I laugh loudly while climbing back into bed. Cal’s wraps his arms around me in a comforting embrace, and though it doesn’t happen quickly, I’m finally able to enjoy a refreshing, dream free slumber.
Chapter Eleven
Once I arrive at the church, an ancient secretary with drawn-on eyebrows and carrot orange hair ushers me down a hall and shows me a door with a plaque that says Fr. Seamus Donnelly.
“You just go on in, dear. He’ll be with you shortly.” She pulls her jacket edges together and hunches slightly as though she’s freezing and trying to get warmed up. I take a seat in the dimly lit office and listen as the puffs of air coming from the secretary’s orthopedic shoes grow less pronounced.
Father Donnelly’s office smells of pipe smoke and mentholated rub, and much of the furniture appears to be an assortment of turn of the century pieces mixed with a hodgepodge from the sixties or so. For instance, the chair I’m sitting in is covered in rust orange tweed while the one next to me has avocado green vinyl. Rows of dark wooden bookshelves are stuffed with books ranging from Christian education resources to horror. Obviously, Father Donnelly is diverse when it comes to literature.
An old wooden and brass gramophone sits perched atop a varnished stand; a record stands by ready to be played. His desk, also intricately carved dark wood, is covered with stacks of papers, file folders, and a collection of prayer beads. In a crystal bowl are gobs of peppermints. I’m just reaching to take one when Father Donnelly startles me by entering the room.
“Wait,” he says, sucking in his girth to make his way behind the desk. “I keep the good stuff in here.” He opens the top desk drawer and lays out a vast assortment of candy bars. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the peanut butter cups. He pushes the stash in my direction.
“In case you want something else later,” he says, reaching for a pen and paper. “Did Delores offer you a drink? Coffee, water, soda?”
“No sir, I’m fine, though. Thank you.”
He taps the pen against the paper for while before tossing it aside. “How about we just get right to it? Felton and Cal tell me you’re being plagued by nightmares which make no sense to you.”
“Basically, but it goes deeper than that. A simple reoccurring dream is no big deal to me. This dream came about after I toured Azalea Downs.”
He sucks in a breath. “Yes, terrible tragedy that happened there. Shocked the whole community.”
“I imagine it did. Well, ever since I toured the house, I’ve been getting these visions of the crime scene, but they’re not real visions.”
“I don’t understand,” Father Donnelly says, steepling his fingers and planting them against his lips.
“Felton worked the scene.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“The things that I’m seeing in my visions aren’t accurate depictions of what actually happened that night, yet they keep replaying over and over again. Usually, each dream offers a new detail I’d missed in previous ones.”
“Hmmm. What are these details that appear to stand out now?”
I pull a few items from my memory. “A gold ring, a rhinestone broach, peacock feathers, a white shawl or cloth of some sort, and most recently, a classical composition. My dreams didn’t have sound until recently.”
He leans back in his chair with a smirk. “You and Cal have been dating pretty exclusively, right?”
“Yes, sir. I suppose so, but I don’t get what…”
“Have you been married before, child?”
“Yes, sir. He’s a bad man with whom I have no contact.”
“Does the thought of marriage scare you?”
I shrug. “Not really. Well, maybe somewhat. I’m not too sure. What are you getting at, Father?”
“Isn’t it obvious? White cloth. Gold ring. Classical music. Rhinestones which could easily be diamonds. Your fear is stemming from marriage anxiety.” I silently absorb what he’s saying. “Plantation homes are often used as settings for weddings. It’s only logical that you’d correlate the two.”
“I do. Maybe the tour of Azalea Downs did trigger something in my subconscious? Are these dreams really just my body’s way of expressing anxiety over a future with Cal?” I ponder some more, and it makes sense. It really makes sense. “Father, you’re a genius! My fear of commitment is taking over my subconscious. Wow! I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can’t thank you enough!” I’m almost giddy.
He chuckles. “I’m glad I could help, my child. You know, if you would like to come in with Cal, perhaps we could work on making some of that anxiety subside.”
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I’ll decline for now. Identifying the problem was the hardest part. I think I might have it from here.”
“Well, you know where to find me if you need me. You’re welcome anytime.”
“Thank you, Father.” I thumb through my wallet to retrieve some bills. “My donation to your church.”
“Not necessary but very much appreciated. I hope to see you again soon, Cheyenne.”
“Absolutely. Thanks again,” I say, quickly dashing behind his desk and hugging him tightly. Laughter bellows from him, especially after I grab one more candy bar from his desk and shove it into my purse. “One for the road,” I say, patting my purse before leaving his office.
I’m so insanely relieved that I can’t wait to tell Cal the news. I’m anticipating awkwardness; how could it not be with my upcoming confession that my nightmares stem from commitment phobia and the things in my dream represent marriage. I’m a little upset with myself that I didn’t put those clues together for myself. I suppose it’s easier for someone away from the situation to see it.
When I get back to my apartment I’m surprised to see Brant on my porch. “Hey you,” I say, taking the stairs two at a time. “What are you doing?”
“I’m installing a camera. That damned thing freaked me out. I’m going to figure out what in the hell is going on once and for all. Two birds with one stone.”
“George is going to be pissed.”
“George doesn’t even have to know. See?” He shows me one camera before he nestles it inside of a flower pot.”
“Nice! So the ghostly apparition freaked you out?”
“There are no such things as ghosts. Why a child is wandering around your place in the middle of the night is the mystery that needs to be solved ASAP.”
“It can’t be a child. The thing disappears into thin air sometimes.”
“It’s not a ghost,” Brant asserts.
“Okay. So what’s with the two birds, one stone bit?”
“Second bird will be your secret admirer. We can finally catch this person on film, I can scare the crap out of him, and we all move on.”
I smile. “You’re such a softie.”
“Yeah, don’t let that get out,” Brant grumbles.
“Your secret’s safe with me. Are you staying for dinner?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. Oh, who am I kidding! All I’ve been thinking about is food since I ate here the other night.”
“Good. I’ve got beef stew in the crock pot, and there’s plenty.”
“Sounds great. Thanks. You seem particularly chipper today.” He goes back to setting up the outdoor cameras.
“I feel chipper. I finally have some answers about my dreams thanks to Father Donnelly.”
He looks over his shoulder. “Do you now? Anything interesting?”
“I’m a commitment phobe.”
“Good for you,” Brant jokes.
“Seriously, you have no idea how much these dreams bothered me. I thought I was cracking up. Losing it. Checking out.”
“Hey, we all have our issues.”
“You seem to have it pretty together,” I mention.
“For the most part, but people think I’m an asshole.”
“What? Why would they think that?”
“Because I’m an asshole.”
I laugh. “You’re one of the sweetest assholes I’ve ever met.” I give him a light kiss on the temple before opening the door. “You want something to drink?”
“A soda if you got one.”
“Absolutely.” As I’m walking out to give Brant his drink, Cal jogs up the stairs.
“Hey, what’s going on here?”
“Brant’s installing some eyes so we can stake out some perps,” I answer. Brant gives me a disapproving look. “What? Cops don’t really talk like that?” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“That’s great. Thanks for looking out for Cheyenne,” Cal says.
“It’s more than that. I want answers,” he says, adjusting some of the wires.
“Ghost girl?” Cal asks.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Brant says. “I’m going to figure it out.”
Cal nods. “How did your meeting with Father Donnelly go?”
“Excellent,” I say, grinning from ear to ear. “He figured it out like that.” I snap my fingers.
“Really? So…”
“So, I’m scared of marriage, particularly marriage to you.”
He looks at me questioningly. “Did I ask? Because I’m not remembering…”
I laugh. “No. Relax. It’s just my subconscious putting the cart before the horse. You’re off the hook, so you can get rid of that deer in the headlights look.”
“What? Scared? Me? No way. If you want to talk marriage, we can talk marriage. I’m all about open and honest…”
“You look like you’re about to vomit.”
“No way,” he says with a large fake smile.
“Let me allay your concerns. No marriage-talk for a while because I’m not anywhere near ready. Okay?”
Relief shows on his face nearly instantaneously. “Only if you’re sure.”
“I am. Now, onto other things. I asked Brant to stay for dinner again. I hope you don’t mind, but with the trouble he’s going through hooking up the cameras…”
“I don’t mind at all. If you wouldn’t have invited him, I would have.”
“Great,” I say, tip-toeing to kiss him. “I’m going to make a salad. You make yourself comfortable.” He sits across from me as I start pulling fresh vegetables from the refrigerator. Brant pops his head in the door.
“Hey, I’m not going to be able to stay after all. In fact, I can’t finish with the cameras tonight, but I’ll swing by tomorrow to finish up. I got called out. Jumper on the bridge.”
“Really? That’s terrible,” I say with a gasp.
“Drugged up and drunk fool thinks he can fly. They’re trying to talk him down now. I gotta get out there.”
“I understand. I hope it turns out okay.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s a pain in the ass doing post-mortem paperwork. Don’t do drugs, and don’t drink and drive, kids. Okay, that was your public service announcement for the day. Later.”
“Well, looks like it’s just you and me tonight. I vote we do full nude supper club,” Cal says.
“I vote no.”
“We need a tie-breaker vote.”
“My vote counts twice since it’s my place.”
“Cheater,” Cal says with a smile.
After supper, we turn in early, mostly because I’m so excited to possibly get a full night’s sleep now that my issues have been identified. The dream never came, but that is the least of my concerns when I awaken during the night.
It’s still dark out when I dash across the room for a potty break. It’s not until I’m groggily climbing back into bed that I hear a slow and steady thumping sound against the bedroom window. Fear hits like a sledgehammer until rationality kicks in. One of the limbs from the oak tree is smacking the window. The forecast has called for wind and rain for the morning commute, so the storm more than likely made its way in a little early. I breathe a sigh of relief. When thunder grumbles in the distance I relax even more.
As I pull back the covers, I steal a quick glance at the window while deciding if I should check out the mystery noise just to put my mind at ease. At that precise moment, lightening fills the sky with brilliant white light, and through the closed blinds I’m able to make out the frightening silhouette of a person on my balcony. I can barely speak as I shake Cal awake.
“Someone. Someone. Balcony. Out there.”
“Slow down,” Cal says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s on the balcony,” I whisper in a panic.
Cal lurches from the bed and hustles to the kitchen where he wields the largest kitchen knife I own. He slowly makes his way to the French doors. “Stay in the kitchen and call the police,” he whispers as he creeps closer to the balcony doors.
“Be careful,” I whisper back as I dial the number. The operator asks me to stay on the line with her, and I somewhat follow her command. I don’t disconnect the call after giving her the information, but I do toss the phone onto the counter so I can give my undivided attention to Cal.
He is at the doors, his back pressed against the wall, when he uses the blade of the knife to slightly pull the blinds away from the door. Stunned by whatever he sees, Cal stumbles backwards and the knife easily slices into the fabric of the blinds. The whole thing tumbles down as he continues to reel back from the doors, and I’m left a mortified, quivering mess. Lightning illuminates the lifeless body of Odell the janitor while he hangs from a tree limb over the balcony. Beads of water drip from the ends of his long scraggly hair, and his willowy body moves slightly in the swift breeze. His bulged out eyes are pinned open, as is his mouth, like he’s trying to emit a scream that just won’t come. I handle that part for him.
I’m still shrieking when the officers enter the apartment, guns drawn. I slump down in the corner, covering my ears while tightly closing my eyes in a desperate attempt to remove the image that is now seared into my brain.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay, ma’am,” one of the officers asks. Both of them have their guns pointed at Cal. “Hands on your head! Now! Slowly walk backwards towards my voice,” one of the officers instructs.
“No,” I finally manage to say when I replace the shrieking with rocking back and forth. “No, he’s my boyfriend. He didn’t hurt anyone.”
“I got him, you secure the knife,” the other officer says once Cal reaches them.
“No. The knife…. It’s not what it looks like.”
“We’re going to handcuff you for our safety, as well as your own safety,” the younger of the two officers says as though he’s reading a script.
“But he didn’t do anything wrong.” I’m still trembling, and don’t realize it until the older officer wraps my shoulders with a throw.
Brant assumes command as soon as he enters the scene. “He’s good. Uncuff him. What in the hell is going on here, Cheyenne?”
I rush up to Cal, and he holds me tightly. “We wish we knew,” Cal answers. “Cheyenne woke me up to tell me someone was outside. I grabbed a knife for protection and went to check it out. That’s when we found Odell.” Cal lowers his head as he points towards the lifeless body swaying in the wind.
“Any clue why Odell was here in the first place?” Brant asks. Cal and I shake our heads.
“When are they going to get him down?” I ask, working hard to resist the urge to vomit.
“I’m sorry, but it’ll probably be a while. The detectives need to come in and gather evidence before the coroner will release the body. However, there’s no reason for you to sit here watching it all. Cal, I really need you two to hang here, but you can take Cheyenne up front to the living room.”
He nods, giving me a gentle nudge in the right direction. He holds me in his arms once we’re on the sofa, and we remain silent and in shock for hours. Disbelief and uncertainty dominate my thoughts.
The sunlight starts to stream in when George makes his way inside the apartment. “I’ve been trying to get up here, but they wouldn’t let me until they finished processing the crime scene. You got somethin
g you need to tell me?”
“I… I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, there was a dead body hanging from my tree, and he was near your window. I don’t think he was here to visit me.”
“I have no idea what he was doing here, and I certainly don’t know anything about his death,” I answer.
“I should kick you out.”
“But George, I…”
“Hush. I’m not doing it, although I’d understand if you want to leave.”
I shake my head. “It’s too early for me to decide that. I need some time to figure out everything.”
“Well, get with me whenever you decide what you want to do,” George says, backing out of the door. “Oh, if anymore dead bodies pop up though, we’ll have to renegotiate your lease.”
“Understood,” I answer fighting the urge to launch a snide comment in his direction. Once George is gone, I work to piece together the pieces of the puzzle. However, I can’t for the life of me understand why Odell was here. Why would he be in the tree? Was it an accident? Maybe he tied a rope to stop himself in case he was to fall while peeping in, and the rope slipped… I gasp. “Brant! Do you think he was spying on me and accidentally hanged himself?” I’m grasping at straws to find any answer that makes sense.
Brant looks skeptical. “I don’t think so. He might be your admirer, but this was no accident. He was definitely murdered.”
Through the opened front door, I spy a wheeled gurney topped with a black body bag rolling down the driveway below. Nausea returns. “I’m going to take a personal day. I need to call the school.”
“I will, too,” Cal says. “I’m not leaving you alone today.”
“Thank you,” I say, putting the phone to my ear. Once I’m finished, Brant tells us he’ll make sure we’re informed of how the investigation is going. He also promises to reach out to Felton and explain to him what’s happening as a professional courtesy.
“If only I’d finished setting up those cameras,” Brant fusses, his voice heavy with disappointment. “I’ll be back to finish that up this afternoon. Until then, try to get some rest.”
Broken Bayou Page 13
