Spirits in the Material World

by Lisa Shea

  I noticed that she didn’t seem to care how Marc or I fared, but that was all right. I’d spent plenty of long hours on the stool behind the counter at the store. And I had a feeling Marc was more than prepared for whatever tonight brought.

  In another moment Roger and Alex were set up side by side along the wall. A side table near her held a bottle of Riesling, two raven-engraved wine glasses, and a big plastic bowl of bright orange puffs. It seemed only seconds before their hands, their wine glasses, and half of their clothes were coated in fluorescent dust.

  Marc shrugged and turned those warm eyes to me. He raised his mug to mine in a toast.

  “And now we wait.”

  * * *

  The night was dark, the windows were open, and gentle June breezes drifted through the room. Aside from the occasional sound of a car easing past outside, the house made those traditional creaks and sighs of a multi-century building settling in on itself. The drying designer herbs gave the faintest of aroma to the kitchen. If those had been real herbs – the kind Josephine had grown in her back garden – the kitchen would have smelled alive. Welcoming.

  I glanced over to Marc in curiosity. “What happened to Josephine’s herb gardens? She was fairly famous for her variety.”

  Apparently Marc was used to random questions coming out of the ether on a stakeout. He just gave a wry smile. “Alex thought they’d be too much work to maintain. She ripped them all out. Plans to put in a patio set. Quadraphonic waterproof speaker system, or some such.”

  He looked over at Alex.

  She’d fallen asleep, her head back against the wall, her mouth open in a soundless snore. Roger had pulled out his phone and had an earbud in. He was wholly focused on the screen, frantically pushing buttons. Undoubtedly he was saving the world from the zombie apocalypse.

  Marc snorted out a breath and turned his gaze to the doorway. He took a sip of his coffee.

  I asked, “So, do you like being a detective?”

  He nodded. “It’s not an easy job, but it’s rewarding. I help bring closure to families. Usually, when I get called in, it’s too late for the main victim. The one who has been killed. But for the loved ones, I can help there. I can help them at least bring some sense to what happened.”

  I wrapped my hands around my mug. “Sometimes there is no sense. Sometimes life is just the way it is. Chaotic. Unordered.” I paused and took a drink. “Cruel.”

  He turned to me at that. “Who did you lose?”

  I didn’t ask how he knew. He was a cop. Maybe they had some sort of coply instinct they developed. Or maybe those with an innate coply instinct were drawn into being police officers.

  “My parents,” I said. “We had a small sailing boat. We’d take it out most weekends when the weather was good. They’d been sailing all their lives. They’d been through all kinds of weather. And that day they went out, in July, the weather was absolutely perfect. The only reason I stayed home with Aunt Marilyn was she was hosting a signing with an author I absolutely adored. I was going to meet my hero. It was the best day of my life.”

  He nodded, his gaze holding mine. “Until it wasn’t.”

  I gave a small smile. “Until it wasn’t. Until a pair of police officers came to our door and said there’d been an accident. That a squall must have come up, or the wind had changed, or something. Somehow the anchor came loose and started to drop, and the line caught around my father’s leg. It dragged him down. My mother must have panicked and went racing for the line – and the boom swung. It slammed into her skull, killing her instantly. Which meant my father … he drowned.”

  It was a good fifteen years since the incident. It still had the power to still me.

  Marc’s eyes creased. “That seems like a strange pair of accidents. They were sure there was no sign of foul play?”

  I gave a small shrug. “People around here are on boats all their lives. We’ve seen every type of bizarre, obscure accident that could happen. Anything you think could never occur, we’ve documented it.”

  I took a sip. “These teams with the police? They know boats like a cowboy knows horses.”

  Marc nodded in understanding.

  My eyes went to my coffee. Its swirls were black against an inky background. “The investigators went over every inch of that boat looking for clues. Fingerprints. Traces of blood. Hairs. Any sign at all that anyone else was on board. They found absolutely nothing.”

  Nothing. Nothing but my parents’ dead bodies.

  Marc murmured, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  We settled into silence.

  The breeze murmured … whistled … rustled …

  A hint of movement came from the door.

  Our two heads swiveled as one.

  It was a young woman.

  She was five foot four. About one-twenty pounds. Dressed in a brown dress with a white over-dress, similar to Sarah’s. Her hair was braided up beneath a white cap. She was about eighteen. Brown eyes.

  Her gaze was focused on the refrigerator.

  On the two portraits which now hung there side by side.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex’s snore continued unabated.

  Roger’s fingers flew in even faster rhythm in his zombie-killing madness.

  Marc and I watched, motionless, as the young woman moved her way across the kitchen. I saw what Marc had meant. The woman barely looked around her as she navigated around the furniture in the room. It was as if she’d lived here for years and years.

  She drew up before the fridge and stopped in surprise. Her gaze went to the second image.

  It was the one Serena had drawn of Sarah playing chess. In the portrait, Sarah’s mouth was lit up in a delighted smile. Her eyes twinkled with joy. She radiated happiness.

  Tears began to stream down the spirit’s face. She seemed caught between joy and loneliness. Her hand reached out as if she could touch the portrait’s hair.

  A sound came. It was as faint as a whisper, yet perfectly clear.

  “Sarah.”

  I glanced to Marc.

  He nodded.

  I said, softly, “I’ve spoken with Sarah. She misses you.”

  The spirit whirled, her eyes wide in fear. She began to dissolve –

  I forced myself to stay stock still. “Please, Sarah needs you. She’s feeling lost.”

  The spirit wavered … wavered …

  She re-integrated, becoming more solid again. Still, her face was fearful as she looked between me and Marc.

  I said, “My name is Amber. This is Marc. We want to help.”

  She clenched her hands, glanced back at the portrait, and then hesitantly asked, “Where is Sarah?”

  “She’s a few blocks away. At a B&B.”

  Her brow scrunched in confusion.

  Marc clarified, “A bed and breakfast. It’s a type of lodging house.”

  I blinked. I’d gotten so used to being the only one able to see the spirit, and having to relay messages for Sarah, that I’d forgotten that Marc was able to see spirits, too.

  The spirit scratched at her cap. “Why is Sarah at a lodging house?”

  I explained, “This building used to be a family home. Maybe Sarah was visiting it? She’s not sure. She knows the house wasn’t her own. But she doesn’t remember where she lived. She doesn’t remember any of her family names. So we’re looking for someone to help. That’s how we found you.”

  Marc said, gently, “My name is Marc. What is your name?”

  She said, “Anna.”

  My heart lifted. It wasn’t much to go on – the name Anna was just about as common as Sarah was back then – but at least it was a starting point.

  Marc asked, “Anna, is Sarah your daughter?”

  Anna stared at him.

  And then she started laughing.

  It was bright, relaxed, heart-felt laughter, and the tensions of the room eased and dissipated. I found myself chuckling along with her, even though I wasn’t quite sure what was so funny.

 
At last Anna eased. “I suppose it’s a challenge, with each of us caught in the state we were in when we our physical bodies ended their struggles. But, no. Sarah was my older sister. I remember her carrying me around to show me the flowers. She doted on me, and I loved her dearly. She was everything to me. But then …”

  Her voice trailed off, and the sadness returned to her gaze.

  I asked, “What happened?”

  Marc asked, “What is your last name? Do you remember where you lived?”

  She opened her mouth –

  Roger slammed his phone down onto the table in fury, his voice a growl. “God damned zombies shouldn’t be able to move that fast! God damned, blood-sucking, brain-eating –”

  Anna instantaneously vanished into a mist, and even those faint tendrils dissolved into nothingness.

  Marc and I swung our gazes to glare at Roger.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What the hell did I do now?”

  Chapter Twelve

  I leaned against the main counter of the bookstore and yawned. I hadn’t gotten a single moment of sleep last night. After Roger’s outburst we had settled in to see if Anna would come back – but she hadn’t. We’d finally given up about 6am so I could come home, shower, get some breakfast, and come out to the store.

  Serena was all grins at my side. It was clear she’d gotten a good night’s sleep. “I can’t believe it. So you met Sarah’s sister?”

  I nodded. “I have to give you credit. Your idea to blanket the entire city with pictures of Sarah actually worked. And now we have two names to work with. Sarah and Anna.”

  Serena ran a hand through her hair. “Cassandra says it’s a help, but not much. Families back in the 1600s often had eight or more kids in them. Two of the most common names for girls were Sarah and Anna. All we need is a Mary to round that out.”

  “Still, it at least helps us narrow things down a bit. We know that Sarah was the older sister.”

  “That’s so strange. Anna is older.”

  “Well, Anna looks older, because of how their lives played out. Anna’s physical body lasted longer.”

  Serena thought about that. “I think, if I knew I was going to be a spirit for hundreds of years, that I’d rather die at age eighteen. That way I’d be young and beautiful my entire life.”

  Marc was there before us as if by magic. I swear, the man must have been a ninja in a previous life. I hadn’t seen him come in.

  He said, “If you are eighteen in the spirit world, it means you died at eighteen in our physical world. You never had a chance to go on adventures. Fall in love. Maybe get married and have kids. Feel the beauty of a long-term committed relationship. That’s a lot to trade in exchange for a face without wrinkles.”

  Serena nodded. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that all the vampire movies always make the vampires handsome and beautiful. Eternal youth.”

  Marc chuckled. “Nosferatu was not what most people would call handsome.”

  Serena’s brow wrinkled. “Nosfer-who?”

  Marc turned to me. “Are we ready?”

  I nudged my head to Serena. “It’s up to her. She’s the one who has to do all the work.”

  She grinned and pulled out her drawing pad. She laid it out on the counter. “Are you kidding? I’m having a blast doing this. All right then, one older sister coming right up!”

  I teased her, “It’s a younger sister, remember?”

  She shook her head. “This is all too confusing. The eighteen-year-old sister. So, do they look alike?”

  I hadn’t even though about that. I turned to Marc.

  He nodded. “They have the same eyes. The same cheekbones. At least from what I’ve seen in your portraits of Sarah.”

  Serena’s eyes lit up. “You’ll have to come and meet Sarah! That way you can decide for yourself!”

  I could almost see him retreat within himself.

  I said, “We can talk about that later. For now, let’s just get a portrait done of Anna, while the memory is fresh in our minds. That way we can bring it to Sarah and see if it helps her remember a bit more.”

  Serena nodded. She hunkered down and began to draw.

  * * *

  Marc and I stood outside the bookstore’s front door. Warm sunshine was streaming down on the cobblestones; summer had truly begun, if in terms of the calendar, if not the date of the solstice. That was still a few weeks away.

  He turned to me. “So, what are your plans now?”

  I held up the rolled-up parchment. “First, I’m going to bring this over to Sarah. I’m really hoping that seeing her sister helps other memories release. Cassandra’s still looking through the genealogical records, but there’s quite a number of families who match both names. If we can find some more information, it would really help a lot.”

  He nodded. “And then?”

  I gave a wry smile. “Well, then I’ll be heading to see Bryane.”

  His face darkened. “You mean Bryane Browninge?”

  I nodded. “Bryane may be many things, but he is also one of the most experienced in town in interacting with spirits. There have been several documented cases of him conveying information from loved ones.”

  Marc’s mouth turned down. “The man is a shyster.”

  “He makes quite a lot of money from his commercial ventures,” I agreed. “Still, in the area of spirits he has a genuine gift. It’ll be worth getting some insight from him.”

  Marc growled, “For a substantial fee.”

  “Gertie and Prudence were prepared to pay thousands of dollars to exorcise Sarah,” I pointed out. “They are joyful at now paying a few hundred to reunite Sarah with her family.”

  Marc seemed to be having an internal struggle within himself. I gave him a few moments of quiet to resolve it.

  At last he said, “I’m coming along with you.” He glanced up. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

  “I welcome your assistance,” I reassured him. “It would be an enormous help. You’ve got that detective’s instinct. You’ll be able to see things I might miss. And since you can see spirits, too –”

  He glanced around as if concerned someone might overhear us. He muttered, “I’d rather you didn’t let everyone know about that.”

  “Of course,” I murmured. “But this is Salem, you know. It’s hardly an issue here. Many people would be quite envious of your gift.”

  He scuffed the ground. “Gift,” he said, in a tone which wasn’t very appreciative.

  “Come on. Gertie and Prudence have texted me ten times already.”

  He nodded, and we set in motion.

  It was relaxing walking the familiar streets with him by my side. There was no need to talk or fill the space. We just breathed in the scent of roses as we passed a garden billowing with crimson and peach. We listened to the trill of robins watching over a nest.

  Soon we came up to the B&B. Lady Sarong was in aquamarine today, lounging in a front rocker with a book in her hand. I could see it was The Hollow Hills – book two in Mary Stewart’s series about Merlin and Arthur. She waved it at me as I came up the stairs. “This stuff is awesome! Thank you so much for recommending it!”

  Her gaze moved to Marc, and suddenly she was beaming a radiant smile and straightening out her sarong. “Who is your handsome friend?”

  Marc nodded to her. “My name’s Marc. We just have some business with Gertie and Prudence.”

  Sarong Lady’s smile deepened. “Well, if you have some extra time after that, I’d love to chat with you. Maybe drinks?”

  I knocked on the door.

  Prudence pulled it open and hustled us in. “Come on, you two. Sarah’s been all excited ever since we got the news. Won’t hardly sit still.

  She went over to the library door and gave the three-knock code. Then we stepped in.

  Marc looked down, stilling. Prudence closed the door behind us and locked it before taking the leather seat alongside Gertie.

  Marc slowly lowered himself down to
one knee. “You look just like Anna. Just like a younger version of her.”

  Sarah giggled. “But I’m the older one, right? I was born first. Do you have the picture? The one Serena drew?”

  I reached into my purse and pulled it out. I held it out to Sarah.

  She was getting skilled with her object manipulation. The scroll floated into the air before her and pulled open.

  She stared at it, her mouth opening. Her eyes teared.

  “I do remember her. I remember when she was young. She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. And good – so good. She barely ever cried. Not like the boys. They would scream and wail all night long.”

  I pulled out my notepad. “Boys? You had brothers?”

  She absently nodded. Her entire focus was on the picture. “But Anna was a living doll. Her eyes were just so large. She wanted to see everything. I used to carry her around with me everywhere. Show her the flowers in the back garden. The buzzing bees. The ladybugs. Each item fascinated her. It was a joy just to be with her.”

  Her gaze shadowed. “I must have died sometime soon after those early years. The memories get more hazy. I did watch her grow up, but I wasn’t there with her. I wasn’t able to interact with her. Just watch as if from a distance.”

  She turned to me in sadness. “So she wasn’t able to have a full life, either? She died around age eighteen, you say?”

  I nodded. “That’s what it seems. Cassandra’s doing the research, but it’s a bit challenging. Do you remember anything else now? You said you had brothers?”

  Her gaze went back to her sister’s portrait. “I remember at least two baby boys. They were always squalling and crying. But I don’t remember their names.”

  “It’s a start, at least,” I reassured her. “Every bit helps.”

  Marc asked, “Do you remember anything about your house? Any details?”

  Sarah hunkered down cross-legged with the portrait. “Only normal things. It had a fireplace I would cozy up to when it was cold. My bed was small and lumpy. We had that little garden out back. But nothing that stands out as unique.”

  She went silent, her whole attention on her sister.