The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  Karla, I could yell at and not feel a bit of remorse, but not Silas Parker. I couldn’t … wouldn’t go there. More than once, I’d privately thought that I’d come out here looking for the father I’d never had and found the fatherly influence I’d always needed, in the car with me. Say what you want about me, but don’t you dare say a bad word about Silas Parker.

  At his request, I swallowed my anger and nodded to Karla.

  Once again, I wanted to kick myself for not getting a ghost whistle or something else to “call” my companions. It was always times like these where I’d think, “Wouldn’t it be great to have this right now?”

  Packing and getting the suitcases out to Karla’s SUV took less time than locating Amos and the lunatic. As I was doing that, Silas checked us out and spread a little misinformation. He asked the night manager about some of the church shelters in the area.

  I sat in Karla’s passenger seat while Amos went to fetch Oswald. I was almost calm enough to talk and knew, even without any prompting from the man behind me, that I should bury the hatchet with our driver.

  “Thank you for doing this, Karla. You didn’t have to get involved, but you did.”

  “You’re welcome. Like I said, you did save me. I owe you and I want some justice for what they did to Darren. He left a message for me that he was going to finally meet General John Reynolds. Next thing I know, I’m getting a call from Darren’s dad saying he died at the hospital.”

  “Reynolds got his in the end,” I said. “I took care of him.”

  “What about Strong Vincent?” Karla growled.

  I didn’t want to lie, but didn’t necessarily want to offer up the truth. Taking a second, I decided she deserved to know what happened. “More complicated. Most ghosts have a focus. It’s an object they are attached to. If another ghost has possession of that focus, the other ghost doesn’t really have much choice but to obey. Vincent tried to kill me on two occasions, but after I freed him from Roger Taney, he’s saved my life once and risked his own existence on a couple of other occasions. Taney was the real villain behind what happened to you and I took care of him.”

  I guessed she wasn’t too happy with my answer. “What about Amos and Oswald? Why do they work with you if your job is to destroy ghosts?”

  “I destroy the bad ones. I help the ones that want help,” I stopped and checked to see where the duo was. “Amos, I consider a friend. Oswald is very dangerous, but I need his help. Try not to talk about him.”

  “Why?”

  “Oswald isn’t his first name. It’s his last. The rest of it is Lee Harvey, if you catch my drift?”

  “You’re screwing with me now, right?”

  “Wish I was, but no. He’s the real deal. The ghost we’re trying to get rid of … that’s the real killer. Lee really was a patsy and saying he’s pretty bitter about it is an understatement.”

  Karla silently mouthed, “Wow.”

  “Silas said that you could sense he was in the room. Is that something you’ve always been able to do?”

  “No,” she replied staring straight ahead. “It developed when I was in the cabin. Darren interviewed lots of people who lived in haunted houses and he had a theory about us becoming attuned to their energy. Was he right?”

  “I’m no expert, Karla,” I stated and pointed back to Silas. “Together we’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in the last year. Darren could be right, or it could be all you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Silas, you’re better at this kind of thing.”

  He threw me a bone and took over as the two ghosts entered the vehicle. “Faith and belief, Miss Thompson, it boils down to that. There aren’t many things stronger in this life,” Silas paused and looked at Oswald before finishing, “or the next one. Those two things can sustain a person who doesn’t have food, water, or even the ability to see. They can allow a man or a woman to accept what others dismiss and at the same time inspire them to do great things or even terrible things. It might be that your belief in Mister Porter’s theories makes it so you can sense the presence of ghosts nearby because you choose to believe.”

  “I didn’t really have much choice,” she said while Oswald scowled at the words of my friend. It made me wonder about what went on those times the two of them were alone.

  “Yes, things will happen that leave us no choice,” he said. “But when you make a choice based on your faith and belief, it’s seldom the wrong one. I think you made one of those this evening.”

  I noticed Karla shivering slightly. She gulped and asked, “Everyone’s here now, right?”

  “Yup.”

  She eased her Honda Pilot out into traffic. “Nice ride,” I commented. I remembered her having a big truck back at the cabin. She obviously liked big spacious vehicles. I did as well, but lacked the means to afford anything close to this. Choices indeed, Silas.

  I decided to change the topic. “So did you really like being on that show?”

  “Oh god,” she said without much emotion in her voice. “You’ve seen that.”

  “I got the whole collection in Gettysburg.”

  “Darren had us all go as guests to some of the conventions they have for paranormal groups one year. Do you know what the first thing the audience wanted to hear was?”

  “Let me guess, you screaming at the top of your lungs.” I remembered the one at the gym this morning. People probably thought I was killing her.

  “Well, that proves you’ve seen them,” she continued. “Everybody thought it was a trick our sound guy did, but I’m really that loud. A small Indy producer actually had me go into a studio and do some screams that he could use in his low budget horror movie.”

  Along with her very impressive pipes I also recalled the cameraman on their team had a certain fascination with her backside, but decided against mentioning that.

  “That’s pretty cool. So how’d you become a personal trainer?”

  “My degree was in kinesiology and sports medicine. I really enjoy the gym,” she said. “Not many people get to go to work at a place they really want to be all the time.”

  Karla had me there. Being a gym rat was a helluva a lot better than all the places where I ended up. So there I was, sitting next to this very attractive woman, who believes in ghosts, likes working out, and doesn’t really have a financial care in the world. Needless to say, I was more than willing to overlook her breakdown when we first met last winter and the scene that morning in the gym. I was usually the one who made lousy first impressions – second and third, if we’re being completely honest.

  For a brief shining moment, the world of ghosts out for my blood and even the two spirits in the third row keeping the temperature down didn’t matter. Later, I’d realize that it was the first time in the days since she’d “moved on” that I didn’t think about Tabitha Lawrence.

  I’m allowed to have dreams too, you know.

  Episode 24: Dog Days of Summer

  “Nice place,” I said taking in the sights. Karla had a sense for design as well. The furniture and décor were attractive, but without being too garish. The fact that it was also clean impressed me, especially after my trip in Isabella’s vehicle.

  “Thanks,” she answered. “Is Mr. Parker going to be okay?”

  “He can see me and the things I am touching or sitting on,” I replied and walked to the couch, putting my hand on the coffee table so my blind friend could find his way.

  The auburn haired hostess stopped and looked like she wanted to ask a question or three, but shrugged it off and said, “Can I get you two anything?”

  “Since you’re being so kind, we’ll spring for take out,” I offered. The bright spot in staying here was my credit card ceased its ascent toward the max limit.

  “You two have been on a road trip since the beginning of June,” she said in a no nonsense manner. “When’s the last time you had a real meal?”

  I had to think about that one. “Does a cookout in Dallas count?”

  K
arla crinkled her nose, “Not really. There are some flank steaks in the freezer. Let me defrost them.”

  We’d come a long way in the span of seven hours from when she had the mother of all panic attacks to the point where Karla was about to cook me dinner. No complaints here. Usually, things take a turn for the worse and not the better. I glanced around for some wood to knock on for good luck.

  Silas motioned at me to go into the kitchen and whispered, “You should help her.”

  “Okay,” I said while nodding. Maybe he was trying to live vicariously through me, which frankly wasn’t the greatest idea.

  Karla tasked me with cutting up red potatoes and prepping the ingredients for a salad as she busied herself with the steaks.

  “Where’d the ghosts go?”

  “I asked Oswald to stay at the other end of the street in those places up for sale. He has a tendency to cause electrical problems and such. Amos is acting as a go between and he’ll be close by.”

  She seemed relieved. “I hope he isn’t planning to stay next door,” Karla said pointing at the wall. “They’re nudists.”

  “He’d probably get a kick out of it.”

  “Did I mention they were a pair of gay middle aged men?”

  I chuckled. “No. I’ve got half a mind to suggest he go over and take a look.”

  “You play pranks on the ghosts?”

  “Just Amos. He’s my sidekick. Strange life huh?”

  She snorted. “Yeah. What’s Isabella got to do with all this?”

  “I wondered when you were going to ask that,” I replied. Actually, I was dreading it. “There are some ghosts who can possess people. They’re called Skinwalkers. Some just want to continue experiencing life as a human being and others use it as a free pass to do whatever they please - like shooting John F. Kennedy.”

  “That’s disgusting. So one of those Skinwalkers is in Isa? Using her like some kind of puppet?”

  “Yeah, her name is Cassandra and she’s a scheming bitch like no other. The one controlling my dad, David Michaels, is the ghost of a Spanish Conquistador named Hernando De Soto.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Yeah, but I barely knew what he was famous for the first time I heard his name.”

  “No Mike, I meant David Michaels. He’s your father right?”

  No one ever accused me of being the swiftest boat in the water. “Sorry, I thought you meant the other guy. Strangely enough, we’re probably talking about the same person.”

  “He’s bad news, Mike. Sorry to be the one to tell you that. He’s got this squeaky clean image, but people say he’s well connected, if you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he’s got his fingers in all kinds of pies. With a bunch of ghosts working for him, I’m guessing any incriminating evidence disappears and that bad things happen to the detectives and district attorneys that try to build a case against him.”

  Sadly, I had already experienced how that could come in handy. Amos, before I met him, happened to be one of the ghosts that helped get rid of any clues that I’d been at Roger Taney’s museum and caused its collapse. It was easy to see how to abuse something like that. Travis had a detective in San Antonio to clean up any messes for him and there were all those factions back east vying for control.

  To borrow a phrase from Alice in Wonderland, sometimes it was difficult to imagine how far down the rabbit hole goes.

  “Maybe you should just walk away and leave it alone,” Karla said, sounding concerned.

  “Even if I did, he’d eventually find out about me. I owe De Soto for stealing Dad when I was nine.” Technically, the Conquistador “bought” Dad from some other Skinwalker that stole him, but I wasn’t one to quibble over the details.

  “But he sounds so powerful. What exactly can you do against that?”

  “Oswald thought I was a Skinwalker when we first fought.” I tried to explain things in my usual fumbling fashion. “Our little scuffle knocked out the power to at least a city block and might have been responsible for a sudden thunderstorm that hit Dallas.”

  She began processing that nugget of information and I decided to steer the conversation away from how much havoc my powers were capable of wreaking. Seeing all the meat in her freezer, I asked, “So are you on one of those high protein diets?”

  “Yes and no. Mostly it gives me an excuse to eat lots of steak.”

  She continued, ignoring my snicker, “Hey! I just like it. When I was growing, Dad was into hunting and I used to tag along. What can I say? I’m a meat eater. If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll break out the deer venison or the buffalo tomorrow night - assuming you’re not doing something related to ghosts.”

  I hadn’t had my first dinner with Karla and I was already looking forward to a second one. Damn! I needed to kick myself in the ass and stop acting like a junior high student talking to the pretty girl in the hallway.

  “It really depends on what kind of trap Cassandra can come up with,” I answered.

  She nodded and pointed to the living room. “Say, what’s Mr. Parker doing?”

  “Reading his Bible.”

  “What Bible?”

  “A ghost made it for him,” I said. I didn’t really feel like going into any details about Tabitha at the moment. “Hang on a sec. I’ll be right back.”

  Running into the spare bedroom where my luggage was, I rummaged around, pulled out a ghost knife, and scampered back into the kitchen. For a change, I could show off my abilities to someone that would appreciate them.

  “Watch this. Nothing up my sleeve,” I said using the phantom blade on the remaining potatoes. The energy to cut them was coming from me, channeled through the blade, but Karla was sufficiently impressed. Like any good ghost hunter, even a semi-retired one, she peppered me with questions. When Amos checked in, she had a bunch more to ask him. I played translator. For a moment, I began having Jenny Goodman flashbacks and recalled Karla’s initial enthusiasm I’d heard on Darren Porter’s audio files.

  When I admitted that I could also make phantom objects, she said, “Damn! I wish I had some equipment here. All of it is back in a storage locker in Gettysburg. It’d be pretty sweet to get some readings on your knife or even the ghosts if they’d let me.”

  “Amos wouldn’t mind, but Oswald is powerful enough to drain the batteries or even break any meter you have. Why do you think our car is in the shop? It’s only a two-year-old Cadillac.”

  Karla’s thoughtful expression darkened until I asked her if she was okay. She wasn’t too far removed from her panic attack and I worried that my life, for lack of a better word, was overwhelming her.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I was just thinking how much Darren would’ve loved all this.”

  “If he was in your shoes, Karla, I’m sure he would. Trust me, it is way different from my perspective. I don’t think he’d enjoy being me.”

  “You’re right,” she conceded. “He’d be too busy asking questions and making notes to notice that the ghosts were trying to kill him. You don’t really like doing this do you?”

  “What gave it away? My sunny disposition or the rampant paranoia?”

  The sarcasm made her smile. “That’s probably why you’re so good at it.”

  I hoped the scruff on my face obscured the blush that appeared. Maybe she was misinterpreting the stories I’d been telling. The sheer amount of mistakes I’d made to this point boggled my mind.

  Trying to keep my answer nonchalant, I said, “If you call getting your ass kicked on a regular basis and more weirdness than any ten people should have to experience good, then I’m your man.”

  For the next few minutes, we talked about my abilities until I steered the conversation toward her area of expertise, physical fitness. I described my routine based off of the legendary Herschel Walker and she offered a couple of observations.

  “That’s an excellent way to build strength and endurance, but you should really incorporate exercises that help both your burs
t and agility.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? I attempted a recovery by saying, “Well, I practice my martial arts and wrestling drills too.”

  “Those probably help, but I could show you a few things that might help you get more out of your workout. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” I said, not even caring what I just agreed to.

  Mercifully, Karla waited two hours after dinner before taking me into her converted garage workout room. She didn’t skimp on the equipment either. Even the dumbbells were high quality.