In part two of this episodic psychological thriller, Nicole Jeffords. convinced that healer, Victor Goodlove, who disappeared ten years earlier is buried under her studio, continues her search for him, contacting old patients all over Austin and dis...
In retrospect, I almost wish I'd said no, can't meet, don't want to, never will. But I'd have locked myself out of an excellent story. And Eric Schindler, who intrigued me because of his resemblance to my beloved cousin Eddie, was not a man who would have accepted a rebuff. He'd have come and found me.
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Eric Schindler (left) & Nicole's cousin, Eddie
We met, as Eric suggested, at Victor's old house, where he was staying. Janet wasn't there, although it had become her official home. Eric had brewed some coffee and the house smelled wonderful. It was mid-September, a little cooler out, and he was in khakis, a white T-shirt, huaraches. I found myself happy to see him.
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Victor's old house (haunted house (cropped), creepyhalloweenimages, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)
Eric asked about my trip to Romania, and because he seemed so interested I went into some detail, telling him about my dublura, Maria, and the stories I'd just heard about her affair with Nicu Ceausescu. "Yes, yes," he kept saying, leaning forward eagerly as I spoke. Nothing like an appreciative audience. I told him about Sighisoara and the gemutlich brass band that had creeped me out and Eddie's farmhouses and seeing Ceausescu's palace in Bucharest. At the end, he said yes once again, studying my face closely. Then he said, "That's why I asked you to meet me here today. I want to show you something."
Now I was really intrigued. He led me outside into the back garden, heading toward Victor's shed. When we got to the door, he spun the lock \which immediately fell open, but the door itself wouldn't budge until he touched his finger to a place just under the knob. They'd stepped up security, I realized. Janet and I had gotten into the shed a few times in the past without going through that rigmarole.
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Victor's greenhouse, Photo credit Gilbert Garcia
When we were inside, we stood a moment, adjusting our senses to the dim interior with its rows and rows of plants, the smells of wetness and rampant growth, the eerie feeling of hidden eyes watching us.
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