Soul Mate (The Mating Series)

by S. Swan

  After about an hour of routine questions, the two men couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “Please let me know when you find the baby,” I said, as I escorted them to the foyer.

  “I will.” King said. King and Skinner left.

  Nessie stood at the front desk when they left. Once sure the two men were out of ear shot, she grabbed my arm. “Be careful, Miss. Cassie,” she said in a hushed voice. “I know that white cop.” She referred to Detective Skinner. “He was a Vice Cop back in my street days. He’s a real mean sum’ bitch! I ain’t lying.” I didn’t argue. I knew his type of self-righteous cop, who worked to discredit others who didn’t agree with him. “He’s on my list,” Nessie said.

  “Your list?” I asked.

  “I got me a list of people who I’d like to see beat down someday.”

  “I hope I’m not on that list.”

  “Course you ain’t on my list,” Nessie said. She pointed to her face. “Numba’ one is the bastard who did this to me.” She pointed to the parking lot. “Numba’ two is Skinner. He’d shake me down every chance he got.”

  Skinner’s corruption didn’t surprise me. Several years ago, a crackdown on corruption rocked in the police department. Many cops went down, many from Vice. Reporters dubbed them the “Good Ol’ Boy club.” The investigations uncovered corruption up the chain of command to the police chief himself.

  I knew several officers at the police department, but I didn’t know Detective King. “What about the other guy?” I asked.

  “I never saw him before.” Nessie said. “He’s pretty hot, ain’t he?” She nudged me in the ribs and winked. “Course, you got a man, now don’t you?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Ain’t that how it is. You go forever without getting a man to look at you. Once you get one, they everywhere.”

  The rest of the day, Nessie and I arranged the funeral for Penny Roil. I called funeral homes and florists. I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t feel the sadness until late in the evening. When I got home and alone, my mind wandered. Where was Penny’s baby girl? Who’d do this to her? Why?

  I lounged on the couch watching “The Simpson’s”. At about seven o’clock Mom appeared out of thin air. I glanced up, but didn’t acknowledge her. She floated in my hand-me-down green chair. Mom had a colorful red orchid in her hair, over her ear. She wore an American Airlines flight attendant muumuu uniform, mandatory on all Hawaiian flights during the 1970’s. The uniform of blue with red and white flowers hung on Mom. Around her neck she wore a lay of red and white silk flowers.

  I loved that outfit. It reminded me of a better time in my life. Mom worked on the American Airlines flight to Hawaii before Dad left. Dad’s departure forced Mom to work closer to home. She left the Hawaiian flight. It caused her to struggle financially; the closer flights didn’t pay as well.

  My dad was a pilot. He spent most of his time flying from one destination to another. My parents divorced when I was six. At first, he tried to be a father to me. He took me on the weekends until I turned eight. Then the weekends became less frequent, until I only saw my dad once a year. As a teenager, I didn’t see my dad at all. I would get the obligatory phone call at birthdays and Christmas. I saw Dad twice since adulthood, when I graduated from college and at Mom’s funeral. Both visits were in the same year. At Mom’s funeral, Dad made an empty promise to spend more time with me. I haven’t seen him since.

  “Cassie,” Mom said, “are you alright?”

  “Yeah.” I replied, dully. I continued to watch TV.

  “You look upset.”

  “Mom?” I asked, not looking at her. “What’s the green room like?”

  “I’ve told you before. It’s like a big waiting room.”

  “I know that, but what are the people there like? Do they know their dead? Are they sad?”

  “Most know they’re dead. Many are confused and frustrated.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I guess because everyone expects the bright light or angels with harps,” she said. “Then you die and you’re stuck in limbo in a place that’s comparable to the BMV. There’s nothing to do, but wait for your number to be called.”

  “Why is it like that?” I asked. “Why do you have to sit around, doing nothing, until it’s time?”

  “Cassie, it’s not like that for everyone. It’s like taking a flight,” she said. Mom explained things better when she compared it to the airline industry. “Everyone has a departure time and date, but some of us arrive at the terminal early. Then we’re stuck waiting for our flight. We have to wait until it’s our time to board.” Great, now I’m stuck thinking heaven is a 747.

  “How do you know when it’s your boarding time?” I asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure. I’ve seen it a couple of times,” Mom said. “This guy sat next to me. He stood up and walked to the curtain. It opened for him and he went through.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “Just a blinding light,” Mom said, “but the man saw people. He said, ‘Hello, mother and father, I’ve been waiting to see you’. It was a moving sight.”

  “Do you see people in there that you know?”

  “Sometimes, but I don’t spend a lot of time there looking for people. Some people spend all of their time looking for loved ones and friends.”

  “Why do you spend so much time here?” I asked.

  “Remember when you went to Atlanta?”

  “Yes.” Several years ago, I visited a college friend in Atlanta during hurricane season. I got stranded in Charlotte, for two days, until the weather broke.

  “Remember how the passengers acted?” Mom asked.

  “I’ll never forget,” I said. After being bumped from three flights, everyone grew tired and irritable. One man actually got arrested for getting disorderly with the staff.

  “Imagine if you’re dead and your destination is unknown. You can’t imagine the turmoil in the green room. Then there are the people who refuse to believe they’re dead. They sit around crying and moaning,” Mom said. “Personally, I think it’s a test. The better you handle the waiting, the better it is on the other side of the curtain.” I imagined a sea of moaning people stuck together waiting to be let into heaven. It seemed horrible. “I shouldn’t make it sound so bad,” Mom said, obviously reading my expression. “It’s just like when you get a flight delay. A handful of people make a fuss, but everyone else tries to make the best of the situation.”

  “How do you make the best out of being dead and in limbo?” I asked.

  Mom waved her hand in front of herself like she was a “Price Is Right” model. “I guess hanging around with your daughter is one way of making the best of the situation”

  “I meant the others. How do they make the best of things?”

  “There’s lots of clubs, chess club, physics club, drama club. Spirits with a lot of energy can fabricate whole scenes. I’ve been to the theater a few times. I’ve even seen celebrities perform.”

  “Like who?” I asked intrigued. I imagined Jim Morrison, Janice Joplin and Jimi Hendricks jamming in an ethereal café.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Spirits don’t look like we do in life. I just know they’re celebrities.”

  “So you don’t look like this on the spirit plane?” I had no other name for the green room.

  “Oh no!” She laughed. “I do this for you because it is the form you’ll recognize.”

  “So what do you look like?”

  “I’m pure energy there.”

  “Energy?” I asked.

  “Energy and light.” Mom straightened proudly. “I’m very bright. Some aren’t as bright as me.” I gave Mom a doubtful look. “It’s not something you can understand in your form,” Mom said.

  “What is my form?”

  “Cassie, our body isn’t our being. It’s just a shell or a cocoon and when the cocoon opens our true self, our soul, escapes out.”

  “So we’re like butterflies?” I asked.

&nbs
p; “Sort of,” she replied. “Cassie, what’s your sudden interested with death and the green room?” I never asked questions about the afterlife. I inundated Jimmy with questions when we first met, but then decided I didn’t want to know about life after death.

  “One of the girls from work was killed.” A combination of Penny’s death and that stupid movie on Saturday piqued my interest. I worried about Penny roaming the earth with her head all bashed in like in the movie. Mom’s explanations helped ease my mind.

  “The one Jimmy saw?” Mom asked.

  “No, it was another one, but in a similar way.”

  “Oh, how terrible!”

  “It’s the same guy,” I said. “I just know it.”

  “I hope they catch him.”

  “Some police officers came to work,” I said. “They needed me to answer some questions.”

  “Who was she?”

  “Her name was Penny,” I said. “She had a little girl too.”

  “What happened to the little girl?” Mom asked, concerned.

  “I don’t know. I had to identify her. They didn’t know about the baby. The officers said they’d find the baby.”

  “You’re not in danger are you?” Mom asked.

  “Certainly not,” I replied. “This guy isn’t a random killer. He’s looking for prostitutes.”

  “What if he gets you confused with the women you help?” Mom is such a worrier. Whenever I told her something, she pointed out the worst scenario and said, “What if...” When I wanted to be a cheerleader, I told Mom. She immediately asked, “What if you get dropped and get a broken neck?” When I wanted to play softball, Mom asked, “What if you get hit in the head with a ball? People have died from playing softball.” When I told her that I had a job at Mary House, Mom asked, “What if you get a STD off the toilet seat?” I lied and promised that the staff had their own private bathroom.

  The phone rang, which saved me from another of Mom’s worst case scenarios. “Hello.” I answered.

  “Hey Babe,” Jimmy said. He called me Babe again! I got a broad smile. Mom gave me a quizzical look.

  “Hi,” I said. Jimmy’s soft voice gave me the feeling of free fall. I spoke to Jimmy maybe twice a week, but it was the second call in one day. When we hung out, Jimmy was always sweet and attentive, but now he seemed to be making an effort to talk to me. Jimmy’s attitude towards me had changed. He treated me like a girlfriend.

  “Who is it?” Mom whispered, as if she would be heard by anyone else.

  “Jimmy,” I whispered.

  “Tell Carmen that I said ‘hi’,” Jimmy said.

  “Jimmy says ‘hi’.” I told Mom.

  “Hi Jimmy.” Mom yelled and Jimmy laughed.

  “You can hear her?” I asked.

  “The same as you.”

  “I’ve never talked to her over the phone,” I said.

  “Huh? You’re right. I’ve never heard her over the phone before, either.” I looked at mom again. She smiled and disappeared.

  “She left.” I told Jimmy.

  “We’ve learn something new about your mom. We’ll have to test this discovery later.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “I’ll have to think about it.” Jimmy liked to test Mom’s abilities, but I didn’t. It encouraged her to stick around more.

  Jimmy and I talked on the telephone until midnight. I told him about Penny Roil’s murder and about the two detectives. He was concerned about me. He thought I should take a few days off and rest. I told him that I couldn’t because Mary Lazarus was still out of town and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. Finally, I couldn’t stay awake any longer. “Jimmy, I have to go to bed.”

  “Wow, we’ve been talking for hours.”

  “We have? No wonder, I’m so tired,” I said.

  “You need to get some sleep,” Jimmy said. “You get up earlier than I do.” Jimmy didn’t have set hours, but he made sure his first client wasn’t scheduled before ten o’clock.

  I yawned. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Are we still on for Wednesday?” I asked.

  “Sure we are.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow and I’ll see you for sure on Wednesday.”

  “Good night, Cassie.”

  “Good night, Jimmy,” I said and then clicked off the phone. Stiff from lying in the same position for several hours, I stretched to loosen my limbs. Then I shuffled off to bed. It took about twenty minutes for me to go to sleep. Once unconscious, I slept restless. I tossed and turned. The day’s stress haunted me in my dreams. I woke up and dozed off, always going back to dreams of the two detectives and the picture of Penny. Each time I looked at the picture, I noticed a new atrocity. The dream turned into a nightmare.

  I woke myself screaming. Drenched in sweat and breathing heavy, I attempted to shake the dream from my head. I glimpsed movement out of the corner of my eye. I shot up. My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t see anything in the dark room. “Shhh. It’s just me,” Mom said from a corner. “You had a nightmare. You were screaming.” I didn’t answer. I tried to catch my breath, but couldn’t.

  I sat wordless for a long time. “Mom,” I breathed. “I’m scared. Stay until morning.”

  “I will,” she said. Mom passed a cold breeze over me. It comforted me. I relaxed and fell asleep again.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tuesday, I skated through the day on auto pilot, without any disturbances. Thankful since I didn’t sleep well the night before. Although, I maintained a pleasant demeanor, Penny’s death and the whereabouts of Skye persisted in the back of my mind. The negativity fluttered up every so often during my routine duties.

  When I got home, I ate dinner and watched television. Mom popped in for only a few minutes to check on me. After she verified that I wasn’t in hysterics, she popped out again. Mom’s bedside vigil drained her energy. She seemed tired, if ghosts get tired. Jimmy called and made arrangements for our date. We planned meet at Mary House after work and to Blaine’s for dinner and drinks. It was a work night so I couldn’t be out late. I wished I could take Thursday off to spend more time on our date.

  I anticipated the date with excitement, but women were being abducted and killed. I felt a mixture of excitement and guilt. I forced myself to focus on Jimmy instead of Penny or Skye. I didn’t have control over the women at Mary House or the choices they made. I couldn’t become so focused on them that I gave up my own life. Mom agreed. She lectured about being too absorbed in work. She worried that I would end up an old maid because I never created time for myself.

  Exhausted from lack of sleep, I went to bed shortly after nine o’clock. I woke up with renewed excitement on Wednesday morning. Five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. I drug myself out of bed early to spend more time on my appearance. Instead of my usual work ponytail, I straightened my curly hair and added hair serum to give it a smooth silky sheen. I put on eye shadow, eye liner, and mascara. I tinted my lips a sultry wine color. Since I took after the Sicilian side of my heritage, I didn’t need any blushes, foundation, or bronzers on my face.

  I picked through my pathetic assortment of clothes in the closet. I spent twenty minutes trying on clothes. Nothing looked right. I finally settled on an out of style hunter green dress with black lace trim. I threw on a black cardigan and accented it with my favorite black pumps. I topped off the ensemble with a pair of gold hoop earrings.

  I decided to ride the bus to work. Riding the bus saved me from leaving my car at work. I rode the bus regularly to save on gas and wear and tear on my old Toyota Camry. The bus arrived at my stop on time. The moment I climbed the steps, I realized I made an error in judgment. Male passengers packed the seats. Only one other woman rode the bus. I tried to sit as close to her as possible. Luckily, I got a seat by myself. I kept my eyes focused on the back of the driver’s head. I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone for fear of conversation. Several hungry eyes watched me.

>   Half-way through the route, my neck started to ache from sitting so straight. I turned my head to the left and saw the beautiful fall foliage of Garfield Park. I turned my head to the right, and face to face with a filthy hobo. His grey beard stained yellow, presumably from years of tobacco use.

  “Howdy.” He said, smiling to reveal nothing, but pink gums. I nodded and quickly faced forward again. “You sure look perdy.” I didn’t answer. “How’s come a perdy girl like you hasta ride the bus?” I still faced forward. “Come on,” he said, “you can talk to me. I ain’t gonna bite you. I ain’t got no teeth.” His comment made me laugh. “There’s a smile.” He said.

  “I’m riding the bus to save gas.” I said, turning slightly.

  “Me too.” He stuck out a grimy hand. “I’m Norm.” he said.

  “Cassie.” I said, and shook his hand making as little skin contact as possible.

  Some younger guys in the back started making cat calls and kiss noises at me. “Them boys have no manners.” Norm said, shaking his head. “Hey, you boys. This is a lady show some respect.” This brought howls of laughter and jeers at the old man.

  A skinny, pale, and pimple faced boy with greasy blonde hair plopped in the seat in front to me. “Hey,” he said. He turned in the seat facing me with his arms draped across the seats. He wore a grimy tank top. The smell of body odor emitted from under his arms. “How ‘bout we get off at my stop.” I inched closer to the bus window. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  “No.” I replied.

  “Then why are you scooting away?”

  “Because you stink!” Norm said, from behind.

  “Shut up old man!” He put his hand on my leg. “I like this material it’s smooth.” I jerked my leg, but his hand tightened. “Don’t be like that.”

  The bus lurched to a stop in front of Mary House. The boy flipped backwards. The hobo, Norm, kicked the boy. A scuffle ensued between the boy and hobo. The bus driver put the vehicle in park and headed to the altercation. As the driver approached, I jumped out of my seat to an adjacent seat. As the driver passed, I slipped off the bus unnoticed. As I descended the steps, I heard the driver say, “Ima gonna bust some heads if you don’t break it up.” The bus rocked as I hopped onto the curb. I darted to the front doors.