Lightning Strikes

by Theresa Parker

  I don’t know what to do with the ones that won’t let me ignore them. My current strategy is to keep pretending they’re not there, until they eventually give up and go away. Unfortunately, some have more staying power than others. Last year, the ghost of a large, redheaded woman, Ruby, plagued me for eight months. She would follow me wherever I went. She invaded my home, my work, and my favorite hangouts. It was when she followed me on my one and only date last year that I knew I’d lost our battle and agreed to hear what it was she wanted me to do. I was pissed when she told me what it was: the ghost, this large, loud, and obnoxious ghost, wanted me to harass her husband and his new wife, a former rival from her garden club.

  “That little hussy couldn’t wait for me to be put in the ground,” she fumed at me.

  I was so not getting into this love triangle. When I told her this, things got even worse. It ended up a contest of who could outlast whom. She continued following me around, generally making my life a living hell, but I had discovered a weapon of my own. It seemed Ruby could not stand heavy metal music.

  Problem solved.

  I started blasting it every day, twenty-four hours a day. I borrowed every hard rock CD from every friend and family member I could and loaded them up five discs at a time in my player. There were many flaws to this strategy, one of which was that although I liked all of the music I played, I wasn’t used to sleeping with it on, let alone on full blast. I think even Pollini fell asleep less with the music blaring. Also, my neighbors took exception to the loud music and began calling the police every night. Johnson let me slide for a couple of nights, knowing my situation with the ghost, but due to the continuous complaints, he had to put a stop to the noise. It was actually Johnson who gave me the means to win the war. On the third night of complaints from my neighbors, he walked in my house, shut off the CD player, and slapped an MP3 in my hand.

  “This may not drive your ghost away,” he told me, “but it will let you more easily ignore her and save my people from listening to your neighbors bitch.”

  I looked down at the little MP3 player in my hand and wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Now, whenever Ruby showed up, I just plugged in the earbuds and turned up the volume, and Ruby’s annoying voice was gone—just like that. Of course, I could still see her, but that was better than having to hear her. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best I had. Eventually Ruby gave in and left me alone, but I take the risk of running into ghosts like her every time I set foot out of my house.

  I looked at Pamela expectantly. I would love to know if she had the same problem with persistent ghosts.

  “Yes,” she told me. “I think I might be able to help you with the pesky ones that won’t leave you alone, but first let me explain a few things about what I know of the dead we see.”

  I nodded my head, eager to hear what she had to say. I had my own ideas about the dead. In the beginning, when I did talk to them, I would ask them questions about their deaths and about being a spirit. I didn’t get a whole lot of answers from them, and what answers I did get were vague. It seemed as though they had no problems butting into the lives of the living, but they clammed up when the living inquired about their current existence.

  “The spirits you see, for one reason or another, don’t want to cross into the light,” she told me.

  I stopped her right there. “Wait, you mean there’s actually a light?”

  She laughed and nodded. “Yes there is. Don’t you see it?”

  “No,” I said, somewhat dismayed. “I’ve never seen a light.” I thought that maybe something was wrong with me.

  Pamela smiled and reached out to pat my hand. “You see it,” she said with certainty. “You just don’t realize what it is that you’re looking at.”

  I sat there, not wanting to argue with her, but I really didn’t see a light. She reached out and squeezed my hand in understanding.

  “You don’t see it fully, like an open door in front of you. You see it out of your peripheral vision. You know, that little, bright light that you catch out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head and look at it fully, it’s gone. I’m talking about that light.”

  A dawn of comprehension exploded across my face.

  “See!” she exclaimed. “You do know what I’m talking about. That is the light all spirits need to cross into. They see it all the time as an open door, but some ignore it.”

  I was nodding my head in agreement, smiling. I did see it. I was amazed to hear, though, that the ghosts see it all the time.

  “I make it my job to try to help these spirits cross over,” she continued. She saw my dismayed look and hurried on. “It’s not every medium’s calling. It’s time-consuming and emotionally draining. The spirits are stubborn and sometimes downright nasty. I feel as though I’m a wrangler, herding the spirits into the light like stray cattle, but I find it very fulfilling. I understand you use your gifts to help the police. I think that’s extraordinary, and I applaud your courage. I’ve been told by Kelli that this job takes a lot of energy, and I think that’s why the more stubborn spirits latch on to you. I believe they can tell when you’re emotionally tired. They think they can take advantage of this and get you to do what they want.”

  “How do I make them stop?” I asked, sitting forward.

  “I learned how to do this by necessity,” she told me. “When I was a little girl, around six years old, the spirit of a mean woman haunted me. What I mean by ‘haunted’ is that she tormented me for nothing more than her pleasure.”

  Kelli and Grant also sat forward in their seats, hanging on Pamela’s every word.

  “Oh my God,” Kelli said. “What did she do?”

  Pamela’s mouth set in a grim line; her brow furrowed as though she remembered a time in her life that she wished she could forget.

  “She was extremely nasty and stronger than any other spirit I had ever met. She would trip me, pinch me, and pull my hair. My mother was pregnant with my brother at the time, and it was a difficult pregnancy. She was always tired and was still going through bouts of morning sickness, even though she was in her fourth month. My sister, Jenny, was three and still needed the constant supervision that all toddlers do. My mom could make the mean spirit go away for short periods of time, but it exhausted her. My dad tried to help, but he couldn’t see her. I overheard my parents discussing this one night. My mom was crying and telling my dad that she couldn’t handle much more of this ghost. The school had called my mom down earlier that day and, in the presence of a social worker, questioned my mom about the bruises I had on my arms and legs. My mom was horrified that they thought someone in our household was abusing me. My dad suggested they call my grandmother to come and stay with us, and Mom agreed. My grandmother arrived two days later and took charge of me and my ghost.”

  We were held spellbound by her tale. I was horrified that a ghost could and would torment a child in the way Pamela was tormented. I could tell that Kelli and Grant felt the same.

  “With my grandmother with me, I thought that I was safe from the spirit,” Pamela continued, “but this spirit was very calculating and sneaky. When I was out of my grandmother’s presence for even just one minute, she would strike out at me. It was when the spirit pushed me off the top of the slide at school that my grandmother sat me down and explained to me that this spirit wouldn’t go away until I made her. Andromeda, I’m going to tell you exactly how my grandmother told me.” She paused for a minute and looked at me. “You have to make a box with your mind and hold them there until they agree to leave you alone.”

  “Huh?” I said, not quite understanding.

  “I know it sounds strange,” she said, “but I believe, with practice, you can do it. The first step is to create your box. Close your eyes and picture in your mind a completely enclosed, cinder block room. Don’t allow there to be any doors or windows.”

  I closed my eyes as she asked and pictured a cinder block room.

  “Imagine each detail,”
she told me. “The color, texture, and length of each block—form these images in your head.”

  I pictured the blocks, each two feet in length and two feet in width. I imagined these bricks stacked up, one on top of the other, forming the ceiling, walls, and floor of my room. I visualized each block as a muted gray in color with an off-white line of mortar connecting each block to the others.

  “Now, when there is a spirit that won’t let you alone,” she told me, “imagine that spirit in your newly constructed room. Trap them there and hold them for as long as you can. At first, you won’t be able to hold them for long, but with practice, you can hold them there for days, months, or even years, without much effort or thought.”

  “It’s like putting them in a dungeon,” Kelli said, impressed.

  Pamela nodded her agreement. “That’s right. After you have learned to hold them in your room, let them out every once in a while, until they have had enough of the room and either go into the light or move on to another location. I guarantee they won’t bother you again, but if they do, just stick them back into the room again.”

  “This is how you got rid of the bad ghost?” I asked, impressed that a six-year-old abused girl could show such courage and control over her abilities.

  “Yes,” she said, “and this is how I handle the more stubborn spirits that don’t want to go into the light. I know it sounds barbaric, but they can’t be allowed to interfere with the living. People who lose loved ones must move on with their lives at some point. With the spirit of that loved one always hanging around, leaving messages and making contact, they can’t do that.”

  Kelli nodded her head in agreement. With her PhD in psychology, she knew how harmful it could be for a grieving person to never be able to move on with their life. We discussed more issues in regard to ghosts, and compared our abilities and how we dealt with the people in our lives, especially the skeptics. I was pleased that Pamela had the same philosophy I had when it came to them.

  “Without a doubt, the proof is in the pudding,” she agreed. “It’s good that you let your abilities speak for themselves.”

  It was coming on eleven, and we reluctantly ended our discussions. I apologized to everyone and informed them that I wouldn’t be available for Pamela’s testing unless the case I was working on was resolved. Grant was a little disappointed, but Pamela understood. Before we left the lab, we exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and e-mails, and agreed to keep in touch.

  Leaving the lab, we split up, Grant and Pamela heading to Grant’s car in the faculty parking lot and Kelli and I walking to my car. Grant would meet us at my car and, after dropping Pamela off at her hotel, would give Kelli a ride home, as they’d come together that morning. I could have easily given Kelli a ride, but didn’t offer because I knew she wanted to get Grant alone. I hoped she didn’t feel like Pamela was competition. Even though Kelli finally got Grant to somewhat acknowledge his feeling for her, they had a long way to go. Grant had a habit of ignoring life around him when he was working. Kelli was usually the one that smacked him on the head and brought him back to the land of the living.

  “I really like Pamela, and I’m glad you got a chance to meet her,” she told me as we walked to my car.

  “I like her, too,” I replied. “It’s nice to meet someone that can actually teach me something.”

  “I wish you could have met a couple of years ago,” she said. “You could have resolved your problem with Ruby last year a little sooner.”

  I nodded my head in agreement. We reached the parking lot and wound our way through the cars to where I’d left mine. The light that I had deliberately parked under had burned out, making me glad Kelli was with me. As we got to the back of my car, a large shadow moved away from a truck parked next to me. Footsteps had us turning in fear to see what bogeyman was released from the darkness.

  “Andromeda,” a deep, gravelly voice called.

  Kelli and I both jumped and stifled shrieks. The shadowed man stepped closer and revealed himself to be Detective Cavanaugh.

  My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I thanked God for my thick jacket because without it, Kelli would have probably left crescent-shaped fingernail marks in my upper arm.

  “Damn it, Cavanaugh,” I gasped. “You scared the crap out of us!”

  He chuckled and ran his hand through his thick hair. I could tell by his disreputable look that he still hadn’t been home. The hair on his unshaven jaw was a little heavier, and his wrinkled T-shirt looked as though he’d pulled it out of the bottom of a pile of dirty laundry. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and his normally straight shoulders were slightly drooped.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, looking a little sheepish and very sexy. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours, but you haven’t been answering your phone.”

  “I had a meeting this evening and turned it off,” I informed him. Kelli nudged me with her elbow. Recalling my manners, I introduced them. “Detective Cavanaugh, this is my friend, Dr. Kelli Fuller.”

  “Nick,” he said, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Before the introduction, Kelli had been standing there with her mouth hanging open. Snapping it closed, she shook his hand.

  “Nick, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, darting quick looks at me. “Are you one of Captain Johnson’s detectives?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Andromeda’s helping me out on a case.”

  “How did you find me?” I asked. Johnson had a knack for finding me, even when I didn’t want to be found. I hoped he wasn’t teaching Cavanaugh.

  “Johnson,” was all he said.

  Crap! I just knew it!

  The lights from an oncoming car had us turning to see who was approaching. I could somewhat make out Grant’s features as he and Pamela pulled up next to us. He put his car in park and got out. His body language was aggressive as he took both Kelli and me by one arm and pulled us behind him. Grant eyed Cavanaugh with a look like he was ready to rumble. I was shocked to see the usually affable but somewhat distracted Professor Nichols acting this way. I was even more amazed that Kelli looked shocked, too. She stepped up to Grant’s side and turned to face him, inserting herself between the two men.

  “Grant, this is Detective Nick Cavanaugh,” she said. “Rommy is working with him on a case for the Police Department. Nick, this is my boss, Professor Grant Nichols.”

  A tic started in Grant’s jaw when Kelli introduced Cavanaugh to him as Nick. They shook hands and I could tell by their white knuckles that they were having a silent pissing contest. Again, I was surprised at Grant’s behavior. Grant was tall, with a swimmer’s build, and I had never viewed him as anything more than a nerdy, but nice, guy. This caveman display made me see him through new eyes. Kelli, too, was looking at him differently. I didn’t know if she caught the handshake, but there must have been something in Grant’s face that both pleased and amazed her. I could tell Cavanaugh found all this amusing, too, especially when Grant slipped his arm around Kelli and drew her snugly to his side.

  Pamela must have seen that it was safe to leave the car, and joined us.

  “Is there a problem?” she said as she stepped up next to me.

  “Not at all,” I told her. I introduced her to Cavanaugh, who nodded his greeting.

  Cavanaugh reached past Grant and pulled me to his side, showing his own caveman tendencies. Grant stiffened but didn’t move to stop him. Pamela stared at us all, looking very entertained.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to speak with Andromeda privately,” he said. “Police business.”

  I pinched Cavanaugh in his side for acting high-handed. It didn’t even faze him, but it did get him to loosen his hold on me. I stepped over to Pamela and gave her a hug.

  “It was really nice meeting you,” I told her. “I hope I get a chance to see you again before you leave.”

  She smiled as she returned my hug. “Me too,” she said. “But if not, e-mail me.”

  We watche
d as Grant, Kelli, and Pamela got into Grant’s car and drove away. I looked at Cavanaugh, my eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.

  “The professor seems like a nice guy,” he said to me. “I like him.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Yeah,” I told him. “I could really tell by the way you were trying to break each other’s hands, that you really like him.”

  He shrugged as we turned to walk to my car. “It’s a guy thing,” he said. “Look, the reason I’ve been trying to get ahold of you is because we marked out some abandoned mines close up in the foothills, and Johnson wants us to take a look around and see if you pick up anything.”

  “Okay, what time do you want me to meet you?”

  Cavanaugh shook his head. “I’ll pick you up at your house. I want to get an early start,” he said. “I’ll be there at six tomorrow morning.”

  I groaned. That’s the one thing I missed about working directly with Johnson. He never got on the road until after eight. Since he’d been promoted to captain, he’d sent an assortment of detectives from his division to work with me. A few were eager to impress him and gung ho to get an early start on each day of the current investigation. None of them, however, made me get up before sunrise. Until now.

  “Fine,” I told him as I got into my car, “but I want breakfast.”