“Breathe it in. It’s a sage and cedar smudge. It’s supposed to purify. I’ve done the house and now I’m doing you. Same with the white candle and holy water.” She finished her scan and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly.
“So this will get rid of Shithead or at least keep him out of this part of the house?” The cellar was something else altogether. It wasn’t like they went down there very much anyway.
She shook her head. “We’re not supposed to communicate with it. It’s okay to command it to leave, but that’s all we get to say to it.” Her eyes narrowed watching him. “Can you feel it? I mean, I’ve been through the upstairs and down here with the smudge, holy water and candle. It feels better to me, but I’m not the sensitive psychic one here.”
Myra hadn’t mentioned going down to the basement, thank goodness. The very last place he ever wanted her to go, alone, was in that creepy hole. No. He’d find out what she’d done up in the main part of the house and replicate it in the cellar, all on his own.
After taking a deep breath and walking around the living room slowly, he turned to face her. “Actually, I think it feels lighter. I always felt depressed and had a harder time catching my breath in here. The air was kind of thick and soupy. It’s better now.”
“Well I really gave it a triple whammy in here and in the two rooms upstairs.” She grinned and reached for his hand. “C’mon. I made some tea and there’s lasagna in the oven.”
“From John’s Deli?” he asked.
“Where else?” She had introduced him to the joys of the pasta dishes from that store the first year they started going out. He had stopped trying to improve on the perfection of that dish.
He let her lead him through the hallway and into the kitchen. All the while he was looking around and opening his senses to anything weird. It was the first time he’d felt that they were alone, nothing watching them.
“I went through all the books Stella left us looking for information about these ley lines.”
“Oh yeah? Find out anything new?”
“Well, the first thing, is that what you had inferred from that book you read is absolutely correct. The correlation between the events you talked about, and the one’s Stella mentioned in her document— those events and ‘disruptions of the lines’ are pretty closely tied together.”
“So there’s more than the ones she had drawn on the globe?”
“Yeah. LOTS more. These electromagnetic ley lines connect energy hot spots in the earth’s surface. You can think of the energy hot spots as ‘chakras’ of the earth, kind of like the chakras of the body that Eastern mysticism talks about.” “It’s a little strange, but if you think of the planet as a… a person, a being in its own right, this stuff makes sense.” She watched him take a seat at the table.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that perspective—the Gaia Hypothesis.” He waved a hand in the air. “When I read it, it sounded too ‘New Agey’ for my taste.” He put his hand on top of the table. “But now… I ain’t so sure, doll.”
Stella snorted. “If the government can tell us the General Motors is a person, why can’t the Earth be one?”
“A person? You’re saying the Earth has a personality?”
“Shhh. Don’t get too into it. If that’s the case, it doesn’t mean we have the ability to understand it.” She shrugged. “You know… we wouldn’t expect an ant to understand us right? So how could we understand Mother Earth?”
Barry looked around the room. “Uh oh. Sage and sweetgrass. Candles and holy water.” He grinned at her. “You’re turning into a hippie!”
“I could care less. Whatever it takes to beat Shithead.” Tears filled her eyes. “It’s weird, Barry; but I really loved Leia. Coming home from work, knowing she was here… it made my day… I don’t know… fuller.” She looked away. “I didn’t understand that connection people had with their pets ‘till now.”
He took her hand in his. “Hey… Something popped into my head. Maybe that’s the way ol’ Mother Earth feels towards us?”
She snickered. “Now who’s the hippie?”
“Shit. Oh well, let’s tie dye some tee shirts.”
Even though the living room had felt cleaner, it would have been wishful thinking to suppose that everything was gone. There was still the cellar to deal with. But watching Myra, it was hard not to get caught up in the boost of her positive energy.
Before Barry looked down at the book she’d left open on the table, his peripheral vision had caught a few small sparks surrounding her head, floating in a wave of gold. The peace and happiness that she’d worked hard to bring to the house that day had infused her soul as well.
“Whoa…” he said softly.
“What?”
“You ain’t gonna believe this, hon… but I’m starting to see auras now.” He turned his head from her. “Just out of the corner of my eye, I can see yours… it’s really pretty.”
They sat silently for a moment.
“I’m envious, Barry,” she said with a smile. After another moment, she continued on with her status report. “I’ve poured lines of sea salt on all the doorways upstairs and on this level. It’s supposed to cleanse the area. Entities despise being near it.” Standing up, Myra slipped padded mitts on and opened the oven door to take the lasagna out and place it on top of the stove.
Barry grinned feeling wonder, watching the matter of fact way she was handling all of this. It was like she was outlining a regimen of spring cleaning, instead of ridding them of the forces that had killed the cat. “I’m glad you left the basement and attic till I came home. I’ll do those rooms.”
She spun around and placed her hands on her hips, instructing him. “It’s important that you are calm and don’t feel any fear. These things feed on our fear and become more powerful. And you need to invoke a higher power too.”
“Wow! You’ve really been busy reading up on this stuff. You’ve got the ritual part down pat. Holy water, candles, salt and burning sage.” His eyebrows lifted and he exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure about the religion stuff, but I’ll do the rest.”
She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, looking down into his eyes. “We’ll do it together. We both know that the north side of the house is the most affected by whatever is trying to sneak out. The ley line is the most concentrated there.”
She shook her head and leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s evil, Barry. Stella’s note said as much, and from what I read today, we need the help of a higher power, be it God, Jesus, the Creator, Jiminy Cricket or whatever. A power of goodness and light to combat the dark.”
A shudder skittered down his spine as her words drifted into his ear. She was right but there was no way he wanted to endanger her or the baby. He sighed, already not liking what he was about to say. “What about getting a priest in to help me? I don’t want you to get more involved. You’ve already done enough. Maybe a blessing...”
Myra smiled and put both hands on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. “I’m way ahead of you, Barry. Sometimes I think I’m the one with the ESP. I knew you wouldn’t want me to help. So I went to Saint Mary’s and spoke with a priest.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. And in fact, he says he knows you. Do you remember Philip Walsh?”
Of course he remembered Philip Walsh. He was one of the kids who was involved with that beating he had gotten as a kid. “Yeah, I know him.”
Before he had a chance to answer she spoke again. “He’s changed a lot since high school. He’s a priest now and he’ll be coming over to bless the house. He’s just been assigned to Kingston.”
Barry felt the muscles of his neck tighten but he held his tongue. Getting a priest in wasn’t much of a stretch, if you think about it. But Philip Walsh?
Chapter 18
While Myra and Barry ate lasagna, Gordon Braithwaite was drinking his dinner. As usual he sat by his kitchen window.
The snow continued to fall; snowflakes streaked through the
light cast from Gordon’s window and then escaped into the blackness of the night. But Gordon neither saw nor cared about the storm outside.
He got up from his chair and staggered across the worn carpet and down the hall to the bathroom door. He braced his hands on the walls on each side to keep from falling, leaving fresh sweaty smudges on the already stained paint.
He finished his business and looked in the mirror while he washed his hands. Narrow, angry grey eyes stared back at him above a roadmap of broken veins in his pasty cheeks. All afternoon the rum and coke he’d been drinking acted like lighter fluid stoking the raw ember of anger brighter and brighter. A rumbling plume of alcohol belched out of loose lips before he turned away and stumbled back to his perch near the window.
It was almost a month since the funeral and he was still stuck in the scuzzy townhouse, while the cabbie and his bitch lived in the grand home that should have been his. Blood’s thicker than water, and blood will always tell, right?
He tried to do it legit! After the funeral he saw two lawyers, the ones that advertised first consult as free. In both cases the shysters shook their heads slowly after he finished telling how his only blood relative on Earth had left him just a single dollar. And in both cases they told him he had no case. The will was solid.
He couldn’t make them understand! Stella’s will had been bogus! The cabbie had conned her into making him the heir. He knew enough inmates who’d tried going straight and had driven a cab to make money. They were crooks, every last one of them.
‘Yes. They tricked her, Gordon. Now they’re laughing at you, living it up in the old house. They’ll get everything Gordo if you’re not careful.’
His head jerked back and he looked around. Ever since he’d visited the house and broke into the cellar, voices whispered in his head. Not that he disagreed with the message...but Christ, they could happen right out of the blue and startle him so bad, he’d almost spilled his drink more than once.
And now the voice was taking on its own character. A deep, sonorous baritone, with just a touch of a British accent. Not the foppy plum in the mouth one; no… more like an older version of James Bond. When that voice spoke, he listened.
And replied.
“Yeah! I need to challenge that will. Take the bastards to court.” His teeth ground together before he belted back the rest of the drink. “I can’t challenge the will, so I’ll just sue them!”
‘That won’t work. There are other ways. Think Gordo! You’re smarter than them aren’t you?’ It chuckled deeply. ‘After all, they’re just a dumb cabbie and a waitress!’
Gordon’s fist tightened on the glass, forcing a hairline crack to appear. He rose and lurched across the room to the kitchen. After tossing the glass into the trash, he poured more rum into another one from the cabinet.
There had to be a way! Threaten them? Scare them? Bribery was out; he had no money. He wandered back to the window and sat down once more.
‘The weak link. Look for their weakest point and strike hard.’
He nodded at the sage wisdom that whispered in his mind. The woman. She was the weak link...
His eyes widened and he sat back in the chair. She was pregnant. He’d be getting two for the price of one if he could threaten her life. That cabbie would sign over the deed to the house pretty fast if his wife’s life was at stake.
‘Kill them. Make it look like a murder suicide.’
Gordon chuckled and took a long swallow of his drink. Yeah. He’d make it look like the bastard was overcome with guilt that he’d played Stella and got everything from her. He’d relented and done the right thing, signed everything over to the rightful heir, Gordon. Immediately after, he killed his wife and then himself. It would all fall into place for the cops when they found the will and the deed signed over.
It was just a matter of choosing the right time.
Just as his days of living in a dumpy townhouse, working with lowlife scum were numbered...so were those of the cabbie and his wife.
Chapter 19
At 1:00 pm the following day Barry pulled into the wide driveway of his home. A black sedan was already parked there with the engine running. He parked behind it and got out. He closed the door and folded his arms across his chest. This was as far as he was willing to go until Phil said some things.
The driver’s side door opened and he watched a man in a black overcoat step out and turn around.
He hadn’t seen Phil since that afternoon when his nose got broken. Mom pulled him out of St. Mary’s the next day and registered him at a public school. And now Phil Walsh was all grown up. The guy was Barry’s age and had really packed on the pounds, the only reason he could still be called ‘stout’ was that he hadn’t hit forty yet. Even under his coat, you could tell he was going to flab.
The two men stared at each other for a silent moment until Phil ran his hand through his thinning brown hair and trudged through the snow to Barry with his hand outstretched.
“It’s been a long time, Barry,” he said.
Barry looked down at the hand and back up. “We don’t need to do that, Phil. My wife asked you here, not me. Let’s get on with it, okay?”
“Hey…”
“The last time I saw that hand, it was coming at my face to do this,” Barry laid a finger by the crook in his nose. He scoffed. “And now you’re a priest…” he shook his head slowly. “Who woulda thunk it?”
“Barry… we were children. It was years and years ago.” He drew a breath. “Children do and say things that as adults we’d never tolerate. They need to be taught, Barry, and then they need to be forgiven.”
Phil’s voice took on a timbre of someone addressing a crowd; his words placed carefully with a rhythmic pacing. He wasn’t talking, the guy was preaching.
Philip looked down at the ground for a moment. “I can’t change the past but I do regret what I did to you.” He took a deep breath and glanced over at the house.
It was as much of an apology as Barry was likely going to get. He still didn’t trust or like the guy but this wasn’t about Barry. It was about Myra and the baby, keeping everyone safe, going through this ritual. He huffed a sigh and led the way over to the steps.
As they climbed to the veranda and Barry unlocked the door, Phil said, “Myra said you need the house blessed. She seemed pretty upset, rambling on about evil spirits.” He looked sharply at Barry. “A house blessing is pretty common but the church’s position on demons and entities...” Philip blew out a rush of air through pursed lips. “...let’s just say that we, the church I mean...we maintain a healthy skepticism on that. This isn’t the middle ages. The Exorcist was a sensationalist movie and that’s all it was.”
Barry turned to Philip after un-locking the front door with a sardonic smile. He was going to enjoy watching this phony, condescending prig experience the house. For the first time he was actually rooting for the spirit or ghost or whatever it was.
He extended his arm ushering the priest in. Philip slipped by him and stood in the foyer gazing up at the stairs and through the archways leading to the living and dining rooms.
“Nice house, Barry.” There was a puzzled look in the priest’s grey eyes. “You and Myra have done pretty well for yourselves, haven’t you?” He cast a few glances over at Barry as he removed his boots and coat. “The service industry is more lucrative than I ever would have thought.” It was a low mutter as he picked up the small case he’d carried in.
Barry decided to ignore the innuendo. There was no need to explain anything to an ass like Philip. It was none of his business how they’d come to live there. Once the blessing was complete, he’d never see Philip again and that was all there was to it.
Maybe if it hadn’t been Philip...if Myra had gotten another priest, an older guy, he’d take this more seriously. But Philip? He could still see him in the gang of boys, taunting and throwing punches. “Should we start upstairs or the basement?” was all the reply he made.
BANG! The noise came from the s
econd floor, and the area where they were standing suddenly became icy cold.
When Philip’s head jerked back and he looked at the ceiling above him, Barry couldn’t help but feel smug, waiting for the other man to look over at him. The air had gotten so cold that wisps of vapor formed in front of his face from his breath.
The sanctimonious, superior look in Philips’ eyes was replaced with wide eyes darting to the staircase. “Is Myra—”
“Nope. It’s just us and something that you, and the church of course...that you say doesn’t exist. I think we’re supposed to start upstairs.” The corners of Barry’s lips twitched and he worked hard at keeping the grin off his face.
“That’s not how it’s done, Barry.” Phil set his bag down in the foyer and opened it. He took out a prayer book and a silver flask the size of a pint.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to have a drink, man.”
Phil gave a quick disgusted snort. Holding the bottle up, he said, “This is Holy Water, Barry.” He opened the book to a flagged page. “We start at the entrance and work our way around the house to the upstairs.”
Barry huffed a sigh as Phil pulled the cap from the bottle and sprinkled drops about the entrance.
Reading from the text, Phil said, “O God, protect our going out and our coming in; Let us share the hospitality of this home with all who visit us, that those who enter here may know your love and peace. Grant this through Christ our Lord.” He looked over to Barry. “Here’s the part where you’re supposed to say ‘Amen’, remember?”
BANG!
Both men jumped.
Phil looked at Barry and bared his teeth. With flinty eyes, he said, “This isn’t a funny joke, Barry. You’re holding a grudge way too long.”
Barry let out a huff. “You idiot. It’s not me! I think we’re being challenged, ‘Father Phil’. You man enough to take it?”
The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3) Page 10
