Early the next morning Valeria had her father reluctantly drive her to the quaint Santa Fe airport for her flight to Monterey. She had tried reaching Travis once more, to no avail and was hoping the Monterey detective might phone her that morning with some positive news that Travis had been located, alive and well. It was her plans to call the officer back once she reached the Peninsula. While waiting in the terminal she decided to call the Leon residence again in Pacific Grove to see if there was any news of Travis there and to check on the behavior of Natalia.

"Hello Lupe?

"Yes?"

"It's Valeria. I talked to your mother yesterday."

"Oh, thank goodness, Valeria. It's you."

"Everything alright?"

"Well, the police have been calling regularly. Asking if Professor Colter has been seen by anyone. He hasn't. And they seem pretty concerned about him being a missing person now."

"Yes, I know, Lupe. He isn't the only one concerned. He hasn't answered his phone and it seems closed since yesterday."

"Are you coming back soon, Valeria? We could use you here these days and nights."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Natty dreams a lot. And speaks a lot more now. Much more. And she's not talking as herself, Valeria. I think it's that . . .Ruby who has taken over her voice and what she says. It's very frightening these past nights! She keeps mentioning things and places we have no idea about. And the name Luciana was heard by Ortencia. Does that make any since to you?"

Valeria was shocked. Hesitant to answer. "Did you say Luciana?"

"Yes. That's the name she mentions. Do you know anyone with that name? Anyone who it could be?"

"Look, Lupe. I'll be back on the Monterey Peninsula later today. I have to board my plane now. We'll discuss everything in a day or so. I'll be first trying to locate Dr. Colter over at the college and . . . around the area. I'll call you before I come to your home."

Great. Oh, Great, Valeria. Just know things have gotten worse with Natty. Did my mother tell you? She's been trying to sneak out of the house?"
"Yes. She told me that. Both day and late at night, correct?"

"Yes. My husband still doesn't know about that one. I worry so much for her. But what can I do? Tie her to the bed?"

"Just keep a close eye on her until I get to your place. Possibly the day after tomorrow. I've got an important issue to take care of today and tonight in Carmel. I really feel it relates to Natty's situation."

"Alright then, Valeria. We trust you. Travel safe."

"Thanks Lupe."

Valeria closed the phone and quickly passed along the shiny, geometrically designed floor of the terminal, pulling her suitcase to the departure gate. Once inside the plane, ready for takeoff, she was able to lean back in her seat and try to fully handle what had been unexpectedly revealed to her--the name Luciana .

Though it was a popular first name among the older generation of Hispanic families, it went straight to Valeria's heart and soul. It was a painful and yet adoring name, and one she only recently came to fear—for that was the name of her great grandmother--her grandmother Maria's mother, and a clear descendent of the little girl centuries before who was captured by the Pueblos only to be rescued as a young teen. Luciana was not mentioned much in her family by her mother, Olivia. and certainly not her own grandmother, Maria. Nevertheless, the name Luciana was a frightening reminder of just how entangled Valeria's past family was somehow connected to the mysterious circumstances engulfing her.

It was this "Great Grandma Luciana," whom her grandmother Maria spoke of only once or twice as Valeria could barely remember. Nevertheless, it was her grandmother Maria who would enter her room while she was a small child to tell tales and fantasies of animals and faraway places. Now, however, in light of what her own mother and Anna had told her about the troubled Maria, the name Luciana also produced anxiety and a burning question as to why she also figured as yet another piece in this seemingly endless and unsolvable puzzle.

During the two and a half-hour flight over the deserts of the Southwest to the California Central Coast, Valeria began to even question her own sanity. She knew from her studies of psychology that schizophrenia could be a genetic link to progeny. Perhaps she was now finally realizing she had fallen prey to the inevitability of inheriting both her grandmothers' peculiarities, however they could be defined.

But could there be more? Her whole thesis and academic reputation were now hinged on the possibility that there was indeed far more to certain phenomena than met the traditional scientific eye. The paranormal route could explain much of what was evolving around her and her family, within this Ninth Case in her critical survey. It just might also discern and prove how certain individuals from her roots, now long dead, might have some linkage to whatever circumstances were causing the psychic and phenomenological turbulence she was thrust into. All the elements she had taken stalk of thus far, did seem to hint at this connection to past biological ancestors, and particularly females.

* * *

Taking a taxi from the Monterey Airport to the town of Carmel, a twenty-minute drive, Valeria asked to be dropped off at the La Playa Carmel Hotel. It was just past noon and once again, she was impressed by its exquisite décor and attention to detail, as when Travis had first brought her there for a drink and a cursory discussion of the hotel's ghost story. As the fog had already cleared and a gentle breeze was blowing off the nearby sea, she was even more awestruck by the place's beauty within and without. The accommodation she had secured online was for one single night, one person, in the upper "Ocean View" section of the establishment. All for a cool $549.

Passing through the lobby, once her room key was obtained, Valeria noted the beautiful flower arrangements and pastel colors which added to the hotel's relaxed and other-worldly atmosphere. The spacious reception area opened out to the cypress trees and dark blue Pacific Ocean. Going up the elevator to the second level and her room, she found the plantation shutters open, and the cool sea air blended with the scent of fresh flowers, abundant in several vases.

Though Valeria's parents were well-off, and she vaguely remembered going to hotels of a high caliber as a small child, this was simply not what she was used to now in her young adult life. Stowing her light-packed clothing in the closets and testing the king-sized bed for comfort, Valeria felt she had found some sort of secret paradise shared with a select few in the world who came to the Peninsula and otherwise traveled in such luxury.

Nevertheless, she could not forget why she had come to this stunning locale. And remembered with some discomfort the nightmare in which she had stumbled across the drowned remains of a young woman. The remains were gliding silently in the foaming surf while she had walked on that very stretch of beach just outside. Valeria felt compelled to leave her room for a second stroll, down the stairs and out through the garden terraces. There she walked to a gate that featured a small sign reading: "Carmel Beach."

Leaving the manicured gardens of the hotel grounds and passing out through this gate, Valeria passed onto a paved serpentine walkway which led to wooden stairs descending to the white sand below. The sound of the enormous breakers at this midday hour was deafening. She found it at first strange that though there were many tourists out walking this beach, no one was bathing in the inviting mixture of a cobalt blue and turquoise sea.

As when with Travis, she took off her shoes and began her stroll from the sands in front of the hotel northward in the direction of Pebble Beach. After knowing the fate of Alida Ghirardelli, first ending in a rescue from the waves—and the second time being fatal, the treacherous nature of those waters gave the reason why so many of the brightly clad beachgoers had passed on swimming there.

Looking up the coastline northward, as the fog had not yet settled in for the day, Valeria knew that just beyond Pebble Beach were the communities of Monterey and beyond, Pacific grove. They were a good half hour away by car and perhaps two hours of fast pace walking to Carmel. Continuing her stroll, she passed over the steep decline of sugary sand where Ocean Avenue, the main street of Carmel, terminated near the sea at the bottom of the hill. And keeping her strong strides, she eventually made it to the green thoroughfare of the Pebble Beach Golf Course, running parallel to the beach on this beautiful but treacherous strand of coastline.

Still being deep in thought while walking, Valeria realized after several hours, that she had not eaten much that hectic day. Seeing the wall of fog now just a few miles offshore and slowly rolling in towards the headlands, she paused. Feeling the air cooling down and moisture setting in, she decided to go back to the hotel, get some nourishment, and plan to wait out the long night in luxury, but at the same time in deep fear and anticipation for what she hoped would confront her there.

Upon coming back through the gate and lush garden area, she saw a young woman sitting alone at one of the outdoor tables, seemingly awaiting company. The woman was attractive and looked like she was a member of a movie cast, dressed in obviously elegant but outdated clothing. Her striking image in a full-length gown, caused a strong contrast to several of the other guests seated not far away, and who seemed not to notice her. They wore much more contemporary apparel and were more suited to be relaxed and wealthy tourists.

The woman in question seemed unmoving, sporting a broad, Ascot hat with ribbons. She was preoccupied with looking out to the vast Pacific, while only her diaphanous dress gently showed any movement, ruffling in the growing sea breeze. Hers was a stark image, Valeria thought, out of place with the surroundings and yet perfectly suited to the eclectic habits of dress she had seen since coming to California.

Stopping by the outdoor bar, Valeria ordered a tall mixed juice and a club sandwich to be delivered to her room. She then passed back through the lobby, now filling with guests, gathering for some function. Once passed them, she proceeded via the elevator to her room, and once inside, locked the door. At this hour she felt it was time for a hot shower and to change into more comfortable clothing for the night.

Stepping naked into the well-lit and jade-colored tiled bath, her mind flashed back on the shower she had taken while in Pacific Grove. When Travis was struck from behind, just as he attempted to open the bathroom door. It was an unsettling memory to have, now being so alone and yet in a similar circumstance. Quickly washing and stepping out of the shower to dry herself, she put on her turquoise robe while hearing a knock on the front door. Valeria walked out of the bathroom toward the locked door, hopefully believing it was none other than the barman delivering her scant, but well-deserved dinner.

"It's your order, ma'am, from the bar," a friendly voice outside the door announced.

Valeria tightened the waist sash on her robe and stepped closer. She opened the door slightly and peered out. The same young man at the bar was holding a tray with her juice and sandwich on it. Opening the door more fully, she was able to take the tray and briefly thank the young man, telling him to put the tab on her room charge, plus 10% for himself.

"Thank you, ma'am. If you need anything else this evening, just call the front desk."

Valeria nodded back to him and closed the door, locking it again securely. She then carried the tray out from the spacious main room, past her bed to the open balcony which afforded a dramatic look out over the darkening sea. Seated in a patio chair at a small table, she sat and ate her sandwich, watching the effects of the growing breeze cause the tall pines and cypress branches in the garden to sway hypnotically.

Eventually feeling uncomfortable with this exposure to the deep outdoors and the frightful ocean beyond, Valeria quickly got up and went to the large screen TV on the wall to switch it on. Picking up the remote control, she hesitated. Then sat down on the bed, preferring not to have any noise, any distraction that night. For she had decided to wait until she heard from, or saw some sign she hoped would unveil itself there.

Propping her pillow up against the headboard, Valeria crawled onto the bed and leaned back, waiting as the looming fog and darkness outside eventually closed out the view. The glow from the indirect lighting inside the suite gave the room a soft and relaxing mood. Looking at the clock on her smartphone, it was now eight forty-five in the evening and she was content to just wait in the comfort the room provided.

Valeria remembered reading that after Alida's body had finally washed up onto Carmel beach a month after disappearing below the waves, the artist Christian Jorgensen's house, built for his wife, Angela Ghirardelli, was abandoned. They relocated while grieving over their niece to a stately house in Pebble Beach, inside the forest for greater seclusion. It was reported that the property, which was soon converted from Bohemian artist salon into a luxury hotel, immediately began to experience the haunting appearance of a young women by guests in many of the rooms over the years. Firsthand encounters said this woman was usually seen as dressed well and standing at the foot of the bed while the horrified guests awoke to find her quietly staring down at them. Valeria knew she was now in the very place this legend began and continued for exactly a century.

As the hours passed, and from rising early that morning, Valeria became sleepy but tried not to succumb to her exhaustion while the hours passed. She desired instead to stay focused and vigilant for whatever sign or signal might assist her in understanding why this historic place, with such a tragic story, played such a role in her own life. After several hours, while she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open any longer, the long awaited happened. . .

There came at this midnight hour, a faint knocking at the front door of her room. She waited and allowed herself to become more conscious of what she had thought she just heard. Then, it came again. A soft knocking. Obviously, the frail hand of a female.

Valeria jumped off the bed and approached the locked door.

"Who's there?" she asked firmly.

"There was the hint of a voice, but she could not make out the words. Instead more knocking, slightly louder and stronger. By now she was convinced that this was what she had come to learn. Come to see or hear, there in the cursed hotel. Her heart was beating powerfully as she held her breath. Then, she swung the door open with great resolve.

There, staring at her blankly, as if in a trance, was the young Natalia. She was still in her pajamas, barefoot, and appearing weakened from the obviously long walk she had made from her room in Pacific Grove in the middle of the night. She had unbelievably come to the very room where Valeria was waiting. Waiting with some ineffable knowledge that someone, or something, would materialize there that night."

"Come in," she told the girl, her voice wavering. She guided her by the hand carefully to sit closely in a chair across from the bed. Valeria sat back on the mattress, looking into Natalia's half-closed eyes, fearfully waiting for her to speak.

* * *