Touch of Light: A Baylee Scott Paranormal Mystery (The Reed Hollow Chronicles Book 1)

by April Aasheim

  FOUR

  I couldn’t look at Dave Cullins.

  Though it had been ten years since I returned his ring, I doubted he had forgotten the deed. And I dared not hope he had forgiven me.

  His hands firmly grasped my shoulders as he helped me stand up. In the dark center of my mind, I saw images of a boy and girl playing tag in a school yard; of a shared secret in a backyard fort; and of a sweet kiss in the rain after a high school dance.

  Dave handed me my hat, which had fallen off during my tumble. “Miss, I think this is yours.”

  I dusted myself off and pulled a smile onto my face. “Well, if it isn’t Dave Cullins. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Baylee Bonds. Still the most charming klutz in Reed Hollow.”

  I frowned at the word “klutz,” but my smile quickly returned. He had also said “charming.”

  For a moment we stood facing one another, our eyes wide with disbelief, our mouths twisted into strange caricatures of grins. Our time apart quickly disappeared. We had gone our separate ways, but the link between us remained.

  “I can’t believe… I mean, I thought you left Reed Hollow,” I finally sputtered.

  “Yeah…”

  He wrung his hands together and I couldn’t help but stare at them. Those hands had known most of my body at one time, and the rest of my body at another.

  I chanced a peek at the rest of him. Naturally he was older, and age had given him a subtle confidence his younger self had never possessed. His hair was still a rich toffee brown; he now wore it to his shoulders, and his eyes were still a soft hazel that changed hues with his expressions. There were a few crinkles around his lips, a stubbornness to his brow, and a subtle fuzz across his jawline.

  We stood there, lost in our private thoughts. How do you navigate a decade of silence except with more silence? If I were as clever as my mother insisted, I would have something witty to say. But everything I knew about flirting came from classic movies and novels, neither of which sustained me in modern human interaction.

  I sucked in my breath and spurted out the first string of words that rambled through my brain. “The weatherman thinks we’ll have an Indian summer this year,” I said, pointing up at the gray-bottomed clouds. “Perhaps I put my sandals away too soon.”

  Dave’s mouth flopped open and his hands went to his temples. He turned a finger into a pretend gun and mimed shooting himself.

  “My mind is blown! Baylee Bonds! How the hell are you? What the hell have you been up to? And why are you talking about the weather?”

  “I…don’t know,” I confessed, laughing. “I’m glad you stopped me, though. I was preparing a soliloquy on the weather patterns of Reed Hollow dating back an entire century. You wouldn’t have wanted to stay for that.”

  He raised an eyebrow and stepped in close. He smelled like coffee, bacon and wildflowers. “I’d stay for anything you have to say, Baylee Bonds.”

  “I’m Baylee Scott now,” I said, feeling suddenly nervous.

  “Scott, yes. That’s right.”

  He shook his head, the ends of his sun-streaked hair snaking across his shoulders.

  I heard you were home. I know I should have come by and said hello but…” He broke eye contact, his voice trailing off .

  I chewed on my lower lip. The problem with a shared history was that you couldn’t pretend that something didn’t happen. The past lived alongside the present and could be revived by either party on a whim. And Dave and I’s past was as old as some of those trees on the edge of the encroaching forest.

  “No one told me you were home,” I said. “The last I heard, you moved to Denmark.”

  “Denver.”

  “Denver? We need a better rumor mill in this town.”

  “Denmark sounds more exciting. Let’s keep that story.” He laughed, but it was battle-weary. “Yep, traveled out West. Not as cool as those cowboy movies would have you believe. All the gold’s been mined and the dogies have all got along.”

  “Dave…”

  “I guess you also heard I got married. It was great, until she decided she could do better. Anyway, I’ve only been back a few months. Thought I’d come home to heal a broken heart - forgot I left one here, too.”

  “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard, Dave Cullins.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m being insensitive. I heard about Ryan. It doesn’t seem to have broken your spirit.”

  “No, but it does seem to raise some eyebrows around here. Everywhere I go, I see people whispering.”

  “They’re jealous. You light up Reed Hollow like a star on a tree.”

  “You’re sweet, Dave, thank you. I needed that.”

  We stared at one another as pedestrians waded around us. Davie Cullins. My first kiss. First lover. First fiancé.

  I was seeing him as he was now, but also as I’d known him before. A wild-eyed nineteen-year-old who wrote beat poetry. The boy who knocked on my window in the middle of the night to entice me into skinny dipping in a frigid November lake.

  Dave Cullins – whose twenty-nine-year-old eyes had clearly lost some of their youthful gleam.

  I squeezed my own eyes shut. I couldn’t change the past. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. It was only when you looked back on what might have been that you became lost.

  “You look good,” he said. I watched his eyes move the length of my body, pausing at strategic locations.

  “You’re with the press?” I asked, taking note of the badge clipped to his brown leather messenger bag.

  “At your service. You’re looking at the editor-slash-journalist-slash-copywriter for The Reed Hollow Sun. It’s just me and another guy right now. There’s not much to report in this town. I may have to make some stuff up just to keep the circulation going. Perhaps I shouldn’t have invested my entire savings in a floundering newspaper but I figured, what the hell?”

  “You bought it? Dave, that’s exciting!”

  “Crazy, huh? Me, settling down and being a proper businessman. Of course, I’m no Baylee Scott, paranormal reporter extraordinaire. Great website, by the way. Although you may want to update it. Your last article was a fascinating piece on how the Internet might catch on one day.”

  “Stop it! It’s not that bad.” I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling suddenly freer. “Although I am surprised you read it. I always thought my readers were all ghost hunters, conspiracy theorists or doomsday preppers.”

  “Nailed it.” He winked. “I promise I wasn’t spying on you,” he continued. “Okay, maybe a little. Mostly I checked to make sure you were okay. When you stopped updating your website, I got worried and called your mother. That’s how I found out about Ryan. I should have called you then, or certainly when your mother died, but I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to speak to me again.”

  Dave set a hand gently on my shoulder and I was struck by yet another memory: We were lying on a picnic blanket beside a dock. It was a late summer night. I was nearly sixteen. Dave pointed to a star and told me the name of the constellation it belonged in. I corrected him on both accounts. We laughed and our eyes met, followed by our lips.

  “I love you,” he whispered, his nails digging into my back as his breathing deepened.

  “I love you too, Dave Cullins.”

  “Baylee, you alright?” Dave waved his hand before my face, returning me to the present.

  I smiled. “Yes, I was just remembering things.”

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “The best things.”

  Two women I recognized from The Aunt-Tea-Query walked by, giving me the evil eye, before steering their disapproval towards Dave. One whispered into the other’s ear and they quickened their pace, noses high.

  I felt suddenly guilty. I took out my phone, as much to distract myself from the unwelcome feelings creeping through me as to avoid eye contact with Dave. “I should get going. My bus will be here any moment.”

  “Want company? I’ve fixed up the old truck. I can drive you wherever
you want to go.”

  “That’s sweet, Dave, but this is something I have to do alone.”

  His expression remained pleasant, but he couldn’t mask the disappointment flickering in his eyes.

  “I must get going,” I repeated, nodding towards the bus stop.

  “If you must,” he said, relaxing. He shoved his thumbs into the front pockets of his loose jeans. “Have a great afternoon, Baylee Scott. And call me, day or night, if you need help. Preferably night.”

  “You already saved me once today. That’s enough for the time being.”

  “Oh, get used to it. I intend to catch you every time you slip. And if memory serves, that should be often.”

  I turned and bumbled my way to the bus stop, catching the heel of my shoe in a gaping sidewalk crack along the way. Ten years had passed since I’d seen Dave, but it felt like we had never been apart. Emotions were running through me faster than I could register them.

  The sound of the approaching bus snapped me out of my daze. I took a seat inside, folding my white-gloved hands across my lap. In this lighting, the fingertips looked gray. I lifted a hand to the window. It wasn’t the lighting – the glove had inexplicably tinged at the tips.

  “Curious,” I said, removing them and putting them into my purse. It must have happened when I fell.

  I had nearly forgotten the strange ring on my finger. The stone was the same shade of dusky gray as the tips of my gloves. It seemed to pulse as I stared at it.

  Perhaps it was my imagination, but a smoky haze seemed to be wafting up from the ring, like an enchanted lamp just before the djinn appeared.

  I covered it with my other hand, before anyone could see.

  I had read The Arabian Nights. Genies came with consequences. For every wish granted, there was a price to be paid. Most often, a price far greater than the worth of the wish.

  I pulled at the ring, but my finger was swollen. It would not budge.

  The smoke dissipated, but there was now a mist on the window beside me.

  I cleared a circle in the mist with my palm and looked out on Dave Cullins, now fading from view.

  FIVE

  (ALEX)

  As the bus whisked Baylee off to Old Town, Alex took his time returning to The Aunt-Tea-Query. While he walked, he batted at the yellow leaves canopying the sidewalk and grumbled as he passed a novelty shop already setting up for Halloween. “Sell-outs!”

  Despite his outward opposition, Alex loved Reed Hollow. He drew strength from the town and its predictability. Every fall the town became a tawny landscape of haystacks, pumpkin carts and smiling scarecrows. Every winter it buzzed with the sounds of snowmobiles and ruddy-cheeked carolers gathering around the Christmas Tree in the Commons. Every spring the young women donned their old sundresses and the old women donned their new floppy hats. And every summer, an endless parade of RVs and boats flooded the region, holding it hostage until threatened by autumn’s first frost.

  The wheel of Reed Hollow turned, day in and day out. People were born here, grew up, then died. But their children remained, near perfect replicas of those they replaced. The only thing that changed were the faces of the tourists, but they rarely stayed long enough to cast permanent shadows.

  But things were changing, Alex was forced to admit, as he bought a newspaper from a street vendor. He flipped through the pages, pausing at an article about a family-run hardware store forced to shut down thanks to the opening of a Lowe’s Home Improvement store in neighboring Tonston. He grimaced with disgust, handing back the paper and walking away. He continued his stroll, his hands laced behind his back as he followed his shadow home.

  The biggest change from previous years was, of course, that his parents were gone.

  Or, to be exact, his father was gone… his mother was just dead.

  The official report unemotionally read that his father was likely thrown from his truck into a nearby ravine and carried away by the river below. It made sense, but only to someone who didn’t know Randall Bonds. He was a fisherman and a very good swimmer. The horrible incident was made worse by the fact that Alex was told the news while in jail. A guard escorted him to the funeral.

  Two weeks later, Baylee picked him up outside the jail in a shiny rental car, talking animatedly of a new start for them both. But when he saw that she had only brought two suitcases, he knew her stay was temporary. Those same two suitcases remained unpacked, guards of a different sort, constant reminders he could be alone again at a moment’s notice.

  “Hey, Alex.”

  A cute college girl waved. She wore a short skirt and high boots, and he smiled appreciatively as her backside swayed like the fluttering leaves.

  “Rain! Rain!” A creaky voice called to him from above.

  Alex looked up to see a fat raven perched on a limb. He had always been able to understand animals, and could even communicate with the smarter ones.

  “It’s not going to rain,” Alex said matter-of-factly.

  The bird’s eyes gleamed as it swiveled its head, its beak pointing west. Alex looked into the distance, noting the dark clouds hovering at the edge of a blue sky, as if biding their time.

  “Told you so,” the raven cawed.

  “If you’re going to be an ass, I won’t give you any more sunflower seeds.” Alex pulled a baggie from his shirt pocket and dangled it enticingly. The raven’s beady eyes darkened as he hopped along the branch. “Nope. All for me,” Alex taunted.

  “Mean! Mean!” The raven accused, as Alex seated himself on a bench.

  From his seat, Alex could see The Aunt-Tea-Query directly across the street. He saw the slender silhouette of Cousin Kela through the front window; she was pouring coffee. She laughed easily, touching the shoulder of the old man she served.

  The raven flew down from the tree and landed on the back of the bench, thumping its beak against his shoulder.

  “I said no,” Alex repeated, eating a sunflower seed himself, just to prove a point.

  The large black bird stretched its wings and emitted a screech, blasting Alex’s ears.

  Moments later they were surrounded by a whirlwind of glossy black feathers and sharp open beaks, all demanding seeds. Alex stood, shooing them back with both hands. When they wouldn’t retreat, he flung the seeds as far as he could throw. The birds quickly scattered to get their fill and Alex backed away. But the original bird remained, the fat, mocking one.

  Though Alex loved animals, there were always exceptions.

  “Another day,” he promised the raven. It was time to get back to the cafe anyway. Through the window, Kela could now be seen brandishing a fork at her elderly customer.

  He crossed the street, pausing to read the brass plaque mounted on the front of The-Aunt-Tea-Query, marking the farmhouse as a piece of local history:

  The Emerson Farmstead.

  Settled by Marta and Sven Emerson.

  Erected Circa 1882

  He climbed the steps to the wrap-around porch and tapped the plate set into the wall. Generations of ancestral pride rushed through him. His family had been citizens since the town’s official colonization in the 1700s and had built several homes.

  But this one had lasted, and he’d be damned if he’d let it be taken away from them. He wasn’t sure how he and Baylee were going to save The Aunt-Tea-Query, but they would figure it out. They had to.

  He checked his smartwatch, one of the few modern luxuries he allowed himself, and frowned. Baylee had been gone an hour now and still hadn’t called or texted. Too bad he couldn’t put a GPS tracker on his little sister, like the police put on him.

  “Come along, Pumpkie.”

  Alex looked over the porch railing and saw that the door of Bend and Break Yoga Studio was open. Yvette appeared with her puppy-mill poodle leashed up for a walk.

  He scrutinized her feet. Just as he suspected - leather boots!

  “Pitiful,” he mumbled.

  Why his mother thought she would be a good match for him was beyond comprehension. Yvette, wi
th her designer purses and mall-kiosk perfume, all the while pretending to be grounded and earthy and vegan! The incense coming from her studio didn’t fool anyone, even if it was patchouli.

  She locked the door behind her and strolled by, her poodle lifting its delicate feet high in the air, as if to avoid anything unpleasant on the ground.

  Good match my ass, Alex thought, even as the whiff of her perfume rendered him dizzy.

  Alex started to open the cafe door, only to be halted by a shape appearing in a side window of Bend and Break. A black cat with golden eyes stared back at him, a bright pink ribbon tied around its neck. The cat pressed its paws to the glass, opening its mouth in a wide yowl.

  Alex leapt over to the porch railing, a wide grin taking control of his face. “Mr. B!”

  The cat pawed frantically against the glass.

  “Don’t worry,” Alex called out. “I’ll get you out of there.”

  He turned to see Mark, cruising by in his patrol car. The policeman gave Alex an extra-long glower as he drove past.

  “Stay feral, Mr. B.” Alex mouthed the words and ducked behind a hedge. “I’ll be coming for you. Promise.”

  SIX

  (BAYLEE)

  The bus smelled like wet towels, cheap beer, and fast food.

  I sat with my ankles crossed, staring at my parent’s car keys just inside my purse. It was silly to take public transportation when there was a perfectly good vehicle parked in our garage, but the thought of driving it left me cold.

  Even though the crash damage had been repaired, cars, like houses, tended to hold on to their memories. Especially the traumatic ones. No amount of detailing could get rid of a spirit’s impression, only a proper cleansing ritual could do that; and even then, there was no guarantee.

  I wanted to know what happened in my parent’s final moments, but that didn’t mean I wanted to relive them.

  My mind drifted as the scenery float by, and my eyelids drooped, lulled by the steady rhythm of the motor. Babies cried and elderly men snored as we bumped our way towards Old Town. Finally, an abrupt screech of the breaks stirred me from my stupor.