by Lisa Shea
I’d never quite thought about that. “I guess I don’t know. It wouldn’t seem right that they each only got a half-a-life.”
“Something knows,” Bryane murmured. “Something knows that in ten days there will be two embryos there. That each one needs its spirit. Maybe the two spirits share the one zygote in the beginning. And when it finally cleaves into two, after those ten days, each one now has its own life force. But they remember those early days. They remember the time when they shared one body.”
He drew another line alongside the first. “And if we can say that, then why can’t those souls remember other connections? What if two souls met in the Garden of Eden and have been keeping each other company ever since? Thousands upon thousands of years. Then at last they are separated to be placed in their own unique embryos. Their memories are wiped clean. But are they, really? Or do those memories linger, like the after-image when you look up at the sun?”
Marc’s hand brushed against mine.
A warm shiver coursed through my entire body.
I said, “I suppose it makes more sense to me that a soul exists in a continuum, rather than to think it springs into being at one arbitrary point and then ceases to exist at another one.”
Marc drew another line in the sand. This one squiggled and wrapped itself around the other two lines. “Spirits can get entwined around other spirits. It disrupts their path.”
He made a fresh line which tied itself into knots along its route. “Spirits can even twist themselves up, without anyone else being involved at all.”
I looked at the lines and squiggles. “So it’s not really about a place, necessarily. It’s about getting them back on their path.”
He nodded. “But spirits can lose energy. They can become faint. It could be that the only thing which is keeping one spirit whole at the moment is the sense of safety in a space. So, for that reason, a place can sometimes matter.”
I could understand that. “The place is comforting to them.”
“Exactly,” agreed Bryane. “If the spirit gets too torn apart, they could fray and unravel. But if a spirit is helped into a sense of peace, they’re more able to move forward. To make progress along their course.”
I knew I was probably revealing more than I should, but I didn’t want to risk Sarah’s soul or essence or whatever she had. “So if Sarah is somewhere specific, and we can help her into a state where she is calm and peaceful, she shouldn’t need to stay in that one place any more? We should be able to move her to somewhere new?”
Bryane seemed quite intrigued by this idea, and he nodded. “Certainly. There have been plenty of instances of spirits wandering from location to location. It all has to do with the spirit’s strength.”
Relief coursed through me. “Thank you. You’ve set my heart at ease.”
I breathed out a deep breath.
Then I yawned. Immensely. A second followed on.
Marc gave a small smile. “I didn’t let you get any sleep last night, did I? Sorry about that. Why don’t I get you home, and you could get a nap.”
Bryane’s gaze sharpened, and he looked between me and Marc.
Was that a hint of jealousy I saw in his eyes?
A devilish mood took me, and I turned to Marc. I sweetly smiled. “That’s a great idea. I’ll need to be fresh for tonight, after all.”
He stood and put a hand down to me. “All right, then. Let’s get you home.”
I put up my hand, and he drew me up as if I were a feather. He held my hand for an extra beat, and my stomach fluttered …
Bryane was standing now, his gaze going between us. “If you need anything else –”
Marc gave Bryane a full smile. “I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks for everything.”
Lightness lifted me as I turned to Bryane. “It was good to see you again, Bryane. Say hi to Betty for us.”
His mouth turned down. “Her name is Wilma.”
“Wilma. Of course. Enjoy your afternoon.”
Marc turned with me, we strolled back up toward town, and for the first time in a long, long time, joyful laughter filled my soul.
Chapter Sixteen
Marc and I were on his thirty-two-foot sailboat. He looked stunningly handsome in his navy-blue swim trunks and mirrored sunglasses. His body was lean and tan, like some sort of Adonis of the sea. I was in a yellow polka-dot bikini, sipping a Long Island Iced Tea. The boat practically hummed as it skimmed across the waves.
I tucked my drink into the holder and stood to move up next to Marc. His hand rested easily on the wheel, and he looked down at me with a smile. “Have I told you lately how gorgeous you look in that?”
I leaned in against him. “I don’t think so.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “Well then, my darling, you are absolutely stunning.”
My stomach was fluttering with butterflies, and when his free hand wrapped around me, the butterflies began somersaulting.
His gaze grew smoky. “And those lips look as if –”
Knock Knock Knock.
He looked up in confusion. “Did you hear that?”
I shook my head, my gaze wholly on him. “I didn’t hear anything at all. You were saying? My lips?”
The corners of his mouth turned up in that way I loved so much. He murmured, “Your lips are so soft that –”
Knock Knock Knock.
Crash.
I groaned in exhaustion and pried open my eyes.
Yup, just as I had feared. Felix had been spooked by whatever noise he’d heard and had jumped up on my dresser on his way to the top of the bookshelf to hide. Along the way he’d managed to knock over my altar area. Candles, figurines, and the sand from my incense burner were all over the wood floor.
A man’s voice called in concern, “Amber? You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I shouted back. “Just a minute.”
I’d fallen into bed fully clothed, so it was just a matter of avoiding the sand-strewn area and going through the small living room of my apartment to get to the front door. I popped the lock and pulled it open. “I just need to grab a dust-bin, because –”
I stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Facts began to seep in at me.
It was still bright sunshine out.
Marc hadn’t been planning on coming back for me until ten p.m., so I could get some decent sleep before we started our stakeout.
His face held deep worry.
Concern rose within me. “What is it? Is it Alex? Is she hurt?”
He drew in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. It took him a moment before he got it out.
“It’s Anna. I think something’s happened to her.”
I stared at him for a long minute, my mind trying to wrap itself around his sentence.
At last I said, “Anna? You mean spirit Anna? The one who’s already dead?”
“Her physical body is dead, but her spirit body is still alive. Or it was, when we saw her last night.”
Now tension ran down my neck. “Wait, what? You think somehow her spirit died? Since last night?”
For a detective who must have talked with numerous families about tragedies, he was clearly having some trouble with this situation.
“I can’t be sure. It just feels …”
A thump came from the bedroom.
I snapped back to the present. “Let me get the sand up, before, well, disaster strikes.” I grabbed up the dustbin and brush from the kitchen counter and ran into the bedroom.
Felix was crouched on the bed now, his black furry form neatly blending in with the dark comforter. His gaze was glued on the doorway.
“It’s all right,” I reassured him. “Marc’s a friend.”
Felix blinked his green eyes.
I hunkered down and swept up the sand. At my side, Marc gathered up the candles and put them back up onto my bureau.
He reached for the three figurines.
I called out, “Wait.”
He stilled.
I blushed. It was silly, really. They were just small wooden shapes. But I’d found the driftwood myself. I’d carefully carved them. They weren’t Michelangelo sculptures by any stretch of the imagination, but they were mine. They’d never been touched by any other hand.
My cheeks were burning, but I carefully took up each figurine and put them back in their places on the bureau.
My mother.
My father.
My aunt Marilyn.
I whispered, “Namaste.”
Then I ducked my head and finished sweeping the sand up into the bin. I retrieved the small blue pottery bowl that had rolled off by the bed and put it back into its location. I poured the sand into it.
I avoided Marc’s eyes as I headed back into the kitchen to put the dustpan where it belonged. “I just need to put on my shoes and I’m ready to go.”
“It’s OK, you know. To have something special to remember them by.”
I grabbed my shoes and went to the couch. “I know. But I shouldn’t care about someone else touching them. It’s just … well, I found the wood. I made them. It seems important, somehow. That it’s just me. I guess sort of like I imagine that my mom and dad were the last ones to touch those pieces of wood. That they were walking on the beach and saw them, and tossed them into the waves. And then the wood came back just for me.” I shrugged. “Silly.”
“It’s not silly,” he stated, his gaze on me. “I came here because I think something’s happened to a ghost spirit.” He shook his head. “It’s hard for me to even accept I’m saying such a thing. And if I can wrap my mind around that, I think we can say that there can be a connection held through an object like a piece of wood.”
I supposed he was right.
I finished with my shoes and grabbed my purse. “All right. Let’s go figure out what’s going on with Anna.”
I turned to look at Felix. “And you. Be calm and relaxed while I’m gone.”
Felix blinked his green eyes.
We headed down the stairs and out the main door.
Marc gave me a small smile as we strode down the street. “Calm and relaxed?”
I chuckled. “I used to say to him, be a good kitten. But then I realized that a good kitten pounces on things. He climbs into things and explores things. Those are simply part of a kitten’s nature. So now I ask for him to be calm and relaxed. I’m fine with him being playful and energetic while I’m there to watch over him.”
His eyes twinkled. “I suppose that makes sense.”
We turned a corner, heading further into the residential area. The shadows came back into his gaze.
I asked, “Why do you think Anna’s in trouble?”
His lips pressed together. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like the times I go into a missing person’s home and have a sense that something happened there. Everything’s where it belongs. There’s no sign of blood or trouble. But I just get this sense. A sense that something’s not right. That there were strong emotions there, and it left … I don’t know. An echo or something. Sort of like when you throw a heavy rock into a pond. The rock vanishes, but there’s still the ripples. And even after a moment, when the larger ripples settle, there’s still those smaller ones. A disturbance. Something … off.”
I nodded.
I knew what he meant.
We reached his house; he pressed open the front door.
Alex called out from the living room, “There you are! I got home and the house was empty. I thought we were going to nap for the afternoon? You know, get ready for tonight?”
We walked through and she blinked in surprise. “Huh? Amber?”
Marc said, “I needed her to come look at the kitchen with me.” He guided me through the living room.
Alex followed along behind us in curiosity. “Why? I was just in there, getting some soda. It seemed fine to me.”
Marc stopped at the entryway and gently blocked Alex. “Amber, you go in by yourself. See what you think.”
I nodded to him.
I drew in a long, deep breath. I held it for a moment. And then, as I let it out, I stepped into the kitchen.
I felt it.
I closed my eyes, blocking out sight. It was clearly not something I could see.
The room settled into stillness. If Marc and Alex were breathing, I couldn’t hear it.
But I could feel something.
I could see why Marc was having trouble describing it. It was as if a sense I’d never known I possessed had eased into being.
I blocked everything else out. The faint scent of the herbs. The hum of the refrigerator. The tickle of the breeze across my skin.
I breathed.
Breathed.
Breathed.
I drew my focus in to my third eye.
The human brain is primarily formed by two main lobes. The lobes are protected, as a unit, by a blood-brain barrier which keeps it separate from the rest of the body. But the pineal gland within the brain is unique. It gets direct blood, and only the kidney uses more blood than it. Biologists know that it regulates our handling of day and night. Light and dark. Consciousness and unconsciousness.
Why did our body evolve to give it access to such a strong supply of nutrients?
What else could our third eye see, beyond the lines of consciousness and unconsciousness?
I visualized my eye slowly opening wider. I imagined shifting the way I took in the scene. One separate from the physical objects. One not involving the audio waves. One not involving chemical traces floating on air currents.
Another form of ripple … of movement …
There.
I let my body get used to the sensation. It was like … pressure, maybe, on the third eye. A pressure that had emotion associated with it. There was confusion and sadness.
I took a step forward.
The pressure grew stronger here.
Now that I had a sense of what I was focusing on, I turned in place. It seemed the energy was strongest in the place we had seen Anna before – standing in front of the refrigerator. But as I drew closer to it, the tone of the energy changed. It coiled from concern to dread to terror to –
Gentle hands pulled me back, drawing me against a steady chest. Marc’s voice softly said, “Breathe. Breathe. You’re shaking.”
I hadn’t even realized it, but now I could feel it. My entire body was trembling. I opened my eyes and took in long, steadying breaths.
When I had calmed, I said to Marc, “Close your eyes.”
His hands were still on my arms, gently, and I rested in that safe space. I closed my own eyes.
I murmured to him, “Imagine you have a powerful sensor at the center of your skull, in line with your forehead. It’s about the size of a grain of rice.”
He nodded against me. “The pineal gland. Descartes felt it was the seat of the soul.”
It made sense to me. The soul had to have its home somewhere.
“Feel for waves of energy, or pressure, with that eye. Step with me.” I stepped toward the fridge, and he mimicked my move. I said, “Stronger.” Then we stepped back. I said, “Weaker.”
I stepped again, this time not saying the words. Forward. Back.
A third time.
He whispered, “I feel it.”
I moved to the side. Separating from him was as if a chill breeze had cut at me. I resisted the call to move back into his arms. He needed to get a handle on this while the signals were so strong. I was finding that the more I focused on my own perceptions, the easier it became to feel the subtle variations. To draw in the emotion.
Concern. Fear.
I carefully eased around the edge of the more powerful space. I gave my body time to get used to the sensation. To accept that this was not happening to me. These were just ripples of echoes. They were waves sent out by the spirit.
Marc murmured, “Something happened to her. Something which traumatized her.”
My hands flew to my phone. “What if she sen
sed something about Sarah?”
I hit the text buttons for Gertie. I’m at Marc’s house. We think Anna’s missing. Is Sarah there? Is she all right?
My heart pounded … pounded …
The response came. Sarah is just fine – we’re playing a game of chess. What happened to Anna?
I sighed in relief. “Sarah is fine. So Anna wasn’t upset about her. That’s a relief.”
I sent Gertie a note. We’re figuring it out. I’ll let you know when we learn more. Just hang tight.
I tucked my phone back into my purse. “All right. So Anna wasn’t upset about her sister. Maybe if both of us examine the scene more closely, we can find traces of exactly what happened.”
He nodded to me.
We both breathed in deeply –
BLAM.
The front door slammed open, and Roger’s voice carried heartily throughout the house. “Hey Alex, I’m back! And I brought that garlic pizza you love. Figured it’d help you sleep. Why don’t we –”
He came into the kitchen and stared at us in curiosity. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?”
I groaned. I’d heard all the stories about garlic warding off vampires and the evil eye. Maybe there was some truth to that. Because with the pungent aroma filling the entire kitchen, I was now completely unable to concentrate on the subtle pressure changes I’d been feeling.
Or maybe it was just Roger’s rambunctious presence which was doing that.
Alex brightly turned to Roger. “They think something happened to Anna! They’re trying to figure out what it is.”
Roger’s brows went up. “You’re saying a spirit … vanished? How would you even know? Maybe she just … you know … transitioned. Now that she knows her sister is ok.”
Marc shook his head, examining the ground before the refrigerator. “I don’t think so. It feels … different than that.”
Roger chuckled. “What, now the moods of a spirit have different flavors? Like chocolate and vanilla?”
Marc seemed to barely hear him. “Something like that.”
Alex took the box from Roger and plunked it down on the counter. She lifted the lid.
Somehow the pungent smell of the garlic filled the space even more completely. My eyes began to water.
