Never Forgotten - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 3)

by Terri Reid

  A burst of cold air wafted over the couch.

  “Did we forget to close the door?” Mary murmured, slowly breaking contact.

  “I don’t care,” Bradley complained, pulling Mary back into the embrace.

  “Oh, okay,” she whispered against his lips.

  The cold air hit again.

  “Damn,” Bradley swore, “this is really getting annoying.”

  Mary placed her head against his neck and giggled.

  “Um, Mary, it wasn’t the door,” Bradley said, his voice tense. He sat up and moved away from Mary so she could see the woman standing in the middle of the room.

  She was wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a holiday sweater of red, white and black. Her once lovely face was mottled with bruises and abrasions and her neck was twisted, so her blonde hair hung over her shoulder and her head tilted in an unnatural position. She was obviously dead.

  “What happened to me?” she cried, and then she disappeared.

  Mary scrambled up from the couch and stared at the spot in the floor where the ghost had just stood. Bradley walked over and put his arm protectively around Mary’s shoulders.

  “What the...” Bradley began.

  She appeared again, in a different corner of the room. “It must have been an accident,” she pleaded, and disappeared again.

  Mary took a step forward, Bradley’s hand on her arm, but the woman appeared again, standing only inches in front of her. “I think he killed me,” she said. “Please help me.”

  Then she was gone.

  They waited for a few minutes, neither speaking, only looking around the room awaiting another appearance. Finally Mary spoke, “I don’t think she’s coming back tonight.”

  “I’ll call the dispatcher and see if we have anything we can link to her,” Bradley said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  “I’ll make some tea,” Mary said, wanting to do something to take her mind off the face of the woman. She had been brutally beaten before she was killed. Mary shuddered. What kind of animal could do that to a woman?

  Her hand was shaking as she lifted the kettle from the stove to carry it to the sink. Setting the kettle in the sink, she turned on the water to fill it. “You okay?” Bradley asked.

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice. He put his arms around her and held her. “I’m so sorry,” he said gently, “you shouldn’t have to see something like that.”

  Shaking her head, she turned to him. “No, it’s what I do,” she said. “I need to help her. But, this attack on Christmas...”

  “Well, she could have been mugged. But, more likely, it was domestic abuse,” he said. “It’s one of the most brutal crimes there is because the victim was supposed to have been able to trust the offender. And often, she has no choice but to remain under his control.”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen domestic abuse before,” she replied, “In Chicago; we got calls all the time. But, I’ve never seen someone...”

  Her voice broke and she took a shuddering breath. “The pain she must have suffered before she died...”

  Bradley pulled her closer. “And now you get to help her. We get to help her. Find the creep that did this and put him away,” he said.

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “Thanks, I guess I wasn’t expecting...”

  “A dead woman in the middle of your front room on Christmas night?”

  She thought about the night before and shrugged. “Well, at least not that one. What did the dispatcher say?”

  “They haven’t received a call about any “accidents” involving a woman of her description.”

  “Did she look familiar to you?” Mary asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”

  Mary turned off the water, carried the kettle back to the stove and turned on the flame beneath it. “Do you want tea?” she asked.

  “Well, that depends. Do you need me to stay for tea?”

  She smiled, walked back across the room, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. “No, I’m fine now,” she said. “Thanks. You go to your office and start checking out any leads and I’ll let you know if I get any more information.”

  Bradley kissed her back. “Call me if you need me,” he said, walking to the door.

  “I will. Be careful out there, Chief.”

  He smiled. “I will. I promise.”

  The boxes and containers that were scattered on the floor between the living room and the kitchen were a good distraction. She initially placed them on the table, then stacked all of the containers of food on top of each other and picked them up, preparing to carry them to the refrigerator. Turning away from the table she found herself standing face to face with the ghost.

  Mary took a deep breath and slowly half-turned, placing the containers safely back on the table. She straightened and nodded at the ghost. “Hi, I’m Mary O’Reilly. I’d like to help you.”

  Tears fell across the battered face. “I told him I was going to tell,” she whispered. “I told him that he wasn’t going to be able to do it anymore.”

  “Who did this to you?”

  The ghost shook her head, “I told him...I told him...he had to stop.”

  “Who? Who had to stop?”

  “I told him. But he didn’t listen to me,” the ghost sobbed. “I told him...I wasn’t going to hide anymore. I told him I was going to have a baby.”

  Her sobs increased and her body trembled.

  “What’s your name?” Mary asked.

  “I promised him that I wouldn’t be like her,” she whispered, looking up at Mary through water-filled eyes. “I told him that I would never abandon my children. He called me a liar and he hit me again.”

  “Who abandoned her children?” Mary asked, hoping to get some information.

  “My mother-in-law,” she whispered.

  “Did your husband do this to you?”

  “I told him I would tell,” she said. “I didn’t want him to hurt the baby.”

  “You were right,” Mary said. “You were just trying to protect your baby.”

  The ghost looked down and laid her hands over her abdomen. She lifted sorrowful eyes to meet Mary’s. “Now my baby’s dead too.”

  With one tear slipping down her cheek, she disappeared.

  Chapter 6

  Stephenson Street, the road outside City Hall, was snow covered and only a few tire tracks had disturbed the snowflakes. Christmas Day, Bradley thought. No one should die on Christmas Day.

  He hurried across the sidewalk and unlocked the door on the Walnut Street side of the building. The door clicked shut behind him as he rushed up the stairs to his office. He nearly switched on the light, but something stopped him.

  He froze and listened carefully. There it was again. He heard someone crying.

  He silently continued down the darkened hallway, moving closer to the sound. He stopped in front of the door to the old Chief’s office and waited. Yes, it was coming from inside.

  He carefully twisted the doorknob, sliding it noiselessly from the catch and opened the door. The sound grew louder. Sobbing. Heartbreaking sobbing.

  He moved forward, his shoulder against the back of the shelving units, staying partially hidden. He stepped carefully, not wanting an errant floor creak to disturb his nocturnal visitor. He reached down with one hand and slowly unsnapped the leather strap on his holster. He pulled the gun out and eased it into both hands. Just in case this nocturnal visitor is not already dead.

  He was nearly there. The sobbing came from around the corner where the Chief’s desk used to stand. In one fluid movement, Bradley rounded the corner, jumped into the open space and aimed his weapon, “Freeze.”

  A single scream echoed through the room followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Bradley swore as he softly patted Dorothy’s cheek. He had no idea why his Administrative Assistant was in the office late at night on Christmas, sobbing l
ike her heart was broken. But, once he woke her up, he was sure he was going to find out.

  Dorothy had taken an instant dislike to Bradley when he took the position of Chief of Police. He was pretty sure this encounter was not going to help the situation. Well, he reasoned, she worked in a Police Station; she should be used to people pointing guns.

  He looked down at her. She looked a lot younger when she wasn’t frowning.

  I probably shouldn’t mention that to her.

  She moaned softly and he helped her into a sitting position. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “You pointed your gun at me,” she said.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “I heard some noise in here...”

  He stopped and looked her in the eyes. Dorothy, why were you sitting in here crying?”

  Dorothy turned her head away and stared at the window. They sat in silence for a few minutes and finally Dorothy sighed. “I loved him.”

  “The Chief? You loved Sam Rogers?” Bradley asked. “But I thought he was married.”

  She whipped her head back and stared hostilely into his eyes. “I didn’t say we were sleeping together, I said I loved him,” she spat.

  Bradley lifted his hands in defense. “Okay, okay, sorry,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “Well,” she said, her voice softer, “His wife was sick, cancer. She had been an invalid for years. I saw how he cared for her and watched over her. He’d work all day and then take care of her all night. He was devoted to her.”

  Her voice cracked and Bradley reached over to a nearby desk, grabbed a box of tissues and handed them to her.

  “Thanks,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes. “At first, you know, it was just admiration. I thought he was a nice guy. Then, I started bringing things in to the office, like a casserole for their dinner or some bread I’d made. He was so grateful. He was so sweet about thanking me. And, really, it was no big deal.”

  “Not everyone does thoughtful things, Dorothy. It was a big deal.”

  She grabbed another tissue. “That’s what he said too.”

  She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Then one night, I came back because I forgot something here. I heard some noise coming from this office and I came in. He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands and he was sobbing. I didn’t think, I just went over and put my arms around him.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Bradley said.

  She nodded in agreement. “No, there was nothing wrong,” she said. “It was innocent; it was a friend helping a friend. But it seemed that once that barrier was broken, we got closer. He would confide in me and we...we fell in love.”

  “So why are you sitting in his old office on Christmas, crying?”

  “I found him here, last Christmas,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I came in and I had hoped that he would be in too. I hoped that we could spend a little Christmastime together.”

  “You found him?”

  “Lying dead on the floor,” she continued, tears flowing again. “The coroner said he had died the night before.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bradley said, wishing there were something else he could add to make her feel better.

  She looked up at him and nodded, “Thank you. You’re the first person I’ve told about this.”

  Bradley nodded. “It won’t go any further than this room,” he promised.

  She smiled. “I appreciate that. Tell me, Chief Alden, do you like tea?”

  Bradley nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do. Why?”

  “Sam used to drink tea instead of coffee,” she said. “He had quite a collection. I boxed it up after he died, but I think he’d like you to have it.”

  Bradley smiled, then stood and offered Dorothy his hand to help her up. “I would be honored to have it,” he said. “Thank you, Dorothy.”

  She clasped his hand for a moment and smiled into his eyes. “No, I should thank you,” she said, “For understanding. Not many men would.”

  “I understand losing someone you love,” he said, carefully withdrawing his hand from hers. “And I understand heartbreak.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “I’ll make sure that tea is waiting for you first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter 7

  Sunlight was streaming in through her bedroom windows when Mary opened her eyes the next morning. She panicked at first, trying to remember which day of the week it was and why she was still in bed.

  Sunday. It was Sunday. She wasn’t late for anything.

  The incessant pounding startled her. Okay, now I know what woke me up.

  She jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs to answer the door. She pulled the door open to Stanley and Rosie standing on the porch, their arms filled with packages.

  “Merry After- Christmas,” Rosie sang, sliding past Mary into the warm living room and looking around the room expectantly. “Hope we didn’t disturb anything.”

  Stanley stared at Mary’s attire, old grey Chicago Police Department sweat pants and sweat shirt. “She sure wasn’t entertaining gentlemen friends dressed in that outfit,” he growled, following Rosie into the room.

  Mary ran her hand through her disheveled hair and tried to make sense of the whole situation.

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Rosie Pettigrew asked, untying the silk scarf from around her perfectly coiffed silver hair and then patting her hair gently. Rosie was in her early sixties and owned the real estate business a few doors down from Mary’s office.

  “Forgot what?” Mary asked, following them both into her kitchen.

  “Our annual after Christmas get-together,” Stanley answered, slipping off his brown wool overcoat and Houndstooth Tweed Fedora and placing them over a chair. Stanley Wagner, the retired owner of Wagner’s Office Products, was at least seventy years old and treated Mary like a beloved granddaughter. But lately, his major emphasis was on finding her a suitable husband.

  “Well, crap, I did forget,” Mary apologized. “It’s been a little crazy here.”

  “Hmmm, I can see that,” Rosie murmured, as she picked through the piles of packages already stacked on Mary’s table. “It seems there are quite a few packages for Chief Alden on your table. Did Santa leave you something tall, dark and handsome under your Christmas tree?”

  “No,” Mary replied with a slight smile. “Bradley left a little bit before Santa arrived and a little bit after he kissed me under the mistletoe and told me he loved me.”

  “He what?” Stanley exclaimed. “Well, about damn time.”

  “He actually said the ‘love’ word,” Rosie sighed. “Oh, Mary, that is so wonderful.”

  “So, when are you two getting hitched?” Stanley asked.

  “Well,” Mary equivocated, “Things are a little complicated.”

  A short burst of knocks on the front door interrupted Stanley’s response.

  “Mary, it’s Bradley,” he said from the other side of the door.

  Mary blushed and moved to open the door, when Rosie dashed across the room and stopped her. “Mary, stop right there?” she demanded, slightly out of breath.

  “What?”

  “The man of your dreams, the man who loves you, the man you love,” Rosie began.

  “How many men are out there anyway?” Stanley quipped.

  Rosie shot him a look filled with daggers.

  “You are not going to answer the door, looking like this,” Rosie said.

  Mary shook her head. “What,” she said. “He’s seen me like this before.”

  Stanley raised his generous eyebrows nearly to his hairline.

  “When we’ve worked on cases together,” she added, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, you are not working on a case now,” Rosie said, grabbing Mary by the shoulders and maneuvering her to the stairway. “You go on upstairs and fix yourself up and we will let Bradley in.”

  “Yeah, I got a couple of questions for the Police Chief anyhow,” Stanley added, “Want to know his intent
ions.”

  “Stanley, I won’t go upstairs unless you promise to behave yourself,” Mary insisted.

  Stanley sighed. “Fine.”

  Mary nodded and walked the rest of the way upstairs.

  “I’ll wait until you come back down,” Stanley added.

  “I heard that,” Mary shouted.

  “Damn good hearing,” he grinned.

  Bradley was more than a little surprised and slightly disappointed when Rosie opened the door instead of Mary. He quickly hid the bouquet of roses behind his back and stepped inside the house.

  “Good morning, Rosie,” he glanced across the room and saw Stanley glowering at him, “Stanley. Did you have a nice Christmas?”

  Rosie giggled. “Not as nice as yours, obviously,” she said.

  Rolling his eyes, Stanley muttered, “Damn fool woman, got as much tact as a steamroller.”

  She stamped her foot and turned to Stanley, “You are the most incorrigible man I have ever met.”

  “Don’t try to sweeten me up with those big words, girlie,” he responded. “I ain’t one of your glassy eyed beaus.”

  Rosie threw her arms up in disgust and stormed into the kitchen. Then Stanley strolled across the room and stood in front of Bradley. He met Bradley’s eyes and slowly stroked his fingers down his chin, nodding his head slowly.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Bradley asked.

  Stanley paused for a moment, processing the request. “Yes, I believe there is,” he said. “But I can’t ask you about it because I gave my word that I would keep my nose out of someone else’s business.”

  “And you’re pretty good about keeping your nose out of other people’s business,” Bradley answered with a grin. “Just ask Mary’s brother, Sean.”

  Stanley snorted, knowing that Bradley was referring to the secret agreement Stanley had with Sean to inform him on how Mary was doing. “A man’s got a right to worry about his sister.”

  Bradley nodded. “I agree,” he paused. “And a friend has a right to worry about another friend. I won’t do anything to hurt her, Stanley, I promise.”

  Stanley nodded and a slight smile spread over his wrinkled face. “I guess that’ll do.”