Soul Man
Page 1
Soul Man
Miss Fortune World: Sinful Spirits, Volume 2
Shari Hearn
Published by J&R Fan Fiction, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 by Shari Hearn
All rights reserved.
This story is based on a series created by Jana DeLeon. The author of this story has the contractual rights to create stories using the Miss Fortune world. Any unauthorized use of the Miss Fortune world for story creation is a violation of copyright law.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author and the publisher, J&R Fan Fiction, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Author Bio
Sign up for Shari Hearn's Mailing List
Also By Shari Hearn
Acknowledgements
THANK YOU TO CARLA and Kathleen for their wonderful notes.
Many thanks to Jana DeLeon, first for writing such amazing characters and creating the town of Sinful, and second, for allowing other writers to write our own stories set in the world of Miss Fortune.
Cover design by Susan Coils at coverkicks.com
Chapter One
I SHIELDED MY EYES from the bare lightbulb swaying overhead. How I got here I didn’t know. And where was HERE? Lowering my gaze, I took in my surroundings and realized I was seated in a hard chair at a long, wooden table.
“Kid, it’s time we talk about where you’re going to live after you leave the CIA.”
I pulled my gaze to the source of the voice.
Woman, midforties, stocky, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with an image of a fish and the words, “Don’t be a dumbass.” Sporting a mullet haircut. Threat-level: To Be Determined.
“You’re Marge.”
She nodded.
“Am I dreaming?”
She nodded again.
“Now listen up,” she said. “I know you’ve been thinking lately about where your life is going to take you. You may have heard I always wanted my great-niece Sandy-Sue to move in after I died.”
“But I’m not the real Sandy-Sue.”
“No you’re not, and I’d like to talk to you about that.”
“Dammit, Marge, get to the point.”
Another Marge appeared next to me on my left.
Late sixties. Stocky. Short brown hair. Wearing fatigues. Holding a long hunting knife. Threat-level: Extremely High.
“What the...” Mullet Marge said.
Hunting-Knife Marge slammed her knife into the table. Another Marge appeared on my right, identical to Hunting-Knife Marge. She placed her knife to my throat. Another Hunting-Knife Marge appeared. Then another. Then another. Then another.
The first Hunting-Knife Marge swung her face around, within inches of mine. “No, you’re not the real Sandy-Sue. She’s family. You’re not. She’s coming at the end of summer to boot your butt out of my house.”
Mullet Marge was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her over the chorus of Hunting-Knife Marges accusing me of being an interloper.
“You don’t belong,” the one holding the knife to my throat whispered.
I woke with a start and sat up in bed. Carter stirred next to me.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I said, though my heart pounded. “Just a dream.” He sat up in bed and put his arms around me. “Summer’s almost over,” I said. “I think it’s time I start looking for a new place to live.”
Chapter Two
MARGE
MARGE GAZED AT THE other ghosts seated around her and cleared her throat. “Hello, my name is Marge Boudreaux, and I’m addicted to the world of the living.”
“Hello Marge,” the other eight spirits chanted. Well, okay, seven spirits. A headless man who sat next to her could have been greeting her as well, but he refused to appear with his head intact. A man with no eyes and no mouth is awfully difficult to read.
It was Marge’s first meeting with Apparitions Anonymous, a group dedicated to helping ghosts accept their non-living status and move from the “neither-here-nor-there” world and into the light.
Easier than it sounds. Sure, the light is peaceful and comforting and you get to move on in your spiritual journey. But it was no Sinful, and Sinful was what Marge craved. Ida Belle and Gertie, the Sinful Ladies, Marie. Even all the crazies she never cared for when she was alive. She belonged there.
It was still home. Ever since Marge started taking ghost-mobility lessons from her former home ec teacher, the long-dead Miss Mellette, she’d been visiting Sinful quite regularly, even sleeping in her old bedroom. Yes, ghosts sleep if they want. The ten-year warranty on the new mattress Marge purchased a year before she died promised “comfort you can count on,” and she aimed to get every year’s worth of comfort.
“This is Marge’s fourth month in spirit,” Miss Mellette announced to the group. “And she, like the rest of you, is finding the adjustment to non-living personhood difficult. I hope you will welcome her with ghostly arms.”
After receiving words of welcome from the other ghosts, Marge continued, “Thank you. I’m sure my story is the same as yours. I had a great life in Sinful raising hell as part of the Sinful Ladies Society. Then one day I’m dead and there’s a young, CIA assassin in my house with a price on her head, pretending to be my great-niece.”
The other ghosts just stared.
“Okay, maybe that’s not your story, but it’s mine. At first, I wasn’t too sure about this gal, especially her living in my house and all. But she’s good people, and Ida Belle and Gertie love her, and there’s no better judge of character than the two of them. I got used to having her as my roommate, even though, you know, she has no idea I’m there. Now I’m worried what’s going to happen when she moves on and my real great-niece sells my house. What then?”
“It’ll be hell,” the spirit of Anna Brun said. She held her hands up. “Not that I’ve been to Hell, in case you’re wondering. But I bet Hell is easier than what I’m enduring right now. Right after I died three years ago my daughter sold my house to some young family. They came in and knocked down a wall and made a new master bedroom and turned mine into a rumpus room for their twin boys. Little monsters. They like to get out their crayons and draw on my walls.”
Marge cringed. “I don’t want kids coming into my room and drawing on my walls with crayons.”
“Well, get used to it,” Anna said, bitterly. “Because once your house is sold, that’s what’s going to happen.”
Some spirits began to wail. Others grumbled.
Miss Mellette held up her hand. “Spirits, please, take a breath.” Several ghosts raised their brows at that. “You know what I mean. Your former possessions are no longer
of use to you. Repeat after me. Detach. Detach.”
Marge, along with the rest of the spirits, mumbled the words without feeling. Detaching from her house was proving difficult. She loved that house. There was a time she’d wanted her great-niece, Sandy-Sue, to move in after she passed. Even made her friends swear they would try to convince her to do so. But deep down she knew Sandy-Sue would sell the house. The girl never even visited Sinful when Marge had been alive.
It had taken awhile after Fortune moved in (as part of her cover story) for Marge to accept the young CIA assassin. But after seeing the gal in action, her skill using Marge’s weapons and her loyalty to Ida Belle and Gertie, Marge knew she’d found a kindred spirit. In fact, Marge had even invaded Fortune’s dream last night and tried to persuade the young woman to buy the house from the real Sandy-Sue when the time came. Unfortunately, Fortune’s subconscious took over and created other Marges who may have ended up persuading her to move out.
Headless swiveled in his chair and gazed at her. At least, his body turned toward Marge. She assumed his head turned as well. “Welcome Marge. I’m Robichon Castile. You can call me Headless Rob,” he said, his voice deep and crisp. “I led a mutiny of a pirate ship in eighteen aught two. You may have heard of me. My favorite haunts are old hotels and houses of ill repute. And yours?”
Marge shook her head. “I don’t haunt. I go down to visit my friends and maybe help them out a little bit. But I’ve studied pirate history of the Gulf Coast. In fact, I visited all of the six sites of the Jean Lafitte Historical Park while I was alive.”
She thought it would make Headless Rob happy she’d shown an interest in pirate history. Instead, Headless shrieked. Steam rose up from his bloodied, severed neck.
Miss Mellette sighed and shook her head. “Jean Lafitte beheaded Rob, so the mere mention of his name makes Rob’s head spin.”
“How can you tell?” Marge muttered, before remembering that Miss Mellette was far more experienced at reading another ghost’s energy. If anyone could see Rob’s head spin, it would be an older spirit such as Miss Mellette.
“Get a grip, Rob,” the ghost of Sheriff Lee’s father, the Elder Sheriff Lee, said. He still sported a bullet hole through his forehead. The same bullet that killed him while he cleaned his pistol forty-three years ago. Why some ghosts enjoyed parading around as they had appeared during their darkest moments was beyond her. In the four months Marge had been on “the other side,” she’d made herself appear as she had during happier times. Lately she looked like she did thirty years ago, sporting her finest mullet haircut.
“You’ve been dead more than two hundred years, you headless whiner,” Elder Sheriff Lee said to Rob. “It’s not like you had a great future ahead of you. You were a miserable failure as a pirate. Not like me. I was the sheriff of a major city.”
“Sinful?” Headless asked, laughing. “The last ship I plundered had more men in its bowels than that little village, you bilge rat.”
Miss Mellette clapped her hands. “Now, we will have none of that here. This is a support group to help you break your addiction to all things earthly.”
Miss Mellette fell into the category of people Marge hadn’t gotten along with while alive. Ida Belle, Gertie and she had spent more days than Marge could remember in detention for stunts they had pulled in Miss Mellette’s class. The former teacher could still be a bit trying at times, but she knew the ways of the spirit world as well as how to efficiently operate on the physical plane, having been dead for more than twenty-five years. Marge hungered to learn all Miss Mellette knew.
The former teacher continued, “No doubt some of you are aware that a television personality, the Size Large Medium, is making a swing through the South.”
Several ghosts nodded their heads.
Marge snapped to attention. This was news to her. She used to watch The Size Large Medium with Gertie. That gal had more hair piled on top of her head than any gal should have, but her skills were impressive.
“Today this medium will film an episode in Sinful,” Miss Mellette added.
Marge stood. “When?” The Size Large Medium was exactly what she needed. The only other person Marge knew who possessed the gift of seeing dead people was her old archenemy, Barb Geroux, who’d made it clear she would never pass along any messages to Marge’s friends. Maybe she didn’t need Barb, Marge thought. Maybe this medium would be able to tell her friends that she was ready to assist in whatever mission came their way.
Other ghosts stood as well, ready to leave for Sinful. Miss Mellette held up both hands to stop them. “Spirits, please. This can be the closure you need but only if handled correctly. This is your opportunity to pass the message to your loved ones that you’re doing well, that you love them and are proud of them, and they need to move on with their lives. This will then help you move on.”
“Move on?” said old lady Leger, whose estate attorney had surprised her three children last month with the news their penny-pinching, deceased mother was actually rich. “I want to see grieving! All they do is fight over my money.”
“I want to scare the crap out of my wife’s new husband!” another ghost shouted. “He waited all of two seconds after I was put in the ground to make his moves on her.”
“This is exactly what I’m hoping to avoid,” Miss Mellette said. “Trust me, you’ll feel better if you put the past behind you and move on. Go into the light and continue your spiritual journey.”
Yeah, right, Marge thought. If Miss Mellette was hell-bent on continuing HER spiritual journey, she would have gone into the light the day she died in 1991. But there was a man in Sinful she still pined for. Jack Lemieux, a former woodshop teacher at Sinful High.
It had been no secret when Miss Mellette was alive that she and Mr. Lemieux were sweet on one another. There were rumors a wedding might be in the offing, but that was before Miss Mellette met her maker (not to mention a Greyhound bus) while crossing a busy intersection in New Orleans after visiting one of her children from a former marriage.
It was obvious to Marge that Miss Mellette had volunteered to stay in the in-between zone to watch over her aging sweetheart and keep the eligible bachelorettes from getting too close.
“We need to go and represent Sinful honorably.” Miss Mellette clasped her hands together. “I’ve been to many of these group readings and I know how these mediums operate. Therefore, those of you who want to maximize your time before her and are willing to do so in an orderly fashion, are welcome to join me when I make the journey to Sinful.”
They all agreed, of course. Who wouldn’t want a chance to go communicate with the living? But orderly fashion might not be in the cards. These were Sinful spirits, after all.
Chapter Three
THE LINE TO THE SINFUL Rec Center was filling up fast with people eager to connect with their dead loved ones through the Size Large Medium. Some stood, some sat in folding chairs and blankets set out along the walkway and sidewalk. I was eager to be anywhere but here, but I’d promised to save a seat for Marie on the bleachers if we were allowed inside the gym before she arrived.
Gertie was convinced sitting in the front row would assure her an audience with Marge. So at five this morning, she and Ida Belle made sure they were first in line to get the coveted front-row bleacher seats. Gertie patted the empty folding chair next to her and shot me a knowing glance as I arrived just shy of seven o’clock.
“You’re a little late, aren’t you?” Gertie said.
“I think I mentioned I probably wouldn’t get here at five.” It had been Carter’s first overnighter at my place, and we wanted some additional time together before he left for work, which, oddly enough, was settling a loud dispute between two of my neighbors at six o’clock. None of that I was going to share with Ida Belle and Gertie. They acted like giggly teenagers when they first learned I’d spent the night at his house. I was determined to have some semblance of privacy.
“Carter fix you a special breakfast this morning?” Gertie asked,
smiling.
I ignored Gertie’s question as I sat in the extra folding chair and looked at Ida Belle’s thermos. “You have an extra cup?”
Ida Belle smiled as she poured me some coffee. “So fill us in.”
I took the cup she offered while shaking my head. “I didn’t spend the night at his place.”
From the end of the line one of the Sinful Ladies, Midge Allair, spotted us and waved.
“Ida Belle! Gertie!”
I turned away in my chair as she strode over.
“What time did you two get here to be first in line?” Midge asked.
“Five,” Ida Belle said, taking a sip of coffee. “I would have been fine with a seat higher up, but Gertie insisted we sit in the front row.”
“I’ve watched enough of The Size Large Medium to know the person who catches her eye gets more time with their loved ones,” Gertie said. “My eyeballs will be on her from the second she steps on stage.”
Speaking of eyeballs, I could feel Midge staring at me. “I had a little row with my next-door neighbor this morning,” she said.
“Redneck?” asked Ida Belle.
“Hmm-hmm. He came out to fetch his paper in his underwear again. He knows that’s illegal in Sinful proper. I told him last month if I caught him doing it again I’d call the Sheriff’s Department. Luckily Deputy LeBlanc was close by.” She paused for dramatic effect. “At Fortune’s house.”
The eyeballs increased by four.
“I’ve never seen the deputy unshaven and his hair all messed up like that,” Midge added. “It was obvious I’d gotten him out of bed.” Then, as if she suddenly realized I was there... “Well, lands sakes alive, is that you, Miss Fortune?”
“Yes, is that you, Miss Fortune?” Ida Belle echoed.
The jig was up. I turned and smiled. “Hi, Miss Allair. I hope you’re doing better than earlier this morning.”