FanStory.com - Veil of Secrets by Begin Again

The smell of diesel and burnt rubber lingered in the air as Detective Matthew Donatelli stood at the edge of the crash site, his boots sinking into the frostbitten mud. The early dawn light struggled to pierce through the heavy clouds. Twisted metal and shattered glass littered the ground, the aftermath of a collision that claimed too many lives. Two buses had collided — one carrying orphanage children, the other transporting prisoners to a maximum-security facility.

Donatelli's gut told him this tragedy was no accident. His hands clenched into fists as he surveyed the wreckage. Paramedics had already taken several children to Frank DiVito's private hospital, a mobster fortress now serving as the town's best-equipped medical facility.

Further down the ravine, the prison transport bus lay on its side, its scorched shell smoldering after having the local volunteer firefighters put out the flames. Detective DeLuca anxiously waited for information regarding the inmates, John Doyle and Vince Rossi.

DeLuca's phone buzzed, and a quick scan of the screen told him Detective Donatelli wanted information he didn't have yet. "DeLuca here."

Donatelli's voice was clipped, "Any bodies yet?"

"Two dead guards. Another one is missing."

"What about the inmates?"

"Nothing from the forensic team — wait, she's coming out of the bus —well, what's left of it. Hang on—" DeLuca waved at the officer. "I've got Detective Donatelli on the line. What can you tell us?"

"Not much. The chains and cuffs were unlocked." The officer looked down at her notes and shrugged.

"So, they had help. Maybe the missing guard?"

"Possibility. The only thing I am sure of is that the two guards on the bus were shot. Never even got their revolvers out of the holsters. And there aren't any other bodies on that bus."

DeLuca spoke into the phone, "Did you hear all that, Matthew?"

"Yup! We've got two desperate inmates on the run, and they most likely had help."

"We've got another team working the roadway and a third in the undergrowth and woods. Haven't heard back on anything yet."

"Keep me updated. I know it's Christmas, but we've got to call in all the manpower we can get."

"I'm on it!" DeLuca hung up his phone and continued his conversation with the officer.

*****

As Donatelli shoved his phone in his pocket, an officer from the second forensic team approached him.

"Any idea which way they went?" Donatelli asked, his words clipped.

"Not yet," the officer replied. "We found vehicle tracks about a mile away in a clearing near the forest. Looks like they had help in their escape."

Another officer approached and joined them. "There's another set of tracks closer to the crash," she said, her voice low. "But they're faded — like someone tried to cover them up."

Donatelli frowned, the pieces falling into place. "Two sets of tracks? Any thoughts?"

"To me, it says someone was double-crossing someone, and John Doyle was caught right in the middle."

"If your idea plays out, this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment escape."

"Someone planned the escape, and another someone changed the plan."

"Looks that way. But who are they, and why?" Donatelli stared out across the wreckage. "And using a busload of kids on Christmas Eve to get what they wanted. That's sick, and if it's the last thing I do, whoever they are, they'll pay."

*****

The office felt unnaturally quiet as Donatelli stepped inside, exhaustion crushing him. The familiar aroma of coffee greeted him, and he looked up to see Danni perched on the edge of his desk, holding a steaming cup.

"You look like hell," she said, handing it over.

"Thanks for the reminder," Donatelli muttered, taking a long sip. The warmth spread through him, but it did little to ease his tension. "What's the word?"

"Garth took Rebecca back to her apartment and stayed with her, but Poppa will be taking over shortly, so he can join us here. Tango stood guard at my place."

Donatelli raised an eyebrow. "Since when does a ghost need a guard? Anything going on that I should be aware of?"

Danni rolled her eyes. "Don't start with that stuff. We're just friends, and he's a macho guy protecting a woman. Besides, it was Garth's idea."

"You are a ghost! They are aware that you're dead, right?"

"Nothing is going on between Tango and me and to answer your question, he is well aware that I'm a ghost like Eleanor and Miriam."

Donatelli nodded, setting his coffee down. "And the mansion? Any word on that situation?"

Danni's expression darkened. "Bomb squad's there now. Garth thinks it might've come from the prison, but no one's sure yet."

"I thought it was addressed from Joliet Prison?"

"It was, but anyone can put an address on a box. Forensics is checking for fingerprints."

"Any idea on what's inside?"

"Not yet. They're taking every precaution in case it is a bomb."

Before Donatelli could respond, the door swung open, and Garth strode in, his FBI badge glinting under the light. His face showed fatigue, but his eyes were sharp.

"Morning! It is morning, right?" Garth asked.

"I just was asking Danni about the situation at the mansion. Any word yet?" Donatelli asked.

"The bomb squad is not sure what's in that box. They're bringing in an x-ray machine." He accepted a cup of coffee from Danni and then turned to Donatelli. "Any updates on Doyle and Rossi?"

"Nothing yet." Donatelli sighed. "Heck of a way to spend Christmas."

"Amen - wasn't what I'd planned."

*****

Eleanor materialized near the window, her presence heralded by a faint chill. She cast a reassuring glance at Donatelli. "Jenna and Maggie are safe," she whispered. "Frankie's watching over them."

Relief flickered across Donatelli's face, but it was short-lived. "Good. Now let's talk about who planned this."

Danni crossed her arms. "I hate to be the bad guy, but Frankie's name has come up, though I don't buy it. He's out of the game. Retired."

"What about Jack Lexington?" Garth countered. "He's still active in Chicago and has the resources to pull something like this off."

Eleanor shook her head, her gaze distant. "Whoever it is, they're playing a long game. Maybe it's someone Doyle worked with during his trafficking days. Or it could be Rossi — his ties to the mob could run deeper than we ever uncovered. He could've arranged this with someone Lexington doesn't know about."

Donatelli frowned. "Or it's someone new. Another player trying to move into Bayside."

"Why Bayside, though?" Danni asked. "It's small, quiet. What could they gain?"

Eleanor's voice softened. "Sometimes, it's not about the place itself. It's about the people or the history."

Garth hesitated, then said, "What about Miriam's premonitions? She warned us something was coming. Do you think she saw this?"

Eleanor's expression turned somber. "Miriam's intuition has rarely been wrong. But what exactly she saw — she didn't say."

Donatelli nodded, his jaw tightening. "Either way, this wasn't a random act. Whoever planned this escape wanted Doyle and Rossi out for a reason. We need to figure out what it is. And if there was another party involved as well."

The room grew quiet for a few minutes as each of them considered what they knew about the situation and the possibilities.

Danni broke the silence, her voice tinged with unease. "I picked up something on the police scanner. Some Chinese gibberish. They were being transmitted before the crash."

Garth tipped his Stetson up, wiping his brow. "You sure it was Chinese, Danni?"

"Well, I'm not fluent in the language, but we'll get better information soon. I recorded it so the team could analyze it."

"Good job. Explains why you're the brains of this office." Garth chuckled, and Donatelli threw a pencil at the Cowboy, temporarily breaking the tension.

Danni snickered at Garth's joke, but then returned to the job at hand. "I can't say that any of it is connected, but I just thought we should cover every possibility."

Donatelli's gaze hardened. "Doyle and Rossi didn't just vanish into thin air. Someone wanted them out, and they've got bigger plans. We need to figure out who's behind this before it's too late."

Eleanor moved to the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, but the light felt cold and distant.

"We're not ready for what's coming," she whispered. A vision of Miriam and the mansion flashed through her mind. She sighed. "Miriam sensed it, too."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer and cellmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - Jenna's assistant, Miriam's granddaughter, and budding love with Garth
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - a retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Sam - Frank's right-hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin with a soft side

Chapter 1
Veil of Secrets - Chap 1

By Begin Again

Detective Matthew Donatelli leaned back in his chair, the squeak of worn springs filling the quiet office. His body still ached — a dull reminder of the weeks spent recovering after nearly losing his life. The doctors called him a miracle; he called it Miriam. Her quick thinking had pulled him back from the brink.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and exhaled, glancing around the familiar space. His desk was exactly how he'd left it — paperwork half-stacked, a spilled cup of pens, and the ever-present coffee mug. Except now, there was something new — a framed photo of Jenna holding their newborn daughter, Maggie. It still felt surreal. One day, he was a detective with amnesia trying to piece his life together, and the next, he had a family.

A soft knock startled him. "Donatelli, you in there?" a voice called, though he recognized it instantly. Before he could respond, the air seemed to shimmer, and Danni appeared, her presence as natural in his office as the buzzing of the overhead light. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafted toward him, and he inhaled, enjoying the spicy scent.

He eagerly accepted the cup from Danni. "Hmm — what have we here? Do I smell cinnamon?"

Danni laughed. "Well, your sniffer certainly wasn't damaged during your adventure."

"Adventure? Is that what you call it? I was almost dead."

"Your own fault. Going off half-cocked without knowing the full story."

"You might be right, but right now, I am interested in this treat you've brought me."

"Sure, change the subject. But it is a special coffee to welcome you back. I'm glad to see you sitting in that chair. It seemed so weird not having you here every day."

"Don't tell me my partner missed me. Can that be possible?"

"No, it can't!" Danni stammered as a rosy blush touched her cheeks. "I only meant I was accustomed to hearing you start the morning by blowing off steam about something, and it was strangely quiet without you. Eerie almost."

"Eerie?" Donatelli smirked. "You're a ghost, Danni. Aren't you supposed to like eerie?"

"Not this kind. Everything's off lately," Danni admitted, her tone softening. "Even Eleanor's been distracted. Not finding Doyle and Rossi has put everyone on edge, but it's almost like there is something else."

Matthew sipped the coffee, realizing how much he had missed these early chats, teasing or butting heads with her. "I understand, but I can't think without my caffeine fix. Are you going to tell me about this coffee or not?"

"Of course, if you'd ever close that trap of yours long enough to let me finish a sentence. It's a Moroccan coffee called Cafe Noir. It's infused with warm, sweet spices like cardamom, cinnamon, and nutmeg." Danni tilted her head, acting all sophisticated. "For those in the know, meaning people like me, it's an allonge, which for peons like you, means a large espresso."

"My, my, aren't we becoming the connoisseur of the coffee world." Matthew took another sip. "I hope you've got the recipe to whip up another one. They're great!" He leaned back in his chair and finished off the cup.

A tap on the door drew their attention to the doorway as Eleanor stepped inside, handing Donatelli another cup of the Moroccan coffee. Her gaze briefly met his before she drifted toward the window.

"How'd she —" The detective's mouth dropped open, and then he chuckled, "Never mind. I'll never figure the two of you out."

In typical Danni fashion, Danni jumped to her next train of thought. "Now that you're a father," she began without preamble, "don't you think it's time to marry Jenna?"

Donatelli's mind shot back to Christmas Eve. So much had changed because of that night. He groaned. "Slow down, Danni. I just got my memory back. I just found out I have a kid. Let me figure out how to be a dad before planning a wedding."

Danni smirked, leaning casually against his filing cabinet. "Excuses, excuses. You already love Jenna, and she loves you. You're a perfect match. What's the holdup?"

"For your information, I planned on asking her on Christmas Eve, but that didn't work out."

Danni rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. I'll drop it. For now." She turned her head slightly, acknowledging the second figure in the room. "Eleanor, what do you think? Shouldn't he make an honest woman out of your daughter?"

"So much for dropping it," Donatelli muttered.

Eleanor was lost in thought and didn't respond to their banter. Her expression was distant, her posture tense.

"Eleanor?" Danni pressed.

Eleanor's head tilted — her brow furrowed. "Sorry. Were you speaking to me?"

Donatelli answered first, "Unlike my partner here, you seem quiet today. You're not worried about me being back on the job, are you? Because I assure you, I'm ready."

Eleanor flashed a warm smile toward Donatelli. "I'm sure you are, Matthew."

"Well, if it's not our star detective that's worried you, what's going on? I sense some strong vibrations coming from you," Danni asked.

"I could've sworn I heard someone calling my name."

Donatelli exchanged a glance with Danni. "Are you sure? There's no one here but us."

"She doesn't mean from this room, pal. She gets a feeling when people reach out to her, like when she felt you'd been at the bar where you were beaten or when she felt your presence at the vineyard."

"Exactly," Eleanor said, her voice sharp with conviction. She stepped closer to the window, her gaze scanning the street outside, but whatever she'd heard was gone now.

Donatelli cleared his throat, drawing their attention back. "Danni, while you're here, why don't you fill me in on the cases I missed while I was — out of commission?" He gestured to the files stacked haphazardly on his desk.

Danni moved closer, giving the stack a pointed look. "You missed plenty, but here's the big one." She picked up a file with an elegant wave of her hand, turning it over to him.

Donatelli took it, flipping it open. His breath hitched as he stared at the details: a missing child, a boy no older than five, last seen playing in his front yard. The photograph clipped to the corner of the report struck him in a way it never had before. He thought of Maggie — small, fragile, innocent —and tightened his grip on the file. "What's the status on this?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

"Cold, unfortunately," Danni replied, her tone unusually somber. "No leads, no ransom, no trace. Just gone." He nodded, his eyes fixed on the boy's photo. The cases had always been personal, but now, as a father, they cut deeper.

Before he could ask another question, Eleanor gasped, her hands clutching the edge of his desk.

"Eleanor?" Donatelli asked, jumping out of his chair.

Her gaze was distant again, her voice trembling. "I heard it again — clearer this time."

"What did you hear?" Danni asked, concern flickering across her face.

"Miriam," Eleanor whispered, her expression turning urgent. She straightened, looking at Donatelli and Danni with wide eyes. "Miriam needs me." She vanished into thin air before either could stop her, leaving the office colder and quieter.

Donatelli stared at the empty space where she had been, his mind racing. "What the hell just happened?"

Danni folded her arms, her figure unusually still. "I don't know," she admitted. "But whatever it is, it's big."

Donatelli sat back down, the missing child file still open on his desk. His mind was now juggling two mysteries — the case in front of him and whatever had just drawn Eleanor away.

*****

Eleanor's transition from Donatelli's office to the abandoned mansion took mere minutes. Her translucent body shimmered beneath the pale sunlight filtering through the tall pines, but as she approached the mansion, a sharp chill settled in — a cold unlike anything she'd felt in years crept into her bones. It wasn't just colder — it was heavier — oppressive, like a force pressing down on her chest. Something was wrong. The shift in the air struck her like a warning.

"Miriam, it's Eleanor. Send me a sign if you can hear me," she called, her voice echoing faintly across the frostbitten garden.

The silence was unnatural — as if the land had frozen mid-breath. Eleanor's gaze scanned the mansion. The renovations had brought new life to its weathered stone, but now the house felt lifeless. A faint buzz ran along her spine — almost electric, too subtle to define. She closed her eyes, focusing on the faint, lingering energies of the house. Something told her Miriam was in trouble.

She slipped inside the house and instantly felt the change, too. Dust coated the railing of the grand staircase, dulling its former gleam. The air was stale, tinged with the faint odor of must. Something had happened here, and it wasn't good.

"Where are you, Miriam?" Eleanor whispered. Her voice trembled, but no answer came.

The wind picked up outside, rattling the windowpanes with an unnatural howl. As Eleanor looked toward the rose garden, her breath caught. Across the vineyard, she saw a fleeting figure — a man, his outline barely visible in the frost that spread in unnatural patterns, like webs. When she blinked, he was gone.

She moved into the kitchen, the cold tightening its grip on her. Her fingers brushed the counter when a shadow flickered near the back door. Eleanor froze, her chest tightening as though the house itself was warning her. Then, just as suddenly, the feeling vanished.

The sound of an approaching car broke the silence. Rebecca stepped out, her expression shifting from awe at the mansion's renovated beauty to worry. "Where's my grandmother?" she asked. "I don't smell her sugar cookies baking."

"Maybe inside," Eleanor replied, her voice steadier than she felt. Together, they entered the house, but its emptiness spoke volumes.
As they crossed the threshold, Rebecca's eyes darted from room to room, confusion growing. The house was eerily silent, and no welcoming warmth met them. "I don't understand," Rebecca said softly. "Miriam's always kept this place pristine. But now — it's like no one's been here for months."

Eleanor felt the odd emptiness of the mansion, too. She glanced around, her ghostly senses prickling. "I'll check upstairs,"

Rebecca nodded and moved toward the parlor. As she walked through the hallway, her foot brushed against something on the floor. Looking down, she saw a letter, half hidden beneath a fallen book. She picked it up, staring at the ornate handwriting on the front.

Eleanor joined her, noticing the letter. "What is it?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Probably one of the letters Danni brought to the hospital. She was always dropping them." She tossed the letter onto a nearby table, oblivious to the significance. But Eleanor's gaze lingered on the paper, unease prickling her senses.

"It's not like her," Rebecca said, her voice tinged with concern. "Where could she have gone?"

"I don't know, but I agree she wouldn't have left without telling you she was leaving." Eleanor moved toward the door. "Let's check the cottage."

Outside in the overgrown garden, Eleanor searched for any trace of Miriam. Once vibrant and orderly, the garden now lay in tangled disarray, its flowers crushed and vines twisted unnaturally.

Her instincts told her to search more thoroughly, to trust the gnawing sensation that something was wrong, but as she took a step forward, something caught her eye — a glint in the tangled garden.

She knelt, brushing aside the leaves and vines, and found a tin box with an old, weathered key inside. Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. She didn't need to look closely to see the faint markings on the handle — this was no ordinary key. It was the one she had once seen in Miriam's hand — one Miriam had tried to hide.

Rebecca approached, her voice trembling. "What is it?"

"A key," Eleanor said softly, her grip tightening. "It belongs to your grandmother."

"What's it for? I've never seen it."

"I can't answer that, but I sense it is important to Miriam."

Eleanor rose to her feet, the key clutched tightly in her hand. She glanced at Rebecca, staring at the cottage with fear and confusion.

From the cottage came a faint creak. The door had swung open on its own.

Without a word, Eleanor started walking toward the door, her steps slow and deliberate.

The air grew colder as they approached the entrance, and the sound of something or someone moving inside echoed faintly.

The cottage smelled of dust and decay. Suddenly, the scent of lavender drifted in the air, and a voice whispered from the far corner of the room — Miriam's voice warped and echoing.

"Miriam?" Eleanor called, her own voice shaking.

The whisper came again, calling Eleanor's name, and then, there was only silence.

Chapter 2
Veil of Secrets Chap 2

By Begin Again

Rebecca's breath caught as Miriam's voice echoed in the stillness of the cottage before fading into silence. She gripped the edge of the doorframe tightly. "Did you hear that?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Eleanor nodded, her expression calm but her unease evident in her eyes. "I heard it."

"How is that possible?" Rebecca stepped back, her wide eyes darting around the room. "She's not here. How can she be calling to us if she's not here?"

Eleanor's voice softened. "Rebecca, I need you to breathe. Slowly." She placed a reassuring hand on Rebecca's shoulder. "Sometimes, places like this carry voices. The cottage holds Miriam's essence, her energy. We may be hearing an echo of that."

"Echo?" Rebecca's voice cracked. "That wasn't an echo, Eleanor. That was her. She's calling for help."

Eleanor hesitated, then spoke gently but firmly. "If Miriam is reaching out, it means she's nearby. But we won't help her by staying here and panicking. We need to stay focused."

Rebecca swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. "What do we do? I don't understand any of this."

"We go back to the mansion," Eleanor said. "If Miriam's presence is strongest there, it's the best place to start."

Rebecca hesitated, glancing back into the darkened corners of the cottage. "What if we're leaving her behind?"

Eleanor's gaze was steady. "If Miriam's here, she'll guide us back. Trust me."

Reluctantly, Rebecca followed Eleanor outside, her footsteps hesitant.
******
As they walked through the vineyard, the path seemed quieter than usual, the winter vines casting long, skeletal shadows on the ground. Rebecca remained silent, her arms crossed tightly. Eleanor didn't push her to speak; instead, she focused her senses, hoping to pick up on Miriam's presence.

Ahead, a figure came into view — a man standing at the edge of the driveway, a dog by his side.

Eleanor's steps slowed. "Stay close, Rebecca. He may be harmless, but we can't trust anyone."

Rebecca glanced at the man and the wagging dog. "He's just walking his dog, Eleanor. We can't suspect everyone."

The dog, a scrappy mutt, bounded toward them, its tail wagging. Rebecca knelt to greet the dog, her hand trembling as she patted its head. Eleanor, however, kept her gaze fixed on the man as he approached.

"Good evening," he said, his tone polite, his smile practiced. "I'm Grayson Webb, and I just moved into the Webb Estate down the road. Thought I'd introduce myself."

Rebecca managed a cautious smile. "I'm Rebecca," she offered, glancing nervously at Eleanor. "This is my friend, Eleanor."

Eleanor nodded curtly, her eyes narrowing. "The Webb Estate?"

Grayson's smile faltered briefly before returning. "It's a beautiful property, but you've been working on this estate, too. The mansion here has always fascinated me — so much history."

"Funny," Eleanor said. "You seem well-acquainted with the local landmarks for someone new to the area."

Grayson chuckled nervously. "My family visited often when I was young. I've always admired this estate."

Before Eleanor could respond, the rumble of a car drew their attention. A sleek vehicle pulled into view, slowing as it approached. Eleanor recognized the driver.

Donatelli stepped out, his presence commanding as he surveyed the scene. "Detective Matthew Donatelli," he said, nodding to the stranger.

Grayson straightened. "Grayson Webb," he said, his voice a little too quick. His hand tightened on the dog's leash.

Donatelli's sharp gaze lingered. "Anything wrong?"

"Not at all," Grayson said. "Just out for a walk."

"Nice dog," Donatelli said, crouching to pet the mutt. "Friendly."

Crater wagged his tail as Donatelli scratched behind his ears, but Grayson shifted uncomfortably.

Eleanor stepped forward. "We were just heading back to the mansion. Mr. Webb was introducing himself."

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood," Donatelli said, his tone neutral but pointed.

Grayson nodded quickly. "Thank you. I should be heading back." He called the dog, and Crater followed reluctantly.

Rebecca turned to Eleanor. "I'll make some coffee," she offered hesitantly. "You and Detective Donatelli probably need a moment."

Eleanor gave her a reassuring smile. "That would be wonderful, Rebecca. Thank you."

As Rebecca disappeared into the mansion, Eleanor turned back to Donatelli. He crossed his arms, his expression concerned. "What's going on? You left my office saying something about Miriam, and now I don't see her anywhere."

"She's missing," Eleanor said, her voice low but steady. "I heard her calling, but she's not here."

Donatelli frowned. "Missing? Do you think she —"

"She's still a functioning spirit," Eleanor interrupted. "But she's not free. Something's holding her."

"What kind of something?"

Eleanor hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the vineyard where Grayson had disappeared. "I don't know yet. But there's more to this than we're seeing. And that man? He's part of it."

Donatelli's jaw tightened. "Grayson Webb?"

"He's Cornelius Webb's descendant," Eleanor said. "And Cornelius had a dangerous history tied to this land. If his great-nephew is here now, it's not a coincidence."

Donatelli exhaled. His instincts were on alert. "Maybe — maybe not. We can't jump to conclusions."

Eleanor's gaze lingered on the darkening horizon. "Miriam is missing and needs my help. I'm going to suspect everyone."

*****

The private suite in one of New York's upscale hotels reeked of cigar smoke and tension. Three men sat around a polished mahogany table, their drinks untouched as they reviewed the botched escape plan. Tony "The Hawk" Romano, a high-ranking figure in the New York mob, slammed a folder onto the table, the papers inside spilling out like his frustration.

"This was supposed to be clean!" Tony growled, his Bronx accent thick. "Run the bus off the road, grab Doyle, and disappear before anyone knew what happened. Now we got nothin'! No Doyle, no leverage, and a freakin' circus on the news."

"Calm down," said Salvatore "Sal" Ricci, his consigliere, leaning back in his chair. He was the voice of reason, but even his patience was wearing thin. "We underestimated someone. That's all."

"Someone?" Tony shot back, pacing. "Who? Like Jack Lexington? That Chicago snake's been keeping his hands clean for years, but this feels like his kind of move."

Sal shook his head. "Lexington had no reason to get involved. He helped put Rossi away. Why would he risk it all now?"

"Then who?" Tony demanded. "This wasn't random. Whoever did this knew our plan, knew the route, and swooped in like they were a damn SEAL team."

Vito Greco, the operation's boss, was at the head of the table. He'd been silent, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing its prey. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calculated. "What about Doyle himself? Could he have sold us out? Played both sides?"

Sal frowned. "Possible. Doyle's got connections everywhere, but he wouldn't have staged this unless he had an escape plan. Where's his plan now? He's missing, too. All our feelers say he's off the radar."

The room fell silent until Tony spoke again, quieter this time. "You think it's the Chinese?"

Vito's gaze sharpened. "Zhang Wei?"

Tony nodded. "Rumor says he's got a grudge against Doyle. The yacht bust cost him everything. It's taken him ten years to get back on top. If anyone's got the resources and the motive, it's him."

Sal leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "If Zhang Wei's involved, this isn't just about Doyle anymore. It's about revenge, and Zhang doesn't care about making deals or territory. He plays for blood."

Vito exhaled slowly, his mind working through the possibilities. "And he's smart enough to keep us guessing. What better way to stir the pot than to make us think Lexington's behind this?"

Tony gritted his teeth. "So, what do we do? We just let Doyle rot in some Chinese dungeon while Zhang sets up shop?"

Vito's expression hardened. "No. We find Doyle. And when we do, we send a message — loud and clear — that no one crosses us. Not Zhang Wei, not Lexington, no one."

Sal cleared his throat. "We need to be careful. If the feds sniff out a war between us and Zhang, they'll crush us both. And if Lexington gets wind of this, he might come after us just to protect his reputation."

Vito nodded. "Then we keep this quiet. Find Doyle first, figure out who's behind this, and take care of it before anyone else knows what's happening."

Tony smirked, though there was no humor in it. "And what about Lexington? If word gets out that we're pointing fingers at him —"

"Make it subtle," Vito interrupted. "Let the whispers spread just enough to distract him while we handle the real problem."

As the men finalized their strategy, a courier entered the room, his face pale. He carried a small box, setting it on the table before retreating without a word.

Vito opened the box carefully, his jaw tightening as he stared at its contents. Inside was a severed hand, the cufflinks still attached to the wrist unmistakably belonging to Vince Rossi.

Tony cursed under his breath while Sal leaned closer, his expression grim. "A message."

Vito closed the box, his voice ice-cold. "Not just a message. A declaration. Whoever did this isn't just taking Doyle. They're erasing him — and us — from the game. This is just the beginning."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Cornelius Webb - deceased and responsible for hanging Miriam long ago
Grayson Webb - grand nephew of Cornelius
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster-childhood friend of Garth
Sam -Frank's right hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Tony "The Hawk" Romano - mobster
Salvatore "Sal" Ricci - consigliere of the New York mob family
Vito Greco - the mob boss
Zhang Wei - Chinese underworld

Chapter 3
Veil of Secrets - Chap 3

By Begin Again

The forensics lab buzzed with activity, the faint hum of machinery blending with the murmur of voices. Garth leaned against the edge of a counter, his arms crossed as he watched the lead forensic analyst, Dr. Olivia Marks, review the evidence.

"Our findings don't align with the preliminary reports," Olivia began, her tone grave.

"What do you mean?" Garth asked, straightening slightly.

"Original police reports suggest that two buses collided — one fell into the ravine, and the other rolled near the highway. It sounded straightforward at first. But —" Olivia tapped on her keyboard, pulling up a series of side-by-side images on her monitor. "The physical evidence from the two buses doesn't align with a single collision."

Garth frowned. "Two buses, one accident scene — it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure one bus rammed the other."

"That's what someone wanted us to think." Olivia pointed to the screen, highlighting tire marks and debris patterns. "Look here: the angles, the force of impact, and even the debris trajectory — none of it matches. These buses didn't collide. Someone staged this to look like they did."

Garth's voice sharpened, "Staged? Why would someone go to that much trouble?"

"The prison bus," Olivia said, her voice steady. "Its damage shows deliberate impact — consistent with being run off the road. The orphanage bus, on the other hand — its damage looks controlled. It was as if someone wanted to create chaos without targeting the passengers directly."

Garth exhaled, his mind racing. "So, two separate accidents disguised as one? To what end?"

Olivia clicked through more images, revealing tire tracks in the forest. "Two distinct sets of tire tracks tell the story. The first set, closer to the crash site, is fresher and matches vehicles that could've staged the orphanage bus accident. These tracks lead to the forest where Doyle and Rossi escaped."

"And the second set?" Garth asked.

She pointed to a satellite view of the area. "About a mile out, obscured and intentionally covered. These tracks don't match the first group. They're older but precise, suggesting another party lying in wait — most likely, whoever intercepted Doyle and Rossi after their escape."

Garth's jaw tightened as the weight of her words sank in. "Two groups," he muttered. "One sets up the chaos, and the other moves in to take Doyle and Rossi."

Olivia nodded. "That's the theory."

Garth's mind churned. "If Doyle's gone, one of these groups has him. But which one?" He clenched his fists, the frustration evident in his tone. "The mob had every reason to break him out — he's their key to expansion. But what if the second group isn't a rival? What if they're tied to something else entirely?"

"Something bigger?" Olivia suggested.

"Or something worse," Garth added darkly. "We need more than guesses. Keep working those tire tracks, Olivia. We need to know who was there and why."

*****

Later that evening, Garth, Donatelli, and Danni gathered in Donatelli's office. The scent of fresh coffee hung in the air. The tension was high as Garth delivered forensics findings.

"So, we're looking at two separate groups," Donatelli said, pacing. "One staging the orphanage bus crash to create a diversion, and the other targeting the prison bus to get Doyle and Rossi."

Danni, perched on the edge of Donatelli's desk, folded her arms. "Any idea who these groups are?"

"Not yet," Garth admitted. "But the level of coordination? This isn't amateur hour. Someone with serious resources is behind this."

Donatelli ran a hand through his hair. "If it's the mob —"

"Don't go pointing fingers at Frankie," Garth snapped. "And I've got my doubts about Jack as well."

"Cool your jets, Cowboy." Donatelli lifted his coffee mug to his lips, savoring the aroma as much as the taste. "As I was about to say, the New York mob was our first guess. DeLuca has been hearing rumblings about people trying to make connections in the area. Doyle has connections with them; they'd have every reason to want him out. If they want in, he'd have the connections. But now —"

"Now we're looking at a second group," Danni finished. "Which complicates everything. What's their motive?"

Garth leaned forward, his voice lowering, "The mob might've been outmaneuvered. If it wasn't them, then who? And more importantly, why?"

Danni tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Jack Lexington could be a target here. The New York mob might frame him to shift attention away from themselves."

Donatelli frowned. "Jack's kept his hands clean enough to avoid this kind of fallout, but he's not exactly innocent. This would be the perfect setup if someone wanted to take him down."

"What about allies?" Danni asked. "Does Jack have anyone in New York who could give us insight into what's happening?"

Garth hesitated before speaking, "He's got a friend — Marcus Bennetti. He's a retired detective but still keeps tabs on the underworld. If anyone knows what's going on, it's him."

*****

Donatelli tapped his pen against his notepad, his mind racing with the implications of the forensics report and Garth's intel. "We've got two separate groups — one foreign, one domestic. And most likely, one of them has Doyle and Rossi."

"If Doyle is involved, it's not just about expanding into the territory. There's big money to be gained," Garth snarled.

"The art scene has been quiet. I'm not saying it's not that, but neither Dylan nor Eleanor have mentioned any rumblings. And I know they both are keeping close tabs on the situation," Danni interjected. "Could the pharmaceutical company have switched gears after we shut down the pageant deal?"

"I doubt it. They wanted to stop the advancement of drugs, not increase illegal sales. There's no money to gain in that process," Donatelli responded.

"What's left, then? What other corruption was Doyle involved in?" Danni asked.

Garth and Donatelli exchanged glances, both nodding. "Smuggling! Human trafficking — he was in deep." Garth tipped his Stetson back on his head. "He almost sold Megan, Eleanor's niece, didn't he?"

"Yup, that man didn't care who or what he destroyed. If I remember correctly, a lot of internationals got swept up in that bust."

You mean, instead of women, they've switched to children?" Danni shivered. "Like the missing boy?"

Donatelli sighed. "We have no leads. But if one of these groups is connected —" Before anyone could respond, a sudden chill swept through the room. Papers fluttered slightly, and Danni's coffee cup rattled on the edge of the desk.

Eleanor materialized.

Her expression was serious, her usually composed demeanor tinged with urgency. In her hands, she held a small, worn shoe. She stepped forward, placing it gently on Donatelli's desk.

"What's this?" he asked, his gaze flicking from the shoe to her face.

Eleanor's voice was laced with tension, "I found it near the rose garden at the mansion. I think it belongs to the missing boy."

Garth stepped closer, leaning over the desk to examine the shoe. "How can you be sure?"

Eleanor's expression didn't waver. "Look at the photo." She gestured to the file Danni had brought earlier. "The stitching, the color. It's identical."

Danni picked up the boy's photo and held it next to the shoe. Her eyes darted between them. "She's right. It's the same."

The room went silent again as the weight of Eleanor's discovery settled over them.

"Where exactly did you find this?" Donatelli asked, breaking the tension.

"Near the rose garden," Eleanor repeated. "I haven't been able to find Miriam either. She's still missing. I've been searching for her, but there's no sign of her. Trust me — this shoe, it's a sign. She was trying to protect him. I know it."

"Protect him from what?" Garth asked, his skepticism clear.

Eleanor hesitated for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Something darker than I've felt in a long time. It's not just human hands at work here."

Garth let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. First the mob, now some supernatural spookiness. Forgive me, Eleanor, but they didn't cover ghosts in FBI 101." He shook his head and mumbled, "I'm sorry, but this entire case seems surreal."

Danni, ignoring Garth's sarcasm, focused on Eleanor. "You think Miriam found the boy? That she was hiding him?"

"I do," Eleanor said firmly. "She must have sensed the danger and tried to keep him safe. But something went wrong. I can feel it."

Donatelli picked up the shoe, turning it over in his hands. "If this boy was at the mansion, and Miriam was involved, then whoever's behind this might've taken her to get to him."

"Which means they're desperate to cover their tracks," Danni added. "And it wasn't random if the boy was at the mansion. Someone brought him there."

Eleanor's expression darkened. "And they're still looking for him. Miriam wouldn't give him up easily. That's why she's missing."

Garth's jaw tightened. "Then we need to figure out who's behind this, and fast."

Donatelli nodded, carefully placing the shoe back on the desk. "The first step is confirming that this shoe belongs to the boy. If it does, it gives us a direct link between him and the mansion."

"And Miriam," Eleanor said softly. "She's trying to reach us, but something's holding her back."

Donatelli tapped the shoe against his palm, his gaze distant. "If the boy was at the mansion, and Miriam was involved, this might be bigger than we thought."

Eleanor's form flickered, her frustration evident. "This land has always been a magnet for darkness, Matthew. The shoe is just the start."

Garth leaned back, crossing his arms. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying this has happened before?"

Eleanor hesitated — a shimmering glow outlined her body. "Not like this. But the mansion's history is complicated. Especially when it comes to Cornelius Webb."

Danni tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Cornelius Webb? I've heard the name — he's tied to the Webb Estate next door, isn't he? Rebecca mentioned the family once."

Eleanor's expression darkened. "He's more than tied. Cornelius Webb is why the town hung Miriam on her wedding day."

The room fell silent. Even Garth, who rarely held back, looked momentarily stunned. The revelation about Cornelius Webb and the town's past actions had sent a shockwave through the room, leaving everyone speechless.

"You mean —" Danni's voice trailed off, her wide eyes locked on Eleanor.

Eleanor nodded — her voice heavy. "Miriam wasn't just some random victim of a mob. Cornelius framed her. He coveted the land this mansion stands on — the vineyard, the caves beneath it. He wanted it for his own purposes. When Trevor — Miriam's husband — discovered the truth about Cornelius' activities, Cornelius killed him. Then, he accused Miriam of witchcraft and murder. The town turned against her, and they hung her before she could clear her name."

Garth let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "And now Rebecca owns this place? Dammit, Eleanor, how does something like that not come up sooner?"

"It wasn't relevant until now," Eleanor replied calmly. "Cornelius' obsession with this land didn't end with his death. His spirit lingers. And now that his great-nephew, Grayson, has inherited the Webb Estate, I fear Cornelius is using him to continue his schemes."

Donatelli rubbed his temples, piecing the information together. "So, Cornelius wanted this land for what? The caves beneath it? What's so special about them?"

Eleanor's voice grew quieter, "They were used for smuggling — decades ago — alcohol, artifacts, and, at one point, people. Cornelius had big plans for the tunnels. Plans that Miriam disrupted when she and Trevor uncovered them."

Danni's expression turned grave. "If Cornelius is still influencing things, and Grayson's involved, that makes this even messier."

Garth's jaw tightened, his hands forming fists. "If Grayson's snooping around Rebecca, he'd better have a damn good reason, or I'll make sure he regrets it."

Eleanor placed a calming hand on Garth's shoulder. "He may not even realize the full extent of what's happening. Cornelius has always been manipulative. Grayson could be a pawn in his game."

Donatelli tapped his pen against his notepad again. "We're already juggling two mobs and a missing boy. Now, we have a vengeful ghost and a possible accomplice in Grayson Webb. Fantastic."

Eleanor's gaze shifted back to the shoe. "This boy's disappearance is tied to all of it. Miriam must have sensed the danger and intervened. That's why she's gone."

"You think Cornelius is involved in all this?" Danni asked.

"I do," Eleanor said firmly. "And if Cornelius is manipulating Grayson, then Rebecca's at risk, too. We need to act quickly."

Garth pushed away from the counter, his anger simmering. "First thing's first —we confirm the shoe belongs to the boy. After that, we need to keep an eye on Grayson. If he's working with Cornelius, I'm not giving him the chance to hurt Rebecca."

"Or Miriam?" Donatelli added.

Eleanor's form flickered again, a sign of her frustration. "She's calling for help, Matthew. She's trapped somewhere close but hidden. I'll find her."

Danni's voice broke the tension, "And what about the boy? If Cornelius or someone else is tied to his disappearance, then the mansion might not be the last place he was taken."

Donatelli stood, his mind already racing with the next steps. "We've got too many threads and not enough answers. Let's confirm the shoe and keep digging into the mansion's history. Eleanor, if you pick up anything else from Miriam, let us know immediately."

Eleanor nodded, her form steadying as her resolve grew. "I'll keep searching. But tread carefully, Matthew. Whatever we're up against, no one is safe."

As Eleanor vanished, the room grew colder, the weight of her words settling over them. Garth broke the silence with a muttered curse, his frustration evident.

Garth growled, "Two mobs, a missing boy, and now a ghost hunt. What the hell did Doyle get us into this time?"

Donatelli shot him a look. "It's a powder keg. And we're sitting on top of it."

"This was supposed to be a simple winding down after the new year; now we're knee-deep in something, and it's not my downtime with Rebecca."

Donatelli offered a grim smile. "Welcome to Bayside, Cowboy."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Cornelius Webb - deceased and responsible for hanging Miriam long ago
Grayson Webb - grand nephew of Cornelius
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster-childhood friend of Garth
Sam -Frank's right hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Tony "The Hawk" Romano - mobster
Salvatore "Sal" Ricci - consigliere of the New York mob family
Vito Greco - the mob boss
Zhang Wei - Chinese underworld

Chapter 4
Veil of Secrets - Chap 4

By Begin Again

Eleanor materialized outside the small cottage, her form shimmering faintly in the pale light of the overcast sky. The cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and the faint aroma of the vineyard. Milo crowed from atop the low stone wall, his sharp call breaking the silence. He tilted his head, eyeing Eleanor with a familiarity that made her smile.

"Good morning, Milo," Eleanor greeted softly. The rooster flapped his wings and hopped down, strutting toward her with the confidence of an old friend. "Yes, I've missed her too," she murmured, crouching slightly as Milo clucked, pecking at the hem of her dress.

Willow, the ever-patient donkey, brayed from the garden's edge and began a slow, deliberate walk toward Eleanor. His large, expressive eyes held a sadness that echoed Eleanor's own feelings. He nuzzled against her, and she scratched between his ears before producing two carrots, to the donkey's surprise.

"I know, Willow," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You wonder where she's gone, just like I do. I wish you could tell me what you've seen, if someone came here or if she left on her own." Willow brayed again, his ears flicking back as if responding to her plea.

Milo let out another sharp crow and flapped onto the stone wall again, facing the cottage once more. Eleanor followed his gaze, her expression tightening. Once so full of life, the cottage felt eerily still, its windows darkened and its door slightly ajar.

As she approached the cottage, a faint sensation brushed against her awareness — a familiar yet faint presence. "Miriam? Was that you?" She stopped and looked around, waiting for some kind of response, but none came.

The cottage door creaked as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the still air. Inside, dust motes floated lazily in the pale shafts of light filtering through the cracked shutters. The faint scent of lavender and Miriam's essence still clung to the air, but something was amiss — an absence that felt like a void.

"Miriam?" Eleanor called, her voice a mixture of hope and dread.

From behind her, Milo crowed sharply again, a note of alarm in his cry. Eleanor spun around, her gaze sweeping the room, her senses on high alert. But the space remained silent, save for the faint rustle of the wind through the vineyard beyond.

She turned to the door and glanced at Willow, who stood steadfast, his ears twitching as if listening for something only he could hear. "Don't worry, old friend," she said softly. "We'll find her. Somehow, we'll bring her back."

Eleanor's gaze swept the room, and she felt the faint traces of Miriam's presence, like echoes of a song far in the distance. She closed her eyes, letting herself attune to the memories imprinted here.

She could sense Miriam tending to Donatelli when he had been on the brink of death. The memory was vivid —Miriam's gentle hands nursing him back to health, her quiet determination to save him as though it might atone for the life she couldn't save.

Another flicker — Miriam talking to Willow, her donkey, as she fed him carrots. Her voice was soft, almost musical, as she shared stories of the vineyard's past. Eleanor smiled faintly, recalling how Miriam always found solace in simple acts of care.

Eleanor moved deeper into the room, and the memories shifted again. She could feel Miriam walking the rows of the vineyard, her footsteps deliberate, her touch reverent as she ran her fingers over the leaves. And then there was Rebecca — Miriam's warmth as she bonded with her granddaughter, showing her the secrets of the land, planting seeds of courage in a young woman who barely understood her own strength.

But most poignant was the connection Eleanor herself had shared with Miriam. In this very cottage, Miriam had confided her darkest secrets — the weight of Cornelius's betrayal, the guilt she carried for leaving Antonio, and the quiet, unshakable love that had kept her bound to this place for so long. Eleanor's chest tightened, the absence of her friend cutting deeper with each memory.

Yet now, there was nothing — no trace of Miriam's presence, no whisper of her spirit. Something was blocking their connection — a barrier Eleanor couldn't pierce. Frustration and worry gnawed at her as she paced the small room.

"What's keeping you from me, Miriam?" she murmured, her voice soft but insistent. "What or who is holding you back?"

She turned toward the door, preparing to leave, when something flickered in the corner of her eye. Eleanor froze, her gaze snapping to the large, ornate mirror propped against the far wall. The glass was dull and cracked in places, but for a moment, she swore she saw a figure.

"Miriam?" Eleanor's voice rose, hope and disbelief mingling.

The figure moved — faint, barely there — and then vanished, leaving only the mirror's distorted reflection behind.

Eleanor stepped closer, her heart pounding. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the cool surface of the glass. It felt ordinary, lifeless, yet she knew what she had seen.

Pressing her palms flat against the mirror, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Miriam, I am here. I won't stop searching for you. I swear it."

The silence pressed around her, heavy and unyielding. Eleanor lingered a moment longer before lowering her hands. She took a step back, her resolve hardening. Whatever force was holding Miriam, it wouldn't win. She would find her — she had to.

As she turned to leave the cottage, a faint chill swept through the room. Eleanor paused, glancing back at the mirror, but it remained still, its surface reflecting only the empty space.

*****

The mirror's surface pulsed as if alive, reflecting a distorted version of the cottage. Miriam stood within, her ethereal form glowing faintly against the oppressive darkness. She pressed her hands to the glass, feeling its cold, unyielding barrier.

Her thoughts turned to Antonio, vivid memories playing like a slideshow in her mind. The warmth of their baby in her arms as Antonio's laughter rang out beside her. His whispered promises of forever. And then the searing pain of their final goodbye — his voice breaking as he begged her to stay, her heart shattering as her father dragged her away.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "I tried to come back. I tried to make it right."

A sinister laugh echoed through the space, and Cornelius materialized behind her. His presence seemed to leech the light from the room, the shadows around him twisting unnaturally.

"Still clinging to that ridiculous sense of defiance, are we?" His voice dripped with venom. "You should have accepted your fate long ago, Miriam. Instead, you linger here like a ghostly parasite, clinging to a legacy that isn't yours."

Miriam turned to face him, her chin held high despite the weariness of her features. "You mean Trevor's legacy? The one you tried to steal when you murdered him? The one you couldn't touch because he outsmarted you, even in death?"

Cornelius' smirk faltered, his expression darkening. "Trevor was a fool. A sentimental fool who didn't understand the power this land holds. He squandered its potential, just as you do now."

"And yet, it's beyond your grasp," Miriam said. "Because he trusted me. He ensured you'd never get your claws into what was his."

Cornelius' form flickered, his anger visible. "You think you've won something? That staying here, tethered to this place, is some kind of victory? You've sacrificed everything — paradise, peace, your family — for what? To keep me out? You're a shadow, Miriam. A fading echo of a woman who should have stayed silent."

Miriam stepped closer, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I stayed because someone had to. Because you couldn't be allowed to desecrate what Trevor built. You've already taken too much."

"I've taken what was mine by right!" Cornelius snarled. The mirror trembled with his fury, ripples distorting its surface. "The vineyard should have been mine from the beginning. Trevor was weak, just like you. You were both so easy to destroy."

Miriam's voice dropped, cold and cutting. "You didn't destroy us. You murdered us. You tricked a town of frightened fools into hanging me, but you couldn't break my spirit then, and you won't now."

Cornelius's laugh was sharp, almost gleeful. "You think your spirit is unbroken? You've wasted your afterlife in this miserable prison. Meanwhile, I've grown stronger, feeding on the hatred and fear that this land breathes. And now, with Rebecca here, the pieces are finally falling into place."

Miriam's hands clenched into fists. "Rebecca will never fall for your lies, Cornelius. She's stronger than you think."

Cornelius stepped closer, his form looming over hers. "Strength? Don't delude yourself. She's just as naive as you were — ripe for manipulation. And once I claim this land, she'll have no choice but to surrender."

"You'll never claim it," Miriam hissed. "Not while I'm here."

Cornelius's expression twisted with rage. The mirror's surface darkened as he raised a hand. Shadows erupted from his palm, wrapping around Miriam like chains. "You think you can stop me?" he roared. "You're nothing! You're just a stubborn ghost clinging to a past you can't change!"

The chains tightened, but Miriam's voice rose above his. "And you're nothing but a coward, Cornelius. A bitter, pathetic coward who couldn't create anything worth keeping, so you steal from those who can."

Cornelius let out a furious snarl, his grip on the chains faltering. Miriam's light grew brighter, pushing back against the encroaching darkness. Her voice softened but lost none of its resolve. "You can rage and scheme all you want, but you'll never take this vineyard. Not from me. Not from Rebecca."

Cornelius staggered back, his form flickering as the glow around Miriam intensified. "You think this changes anything?" he spat, his voice trembling with fury. "You've delayed the inevitable, nothing more. I will find the boy. And when I do, even your precious Rebecca won't be able to save him."

Despite the slight dimming of Miriam's glow and her waning strength, she remained resolute, her unyielding gaze a testament to her determination. "You'll never find him. And even if you do, he'll see you for what you are — a monster," she declared, her voice unwavering.

Cornelius sneered, his form stabilizing. "We'll see, Miriam. We'll see." With that, he dissolved into the shadows, leaving Miriam alone in the mirror.

She staggered, her light flickering as exhaustion set in. But she forced herself to stand, her thoughts turning to Antonio. He was her last hope, the one connection she had left to the strength she needed.

"Antonio," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Please, I need you."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Antonio - deceased grandfather of Rebecca and Miriam's first love
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Cornelius Webb - deceased and responsible for hanging Miriam long ago
Grayson Webb - grand nephew of Cornelius
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster-childhood friend of Garth
Sam -Frank's right hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Tony "The Hawk" Romano - mobster
Salvatore "Sal" Ricci - consigliere of the New York mob family
Vito Greco - the mob boss
Zhang Wei - Chinese underworld

Chapter 5
Veil of Secrets Chap 5

By Begin Again

The air around the vineyard was heavy and still. Antonio felt it when he crossed the invisible threshold that separated the outside world from his hallowed ground. He hadn't been here before — not physically, not in life — but it felt familiar in a way that unsettled him. This was no ordinary vineyard. It was a place where the veil between the living and the dead was thin, and the spirits of the past often made their presence known. He crept among the rows of vines, their winter skeletons casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. A cool breeze carried a faint fragrance that stirred memories he'd locked away for decades.

Memories of Miriam.

She had called to him in words and emotions so raw and vivid he couldn't ignore them. For days, he had resisted. What reason did he have to answer now, after all these years? When she had left him in Italy with their daughter, he had told himself he'd hate her for abandoning them. But the hatred never came — only a hollow ache. And now, that ache was pulling him to this strange, foreign place where her presence lingered — haunting him.

But where was she? How could he find her? What did she want?

Antonio stopped near a stone fountain — its basin dry but etched with intricate designs that seemed older than time. He glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the empty vineyard. For a moment, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Perhaps her call had been a dream, a cruel trick played by his own yearning. Yet, deep down, he knew it wasn't.

"Miriam," he whispered — her name a prayer and a plea.

The sound of his voice startled him. It had been so long since he'd spoken her name aloud. It felt foreign, too big for the small space between his lips, yet too small to hold all the emotion tied to it. He waited, straining to hear — to feel — anything in response. But the vineyard remained silent.

He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the frost-covered ground. The air grew colder with each step, and his chest tightened. He stopped again, glancing back toward the rows of vines behind him. Was he being watched? He couldn't tell. The shadows seemed to shift, but there was no movement beyond that.

"Miriam," he tried again, louder this time. "I'm here. Tell me where to go."

"You don't need to shout," a woman's voice called from behind him.

Antonio pivoted, his heart hammering in his chest. Standing a few feet away was a woman he did not know. She was slight, her posture confident but unthreatening, her face illuminated by the moonlight. Her expression was careful, almost curious, as though she were trying to decide whether to approach him further.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice rougher than intended. "How did you know I'm here?"

The woman stepped closer, hands held at her sides. "I'm Eleanor. Like you, I'm a friend of Miriam's." She paused, studying his reaction. "You must be Antonio."

His breath caught. "How do you know my name?"

Eleanor hesitated, weighing her words. "Miriam's in trouble. Something beyond me."

Antonio's jaw tightened. "Where is she? Why isn't she here?"

"It's complicated," Eleanor admitted, her voice soft but steady. "She's here, but she's — trapped. Held by someone who doesn't want her found."

A shadow crossed Antonio's face. "Trevor?" he muttered, the name dripping with disdain. "He's the one who took her from me."

Pain contorted Eleanor's expression. "Yes, Trevor brought her here, but he's not why she stayed. Another man — one with a black heart —" Eleanor sighed, not sure how much Antonio wanted to hear. "She's been waiting for you."

Antonio took a step back, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why now?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Why did she wait until now to call me? She left me. She left me and our daughter."

"Not by choice," Eleanor said firmly. "She sacrificed everything to save her family, which cost her more than you know. Miriam's been fighting to keep this vineyard safe and everything she loved from being destroyed. She needs help — your help."

Antonio looked away, his shoulders sagging. "I don't know if I can help her. Why can't you help her? You say you are her friend. After all this time, why me?"

"I don't have the power or the insight into what has happened. But I sense that you do."

"You expect me to battle something I know nothing about? I'm not like you. My ethereal life has been tending my grapes in solitude and peace."

"Is that what you tell yourself, Antonio? Have you blocked out all memories of Miriam? Closed your heart to the love you shared?"

"The love she threw away," Antonio spat but instantly lowered his voice. "I tried." His voice was ragged. "She forgot me." The sense of betrayal cut deep, leaving a wound that had never fully healed.

"Never!" Eleanor pressed. "On her wedding day, as she fulfilled her father's wishes, Cornelius Webb murdered her husband."

Anthony gasped at the thought but still couldn't open his heart to Miriam. "A tragedy, but then why stay? Why not return to what we had?"

"She couldn't," Eleanor whispered.

"Was it money? I would have sold everything to bring her home."

"It wasn't money, Antonio." Eleanor knew the pain and agony she was about to inflict on this dear man, but there was no other way. "It was greed and lies."

Antonio shook his head in denial. "Not Miriam — her heart would never succumb to that."

"You're right. It was Cornelius Webb and the town folks. With the death of her husband, they believed she murdered Trevor to claim the estate. They rallied together, without proof or justice, and hung her from the oak tree in her wedding dress. They cheered until her last breath."

The moan that came from the deepest bowels of Antonio echoed across the vineyard as he dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "No, tell me this is a lie. Not my sweet Miriam."

Eleanor felt the earth suck all the warmth out of the air and the ground tremble as Antonio continued to moan in despair. Finally, he stumbled to his feet, his eyes sunken and empty. "So, I am too late. I have failed her."

"No, it's not too late, Antonio. You must trust me. She's fallen into the hands of someone evil, but I hear her calling. You are here, so she must have reached out to you."

"I'm — I'm just a lost spirit tending my vineyards. I don't have any spiritual powers."

Eleanor stepped closer, her voice softening. "You came here. That's enough for now. Stay, Antonio. Let her know you're here. Let her feel your presence even if you don't know what to do. It's more than she's had in years."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with doubt and hope. Slowly, he nodded. "I'll stay. For now."

Eleanor's lips curved into a small smile. "That's all she needs to hear."

She turned, walking back toward the mansion, leaving Antonio alone by the fountain. The wind picked up again, rustling the vines, and Antonio felt something shift inside him. For the first time in years, he believed that he might see Miriam again. He might finally find the answers he'd been looking for all this time.

*****

Antonio watched Eleanor's figure dissolve into the moonlit mist, her presence leaving a void as the chill of the vineyard deepened. The frost-covered vines whispered in the night breeze, and for a moment, he stood still, unsure what to do next.

The ground beneath his boots felt heavier, as though the earth resented his presence. He turned back toward the dry fountain, his thoughts tangled with questions and doubts.

Then he heard it — a low, guttural chuckle that seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Well, well. I wondered when you might crawl out of your self-imposed exile."

Antonio spun, his fists clenching at his sides. A man stepped forward from the shadows, his movements fluid and confident, like a predator stalking prey. His dark coat swayed slightly in the breeze, and his piercing eyes glinted with malice.

"You must be Cornelius Webb," Antonio said, his voice steady despite the unease in his chest.

The man smirked, tipping his head mockingly. "I see my reputation precedes me. And you — you must be the forlorn lover summoned by that meddlesome spirit."

Antonio's jaw tightened. "Where is Miriam? What have you done to her?"

Cornelius' smirk widened into a grin, cold and calculated. "Oh, Antonio. You are so quick to assign blame. I merely inherited this delightful predicament. Miriam's plight is her own doing — or have you forgotten how she came here?"

Antonio took a step forward, his fists tightening. "Your greed, your lies murdered her. And now you keep her here, trapped like a trophy."

Cornelius' eyes darkened, his grin fading. "Careful, Antonio. You speak of things you cannot possibly understand. This land — this vineyard — belongs to me. It always has. You? You're nothing but an unwelcome guest."

Antonio's voice rose, echoing across the empty rows. "I am here because she called me. Not you. Not your lies. Miriam has more strength than you'll ever understand, and she's still fighting against whatever you've done."

Cornelius' laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. "You think you're her savior? A man who couldn't even hold on to her in life?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Go back to wherever it is you've been hiding, Antonio. You're meddling in affairs far beyond your comprehension."

But Antonio stood his ground, his eyes blazing with determination. "I'm not leaving until I find her. Whatever you're hiding, whatever darkness you've brought to this land, I'll uncover it. You've underestimated me, Cornelius."

The air between them grew heavy, a tension sparking like static. Cornelius's expression twisted into a sneer as he leaned in closer. "Then let this be your first lesson — this vineyard is mine. And those who challenge me rarely leave it in one piece."

Before Antonio could respond, the shadows around Cornelius seemed to ripple and shift. The air turned icy, and Antonio felt an invisible force push him back hard enough to make him stagger. By the time he regained his footing, Cornelius was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of decay and the faint sound of mocking laughter.

Antonio stood alone, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The confrontation had left him shaken but not broken. He looked back toward the house where Eleanor had disappeared moments ago.

"Whatever it takes," he murmured, his voice firm. "I'll find you, Miriam. I promise you and your friend."

The vines whispered again, their skeletal forms swaying under the moonlight as if acknowledging his resolve. Antonio squared his shoulders and began walking toward the mansion, his determination renewed.

*****

Rebecca parked her car at the edge of the mansion's long driveway, her headlights cutting through the thick fog that clung to the vineyard. The house loomed ahead, its silhouette sharp and foreboding under the moonlight. Every instinct told her to turn back, to wait for Garth or Eleanor. But the gnawing fear for her grandmother drove her forward.

She stepped out, the cold biting her cheeks. Her boots crunching against the gravel seemed unnaturally loud in the still night. Rebecca glanced around nervously, half-expecting to see something — or someone — lurking in the shadows.

"Miriam," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "Please, let me find you."

The mansion stood eerily quiet as she approached. Pushing the heavy front door open, a rush of cold, stale air blasted Rebecca's cheeks. The grand foyer, once so vibrant with Miriam's presence, felt empty and lifeless. Rebecca hesitated, her hand resting on the doorframe.

"Grandma?" she called, her voice echoing through the empty halls.

No answer. Just the creak of wood settling and the faint rustle of the wind outside.

Rebecca stepped inside, her eyes darting toward the parlor where she'd last seen her grandmother's things. The room was just as she'd left it — books scattered on the table, a teacup resting on the armchair. But Miriam was nowhere to be found.

She turned toward the staircase, her heart racing. "Miriam?" she called again, her voice louder this time.

The night had grown colder, the fog thickening around the mansion as Rebecca wandered through its darkened halls.

"Miriam," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "Where are you?"

Her footsteps echoed against the floor as she reached the parlor. Her eyes scanned the room, her heart sinking at the stillness. Books lay open, abandoned, and a faint layer of dust had already gathered on the mantle. It was as if the house itself had surrendered to despair.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she collapsed into the armchair by the cold fireplace. Her head fell into her hands as sobs wracked her body. The weight of everything — her grandmother's disappearance, the eerie silence of the estate, the inexplicable pull that had brought her back — was too much to bear.

"Rebecca?"

She jolted upright, startled by the voice. Grayson Webb stood in the doorway, his expression soft and concerned. He carried a lantern that cast a warm, flickering glow over his face.

"Grayson?" she stammered, hastily wiping her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I was out walking," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "I saw your car and thought I'd check in. Are you all right?"

She wanted to tell him to leave, to say she was fine and didn't need anyone's help. But the lump in her throat wouldn't allow it. All she could do was shake her head as tears spilled over again.

Grayson knelt beside her, his voice low and soothing. "Hey, it's okay. You're not alone."

Before she could think, he had taken her into his arms. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing drew her in, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt since Miriam's disappearance. She momentarily let herself lean into him, clutching his jacket as if it were a lifeline.

"You'll find her," Grayson murmured, his voice soft but confident. He ran his hand across her hair and down her back, pressing her gently against him. "Whatever's happened, we'll figure it out. I promise."

Rebecca froze. She pulled back abruptly; her face flushed. "I — I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I shouldn't have —"

Grayson's gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. "There's nothing to apologize for, Rebecca. You're scared, and that's okay. But you don't have to do this alone."

Her stomach churned with confusion. A part of her wanted to trust him, to believe in the comfort he offered. But another part, sharper and more cautious, warned her to tread carefully. Eleanor's wariness of him echoed faintly in her mind.

"Thank you," she managed, stepping away from him. "But I should go. There's — there's something I need to check upstairs."

Grayson's smile was patient, almost paternal. "Of course. If you need anything, just call me. I'll be nearby."

Rebecca nodded quickly and slipped past him, her heart pounding as she climbed the stairs. She didn't stop until she reached her grandmother's bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Leaning against it, she took a deep, shaky breath.

What was wrong with her? She barely knew Grayson, yet she had let herself fall apart in his arms. The thought made her skin crawl.

*****

Grayson stood in the parlor, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His gaze wandered over the room, his eyes landing on a photo of Miriam on the mantle. He stepped closer, picking up the frame and studying it with a calculated expression.

"So much history in this house," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And so many secrets."

"Secrets that don't belong to you," a sharp voice said.

Grayson turned, his smile widening as he saw Eleanor near the window.

"Eleanor," he said smoothly, setting the photo down. "I didn't realize you were here."

Her gaze was cold, her posture rigid. "I could say the same for you.

Grayson chuckled, unfazed. "I was only checking on Rebecca. She's upset about her grandmother, understandably."

"She doesn't need you," Eleanor snapped. "She has a boyfriend."

Grayson's smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That explains why she was in my arms only moments ago, sobbing, needing someone to comfort her."

Eleanor's jaw tightened. "I won't let you manipulate Rebecca. Whatever you're planning, it won't work."

Grayson shrugged, his smirk returning. "Planning? I thought I was being neighborly. Why would you say that?"

Eleanor stared at the young man. "You're a Webb. That should be a good enough answer."

He picked up his lantern and strode toward the door. "Good night, Eleanor," he said over his shoulder. "Please tell Rebecca goodnight for me, too."

Eleanor glared after him, her fists clenched. As the door closed, she vanished, her focus shifting to Rebecca upstairs.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Antonio - deceased grandfather of Rebecca and Miriam's first love
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Joseph DeLuca - detective
Cornelius Webb - deceased and responsible for hanging Miriam long ago
Grayson Webb - grand nephew of Cornelius
Jason DeLuca - retired detective
Frank DiVito - retired gangster-childhood friend of Garth
Sam -Frank's right hand man
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Tony "The Hawk" Romano - mobster
Salvatore "Sal" Ricci - consigliere of the New York mob family
Vito Greco - the mob boss
Zhang Wei - Chinese underworld

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