A Song of Forgiveness

by Lillian I Wolfe

  “Stiff, sore, and so sorry about what happened last night.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Stephen said generously. “You didn’t start the riot.”

  “Feels like I threw the first snowball though, then the damn thing rolled down the hill and plowed into people I care about. Call me when you find out more, okay?”

  He agreed and I set the phone on my computer table as I sat down to look for the damn videos.

  “Brawl Breaks Out at Concert” the headline shouted on one of the local news station’s website. I opened the link and saw the news story. A reporter hadn’t made it on site until well after the fight was over, but he had three eyewitnesses who actually backed up the band’s side of the story.

  “Man, we were listening to the band do this really great rendition of a Beatles tune and the lead chick had just finished when this big guy at the back called her–“ and it was blipped out “—then hurled a glass beer bottle at her before he charged the stage. It was unbelievable.” The witness seemed credible, which was good for us.

  Then, it cut to the video as the reporter said they had video that was captured by someone near the front of the stage. My mouth dropped open as I watched. I’d worn a skirt and blouse, which is not the best garb for a knockdown, drag-out fight, and I soon saw what Janna meant about revealing. The skirt was up to my waist a couple of times and flipped completely over my head once. I cringed three or four times while watching the blows, even the ones I’d landed on the opponent. I looked like a frickin’ wildcat.

  Fortunately, the station didn’t show, or didn’t have, the whole fight. What they had was enough. I shut the site down and leaned my head on my arms. I could never go anywhere in public again.

  Forcing myself up, I picked up my phone and went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. As I went, I was considering adding a big slug of whiskey to it, or maybe skipping the coffee and just taking the alcohol and going back to bed. Of course, Nygard didn’t agree with that plan and made it clear he expected his breakfast.

  Several minutes later, the cat was fed and I set my plain coffee with cream on the table in front of the sofa and stretched out on it, pulling the afghan I usually kept folded at the end over my legs and up to my waist. As I sipped, I gazed out the window at the overcast day that matched my mood.

  My cell phone rang again; this time it was Ferris checking on me. After we updated each other on our aches and pains, I told him about the videos online. He seemed unsurprised at the news.

  “You’ve seen them already,” I surmised.

  “Yeah. About ten people have called to tell me about them. I think this is the most publicity we’ve ever gotten.”

  “Not exactly the best though. Our other two gigs canceled on us.”

  “Well, babe, that’s not unexpected, is it?” He sounded downright reasonable as he said it.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “We take some time off,” he said pragmatically. “It’s not that big a deal and maybe we could use the break.”

  “Really? I thought you’d be more upset about it.”

  He laughed. “Not so much. Listen, babe, the main reason I stuck with the band is to be with you.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yup. I mean, I enjoy playing in the band and you and Dig are my best friends, but I did it for you. Like I said—it’s been a long time I’ve been in love.”

  “Aw, Ferry. That’s so sweet.” I was still processing his proclaimed love for me. How could I have been totally oblivious to it for these past few years since college? I should have tumbled to it, I guess, but I didn’t take him seriously.

  And, I admitted to myself, I’d held back from letting any feelings for him develop. My luck with men wasn’t the best and I didn’t want to risk taking that step with this guy, who was such a good friend. Janna had seen it although I chose not to believe her.

  He said goodbye with a few more sweet words and I punched the end call button with a dopey smile on my lips.

  I dozed off for a bit, comfortable on my couch and content with the situation for the moment. Nothing I could do to change what had happened and I’d have to look at my finances later. Nygard curled up against the couch on top of my left hip creating a toasty warm spot where my body had taken a hard knock. How did he know? I gazed at him watching the golden threads of energy slide from his body toward mine. Healing energy? Could be. I didn’t discount anything now.

  I awoke to the cell ringing again and reached to answer it, surprised to hear Roger’s mother’s voice at the other end. Crap, she’d kept my phone number when I called her.

  “Please, please, Ms. Foster,” she began at once, begging as if she was going to cry. “How can you possibly turn down this request? You know he loved you. The least you can do is sing one damn song at his funeral.”

  “Mrs. Halprin, please understand. I did not have a relationship with your son. I only knew him as a fan of my band. I simply cannot, for very personal reasons, sing at a funeral, anybody’s funeral, right now. I know it may sound callous, but it’s just not possible.”

  “No, I do not understand. It’s a simple request. Is it money? Do you need money? I can pay you.” Her voice grew louder and more agitated.

  “It’s not about money. Just that I cannot do it. Please don’t call me again.” With that, I cut the call off.

  A few seconds later, it rang again. I answered and cut it off again. She repeated it. I did the same. On the fourth attempt, I turned the phone off. It would probably go to voicemail, but I could delete those. She was determined, no doubt about it. Even the fact that I didn’t want to sing for Roger’s funeral, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it, wasn’t the main reason, but I couldn’t tell her that it put me at risk to do it.

  Around mid-afternoon, I pulled myself back upstairs to get a shower and dress in something more suitable than my pajamas before Janna arrived. After that, I pulled up my email and found one from my mother, of all people. Mom wasn’t inclined to keep in touch, so it surprised me. I opened it, my heart sinking as I read.

  She’d seen the videos of the brawl at the concert and had to write to ask what the hell I had gotten myself into. Wonderful. I don’t hear from her for over a year and this is what got her attention? Sighing, I closed the message. I’d answer when I felt up to it.

  Then, I spotted a return message from the priest in England. I clicked on it, holding my breath as I read the start of it. He explained right off that “any communication I might have on any demonic spirits from my congregation would be considered confidential as I am sure you must understand.”

  Yeah, I figured that might be the case. Then he went on.

  “That being said, I can confirm that I, myself, have encountered one or more unexplainable entities of unknown origin. Before I divulge any more detail, I must first enquire as to your interest in this matter. If you could provide me with an explanation of why you might be researching this, I might be able to give you more information or direct you to a different source.”

  Wow, did he have a lawyer write this or what? Such formal and obtuse phrasing in it. He definitely didn’t want to incriminate himself in any way. I decided I needed to show it to Gavin and we could discuss the best response.

  A knock on the door interrupted my browsing and I made my way gingerly downstairs to answer. If anything, I was feeling even stiffer than when I woke up this morning.

  Janna stood on the doorstep, pizza in hand, and fumbling for the house key I’d given her. She looked up sheepishly, then frowned when she saw my bruised face.

  “It looks worse than it feels,” I said before she commented. Oddly, that was true. If I didn’t touch it, it didn’t hurt. Or maybe the shoulder pain was worse than the face pain.

  Stepping in, she shook her head in disapproval. “This is just nuts. I cannot believe someone threw a beer bottle at you.”

  “It is pretty weird, huh?” I said with a short laugh.

  “Is Digby out of the hospital?” she asked.
>
  It dawned on me that I hadn’t heard back from Stephen. Then I recalled that I’d turned my phone off. “Uh, I don’t know.”

  I went to the coffee table and picked up my cell, turning it back on. Eight messages popped up, five voicemails, and three text messages. I went to the text first and found one from Stephen and one from Digby in it. Stephen’s said the hospital was releasing Digby at one and Dig’s message confirmed he was out about forty minutes later. “Yep, he’s out.” Then I looked at the other text message. It was from Gavin asking how I was. He saw the news and to call him.

  The voicemails amounted to three from Roger’s mother that I deleted without listening to them and the other two were from my mother. She’d apparently called before sending the email.

  “Nothing important,” I said to Janna as she brought paper plates from the kitchen. We dug into the pizza and I told her about Roger’s mother wanting me to sing. Her mouth opened to object and I hastily said, “No, I’m not doing it. I’ve told her several times now that I can’t.”

  She nodded her approval. “Good, you’re saying no.”

  I started to tell her about the latest dreams and stopped myself. I didn’t want to pull her into this any more than I already had. My gut told me this was getting too dangerous, and I couldn’t risk any more of my friends standing on the firing line.

  Instead, I confided in her about Ferris and how we were kind of getting together.

  “About damn time,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Yep, and I should have listened.”

  We laughed like school girls. It felt good to be almost normal again with my best friend here chatting about love, life, and boyfriends.

  After she left at a fairly early hour—I was beginning to fade and she knew it—I locked up, then called Gavin and went through the whole story again.

  “And we thought demons were the problem,” he quipped.

  “Hey, maybe the hecklers are yiaiwas in borrowed bodies,” I said only half-joking.

  ‘I doubt it. If it had been one, you might have been in bigger danger.”

  I agreed, but I had to think it could be a possibility. If they could take bodies, it would be an easy way to get closer to their target–namely me.

  With this uncomfortable thought in mind, I set the wards on the house and went upstairs to read for a bit before going to bed.

  EIGHTEEN

  Pulled from my sleep around four-thirty by a disturbing dream, not one of the usual cemetery ones in full color, but in the same setting. I had the impression of color, but it appeared in uneven shadings of grayscale, like an old movie that had faded with time. In it, I saw the barricade of trees and thorn bushes that separated the dark section from the light. It looked like it had in my last dream and I followed a similar path to the arched area that suggested an entrance, overgrown though it was.

  Once again, I looked in and tried to see what was beyond, but the vines and branches prevented any clear images. I heard Roger's voice calling again, begging for help. I couldn't see him and he sounded farther away than the last time.

  As I moved a little closer, that darn vine reached for me again, touching my leg, and I jumped back with a scream.

  I jolted awake, sat up, disturbing the cat, and pulling my leg up, reached to see if anything had actually touched it. Of course, once I realized it was an ordinary dream, I calmed down and wondered what had prompted it. Maybe I was feeling a little guilty about not going to Roger's funeral, but it didn't seem like that would trigger this.

  Turning over, I curled into a ball and closed my eyes, willing my night excursions to be less alarming.

  When I woke the next morning, I discovered I'd knotted the bedspread all around me while Nygard slept on the safety of the pillow. Obviously, I had tossed and turned a lot, which accounted for the soreness as I sat up and untangled myself.

  Going to my computer, I called up my mother's note and sent a brief one back to her, telling her the whole brawl thing was exaggerated and it wasn't as bad as it seemed. I promised to call her later and tell her all about it if she really wanted to know.

  As I checked the chat rooms, I noticed a private message to me from EllyJ and I opened it. She wrote that she'd noticed my post and wanted to talk to me in a chat rather than putting it on the public board. She had some experiences she wanted to talk about and she had a feeling I might understand. She added that she was in New Zealand, so we'd need to work out the time.

  Absolutely, I wrote back, eager to talk to her. We set a time that would work for both of us. I hoped that this would pan out to a good lead.

  GAVIN AND I MET AT the University after I finished work and I showed him the email from the priest. He read it through twice, chuckling a little and rolling his eyes in amusement. “Sounds a bit stuffy,” he said.

  “He does, but maybe he's just cautious. After all, he doesn't know us and it is an odd request. At least, he didn't dismiss it out of hand, which could mean that he has some information or experience with the yiaiwas.”

  “There is that,” he agreed. “It does sound like he's saying he has encountered something like them and maybe wants to talk about it.”

  “Right,” I said, tapping my fingers on the edge of the chair I'd taken when I came in.

  Gavin's office wasn't large and it was filled with books, his desk, filing cabinets and a dozen or so artifacts he'd picked up. He'd either confiscated them or was studying them. He had three chairs in the room, his big comfy one behind the desk, and two small armchairs, modernistic in style, for his visitors or students. A laptop computer sat on the desk and went home with him every night.

  “So, what do I tell him? How much of what we know do I divulge to him?” I watched him as he leaned back and gazed out the window while he thought. I wondered what he'd done with Orielle today. Had she had other things to do? I figured he'd tap her as a guest lecturer.

  He turned his head back to look at me, then leaned forward a little. “Well, I think we have to give him enough to get his attention and to trust us. Which means that we probably should identify ourselves as much as possible. You can tell him who you are and about the funeral singing thing that leads to visions. Tell him what you've seen in the visions. But you don't need to go into detail or tell him about your interaction with the spirits.

  “You can also tell him about me, give him my name, and tell him I've also seen these demons. Don't give them a name yet. We want him to tell us what he knows, but not scare him away. Let's save that part for later.”

  “You got it.” I picked up my things and sprang to my feet. “I'll let you know what he says.”

  “Right. Oh, chica, the puzzle box should be here by Friday. Are you free in the evening so we can take a look at it?”

  I shot him a discouraged look. “Most all my evenings are free now. No band rehearsals or anything to take my time, although I'm heading back to my martial arts training once I heal enough.”

  “When do the stitches come out?” he asked.

  “Next week. See 'ya.” I swung toward the door and out.

  I admitted that things seemed cooler between us even though I was still a tad jealous of the Asian professor. But, my thoughts went to Ferris more now and I looked forward to seeing him a little later. We were meeting up with Digby and Steven for Chinese. For now, I wanted to get home, feed the cat, and get on to the chat with Elly.

  Modern technology proved a wonderful thing when I could sit in front of my computer and connect with a woman living in Christ Church, New Zealand in a face to face conversion with a pretty awesome picture. A stable connection wasn't always the case, but this time it was crystal clear.

  The woman whose face filled my screen looked about my age and wore glasses that made her look scholarly. She pushed her sun-streaked blonde hair back from her face and tucked it into her ponytail.

  “Hi, Elly, I'm Gillian,” I said. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  She flashed a friendly grin. “It's me who should be thanking you.
I hope we can share some good information ‘cuz I've been going bonkers here. Tell me what you've seen.”

  I decided to take a note from Gavin's advice and gave her a general overview of what I'd experienced. “This is a little weird, but I swear it's the truth. I had a minor head injury about a year ago and afterward, I had a request to sing at a funeral. I'm a musician, so it was an odd, but not unreasonable, request. When I sang, my consciousness was transported to an ethereal cemetery.”

  “Go on!” she said, sound more like g'wan. “That is so cool. Not unlike me except I don't sing. I'm a florist. I take flowers to the funeral homes and sometimes to the gravesides.”

  “What happens to you? Do you see anything?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she answered. “My spirit or something like it shows up in a graveyard also. It's like I can put the flowers directly on the grave of the departed there and sometimes—now don't freak out on me—sometimes they talk to me. Is that weird?”

  I felt like I'd found a soul sister, someone else who saw spirits in a transitional graveyard. “Not weird at all. I think our experiences are similar.”

  Feeling more comfortable now, I shared some of my story with her and when I got to the shades, her eyes widened in recognition.

  “I've seen them, too,” she declared. “They linger around the edges of the cemetery sometimes, two or three of them like a gang of hoons. I've had to chase them away when they've gotten too close. Creepy buggers.”

  “Have you ever fought one?”

  Her eager expression faded and her eyes hardened. “A little. It was aggressive, not backing off and coming for the soul who was at the grave.” She caught herself as she realized she'd just told me she saw souls on the other side.

  “It's okay,” I said, then loosened up a little more with my story. After thirty minutes of chatting, we'd discovered we had similar experiences although I hadn't told her about my ability or that battle with the pair of True Shades.

  “Oh, thank heavens I found you,” she said., clasping her hands together in front of her face where I could see them. “I was afraid I might be the only one.”