After making his way downstairs, Evan was just going into the kitchen when he heard his aunt and uncle talking in the den. They assumed he was still upstairs in bed. He intended to go straight to the refrigerator and use the water dispenser to fill his cup when he heard his uncle mention his father’s name. Curious, Evan set the cup on the counter and made his way to the doorway leading to the den.
“I don’t believe my brother’s dead,” Evan heard his Aunt Sissy say. He froze a moment, hiding in the shadows of the hallway, just outside the open door leading to the den, listening.
“I pray he isn’t, but the city council needs to find someone to replace him until they know more. With both him and Morelli missing, what else can they do? Brian’s in charge down there, but that’s only a temporary situation. They feel it’s necessary to find someone to replace Ed.”
“And when he comes back, does that mean he’s out of a job?”
“They didn’t say that. But, Sissy, what if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s dead? We need to think about what we’re going to tell those boys.”
“No! I can’t tell those boys they’ve lost their father too!” Sissy began to cry.
Evan listened for a few more minutes before he had heard enough. He ran back to the bedroom, leaving his cup sitting on the kitchen counter. Diving under the blankets, he pulled them over him and huddled in the darkness.
“No. Dad is not dead,” Evan stubbornly whispered. “I would know. He would have come back here to say goodbye, like Mom did.” Evan couldn’t tell his aunt and uncle that. His father had warned him: never discuss your gift with others, even Aunt Sissy. People wouldn’t understand.
One day his father had taken him to lunch with Danielle Boatman. His brother, Eddy, hadn’t come along—it was just Evan, Danielle, and his father. Danielle was like him. That day, she told him if he ever needed to talk about his gift, she would be there for him. He had also met Walt Marlow. But that wasn’t at lunch. That was when he had stayed at Marlow House.
Evan suspected Danielle wasn’t there to help him—not if what he had heard his aunt and uncle talking about just minutes before was true. But there was always Walt Marlow. Considering his options, Evan came up with a plan—sort of. He decided to wait until his aunt and uncle went to bed and were asleep before he made his move.
Time passed. Wide awake, Evan waited. Finally, his aunt came into the bedroom. Closing his eyes, pretending to be asleep, Evan could hear his aunt walking to his brother’s bed and then his. He felt her hand gently pat him before placing a light kiss on his forehead and then whispering, “You poor dear boy. Your Aunt Sissy will be here for you.”
When he heard her walk out of the room, he opened one eye and peeked. The hallway light went out, and then he heard the door to his aunt and uncle’s bedroom close. Evan waited for another thirty minutes or so before he finally climbed out of bed, careful not to wake his brother up.
His aunt had laid his clothes out for the next day—Aunt Sissy was like that, very organized. Unlike his father, who let Evan pick out his own clothes every morning. But tonight, he was grateful for his aunt’s habit.
After dressing and putting on his shoes, he grabbed the flashlight off the end of his bed and stealthily made his way down the hallway and stairs, careful not to make a sound. Using his flashlight to help him see, he found his jacket on the coat rack by the front door and put it on. It was then he remembered the cup he had left downstairs. Going to the kitchen, he found the cup where he had left it, and filled it with water. After fitting its lid securely on, he placed the cup in his coat pocket.
He was just about to pick up his flashlight when he noticed its beam had landed on the covered cake plate sitting on the counter. His aunt had made homemade cookies that morning, and that was where she kept them. Easing the cover from the cake pan, he snatched several cookies, shoved them in his empty pocket—the one not holding the water bottle—and then carefully re-covered the cake plate.
Picking up his flashlight, he made his way to the kitchen door leading to the side yard. He opened the door, pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, and rushed out into the night—and into the rain.
Six-year-old Evan MacDonald didn’t mind the rain. After all, he was a native Oregonian, and like his dad always said, “Rain is just a little water.” The dark was another matter. Even with his flashlight, Evan wasn’t thrilled about walking the streets of Frederickport in the middle of the night, but sometimes a person had to put his fears behind him because there were worse things than being out in the dark—like losing another parent.
Fortunately, his aunt and uncle’s house was only a block away from his house, so he was familiar with the neighborhood. He was pretty sure he could find his way to Marlow House, even in the middle of the night. First, he would head to the pier. That was easy. He, his brother, and father had walked down to the pier together countless times. The street that ran along the ocean—and the entrance to the pier—was where Marlow House was located. The only thing that made him nervous was imagining what he might encounter on his way to his ultimate destination.
No cars or trucks were on the street, and the windows in the houses he passed were all dark. Rain continued to fall, pelting the shoulders and the hood of his jacket. He had walked about two blocks when lightning streaked overhead, briefly illuminating the sky. Startled by the lightning, Evan started to run, but when his right toe touched down in a water puddle, his foot flew out from under him, sending him butt first into a larger water puddle, soaking his jeans. In the midst of the fall, the flashlight flew from his hand. When it landed on the sidewalk, its batteries fell out, rolling off the curb and into the river of water running down the street.
Getting back to his feet, he located the flashlight, but soon discovered it wouldn’t turn on; the batteries were missing. Another streak of lightning flashed across the sky. Tossing the flashlight to the ground, Evan began to run, heading for the pier, ignoring the possibility he might slip in another puddle if not careful.
Evan managed to stay on his feet for the rest of his journey. He passed several cars along the way, but without the lit flashlight in his hand, the drivers of the vehicles didn’t notice the little boy—all alone—tearing down the sidewalk in the dark night.
He was out of breath by the time he reached Marlow House. His plan was to enter through the doggy door, yet first he needed to get in the side yard, but the gate appeared to be locked. He could see two cars parked in the drive along the side yard, but he knew their owners were not home.
Instead of climbing over the fence, Evan decided to take advantage of a nearby tree, whose branches hung over the top of the fence and into the side yard. Determined, the little boy made his way up the stout trunk, using knotholes as ladder rungs while grabbing onto dangling greenery. When he was about six feet from the ground, he wrapped his legs around one of the branches—it arched over the top of the fence and into the side yard of Marlow House. Evan crawled toward the far end of the branch. It was quite a drop to the ground, but that did not scare Evan. He had come this far in the dark and rain.
Taking hold of one of the narrow branches, he dropped from the tree, swinging Tarzan-like. He heard the limb crack, yet the injured branch remained attached to the tree. His feet dangled as if he were on the monkey bars at school. Once his shoes were as close to the ground as they could get—about two feet—he let go of the branch and tumbled onto the ground into a muddy patch of grass.
Scrambling back onto his feet, ignoring the mud now covering his jeans, he ran to the door leading to Marlow House’s kitchen—and its pet door. It was pitch dark in the kitchen, but that did not deter Evan. Getting on his hands and knees, he crawled through the tight-fitting pet door, the top of his head pushing its flap inward. Once he was in the kitchen, he stood up and looked around.
In the next moment the overhead lighting turned on and Evan found himself standing face-to-face with Walt Marlow, a golden retriever sitting by his side, and next to the dog sat a black ca
t. The three stared at him.
THREE
“Evan?” Walt said in surprise.
The slender boy stood shivering, covered in mud. “You have to help me find my dad!”
Fifteen minutes later, Evan sat in a hot tub of water while Walt stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning against the door jamb and listening to the boy’s story. Sadie curled up on the bath mat in front of the tub, keeping an eye on the child, prepared to leap into rescue mode should the boy slip under the water. Max napped in the hallway outside the door, content to be filled in on the situation later, after he got a little sleep.
After telling Walt all he knew, Evan stood up in the tub, droplets of bathwater clinging to his nude body.
“I knew something was wrong.” Walt handed Evan a towel.
Drying off, Evan’s eyes widened as a pink terrycloth robe floated into the room.
“You can wear this until we get your clothes washed.” I think I can figure out that newfangled washer and dryer contraption downstairs.
“But it’s pink,” Evan grumbled.
Walt arched his brow. “I don’t think we can have you running around here buck naked while we wait for your clothes to get washed and dried.”
Begrudgingly, Evan dropped the towel to the floor and took the robe, slipping it on. It belonged to Lily, and considering her small stature, it didn’t overwhelm the child.
Evan followed Walt from the bathroom and into Danielle’s bedroom. The spirit of Marlow House pulled down the bedcovers.
Instead of getting between the sheets, Evan frowned at Walt. “Aren’t you going to help me find my dad?”
“If I was a responsible adult, I would make you call your aunt and uncle and have them come get you. They’re going to be worried sick in the morning when they realize you’re gone. But I need you right now as much as you need me. So why don’t you climb into this warm bed, get comfortable, and we’ll try to figure this thing out.”
Evan looked at the bed—it did look comfortable and warm. He gave Walt a nod and then scrambled up into the bed, still wearing the oversized pink bathrobe. Once he was situated under the sheets and covers, Walt pulled up the bedding, tucking Evan snugly into Danielle’s bed. Instead of sitting on the mattress with Evan, as he normally did with Danielle, Walt pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down.
“I have to agree with you. I don’t believe they’re dead. I can’t imagine Danielle or Lily would just move on without first coming to tell me what had happened,” Walt said.
“That’s what I think too. But my uncle thinks they’re dead—everyone does.” Resting against the pile of pillows, Evan folded his arms across his chest and looked up at Walt.
Walt leaned back in the chair and studied the boy. “You said your mother visited you after she died?”
Evan nodded. “Sort of. It was at the funeral. I think she was surprised I could see her. She told me not to be afraid, that she loved me, but that she had to leave. She said she would be watching over me and Eddy and Dad, but that she had to go.”
Walt let out a sigh, and shifted in the chair, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.
With a serious expression Evan asked, “Why didn’t she just stick around?”
Walt shrugged. “I assume it was her time to move on.”
“But you’re still here. Mom knew I could see her, so why didn’t she just stick around so she could be with me? She didn’t have to leave. You didn’t. She said she was going to be watching over me anyway. I don’t understand. Why did she go?”
Walt considered the question a moment and then smiled. “Danielle’s always saying we aren’t meant to hang around indefinitely—she’s probably right. I imagine your mother was afraid if she did stick around, it would only confuse you. Especially if you started telling people you could see her.”
“They might think I’m crazy?” Evan asked.
Walt smiled. “Yes, something like that.”
“But now, now that Dad understands, why doesn’t she just come back so I can see her again—talk to her.”
“When we finally move on, we can’t really come back. Oh, there are ways to communicate from beyond, but to be here like I am right now…” Walt shook his head.
“If you decide to move on…like Danielle says, to the next level…then you won’t be able to come back?”
Walt shook his head. “No. Once I make that decision to go, well…you and I won’t be able to talk like this.”
“I hope you never go. I wish my mom hadn’t gone.”
Walt smiled sadly at Evan. “For now, we need to concentrate on getting your father, Danielle, and the rest of them back. And I tend to agree with you. I don’t believe he would move on without first communicating with you.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“I suppose the first thing we need to do is find out where they are.”
Evan frowned. “You don’t know?”
“Why would I know?”
“I just figured a ghost would know stuff like that.”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.”
Dejected, Evan slumped back in the bed. He looked like he was about to cry. “Then I came all the way over here for nothing.”
“Hey, buddy, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help you.”
A tear escaped from the corner of Evan’s eye and slid down his face. He sniffed. “How can you help me? You told me yourself you’re stuck here, and if you don’t know where they are…”
“Just because I’m confined to this house doesn’t mean there aren’t ways for me to figure out where they are.”
“Like what?”
Walt smiled. “For one thing, I could try a dream hop.”
“Dream hop?”
“That’s what Danielle calls it. It’s when a spirit goes into a person’s dream, and they can talk to each other. It’s also a way for a spirit—one that has moved on—to communicate with someone who is still living.”
Evan gasped. “You mean she was really here?”
“Who was really here?”
“My mother. She visits me in my dreams…” Evan paused and shook his head. “No…it was probably just a dream, because Eddy has them sometimes too, and Eddy can’t see ghosts like I can.”
“Your older brother?”
Evan nodded.
“Technically speaking, your mother is not a ghost—she has moved on. She’s strictly a spirit now. And she probably did visit your brother. A person doesn’t have to be like you and Danielle to experience a dream hop. Did those dreams with your mother seem different from regular dreams?”
Evan considered the question a moment. “I can remember them. I always seem to forget my other dreams, but whenever I have one of those dreams with my mom—gee, I can remember everything about them.”
Walt smiled. “That, my boy, is a dream hop.”
“How will a dream hop help us find my dad?”
“If they are still alive—which I believe they must be—then they have to sleep sometime. I’ll try to hop into one of their dreams. Lucky for me, I have four people who can help us: your father, Danielle, Lily, and Chris.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Lily and Danielle are quite used to my dream hops. The moment I enter one of their dreams, they’ll understand I’m really there. As for your father and Chris, they both know about dream hops.”
“And Chris is like me and Danielle,” Evan said with a smile.
“Yes…yes, he is.” Walt stood up. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep. I need you to help me communicate with the living world. If I find out where they are, you and I have to figure out how to get that information to the right person, and I can’t do it alone. I need you, Evan MacDonald.”
BEFORE LEAVING Evan to his dreams, Walt rinsed and refilled the cup he found in the boy’s jacket. He set it on the nightstand next to the bed. Unfortunately, there was no saving the cookies he found shoved into the other pocket—at least he assumed they had once been cookies. No
w they were soggy mush.
Uncertain when Joanne would show up in the morning, Walt figured his first order of business was to straighten up the bathroom and wash Evan’s clothes. He had watched Joanne use the modern washer and dryer enough times; he was fairly certain he could figure it out. When Joanne returned in the morning, Walt didn’t intend for her to discover Evan—or any evidence of his presence.
After shoving Evan’s dirty clothes and towels from his bath into the washer, Walt added the detergent, turned on the machine, and went into the kitchen. Sitting down at the table, he closed his eyes and thought of Danielle, hoping that wherever she might be—she would be sleeping.
In the dark kitchen, Walt sat at the table for about ten minutes, eyes closed—nothing. Opening his eyes, he let out a sigh and then closed his eyes again. This time he thought of Lily.
LILY, her red curls messily tied in a knot and pinned atop her head, sat on the desolate beach, her bare toes buried in the sand. The sleeveless sundress she wore covered her knees, while its pale green fabric complemented her fair coloring. She sat there for a few moments, staring out to sea, when she suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.
Turning abruptly to the right, she spied Walt, who stood over her, smiling.
“Walt!” Lily gasped, jumping to her feet. “Oh my god, you’re here, you’re really here!” Throwing her arms around him, she began to sob.
“It’s okay, Lily.” Walt didn’t believe that was true, but he found himself saying it anyway as he gave her shoulder a comforting pat. “But you must stop crying, or you’re going to wake yourself up.”
Pulling back, Lily wiped the tears from her face and looked up at him. “You’re right. I can’t wake up yet. What took you so long? We thought for certain you would have come by now.”
His hands now clutching Lily’s shoulders, he looked seriously into her green eyes. “Is Danielle alright?”
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