Souls Entwined

by Anne B. Cole

  Vince was Hank’s brother and a carpenter. The trees were destined to become bookshelves, end tables, or coffee tables. Sam considered buying a piece for the new house. He still couldn’t call it home. Without his mother, it was just a house.

  “We’ll clear this area, tape off sidewalks here and on Grove Street. Here come those bozos,” Hank muttered, looking up from the print.

  Three lanky boys jumped out of a green Jeep, avoiding Hank’s stare.

  “Glad to see you all showed up,” Hank hollered sarcastically, then assigned jobs.

  They went to work, and by eight, the first oak was down with wood chips flying. Slappy’s chainsaw roared through the tree with ease. Dave and Doug loaded the chipper with branches as fast as he cut them. Sam quickened his step, thinking the work may be done by four o’clock after all. Tony started up the skid steer and hit the saplings fiercely, man versus tree. Sam dragged downed limbs to the chipper.

  “Sam, give Slappy some height,” Hank shouted, storming away from the screeching saw with a hand plugging one ear. His cell phone pressed against the other.

  Sam took over the hydraulic controls and moved the bucket, which held Slappy.

  Hank remained on the phone, so Sam stayed by the truck, knowing Slappy would need to move again soon. He picked up Hank’s clipboard from the front seat, finding a print for the new entrance to the park. This fell would be tricky since they needed to keep clear of the trees marked to stay and land the tree inside the park instead of blocking Grove Street.

  The chainsaw sputtered to a halt. Sam watched Slappy refuel, then lowered his gaze to the street. A jogger, wearing purple shorts and a long-sleeve shirt, was running in the direction of the park entrance. Sam watched her stumble over the cat Tony had attempted to torment earlier. It was either deaf or stupid. Sam leaned against the truck and checked the girl out.

  Purple Shorts was slim, neither tall nor short, with long curly hair tied in a ponytail. She shed the long-sleeve shirt, revealing a tight white tank. Nice. The cat took off, so she began jogging toward the park entrance. Sam must have watched her longer than he realized because Tony idled the skid steer, arching a brow. Sam shook his head, knowing he didn’t have the time or desire for a relationship, but this girl intrigued him. She passed, presenting an even better view.

  A huge hand shoved him hard to the side, taking the controls to raise Slappy a few feet. “Get back to work, Sam.” The uncharacteristic softness in Hank’s voice painfully confirmed that his boss remembered the significance of the day.

  He nodded, then grabbed a roll of caution tape out of the back of the truck. Heading over to the sidewalk on Grove Street, he fixed one end of the tape to a tree, then gazed after the girl. Sam found himself grinning when she entered the park. Looking was safe. He wouldn’t get hurt by just looking.

  “Sam,” Hank roared, waving him back over. Sam dropped the tape and noticed his boss held a cell phone to his ear, clearly agitated. “Take over. These idiots can’t do anything without me holding their hands. Get a hat on.” Hank stormed away, bellowing over the droning saw. Sam grabbed a hard hat out of the truck and stuck it on his head as Slappy’s engine sputtered unexpectedly.

  “Hey, I need a screwdriver,” Slappy shouted.

  Sam ambled over to the bucket truck, tossing up a screwdriver, when a shriek cut the stillness. There was Purple Shorts stumbling again. This time she was inside the park on the path that wound its way toward the woods, about fifty yards away. She continued jogging at a pretty good clip, taking a quick glance around as if she were embarrassed.

  “Must have seen a snake,” Slappy chuckled. “If she circles the trail, she’ll be coming by this way.”

  Knowing he was right, Sam estimated her arrival time to be in about five minutes. Slappy’s saw erupted to life on the second pull. Sam gazed to where Hank remained on the phone, gesturing like an Italian with his free hand.

  Sam leaned back against the truck, clipboard against his thigh, catching glimpses of Purple Shorts running like a gazelle through the park. In the distance, the trees opened up, revealing Purple Shorts looking his way, and eventually meeting Sam’s gaze. Her long legs sustained a beautiful stride as her eyes locked on him.

  He must have blinked because Purple Shorts was sprawled on the ground along the paved trail. A second had passed before he started after her.

  “More to the left,” Slappy yelled. “Whoa, what happened to her?”

  “Beats the heck out of me. One minute she’s running, then bam.” Sam’s attempt to mask his concern failed. His step quickened. Purple Shorts staggered to her feet then hobbled in the opposite direction, down a secondary trail.

  “You’d be crying if you hit that hard,” Slappy called after him.

  “You’ll both be crying if you don’t get back to work.” Hank’s immense frame blocked Sam’s path, grabbing the clipboard from his hands.

  “Come get your tape, Lover Boy,” Tony sang, waving the roll in the air.

  Sam felt heat prick his cheeks as he picked up a downed limb before returning for the tape.

  Within minutes, Sam noticed Purple Shorts had backtracked toward the park entrance, then turned on the sidewalk he was closing. He winced. Blood oozed down her leg from a nasty gash. Incredibly enough she continued on, even smiled as she passed. Damn, she looks good.

  Sam shook his head. He had work to do, a father to take care of, and a mother to mourn. He had no desire for a relationship that could possibly bring more misery. Sam forced himself to focus on the tape in his hands as Slappy’s saw roared into the base of the tree.

  He finished closing the sidewalk and started over to the truck when the chainsaw kicked back in Slappy’s arms.

  “Hit an old nail?” Sam watched him reposition the saw.

  Hank ignored his cell’s chirp, making his way over. A low crack sounded. The tree was leaning but not the way Slappy intended. It was coming down toward the street. Sam glanced to the sidewalk, thinking Purple Shorts would be long gone.

  “Hey!” Sam headed for Purple Shorts, who stood on the sidewalk, mopping her knee, oblivious of the danger.

  “Look out!”

  Snap. The tree rocked for a brief second before pitching forward.

  Sam plowed through a thick tangle of brambles, reaching her just as the massive trunk broke free. His impact propelled both of them into the air then down hard onto the street. Branches began hitting the ground. The hard hat slipped off as he pushed limbs away.

  Sam glanced down at Purple Shorts beneath his chest. Her eyes were closed, and her body was still.

  Another branch snapped overhead. It grazed his back, pinning his shoulder painfully to the ground.

  Someone shouted in the distance.

  Sam attempted to get up, but it was useless. Leaves and branches blurred his vision.

  Crack.

  Shifting to protect Purple Shorts, Sam took a hit in the back of the head. Bright yellow and orange spots replaced the leaves around him until he could see no more.

  Chapter 2

  Dead?

  Not a sound was heard as Sam’s eyes snapped open. Under the branches of the downed tree, Purple Shorts began to stir.

  “Sorry, are you okay?” Sam gently lifted his weight off her.

  “I think so,” Purple Shorts replied faintly.

  Sam released his hold on her shoulder, amazed her face wasn’t scratched. He wondered how bad he appeared.

  “Do you think you can stand?”

  She nodded. Together they rose to their feet, easily stepping out from the tangle of branches. Eyes growing wide, she began to sway.

  “Sit,” Sam commanded, steadying her.

  “No, look!” She pointed.

  Sam gazed over his shoulder. His mouth fell open.

  Beneath the tree, their bodie
s lay motionless.

  “Are we . . .?” Purple Shorts began, but Sam shook his head slowly.

  Before she could say more, he said, “I don’t know. Do you feel—?”

  “Dead?”

  He scanned the area for help. Everything around them was still, as if they were watching a movie and someone hit ‘pause.’ No wind, no sound, no movement. He flinched when cold fingers clutched his hand.

  Squeezing gently, he lifted her hand in front of their faces. “Can you feel this?”

  Purple Shorts nodded.

  “I don’t think we’re dead,” Sam whispered, gazing into her blue eyes.

  “Gretta.” A woman’s voice suddenly sounded from behind them.

  Seeing no one, Sam stood protectively in front of Purple Shorts. Her grip on his hand lessened as the cat he had seen earlier approached them. She crouched to pet the creature while Sam continued scanning the trees.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” a woman’s voice sounded.

  Sam glanced around the area, finding no one. Did the voice come from the cat? Shocked at the possibility, Sam yanked on Purple Shorts’ outstretched hand, pulling her close.

  “Please, let me assure you that you’re both all right. I know this seems impossible, but I pulled a few strings. I must admit, I’m rather impressed.”

  The words sounded inside Sam’s head yet nothing around them moved. Except for the cat. It licked its paw rhythmically as it sat before them.

  Sam stared at the cat in wonder. Its gray and black striped tail twitched as its head tilted slightly to the right.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Roxana Taylor Newbury. I know you’re Gretta Dobbs,” she nodded toward Purple Shorts, “and you are?” The cat’s huge green eyes glimmered upon Sam.

  “Sam, Sam Daggett.” I’m introducing myself to a cat.

  “Sam, it’s a pleasure, yet meeting you is much unexpected.” The cat continued her methodical grooming.

  “You mean you were trying to kill me but not him?” Gretta demanded, appearing more angry than afraid and completely unfazed that a cat appeared to be communicating with them. Sam couldn’t help the grin that crept on his face. Gorgeous.

  “You’re both quite alive.” The cat stood, stretched her front paws, and then her back legs.

  Gretta stepped backward, tripping over Sam’s work boots. He steadied her with sure hands around the waist, hands that ached to touch every inch of her. He shook his head, knowing he must squelch those feelings and focus on the insanity of the situation.

  “Let me get this straight,” he began. “Our bodies are over there, yet we’re alive. I’m not supposed to be here and Gretta is.” Sam’s eyes held Gretta’s when he said her name. Turning back to the cat took a great deal of effort. “And, we’re talking to a cat while everything around us is frozen in time.” He waved a hand to the surrounding area.

  The cat closed her eyes, and a smoky mist engulfed the creature. The mist dissipated, leaving the cat motionless at the foot of an elegant woman. Roxana stood proud, wearing a crisp, deep blue dress that was fitted at the waist and flowed gracefully to the ground. She appeared confident, perhaps noble.

  “Please, be seated.”

  Sam held onto Gretta’s hand as she tripped over her own sneakers, then sank to the ground. Without letting go, he eased beside her and watched Roxana gaze at the tree and their bodies.

  “Your hearts are beating, and you are breathing. With much help and a little luck, I allowed your energy to leave your bodies, temporarily. My soul was entwined within this cat. You witnessed my energy leaving it. Time, as you know it, is different here.”

  Sam found his hand moving along Gretta’s upper arm, where her skin was lighter in color, softer, smoother. Perfect. He felt normal, extremely aroused, but definitely not as if he were mere ‘energy.’ In contrast, Gretta’s energy could only be described as beyond beautiful.

  Her eyes caught his gaze. A slight smile appeared on her crimson lips. The desire to take her into his arms, to protect her, to love her, consumed him. Never before had he felt anything close to this, and never once in the past year had he wanted to. Her smile widened, melting his heart.

  Then, reality hit. He glanced back at their bodies. He needed to get back to his father.

  “I’ve come to ask for your help, Gretta,” Roxana announced, snapping Sam to attention. “I’m your great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.”

  “You said we weren’t dead,” Sam accused. Gretta’s tightening grip on his hand increased his protectiveness toward her.

  “Allow me to explain. I lived in America in the 1800s and died when I was ninety years old. Usually, when humans die they move on to their appointed afterlife, depending on the decisions they made on earth,” Roxana hesitated. “Unfortunately, some get caught between your world and the next.”

  “Did this happen to you?” Gretta voiced sympathetically.

  “Yes,” Roxana replied, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

  “What does this have to do with us?” Sam snapped, not liking Roxana’s tone. Gretta’s eyes flashed, her hand squeezing his fingers in warning. He lowered his eyes apologetically.

  Roxana continued with a wry smile. “On earth, sometimes the choices humans make are not their own, but dictated by others. If this occurs, a person who dies cannot be fairly judged, rendering them unable to pass into either a good or evil afterlife.”

  Apparently satisfied there was no further interruption, her gaze focused on Gretta. “We know of three ways that spirits become trapped in purgatories between good and evil. The Unlucky die by actions of one of us in the spirit world.”

  As Sam glared at Roxana, she added, “Trust me, Sam, you’re not dead. I apologize for bringing you here, but you may return at any time.” Her words caused Gretta’s grip on his hand to clamp harder. “Another way people do not move on is because they refuse to believe in an afterlife. They choose to remain in a state of limbo. We call these the Unwilling. Unlike the Unlucky, the Unwilling can roam the earth in their spirit form.”

  “Ghosts?” Gretta whispered.

  “Yes. It’s very unlikely for humans to encounter them since conditions and timing have to be perfect for their energy to be visible or do something noticeable to humans. Most Unwilling spirits don’t care to be seen or make contact, so it rarely happens,” Roxana explained.

  “You’re telling us ghosts are real?” Sam pressed skeptically.

  “What humans call ‘ghosts’ are real, but many of the so-called encounters are fabrications of their imaginations. A few persistent spirits succeed in actual contact. Because of this success, humans tend to believe every unexplained happening is the workings of a ‘ghost.’” Her condescending tone irritated Sam.

  “What are you then, Unwilling or Unlucky?” Gretta asked with concern.

  Roxanna paused, bit her lip, and then folded her hands in her lap before replying. “Neither. I’m a released, Unclean spirit. The third trapped spirit is what we call ‘Unclean,’ one that has been cursed. These spirits are confined to a place we call the PIT, ‘Purgatory-in-Tartarus.’ When a cursed person dies, they go directly to the PIT where they remain until a family sacrifice is made on earth.”

  “A sacrifice?” Gretta’s voice wavered.

  Roxana failed to cover the pained look in her eyes. “In order for an Unclean spirit to be released from the PIT, a family sacrifice must be made. If the sacrifice is not made, the spirit remains in the PIT indefinitely or is claimed by evil.”

  “B—but,” Gretta stammered.

  “My family sacrifice was made years ago when my great-granddaughter died of the fever. I offered my release to a soul in the PIT who had no descendants. In doing so, I’m able to reenter the PIT and the other purgatories or roam earth. I’m considered ‘Unwilling’ since I pa
ssed the opportunity to leave for the afterlife.” Roxanna lowered her eyes, appearing ashamed.

  “Your act was selfless. That must count for something,” Gretta offered encouragingly.

  “My dear, remaining here has enabled me to learn the ways of the spirits and given me the opportunity to study the PIT. I hope to end the evil and pain the curse has placed on our family.”

  Sam remained silent, wondering if this was a dream. He decided if it was he didn’t want to leave. He leaned closer to Gretta, willing Roxana to disappear before he woke.

  Roxana’s gaze moved to Gretta’s hand. “The ring. We’re certain the curse is connected with that ring. Anyone who wears it, even for a moment, is destined to the PIT upon death.”

  At her words, Gretta’s grip on his hand turned painful.

  Roxana continued, “I’ve studied the lives of the people who have worn the ring. There are common threads, one of which is being unconditionally loved.” A smirk returned to Roxana’s face.

  Gretta’s eyes narrowed. Sam couldn’t figure out if she felt angry or embarrassed that Roxana noticed his attraction to her. With her fingers tangled in his, he started to ease the ring off, but she snatched her hand away.

  “She’s right,” Roxana stressed. “The safest place is on her finger.” Her voice grew serious. “Gretta, I brought you here to give you a choice. You can return to your body under the tree and remember nothing or you can help. I can send you back to when the ring was acquired by my brother in the Cyclades. You could gather information about the ring for me before going back to your body. If we learn who placed the curse and why, I may be able to break it.”