THE PHANTOM FUGITIVE

(Note: This is the first 3 chapters of 24 from my first novel;  I can post a chapter a week. I hope you enjoy it! )

(UPDATE: the author has left this request about future chapter postings:

This is an American Everyman EXCLUSIVE. Jan has pulled her book from the other site, and this is now the only place to read the weekly installments. Tune in each week for a NEW installment of…

by Janet L. Creighton

Chapter 1

Lee Ann Summers wakes up and warily raises her head slightly above her pillow; her eyes fasten on her half opened bedroom door.  The loud disturbance that woke her evidently isn’t walking into her room.  She knows the sound hadn’t been a window breaking; it was more like a heavy door slamming hard against a wall.  Got to check it out; could be just a fender bender outside.  Oh…, hope no one ran into my little car, she thought.  Like a recorded message, she replays the sound in her head and knows it is more intimate; it came from inside her house.  Maybe it had come from the downstairs foyer and it was probably the cats romping and jumping from the stairs.

She turns her head toward her partially raised front bedroom window and spots her two cats perched on the wide window sill.  They are also staring at the bedroom door.  She feels a web of fear spreading across her chest.  She sits up, swings her reluctant legs over the edge of the bed and pushes herself to a standing position.  She figures if someone has broken into the house she has to be prepared to do something; she isn’t sure what, but something. She reaches for her oak night stick hanging on the wall beside her bed.  Then it suddenly occurs to her that her mother might have tripped and tumbled down the stairs; scared or not, she needs to go look now.

Her mother’s bedroom is diagonally across the hallway and at the top of the stairs.  She cautiously steps into the small hallway where moonlight spilling through the half size hall window reveals her mother, Clara Coles, peeking around the edge of her own bedroom door.  Wide eyed and alarmed, Clara tightly clutches her velvety red robe around her waist with one hand and waves a small pen size flashlight toward the steps with the other.  She sees the look of relief in her daughter’s eyes, and whispers, “Yeah… and I thought you had fallen.  Maybe it’s the cats.”

Lee Ann shook her head and motioned down at her bare feet where her cats are now crouched.

“So now what?” she whispered.  “We search the house or lock our bedroom doors and holler out the window.  I vote for hollering.”  Clara’s immediate fear has quickly turned into aggravation; she presses her thin lips together forcefully as she patiently watches her slender daughter, wearing an old practically worn out knee length short sleeve cream colored nightgown, tip toe across the narrow hallway toward her.  This ‘vibrating slamming noise’ had happened once before about two weeks previously.  The two women had called the police who had good naturedly searched the house and yard; at the end of their investigation they said possibly a tree branch had fallen on the roof or some neighborhood kids had whacked the side of the house in hopes of frightening Clara and Lee Ann.  If that had been the case it had worked.  The awkward difference tonight is the upstairs telephone is broken due to a wild chase and tag game the cats had enjoyed the day before when they had managed to kick slam the phone to the floor.

They stare at each other for a couple of seconds before their eyes turn toward the stairs leading down to the darkness below.  Lee Ann reaches the top floor hall light switch and clicks the light on; instead of bringing forth rays of comfort, she feels the glare is like a beacon revealing their frailty.  She flicks the switch off.  The two housecats, Baby and Jamie, walk stiff legged toward the stairway railings.

Their long tails are held straight out and ruffled out like barbed feathers.  Baby, the black and white neutered large tom, glances up at the women and sharply flicks his tail.

“We could stay right here until daylight,” Lee Ann whispered.

“Where’s your cell phone?” whispered Clara.

“On the kitchen counter.”

Clara didn’t like how the cats were staring toward the downstairs foyer; she felt a chill spread around her shoulders and down her chest.  Being trapped upstairs didn’t appeal to her either; she felt that no one was downstairs but her brain was in high gear picturing what could be downstairs and she knew she wouldn’t sleep betting on just a gut feeling.  Whatever it was, it didn’t make it up the stairs, yet, because the cats are definitely tuned in to the downstairs area. She nods toward the stairs and they both step toward the top banister.  The women peek over the railing to see if anyone is directly down below. The downstairs foyer looks as quiet and blameless as it had been before they went to bed.  The flashlight reveals nothing.  They look for any unexplainable flicker of a shadow; they listen and hear only the whisper of silence.

Clara amusingly cocks her head at Lee Ann and whispers, “Why we being so quiet?  Anything down there had better leave; I’m calling the police,” she loudly added.

Oh shit, thought Lee Ann as she raises her nightstick ready to whack anyone who might rush up the stairs toward them.  They both listen attentively to the answering silence below them. After taking a deep breath Lee Ann whispers, “We really don’t know if this is the same noise as before; I can’t go back to sleep without looking.  Can you?”  Her mother shrugs her shoulders.

Lee Ann advances gradually down the stairs; the cats and Clara follow behind her.  This time… someone could be in our house.  What’ll I do? A vision of a shapeless figure with fang like teeth flashes in her head; she grips her nightstick harder. Guess I’d aim at his knees…, if he has any; he wouldn’t expect that. She worries to herself, and when he’s down.., can’t wait… have to knock him in the head… before he jumps up. She cringes at the thought of it and realizes that what she sees done on television might not be as easy as it looks.

Clara notices a small brown moth clutching the thin curtains hanging on the half size hall window and wonders if maybe the cats had been jumping to reach it; she quickly pushes the thought aside.  That noise was made by something much bigger than these cats, she thought.

Lee Ann glances toward the bolted front door and Clara quickly aims her flashlight into the living room.

After seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the two women step down onto the front foyer’s wooden bare floor, leaving the cats on the bottom step.  The front porch light abruptly blinks on; a mist of light blends through the thin curtains that cover the glass upper half of the front door.  They instantly all halt and turn their heads quickly toward the door.  Seeing no one there the two women sigh with relief.  Darn obnoxious light…, not a good time for haunting tricks, thought Lee Ann.  She turns to glance at her mother who just grins and shrugs.  For the sixteen years they had owned the house, ‘something’ had played with the ‘on and off’ switch of the porch light.  It had been checked by an electrician and found to be in good working order; no earthly reason for the light to go on and off by it self.  They had become adjusted to the fact that possibly a ghost inhabited their house but mainly on the front porch; they hoped.  Tonight the thought of it weights heavy in Lee Ann’s chest.  She dares another look at the front door and wonders if ‘it’ is beginning to do more than just light up the porch.  What else can ‘it’ do? She worried to herself.  Clara nudges her daughter forward and they both proceed across the foyer into the living room.  With both hands, Lee Ann holds her nightstick up high in a striking position and checks behind the couch; no one is there.

The living room has two tall large windows.

One window faces the porch, which spans the front of the house sheltered by two large hovering maple trees.  A huge old prickly holly tree stands at the end of the porch and peers darkly into the side window at the two women.

“Thrump, thrump, thump, thump, thump.”

They stand rigid while their eyes move slowly upwards over the front door.  Lee Ann whispers, “It’s that ugly nasty possum walking across our porch roof again.”  Clara nods and points to the middle room.  They anxiously peer into the room and notice the basement door leading out of the middle room is still secure.  A large old rock maple desk rests in the corner between two large windows where white moonlight, filtering through the thin white curtains, highlights a dark stain streaking across the varnished top; tonight it looks more like a shadow than a stain.  Clara flicks the wall light switch on, tightens the sashes of her robe, and eyes the darkness hovering at the kitchen doorway.  Lee Ann nods in response, “Is anybody there?” She tried to shout the question firmly but only a loud whisper carries her words to the edge of the black void.  Clara moves around her and peeks around the frame of the doorway.  Lee Ann hovers behind her as Clara waves the flashlight briskly back and forth.  They see the backdoor that leads to a small bathroom, utility room, and an outside porch, is still locked.  The probing light glides across the room showing no surprises.

It is as if the women are intruding into the quiet intimate dreams of the house.  Glancing through the back middle room window, Clara sees only their normal tree shadowed yard lit up by a bright laughing moon.  Yeah, someone has a serious sense of humor tonight, she thought.

Lee Ann reaches for her cell phone charging on the kitchen counter and flips on the kitchen light switch.  She turns to her mother and says, “Guess we entertained some kids again tonight.” I hope, she thought.  “At least they didn’t get to see the police wasting their time.”

“It could’ve come from the basement.”

Lee Ann grins, “No way.  I’m not opening that basement door.  If anyone’s down there, he can stay.”

Clara shines the flashlight out the back window toward the closed outside flat hatch basement door.  “Still locked.  Maybe this old house is settling and sinking into the ground.”  They both laughed.  “Or maybe another sink hole, like the one that ate fifteen houses, is now working under us,” added Clara.

“What?  No sink holes in Hills City.”

“Oh yeah…, and it’s still there; one night during the early fifties the ground sunk and swallowed about fifteen homes; several people died.  It’s about seven blocks from this very house.”

Lee Ann grins at her mother.  “For real?  That’s not a pleasant thought… you’re kidding… aren’t you.”

“Maybe I am… maybe not.”  Clara grins at her daughter.

She is not kidding but she decides not to dwell on a past event; she hopes it has nothing to do with their current enigma.

“Joking aside, maybe we should call those cops again; they were so cute looking around.  Give them something easy to do,” replied Lee Ann.

“Won’t no tree branch falling on the roof like they ‘supposed’ and they were wrong about someone hitting the side of the house.  A thump that loud would have put a hole in the bricks.  Has to be some kids doing something and they’re probably laughing their heads off watching the house right now,” replied Clara.

“Come on, let’s have a hot cup of tea before we go back to bed”, said Lee Ann.  “It’ll calm our nerves.  I got to get my robe; maybe we should turn on some heat; it’s chilly.”

“Closing your window would help,” replied Clara as she turns back toward the kitchen.  Clara is sixty five years old and the chilly April night air penetrates deep into her almost elderly, as she calls herself, bones, but her daughter loves the coolness.  They both had agreed to keep the gas furnace off as much as possible in order to cut back on expenses.

Clara didn’t mind sleeping under two blankets but knowing Lee Ann’s window was raised about two inches was more than called for and Clara was going to speak to her daughter about it, one day.

“Hisssss…errowwww hissss.”

Turning quickly back toward the foyer, they see the cats hissing and staring at something up near the ceiling over the foyer near the front door.  Clara smiles at the cats, “That fat possum would eagerly devour both of you and leave just two balls of fluffy fur to warm his nest.  He’s out there hunting for tasty tidbits now.  You really want to go out and fight him?  Huh kitties?  Watching him behind the window screen is as close as you’d probable want to get.”

Outside, up on the edge of their front porch red tin roof, an eerily grinning possum is bravely defending his position under the brooding heaving branches of the dark holly tree.  He noiselessly watches the pale shadowy form of a thin man, wearing a pale tan suit, who is perched on the center of the roof.  The man turns to stare coldly at the toothy possum as if contemplating the worth of its hide; the ends of his thin lips slightly curve up. Then the man disappears.

It is early Tuesday morning, April 22, 2003, in Hills City, VA, where most of the urban population of 76,000 is sleeping.

#

Brian Ravenue, home from a late romantic rendezvous, plays his flute and releases soft transparent sweet energy that escapes through the open window and gently caresses the chilly night air.  Abruptly the music stops; Brian opens his eyes and slowly lowers the instrument.  His one fifth American Sioux Indian heritage dominates his physical appearance; his blackish dark brown wavy hair, cut medium short with the top longish, accents his dynamic dark brown eyes.  Turning toward the open case lying on a small square mahogany table, he walks across his living room into the small entrance area.

Wham! A thumping pulsating noise resounds directly behind him.  He freezes for a split second, and then turns quickly around.  Now fully alert, feet apart and heart pounding he is ready for possible conflict.  His eyes deftly search the room for, ‘what’?  Nothing has been altered.  His thoughts, racing, replace the sound with reasoning.  It had come from behind him and by the front window overlooking the quiet street lined with recently budding large shade trees and snuggly parked cars.  He slowly walks over and looks outside; everything is so serene, like a perfect moment waiting for an artist’s interpretation.  I love these old houses. One day I’ll buy one, he thought.

He lives in the older lower area of the city where the aging grand former homes are now apartment buildings filled mostly with energetic youthful college students.

Brian, a seriously gifted scholar of the piano and flute, turns and thoughtfully surveys his room furnished with furniture much older than his twenty one years.  Whatever it was, it’s not in here.  He eyes the far wall that separates his apartment from the next one.  My easily frustrated neighbor… probably got mad at his computer again. He walks back into his small front foyer and gently places his flute into its case.

Beside the table is a beautiful mahogany coat stand that Brian, over the past few months, has grown wary of.  He studies the upper part created from six combined pieces of dark wood twisting and intertwining upward around each other, like a thick rope, and then separating into six polished perches for hats or coats.  The six inch tall white marble base has a wide brass circular ring between the wood and marble.  Brian cautiously runs his hand over the wooden rope and for a split second, a cloudy image of a dark haired man standing behind another man, who is sitting at a desk, looms before his eyes.  The image begins to sharpen and a spasm of fear pierces his chest.  He instantly withdraws his hand; the image disappears.  Got to get this thing out of here…, damm thing is haunted, he thought.  He considers putting it outside in the main hallway and knows he cannot because he might be held responsible for it if other residents damage it; having to admit the truth, he really did not want to touch it again.  It is two in the morning on Tuesday, April 22.

#

It seems he is on the floor looking up at a man sitting in a black straight-back wood chair.  The man’s right arm hangs limply down and… oh hell… blood spews from the end of the man’s wrist, where the hand is supposed to be; blood splashes in his face.  He tries to move away, but he can’t.  Then he hears a loud knocking at his door… the man’s image disappears and nothing but a grey blotchy space remains.  The knocking persists.  His eyes pop open and he jolts straight up.  Russell Williams realizes he has just had another weird dream.  “Man, that was too realistic”, he said to himself.  He dabs his top sheet across the sweat on his face, swings his legs over the side of the bed and wonders why he is having these grotesque nightmares.  Then it hits him; he needs a vacation.  It has been two years since he had left the Hills City Police Force and struck out on his own as a Private Investigator.  For the past two busy years, even with his partner, Sam, working full time, there has been hardly a weekend he could call his own.  He hasn’t balked at the work load; he enjoys helping people settle problems; sometimes it gets a little challenging but so far not life threatening.  The cases hot now are nothing Sam couldn’t handle for at least one week by himself.  A few women looking for proof of their soon to be ex-husbands’ undercover sins which would plump up the wives ‘considerations’ of divorce, and the Twilight Oil Company needing to find out who is periodically stealing the batteries from their delivery trucks; whoever it is knew how to avoid the security cameras.  Or maybe they just reset them.  He suspects an ‘inside’ employee.  He rests back against his pillows and wonders what in the hell would he do for a week.  He actually avoids time off; special time with no one special to share it with.  He thought about Cindy and again realizes how much he misses  being married.  Not to her of course; she was a real broom badgering witch.  He worked a lot of hours and all she did was bitch about it.  He liked his job; could he help that? New York is a good place for her to be.  He hopes she stays there.  He reaches over to his side table, grabs the remote control, clicks ‘on’ the small TV and scrolls until he finds an old ‘John Wayne flick’.  Grinning, he settles back against his pillows ready to observe a bona-fide in control man handle the ‘menaces’ of his era.  He is partial to John Wayne’s style; he thinks he resembles Wayne during the famous cowboy’s more slender days.  He isn’t as tall or wide as John Wayne but then he isn’t required to sit tall in a saddle all day either.

Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Clara, enjoying her second cup of coffee at the kitchen table, works on a word puzzle in the local newspaper, “What’s ‘energy in a shell’; starts with a ‘b’?”

Lee Ann slides a page of the local community college class listings in front of Clara’s vision.  “Battery?” she replied.

Clara shoves the other paper aside, “Right…, I knew that.”

“Mama, read it.” Lee Ann stubbornly pushes the sheet of newspaper back to the front of her mother’s vision.

“What for?”  She scans the page, “The community college doesn’t need me”. Clara glances meticulously at her daughter, eyeing her long straight light brown hair and thin serious face. “Take those pouting blue eyes off me.  When you going to cut your hair and get a perm?  Marcie said she’ll give you a twenty percent discount if you come on a Tuesday.”

Lee Ann ignores her mother’s prodding, “Look at the top of column three where it says ‘Paranormal’.  Let’s go.  Wednesday nights… only three months and it’s a non credit class…, no tests to take.  That’s the second time something has jolted us during the night. You know, ‘It’ just might be something else. Like something from the ‘beyond’ trying to give us a message… maybe it’s our ‘porch light’ ghost.”  Lee Ann grins at her mother.

Clara hopes her daughter is kidding.  “Isn’t just living right now scary enough with the war and talk of terrorists and fear of another 9/11 happening and a Homeland Security gang peering over people’s shoulders?  And now you want to learn how to irritate something from the ‘beyond’?”  She grins at her daughter’s shocked expression.  “Just have to accept some things as unexplainable.  Live and let live,” softly added Clara.

She gets these weak defenseless scary feelings when even thinking of the way things are going these days and she hates not knowing how to cope with them and she surely didn’t need any ghost talking to her.  So she tries to keep her mind on little things like getting Lee Ann to the beauty salon.  She gets up to add fresh hot coffee to her cup and stands by the kitchen counter in her long rose-red robe enjoying the simple pure smell of the steaming brew and  dreading an expected argument.

Good grief, she’s in a bad mood.  I know she’d enjoy going; just got to convince her, thought Lee Ann.  We need to have something else besides listening to depressing news on TV, and who knows… meet some really fascinating people.. well, at least interesting people.

It bothers Lee Ann to know her mother believes America was murdered along with Kennedy and King, and even now, various fat vultures are spiraling down ready to clutch any remains of any true American esteem.  It’s too much for Lee Ann.  This stuff going on in the world is incomprehensible; it just doesn’t make any sense.  She, personally, just wants to forget what is ‘maybe’ happening; maybe it will go away; maybe ‘things’ are not really so corrupt.  She wants to get involved in something that could briefly disarm worries; something to absorb her energy and fire her imagination.  She needs a ‘fun’ thing.

She knows she will have to somehow propel her mother into the class.  And maybe, Lee Ann thinks, they might really need professional help with this ‘something’ that seems to be going on in their house and it certainly isn’t anything like a sink hole.  She figures she will appeal to her mother’s protective instincts.

“O.K., I’ll go by myself.  Walking across a dark large mostly isolated parking lot alone shouldn’t be too bad.  If I run, it wouldn’t take long to get inside.  I’ll take a flashlight.”  Lee Ann reaches for the school listing and starts to write down the instructions for signing up.

“It’s like fooling with an Ouija Board.  Best to leave certain things alone,” Clara firmly said.

Oh oh… what’s this? “Mama, you’ve played with one of those boards.  Nothing ever happened to you.”

“Strange words formed…, that was enough.”

“Yeah, I remember you and Aunt Elizabeth talking about it.” She watches her mother push a stray curl back from her eyes. She still has such thick golden brown hair. Maybe a perm would be good for my hair too. And a cut; next week, she pondered.

Her gray green eyes narrow; a haunted expression spreads across her small featured face. “Well, for a fourteen year old, it was real enough and scary,” Clara quietly said.

“But, you’re grown now; you still afraid?  This class is different… it’s… educational.  It’s not like summoning the spirits or rocking tables.  It says we’ll investigate our psychic side and spirit connections.”

“Yeah, that’s the part that worries me; the spirit connections.”  Clara sits down at the table and looks long at her daughter.  Finally she says, “O.K. I’ll go. Could be interesting, very boring, or at least amusing.  You promise to get a perm and I’ll go.  Deal?  And we’re not going to fool around with anything that may or may not be in this house.  You play with fire you get burned.”

Lee Ann opens her mouth to respond.  “And one more thing…,” said Clara, “You have to promise me…, we don’t tell anyone we’re taking this silly class.  Promise.”

“What?  Who cares?  OK…, my lips are sealed.  I’ll get a perm.  Can’t promise when though.  Thanks.”

Clara sighs, “When do we go?”

“May seventh, on Wednesday at seven P.M., room 156, B building.  Going to be fun.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”     Clara worries about her daughter. She wants her to find a good husband, someone to share her life with.  Being a divorced woman is difficult and lonely.  She knows.  At least we both have regular incomes. I’m getting bored with private nursing duties.  Would like to just retire and read a million books.  Lee Ann’s small bookkeeping business has more downs than ups.  An outside interest would be good for her, but a paranormal class?  What kind of people attend these things? “You need a boyfriend, someone serious; to marry.  Then no one would bang on our house in the middle of the night.”

“Someone like your Woodson who forgets to pick you up because he’s watching a baseball game?”

“At least he brought me a box of chocolates…, need a piece right now.”  Clara gets up to leave the kitchen, “And I’m not wearing jeans to that class.”

“You never wear jeans but it wouldn’t hurt you to try a pair,” teased Lee Ann.  “We could go shopping for them this evening; a pair of purple jeans.”

Clara shakes her head, grabs her coffee mug, and leaves the kitchen.  “I’m going to do my nails; and by the way… that parking lot would be chock full of people going to classes and it has plenty of light,” she said defiantly.

Lee Ann watches her mother leave the kitchen and remembers the face of one particular man she had tried to have a lasting relationship with; just the sight of him had been exhilarating. He was intelligent and considerate and oh, so sexy.  He was also too young for her; not underage, heaven forbid, but a few years between them.  He needed someone several years younger; someone who still enjoyed frivolous activities, she had figured.  The last time she saw him, he had urinated off the side of her front porch as if he was leaving his ‘angry’ mark of manhood.  She realized then she had probably made the right decision. Afterwards, dating a few others, whom she had no feelings for, left her cold and she just lost the desire to acquire a so called ‘mate’.  Now she thinks she is too old.

Both her boys are in college and she now has a lot of spacious vacant time hanging around.  And Mom is right; I do get lonely; I want hugs and the resonance of a man’s laughter and all the sensations of being in love.  Ahhh; I am forty two; can’t believe I’m that old! She gets up, goes into the middle room and inserts a disc of music by ‘Simon & Garfunkle’ into her computer.

She navigates through the internet to the games arena and searches for a competent spades partner. She feels the urge to kill and conquer.

#

The main campus of the Hills City Community College is sprawled out over two large sloping hills.  Buildings stand between walkways, parking lots, and grassy recreational areas. On the edge of the highest slope, a few huge oak trees that survived the last construction period seem to stretch in a rage toward the upper crowning of the sky.  A tempestuous wind races down each path and thrusts itself onto any object in its way arousing wondrous uncontrolled emotions of fear and youthful fun in Lee Ann and Clara as they charge from the parking lot toward their first paranormal class.

Sixteen people of diverse ages file through the open door and begin settling into one piece student type desks where one has to slide, gracefully as possible, into the seat.  Two small tables are up front on either side of the instructor’s desk; the white walls are mostly bare with large windows on the long parking lot side and a chalkboard on the opposite side.  There are no decorations except a bulletin board pierced with a few yellowed pinned notes.

With no visible distractions, the buzz of conversations easily becomes the focus of everyone’s attention.  Lee Ann overhears two women talking:  “Maggie’s the absolute best.  She’s dynamite, you’ll be amazed.”  She turns to see who is talking.  She’s rather amazing herself, thought Lee Ann as she pokes her mother and nods toward the middle aged woman wearing a blue flowered long dress, and a dark blue heavy shawl draped across her shoulders.  Her below shoulders length golden-reddish hair oscillates in rhythm to the movements of her talkative hands; as her hair slopes across one of her sea blue eyes, her husky soft voice hums with an obvious up and down sinuous rhythm.  She quickly absorbs the attention from nearby listeners.  Lee Ann had expected to see a tall large woman attached to the charismatic voice but she sees that Stella is barely over five feet.

Clara whispers, “Remember, Lee Ann, don’t call me ‘mom’; come on, let’s sit on the side row”.

They settle into two desks; Lee Ann’s long frame appears awkward and cramped in the small space but Clara’s smaller figure seemed to suit the desk just fine.  “Feels like first grade again,” Lee Ann whispered to her mother who ignores her; she has her ear cocked to the hushed conversations around her.

They both realize most of these people know each other from previous meetings and possible adventures.  This is going to be exciting, thought Lee Ann.

Clara glances around at the available men.  Not much to choose from; only four men.  Hmm, that man in the cowboy boots isn’t bad. She starts to poke her daughter when an almost middle aged small plumpish pretty woman comes bustling into the room.  Her arms are full of books and something shaped like a pyramid dangles from a gold chain as it bounces against her thigh.

Gaining access to the front table, she releases the contents of her arms and glances around at her students as if she is quickly deciding if it is going to be worth her time.  Her pale flushed face, framed by long dark brown hair pulled back tight into a twist falling down her back, begins to actively search the faces in the room.  She wears a loosely hanging yellow blouse with a flowing long yellow skirt.  The class becomes quiet; some are wondering if maybe something they are not aware of is expected of them.  She has their attention.

Finally.  “Hello, I’m Maggie Tomblin.  I’m going to share this space with you one night a week for the next twelve weeks. Many of your faces and auras are already familiar to me and it pleases me significantly to be within your space again.”  With raised arms and a big beautiful smile, she exclaims, “Everyone ready!”  She grins as their heads nod in response.  “Isn’t it a marvelous evening?  With this mischievous wind and clear evening sky, wouldn’t it be a treat to be outside?”  Without any other instructions, she marches toward the door and orders, “Follow me.”

Desks are loudly abandoned and everyone scrambles to keep up with the fast walking Maggie.  They dash down the hall, around a corridor, and out through double glass doors leading to an outside area where four long white painted wooden tables and plastic chairs are arranged casually on wood chips.

She suddenly stops, looks upward, stretches her arms up toward the pale dusky evening sky and loudly announces to the class.  “Here we are.”  All her class members look upward.  “See how easy it is to get someone to search for the unknown.  First, you have to know where to look; then, you have to know how to see.  Now, wipe those puzzled expressions from your faces and let’s learn how to see beyond our noses.”

Everyone laughs.  “Find a seat.  We’re going to start our journey.  First…, starting with you… Stella, state your first name and tell us the number one reason that motivated you to take this class.  When you finish, touch the person next to you and that person tells their name and reason and then that person touches the next person until all of you have been tapped.”  This is her procedure to introduce the students to each other and at the same time to start the knitting of the group.  She notices them giving each other curious looks.

They’re on their way to bonding.  Feels like a good group.  Two of my best students are here, she thought. Her attention is drawn to Clara.  I feel a strong vibration around that woman.  Interesting.  Going to be a first rate class.

Stella Bomasa stands and takes a deep breath.  The wind, snarling at her blue flowered dress causing it to whip back and forth, lends her the appearance of swaying.  She gives her name in a deep hushed tone, “I need energy assistance from like kin to help strengthen my aura.”  She then turns and lays her hand on the shoulder of a lean black man wearing a dark gray suit with a white open collared shirt; her expression is somber, as if she is passing on a heavy obligation to him.

He stands, “My name’s Ronnie Ballidia.  I want to know how to communicate with…, a spirit.”  He reaches and lightly touches the arm of a young man clad in blue jeans and a long sleeve gray pull over.

“My name’s Brian and well…, I’ve wanted to experience one of your classes and since I might have a disturbed hat rack in my apartment, the time seems right.  Good to see you Maggie.”

“Class, Brian’s mother is my oldest and dearest friend.  I have known this handsome talented young musician since before he ever saw daylight.  And I’m so pleased to have you here, Brian.” She smiled at him with evident pride.

“Yes,” added Stella.  “When he plays the flute, the sun even sighs.”

Brian, pleasantly embarrassed, looks down at the seated Clara, grins at her, and puts his hand firmly on her shoulder.

Clara stubbornly remains in her chair; after proclaiming only her first name, she says, “My daughter made me come with her.”  She has never liked being the center of attention among strangers and now it incenses her to realize she put herself into this situation.  She quickly jabs the arm of her daughter sitting beside her.

Finally, the ‘touch’ comes to the last person, a middle aged clean shaven man dressed in blue jeans, a long sleeve white shirt, leather vest, and cowboy boots.  He has white straight short cropped hair and a wide grin revealing a gold front tooth amid a row of even white teeth.  “The name’s Marvin.  I adore Maggie’s classes.  I fancy the uncertainty of the paranormal.”

“Class…, Marvin writes a newspaper column.  He enjoys poking a little fun at himself and…, at others.  But I know, deep in his heart, he desires to be an element of a unique paranormal experience.  Let’s do our best for him.”  She smiles at him, “So nice to see you; just asking that you not record anyone.  Please.”

He raises his empty hands up, “No recorder.  Your request always elicits my best efforts.”

“Whatever… thank you Marvin.  We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”  She grins at him and then faces her students who have picked up on a curious undercurrent igniting between Maggie and Marvin.

The class listens intently to hear more but Maggie cuts off the sizzling connection.  “The first half of tonight’s class will be active participation; the second half will explore our experience in relation to your psychic ability.  Now, we’re ready to connect to the energy of the wind.  Everyone take the hand of the person next to you.  Get comfortable.  I’d prefer for you to sit.  Brian, if you feel better perched on the table, fine; just scoot closer to the edge so we can reach you.”

Sixteen people move plastic chairs, arranging themselves in a loosely laid circle with Maggie in the center of them.  She breaks the circle, pulls a chair up to join the group, and starts her lesson.  Her voice lowers to almost a whisper, “I want you to close your eyes and relax, let your arms relax, release the energy of your body, and let it reach outward.  Take slow deep breaths.  Listen to the music of the wind and let it embrace your body.  Let your energy move with the sway of the wind.”  A silent minute passes.  “Relax and feel the energy of the wind.  It urges you to listen.  You’re not just one, but a unity of seventeen joined to share messages.  Listen.”

The wind climbs the trees and rattles papers in a nearby trashcan.  It rolls a cola can on the sidewalk and plays with everyone’s hair and clothing.  Then, it howls and thrusts an empty chair sideways.

Maggie again instructs her class, “Relax and listen…”

Wham! Crash.

All eyes open, hands clench tightly, and heads all turn toward a large oak to the right of their circled group.  Maggie quickly regains her composure, “Everyone, keep the circle. Breathe deeply and relax.  Imagine you are opening up your pores and absorbing this energy.  Let its strength come into you.  Hear its voice.  Now, imagine love seeping out of your pores into the wind.  Give the wind your love and energy.  Imagine you are one with the wind.”

Suddenly, it is quiet.  The wind settles, the trees relax, and the low pale weakening sun reveals the pale vaporous image of a strange man wearing a light tan linen suit with matching vest, a long sleeved white dress shirt, and brown leather shoes.  He stands behind the oak and watches the unsuspecting group.  He has an abundance of dark uncombed hair. He glances around as if trying to get his bearings.  He looks back at the group to make sure they have not seen him.  Sections of his body constantly fade away and then reappear.

He looks over his shoulder again; his face, which is now briefly out of the shadows, has smooth whitish skin over sharp prominent cheekbones.  His eyes are a vivid dark blue.  His large mouth is tightly closed with brows knitted together as if he is dreadfully apprehensive about something.  Suddenly, he completely disappears.

“Break the circle and remain quiet.”  Reaching into a large green beaded bag, Maggie hands each person a pencil and a piece of paper.  “Take the next five minutes to write down how the wind made you feel.  Did you notice how quiet it became when you sent your love energy to the wind?  Also, make a note of what you believe the unexpected ‘thunderous sound’ may have been.  Try to sense your answers from your initial impulse.”

Maggie conscientiously tries to evaluate the mood of her students; she didn’t want them afraid to come back to the next class meeting. She, herself, had not been prepared for what may have been an abrupt unworldly intrusion.  She glances at Marvin and notices he is grinning.  He thinks I had something set up out here to make that noise, the rascal. “When you finish, we’re going back inside and discuss our experience.”

#

He hovers under the thin lower branches of a huge feathery spruce making him barely noticeable.  His pale flickering form seems more like shadows of tree branches gently flashing back and forth as the wind and moon play their nightly illusion game.  His name is George H. Hanson, formerly of Boston, Mass where he had been a master of crafting fine furniture.

In 1832 he had been a handsome lean eager young immigrant from England with plenty of ambition to make furniture only the wealthy could afford.  He married in 1836 and had one son, born in 1843.  His wife had died not long after from an unrelenting fever that followed the birth of her baby.  While hovering under the lacey branches, he visualizes her face and again feels wounded beyond words in the losing of her intimate companionship.

During the years after her death he had fought back depression by putting all his vigor into his expanding prosperous shop and into raising his son whom he had loved dearly.  Remembering these things releases an eerie moan from him; he knows the spirit elders will hear and send another noisy void door in an attempt to bring him back to the spirit world; he quickly moves, like a wispy grey vapor, to another clump of trees; there he huddles reminiscing about his only son.

His hatred of ‘Virginia Southerners’ burns so intense within him it causes his eyes to glow like blue beacons; he has to kill more of them and there seems to be plenty to choose from now.  Everything is still so baffling to him; so many changes in this mortal world.

Even in the spirit world, his son and his wife are denied him; they had been reborn many times.  The specifics of their location are not available to him due to his spiritual chastisement.  So what?  He had murdered a few and now he is liberated to do it again.  The Southerners will pay and pay for the demise of his son; his only son who had joined the ranks of the Union on the march against Fredericksburg, VA on the Rappahannock River for an expected easy win against the frail Confederates.

Shockingly, it had not been a Union victory; his son had been slaughtered on December 13, 1862.  Afterwards not anything had been relevant to Hanson’s existence; even his prized shop.  He neglected his work and left it in the hands of his head master carpenter; it still prospered while Hanson secretly concentrated his energy on the bitter murderous revenge of his son’s death. In the following fifteen years he killed over twenty Virginia Southerners, all men, who just happened to be in or around the Boston area whether they had participated in the war or not.

His mouth draws downward in bitter mental pain; never to see his son again.  He also has another problem aggravating his pathetic soul; the spirit hunter sent to bring him back is proving to be persistent.  Hanson had spotted the hunter and followed him down to the pitiful remains of an old house near Phoenix, VA.  He thought it odd when the hunter stood in the gorged out window allowing two women to take pictures of him; he followed the women home, thinking they may be a link he could use to discourage the hunter.

Nothing is easy, he thought. One thing leads to another.  In the women’s house, he saw the remains of one of his old desks; the same one his last victim, Raoul, had worked on.  He still regrets that; the only murder he is remorseful about.  The man had been his best carpenter and in some ways Raoul had been almost a son to him.  He had cried as he buried Raoul’s body; the only victim he had bothered to bury.

He closes his eyes remembering his last murderous night; during a casual conversation he had discovered that Raoul had been born in Virginia.  Hanson had stormed out of the room, but just the thought of a Virginian in his shop had enraged him beyond any control.  On that night he had also destroyed his shop; he had hacked up the equipment, unused wood, and finished furniture.  Then he confined himself to his house; he became a recluse.  A few weeks later he died alone in his house that was as cold as the outside December night; he had not even allowed himself food.

He still feels no desire for food but now it causes him no discomfort.  If he could only get rid of the hunter, he could continue his revenge in a more through manner.  Forcing northerners to murder southerners; to continue the war until he felt the weight of grief lift from his soul.  He grins…, virtually from my soul.  He still isn’t sure what to do about Brian.  And what is he doing here tonight with this dim witted group listening to the wind?

When Hanson had escaped the spirit world and headed to Virginia, he had sensed someone of distant blood relation to him was in Hills City; he thought it was an offspring of his son.  He had frantically searched until he found Brian.  With a slight touch on the young man’s shoulder, he discovered Brian was a very distant progeny of a one night quickie affair that he had indulged in.  The short tepid affair occurred several years before he married.  The bitch had never told him; he had had two sons.  It pleases him and at the same time he wants to destroy Brian.  Something about this boy irritates him; some bit of information he had not quite understood when he touched the boy’s shoulder; he will have to figure it out later.

Following the two women tonight to class did not lead to the hunter, like he had hoped, but he is curious about this group; he decides to stick with them for a while to find out more about Brian.

Chapter 3

The large backside of the first floor of the old two story red brick building had been a warehouse used to temporarily store merchandise for several prosperous early Hills City merchants who were at the mercy of the wild currents of the James River or the fragile canal built alongside the James or later, the more dependable railroad.

The old loading dock area is now paved over with cement paths circling carefully planned flower beds.  A seven foot iron spiked fence circles from the back and up the sides of the building; like fearless arms, it embraces the large front yard until it is joined by locked heavy double gates which face Morrison Street, the back street of Hills City’s downtown area.  Iron grids hug every downstairs window.

The sloping downward area behind the house leads to the railroad tracks, a wide tree and brush growth area, and the swollen James River which is now tugging and pushing against its soggy banks.  A big contrast to the summer dry spells, when adventurous youths can jump from one river worn boulder to another, and reach adventurous islands in a few areas of this winding determined river.

“You can park up close here.”  Stella motions for the others to pull their cars up close to the side edge of her home. Lee Ann and Clara, Brian, Maggie, Ronnie, and Marvin park their cars under two huge Oaks drooping with new bright green leaves. “Brian, be a dear and lock my front gate, please.”  She leads the others along a narrow gravel path and up to her doublewide white oak front door.  “This place has been in my family since my great great grandparents, before the convenience of inside toilets…, don’t worry,” she laughs, “it has them now.”

“It’s spooky too,” Lee Ann whispered to her mother.  “Feels like I’m walking back into time.”  Clara frowns and whispers back, “Has a sad feeling to it.”

“I live here with my seven feline friends.”  Stella pauses and quietly adds, “Their sixth sense allows them to see what I can’t…, they enlighten the darkness around me.”  She loves telling people about her cats and relishes the idea of it rattling their ‘cages’ a little. She is disappointed in noticing Clara and Lee Ann seem not the least surprised at her statement although Ronnie has given her a sharp puzzled look.  Ha… someone really new to his psychic, she thought.

Dim electric candles, illuminating the front of the building, blend eerie shadows between the trees and tall dark bushes.  The crunching of gravel and the moaning of windblown branches lend a heightened level of expectations for the group as they follow Stella to the front door.  She opens it with a large old fashioned black key and pushes one of the heavy doors wide open causing the musical tingling of chimes hanging from the inside door frame to announce their entering.  She had invited the class to her home for an after class chat.  Most had politely declined.

The small group peers in and sees a narrow side table with a small glowing lamp and a pair of large yellow eyes staring at them.  “Hello Michael,” Stella glides over to the yellow eyes and snatches up a huge lean black cat weighing at least thirty pounds who had been sitting next to the table.

Maggie strides through the door, “Michael, you rascal, you trying to scare us?”  She proceeds to scratch his head and prattles something indecipherable to him.

“Maggie and I have to feed my animals; Brian, please show everyone up to the sitting room.  You remember where the light switch is?”

“You bet.”  The group follows the long legged young man down the hall, pass a large kitchen, and up a set of narrow wooden stairs into the upper hallway.  The first door leads into a huge room with three ceiling to floor windows on each end of it.  The back windows are open half way and the thin pale pink cloud like curtains hanging over them are waving back and forth as if an invisible giant is breathing behind them.

Small wall mounted electric candles give barely enough light to see three green loveseats, five dark brown overstuffed chairs, a black upright piano, an old brown open trunk filled with magazines, and two large round dark oak coffee tables.  Brian flips the wall switch and two bright pink tall floor globe lamps spread a soothing glow over the room.

“Wow, this is a huge room,” said Lee Ann.

“The lamps must be new, haven’t seen them before.  She even had tomato plants up here last summer.  Her cats had a ball with them; they never got beyond the little green marble size,” Brian said.

Clara stares at the numerous potted plants, some as tall as the ceiling, sitting in large clusters on the sides of the end back windows.  She would never spend so much time cultivating so many plants inside a house; it was too much like work.  Her thing was ‘quilting’ when she had time.  She had spent many an hour creating colorful ‘Dresden Plate’ squares while watching television.  She looked around and noticed the room had no evidence of a TV or DVD player.  Hmmmm… No movies?  Maybe she has another sitting room, got to have movies

She looks down to see the cause of the spongy softness under her feet; the floor is covered with four large colorful overlapping rugs with smaller flowered rugs lying on top of the larger ones under the coffee tables.

As the group moves into the room, they hear the thumping of padded paws running down the stairs to the kitchen where Stella is calling various named cats to come to her.  The moaning whistle of a passing train pierces the curtains of the back windows.  Marvin strolls across the room to the center rear window, “I love this panorama of the river from here.”

Lee Ann and Clara join him; they watch the dark waters reflecting glints of moon light poking against the rhythm of the river’s flow. They can hear the heaving and churning of its heart as the wind slaps encouragement across its body.

Heavy spring rains have brought it to full strength and they watch it gauging the banks and probing for an angle to allow it an opportunity to violently expand.  Marvin notices Clara frowning, “Slightly intimidating isn’t it?” he said.

Clara nods, “It seems alive.  You come here often?”

“A couple times…, about two years ago.”

Stella comes into the room, “Could someone help me prepare our tea,” she purred.

“It would be my pleasure,” replied Ronnie before anyone else could reply; he follows her across the hall into a small kitchen.

“This is where I cook.  The larger downstairs kitchen is mainly for the cats.  Here,” she hands him a bright yellow teakettle, “would you fill this with water and start it to boil?”  She flows around him and sets out small white china cups and saucers on a large red enamel tray covered with hand painted white magnolias.  “My husband gave me this tray many years ago. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Bomasa, it’s a very nice piece; it’s an antique, isn’t it?”

“Yes… and call me ‘Stella’.”  She touches his shoulder lightly.  He’s so sad. Hmmm, she thought.  She pulled out her sugar bin and filled a white sugar bowl while he held the heavy bin tilted for her.

“My husband drowned in the river just outside my back door twenty one years ago.  We had only been together for eleven beautiful years.”

Startled, Ronnie’s first reaction was amazement at her matter of fact tone of voice.  He wonders if he will ever get to that point; he isn’t sure he wants to.  He looks into Stella’s eyes to see if the pain still lingers there, “My heart’s saddened at your loss.  I understand the loss of a loved mate.  My wife…, gone also.”

Stella slowly puts a measured amount of herbs and ground tea into a large porcelain white teapot, “Oh, I didn’t mean to bring up your sadness, sorry.”

“What happened?  I mean to your husband…, excuse me, I probably shouldn’t be asking that,” he said.  He grabs a napkin and pretends to wipe water off the kitchen counter.

“Oh, it’s OK, I love talking about him.”  She takes the napkin from him and smiles up at him.  “The river…” she nods her head toward the James outside her home, “was swollen with rains like it is now.  Jimmy and I were down at the river’s edge; we were almost spell bound by the vigorous movement of the water.

Jimmy spied an immature raccoon trapped on a large rock. He grabbed my cotton head scarf, saying he’d put the raccoon in it, and he jumped from one large boulder to another until he was on the same rock as the raccoon.  It was only about twenty feet out and… Jimmy was so athletic.  He would rather walk uptown to shop than drive, even when it snowed.  We had more fun on those walks.

Anyway…, he didn’t see the danger that day.  I did.  I could see the rocks getting smaller by the second.  The water was rising fast.

Jimmy reached for the tiny fellow; it jumped into the water. Jimmy leaned over, too quickly, trying to grab it.  He lost his balance and fell… in the water.  He was a superb swimmer but he couldn’t get a grip on the rock before the river surged upward and grabbed him, jerked him up and then it seemed to just swallow him.  It was so terrible, all I could do was scream out his name… I ran up and down the bank looking for him.  I had picked up a long tree branch for him to grab; I had to keep backing away from the edge as the water rose.  I don’t swim… water scares me… even more so, now.  I kept expecting to see him come up.”

She sighed.  “The rescue groups and my friends searched for him, but couldn’t find my sweet Jimmy.”  She glances at the boiling kettle; Ronnie lifts it and pours the hot water into her prepared teapot until she motions him to stop.

“Four days later, I was half asleep on my couch; I heard Jimmy telling me his body was under the water and jammed between two boulders laced by the roots of a large tree stump about three miles down the right side of the river.  He said for me not to grieve; he was fine.  I felt a warm glow of a kiss on my cheek.  He was talking to me.  As soon as I tried to talk back, he was gone.  But in time I found out how to communicate.”

“Stella…, how?  How do you talk to Jimmy?”

“Ah…, I felt you needed to know, but let’s take our hot brew to the sitting room.  We’ll share the remedy with the others.  It’s so simple.” Smiling mysteriously, she hands him the heavy tray of cups; she takes the hot pot full of tea and glides into the sitting room. She sits the teapot on a strawberry shaped hot pad on the coffee table; the tart woody smell of tea drifts across the room. “Come, help yourself everybody and let’s talk some more about what Maggie did to us tonight.  She just about scared the sandals off my feet.”

Everyone laughs and all start to talk at the same time.  Stella whispers something to Maggie who smiles and nods her head.

Clara pours a cup of tea, “I thought a tree was falling on us!”

“Exactly, and I was glad it wasn’t on me.  When I looked around and saw zilch, I felt the hair rise on my arms,” said Brian.

“We must be all on the same wave length, I was positive it was that big oak; I fully expected us to be crushed.  But afterward…, thinking about it…, it must’ve been some sort of air pressure difference racket.”

“And what kind of noise is that, Marvin.  Is that like a sonic boom?”  Brian pretends to cover his head for protection from an imaginary sonic boom.  The room fills with laughter.

“Ok, have your fun; just what’s your rationalization of the occurrence?” said Marvin.

The group had picked up cups of tea and was heading to the various loveseats and couches.

“It’s the same sound that mama, I mean ‘Clara’, and I heard at our house.  Last time was about two weeks ago; it scared us. We couldn’t find any reason for the noise; that was almost scarier.  We considered a sink hole might be opening beneath us,” said Lee Ann.

Brian turns quickly on his heel and faces Lee Ann, “You too?  I’ve heard it three times in my apartment.  Nothing’s bothered… except me.  Did you ever notice… like an area of icy cold air?  I did once.  Like…, my right arm felt cold.”

“No, by the time we got down stairs, any cold air would’ve been gone anyway.  Wouldn’t it?”

“Could it be they sort of summoned this noise?  You know, like Lee Ann and Brian might have the ability to trigger it?” said Ronnie as he glances uneasily at the others.

“I assure you I don’t.”  Brian abruptly walks over to the back windows and watches the river, “I’ve always wanted to sit on that wall and play my flute,” he said coolly.

“We didn’t do anything either,” said Clara as she warily eyes Ronnie.

Ronnie watches Clara briskly stirring her tea.  He had not intended on starting an argument especially with an elderly woman but Clara’s eyes tells him she is not as frail as she appears.  He held back a smile and says, “Didn’t intend to insult anyone; just curious about the coincidence of both of you having the same experience.  I stand corrected.” He politely nods his head toward Clara who smiles impishly at him.

Brian turns toward him, “Not offended; just shocked at the idea.  You might be right…, and that’s really creepy.”  He grins at Ronnie.

“Brian, did you bring your enchanted pipe?” interrupted Maggie trying to prevent a looming argument.  She had seen Marvin getting ready to stand; she knew he was preparing to launch mouth first; already Stella had her mouth open ready to plunge pointed words toward Ronnie and Brian.

“It’s in the car.”

Stella, taking Maggie’s cue to change the subject, says, “Please get it.  Wouldn’t we all love to hear him play?” Everyone agrees.

Brian strides across the room and Ronnie, feeling he needs some cool fresh air, follows him down the stairs to his car.

“You know, Brian, I think Marvin might be on to something. There’s been significant research about bizarre ‘matter’ that might be entering our atmosphere.  Maybe it could cause loud disturbances in the air.  It could or could not be dangerous, depending on the volume of the ‘matter’.”

Brian grins, “For sure that’s a lot of ‘matter’.  I have no idea what you’re speculating about but I doubt it would pertain to these sounds.  I actually feel it’s something trying to communicate with us.  Like I said, you might be right.  Now I really sound idiotic.”

“That’s just what I’m saying.  These investigations and experiments have been going on for about three years.  They aren’t sure if it’s an alien attempt of recording us or… what. When did you hear your first… encounter?” replied Ronnie.

“Encounter?  Funny.  About six months ago and you should stop reading so much science fiction.”

“Not fiction.”

Brian reaches into the front seat of his car to retrieve his flute case, “Well, maybe, but don’t tell the others about your hypothesis, yet.  Marvin could have fun connecting it to our meeting tonight in one of his articles.  Maggie would shoot him.”  The two men walk back into the house in time to hear Maggie defending herself.

“We’ll discuss this ‘noise’ idea more at the next class. I’m also very curious about it.”  Maggie smiles at Marvin, “Unless someone has a solid assumption now,” she teased him.

He grins back at her and shrugs, “Maybe only one person really knows what it was.”

“You think I threw a brick or something?”

“We did have our eyes closed…, nah, you’ve never played that type of card before.  I really wouldn’t think it of you. Besides, it would’ve had to have been a mammoth brick…, heavier than you could heave.  Maybe a recording.”

Stella interrupts, “Has anyone had an experience with the unknown, one they need to share with everyone?”  She looks straight at Ronnie.

Ronnie, surprised at Stella’s prompting, almost gives in to his flight impulse, going home and leaving this ‘airhead’ misfit group.  He feels out of place and wishes he had stayed at home; he has research projects he could be working on.  He looks around at the group of strangers in front of him; they do seem interested and concerned.  He steels his desire to escape.  I have to risk the possibility that someone can help; have to, he thought.

“If it’s too hard for you to confide in us, we’ll understand,” said Maggie softly.

“I came to this class because I need to confide with someone…, might as well be you all.”  He shakes his head; what he had said had a tinge of rudeness and he did not mean to be so direct with them.  He caught Clara grinning at him and he knew; this group might be just what he needs.

He clasps his hands tightly together and looks straight at Stella.  “About five years ago my wife and Tony, my best friend, died in a car accident.  They were driving up to hear me speak at Martin Medical College in Richmond about ‘Organic Glue for Bone Fractures.’  They were planning on surprising me.  The light snowfall had turned to icy rain and the streets were becoming slick.  Tony was driving.”  He pauses and takes a deep breath.  “They were on the intercity expressway.  The car in front of them started sliding toward the concrete embankment where it bounced backward into Tony’s path. He tried to avoid the car by turning sideways.  Another car coming behind him did not slow down or didn’t have time to react.  It rammed Tony’s car at the passenger side where…, my wife was.  She was killed instantly.

Tony died a few days later.”  His dark brown face is twisted in grief; he leans forward and puts his face in his hands.  He moans, “I know I’ve heard her cry out to me.  Her voice calls my name so clearly and she’ll say, ‘always with you’.”  He runs his hands over his forehead, over his cropped black hair, and raises his head to look into Maggie’s eyes.

She sees raw grief in his handsome chiseled face; she reaches and takes his hand.

He straightens his muscular shoulders and pulls his hand free, “It happens when I’m so tired of everything… just feel like… giving up.  So frustrating, I can’t speak to her.  As soon as I hear her, my heart races; I become very alert and try to answer, but she’s gone…, it’s so quiet, so forlorn.”  He desperately looks over at Stella, “I have to communicate with her.”

No one speaks.  Stella reaches for Ronnie’s hands and places them firmly in her hands, “When you’re at the pre-sleep stage, where you’re not quite asleep but still awake, you hear her because you are at that time the most exposed and receptive to outside influences.  I find if I want to give Jimmy a message, I’ve got to be in the vulnerable pre-sleep phase.

When he speaks to me, I stay relaxed and ‘think’ my message to him. The first time he heard me, he immediately sent a response.  It’s not hard; you can learn how to hold that relaxed state. It’s not my imagination; I asked him if he knew where his pocket watch was.  I had two divers go to the exact spot he indicated. They found it.  It would never have been found if Jimmy hadn’t given the location of it.  Ronnie…, you can communicate with your wife when she summons you.”  She saw hope light up his brown eyes.

Marvin opens his mouth to say something but Maggie eyes him sternly.

Brian, who has been standing behind Ronnie, begins to play a mournful tune as he walks to the back window.  He closes his eyes and the sweet notes drift down to the river.  After a couple of minutes, he lowers his flute.

“That’s beautiful.  If spirits can hear, they’d gather to listen to your music,” said Clara softly.

Brian grins, “Thanks, but I hope not.”

Maggie stands up, “Somehow spirits do communicate with us and we need to listen.  Maybe we can help Ronnie send a message to his wife.”  While Maggie is talking, unseen by the group, the seascape painting slightly moves.

“You honestly think it’s healthy to communicate with the departed?”  Marvin anxiously asked.  “Shouldn’t we just go forward with our lives and chat to ‘those things’ after we turn into one ourselves?”  He grins nervously, “We’d certainly have more sleep time for them then.”

Ronnie stands up and faces Marvin, “Your sarcasm does little to hide your fear and ignorance. I’ve read your column.  It reeks of arrogance.”  Stand up fool, I want to slam my fist into your stupid mouth, he thought.

Marvin immediately responds and stands to face Ronnie, “Just asking questions.  If you don’t have solutions, no need to get hostile.”  If he swings at me, I’ll clobber him, he swore to himself.

Clara, exasperated by these two un-neutered males, reacts quickly; she stands up and hollers at them, “If you two want to play rough, go outside.  In fact, let the police handle this. Stella, where’s your phone?  Two grown men want to draw blood about ghosts.”  She turns to Marvin, “Would make good headlines.”

Both men, one a doctor the other a columnist, instantly calm down.  They are typically cool headed guys who know how to defend themselves and have no insecurity problems about their manhood.  Marvin grins, “Hey, sorry.  My mouth runs quicker than my head… occasionally.”  He extends his hand to Ronnie who accepts and says, “I’ve infrequently been known to be a little hot headed myself… sorry.”

“Well, now, let’s answer some questions.”  Maggie takes a deep breath and faces her group, “There have always been reports of spirits conversing with the living.  Serious historians support this.  It does seem to be escalating.  Could be that people have become so overwhelmed with current worldly worries that they are seeking more messages, trying to find answers.”

The picture frame stops moving.  It hangs slightly tilted now.

Brian walks back to the group, “I get strange visions when I touch a weird looking hat and coat rack ‘thing’ in my apartment.  You think a spirit’s trying to communicate?”

“It is called ‘Psychometry’; you might be picking up other people’s memories or energy.  They could be deceased or alive. Emotional energy can be absorbed by objects and then ‘read’ by a receptive person; sometimes your ‘touching’ of another’s object can send a message to them.  It can work both ways.  You have an exceptional gift.  In our next class, we’ll explore that area of the paranormal.  Could you bring the hat rack?  The class could test their ability to feel the energy.  That would be so exciting.”

Brian hesitated; he did not want to say ‘no’ to Maggie but he most certainly would not touch that ‘thing’ again.  “Have a class outing and bring them to my apartment.  No way am I going to pick it up.”

She gave him a stern look.

“What about cell phone calls; sometimes when I answer, no one’s there and no incoming number’s recorded.  Could these phones link to the spirit world?”  Lee Ann asked.

Everyone starts talking at once, when suddenly a cold brisk breeze flows through the room; the sound of upset cats mewing in unison halts all conversation.  Michael runs into the living room following something, unseen by the group, across the room to the large trunk sitting under the center window that looks over the front of the building.  He jumps up on top of the stacked magazines and stares aggressively out the window.

All eyes turn toward Stella who is now also peering out the window while cooing softly to Michael, “You sweet thing, what’re you up to?  You see my Jimmy?  Why all the fuss?”  She sees something, “Hey, get away from that car!”  Turning toward Brian, “A kid’s getting something out of your car.”

Brian runs down the steps and out the door just in time to see a small dark shape slipping through the rails in the iron fence.  In his sleek silver sedan, he finds his container of CDs open.  After shuffling through the box, he counts three missing.  Nothing else has been touched.  He looks around at the shadowed quiet street and shrugs his shoulders.

Stella calls down to him, “Anything missing?”

“Three CDs, he left some for me to play.”  Thoughtful of him.

Marvin anxiously watches, “Stella…, something instructed your cat to look out the window.  You think it was your Jimmy? Does that occur often?”

“No, but when it does, I get a warm feeling when he’s here. The cats probably heard someone in the yard.”  Her expression looks doubtful; evidently she is puzzled also.

Clara frowns, “Well, you might’ve felt warm, but I had cold chills all over me.”

“I felt a cold chill also.  It wasn’t Jimmy.”  She hurries into the hallway and gently talks to her upset cats.

An ominous silence instantly hangs over the room.

Brian returns, “I left my car unlocked when I got my flute. It’s my fault.  Little rascal, couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.  What’s he doing out here at 10:30? He should be at home… in bed.”

“There’s a large condo complex on Commerce Street, about three blocks from here.  Very expensive homes, but still some of those well heeled kids roam the night looking for mischief. They’ve never bothered anything before.  I have insurance.  I’m so sorry this happened.”

“Nothing to worry about Stella.  They were inexpensive burned copies I made from my originals.  I can easily replace them.  Where’s your TV?”

“I don’t want one blaring in my house.  Why should I have such havoc in my space?”

“Havoc?”  he responded.

“All you hear is murder and mayhem.  Or has that changed in the past twenty years?” she said.

“Well, now we’re getting into the real paranormal.” Everyone laughs at Marvin.

“It’s getting late, we gotta go,” said Lee Ann as she searches her purse for her keys.

Clara moves toward the door, “Got to be at work early tomorrow.  Hope you’ll invite us back.  I enjoyed this adventure.”  She turns and smiles at Marvin.

“Yeah.  Me too…, I got classes,” said Brian.

Stella fondly gazes at him.  His short dark brown hair lies in loose waves framing a young handsome lean face armed with serious black brown eyes, “You got all the girls at Lanbarts College chasing you?  Still mastering the piano too?”

“Just one.  She’s an ‘ivory’ student also.”  He widely grins.

Everyone begins to move toward the door, saying goodbyes.

“You’re all leaving at once?  Ohhh, it’s been a rewarding evening and you’re all welcome to come here at anytime,” said Stella as she sends a puzzling look at Maggie.  “In fact, I can’t wait to hear more about these extraordinary sounds.  Maggie, are…, you leaving also?”

Maggie squares her shoulders and with a determined look, she says, “I think we should all sit in a circle on the floor, hold hands, and meditate together for about five minutes before we leave.  It’ll give Ronnie a chance to say hello to his wife. I don’t mean to prolong this part of our journey, just intend to give it meaning.  We’ve been blessed with a sign that maybe his wife wants to communicate.  We should try.”

The group glances at each other, waiting for the other to reject Maggie’s proposal.  Clara finally sighs, and sits on the carpeted floor.  One by one, the others join her.  Ronnie is the last.  He sits next to Clara and whispers to her, “Thank you.”

Hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot here.  If we do get a response though…, what a way to start off a class, thought Maggie.  “Let’s all join hands but don’t hold the hand, just lightly lay your hand on top of the hand of the person on your right side.  That’s right, just like that,” she said as she checks their hands.  “This way we each have one hand on the lower and one hand on the upper, the control side.

Ronnie, you have to sit in the center of us.  You just close your eyes and relax.  When you hear your wife’s voice quickly respond with a short reply.  Everyone else…, lower your head, let it rest toward your chest and close your eyes.  Slump your shoulders and breathe deep and slowly.  Ronnie, breathe deep and slow.”

Maggie now speaks with a soft slow hushing tone, “Relax, listen to the wind, hear it pushing against tree branches and shoving ripples across the river.  Feel it ripple the surface of your mind, it blows a circle of pale blues and greens around you.  Watch the circle slowly change to pure white.  Step up over the white and see a valley of flowers.  You choose their color.  Walk among them and smell their soft perfumes drifting up toward you.  Feel the warm sun on your shoulders while the wind gently lifts your hair and circles you again with the pale greens and blues. Watch it change to pure white.”  Maggie slowly repeats herself over and over.

Michael approaches the sitting group and quietly creeps up to the speaking Maggie.  He stretches out beside her and appears to go to sleep.  Ronnie seems to be completely relaxed with no movement.  Suddenly Michael’s eyes open focusing on Ronnie; his hair begins to rise across his back.

Ronnie urgently whispers, “Wait, stay…, I need to see you.”

The sound of his voice startles Lee Ann and Marvin, causing them to open their eyes.  A pale gray mist with a slight glow around its edges flashes out of their circle.

Lee Ann, thinking she saw a face in the mist, pulls her hand away, “Oh!”  The circle is broke and Maggie stands up, “Is everyone OK?  Ronnie?”

Ronnie opens his eyes, “I heard her.  I felt a hand on my face!  She told me to see ‘Alena Darlington’.  I swear she was here.”  He searches the faces around him for possible confirmation that they had heard also.

“Ronnie, sorry, I think I broke the spell.  I think I saw a misty like face or something leave our circle.”  I’m such a goose, thought Lee Ann.

“I saw it too.  This is going too far.  Something bizarre flew out of our circle.  This is eerie.  Feels downright dangerous.”  Marvin stands up and shoves his hands in his jean pockets.  Immediately he regretted sharing what he thought he saw.  She had nothing to do with it either or could she?  Damm thing flickered next to Ronnie and turned toward me.  I could see a blue eye or something…, time to go home, he thought.

Maggie, smiling, “No, it’s OK.  No one from the other realm can hurt us nor do they even wish to harm us.”  She turns to Ronnie, “I’m so pleased you contacted your wife.  Alena is a Medium who has the ability to harmonize with spirits who wish to communicate.  She lives in North Carolina.  There’s no charge for her gift but you have to go to her or pay her expenses to travel here.  She prefers to communicate in the home of the deceased.  I can find out how to contact her if you wish and we could be there to form your circle of love.”  Maggie is thrilled; what a night her class is having; one for the records. She could hardly contain her delight.

“Did you and your wife know about Alena before tonight?”

“Brian, you’ve my solemn word, I’ve never heard of this woman before and neither had my wife to my knowledge.”  He turns to Maggie, “She also told me to ‘Watch for the hunter.’  What is that?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Do I have permission to write a column about this evening?”

“Please, not yet,” said Maggie.  “Wait until the last class.  This is such a personal mission…, you probably should ask Ronnie about tonight’s events.”

“I don’t want my wife’s name mentioned in your column,” said Ronnie firmly.

“I don’t use names without authorization,” replied Marvin respectively.

“Well,” interrupts Stella, “It seems we’ve a ‘magic’ group here.  I adore all of you.  Let’s meet here after every class”

“I’ll notify all of you if Alena agrees to come.”  Maggie glances at Ronnie, “If it meets your approval?”

“Yes, I’d like that.  And thank you, Stella, for your gracious hospitality tonight.”

“Good night Stella”.  Brian leans over and kisses her cheek.

Everyone is leaving and talking at the same time.  Lee Ann pulls her car out of the driveway; she looks up and sees Stella waving out the upstairs window.  Is that a shadow moving behind Stella? “Mom, did you see that!”

“No, and I want to go home.  I’ve had enough excitement for one night.  I hope nothing follows us.  We’ve enough to contend with as it is.”

Lee Ann laughs, “Told you it’d be fun.”

Clara silently disagrees; she has this morbid feeling clinging to her.  She feels like the car can’t move fast enough away from Stella’s house.  Her feet want to run.  She looks at her daughter, What did she see? But Clara did not really want to know.  Not yet.

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