The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  After handing me the glass of water, she said, “So why’d you want to see Sonya? You two never really got along.”

  I lied. “It’s more for me, to be honest. I was with Don when he died. My rehab hasn’t been all smooth sailing. I’ve got some issues with it and thought that talking to her might help me sort them out.”

  Heather tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s not at all what I was expecting, Mike. You’ve changed.”

  She doesn’t know the half of it. “Yeah, deep huh?”

  “Guess so,” Heather said and twirled some of her hair around a finger. She used to do that when she was uncomfortable talking about something. “Sonya might not see you. She’s in a psychiatric hospital up in Dallas. At first, it seemed like she took Donnie’s death in stride. She was pretty composed through the funeral and for a few weeks after. Even quit dancing, once the life insurance money came in.”

  “What happened?” I wanted to hear it from her perspective. I had a better idea of what really might have happened, but Heather had a normal life. There was no need for me to stir the pot with crazy-sounding talk of ghosts and Skinwalkers.

  “A few months after the funeral, she started to crack. I figured it was nothing at first, but it got worse. About six months ago, she called me at two in the morning and I dragged my pregnant ass over there. She said she wasn’t in control of her life and I had to talk her out of swallowing a bottle of pills!”

  I blew out a long breath and felt some sympathy for Sonya Hodges. Who knows how long the Skinwalker, Cassandra Von Eckels, had held Sonya as a thrall? The time frame of her breakdown coincided nicely with Cassandra and Don coming up my way with their sights set on ruining my life.

  “That’s pretty rough,” I said. “Well, maybe if I talk to her, it might help out her situation.”

  Heather thought it over for a minute, turned and went back into the kitchen. She grabbed a pen and wrote on the back of an opened envelope. “Here’s the name of the hospital and her doctor’s number. I’d call him first and see if he thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “Thanks, Heather. I’ll do that.” It was probably another partial lie. As much as I despised lawyers, they couldn’t hold a candle to what I thought of psychiatrists.

  “What’s that under your shirt?”

  At first, I didn’t know what she was asking, but then I pulled down the collar and showed her.

  “You never wore a necklace when we dated. What’s that little thing?”

  “A cross.” I toyed with her.

  “No silly, the other one.”

  “Oh, that’s a waterproof pill container. It has a nitro pill in it. Turns out that in addition to the other stuff, I’ve got a minor heart problem.”

  “Oh Mike, I’m so sorry.”

  I lied again, it was becoming easier. “It’s nothing really, just an instance or two where my heart got out of rhythm.”

  The reality was that a full release of my powers put too much strain on my heart. I had a full blown heart attack in Baltimore and got a prescription for nitroglycerin pills. It’d be nice to have my own little defibrillator to keep handy, but there’s the cost problem and the tiny problem that I’d be counting on a blind man to use it on me. I’d put in paperwork with the VA to up my disability from thirty percent, but that was moving with the usual speed of bureaucracy, so I didn’t expect to hear anything for months.

  Heather required a few more white lies to relax, but I was touched that she was concerned. She offered to make me a late lunch, but as I was fully aware that she was poorer than I was, so I ended up dipping into my frugal budget and ordering some delivery. We ate, laughed over some good times and, as she played with Kaitlin, I got to see how motherhood changed a person.

  However, at some point, it started to get awkward and I knew it was time to go before we ran out of stories, or something happened. When the baby went down for a nap, Heather seemed a bit more flirtatious. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that part of me liked the idea of a fling. The Mike Ross of yesteryear would have been on the fence in this situation, but not me. I choked on my “moral fiber” and made for the door before either of us did something we’d regret.

  Driving away, I was rather maudlin about it all. The fact that she was better off without me was unsettling and put me in a bad mood. It made me wonder, what kind of girl would be better off with me?

  Fortunately, I had a place to go and blow off some of that anger the next day. I stood in front of Don Hodges’ tombstone with Amos right next to me. Heather was able to tell me where Sonya was, but I figured the ghosts in this cemetery might let me know where Cassandra was.

  My options were the carrot or the stick and, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have minded a little stick about then. Technically, my stick was a cast iron pipe wrench dangling from a tool belt.

  That said, the ghost population of this graveyard was surprisingly large and I suspected that the Skinwalker had everything to do with it. Skinwalkers need energy to hold on to the body they’re possessing and they need other ghosts to harvest the power for them. I fully intended to shake her supply line and see where that took me.

  Some of the ghosts stared with curiosity. After all, there was a Civil War era ghost next to me, following me around.

  A swaggering major, buried in his dress uniform, marched on over and addressed Amos. “Soldier, unless you’re one of those idiot kids who reenact battles, you ought to know better than just to walk into someone else’s territory without permission and carrying no offering.”

  Ghosts harvest the emotions of the living. The more powerful the emotion, the greater the energy they gather. They barter this energy, or “spook juice,” as I often refer to it. Some use it to become more powerful and work their way up the ghostly ladder. If they gather enough energy or get angry enough, they can do things like move or throw objects, crack mirrors, disrupt electrical devices, and so forth.

  Along with the pipe wrench, I was wearing my leather gloves that were coated with iron filings glued to the surface.

  Looking up at the major, I said, “He’s with me. I’m looking for Von Eckels. She and I have business.”

  As an enlisted man, I had an instinctive dislike for officers that placed them just slightly above the shrinks and the lawyers.

  “I’m guessing that makes you Ross? She said you’d probably be by.”

  “Good guess, Major.” I kept the words to a minimum and tried to guess whether there was going to be a fight.

  “She didn’t tell us where she was going and skipped out on us.”

  That made sense with what I knew about Cassandra, but I had no intention of letting down my guard.

  “Why should I believe you, Major? I know she ran this operation.”

  “You don’t know nothing, boy!”

  Apparently, the good Major didn’t like his authority being challenged. I wondered if he was the original “Don Hodges.” That gave me an inspiration.

  “Well, that’s what Hodges said before I destroyed him,” I said realizing how easy it was to lie to the spirit in front of me.

  The other ghosts aboveground kept their distance. I couldn’t account for the ones moving below, nor could I trust that the officer was giving me a straight answer. So, I took my case to the other ghosts in the graveyard and whistled as loud as I could.

  “First ghost to tell me what I want to know about Cassandra gets to go to the other side with no strings attached. Tired of this graveyard and this town, then it’s time to head on to the next life and finally rest in peace. Who’s up for it?”

  “You got some balls kid! You don’t go offering to free my people.”

  “Fine. Let’s do this the hard way! Try and stop me, Major.” Pulling the wrench off my belt and advanced on him. I thrust the other hand in the front pouch of the leather tool belt and filled it with iron filings.

  “Get him!” He shouted.

  The two that came up behind me ate the cloud of charged filings I tossed behind my back. I
didn’t even bother turning, Amos would let me know if there were more. A third appeared on my right side. I backhanded him with the wrench and seriously rang his bell. Before that one could sink back into the ground, I snatched him up by the neck with my left hand and spun him around.

  He thrashed, screaming, “It burns! It burns! For the love of God, stop!”

  I let it go on for a few more seconds. It wasn’t to be needlessly cruel, but they needed to see that I could hurt them … badly if necessary. Some of them hadn’t felt anything in decades. The sudden prospect of pain had to be disheartening.

  The half dozen ghosts behind the Major had been running toward me. My little display stopped them in their tracks. Obviously, when Cassandra told them I’d be stopping by; she neglected to inform them how dangerous I could be.

  “Wait!” One of the others separated himself from the wary-looking second wave of attackers. “The Major’s right! She didn’t tell us where she was going. All I know is that she was heading west. She did tell us if we could force your spirit out of your body, we could keep it.”

  That’s when I remembered Virginia Poe’s comment about how there hadn’t been a Ferryman in this area to her knowledge. Von Eckels could have told these idiots any damn thing she wanted.

  “Cassandra is good at many things, lying is one of them. No Skinwalker has been able to hold my body for long and I’ve destroyed everyone that has tried.”

  Amos maneuvered around the trio of yowling ghosts on the ground and came up next to me, with Vincent’s knife in his hands. “Hey Mike, notice that there isn’t a single female ghost?”

  I looked straight at the major. “What does she do with them?”

  “She leads them off and we never see them again,” the nervous spirit answered.

  Amos laughed and added, “I bet she’s got one of those French things around here.”

  “Huh?” One of the ghosts said.

  “There’s a cage that can be made out of iron and in the shape of The Eye of Horus. It’s called an oubliette. Ghosts can’t get out of it and can’t get any more energy. After awhile, you just fade away.”

  From the looks of horror on the deceased men’s faces, most didn’t know it. The major wasn’t one of them. A couple of the ghosts walked toward him, but he started to vanish. I was too far away, but Amos hurled the knife at him. The spectral dagger slammed into his chest and he fell to the ground. With a hateful expression on his wounded face, he disappeared from sight. The Skinwalker probably had his anchor with her.

  “Dammit! He took the knife with him.”

  “S’okay Amos, he won’t last long. That throw was perfect. With any luck, he’ll pass on before he can tell her anything.”

  I reassessed how dangerous Cassandra Von Eckels was. These dupes in front of me were a bucket of mushrooms, kept in the dark and fed whatever bullshit she felt like. With the exception of a taskmaster or two, she kept them ignorant and that’s the way she liked them.

  I gave my compadre a wide grin. “Today’s your lucky day, gentleman. Private Amos Sweet here has been around since taking a bullet at Gettysburg. He’s come all the way from the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to tell you all those things Madame Von Eckels didn’t want you to know. Amos, indoctrinate these boys and let’s see if we can get them to the other side without resorting to more violence.”

  The leads in Killeen, Texas had all dried up. If there was any trail to pick up, it would be in Dallas, but I wanted to make certain that if Cassandra ever came back here that she’d have to start from scratch.

  Episode 17: Dallas, Texas – Paranormal Population: One

  I’m mostly a ‘suburbs’ kind of guy. Despite being close to DC, I generally avoid the big city. Maybe it was some kind of claustrophobia, but anything approaching a metropolis always gave me the “willies.” Who knows? Maybe before, it was my dormant powers sensing all the dead spirits in one area.

  Dallas felt different, empty, like a real pretty picture frame with nothing in it, and that had to be a bad sign.

  I really should listen to my instincts more often.

  We dropped Silas off at a cousin’s house. He had family down this way and they were looking forward to seeing him. Despite his assurances, I felt like a fifth wheel after the first thirty minutes. His relatives had decided I was some type of wayward youth that Brother Silas was mentoring.

  Oddly, it wasn’t that far from the truth, but let’s not discuss that. Besides, I had a job to do.

  The Angela Chase Mental Health Center was a small, exclusive nut house tucked away near some expensive residential communities, and built for people who liked their privacy. The place obviously cost a fortune. The building had a rustic, estate appearance, with large brick walls hiding immaculately manicured landscaping, tennis courts, a swimming pool, and a guard shack barring the entrance. I wondered if it was Sonya’s money paying for it or Cassandra’s.

  After copying my driver’s license and verifying I had an appointment, the burly private security officer at the gate informed me that I had to park along the brick wall and walk up the driveway. Only staff and emergency vehicles were allowed on the property. Naturally, he couldn’t see Amos, but I thought it best not to speak to or even look at my buddy. I didn’t want this visit to become an extended stay, if you know what I mean.

  Either way, something told me that if Mike Ross ever got tossed into the loony bin, it wouldn’t be a place like this. It’d be some hellhole where they still do electroshock therapy on a regular basis. He says he can see and talk to ghosts, Fred. Turn the juice up a little more!

  Amos walked off to take a stroll around the grounds on the off chance that Sonya might be able to see him. It wouldn’t go over very well if she just started freaking out.

  It felt like I was visiting someone at a hotel instead of a hospital. I checked in with a professionally dressed receptionist, not someone in hospital garb. The sharply dressed black woman, in her mid-thirties, who escorted me to see Sonya, had a name tag that identified her as Ellen Forrester, RN. Her title was Visit Facilitator. She had a kind, motherly face coupled with a friendly demeanor.

  Yup this place had the lingo down pat. It even dulled my natural apprehension toward the mental health community.

  “Now, Mr. Ross,” Ellen began, “before you go in and speak with Mrs. Hodges, I wanted a few minutes of your time to ask you about the topics you wish to speak with her about.”

  Internally, I went to “yellow alert” and contemplated “raising shields.”

  “I wanted to see how she’s doing and talk to her about my time in Iraq with her husband.” I repeated the same lie that I’d used with Heather. “He was my best friend.”

  Ellen hesitated. “Sonya’s in a difficult place. When she first came here, she claimed that she’d been talking to his ghost and that he was answering her. For her sake, please be respectful when broaching the subject with her. We don’t intrude on our patient’s privacy, but we will be watching from a distance if she becomes agitated and upset. This has happened on a few occasions when Sonya was visited by her parents and her brother.”

  “I understand.” Honestly, I was surprised Sonya had family. She’d never once mentioned them, but that was Cassandra’s influence. For the umpteenth time, I was forced to separate the two women in my mind. The reality was that Sonya Hodges is a familiar looking woman, who I’ve never really met and only heard stories about.

  Entering the parlor, I almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was back to its natural brown color and had been straightened. The clothes were very conservative and the makeup wasn’t applied with a paintbrush to withstand dancing under a spotlight. All things considered, she looked like a regular woman.

  She stood and reached out her hand. “Mike Ross, I almost didn’t believe them when they said you were coming to see me.”

  I took the hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I was out this way with a friend. We’re heading further west in a few days and it seemed like the right thing to do. Heather told
me to say hello and that she’d try to get up here in a few weeks.”

  Sonya smiled and looked away. “She’s a good friend. Better than I deserve. We never really got along, did we, Mike?” It was one part question and the other part statement. She sounded like she barely knew me.

  “No, I suppose we didn’t, but that’s not really that important. How about we sit down and talk about some of the good times? How are you getting along?” I took a seat on the chair across from the small couch she was using. There was a table, with a couple of magazines on it, between us.

  As much as I wanted to just cut to the chase and start asking her a bunch of questions about Cassandra, I needed to take this nice and slow.