Eleanor leaned closer. "With the coyotes?"

He nodded weakly. "Yes. He would have died — and me, too — if it wasn't for the strange man."

A cold shiver ran through Eleanor. "Strange man?"

"He came out of nowhere and put some kind of powder on the dog's wounds. I swear, the open bite marks healed instantly."

Althea shook her head. "Travis, that's impossible."

Eleanor, however, felt her breath still in her chest. If it was Cornelius, he had helped — but why?

"Did he tell you his name?" Eleanor pressed.

Travis frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. "No. But he looked like he was from another time. Dressed old-fashioned. He told me I shouldn't be out there. After he healed the wolf-dog, he left. And the coyotes followed him." 

 

The description of the strange man sent a shiver down Eleanor's spine. She didn't need any more confirmation. It had been Cornelius.

She exhaled slowly, refocusing. "Travis, I know you're tired, but do you know where Rebecca is?"

"She's with Amelia and Lenore."

Eleanor's mind raced. Amelia and Lenore. Who were they? And more importantly —where were they? "Do you know where they live?"

"No." His head sagged to the side, exhaustion overtaking him. "But the wolf-dog does."

That was all Eleanor needed. She placed a reassuring hand on Travis's shoulder. "Thank you. You've helped more than you know. Now, rest."

As she turned to leave, her phone rang. It was her daughter. "Jenna, I got Frank's message. Are you okay?"

"No! Mom, they took Maggie," she screamed into the phone.

Eleanor's stomach tightened. "Jenna, slow down and tell me what happened." She hurried out of the room and into the hallway.

Jenna's sobs jumbled her words. She struggled to slow down so that Eleanor would understand. "Gunfire came from every direction. They had me pinned down in the hallway. Matthew tried —" Gasping for air, she sobbed, "My baby — Maggie's gone." 

 

For one second, she saw her world disintegrating. "Matthew's lost a lot of blood. What if he dies — what if we can't find Maggie?"

Eleanor gripped the phone, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Jenna, listen to me. Stay with Matthew. Do you have people with you?"

"Yes, Sam has guards stationed everywhere." Eleanor heaved a heavy sigh. "Jenna, I know you need me to be there —"

"No! I need you to find Maggie. Matthew's life is in the hands of the surgeons."

Eleanor closed her eyes and answered, "Pray for both of them, sweetie. And Jenna, whatever it takes, I will get Maggie back."

She hung up the call, trying to process everything. Garth climbed the stairs and stood at the top landing while he talked on his cell phone.

"Thanks for the update, Master Chief. Yeah, I wish we'd been a few minutes earlier too. But you saved a lot of women today, and we were able to rescue the ones in the river. I'm grateful for your help."

He ended the call and pounded his fist against the wall. Eleanor had listened, not wanting to interrupt his call. "What's wrong, Garth? Didn't the Coast Guard get there in time?"

Garth sighed and turned toward Eleanor. "They did, but Zhang got away."

Eleanor gasped. "How?"

"No one saw it, of course, but he wasn't on any of the boats, so I'm guessing he bailed and jumped overboard. He could be anywhere by now. They've got men searching the area, but nothing so far."

Eleanor's voice quivered. "I know you've got a lot on your plate, but I thought you'd want to know that Zhang's men attacked the hospital, too."

"An attack? How could anyone get into Frank's fortress?"

"With decoy cars and helicopters. Garth," Eleanor's lips trembled. "They — they took Maggie."

"Maggie? Oh my God, Eleanor." His hand went instinctively to his gun. "It's a good thing Zhang escaped, or I'd be putting a bullet in him right now. Jenna and Matthew must be going out of their minds."

"Jenna is but Matthew's under anesthesia in surgery. He tried to help and ripped open his stitches. He lost a lot of blood."

"Can we get any good news around here?" Garth snarled. "How is this guy always one step ahead of us?"

"I'm sure he has connections, and —" Eleanor bit her lip. "Until we know who they are, we'll always play catch-up."

"Should I join the search? Or go to Jenna? What about Frank?" His mind whirled with indecisions, something he didn't like.

"There's only one of you, Garth. And right now, you need to focus on Rebecca."

His head snapped up. "Is the boy awake? Did he tell us where she's at?" Without waiting for answers, he opened the bedroom door and raced toward the bed, only to find Travis sleeping again. "Wake him up.

"We'll do no such thing." Althea snapped. "Take your muddy self back outside and leave my son alone."

Eleanor rested her hand on Garth's arm and spoke close to his ear, "Garth, come with me, please."

"But Eleanor — Rebecca —"

"Garth, please."

He glanced at the boy and followed Eleanor out of the room.

When the door closed behind them, he hissed, "He knows where she's at. Who knows what's happening? The boy's got to tell me."

"He knows he left her with a woman named Lenore, but he doesn't know where or how to get there."

"Why's he doing this?" Garth slammed his fist into the wall. "He found his way here, so he should be able to find his way back."

"He didn't get to the Vineyard on his own."

"You're not making sense, Eleanor. If someone else had been with him, wouldn't we have seen him?"

"We did!" Eleanor looked into Garth's angry eyes and replied, "The wolf-dog brought him here."

Inaudible words flowed from Garth's mouth as he walked away.

"Garth, Travis says the dog can take you to Rebecca."

"I'm supposed to believe a wild animal is going to lead me through the woods and who knows where else? Have you lost your mind?"

"No, I haven't. You are letting your emotions run wild, Garth. Explain how that young boy found his way back to the Vineyard, fought off coyotes, and survived if it wasn't the dog."

Garth lowered himself to the floor and buried his face in his hands. After a few moments, he lifted his head and searched Eleanor's face. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"When it comes to finding Rebecca, I couldn't be more serious."

Garth sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Well then, I guess I better make friends with the mutt."

"According to Travis, he's a good friend to have. Cornelius must have thought so, too."

"Cornelius!" Garth sputtered. "What does that black-hearted ghost have to do with this?"

"He saved the wolf-dog's life. The dog had risked his life to save Travis, and in return, Cornelius used his magic to save him."

Grasping at straws, Garth muttered, "Maybe Cornelius brought the boy here, then?"

"Doubtful — for one, Antonio or I would have sensed his presence if he was near. And Travis says he walked back into the forest with the coyotes at his side."

"This is worse than any nightmare."

It's your only lead. Have I ever steered you wrong? You might have lost your faith in my abilities —"

"Never!" He reached out his hand and touched her arm. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. I've had trouble accepting your world but wouldn't want anyone else by my side." He paused, and a smile tugged at his lips." Except — Allie."

"Then, go —" Eleanor ran her fingers across his cheek. "Allie will go with you. And Garth —"

"What? More ghostly advice? The dog's not going to bite me, is he?"

"Not if you grab a couple of those steaks that were left over from the other night. I'm sure he'll be your best friend."

Garth's boots pounded against the stairs as he headed toward the kitchen.

Eleanor called to him, "Garth, stay safe and trust the wolf-dog. Bring Rebecca back to us."

The cowboy's descent halted, and he called back, "And you go find Donatelli's baby."

Eleanor's face was determined as she answered, "I will."

*****
Garth stood at the tree line, the dense forest stretching before him like a dark, impenetrable wall. Somewhere in there, Rebecca was waiting — if he could trust the mutt to lead him.

A low rustle made him tense. Then, golden eyes appeared between the brush. The wolf-dog. The animal didn't move closer, its gaze fixed on Garth as if assessing him.

"Alright, big guy," Garth muttered, lifting the lid off the container. "Travis says you're the one who can take me to Rebecca. I don't know how the hell you're supposed to understand that, but here we are."

He tossed a steak onto the ground, expecting the animal to pounce on it. Instead, the wolf-dog stayed still, watching him.

Garth frowned. "What? Not good enough for you?" Still, the animal did not move.

The cowboy heaved a sigh, then hesitantly lowered himself onto one knee. "Look, I need your help, alright? I don't like this any more than you do. But if you can find Rebecca, I'll follow you."

The wolf-dog's ears flicked. Then, slowly, it moved forward. But just as it did, a soft shimmer of light appeared beside Garth. A familiar scent drifted in the air — wildflowers and morning rain.

Allie.

She knelt beside the wolf-dog, her fingers gently trailing along its thick fur. The dog didn't flinch, its golden eyes turning toward her, calm and knowing.

"You like me, don't you?" Allie whispered, her voice barely above the wind. "You're a good boy. I wanted you to know that he is, too."

The wolf-dog let out a soft huff, its tail giving a slight, slow wag.

Garth watched, his chest tightening. He wanted to reach for her, but he knew better.

Allie's soft eyes lifted to his, full of quiet wisdom. "Patience, Garth," she murmured. "It's not always about control. Trust him, and he'll trust you."

Garth's fingers curled into fists. "You always say that."

She smiled — that knowing, mischievous smile he'd missed so damn much. "Because it's true."

And then, as swiftly as she had appeared, she was gone.

The wind whispered through the trees. The wolf-dog lifted its head, staring at Garth expectantly.

Garth exhaled. "Alright, mutt. Let's do it your way."

He bent down, grabbed the steak, and ripped off a chunk with his teeth, chewing deliberately.

The wolf-dog's ears perked up. It stepped forward, sniffed the air, then took a cautious bite of the steak from the ground.

They chewed in silence, watching each other.

Garth swallowed, eyeing the dog. "Guess if we're gonna do this, might as well start with dinner."

The wolf-dog licked its muzzle, then lifted its gaze, studying him for a long moment.
And then, as if coming to a decision, it turned and trotted forward, disappearing into the trees.

Garth adjusted his hat, squared his shoulders, and followed.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 39
Veil of Secrets - Chap 39

By Begin Again

 

 

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, golden light dancing in the small clearing where Lenore's cabin sat. It was quiet here, peaceful.

Lenore sat on a low wooden bench outside her cabin, slowly combing through Amelia's tangled hair. The little girl sat on a stool in front of her, her legs swinging as she twisted a few blades of long grass between her small fingers. The air smelled of warm earth and pine. The wind carried the soft rustling of trees in the distance.

Amelia was quiet today. Ever since arriving, she had been speaking only when spoken to, never offering anything more than a polite response. Lenore had learned not to press her. Children who had seen too much often carried their pain in silence.

Instead, Lenore spoke of other things — small things. "You know, the forest always smells different before a storm," she murmured, dragging the comb gently through Amelia's soft curls. "I can always tell when the rain's coming just by how the air changes. The wind shifts, the birds get quiet, and the sky takes on a funny color."

Amelia didn't respond, but she wasn't pulling away either. That was progress.
Lenore continued, her voice low, soothing. "I never thought I'd live somewhere like this, but I liked the quiet after a while. There's peace in being alone sometimes."

There was a long pause. Then, in the smallest of voices, Amelia spoke. "I wanted to be alone after my mama died."

Lenore's hands faltered for just a moment before she continued combing. She didn't react too strongly and didn't push for more. She let the child say what she needed to say.

"She was real pretty," Amelia continued, still staring at the ground. "I think she loved me, but she was always sad."

Lenore's chest tightened.

"My daddy — he drank a lot," Amelia went on, her voice thin but steady. "I think he used to love us, maybe a long time ago, but he mostly got angry. At everything. At me."

Lenore's fingers stilled.

"When he got real mad, he'd hit me," Amelia whispered. "I think he hit Mama, too, but she never said. She just told me to hide."

Lenore set the comb down. She didn't speak, didn't interrupt. She knew this child had bottled up the words for too long, and once they started flowing, they wouldn't stop until all were out.

"One night, these men came to our house," Amelia continued. "Said my daddy owed them money. He didn't have it, so they beat him up right there, in front of me."

Lenore's heart ached at the hollow way Amelia said it as if it was just another fact of her life.

"Then they looked at me and said I'd do as payment."

Silence. The words hung in the air like something heavy and unbearable. A chill touched Lenore's spine.

"I screamed for my daddy," Amelia said, her voice trembling now. "But he just lay there, bleeding. Didn't even try to stop them."

Lenore's throat tightened.

"They took me away," Amelia whispered. "Put me in that tunnel. Told me to be quiet or I'd be sorry just like my daddy."

The last words barely made it past her lips before she started trembling. The dam had broken. The pain she had kept locked away had finally spilled over.
Lenore didn't hesitate. She gathered the small girl into her arms, holding her close. Amelia buried her face in her shoulder, her hands clutching at her dress.

"You listen to me, child," Lenore murmured, her voice firm but thick with emotion. "You ain't a debt. You ain't a piece to be traded. You're a little girl who deserved to be loved, and it breaks my heart that nobody gave you that."

Amelia sniffled. "I got nobody now. No family. Nobody wants me. Just those men who said they were going to sell me, and I'd have me a sugar daddy." She dropped her eyes and stared at her hands before asking, "What's a sugar daddy?"

Lenore leaned back, cupping Amelia's small face in her calloused hands. She looked deep into the child's wide, teary eyes. "Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart. Those men were mistaken."

Amelia hesitated, then whispered, "Can — can you be my Grammy?" Her voice was so small, so uncertain.

Lenore felt her own breath catch. She had never expected something like this in all her years of solitude. A slow, rare smile softened her face as she stroked Amelia's damp curls. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured. "I'd be honored to be your Grammy."

A small, broken breath escaped Amelia, and she pressed her face into Lenore's shoulder, finally allowing herself to cry.

Lenore held her close, whispering soft reassurances that she was safe, loved, and had a home now.

*****

The murmur of voices drifted through the open doorway, stirring Rebecca from the hazy place between sleep and wakefulness.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep. She had been resting, regaining her strength, but something about Amelia's voice had pulled her from the fog. She blinked, forcing herself upright, steadying herself against the wooden frame as she listened.

She had never asked Amelia about her past. She'd never pried. She had saved the girl without knowing anything about her, and now, standing in the doorway, hearing the painful truths spill from the child's lips, she realized just how much Amelia had endured.

And how much she had needed someone to listen.

Rebecca swallowed hard, her emotions a tangled mess.
She didn't want to interrupt. She wasn't even sure she had the strength to speak.

But then Amelia turned and saw her. "Rebecca!"

Her small face lit up, as if just the sight of her was enough to make her believe in something good again. She scrambled from Lenore's lap and ran straight to her, throwing her arms around Rebecca's waist.

Rebecca tensed for a moment before slowly curling her arms around the little girl.

"I'm so happy you're getting well," Amelia whispered, voice muffled against her.

Rebecca smiled, warmth creeping into her chest. "Me too."

Lenore discreetly wiped at her eyes, clearing her throat. "Well," she muttered, "guess I'd better get some tea and biscuits before we all start bawling."

Amelia pulled back, beaming now. "Grammy makes the best biscuits!"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Grammy?"

Lenore scoffed, but there was no hiding the tenderness in her eyes. "Apparently, I'm an old softy now."

Rebecca smiled, a small, genuine smile, the first in a long time. She brushed a few strands of Amelia's hair back. "Your hair looks lovely today."

Amelia grinned. "Grammy did it!"

Lenore huffed and waved them both off. "It's just a braid, don't make a fuss over it." She turned on her heel and strode into the cabin, muttering, "I swear, people act like I did something special."

Rebecca and Amelia exchanged amused glances.

As they settled onto the porch steps, Rebecca stared out into the trees, feeling something unfamiliar but welcomed — a sense of belonging.

Amelia wasn't just someone she had saved.

She was someone who had saved her, too.

*****
The cabin was warm, filled with the scent of steeping tea and the last rays of golden sunlight spilling through the window. The world outside was quiet, except for the rustling of leaves in the trees and the occasional chirp of a bird settling in for the night.

Rebecca sat at the wooden table, a mug of tea cradled between her hands, the warmth seeping into her fingers. Across from her, Amelia perched on a chair, swinging her small legs, the afterglow of their earlier conversation still lingering in her wide brown eyes.

Lenore sat nearby, stirring her tea slowly. She stared into the dark liquid as if it held the echoes of long-forgotten memories.

Amelia tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, in school, we did show and tell."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip. "Oh?"

Amelia nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Everybody had to share something about themselves. I told you my story, so you should share something too, Rebecca."

Rebecca hesitated, caught off guard. She glanced at Lenore, who only smirked into her tea as if enjoying the idea of putting her on the spot.

"Alright," Rebecca relented, setting her mug down. "I'll tell you about a man who is a prince."

Amelia gasped, leaning forward. "A real prince?"

Rebecca chuckled. "Not exactly. But to me, he is."

She glanced at Lenore, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Rebecca took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "In the tunnels, I didn't think anyone would come looking for me," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I was scared, lost, and trying to get out."

"You seemed brave to me."

Rebecca smiled. "I was trying to be, but the truth is I thought maybe I would die there. Maybe no one would know. Maybe no one would care."

Amelia frowned, small hands clenching into fists. "That's not true."

Rebecca's smile was faint but genuine. "No. It wasn't. Because in my dreams, I knew he would come."

"Your prince? You mean Travis?"

Rebecca smirked. "Oh no, Travis was wonderful, and he helped you and me get out of those tunnels. But he's not my prince."

Lenore let out a quiet laugh. "Someone at your age believing in fairytales."

Rebecca ignored her and turned back to Amelia. "He's probably angry at me. I can see it in his eyes. Not because he is mad at me, but because he thinks he's lost me. He is furious at the world for letting it happen."

Amelia's eyes were wide, captivated. "Will he beat you like my daddy did because that's what he did when he was angry?"

Rebecca's fingers tightened slightly around her mug and she smiled. "A true prince would never hurt the people he loved, Amelia."

A beat of silence. "In your dream, did he ride a big white stallion?"

Rebecca laughed, "No, but he's got Mustangs on the side of his SUV."

"You mean he's real, not just in your dreams?" Amelia's eyes widened. "You actually know a Prince."

Rebecca turned her gaze toward the window as if searching for something. "My Prince is definitely real and I know he's looking for me."

Amelia looked up at her thoughtfully. "Since we aren't in the tunnels anymore, he's probably worried about you."

Rebecca's smile faltered just a little, but then she nodded. "I know, but he won't give up until he finds me."

Lenore, watching them both, took a slow sip of her tea. "Sounds like your prince has his work cut out for him."

Rebecca huffed. "I never said I was easy to save."

Lenore smirked. "But well worth it, my child. Both of you!"

Amelia giggled, taking another sip of her tea, and for a moment, the warmth in the room was enough to chase away the shadows that had lingered for too long.

But then, the conversation shifted.

"It's your turn, Grammy."

Lenore set her mug down, her fingers resting lightly against the table as if feeling the grain of the wood beneath her fingertips. She glanced at Amelia, then at Rebecca, and slowly breathed. "I saw it happen," she said quietly.

Rebecca's brow furrowed. "Saw what?"

Lenore looked up, her gaze steady but distant. "Miriam."

The name alone sent a hush over the table. Even Amelia, who barely understood what had happened, could feel the shift in the air.

"I was just a little girl," Lenore continued, her voice steady but thick with memory. "No older than you, Amelia. But I remember every bit of it like it happened yesterday."

Rebecca and Amelia remained silent, hanging on her every word. Lenore's eyes glazed over and she sat so still the two girls thought she might have fallen asleep.

Finally, Amelia reached out and touched Lenore's arm. "You okay, Grammy?"

Lenore nodded and sipped her tea before finally speaking. "It was her wedding day," she murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the rim of her mug. " She was so beautiful. A day of joy for the bride and for me as a little girl. But instead — it became a funeral."

Rebecca's breath caught, her fingers tightening around her cup.

Lenore stared past them, past the room itself, lost in the echoes of the past. "Miriam wore a white dress with flowers in her hair. She had the prettiest smile on her face when she took the groom's hand."

She swallowed. "But that man — the one with the black heart — he turned the town folk on her. They called her wicked, a sorceress, a woman who dared to claim what men thought she shouldn't have."

"With what proof?" Rebecca whispered.

Lenore's gaze sharpened, locking onto hers. "They didn't need proof."

Rebecca looked away.

"They dragged her to the tree outside the mansion," Lenore continued, her voice softer now, laced with an old sorrow that had never quite left her. "And I saw the way she looked at them. Not with fear. But with sorrow. Like she had known all along that they would betray her."

Amelia clutched the edge of the table, her small fingers white-knuckled. "That's awful."

Lenore nodded, slow and heavy. "It was." Her fingers drifted to her chest, absently brushing against the fabric covering something hidden beneath.

"She saw me," Lenore whispered. "Before they put the rope around her neck, she saw me. Maybe she knew I was watching. Maybe she just wanted to leave something behind."

With trembling hands, Lenore reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a delicate silver cross. The metal was old, worn smooth by time, but still gleamed in the dim light.

"She gave me this," Lenore murmured. "Pressed it into my palm and told me, 'Hold on to this, little one. As long as you believe, you will always be safe.'

Rebecca's chest tightened as she stared at the cross. "She knew," Rebecca murmured. "She knew they would turn on her."

Lenore nodded. "And she still chose to stand tall."

Rebecca exhaled shakily. "And maybe — she's still standing — through us."

A silence fell over the table, thick with something more than grief — something like understanding.

Amelia, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly spoke. "Maybe she sent you to me, Rebecca."

Rebecca blinked, startled. "What?"

Amelia shrugged, her voice small but sure. "You saved me. Just like Miriam tried to save people, maybe she's still helping — through you and Grammy."

The words settled deep in Rebecca's chest, warm and unshakable.

Lenore pressed the cross lightly to her heart, her eyes far away. "Believe, and you will always be safe," she murmured, more to herself than anyone.

Rebecca glanced at Amelia, then at Lenore, and something clicked inside her.

Maybe she was supposed to save the land and the history that was woven in its past.

Maybe she was carrying something forward.

 

Maybe someone had locked Miriam in the mirror, but she wasn't finished yet.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Tony "The Hawk" - Salvatore "Sal" and Vito Greco -- the New York mob Smugglers from New York

Chapter 40
Veil of Secrets Chap 40

By Begin Again

Jack's helicopter blades sliced through the air, the engine growling as he banked lower, eyes scanning the wooded area along the shoreline.

"We've lost Zhang's men, but we've still got a chance if he's still out there on foot. I'm going to set us down."

Frank sat stiffly beside him, his phone buzzing again. He snatched it up. "Talk to me."

A crackle over the line, then a ground team's voice. "Frank, the Feds say they found fresh blood near the river's edge."

Frank's head snapped toward Jack. "Zhang?"

Jack didn't answer. He adjusted the throttle, sweeping over the stretch of road parallel to the coastline, then growled, "If it's fresh, it's him."

The radio crackled again. "No tracks leading far. Either he's holed up, or he had a ride waiting."

Jack's eyes swept the area below, jaw tight. "Then we're looking for a car."

Frank sucked in a breath and rechecked his phone. Another call. The hospital. He answered. "What now?"

A rushed voice — one of his private doctors. "It's Donatelli."

Frank's expression darkened. "He's not —"

The background was pure chaos — yelling, equipment crashing. "Dead? Not yet, but if he keeps this up, he will be. He woke up mid-surgery! He ripped out his IV and tried to get off the table — he's fighting us! We barely got him held down, and he's lost a lot of blood."

Frank's jaw clenched. "Damn!"

The doctor's voice was urgent. "Tell him to stop fighting us, or we're going to lose him!"

Frank let out a frustrated breath. "You think he's gonna listen? His daughter was just kidnapped! He's not thinking straight."

The doctor didn't have time for sympathy. "Then he'll die before he ever gets her back."

Jack shot Frank a look. "Put him on speaker."

Frank flipped the call over, voice sharp. "Donatelli. You hear me?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of struggling in the background —heavy breathing. Donatelli's voice, hoarse and raw, snarled, "They took her. Zhang's got my baby girl."

Frank's grip tightened. "I know. But you're bleeding out on a damn table. You wanna be in a morgue when we find her?"

A shaky breath spiked with anger. "You better find her."

Frank's jaw tensed. "We will. But you gotta let them do their job, Matt. You need to live long enough to see her again."

Silence.

Then, the doctor's urgent voice. "We're getting him under."

Frank exhaled. "Good. Keep him that way." He ended the call, running a hand down his face.
 

Jack was still sweeping the coastline when something caught his eye — a dark SUV moving fast. Jack's gut twisted. "Frank, grab those binoculars."

Frank turned as the SUV sped beneath them, its tires kicking up dust. Jack turned the helicopter around and chased after the vehicle. "Do you think it might be him?"

"I don't know, but it's odd that a car would drive that fast out here in the middle of nowhere."

Frank stared through the binoculars. "I can't see who's inside. There might be something — a red smear on the window. It's hard to say."

Jack lowered the chopper slightly for a better angle. The driver's window cracked open, and an arm waved. "Is he signaling us?"

Frank frowned. "Looks like he's slowing —"

The back window dropped. Gunfire erupted. Bullets pinged off the helicopter's runner blade.

"What the —!" Jack yanked the stick, banking hard, pulling out of range.

Frank grabbed the radio. "Ground team, we've spotted a black SUV heading westbound on Highway 57. There is possible blood on the rear window. We're taking gunfire."

The reply came fast. "We're on foot, no wheels in range."

Frank swore. "Son of a bitch."

The SUV gunned it, kicking up dust and disappearing down the highway.
Jack gritted his teeth and growled, "I knew I should have kept the semi-automatic rifle in here."

They had no jurisdiction and no way to engage. All they could do was watch as Zhang disappeared.

*****
The sky deepened into shades of indigo as dusk settled over the land, stretching long and ominous shadows. Garth moved swiftly, pushing through the dense underbrush, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Signs of Travis's struggle were etched into the forest floor — trampled brush, claw marks in the dirt, and the grim splatter of dried blood on the rocks. It was a miracle the boy had survived and an even greater one that his guide, wolf-dog, had fought through it all to keep going.

The beast trotted ahead, silent and sure-footed, its thick fur blending into the dimming landscape. Garth wasn't the kind of man to trust easily, least of all a wild animal, but he had begun to understand this creature was more than instinct. It wasn't just leading him to Rebecca; it was guarding her.

A sudden stillness settled over the forest.

The usual sounds of birds chirping and small creatures rustling through the undergrowth had vanished. Garth slowed his pace, scanning the tree line. Something or someone was out there.

The wolf-dog froze, ears pricking forward, its massive body tensed. Then, a low, guttural growl rolled from its throat, deep and primal, sending a shiver down Garth's spine. Something was wrong.

The wolf-dog's snarl deepened, its lips peeling back to reveal gleaming fangs. Saliva dripped as it lowered its body close to the ground. Its tail stiffened, its hackles rising like bristling wire — every ounce of its being radiated danger.

Without warning, it lunged.

The beast tore forward in a blur of fur and muscle, vanishing into the darkened foliage. Garth's instincts screamed at him to move, but he hesitated just a fraction of a second, scanning the shifting trees, searching for what had set the wolf-dog off.

Then he heard a scream — piercing and raw. A woman's cry. His blood iced over. Gun in hand, he plunged forward, crashing through the brush, chasing the wolf-dog into the dark.

Inside the cabin, the warm glow of the fire cast flickering shadows on the wooden walls. Lenore had just set down a fresh pot of tea when she heard the first noise — a heavy thump against the porch.

Her instincts had kicked in immediately. Years of solitude, attuned to the rhythms of the land, had sharpened her awareness of when something wasn't right. She moved for the rifle by the fireplace.

Amelia, sitting by the hearth with Rebecca, jolted upright. Then came the second thump, followed by the unmistakable sound of something snorting and huffing.

Lenore moved fast. "Stay back."

Rebecca, still weak but alert, pushed herself to her feet. She exchanged a glance with Lenore, instantly reading the older woman's expression. They had trouble.

Bam! The bear hit the window.

The old glass shook violently. A massive paw smeared against it, claws raking down with a shriek of scraping glass. Amelia screamed, scrambling backward.

Lenore raised the rifle and cocked it.

The bear growled — a deep, stomach-clenching sound and sent another massive BAM! against the window. This time, the wood groaned, splintering slightly.

Rebecca pulled Amelia behind her. "Lenore?"

The older woman was already stepping forward. "If that thing breaks through, we won't be able to stop it with just this door."

Outside, the bear snorted again, a massive, dark silhouette against the moonlit night, pawing at the ground. It was hungry, drawn by the scents of food, warmth, and life.

Then, they heard another sound — a furious snarl.

From the trees, the wolf-dog burst forward, a streak of fur and muscle, its deep growl carrying through the night air.

The bear turned, momentarily distracted, and the dog lunged, teeth sinking into the thick fur at the bear's shoulder with a ferocious snarl. The massive animal roared, twisting violently, and swiped one of its powerful paws.

The wolf-dog went flying. It hit the porch hard, rolling before skidding to a stop. For a sickening moment, it didn't move.

Inside, Amelia gasped, covering her mouth. "No!" Rebecca's heart slammed against her ribs. Lenore stood with the rifle aimed at the side of cabin — window or door, she was ready.

The bear, still agitated, turned back toward the cabin, rearing up onto its hind legs.

Lenore didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, aimed the rifle, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot shattered the night, loud and final.

The bear let out a strangled grunt and staggered back, its eyes wide with pain. It dropped onto all fours, stumbling.

Lenore, calm as ever, cocked the rifle again. Another shot rang out.
The bear collapsed.

For a moment, the only sound was the ringing in Rebecca's ears, her breath coming fast. Then, the wolf-dog gave a low, pained whine from the porch

.
Amelia tore away from Rebecca and ran toward it. "Is he okay?"

Rebecca followed, dropping to her knees beside the wolf-dog. Its chest was rising and falling, and its breathing was labored.

Lenore stepped forward, lowering her rifle. She nudged the bear's body with her boot, ensuring it was indeed dead.

The sound of running footsteps thundered through the trees. Lenore raised her rifle and aimed. Rebecca's voice stopped the woman as she screamed, "It's Garth!" as he crashed into the clearing.

His gun was drawn, his eyes wild — searching.

When he saw Rebecca alive and sitting on the porch, it felt as if someone had punched him in the gut, causing his breath to leave him. He was too late, but she was alive.
 

His gaze swept over the scene — the bear dead in the dirt, the wolf-dog injured but breathing, Amelia clinging to Rebecca, and Lenore standing tall with her rifle, completely unfazed.

For the first time in his life, Garth realized he had never been more useless in a fight. He took a slow step forward, then another, his gun lowering to his side as he hurried to Rebecca.

Still kneeling beside the wolf-dog, she looked up at him with tears streaming down her face. "You came for me," she murmured.

Garth exhaled, his hands flexing at his sides. "Of course I did." A beat of silence.

Amelia, still shaken, turned to Garth with wide, innocent eyes. "So, you're her prince?"

Garth blinked, his head tilting slightly, and his expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. "What?"

Rebecca groaned, covering her face with one hand. "Amelia—"

The little girl smiled. "She said you were her prince. That you would come for her."

Garth's lips twitched. His eyes locked onto Rebecca's. "She said that, huh?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Rebecca shot Amelia a look of pure betrayal. "I didn't say it like that." For the first time in days, her face blushed with color.

Watching from the doorway, Lenore chuckled and muttered, "I need more tea for this."

Amelia, still oblivious to Rebecca's glare, beamed. "Did you come to rescue her?"

Garth tilted his head. "Something like that." Rebecca groaned.
 

He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, but a whimper from the wolf-dog claimed his attention. He kneeled down and his hand brushed over its thick fur, checking for injuries. 

 

"He saved us," Rebecca said softly.

Garth nodded, giving the animal a rare look of respect. "Yeah. He does that."

Amelia tugged at Garth's sleeve, her voice small. "He's gonna be okay, right?"

Garth met her eyes, then glanced at Lenore. "I don't know. Got any experience fixing up wolves, Annie Oakley?"

Lenore snorted. "I'll see what I can do." She turned and went inside to gather herbs.

Rebecca exhaled, rubbing her temples — this was her life now — the wolf-dog, a precious old woman with a rifle, a man who thought he was funny, and a little girl who thought he was a prince.

And yet — for the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin

Chapter 41
Veil of Secrets - Chap 41

By Begin Again

Zhang, one of the evilest men she'd ever encountered, had Maggie. The thought kept swirling around in Eleanor's mind. She'd felt Frank's pain when he called to tell her they'd lost him and the helicopters that carried her granddaughter. Deluca had every available officer knocking on doors and breaking a few in, trying to find a clue to Zhang's whereabouts. Everyone was coming up empty. He'd slipped through their fingers again, but this time was different.

Her conversation with Charles about the invasion at the hospital had not gone as she'd hoped. He was concerned for her. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice; in his mind, she should leave it to the real world.
"Eleanor, you've done everything you can. Let Deluca and his men handle it."

His words stung more than they should have. She knew Charles loved her, and she always had, but he had not lived the life she had. While she had fought in the trenches of crime and justice, he had drifted into the afterlife, watching but never acting. He had spent his living years searching for her, not knowing where she had gone, and by the time she found him, he had been dying. His love never wavered; his atrium held paintings of her, but he lived a life of longing, not battle.

"I can't just wait, Charles. You know that. There is a reason I'm here. To stop people like Zhang. To protect the ones who can't protect themselves."

"And who protects you, Eleanor?" he asked softly.

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

It would take time for law enforcement to find leads leading them to Zhang. The man had many connections to help him escape, and by then, it might be too late for Maggie. She needed a friend who brushed elbows with people in the underworld, and only one person came to mind.

Danny Veraci — the legitimate owner of a gambling casino, retired crime boss, and a very dear friend.

*****
Eleanor stepped through the casino's entrance, blending effortlessly into the flashing lights and the hum of conversation. The roulette wheels spinning and cards shuffling filled the air, but she barely noticed. She had been here before — many times, in another life.

She made her way toward the bar, scanning the floor for a familiar face. It didn't take long.

Manny spotted her first. The broad-shouldered man stiffened slightly before offering a smirk. "Well, I'll be damned. If it isn't Eleanor."

"Manny," she greeted, her voice smooth as silk. "Been a while."

"That it has," he agreed, eyeing her with curiosity and something like caution. "What brings you here?"

She lifted a brow. "Looking for Danny."

Manny exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Afraid you missed him. He's gone."

"Gone where?"

His expression didn't shift. "Business. You know how it is."

Eleanor studied him for a moment, then gave a small smile. "Of course."

Danny kept his business close to the chest, but Eleanor knew how to read between the lines.

"Mind if I leave him a note?" she asked casually.

Manny hesitated just a second too long before nodding. "Yeah. Sure. Come on, I'll let you into his office. Just lock up when you leave."

She followed him down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the marble. Manny pushed open the heavy mahogany door and stepped aside. "Don't take too long."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, slipping inside. The door shut behind her with a solid thunk.

As she approached the desk, her sharp gaze caught a glimpse of paper—partially tucked beneath a leather-bound ledger — flight reservations. Without hesitating, she pulled the paper out and read the dates, times, and destination. "Hmmm — a trip to England?" She smiled. "Business or pleasure?" Now, she knew he would be returning in two days.

The scent of aged bourbon and vanilla-wood polish filled the air, stirring a ghost of a smile across her lips. "Still the same, Danny. Always the same," she murmured, running her fingers over his leather chair.

Her eyes swept the room. The heavy mahogany desk, the crackling fire casting shadows across the walls, a one-hundred-year-old bottle of bourbon, and a waiting glass — every detail was a whisper from the past. "You always did like the expensive things," she mused aloud, shaking her head.

But then her gaze shifted toward the seating area near the window. A small table sat there, positioned just right so that anyone seated could look out at the city skyline or the nearby easel displaying her painting. She ran her finger across the painting. "So much has passed since I looked like that."

A familiar worn scrapbook lay open on the table. It was not abandoned, but left as if someone had been looking at it before they were called away.
Eleanor walked toward it slowly, her breath catching as she saw what page it was opened to.

A black-and-white snapshot of them as teenagers. Danny, all swagger, leaning against his motorcycle while she stood beside him, laughing, wild-haired and free. She traced the edges with her fingertips. "We were just kids — so damn sure we had all the time in the world."

She turned the page. Another photograph — this time, her younger self was in a crisp U.S. Army nurse's uniform — the same one she'd worn when she met Charles in France. Her fingers hovered over the image, her voice barely a whisper. "And then life happened."

He'd tucked a newspaper article about her CJ Grey paintings beside the photo. Scrawled in Danny's unmistakable handwriting was a note — "Still don't know how she learned to paint inside the lines."

Eleanor exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a sigh. "Damn you, Danny," she muttered, blinking against the unexpected sting in her eyes. "Why do you still have this?"

She carefully closed the scrapbook, her fingers lingering over the cover before straightening. Pulling out her phone, she dialed his number. As expected, the call went straight to voicemail.

"Danny — it's Ellie. I came by, hoping to reach you. It looks like I just missed you." She let out a slow breath. "Listen, I need your help. It's urgent." She paused briefly and added, "I don't know where else to turn. Zhang has my granddaughter."

She hesitated again, glancing at the scrapbook before adding in a quieter tone, "And — next time, leave the scrapbook open to the good pictures."

She slipped the phone back into her coat pocket, her expression unreadable. With one last look around the room, she whispered, "Still the same, Danny. I hope I can count on you."

And with that, Eleanor faded away.

*****
The wooden swing creaked as it swayed beneath the starlit sky, its ropes groaning under the weight of two souls caught between the past and an uncertain future. Garth draped a thick wool blanket over Rebecca's shoulders, his fingers lingering for a breath too long as he tucked it around her.

Without looking at him, she murmured, "You don't have to keep watching me like I might disappear, Garth."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. The flickering porch lantern cast shadows over his strong features, intensifying the emotion in his eyes. "Can you blame me?" His voice was rough, edged with something she wasn't sure she was ready to name. "After everything that's happened?"

She finally turned, her deep gaze searching his face, catching the rawness there. "I'm still here."

Garth reached for her hand beneath the blanket, his thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles as if memorizing each inch of her. His voice, usually so steady, faltered just slightly. "I don't know when it happened, Rebecca. Maybe the moment I thought I might lose you." He let out a breath, his grip tightening. "But all I know is — I can't return to a world where you're not in it."

Rebecca's breath hitched, something unnamed and unspoken tightening in her chest. The warmth of his hand and the weight of his words were overwhelming. A small, teasing smile ghosted her lips but didn't quite reach her eyes. "You barely know me, Garth."

He huffed a quiet, almost bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "I know enough. I know that every time I look at you, it feels like I've been searching for you my whole damn life."

A shadow passed over her expression, her fingers curling slightly in his. She hesitated, then asked the question that had been weighing on them both. "And what about Allie?"

Silence stretched between them, thick as the night air. Garth swallowed hard, his jaw tightening before he spoke. "She gave us her blessing, Rebecca," he said. "And I'll always honor her memory. But she's gone. And you're here. And I —" He hesitated, finally letting the words escape. "I love you."

Rebecca stared at him, torn between the pull of her heart and fear. She shook her head slightly, struggling to find solid ground beneath emotions that threatened to sweep her away. "How can we be sure this isn't just — grief?" she asked softly. "Or a knee-jerk reaction to what has happened? Are we holding onto each other because it's easier than being alone?"

Garth leaned in then, close enough that their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. His voice was hushed, raw with conviction. "Because grief doesn't make my heart race when you walk into a room. Grief doesn't make me feel alive the way you do. I thought I was dying when I couldn't find you."

Her lashes fluttered closed for a moment, and she absorbed his words, feeling their truth settle in her bones. Opening her eyes, she lifted a hand, brushing against his face with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. "I want to believe this is real," she whispered.

Garth cupped her chin, lifting her face to his. He hesitated, his lips hovering just above hers, giving her a choice. When she closed the distance, their kiss was slow, deep, and laced with a longing that felt like it had been waiting forever.

But then, she pulled away, her breath unsteady. She shook her head and whispered, "Garth, I — I just need time."

He didn't move away, didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he nodded slowly, his eyes burning with quiet promise. "I'm not going anywhere, Rebecca," he murmured. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

As they sat on the swing beneath the vast sky, the stars bore witness to a love neither of them had been ready for but one that neither could deny.

 

*****

Garth stood outside, his hands clenched into fists, his breath coming in slow exhales. The past days bore down on him like a crushing force — Rebecca, the missing women in the tunnels, Maggie, Zhang. It was too much.

He had been running on fumes, chasing ghosts and criminals alike, yet here he was, standing still, helpless. His mind replayed the moment Rebecca had looked at him, her expression unreadable. He had expected more. He thought she'd cling to him and tell him how much she loved him. He'd thought she'd ask him to stay by her side so she'd feel safe. But instead, she had only smiled before allowing him to tuck her back into bed, accepting a soft kiss.

A burst of cold air swept around him, curling through his coat. His shoulders tensed. He knew she was there before he even turned.

"Hello, Garth," she murmured. "Everything okay?"

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?" He buried his face in his hands. "Rebecca's safe."

"You're carrying too much, Garth." Eleanor's voice was calm yet edged with understanding. "Even you have limits."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before facing her. "I didn't even rescue her — the dog did."

"Garth, you're being ridiculous. Does it matter? You've found her, and she's safe, and we can bring her back home."

"I was so happy when I saw her. I wanted to grab her and hold her forever." His voice cracked, and he shook his head. "I told her I loved her and —"

"Garth, how often have you claimed that stressed people react differently?"

"But, Eleanor —"

"Garth, stop. Remember when you lost Allie and how you reacted? You wouldn't listen to anything anyone had to say. You weren't yourself."

"But I love her. That's something I never thought I'd say again."

"Garth, I believe she loves you, too. Just give her a little time to put all this behind her." Eleanor stepped closer, hoping to ease his mind. "She's been through hell."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "And Maggie? The women in the tunnels? Zhang is always two steps ahead. I feel like I'm failing all of them."

"You saved as many as you could. The women are grateful for that."

"But Zhang?"

"You couldn't have stopped his escape. You did your best."

"But it wasn't good enough. What about —" He gulped, choking on his words. "I've failed my best friend?"

Eleanor's gaze softened, and she placed a hand on his arm. "You didn't, and you won't. Not while you still have breath in your body. And even if you did, you know I'd never let it end like that. Trust me."

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he just stood there, absorbing her words. She had always been his anchor, his guiding light when things grew too dark. Finally, he nodded.

For the first time in hours, he let himself breathe. "I do, Eleanor. I always do."

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner

Chapter 42
Veil of Secrets - Chap 42

By Begin Again

The night had settled over the forest, the whispering wind weaving through the trees as Eleanor stood beside Garth on the porch.

The sound of the cabin door creaking open behind them caught Eleanor's attention. A warm glow spilled from inside, and a voice drifted out. "I see we've another guest," Lenore stepped into the doorway. "I've already put the kettle on."

Eleanor turned, meeting the older woman's steady gaze. She had known Lenore was listening. How she looked at Eleanor now, studying her like a puzzle she had just started to understand, told her that she knew.

Without another word, Garth nodded once and stepped past Lenore, heading inside to check on Rebecca. Lenore moved aside for him, her gaze never leaving Eleanor's.

Eleanor arched a brow. "I take it you knew I was coming."

Lenore gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I knew someone was." She turned toward the small kitchen, moving with slow, deliberate grace as she reached for the waiting teapot. "The dog warned me."

Eleanor followed her inside, the warmth of the fire pressing against her skin. The scent of steeping tea filled the air, and Lenore gestured toward the table. "Sit."

Eleanor took her place, watching as Lenore poured the tea and then settled across from her. The fire crackled in the hearth, its glow flickering over the lines of Lenore's face.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Eleanor lifted her cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. "You don't seem surprised by me."

Lenore stirred her tea absently. "I've lived long enough to know there are things in this world that don't fit into the way most people see it." She finally met Eleanor's gaze. "And you, Eleanor, don't belong to this world."

Eleanor tilted her head slightly, but she didn't argue.

Lenore exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around her cup. "I've been waiting," she murmured.

Eleanor's brow furrowed. "For what?"

Lenore hesitated, her lips pressing together. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. "To know what comes next."

Eleanor set her cup down carefully. Something in Lenore's tone sent a shiver through her — not from fear, but from the certainty behind it. "Lenore," she said carefully, "what have you seen?"

Lenore was silent for a long moment, staring into the tea as though she might find answers swirling in the steam. Then, finally, she said, "I don't know if it was a dream —  or something more." Her fingers trembled as she lifted her cup. "But I saw him."

Eleanor's breath caught. She straightened slightly. "Saw who?"

Lenore's gaze flicked to the fire, her expression darkening. "The man."

Eleanor's pulse quickened as she leaned forward. "Lenore, what man?"

Lenore's voice was barely a whisper. "The one who put the rope around Miriam's neck."

The fire crackled in the silence, casting shadows on the walls. Eleanor's grip on the table tightened. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but she could feel her pulse hammering in her throat. Her voice tightened. "Lenore," she urged, "Think! Was he really here?"

Lenore's fingers trembled against her cup. "I —  I don't know." She exhaled, shaking her head. "It felt real like he was watching me. But when I turned, he was gone." Her voice faltered. "Maybe — maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me."

Eleanor remained unconvinced. She leaned forward, her voice firm but calm. "No, if you saw him — if you felt him — then you are in danger."

Lenore met her eyes again, something flickering in the depths of her gaze — uncertainty, doubt, and recognition. Deep down, she knew Eleanor was right. She just wasn't ready to admit it yet.
 

Eleanor sat back slowly, watching her. She could push harder and tell Lenore that it wasn't safe here and that whatever had been watching her would return. But she believed Lenore had to come to that realization herself.

Instead, Eleanor lifted her cup and took a slow sip of tea, waiting. "Lenore, how did you see the rope around Miriam's neck? Was that a dream?"

"No, I was there as a small child." Lenore's fingers brushed across the cross hidden beneath the bodice of her dress. "She spoke to me."

"Miriam spoke to you on her wedding day?"

"Yes, and she gave me this." She lifted the cross from beneath the fabric and held it with her fingers. "The spirits have spoken to me many times, but I never knew what they meant."

"Do you know that Miriam's spirit is trapped by the man you saw?"

"Trapped? I don't understand," Lenore's voice trembled with confusion, her mind struggling to grasp the gravity of the situation.

"The man you saw is Cornelius, and his spirit is restless. He has a dark side that feels the destiny he perceived was stolen from him — he believes that Miriam's spirit prevented his family from possessing the Vineyard. He's using Miriam to get to Rebecca, Miriam's granddaughter."

Lenore nodded and then gazed into the fire. "Now the visions and whispers are much clearer. It's Miriam calling to me." She gasped as if something had touched her, spinning her head toward Eleanor. "Rebecca and the girl are not safe here."

"Neither are you."

"Me? I am an old woman who has lived in this cottage alone for many years. I am safe."

"No, Lenore. If Cornelius came, he fears you have some power connected to Miriam, which will prevent him from achieving his goals. He will not stop until he destroys you."

Lenore stared at her hands, saying nothing for a long time. "I didn't understand, or maybe I just didn't want to believe it, but I think Miriam is calling me."

Eleanor reached out and touched the woman's hand. "She needs you, Lenore. I, too, believe you are the answer to her release from the mirror."

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows along the wooden walls. Eleanor and Lenore sat in silence, their conversation lingering in the air. Lenore's fingers remained curled around the cross at her chest, her expression unreadable as she stared into the flames.

The cabin door creaked open. Garth stepped inside, rubbing a hand over his face, his expression tired. "Tango and the EMTs will be here in the morning," he said, his voice breaking the silence. His gaze flicked between them, lingering on Lenore. "We'll head to the vineyard at first light."

Lenore didn't respond at first. She set her teacup down and rose slowly, her movements unhurried. She turned toward the small hallway leading to her room. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave the question hanging — whether she would go with them or not — but then she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes met Eleanor's, and something flickered in them, something both resigned and knowing. "In the morning," Lenore said softly, her voice carrying an edge of finality, "things will change."

She said nothing more, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway, the faint sound of a door closing behind her.

Eleanor exhaled, her fingers drumming lightly against the wooden table. "She didn't say she'd go," Garth muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"She didn't say she wouldn't," Eleanor replied, watching the hallway where Lenore had gone.

Garth sighed, glancing toward the door. "Might as well get some rest while we can." He gave Eleanor a look. "I never asked, but do you ever sleep?"

She smirked faintly but didn't answer.

Outside, the wind shifted, a whisper against the cabin walls.

 

*****

The first light of dawn stretched across the clearing like golden fingers. Birds chirped in the distance, and the morning air was crisp.

Inside the cabin, the scent of fresh bread and tea filled the air. Amelia stirred awake. She blinked sleepily, stretching her small arms before remembering what she'd overheard last night. They were leaving.

Her heart clenched. Scrambling from the bed, she dashed from the room, her bare feet pattering across the wooden floor. She skidded to a stop as she saw Lenore emerging from her room, already dressed, her old shawl draped over her shoulders.

The child's breath hitched, and in an instant, she was wrapping her arms around her grandmother's waist, burying her face in the fabric of her skirt. "No, Grammy," Amelia whimpered. "Don't make me leave."

Lenore stiffened slightly, surprised by the force of the embrace. Slowly, her hands came to rest on the girl's back. For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, she knelt, gently cupping Amelia's tear-streaked face in her hands. She searched the child's wide, pleading eyes — the same eyes that had looked at her with love, the same love Lenore had longed for her entire life but had never truly known.

Something in her softened. She brushed her fingers over Amelia's damp cheek, catching a stray tear with the pad of her thumb. "Okay, little one," Lenore murmured, her voice warm but steady. "I will come with you."

Amelia sniffled, her eyes filled with doubt. "Promise?"

Lenore smiled faintly, smoothing back the girl's curls. "I promise." She lifted her gaze and met Eleanor's eyes. "I owe it to Miriam."

Eleanor nodded, a knowing look passing between them. Without another word, Lenore stood, adjusting her shawl and her quiet acceptance of her fate.

 

*****

Outside, the faint rumble of engines signaled that Tango and the EMTs were drawing closer, but everything was unnervingly still inside.

Amelia, determined to be helpful, pulled away from Lenore's grasp. "I'll get your satchel, Grammy!" she chirped, her feet padding across the wooden floor as she darted toward Lenore's bedroom.

Lenore barely had time to turn before a piercing scream shattered the fragile silence.

The sound sent an immediate chill up Eleanor's spine. Garth was already moving, his gun half-drawn as Lenore's breath caught in her throat.

Amelia came running back into the main room, her tiny frame trembling, her eyes wide with terror. Sobbing, she threw herself into Lenore's arms. "There's a man in your room!" she cried.

Lenore stiffened, instinctively pulling Amelia close, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

Eleanor was already moving. She strode toward the bedroom, her fingers tingling with energy, the air around her growing unnaturally cold.

The door was open. But the room inside was empty. And yet, she knew he'd been here.

Garth ran his fingers across Lenore's mirror in the corner. A whisper of movement flickered across its surface like a shadow passing behind glass. He turned to Eleanor, questioning what he saw. Before he asked, she answered, "I know."

A single low chuckle echoed through the room. A sound that didn't belong to the living. Eleanor's spine went rigid. She knew that voice.

A slow, deliberate scratch dragged down the mirror's surface, like fingernails on glass. A whisper, laced with mockery and malice, slithered through the air. "Leaving so soon?"

The mirror cracked — a long, jagged line splitting across the glass.

Garth stared at Eleanor and took three long strides toward the door. "Come on, we've got to get everyone out of here."

Eleanor turned on her heel and strode back into the main room, shutting the door hard behind her.

Lenore was rocking Amelia, whispering reassurances, but her face was pale, and her hands gripped the child tightly.

Eleanor locked eyes with her. "Now, do you believe me?"

Lenore swallowed hard, then nodded. She wasn't safe here anymore, and neither were they. Lenore lifted her chin, brushing away Amelia's tears, and whispered, "It's time to go." She took a slow, steadying breath, holding Amelia close as the child trembled against her.

The girl's small fingers curled into her shawl, seeking comfort, but Lenore's grip was firm — not for her own security, but for Amelia's.

The child had seen him. And Lenore had felt him. This place, the only home she had known, was no longer safe.

Garth moved first, yanking the cabin door open. Tango was already stepping out of the lead SUV, his expression alert, scanning the area as if expecting trouble. His eyes flicked to Garth. "What's going on?"

Garth hesitated for half a second before striding down the porch steps. His movements were brisk, his tone clipped. "We need to move. Now."

Tango's sharp gaze narrowed as he caught the urgency in Garth's voice. "That bad?"

Garth's jaw tightened. "Worse."

Tango didn't ask another question. He turned back to his men and motioned for the EMTs to start loading Rebecca into the vehicle. His instincts told him something was off, but Garth's look in his eyes said, "Don't ask; just trust me."

Eleanor lingered near Lenore, watching as the older woman took one last glance at the cabin.

The old wooden walls had kept her safe for so long. Now, they felt like a cage — a trap where something dark still lingered. Lenore reached for the cabin door, her fingers resting against the weathered wood. She exhaled softly and murmured loud enough for Eleanor to hear, "I don't scare that easy."

She closed the door behind her, the latch clicking into place with finality. She squared her shoulders, looking ahead. It was time to fight back.

Eleanor gave a small, approving nod.

The wolf-dog stood at Lenore's feet, muscles tense, ears twitching as if listening for something just beyond the trees.

Garth gave Tango a firm nod. "We don't have time to waste. Let's go."

Tango didn't argue. He turned to his men and signaled them to move.
The wolf-dog hesitated, head tilting toward the trees before finally leaping into the vehicle beside Lenore.

Eleanor climbed in after them, closing the door. Lenore let out a slow breath, but Eleanor wasn't ready to relax just yet.

Something prickled at the back of her mind, a familiar chill tightening around her senses. She turned her head just as the last vehicle rolled forward.
And that was when she saw him.

Cornelius stood at the edge of the trees. His face was unreadable, his hollow eyes locked onto the departing vehicles. He did not move. He did not chase them. But the cruel smirk on his lips made it clear. He had let them go — for now.

A whisper of wind curled through the trees, carrying something only Eleanor could hear — "Run while you can."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone. The forest swallowed him whole.

Eleanor exhaled, forcing her hands to relax where they had tightened into fists. The wolf-dog let out a low whine, pressing against Lenore's leg, his golden eyes still locked on the window. Eleanor reached over, running a calming hand over his thick fur. She understood.

Cornelius wasn't just watching.

He was waiting.

And she didn't like what that meant.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis – Althea’s kidnapped son Amelia - girl in the caves Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Criminals -Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner

Chapter 43
Veil of Secrets - Chap 43

By Begin Again

The afternoon sun slanted through the vines, casting golden hues across the vineyard as Lenore walked across the land — remembering.

It had been years since she stood on this land, but the memories had never left her. She had been just a child, peering through the gaps in the crowd, her small hands clutching the cross Miriam had pressed into her palm moments before the rope tightened.

Her breath hitched as her eyes settled on the oak tree alone in the distance. This was where it happened.

The wind stirred through the branches, and for a moment, she could hear echoes of the past — whispers of fear, a woman's voice raised in desperate protest, the murmurs of the onlookers.

A chill crawled up her spine, but she did not turn away. Instead, she walked forward, each step carrying all she had witnessed and had never forgotten.

She stopped at the base of the tree, her fingers brushing over the rough bark. Miriam stood here.

Lenore exhaled, steadying herself against the wave of emotion that threatened to take hold. Then, the sound of hooves. She turned.

A mule stood at the edge of the clearing, watching her with dark, intelligent eyes. Her breath caught. She knew this mule.

"Willow?" she whispered.

The animal let out a soft huff, stepping closer. A voice, deep and warm, answered her. "Yes. He remains at her side."

Lenore's heart skipped. She lifted her gaze and found a man standing beside Willow, as if he had always been there.

He was tall, his dark hair dusted with silver at the temples, his presence calm yet powerful. His eyes — deep and warm — studied her with quiet understanding.

She knew that look. She had seen it before.

Lenore's fingers curled into the fabric of her shawl. "And you?" Her voice was quiet but steady. "Are you part of her past as well?"

The man smiled gently and extended his hand. "I'm Antonio."

Lenore stared at him, realization settling into her bones.

She knew his name, because she had heard Miriam whisper it. She placed her hand in his, and for the first time in decades, she wasn't just remembering the past — she was standing in it.

*****
Lenore stood with Antonio near the vineyard's edge. The estate felt alive, its history breathing through every tree and stone.

Antonio patted Willow's neck and turned to Lenore. "I'll take him to the barn, feed the chickens, and be back soon."

Lenore nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "That's fine. I think I'd like to walk the property anyway."

Antonio hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes holding something unreadable. "Don't go too far."

She gave a light laugh. "I've been walking this land since I was a child. I'll be fine." But the moment Antonio led Willow away, her steps carried her not to the vineyard, not back to the house, but toward the cottage.

She didn't know why. But she couldn't stop.

The small stone cottage stood like a forgotten memory at the vineyard's edge, its shutters slightly ajar, its door worn with time. A strange sense of familiarity wrapped around her when she stepped inside.

She had never been here before, and yet, she knew it.

Her eyes scanned the room — a wooden table near the window, a worn quilt draped over a chair, and herbs hanging from the rafters. Her breath hitched as she noticed small things that felt identical to what she had in her own home.

A connection. A thread through time.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing over the delicate embroidery of a cushion. Had Miriam and she always been bound by something unseen?

Then, her gaze landed on the mirror. It stood against the far wall, its surface dark and unmoving—cold and hollow.

Lenore stepped forward, drawn by something she couldn't name. Her fingers touched the glass. Cool beneath her skin. She inhaled deeply.

"Miriam," she whispered, pressing her palm against it. "I know you're here. Come to me."

Nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then  — a voice, dark and taunting, curled around her like a noose. "I warned you. You should not have come."

A chill shot down Lenore's spine. She turned slowly, her breath catching in her throat. Cornelius stood in the doorway. His presence sucked the warmth from the air, and the shadows in the room darkened around him. His eyes were filled with rage. "Now," he sneered, "Say goodbye to this world as you know it. Your life belongs with Miriam, forever behind the mirror."

Lenore squared her shoulders, her grip tightening around the cross hidden beneath her shawl. "I am not afraid of you."

His smirk twisted. "Miriam is waiting for you. Give me the cross."

Lenore took a slow step back. "Never."

His face darkened with rage. He lunged forward, his icy fingers clamping around her wrist.

She screamed.

The cottage walls seemed to shudder as if the very foundation rejected his presence.

He tossed her to the floor and pulled a small velvet bag from his coat. The black powder shifted like fairy dust.

"Enough of your meddling," he growled, pouring the substance into his palm. "Your life belongs to me." His evil cackling spread into every corner of the room.

Lenore's heart pounded. Her eyes widened as he swirled the powder in his hand. The moment the powder left his fingers —

The door burst open. Antonio charged in. The force of his entrance sent a sudden gust of wind spiraling through the room.

The black powder, meant for Lenore, swirled and backfired onto Cornelius instead. A roar of pure rage erupted from him. "What have you done?!"

The surrounding shadows twisted violently, his body convulsing as the curse turned against him. The mirror's surface rippled like water — then snapped open.

Cornelius screamed as something dragged him backward, his reflection warping and contorting as it pulled him into the glass.

A final, deafening roar and then he was gone.

Silence crashed into the room. Lenore gasped for breath, clutching her chest as Antonio steadied her.

A scream from the mirror — Miriam's voice.

Lenore and Antonio spun toward it. Inside, Miriam stood trapped, and Cornelius was beside her, his eyes now burning with even more fury. He was imprisoned, but so was she. 

 

Lenore rushed forward, her heart hammering. As Miriam struggled to release Cornelius's hold, she pressed a cross against the inside of the mirror.

Lenore's breath hitched. She pulled her own cross from beneath her dress, matching the movement. The moment the two crosses aligned, light exploded from the mirror.

A wave of warmth swept through the room and a brilliant glow followed.

 

Miriam stumbled forward, falling into the real world — free at last.

Antonio caught her, gently lowering her onto the couch. Miriam breathed. Her body was weak, trembling from her imprisonment, but her eyes found Lenore's, brimming with tears.

Lenore dropped to her knees beside her, taking Miriam's hands in hers. The moment felt suspended in time — two women, bound by fate, finally reunited.
A single tear slipped down Miriam's cheek. "I knew you would come."

Lenore brushed it away gently. "I was always meant to."

The warmth in the room deepened — a shift in the air. Outside, the wind stilled. The house no longer trembled. The shadows no longer clung to the walls. Cornelius was gone and Miriam was free.

A presence stirred at the doorway. Lenore and Antonio looked up. Eleanor stood there, her face beaming with delight. She had sensed the shift, just as they had. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "It's done."

Antonio nodded. "He's locked inside the mirror, never to haunt these fields again. The land can be at peace."

Miriam's smile suddenly gave way to sadness and fear. "And Rebecca? And the boy? Did — did he harm them?"

Eleanor knelt beside Miriam, taking her hand in hers. "Rebecca and Travis are safe. They've had quite the journey, but now they are resting at the house. As soon as you find your strength, we shall go and see them. I know they will be thrilled to see you again."

As the household stirred with the aftershocks of Miriam's return and the end of Cornelius — Eleanor, Garth, and the others made their way to Rebecca's room, expecting to find her resting. When they arrived, the bed was empty.

Panic flared briefly before a sound — laughter — echoed from down the hall. They turned, following the sound through the hallway until they reached another warmly lit bedroom.

Inside, Rebecca was seated beside Althea and Travis. They all laughed at something Travis had said. The sight stopped Eleanor in her tracks, and her chest tightened with emotion.

Miriam tapped on the door and stepped inside. Rebecca's eyes widened as the trio turned to see who was there, and she gasped, "Grandma." Tears flowed from her eyes as she reached for Miriam, sobbing, "You're safe. Thank God you're back."

A moment later, everyone rushed forward, pulling Rebecca, Miriam, and Travis into tight embraces.

For a long while, the room was filled with shared laughter, murmured reassurances, and tears that spoke of healing. They felt the warmth of being whole again, the power of their emotional connection mending the wounds of the past.

*****

As the sun dipped behind the vineyard and the cliffs, casting golden hues over the rolling landscape, the grand kitchen of the estate came alive. The air filled with the warm aroma of garlic, simmering tomatoes, and fresh herbs as Antonio rolled out fresh pasta dough, his hands moving with effortless precision. Across from him, Miriam stirred a pot of sauce, tasting it with a careful tilt of her spoon.

"You've been away too long," Antonio smirked, watching her with teasing eyes. "You've forgotten how to make a proper sauce."

Miriam raised a brow, feigning offense. "Oh, is that so? And who do you think taught you how to cook?"

Antonio chuckled, shaking his head. "Your grandmother. You just took the credit."

Miriam swatted at him with a wooden spoon, sending a tiny splash of sauce onto his shirt. Antonio sighed dramatically, wiping it off. "This is what I get for haunting an estate instead of a fine restaurant in Florence."

Miriam's playful demeanor softened as she met his gaze. "I never thought we'd have this moment."

Antonio nodded, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. "Neither did I. But here we are."

They stood together — not as memories or regrets, but in the beautiful present.

*****

The long dining table in the grand hall gleamed under the glow of candlelight. Bowls of handmade pasta, fresh bread, and Antonio's legendary chicken parmesan covered the table, the feast a testament to tradition, renewal, and family.

Rebecca, Garth, Lenore, Eleanor, Travis, Althea, Maria, Tango, and Danni gathered around, their laughter and conversation filling the room. Antonio poured wine, giving each guest a generous serving.

"A toast," he declared, raising his glass.

Miriam followed, her voice filled with warmth and hope. "To family, to love, and to new beginnings. May our future be as bright as this moment."

Glasses clinked, their collective joy echoing through the house. For once, the past did not overshadow the present — they were together, sharing a moment untouched by old ghosts or unfinished battles.

As the meal carried on, Travis animatedly recounted childhood stories, making Rebecca laugh in a way she hadn't in years. Garth watched her, admiring how the shadows that once haunted her expression had finally lifted.

When their eyes met, something shifted between them, something unspoken but deeply understood. He leaned in slightly. "You look happy."

Rebecca's smile softened. "I think I finally am."

Beneath the table, Garth brushed his fingers over hers, a silent question lingering in the touch. This time, she did not pull away.

 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner

Chapter 44
Veil of Secrets - Chap 44

By Begin Again

As laughter and conversation carried on, Eleanor's phone buzzed. Excusing herself, she stepped away and answered.

Jenna's bright and hopeful voice filled the line, "Matthew's doing better. He's awake."

Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, relief washing over her. "That's wonderful news, Jenna."

Jenna's voice wavered with emotion. "I just wanted you to know." Then she choked as she asked, "Any word on Maggie?"

Eleanor could feel the pain in her daughter's voice. She wanted to reach out and tell her everything would be alright, but she wasn't sure. She had hopes but no concrete proof. She glanced at the merriment unfolding only steps away and then turned back to the phone. "I'm sorry, Jenna. Nothing yet."

The floodgates opened, and the floodwater washed away Jenna's attempt to be upbeat. "Mom, you've got to find my baby. She needs her mother." Jenna gulped, fighting for air, and cried, "We need her."

"We'll find her, Jen. I promise." Eleanor prayed she wasn't giving false hope.

"That's the only reason I am holding on. You've never broken a promise." Jenna's voice faltered, and she whispered, "I'll be here waiting." The call disconnected.

*****
Returning to the table, Eleanor lifted her glass with a smile. "Matthew's on the mend — again."

A cheer rose, wine poured anew, and the night carried on with newfound hope.

*****

As the evening wound down, Antonio and Miriam stood at the head of the table, watching over the family they had fought to protect. Miriam whispered, her voice full of emotion. "This is what I always wanted for Rebecca — for the vineyard."

Antonio took her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. "You gave it to her."

Miriam looked up at him, eyes shimmering with gratitude. "We did — and I hope it will also become a home for Lenore and Amelia. With Cornelius gone, Althea and Travis should be able to claim the Webb Estate."

*****
Later that night, under the calm starlit sky, Lenore walked hand in hand with little Amelia toward the barn. Willow, the old mule, rested peacefully in his stall.

Amelia's eyes widened as she took in the vastness of the estate. "It's so big, Grammy."

Lenore nodded. "Miriam suggested it was meant to be your home one day."
Amelia tilted her head. "Mine?"

Lenore smiled thoughtfully. "Yours, Rebecca's, Travis's — this land belongs to those who love it. Miriam fought for it. She would want it to stay in the family."

"But I'm not —"

Lenore smiled, "I'm your Grammy, and Miriam says she is too."

"Wow, I have two grandmothers." Her eyes were brighter than the stars in the sky as she stared into Lenore's eyes. "I've got a family."

"You sure do, child." She wrapped her arm around Amelia and pulled her closer. "You sure do!"

As they approached Willow's stall, the old mule snorted softly. Amelia gasped with delight. "He is the biggest mule I've ever seen!"

Lenore chuckled. "Willow's more than a mule — he's part of Miriam's story." She pulled a carrot from her pocket and handed it to the child. "Here, say hello. He loves carrots."

Amelia hesitated, then whispered, "Did he miss her when she was in the gone?"

"Just as much as anyone did." From a nearby roof, Milo crowed. Lenore laughed, "I think he did too." She knelt beside the child, brushing a curl from her cheek. "Miriam is here now, little one. She's where she belongs. And Willow and Milo know it, just like we do."

Amelia giggled as the mule nuzzled her hand, her laughter echoing through the barn. Lenore watched, feeling something settle deep inside her. For the first time in decades, she wasn't just remembering the past — she was part of the present.

*****
Stepping onto the estate's balcony, Eleanor gazed up at the moon. A familiar presence stirred beside her.

"It's done, then?" Charles's voice was soft, laced with love. Eleanor sensed a quiet urgency as he spoke. "Miriam is free?"

"Yes," Eleanor nodded, "and Cornelius is in the right place. He won't harm anyone again."

Charles studied her. "Then come back to England."

She sighed, brushing his hand with hers. "Not yet."

"Eleanor, you've done more for this world than anyone could ask. What else is keeping you here?"

She turned, her gaze unwavering. "Maggie. Have you forgotten?"

Charles exhaled slowly. "Zhang has the advantage. You know that."

Eleanor lifted her chin. "He won't forever."

"Eleanor, please, leave it to others." He pleaded though he knew she wouldn't step aside. Her spirit life was in a different realm than his, a place he didn't understand or belong.

She touched Charles's face, murmuring, "You know I can't do that."

Her phone buzzed. Danny's name flashed across the screen. She sighed. "This conversation isn't over."

Charles smirked. "It never is." Then he was gone.

Eleanor answered the call.

The warmth in Danny's voice felt like an arm wrapped around her. "Ellie, the jet's wheels just touched the ground." He paused, and then, in an even softer voice, he added, "I'm yours. Tell me what you need."

 

*****

Seeking a little quiet, Garth and Rebecca strolled along the vineyard's edge, where the land met the water. The moon cast silver ripples over the surface, the breeze carrying the scent of the rose garden.

Rebecca exhaled, and her body finally relaxed. "I never thought I'd see her again."

Garth glanced at her. "Miriam?"

Rebecca nodded. "I thought — maybe everything I fought for was just another ghost story. But she's real. And she's here."

Garth smirked. "And Cornelius is gone."

Rebecca shivered slightly. "For good."

Garth watched her for a moment before he spoke. "That means you don't have to be afraid anymore."

Rebecca turned to him, her expression softer. "I think I forgot what it felt like not to be afraid."

Garth reached for her hand. "Then let's start with this."

She didn't pull away. Instead, she let him pull her closer, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the last lingering shadows. Her lips responded eagerly as his gentle kisses grew more passionate.

For the first time in a long time, Rebecca wasn't just surviving —she was living.

 

******

Eleanor paced the floor, reliving the few moments she'd spent with Charles on the balcony tonight. She'd thought that by now, he'd understand — righting wrongs, fighting battles others had given up on — that was who she was.

Once upon a time, she was a young nurse with dreams of becoming an international artist. That part of her life had been fulfilled, but she had moved forward, wanting something more.

She'd always been there to help Matthew and Garth with their unsolvable crimes. The Vineyard and Miriam were resolved, but Maggie was still missing. How could she stop now?

Why couldn't Charles understand? Why couldn't he see that walking away was never an option for her? That as long as there was a thread of a chance, she would keep fighting?

She stopped pacing, exhaling slowly. She already knew the answer.
Some spirits let go and lived happily ever after in a peaceful state. Some didn't. Some took up the sword and went forth into battle.

She grabbed her coat.

There was someone she needed to see.

 

*****

Danny Veraci's casino never slept. It thrived in the late hours, pulsing with neon promises and whispered secrets, a place where people lost themselves in luck, booze, and carefully orchestrated illusions.

Eleanor drifted past the blackjack tables, the roulette wheels, and the desperate hopefuls clinging to dice as if they held fate in their hands.
Danny was where she knew he'd be.

Invisible, she slipped through the mahogany door and stopped inside. The sweet aroma of Captain Black's cherry pipe tobacco greeted her.

Danny was exactly where she'd expected, sitting near the window, gazing out at the city skyline, a glass of bourbon in his hand, and the pipe on the stand.

She glided across the room, standing beside his chair, amazed at how the years had been so kind, regardless of the many battles he'd chosen to fight.

Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the change in temperature. She settled herself in the other chair and slowly materialized. Her voice was barely a whisper. "It's been a long time, Danny."

Danny froze mid-sip. His eyes locked onto hers, and the ever-smooth Danny Veraci was speechless for once. "Jesus, Ellie." His voice was low, rougher than usual. "You gotta stop doing that."

"And you have to stop pretending you don't expect me."

Danny sighed, setting his glass down. "You don't sleep much these days, huh? I had hoped you'd come, but honestly, I expected you in the morning."

She scoffed, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. "Ghosts rarely sleep, especially this one." She turned her head for a moment, gathering herself, before she spoke again. "Danny, I'm afraid. I need your help."

Danny exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. Eleanor never asked for anything. She demanded, she pushed, she fought — but she rarely let herself be vulnerable. And yet here she was.

He looked at her and stood, his arms outstretched. She stood and let him wrap his arms around her. "We'll find her, Ellie."

Eleanor's jaw tightened. "That's not a promise you can make."

Danny stepped back, not letting go but enough to look into her eyes. "You're right. But I'll make damn sure we don't stop looking until we do."

For the first time that night, Eleanor's shoulders dipped just slightly. The exhaustion, the weight of it all, pressed down, but only for a second.
Danny saw it, but he didn't call it out.

Instead, he poured another drink, walked to his private stock, opened it up, and took out a vintage bottle of wine. He poured a glass and brought it to her."
She eyed it. "You remembered."

Danny smirked. "It's just a reminder that some things don't change."

Eleanor finally looked at him, her expression softer now. "No, Danny. They always change."

Danny held her gaze for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Yeah. I guess they do."

The weight of everything unsaid settled between them. Eleanor straightened. "I should go."

Danny didn't try to stop her. He just tipped his glass in her direction. "If you ever do need anything — you know I'll always be here."

"I know, but for now all I can ask is that you see if you can help find Zhang and my granddaughter."

"I've already got my contacts checking out safe houses. You'll be the first to hear if I learn anything."

Eleanor lingered a second longer, then vanished before she reached the door.

Danny exhaled a slow breath and tossed back the rest of his bourbon.
"Some things never change, especially when it comes to that woman," he murmured, staring into the empty glass. "Dead or not, she does things that no other woman can do to me."

Without another word, he poured another drink.

 

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner

Chapter 45
Veil of Secrets - Chap 45

By Begin Again

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Sam poured the amber liquor into two highball glasses and handed one to his boss and the other to Jack Lexington.

Frank nodded to Sam. "Thanks, but pour one for yourself because this conversation might take a while."

Sam didn't question Frank. He crossed the room, chose a merlot, and poured it into a glass. Turning toward Jack and Frank, he felt like he was walking into a bullfight. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was deafening. Both men were chewing on Zhang's escape, and neither liked it.
Before Sam got comfortable, Frank snarled, "I can't believe he outsmarted us again. Having a getaway car waiting on some back road — just in case."

Jack stared into his drink. "Whether I like it or not, I must admit the man is thorough."

"How did he discover Donatelli was alive and in my hospital?" Frank slammed his fist against the arm of the chair. "I thought this place was an impenetrable fortress. Guess I got that wrong."

"He just outsmarted us, Frank, but I want to know how he found out Donatelli was alive?"

Sam sat, sipping his wine and listening. He was there as a sounding board after they'd bounced the conversation around. He preferred it that way. Two strong-willed, wise guys didn't need a third party muddying the water unless asked.

"Well, we can rule out the FBI. Garth kept the information of the sting under wraps until the last second. We're talking about Donatelli's life here. He wouldn't have shared information with anyone unless it were necessary."

"Okay, we take law enforcement out of the equation for now. Jin's dead, so he's not talking. That leaves Rossi and the coroner."

"My bet's on Rossi — he's a slimeball through and through."

"Yeah, but he didn't have to tell me about the hit, but he did. Of course, he had ulterior motives but too much to lose connecting with Zhang again.

"Namely, his life." Frank swallowed his bourbon and set the empty glass on the table. Sam quickly moved to get the bottle and refilled his boss's glass without being asked. Then, he topped off Jack's.

"I'm going to pay a visit to Rossi, and maybe you can reach out to any of your connections." Jack emptied his glass and stood. "Thanks for the bourbon, Frank." He nodded at Sam and started toward the office door.

"You going to see Rossi tonight, Jack? It's getting late."

"You're getting rusty, Frank. It's not too late. The night's just beginning, especially when you want to pay a surprise visit." Jack raised his hand, acknowledging his goodbye, and left.

 

*****
A black sedan sat idling across the street from the upscale safe house. Its windows cracked enough to let in the cool night air, allowing two FBI agents, Monroe and Davis, to endure another mind-numbingly boring surveillance shift.

Monroe lifted his half-eaten burger, now cold and slightly soggy, and sighed. "There goes another one." He shook his head and pointed with his burger down the street. "You ever think about how many families cram their kids into vans? Haulin' half the damn neighborhood to soccer games, dance recitals, or birthday parties."

Davis, sipping his lukewarm coffee, glanced at the street where a dark van rolled by, its headlights bouncing off the pavement. He barely gave it a second glance. "Yeah, well, those parents get to go home at the end of the night. We get to babysit a washed-up wise guy while eating mystery meat."

Monroe peeled back the bun and grimaced. "Yeah. Speaking of which, what do you think this was before it was a burger?"

Davis smirked. "Probably classified."

The van continued past the safe house, blending in with the late-night city traffic.

Monroe wiped his fingers on a napkin. "Hell, maybe that van's loaded with sweaty kids in cleats, all hopped up on Capri Suns and orange slices."

Davis snorted. "Or it's a bunch of exhausted parents questioning all their life choices."

Unbeknownst to them, Jack Lexington was already making his move inside that van, his actions a stark contrast to their mundane conversation.

At the end of the block, the van turned off the main road and slipped into a quiet alley. A rundown garage door creaked open just long enough for the van to slide inside. The moment the tires touched the cracked concrete, the door rumbled shut behind them.

Jack, dressed in a dark coat and gloves, pushed the side door open and stepped onto the garage floor.

His driver, Max, cut the engine and gave him a lazy glance. "You sure you don't wanna use the front door like a normal person?"

Jack smirked, straightening his coat. "That's the difference between you and me, Max. I know better than to trust the front door."

Max chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "I'll be here when you need an exit. Try not to get yourself shot, huh?"

Jack gave a two-fingered wave and disappeared through a door in the corner of the garage.

The door led down a set of narrow concrete steps, the air growing colder and mustier with each step. At the bottom, a metal door with a reinforced lock stood waiting. Jack pressed his palm flat against it. He smirked to himself. "Still here after all these years."

Years ago, when Jack set up this safe house for emergencies, he ensured it had an extra layer of security — a hidden underground tunnel leading from this garage to the basement of the safe house.

He punched in a six-digit code, and the door unlatched with a mechanical hiss.

The tunnel, a dark and damp passage, stretched about a hundred feet underground, reinforced with bricks and steel beams. Dim lighting flickered from motion sensor bulbs mounted along the walls, casting long, shifting shadows as Jack moved.

His footsteps echoed slightly, but he knew the sound wouldn't carry. Within minutes, he reached another door — the basement of the safe house.

Jack twisted the handle, stepped inside, and ascended a short flight of stairs.
The unmistakable scent of cigars and expensive whiskey greeted him when he stepped into the main living space.

Vince Rossi was lounging in a leather chair, sipping a drink, looking as comfortable as a man who didn't have the FBI watching his every move. A luxury silk robe draped over his frame, and the television flickered with some late-night talk show.

Rossi glanced up at Jack's sudden appearance without a hint of surprise.
He smirked and lifted his glass. "I was going to say I didn't hear you knock, but then I remembered this house belongs to you."

Jack stepped forward, brushing a bit of tunnel dust from his sleeve. "Yeah, and so does the top-shelf whiskey you're drinking."

Rossi ran his hand across his chin and chuckled. "You got me there." He raised the glass and took a long swallow as if he was mocking Jack.

Jack took a step closer, his expression shifting. "Let's cut the pleasantries, Vince."

Rossi sighed, swirling his drink. "Yeah, yeah. I figured this wasn't a social call."

Jack smirked. "What gave it away?"

Rossi gestured. "The fact that you just crawled out of a damn tunnel like some kind of mafia Batman."

Jack cracked his neck. "Then let's get to it."

"What about? I haven't seen any good movies. The least you could do is have Netflix."

"If I don't get some straight answers, Vince, you'll find yourself back in that flea-bitten motel."

"Alright! What's got your drawers in a wad?"

"The attack on Donatelli at Frank DiVito's place. It wasn't public information that Donatelli was alive or where he was being stashed. So, tell me, Vince, did you make a call?"

"Attack? I was right here, Jack. What are you talking about?"

"Not that attack. The one Zhang pulled off at Frank DiVito's place. It wasn't public information that Donatelli was alive or where he was being stashed. So, tell me, Vince, did you make a call?"

"Me? Do you think I'm stupid enough to get back into bed with Zhang? I'd be dead in a heartbeat."

"I think you'd do whatever keeps you comfortable. Maybe you like your bread buttered on both sides."

"Listen, Jack, I might be a lot of things, but suicidal ain't one of 'em. It wasn't me."

"Then who was it?"

Rossi sipped his drink. "Let's just say Zhang has friends in high places."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You mean law enforcement?"

Rossi smirked, "Or higher."

Jack growled, "I don't have time for games, Vince."

Rossi leaned forward. "I'm not saying Zhang's involved with what I'm about to share, but he might be. I heard something — a judge has been working both sides of the law. My cousin saw him at the docks. What law-abiding citizen would be down there, especially at night?"

"Who is it?"

"I don't have a name, Jack. I gave you all I got."

"I'm gonna find out if you're lying, Vince. And if you are —"

Rossi grinned and raised his whiskey glass. "I'd expect nothing less."
Jack disappeared back into the tunnel — leaving Rossi shaken but still smirking. He raised his glass, muttering, "Happy hunting, Jack."

*****

Across town, three men dressed in black donned their masks and slipped through the back door to Bayside's morgue. Silently, they moved down the hall, muffling their footsteps.

The leader raised his hand to halt, then peered through the slats of the blinds to make sure their target was alone. Satisfied, he motioned it was okay and shoved the double doors open.

The lead thug, Carlo, pulled out his gun as he approached the coroner and the body on the table. "Hello, Doc. The boss sends his regards."

The coroner barely had time to look up before the silencer coughed, and his head jerked.

A second of silence followed — then a dull thud as his lifeless body slid to the floor.

The coroner had talked once. Zhang wasn't about to let him talk again.

"Alright," muttered Leo, one of the other enforcers. "Let's get him on a table."
They grabbed the dead weight of the coroner, hauling him toward an empty autopsy table. Carlos grabbed the nearest sheet and pulled it back —ready to make space for the body.

And that's when they saw it.

A cadaver, chest split open, the cavity stuffed full of plastic-wrapped bricks.
Leo stared at the bags, then let out a low whistle. "Well, well —" He pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced into one of the bricks. A fine white powder puffed into the air.

Carlos's expression hardened. "That son of a bitch."

"The doc was double-dipping," Leo muttered, rubbing the powder between his fingers. "Holding back on whoever was running this."

Carlos glanced at the dead coroner and then at the drugs. "Change of plans — a bonus for the boss."

Leo nodded. "Take the doc's case. Doesn't look like he will be using it."
Carlos started putting the bricks in the doctor's briefcase and began covering up the two cadavers again.

Leo headed out the side door — just as Jack Lexington turned the corner.
They passed each other in the hallway.

Leo, acting casual, nodded in acknowledgment like they were two guys just going about their night. Jack didn't think much of it — yet. He stepped into the morgue, his footsteps the only sound in the sterile room.

Something felt off. He glanced around. The place seemed empty, but the faint smell of gunfire hung in the air. Then he spotted blood on the floor.

"Son of a —" Jack muttered, moving closer. He moved to the table and lifted the sheet. The coroner was stone dead, with a bullet wound in the forehead.
Jack sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. "And here I was, hoping for a quiet night."

Eleanor materialized beside him. She looked at the body, then at Jack. "Well, you've got some explaining to do."

Jack jerked slightly but recovered fast. "You ever announce yourself like a normal person?"

Eleanor smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Before Jack could respond, the door swung open again. Eleanor disappeared.

DeLuca stepped inside, flipping through a folder. He barely glanced up before he stopped in his tracks, eyes locking on Jack standing over the body.

A beat of silence. Then DeLuca's gun was up and aimed at Jack.
"Step away from the body, Lexington," DeLuca snapped.

Jack groaned, raising his hands slightly. "You know, I get real tired of this routine."

DeLuca narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jack smirked. "Oh, you know — just admiring the city's commitment to violent crime."

DeLuca wasn't amused. But before he could press further, Eleanor materialized between them.

"Put the gun down, DeLuca," she said, exasperated. "Jack didn't do this."

DeLuca startled slightly. "Jesus, Eleanor!"

Jack smirked. "Yeah, see? She does it to everyone."

DeLuca, recovering, gritted his teeth but didn't lower his weapon. "And why exactly am I supposed to believe he didn't do it?"

Eleanor gestured toward the side office. "Because," she said, "there's two thugs in the doc's office. The other one already left with the goods."

DeLuca's head snapped toward the office door. He took a slow step forward, gun raised. "Come out of there, hands where I can see 'em."

Silence.

Jack muttered, "Yeah, I don't think they're gonna —"

The door burst open, and gunfire erupted. Jack and DeLuca dived behind an autopsy table as bullets ripped through the air.

Eleanor, meanwhile, went on the offensive. She vanished instantly and reappeared inside the office, standing right behind the gunmen. "Hello, boys."

Their eyes bulged in disbelief. Carlos stammered, "How'd you get —"

She grabbed the nearest tray of organs and sent it flying across the room.

SPLAT. 

 

A liver hit one thug straight in the face.

The guy stumbled back, firing wildly, his shot going nowhere near his target.
Jack peeked over the table. "Did she just —"

SPLAT.

Another guy got a kidney to the back of the head.

Eleanor, now enjoying herself, grabbed a tray and chucked it at both guys.
Jack stared. Breathing heavily from dodging bullets, DeLuca just muttered, "What the hell?"

Eleanor vanished again.

The men, confused, were wide open.

Jack popped up and fired — winging his gun hand. The second guy, still wiping liver off his face, turned to run, but DeLuca tackled him hard.

Jack waved his gun, shaking his head. "Well, that was unorthodox."

Eleanor reappeared, brushing imaginary dust off her coat. "You should try it sometime. Very effective." She smiled and added, "Book 'em."

DeLuca, still catching his breath, muttered, "I need a damn vacation."

Jack smirked, nudging him with his boot. "Come on, admit it wasn't the worst thing you've seen."

DeLuca just groaned, reaching for his cuffs. "Let's get these guys processed before she throws another pancreas at someone."

A mischievous grin crossed her face as she tossed Jack a towel. "You might want to get that red glob off your jacket."

Eleanor winked and disappeared.

Author Notes

Main Characters - Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Trevor's murdered bride, Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and potentially interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and escaped prisoner from Joliet State Prison. Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and escaped prisoner Grayson Webb - grand nephew and recently inherited the Webb Estate Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Phil Henderson - Bayside family lawyer Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Ashley, Lee Ann, Kristen - women caged in the tunnel Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner

Chapter 46
Veil of Secrets - Chap 46

By Begin Again

 

 

The bold letters on the door announced, 

"The Honorable Judge Alex Garland." 

 

He had stepped in to replace John Doyle — the corrupt judge disbarred and imprisoned — promising to raise the standard of justice in the community. To the public, Garland was the very picture of integrity, yet behind his spotless facade lay hidden secrets — like the unlisted phone stashed away in a locked desk drawer.

Glancing through the glass into the corridor, Garland unlocked the drawer, retrieved the phone, and answered, "Yeah?"

The caller's voice trembled: "We've got action in the morgue — and it's not good."

Though his voice remained even, Garland's pulse quickened as he snapped, "And how exactly does this affect me?"

"DeLuca found the coroner — dead," the voice said, pausing. "The package was still on the table."

"Damn!" Garland exclaimed, pushing his chair aside as he began to pace. "Are the contents in the evidence room?"

"Not so far. And I don't know the connection, but Jack Lexington was there too," the voice replied with a cough. "Everyone's hush-hush, but they have two men in custody."

"The men—are they part of Lexington's crew?" Garland attempted to add two and two together, but it didn't work.

"It doesn't look that way. Supposedly, all DeLuca found was the wrapping."

"So, someone's cleaned house." Garland's breathing escalated. "Who else knew about the package arriving today?"

"Just you and me." The voice coughed again. "And obviously someone else."

Garland took a deep breath, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. "Keep your mouth shut. Until we know who this new player is we trust no one. One misstep and this can blow up in our faces. Get me info on who those thugs work for —" He paused. "Stay on top of this." Then, he disconnected the call.

*****

Detective DeLuca fixed his gaze on the two men across the interrogation table. They had uttered only one word — "lawyer." He sighed, pushed his chair back, and stormed out of the room.

Leaning casually against the wall, Jack Lexington handed him a cup of coffee. "Here, I think you could use this."

"Thanks," the detective muttered as he accepted the cup. "I'd hate to be in a poker game with either of those idiots. I can't tell if they are breathing unless they mutter lawyer. Has their lawyer made an entrance yet?"

Precisely at that moment, the door at the end of the hall swung open with a thud. A woman straight out of a fashion magazine sauntered in and dropped her business card on the desk. "Rosalie Jarvis. I believe you're holding two of my clients. I demand to see them immediately." Her voice was smooth as honey, but the flare in her eye said she was all business.

Danni's gaze checked the woman's appearance as she picked up the card. She read it before speaking. "Nice threads for a working girl. Armani?"

Rosalie's dark eyes studied Danni before she answered, "Valentino. But I'm not here to discuss fashion. I want to see my clients — now."

Danni chuckled and then walked down the hall to DeLuca and Jack. She handed DeLuca the business card. "The broad you're drooling over is their lawyer."

Jack looked over Danni's shoulder at Rosalie and whistled under his breath. "She's no nickel and dime lawyer. Someone with a few bucks is backing these thugs. Too rich for my blood, especially for low lifes like those two."

Danni raised an eyebrow. "You know her?"

"Not personally. But she's done some work for a few people who shall remain anonymous. Whoever these guys are working for has some clout."

"Who are you talking about? The New York Guys? They didn't send any big shot to save their other men." DeLuca couldn't tear his eyes off Ms Jarvis. "This dame is the whole package."

 

"Put your eyeballs back in their sockets, DeLuca. She's working for the other side, remember."

 

"Hey, there's no law against looking."

 

Jack smirked. "She's a shark, DeLuca. She'd eat you for breakfast and then ask for seconds."

 

Danni shook her head. "Okay, boys. We've got a case to solve, and the lady's waiting." She glanced down the hallway before asking her next question. "Any idea who's been dealing drugs? What names are on your radar?"

DeLuca shrugged. "Other than some penny ante dealers, Bayside doesn't have anything going on with drugs."

"Well, your corner street dealer doesn't usually pick up his drugs from a cadaver in the morgue. I can't tell you how long it's been going on right under your noses, but I can say being able to ship bodies out of your morgue with drugs takes a lot of pull. Someone with the cash to pay her."

Rosalie's heels clicked against the floor as she approached. "Gentlemen —" She glared coldly at Danni without addressing her before continuing. "My clients?"

Sensing the subtle temperature change, Danni smirked. "Right this way, Ms. Jarvis." She struggled not to laugh as Eleanor glided into the interrogation room before Ms. Jarvis did.

Invisible to anyone, Eleanor positioned herself directly behind Rosalie after she was seated. The no-nonsense lawyer tossed her briefcase on the table and snapped, "I'm assuming you've kept your mouth shut. I'm sure you realize that loose lips would cost you more than I think you are willing to pay." She glared at the two men. "You had a job — pop the coroner and get out. What happened?"

"Carlos did exactly what Zhang said. Then Leo saw the bricks in the other guy's gut."

"We thought the boss would like the gift. So, we started grabbing the dope. Then this guy comes in, followed by the cop. We had nowhere to go but the office."

"You're not going to believe this, but it's the God's truth. This woman appeared out of nowhere."

Rosalie slammed her hand against the table. "Were you guys sampling the product? How could a woman appear out of thin air?"

"He's telling you the truth. She started throwing things at us."

"Throwing things? You, morons, had guns. Why didn't you shoot her?"

"We did, but she wouldn't die."

"She was throwing livers, guts, everything. And then we started taking fire from the other direction, too. We didn't have a chance."

Rosalie stood and tossed her file into her briefcase. "If you think I'm going back to Mr. Wei with that story, you're nuts. You can rot in jail, not that you'll live long."

Eleanor materialized behind Rosalie, smiling and waving at the two men.

Carlos jumped backward, tipping his chair over. "That's her. That's the woman." Both men pointed to the spot behind Rosalie. They each wore looks of horror.

Rosalie spun around, but no one was there. She rushed toward the door and screamed at Danni. "Come here. I'll have them throwing the book at you for coming in when I'm interrogating my clients."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Danni smiled.

"Really? So, my clients won't pin you as the woman in the morgue or from moments ago in that room?"

"No," came Danni's curt reply. "I wasn't there."

Rosalie grabbed Danni's arm and shoved her toward the interrogation room. "We'll see about that!"

Danni jerked her arm away from the lawyer, glaring at her. "I know the way. And unless you want an assault charge, don't touch me again."

As Rosalie and Danni moved into the interrogation room, Rosalie's tone shifted from businesslike to accusatory. "Is this the woman you saw seconds ago?"

The two men exchanged uneasy glances before both shook their heads in unison. "That's not her."

Rosalie stammered, losing her polished cool, "You're sure she's not the woman?"

Both men nodded. She picked up her briefcase and marched past Danni, muttering, "They're yours."

As Rosalie Jarvis cleared the outer door, Eleanor appeared and doubled over with laughter. "Did something go wrong with her visit?"

Danni laughed. "What did you do in there?"

"You mean other than wave goodbye to your inmates?" she asked. She waited for Deluca and Jack to join them. "I've got the information you were looking for."

Deluca's look of surprise washed across his face. "How'd you squeeze it out of them?" he asked. "I couldn't get them to open their mouth."

Eleanor shrugged and grinned. "I didn't do anything but listen. Their lawyer asked a question, and they answered. From what they said, Zhang ordered the hit on the coroner, but the drugs were someone else's ballgame."

"You're trying to tell me that the coroner was running a drug business out of the morgue? The guy's not been here long, but he didn't impress me as having too much savvy unless he was talking to dead guys."

"If your coroner is only the middle guy, then you've got big problems in the department. Someone from higher up is calling the shots." Jack scratched his head. "No wonder everyone wanted Donatelli out of the way."

"You're thinking Matthew might have got wind of something and was following up on it?" Danni shook her head. "Why wouldn't he have told me unless he didn't have anyone in mind?"

"It's a possibility, is all I'm saying. Zhang sent Rossi to finish him off, but if he's not involved in drugs, then we've got more than one mole in this place."

After listening to the others, Eleanor said, "If you want those two to stay alive, you'd better find somewhere besides the Bayside jail. The lawyer already told them their lives weren't worth anything."

"But we don't know who we can trust in this department or anywhere else." Deluca shoved his hands into his pockets. "Danni, tell me what Donatelli would do?"

Danni rolled her eyes. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Yeah, I do." Deluca stared at her. "All this is out of my league, so give me some direction."

Danni nodded. "You've got to understand that Donatelli did things a little differently. He didn't break the law, but let's say he bent it."

Eleanor moved closer to DeLuca and whispered in his ear. "What Danni's trying to tell you is that Matthew didn't always share everything with the people in the department. If he felt it was best to keep something quiet or color outside the lines, that's what he did."

DeLuca shook his head, rubbing his chin. "I don't know —"

Jack finally spoke up. "Either you leave the two guys locked up here, and even with guards, you're going to have dead bodies on your hands by morning. Otherwise, we stash them somewhere. And I've got just the place."

*****

DeLuca quickly inserted a key in the lock and swung open the cell door. He motioned to the two detainees with a curt, barely audible command, "Let's go."

The men shuffled out silently, their eyes avoiding contact. Down the dim corridor, a lone guard appeared, eyeing the unusual activity.

Before he could raise any questions, Danni stepped forward and, in a hushed tone, explained to the guard, "We're moving them for security reasons — you know how Donatelli works?"

The guard hesitated, shifted his gaze from Danni to DeLuca and the two inmates, and nodded. "I'm glad to see Detective Donatelli is back working again." Danni nodded and didn't deny or clarify what the guard had said.

Just then, Jack's black SUV rolled up. DeLuca and Danni briskly ushered the two men toward the vehicle. They climbed into the back without protest or further comment, leaving the jail  — and any questions — behind. The SUV peeled away into the night, its dark silhouette promising a swift, secretive escape.

Author Notes

Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Current Characters -Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and deceased Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and now witness protection Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner Judge Alex Garland – the man trying to step into John Doyle’s corrupt shoes Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption

Chapter 47
Veil of Secrets - chap 47

By Begin Again

The noon sun was heating the pavement when Rosalie stepped out of the police station, still unable to wrap her mind around what had just happened in the interrogation room.

"Idiots!" She shook her head, shielding her eyes from the bright glare. "Zhang can't expect me to represent those two imbeciles. I can see the headlines — defendants claim their innocence due to a battle with a ghost."

As she neared the underground garage, her anger shifted, and the consequences of her actions began to take hold. Her mind raced in another direction.

She glanced around the parking lot. How long would it be before word got back to Zhang? Were they watching her? Zhang had people everywhere. Did he already know what she'd done? Regardless of who those guys were, her purpose was to represent them and keep them silent. Instead, she defiantly faced those thugs, understood her actions, and walked out.

Her fingers twitched against her clutch as she moved toward her car, each step heavier than the last. She needed a plan and fast — something that kept her alive.

She knew that if those men talked, she wouldn't see tomorrow.

She reached into her bag for her keys, inhaling sharply, torn between driving home or disappearing for a few days. And then —  she saw him.

Judge Alex Garland.

Leaning against his sleek black car, he adjusted his cufflinks and then glanced at his phone. Unbothered. Powerful.

A man with answers. A man with protection and influence. A man who could keep her safe until she had a better plan. She hesitated, thinking, calculating — then made her decision.

She shifted her weight, adjusting her heel. A carefully calculated movement — one wrong step, a tiny snap. Her ankle twisted, her heel broke, and she stumbled forward, allowing her briefcase to slip from her grasp.

The contents spilled onto the pavement.

Among them? A document with Zhang's name printed at the top.

The pages fluttered across the asphalt, half-sliding beneath a nearby parked car.
She let out a soft curse, biting her lip, her face twisting in frustration as she crouched down to gather them.

And then — a shadow, a presence. The scent of expensive cologne and five-hundred-dollar suits. His breath was warm on her neck as he bent to offer his hand.

"Trouble, Ms. Jarvis?" His voice was smooth, edged with amusement.

She looked up, exhaling sharply, brushing hair from her face. "Judge Garland!" She pressed her lips together and attempted a half-hearted smile. "I think I just lost a pair of shoes and my dignity in the same breath."

Garland huffed out a low chuckle. He bent down, reaching for one of the loose papers, his fingers stilling as his gaze flickered over the name.

Zhang Wei. The briefest pause. A flicker of curiosity. And then — it was gone.

Rosalie moved fast, snatching the paper before he could read more. She pressed her lips together, sliding the documents back into her briefcase, her fingers trembling just enough to make it believable.

Garland handed her the last paper, watching her. Studying.

She knew what he was thinking — that she was fragile, off balance, vulnerable, and that made her interesting.

"Need help getting up?"

She hesitated — just enough to make it seem real. Then she sighed, extending her hand. "I suppose I don't have a choice."

His grip was warm, strong, steady. He pulled her effortlessly to her feet, but she let herself stumble slightly, pressing into him just long enough for him to feel her against him.

Garland smirked, his hand lingering at her waist.

She could feel the shift.

He wasn't just intrigued anymore. He wanted more.

She exhaled, shaking her head and letting out a soft laugh. "I owe you for this."

Garland arched a brow. "Oh?"

Rosalie lifted her chin, holding his gaze. "Let me buy you a drink."

His smirk deepened, but his expression remained unreadable. "That's not necessary."

"Oh, but it is," she admitted, tilting her head slightly. "I insist."

Garland exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Tempting," he murmured. "But I have somewhere to be."

She let him leave. She didn't chase. She didn't push. Instead, she watched as he got into his car and pulled away. And then, slowly, her lips curled into a smirk. He was already thinking about her. And that was all she needed.

She slid into her car, reached into her bag, and pulled out her phone. "Change of plans," she murmured, voice low. "I need a dress, a bottle of Macallan, and" she hesitated, lips curling slightly, "access to Judge Garland's office." She was already planning her next move.

A pause. Then, the smooth response."Of course. Where should I send the package?"

She smirked. "The usual place."

She hung up, tossing the broken heel onto the passenger seat. Everyone knew the judge ended his day with a nightcap and signing papers his secretary had left — a routine anyone could set their clocks by and one that worked in her favor.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and brushed a loose hair away from her face, and with a smirk, she announced, "Game on."

 

*****

Garland wasn't used to surprises — especially not the kind involving a beautiful woman waiting in his office with a bottle of scotch and eyes that hinted of trouble.

He hesitated for only a second before stepping inside, letting the door click shut behind him. His gaze flickered to the two waiting drinks before returning to her.

"Well —" His voice was smooth, edged with curiosity. "This is unexpected."

Rosalie smiled, slow and deliberate, as she rose from the chair. She removed her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, revealing the smooth lines of her fitted black dress.

 

Garland's gaze flickered over her before he caught himself, tilting his head as he waited.

"My mother always told me to repay a kindness," she said, picking up one of the glasses and stepping forward.

Garland took it, watching her over the rim as he swirled the amber liquid. "And what kindness am I being repaid for?"

Rosalie exhaled a soft sound that carried just the right weight of hesitation. "For stopping. For picking up my things. For looking at me like I was still worth saving."

His smirk was slow and knowing. "And here I thought I was just being polite."

Rosalie took a sip, but her fingers trembled as she set the glass down. A flicker of something crossed her face — hesitation, doubt. She ran a hand through her hair, inhaling shakily before glancing away. "I walked out of that interrogation room today, and for the first time, I wasn't sure I'd done the right thing."

 

Garland's amusement faded slightly. He set his glass down on the desk. "And why is that?"

She swallowed, blinking rapidly as her lashes fluttered. When she looked up at him, her eyes were glassy. "Because the man who hired me — he doesn't like loose ends."

Garland's expression sharpened. "And you think you're a loose end?"

Rosalie exhaled softly, lowering her gaze as if she couldn't bear to say it outright. Instead, she stepped away, as though caught in an inner conflict, before pressing a hand to her temple. "He's paranoid," she murmured, more to herself than him. "He'll think those men told me something I shouldn't know. And when he thinks someone knows too much —"

She let her voice trail off. Let the silence hang.

Garland's fingers curled around the edge of his glass. "I see."

Rosalie bit her lip, shifting as if she'd just realized how much she'd revealed. She reached for her coat. "Maybe I've overstepped —"

She moved to leave, but before she could pull her jacket on, Garland's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her. The warmth of his fingers lingered longer than it should have. "Stay."

She froze, her breath catching. Slowly, she looked up at him through wide, uncertain eyes. She let the moment stretch, her vulnerability laced with something delicate, something that invited him in. "Are you sure?" Her voice was soft, questioning, with just enough doubt to make him want to reassure her.

His grip tightened just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."

She let go of the jacket.

Garland let go of her wrist, but the air crackled with tension between them. He stepped back, clearing his throat, but she saw how his jaw tensed, and his fingers flexed as if resisting the impulse to reach for her again.

"I like a man who isn't afraid to comfort a woman," she murmured, her lips curving as though letting him in on a secret.

Garland exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You're dangerous."

Rosalie tilted her head, her lashes lowering slightly. "Only if you want me to be." A slow smirk touched his lips. There  — she had him.

She let out a soft breath as if steadying herself, then turned, pacing toward his desk as if grounding herself. She wiped the single tear that had fallen, then picked up her glass again, her fingers curling around it like an anchor. "That's why I came here," she said softly. "I don't know what to do, Alex. I don't know who I can talk to."

Garland leaned against the desk, watching her, the tension still lingering between them.
"Maybe I can help with that."

She glanced at him, holding his gaze. Slowly, she set the glass down and inhaled as if gathering her courage. Then, just when he thought she might shy away, she lifted her chin and met his eyes fully. "There was a third man today."

Garland's smirk faded slightly.

"The one who got away," she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she wasn't sure she should be telling him this. "The one who took the package."

Garland's expression sharpened. "The package?

Rosalie's gaze shifted, glancing around as if someone might overhear her. "You know — the drugs. They'd been hidden in a cadaver."

Garland struggled to hide his excitement. "And you know where he is?"

Rosalie hesitated — just enough to make him desperate for the answer. Then she took a step closer, close enough that her perfume lingered in the air between them, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin. "I know where he was trying to go," she murmured.

Garland exhaled slowly, assessing her.

She watched his mind shift between two things —her and the information. He wanted both. Perfect.

Garland was still standing close, the scent of her perfume lingering between them, thick and intoxicating.

Like a pesky fly, his phone rang.

He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening as he pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen — a number he couldn't ignore. Damn timing.

His gaze flickered back to Rosalie, but she offered a small, knowing smile as if she had already expected him to be interrupted. He turned slightly and pressed the phone to his ear. "What is it?"

The voice on the other end started talking, something about updates and reports, but he wasn't listening, not really. His eyes remained on Rosalie even as he spoke into the receiver.

Then the voice mentioned Zhang and Garland moved a few steps away. When he ended the brief call, the door stood open, and she was gone.

Garland took a slow step forward, scanning the room and the hall beyond.

Damn woman. His mind wasn't on business, not even Zhang. It was on her.

Author Notes

Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Current Characters -Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and deceased Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and now witness protection Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner Judge Alex Garland the man trying to step into John Doyles corrupt shoes Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption

Chapter 48
Veil of Secrets - Chap 48

By Begin Again

 

The scent of antiseptic and cigarette smoke filled the sunroom, a new addition to the safe house. Zhang sat stiffly in an oversized leather chair, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the bandages wrapping his side. His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the fury simmering beneath his skin.

This hadn't been part of his plan. He was supposed to be in control, dominating the underworld of Bayside. Instead, he was licking his wounds while the city moved on without him.

He'd heard the doctor let someone into the house, but their conversation was muffled. His hand rested on the gun lying on his lap. The sounds of footsteps coming closer made the hair on his neck bristle. He waited, his finger inching closer to the trigger of the gun.

"Mr. Wei—" A woman in her 50s stepped into view. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Leo is here and says it's urgent he speak with you."

The word urgent didn't bother him as much as Leo had come alone. Where were Carlos and Tony?

He ground his cigarette in the ashtray and nodded, "Thank you, Dongmei. Show him in."

Moments later, Leo entered the sunroom, dropping the doctor's briefcase on an adjacent table.

Zhang's eyes glared at Leo, ignoring the briefcase. "Where are the other two? Is the job done?" he snapped.

Leo hesitated before speaking. He knew Zhang was already angry. What he was about to say would only make it worse.

"Carlos and Tony didn't make it out."

Zhang's fingers drummed slowly against the armrest. His expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "I sent three men to silence a sniveling old man who deals with bodies, and two of them are dead? Tell me, how could that have happened? Was he expecting you? Was Bayside's finest armed and waiting?" Zhang snapped the weapon from his lap and pointed it at Leo. "Tell me why I should save your life. Then I could wash my hands of all three of you."

Leo swallowed and tried to clear his throat. "They aren't dead. I can explain —"

Zhang fired the gun into the wall. "Explain — how do you tell me that two men are missing but not dead, and yet you are still standing here?"

"Carlos killed the coroner as you ordered. We were going to cover the body so it might not be discovered immediately. When I grabbed a sheet, it was covering another cadaver — one filled with bricks of white powder. Carlos told me to put it in the doctor's briefcase." He nodded toward the table. "I took it to the car while they finished up. I thought they were right behind me. But when I heard gunfire, I knew something was going down." Leo rubbed his neck, trying to relieve the tension. "Li Jing learned of their arrest and sent Rosalie to investigate."

Neither man spoke. Zhang's eyes narrowed as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

Leo's knees were trembling, almost sure that his life was about to end. He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Our contact told Li Jing she walked out of the interrogation."

Zhang's fingers on his left hand curled into a fist. He pulled his body up, ignoring the pain that flared in his side. "Let me understand this — this woman — she left those two idiots in the hands of the police?" He slammed the gun against the side table. "Where is she?"

"Off the radar, sir. Li Jing has everyone looking for her, but they've come up empty-handed."

Zhang's patience snapped. He turned toward Leo, his voice cold and precise. "Find her." His jaw tightened. His gaze flickered back to Leo. "And the two inside?"

Leo shook his head. "DeLuca got them. They disappeared into protective custody."

Zhang closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to think. He reached for his phone and dialed. When the voice at the other end answered, Zhang snarled, "I want you to find Carlos and Tony. I want them dead." Then, his voice was low, dangerous. "And Li Jing, the Jarvis woman, shouldn't be an easy death." He ended the call.

Zhang inhaled through his nose, forcing himself to focus. "And what's this?" He nodded toward the case Leo had tossed onto the table.

Leo shifted on his feet. "Drugs."

Zhang frowned. That wasn't his business. Art theft, smuggling, and trafficking—clean, high-value trades requiring precision—formed the foundation of his empire. Drugs? That was for street rats. Sloppy. Risky.

His eyes flicked back to the package. But — it was money — a lot of money.

Leo hesitated before adding, "There's more. Looks like some other crew is moving in. Not just drugs. They're expanding—our territory."

Zhang exhaled slowly, rolling his neck as he considered.

First, Rosalie walked out on him.

Now, someone was moving into his city — something he wasn't aware of and wanted to know why. Hadn't he just eliminated New York? And Jack Lexington wouldn't be involved in drugs.

New business or not, he wanted his share — and control.

His fingers tapped the armrest, a slow, methodical rhythm. The pain shooting through his side reminded him why he was sidelined.

Maybe it was time to shift the game.

Rosalie was already upping her game in a more exclusive part of town. Her assistant had arranged everything—the penthouse, the security codes, and a discreet suitcase filled with essentials. It had been waiting for her when she arrived late last night. The owner was out of town, making it the perfect place to disappear.

She stood on the penthouse terrace, coffee in hand, the morning sun casting golden streaks across the skyline.

The city felt different up here—detached, quiet like she was hovering above it rather than part of it. But she knew better. The game never stopped. Not at sunrise. Not ever.

She had gone to sleep, knowing someone would be looking for her. Zhang's men. Maybe even the police. A smile crossed her lips with her next thought — perhaps the judge.

The knock at the door was firm — not the kind that came from someone impatient.

She exhaled slowly, setting her coffee down before making her way inside. She checked the peephole and opened the door. The doorman stood there, his posture respectful, but his gaze just a little too knowing. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

He held a sleek black and gold-wrapped bouquet and a large vase—long-stemmed roses.

A slow smile pulled at Rosalie's lips. She didn't need to check who they were from. She stepped back, allowing the man to enter. She watched as he set the flowers on a side table before bowing his head slightly, tipping his hat, and offering a simple. "Good day."

The penthouse was silent again.

She took a step forward, her fingers drifting toward the arrangement. The deep red petals were velvety soft, the scent rich and intoxicating. Tucked between the blooms — a small white envelope.

She plucked it free, sliding a neatly folded card from inside— no signature — just a handwritten note in elegant script.

Dinner. Tonight. The Carmichael Club. Private. 9 p.m.

Rosalie exhaled slowly, a slight smirk curling her lips.

Garland.

She ran her finger along the edge of the card, rolling her shoulders back. He thought he was pursuing her now.

Good.

She moved toward her desk, plucking her phone from her bag. She'd let him believe she was falling right into his hands. And by the time the night was over? He'd be wrapped around her finger, a mere pawn in her game.

*****

As Zhang dismissed Leo, a well-dressed man stepped out from behind a floral Chinese screen—a towering, silent, and composed figure, but his presence cracked with danger. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit, his expression a closed book.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Before he leaves, you may need to decide about the girl.

Leo blinked. His heart stumbled in his chest. A vision of him holding a gun to a baby's head sent chills down his spine.

Zhang frowned slightly, rolling his neck. "What girl?"

The bodyguard stepped forward, crossing his arms. "The baby, boss." His voice was deep and controlled. "What do you want done with her?"

Zhang let out a short breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hadn't thought about the kid once since taking her. The kidnapping had been a statement, nothing more. It was a way to make Donatelli sweat.

Now? She was just an inconvenience.

Flicking his fingers toward Leo, Zhang muttered, "Call Elaine Chao at the Embassy. She will put you in touch with the orphanage that handles international adoptions.

The bodyguard remained motionless except for a simple hand movement, adjusting a cufflink—a message to Zhang.

Zhang exhaled through his nose. "Wait!" Nodding toward his bodyguard, he said, "You call Elaine. We need an orphanage off the books. Foreign buyers. We won't have to worry about her after that." Zhang's eyes sharpened. "Something wrong?"

The man quickly shook his head. "No, sir. I'll make the call."

But Zhang wasn't done. As his man turned to leave, Zhang reached for his phone.

He had no intention of waiting here, bleeding out, while others moved his pieces for him.

His thumb hovered over a private number before dialing. The voice on the other end answered immediately.

"Prepare the jet."

"Destination, sir?" The voice paused. "For the flight plan, sir."

Zhang exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "No flight plan. I'll give you the destination when I arrive."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anyone else accompanying you, sir?"

Zhang exhaled slowly. "The usual and a baby." His hand rubbed against his side. "A doctor and nurse."

"We'll be ready, sir."

Zhang snarled one last thought into the phone, "Of course, I don't need to remind you that no one learns of this flight."

"No, sir."

Zhang disconnected the call. His voice was cold. He met the bodyguard's gaze. "It might be safer out of town while I heal."

The bodyguard gave a slow nod and didn't argue.

Neither did Leo. Because when Zhang made a decision, it wasn't up for debate.

*****

The Carmichael Club was closed to the public tonight.

Rosalie had expected nothing less. Garland didn't share. Not his space, not his power, and not his company. She'd time her arrival to be fifteen minutes late, giving him time to wonder if she was coming.

She stepped through the entrance, and the maitre-d greeted her with a respectful nod. There were no questions or hesitations, and her presence was expected.

As she moved deeper into the dimly lit dining room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, she saw him.

He stood near the candlelit table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching her like a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. And tonight? That was her.

Rosalie knew what he saw. She wore a sleek black gown — designed to hug, not conceal — the delicate slit gave the illusion of temptation just beyond reach, and the diamond drop earrings — expensive but understated. She calculated every move and detail of her appearance.

Garland's smirk was slow, appreciative, yet controlled. His gaze swept over her, taking his time before finally meeting her eyes. "I wasn't sure if you'd make me wait."

Rosalie reached up, slipped the wrap from her shoulders, and let it glide down her arms before passing it to the waiting maitre-d. She didn't rush, preferring he watched and anticipated. Then, with a small, knowing smile, she stepped closer, whispering, "Sometimes, good things come to those who wait."

It was a playful challenge, a subtle reminder that she could make him wait longer if she chose. Garland's smirk deepened, his amusement flickering in the dim candlelight. He liked the game. So did she.

She slid into the chair, smoothing her dress as Garland signaled for wine. The waiter skillfully poured the wine and slipped away.

Rosalie lifted her glass, swirling the liquid before taking a small sip. She could feel Garland watching her, studying her movements — measuring her. The tension between them was thick, but neither of them spoke first. It was part of the game.

He wanted her to speak first, to set the tone, but she wouldn't. Garland leaned back slightly, his fingers grazing the rim of his glass before taking a sip. His smirk was still there, but his eyes had darkened.

She was making him wait, and he didn't like to wait. Finally, he broke the silence.
"I expected you to be fashionably late."

Rosalie arched a delicate brow. "Would that have made you want me more?"

Garland's smirk deepened, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. "You like to be wanted, don't you?"

She tilted her head slightly, eyes playful but unreadable. "Doesn't everyone?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like you."

She took another slow sip of wine, letting the silence settle between them again. She wasn't in a hurry. She had already won the moment she walked through the door.

******

Each elegantly plated course arrived one by one, but neither honestly tasted the food.
They weren't here for dinner. They were here to study each other.

Garland leaned forward, his voice dropping lower."You've been on my mind."

Rosalie smirked. "I would hope so, after all the trouble you went through to find me."

His fingers curled around his glass, watching her as if trying to decide what she wanted more — his attention or his protection.

Rosalie let the air between them stretch, pretending to be absorbed in the deep red swirl of her wine. Then, without looking up, she murmured, "You're used to people bending to your will, aren't you?"

Garland's smirk didn't fade. "And you're used to bending them to yours."

Their eyes met. Challenge accepted.

Finally, as the staff cleared the last course, Garland set his glass down, his gaze steady. "It's a beautiful night. Full moon. Warm breeze." His voice was smooth and persuasive. "I know the perfect place to enjoy it."

Rosalie tilted her head slightly, letting a small, knowing smile tug at her lips. "How fortunate for me."

She already knew where he was taking her. She had done her homework.

Garland thought he was leading her. Let him think it a little longer.

Rosalie reached for her clutch, but Garland stood, offering his hand.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slipped her fingers into his palm. The heat of his touch was steady. He thought he had her exactly where he wanted her.

She let him guide her through the private dining room, stepping into the night together. He thought he was leading her. But by the time the night was over — he would be the one wrapped around her finger.

Author Notes

Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Current Characters -Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and deceased Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and now witness protection Judge Alex Garland the man trying to step into John Doyles corrupt shoes Rosalie Jarvis - a high class lawyer currently on Zhang's payroll Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption

Chapter 49
Veil of Secrets - Chap 49

By Begin Again

As Garland and Rosalie exited the restaurant, she scanned the curb, half-expecting a sleek town car to glide up. To her surprise, the valet pulled up in a glossy black Porsche convertible, a sight that left her momentarily speechless.

Rosalie blinked, then turned to Garland, arching a brow.

He smirked, slipping a generous tip to the valet before gesturing to the car. "New toy. Thought you'd enjoy a spin on such a star-lit night."

She chuckled, shaking her head as he opened the door for her. " It's not what I was expecting."

"Good," he replied, sliding behind the wheel. "I like keeping you on your toes."

As they pulled away, the city lights faded behind them. Rosalie let her head tilt back, eyes closed as the wind tugged at her hair, freeing loose strands from her updo.
Garland glanced at her. "There's a scarf in the glove box if you want it."

She shook her head, a slow smile curving her lips. "No need. I like the wind."

He chuckled, downshifting as they took a curve, the hum of the engine smooth beneath them. "A woman who enjoys a little recklessness. I knew I liked you."

She turned to him, her expression unreadable, her lips hinting at a secret. "Careful, Garland. You might like me a little too much."

His smirk deepened, but he said nothing, just pressed the accelerator, sending them flying through the night. He drove out of the city, the skyline fading behind them as the roads stretched into open countryside. The evening air cooled as they left behind the town, the golden hues of a setting sun glinting off the windshield.

Rosalie leaned back, one foot tucked under her knee, absently flipping through the radio stations. A familiar melody drifted through the speakers — a song from years ago. She hummed at first, then softly sang the lyrics.

Garland glanced over, smirking. "You got a wonderful voice, Rosalie."

She caught herself, cheeks heating. "Oh, please."

But before she could switch stations, he tapped the dial and flipped to an upbeat tune. Without hesitation, he started singing — out of tune.

Rosalie burst into laughter, shaking her head at Garland's antics. "Alex, what happened to the dignified judge I shared dinner with?"

He raised a brow, challenging her, "It's after hours. C'mon, you're not going to leave me to embarrass myself, are you?"

With a sigh, she gave in, their voices blending together. By the time the song ended, they were laughing, the last bit of tension melting from the air.

Garland pulled off the main road and turned onto a long, private drive lined with towering oaks. A lake shimmered in the distance, reflecting the fading sunlight. Rosalie exhaled, taking in the view. She knew this place and where they were, but she played along.

Garland cast a glance at her, watching her reaction. "I thought you'd like it."

Rosalie turned toward the lake, her voice soft, unreadable. "It's beautiful."

They walked along the grassy embankment. The gentle waves lapped at the shore. Garland reached for her hand, guiding her over the uneven terrain.

Then, they heard an unexpected sound — a rustle in the brush. Rosalie gasped, her body tensing, instinct kicking in before logic could. Her foot caught in the soft earth, her balance faltering.

Garland moved fast. His arms wrapped around her, catching her mid-fall and pulling her into his chest. His voice was firm, protective. "Hey. Hey. What's wrong?"

She pressed her face against his shirt, shakily exhaling. His heart was steady, strong, and safe. Her fingers curled into the fabric.

And then, she slipped as she whispered against his chest, her voice trembling with fear, "Zhang — he'll kill me." The sudden mention of Zhang's name sent a shockwave through the air, leaving Garland momentarily stunned.

He held her tightly, his grip firm but steady. She was shaking. He wasn't sure whether it was from the cool lake breeze drifting over the sand, the distant sound of water lapping at the shore, or the weight of the name she had just whispered. But he felt it.

"Zhang's out to kill me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His jaw tightened. Icy fingers strummed his spine as he suddenly knew what Rosalie Jarvis was about — Zhang Wei. His fingers curled slightly against her back, holding her closer.
She smelled like the night and faded traces of perfume. And maybe he sensed her fear. "He won't touch you," he murmured against her head, his voice a soothing balm. "Not while I'm here."

Rosalie's breath was uneven, but her body pressed into him as if he was the only solid thing in her world. He liked the feeling. Too much.

She wasn't just scared. She was letting him in. He could feel how her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like an anchor.

He let out a slow breath, tightening his hold for a fraction longer before pulling back slightly. She didn't resist. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, tilting her chin up. Her eyes met his. Wide. Vulnerable. Real. He didn't think Rosalie Jarvis did real.
Yet here she was. And Garland wasn't about to let her go.

*****

Garland didn't need to take her far — the private path leading up from the shore wound through a grove of trees, leading directly to the main house at the lake's edge. Rosalie shivered slightly but didn't say a word as he guided her along the path. He kept a firm hand at her lower back, half guiding, half testing.

Would she pull away? Would she push back? She didn't.

The soft glow from the house grew brighter as they approached, casting long shadows along the wooden deck that overlooked the lake. Alex Garland opened the door, stepping aside to let her in.

She hesitated. Garland didn't rush her. Finally, she stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind them. And just like that, she was in his world now.

Rosalie wrapped her arms around herself, exhaling as she entered the space. The house was warm and upscale but lived-in. The scent of cedar and faint smoke lingered from the fireplace. Dark wood paneling lined the interior, built for comfort rather than show.

She toed off her damp shoes, running a hand through her hair. She was exhausted, and he could see it. Without a word, Garland shrugged off his jacket, stepping behind her. She flinched when he draped it over her shoulders. Not because she was scared but because she wasn't.

"Come on," he said, his voice lower now. "You need to rest." Rosalie didn't argue.

Garland led her into one of the guest bedrooms — a large, quiet, warm. She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling as she ran a hand through her hair.

He stood in the doorway, watching — waiting.

Would she ask him to stay? Would she push him away?

Instead, she just sighed. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked exhausted. Not playing a game and not acting. Just drained.

Garland stepped forward, kneeling slightly to pull a soft blanket over her. Her eyelids fluttered. She was already half-asleep. "You're safe," he murmured, more to himself than to her, his voice reassuring in the quiet room.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak. He stayed longer than he should have.
Watching until her breathing evened out, her body relaxing completely. Then, finally, he stepped back into the shadows, leaving her to sleep.

 

*****

The Veraci estate's seclusion, fortification, and untouchability made it one of the few places in Bayside where Zhang's influence couldn't reach. Rain pelted against the windows, thunder rolling through the hills as Garth, DeLuca, Frank, Jack, Eleanor, Detective Danni, and Veraci gathered around a long mahogany table.

At the head of the table, Veraci leaned against his chair with an exasperated sigh. The glow from the laptop screen displayed a detailed map of Bayside riddled with Zhang's hidden assets. He tapped a key, and a long list of property acquisitions, shell companies, and hidden fronts filled the screen.

A touch of anger and admiration weaved through his words. "Zhang's been running this town under your noses," he said. "Warehouses, businesses, the docks — even the goddamn sock factory."

Frank snorted. "The sock factory? Seriously?"

Danny shot him a glare. "You think it's funny? He's been using it for money laundering and smuggling under textile shipments. No one questioned a thing."

Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing at the map. "So, we're not just dealing with Zhang's crew. We're up against an entire shadow empire."

Danny nodded grimly. "And if we don't hit him all at once, he'll slip right through our fingers."

Garth rubbed a hand over his chin, considering. "Coordinated raids. Every location at the same time."

Danny pointed to the screen. "Anything less, and we're just playing whack-a-mole."

Frank exhaled sharply. "That's a hell of a lot of ground to cover."

Before anyone else could speak, Eleanor slammed a hand against the table, eyes blazing. "And where does Maggie fit into this?"

The room fell silent.

Eleanor's voice cut through the conversation like a blade. "You're all talking about Zhang's businesses, his empire — but my granddaughter is missing! And I don't hear a damn thing about finding her!"

Garth met her glare. "Eleanor, none of us have forgotten."

"Haven't you?" she snapped. "Because from where I'm sitting, she hasn't been mentioned once!"

The air in the room was thick with tension. Danni, standing near the fireplace, finally spoke up. "Mr. Veraci mentioned his findings to me, wondering if Donatelli had any inkling about what was happening. At first, I said no, but after digging through his private files, I believe Matthew might have known something," the ghost detective said, her voice steady. "But he didn't put the pieces together in time."

Jack turned, his eyes narrowing. "Explain."

Danni tossed a stack of files on the table. "These are reports of missing children. She crossed her arms, taking a glance at Eleanor. "Before Donatelli got shot, he had a case — missing kid whom we now know as Travis, Althea's son. The file went cold, but he kept digging. He started looking into an orphanage that had whispers attached to it. No solid proof, but suspicions that kids were disappearing, funneling into international markets."

Eleanor's breath hitched. "You think that's where they took Maggie?"

Danni exhaled. "I don't know. But Donatelli was on to something. He just didn't have names or connections yet. If we go through his old files, we might find something that leads us to her."

"Shit!" Danny Veraci, still leaning back in his chair. He rubbed a hand down his face. "If that orphanage is tied to Zhang's operations, then we're dealing with more than smuggling."

Jack's expression darkened. "Then we check it out. Quietly. Before Zhang catches wind of it."

Frank cracked his knuckles. "No more waiting. We start digging through Donatelli's files. If he found anything, we'll use it."

Garth met Eleanor's gaze. "We're getting Maggie back."

Eleanor gave a sharp nod, her voice cold and certain. "We have to."

The fight against Zhang was no longer just a job. It was personal now, with the life of a young girl at stake.

 

Author Notes

Spirits from the past - Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli Cornelius Webb - Miriam's nemesis and murderer Miriam Cascio - Rebecca's grandmother and protector of the Vineyard Antonio Maggio - Rebecca's grandfather and Miriam's first love Current Characters -Bayside's Community -- Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and interested in Rebecca Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and deceased Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and now witness protection Judge Alex Garland the man trying to step into John Doyles corrupt shoes Rosalie Jarvis - a high class lawyer currently on Zhang's payroll Criminals - Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench. Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner Althea Webb Cascio - mother to Travis and half-sister to Rebecca Travis - missing boy Amelia - girl in the caves Maria - a woman escaping the tunnels Lenore - an old woman with a wolf dog and magic Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption

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