Page 34 of Dark Shadows
As they waited, Savanah nodded toward a man standing near the water fountain. “That's Wesley Lawrence, Dr. Lawrence's son and Tina's brother. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Does he work here?” Mason asked.
“No, but Dr. Lawrence doesn’t like to drive. Wesley and Tina used to have to drive him around.”
“Sounds like an Uber driver would make a killing in this town just off of Dr. Lawrence.” Jacob chuckled.
“Probably. Dr. Lawrence knows everything about everybody. I’m sure he can help point us in the right direction.”
“Too bad he doesn’t know the killer’s name,” Jacob added.
14
Savanah shivered as they pulled up to Dr. Lawrence's Victorian office building. The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the wraparound porch. She remembered staring at those same shadows during countless therapy sessions while trying to convince him she wasn't crazy.
“You okay?” Mason asked as he turned off the engine.
“No.” She gripped the door handle. “Last time I was here, he told my parents I was delusional and there was no hope I’d outgrow my belief in seeing ghosts.”
“What do you suppose changed his mind?”
“Who says he did?”
“Well, if he let you spend the night with his kids, he wasn’t that concerned.”
“I did my best to act normal.” Savanah shrugged.
They climbed the steps onto the porch. Through the window, Savanah caught a glimpse of movement, but it vanished before she could figure out who it might have been.
There were no cars in the driveway. Wesley must have dropped his dad off. Tina’s car wasn’t around either. She’d hoped to put off running into her old best friend.
Dr. Lawrence opened the door before they could knock. “Savanah, Agent Spencer, please come in.”
They followed him through the foyer to his office, which remained unchanged. The same leather couch where she had spent hours. The same collection of books lining floor-to-ceiling shelves. The only difference now was the amount of display cases filled with historical artifacts scattered throughout the room.
“Your collection has grown,” Savanah noted.
“The historical society's influence.” Lawrence gestured to the chairs. “Please, sit.”
“About those symbols…” Mason said, cutting straight to business.
Lawrence crossed to his bookshelf and pulled down a worn leather book with a spine cracked from age. “I recognized them immediately. They belong to our town's darker history.” He flipped through the pages and laid the book on his desk, turning the last few pages until he found what he sought. “Here.”
The page displayed sketches of old tombstones, each bearing the same symbol carved into Beverly's chair.
“In the 1800s, this mark branded the town's outcasts,” Lawrence explained. “People who were shamed and exiled from the community. The symbol was carved into their tombstones after death as a permanent reminder of their supposed sins.”
A chill ran down Savanah's spine as movement caught her eye. Beverly stood in the corner; her translucent form wavered like a mirage. Her throat gaped open with blood staining her collar. Their eyes met briefly before she vanished.
Mason's hand brushed against Savanah's, his warmth anchoring her to the present.
“What kind of sins?” he asked, drawing her attention back to the conversation.
“The town marked those who challenged authority or threatened its secrets,” Lawrence explained, turning the page. “Anyone deemed immoral by community standards received this symbol on their grave, such as adulterers, thieves, and blasphemers. The mark became both punishment and warning, a permanent reminder of their supposed sins even in death.”
“Who would know about these symbols?” Mason asked.
Lawrence shrugged. “Anyone related to someone who had one. People who notice details while working at the cemetery. Town residents who know local history. Over seventy-five graves in the older part of the cemetery bear that symbol.”
