Delayed Departures - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Eighteen) (Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series 18)

by Terri Reid

  Mary laughed. “I think he was astonished to see what was really around him,” she said. “You know, they want to believe. They have the equipment, but when it slaps them across the face, it’s a whole other story.”

  “Speaking of slapping things,” Ian said, looking over Mary to Bradley. “How’s our friend, Sven?”

  Bradley took a satisfying bite of his cookie and smiled. “Well, he’s spending a couple of nights in jail while Dee decides if he wants to press charges. I told Dee to take his time, sitting in a cell will do Sven some good.”

  “And speaking of Dee,” Ian asked. “Where is he?”

  “Oh, he’s at the hotel packing up,” she said. “He’s leaving tomorrow morning. He’s got to get back and start working on the new season of Dee’s World.”

  “Is he coming over here?” Rosie asked.

  “Yes,” Mary said. “We’ve got one more job to do before he leaves town.”

  “Mary,” Bradley said. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

  She bit the reindeer’s hind quarters. “Yes. Yes, I do,” she admitted. “But it’s one of those things that just can’t wait.”

  Ian turned to her. “Speaking of things that can’t wait,” he said, “what are we going to do about the asylum?”

  “Nothing,” Bradley said. “We’re going to stay away and let that thing, whatever it is, roam the halls by itself.”

  Mary turned to look at Bradley and sighed. “You know it’s not going to work that way,” she said with resignation.

  He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Why is this never easy?” he asked.

  “Do you want a metaphysical, spiritual or psychological answer to that question?” Ian asked, grabbing a flattened, candy cane shaped cookie.

  Bradley sat up and looked around Mary to Ian. “I want someone to lie to me and tell me that it will be easy,” he said. “Don’t worry, Bradley. This time it will be easy.”

  Rosie looked concerned. “But won’t you know they’re lying if they just tell you exactly what you just said?” she asked.

  Bradley turned to Rosie and smiled. “You have an excellent point, Rosie,” he said as he grabbed another cookie and leaned back against the couch. “Whoever lies to me, change the words and make it believable.”

  Mike glided in from the kitchen. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” he said with a smirk. “It totally goes against my job description.”

  “Mike, what was that thing at the asylum?” Mary asked. “Was it like the entity in the haunted house?”

  Mike shook his head. “I don’t know, Mar,” he said. “I could feel evil coming from it, but I don’t know if it was made of evil or just consumed by it.”

  “But how did it know about Mary?” Bradley asked. “Even before we got there, it was calling for her.”

  Ian reached for another cookie, a footless Santa Claus, and then turned to Bradley. “So, we have to investigate two theories here for this to make any sense,” he began. “First, do we believe that when we die we take our personalities, talents and abilities with us?”

  Mike nodded. “Well, my wit, charm and fascinating repartee are still with me,” he said with a wink. “So I vote yes.”

  Grinning, Mary nodded. “I’m with Mike,” she said. “The ghosts I’ve dealt with are just the same people they were when they were alive. Only now, they happen to be dead.”

  Ian nodded. “Okay, so we agree that we take who we are with us when we die, right?” he asked. Then he took a bite of Santa’s head and considered his words. “So, the second theory might seem a little more far-fetched, but here goes. There have been studies that link mental illness with psychic abilities.”

  Stanley looked at Ian. “What you’re saying is that crazy people can see ghosts?” he asked.

  Ian nodded. “Well, people with mental illness often, because of the way their brain works, also have increased psychic abilities. The words psychosis and psychic are not too far removed from each other.”

  “Didn’t many people actually think that psychic ability was a mental illness?” Mary asked. “When people would say they saw things or heard things, the first recourse was to have them see a psychologist.”

  “Aye, and when we start looking at the backgrounds and biographies of some of the most famous killers in the world,” Ian said, “we often find a connection to the paranormal.”

  “I remember, back in the police academy, there were rumors that Charles Manson had demonstrated telekinetic ability during his trial,” Bradley said. “Things like shaking the prosecuting attorney’s coffee cup or moving pencils across the table. Are you talking about things like that?”

  “Aye,” Ian answered. “There are theories about Jack the Ripper using supernatural abilities in order to evade capture.”

  “Seemed to have worked for him,” Stanley remarked. “Seeing as they never caught him.”

  “Right,” Ian said. “So whether we’re talking about killers or merely people with mental illness with psychic ability, can we agree that if they had these abilities when they were alive, they could also have them afterwards?”

  “When they’re dead?” Rosie asked, a little confused. “But why would you need to be able to see ghosts after you’re dead? I mean, if you are already a ghost, it would seem to me that you would be able to see them.”

  “I think Ian might be suggesting some other kind of psychic gifts,” Mary said. “Like precognition.”

  Ian smiled at Mary and nodded. “And you go to the head of the class,” he said. “Aye, precognition or clairvoyance is the ability to see the future.”

  “So if this thing, whatever it is, at the asylum had the ability to see the future,” Bradley said, “it could have seen Mary coming to investigate.”

  “And like other spirits,” Ian said, “it would have been drawn to her because of her gift.”

  “Why aren’t they drawn to you?” Rosie asked Ian. “Don’t you have the same gift, too?”

  “I have a similar gift,” Ian admitted. “But perhaps not the same calling as Mary. And because I’ve been like this my whole life, I’ve learned how to distance myself and block some of the images. So, when we were at the asylum, I could concentrate on the meter and not get pulled away by the spirits around us.”

  “So, bottom line,” Bradley said. “This thing, whatever it was, might only be a ghost with mental illness and psychic ability?”

  “Aye, but I wouldn’t use the term ‘only’ when it comes to psychic powers,” Ian said. “We don’t know how strong that power is and what it’s capable of doing.”

  “Well, we knocked it back once,” Mary said. “We can knock it back again.”

  Ian took another bite of cookie and nodded. “I’m hoping we knocked it back,” Ian said, “and didn’t just issue it a challenge.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Ian pushed himself up quickly from the couch. “I’ll get it,” he said.

  He hurried over to the door and pulled it open. “Well, Dee, this is the last thing I expected.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  The night wind was cold, and dry leaves blew across the concrete surface of the old railroad station. The clock on the front of the old depot showed the time to be ten minutes to seven. “Good,” Mary said. “We got here on time.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Dee said, standing next to her in a World War II soldier’s uniform. “I’ve never been good at acting.”

  “Just follow my lead,” Mary said. “Remember, you’ve just returned back from the war. You missed your mom, and you’re so glad she waited for you.”

  “Tell him that he was an excellent bunny rabbit, and he will be an excellent soldier,” Gwen said.

  Mary chuckled. “Your mother says that you were an excellent bunny rabbit, and you will be an excellent soldier,” Mary explained. “Oh, and I really want to see photos.”

  Dee laughed softly. “It was when I was five. I was a bunny rabbit in a school p
lay,” he said. “The farmer came after me with a pitchfork, and I swear I thought Momma was going jump up on stage and protect me.”

  He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. “She was always, always there for me,” he said. “I think I took it for granted sometimes. Please tell her I miss her.”

  Gwen pulled out a white handkerchief and patted her eyes. “Tell him I love him with all my heart.”

  “She wants you to know that she loves you with all her heart,” Mary said.

  “Does she have to go?” Dee asked. “Couldn’t she just, you know, hang around?”

  Mary shook her head. “She’s done what she needed to do in this life, Dee,” she said. “It’s time for her to move on.”

  “If I can, I’ll be back,” Gwen said. “And tell him I will always be watching over him.”

  “She says that she’ll always be watching over you. And, if she can, she’ll be back.”

  “If I know my Momma,” Dee said through the tears, “she’ll be back. No one stops her when she makes up her mind to do something.”

  He took an unsteady breath. “I love you, Momma. I promise I’ll work hard to make you proud.”

  “You already have, Dee,” Gwen said as she placed a kiss on his cheek. “You already have.”

  Dee reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Momma.”

  From the edge of the depot, Mary saw a dark figure move forward. “Dee,” she whispered. “Can you see her?”

  Dee looked over, and his eyes widened. “Yeah, I can,” he said. Then he turned to Mary. “Why can I see her?”

  Mike appeared next to Gwen. “Because he needs to see her,” Mike said. “And she needs him to see her.”

  “It’s kind of unusual circumstances,” Mary said. “But, you’ve got to get her to believe. You’ve got to be her son.”

  Dee looked at the old, frail woman in front of him and thought about his mother. “Momma?” he called out. “Is that you?”

  The woman froze in her steps, and she stared wordlessly at the young man. “Is it really you?” she cried. “After all these years, is that really you?”

  “I’m so sorry, Momma,” he said. “I came as soon as I could.”

  Tears fell down her wrinkled and worn cheeks. “I knew you would come back to me,” she cried. “I knew if I just waited, my boy would finally come home.”

  “I’ve come home,” Dee said. “And now we can both go home. Our real home.”

  “The light?” the old woman asked. “You want to go to the light?”

  Dee nodded. “It’s where we belong, Momma,” he said. “Where we can be together, forever.”

  The old woman looked around and then looked back to Dee and smiled. “I see it,” she said. “I see the light, and it’s glorious.”

  “I hear it’s glorious,” Dee said. “I remember you telling me about it.”

  He looked down at her and began to sing. “Don’t be weary, traveler. Don’t be weary, traveler. Come along home to Jesus.”

  She smiled, a wide, toothless smile, and sang back to him. “My head get wet with the midnight dew. Come along home to Jesus. Angels bear me witness, too. Come along home to Jesus.”

  “Where to go, I did not know,” Dee sang. “Come along home to Jesus.”

  “Ever since he freed my soul,” she sang, her face now glowing with reflected light. “Come along home to Jesus.”

  Suddenly, Mary and Dee felt a rush of warm wind, and the sound of a rich baritone voice echoed all around them. “I look at the world, and the world look new. Come along home to Jesus. I look at my hands, and they look so, too. Come along home to Jesus.” The old woman’s smile was bright with joy. And the deep voice spoke again. “Come along home, Momma,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

  Suddenly, the old woman was gone.

  Dee and Mary found themselves wiping the tears from their faces. “I don’t know how I knew that song,” he said.

  “I sang it to you when you were a baby,” Gwen cried. “I never thought you’d remember.”

  “Your mom sang it to you,” Mary said.

  Gwen looked over her shoulder, shook her head and then turned back to them. “It’s my turn,” she said. “My turn to come along home. Tell my baby boy I love him. Tell him I’ll be waiting for him.”

  “Goodbye, Gwen,” Mary said, trying to hold back the tears. “Thank you.”

  Dee put his arms around Mary, and they cried together for a moment. “You have a great mom,” Mary said, sniffling into a tissue. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Dee nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I won’t,” he replied. “And I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

  Mary smiled up at him. “That’s what friends do for each other,” she said.

  He nodded, a smile growing on his face. “Yes, that’s exactly right,” he said, swinging his arm around her shoulders and walking her back to the car. “That’s what friends do.”

  Chapter Sixty-two

  The moon rose high in the night sky, and dark clouds drifted over it, casting shadows over the farm fields. The small animals of the night nervously sniffed the crisp air, trying to determine whether their curiosity would bring them ruin or reward. Some bravely darted from underneath fallen trees, and some noiselessly padded forward from half-harvested fields towards the sound.

  It was like a heartbeat. Pounding alone in the night, the rhythmic thump echoed through the acres around it, shaking loose the final leaves of fall, causing clumps of dirt to rain down on the dens of woodland creatures, and scattering night owls from the old, oak trees that surrounded the old, stone building.

  A wizened raccoon, known for his wit and dexterity, made his way through the tall grass to the steps of the building. He sat up on his hind legs and studied the strange building. It was rumbling, and the thick chain around the wrought iron door handles was shaking and clattering in time. The pounding came from the core of the building, pushing out, pushing at the doors, pushing at the windows, pushing at the ceiling, shaking the very foundation of the house.

  Bravely, the raccoon stepped forward, one black paw on the bottom step.

  “Mary!”

  The sound exploded from the house, and the raccoon dashed back into the tall grass.

  “Mary! Mary! Mary!”

  The voice repeated, growing louder and more insistent. The house rumbled and groaned. The doors shook, and the chain clattered. The glass shattered, and the brick crumbled. Finally, the chain broke, and the door swept open wide.

  “Mary!”

  But this time the voice was triumphant, and it was moving on the wind.

  The End

  About the author: Terri Reid lives near Freeport, the home of the Mary O’Reilly Mystery Series, and loves a good ghost story. An independent author, Reid uploaded her first book “Loose Ends – A Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery” in August 2010. By the end of 2013, “Loose Ends” had sold over 200,000 copies. She has sixteen other books in the Mary O’Reilly Series, the first books in the following series - “The Blackwood Files,” “The Order of Brigid’s Cross,” and “The Legend of the Horsemen.” She also has a stand-alone romance, “Bearly in Love.” Reid has enjoyed Top Rated and Hot New Release status in the Women Sleuths and Paranormal Romance category through Amazon US. Her books have been translated into Spanish, Portuguese and German and are also now also available in print and audio versions. Reid has been quoted in several books about the self-publishing industry including “Let’s Get Digital” by David Gaughran and “Interviews with Indie Authors: Top Tips from Successful Self-Published Authors” by Claire and Tim Ridgway. She was also honored to have some of her works included in A. J. Abbiati’s book “The NORTAV Method for Writers – The Secrets to Constructing Prose Like the Pros.”

  She loves hearing from her readers at author@terrireid.com

  Other Books by Terri Reid:

  Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series:

  Loose Ends (Book One)

  Good Tidings (Boo
k Two)

  Never Forgotten (Book Three)

  Final Call (Book Four)

  Darkness Exposed (Book Five)

  Natural Reaction (Book Six)

  Secret Hollows (Book Seven)

  Broken Promises (Book Eight)

  Twisted Paths (Book Nine)

  Veiled Passages (Book Ten)

  Bumpy Roads (Book Eleven)

  Treasured Legacies (Book Twelve)

  Buried Innocence (Book Thirteen)

  Stolen Dreams (Book Fourteen)

  Haunted Tales (Book Fifteen)

  Deadly Circumstances (Book Sixteen)

  Frayed Edges (Book Seventeen)

  Mary O’Reilly Short Stories

  The Three Wise Guides

  Tales Around the Jack O’Lantern 1

  Tales Around the Jack O’Lantern 2

  Tales Around the Jack O’Lantern 3

  The Order of Brigid’s Cross (Sean’s Story)

  The Wild Hunt (Book 1)

  The Blackwood Files (Art’s Story)

  File One: Family Secrets

  PRCD Case Files: The Ghosts Of New Orleans -A Paranormal Research and Containment Division Case File

  Eochaidh: Legend of the Horseman (Book One)

  Bearly in Love