When the Spirit Calls (When the Spirit... series - Book 2)

by Thomas DePrima

  Passing behind Arlene, Mrs. Watson bent and kissed her daughter on the top of her head. "Good morning, dear."

  "Good morning, Momma."

  Moving around the table, her mother took her usual place at the table opposite Arlene. "You look terrible. That awful nightmare again?"

  "Yes. And when I awoke, I sat up until sunrise."

  "It's time to do something, dear. You have to seek medical help."

  "The nightmare is significant, Momma. I know it is. I don't recognize anything in it, but it must be a warning. I just don't know if it's something that will happen to me in the future, or something that's happened in the past."

  "Maybe it's a scene you saw in a movie or television program that just keeps playing over and over. You know, like when you can't get a tune out of your head."

  "No, it's real. I know it is. I just don't know what it means— yet."

  "Well, today's Friday. If you're not able to get a full night's sleep free from nightmares by Monday morning, we're going to the hospital to consult with somebody about sleep aids."

  Arlene smiled weakly. "Okay, Momma."

  Her father didn't accept Arlene's paranormal abilities as genuine and was always looking for more rational explanations for the visions she had and the things she knew, but her mother seemed to only make a pretense of not believing. Arlene thought her mother had at least a limited paranormal ability, although she would never admit it, not even to Arlene.

  Hearing their voices, Cook appeared at the door to take Mrs. Watson's breakfast order.

  *

  Not long after Arlene's mother left for the club, a new silver Saab arrived at the estate's gates and buzzed for entry. Mrs. Caruthers, having opened the front gate so the vehicle could enter the grounds, waited patiently at the front door. As the Saab screeched to a stop, two giggling young women jumped out and hurried up the steps of the portico. Mrs. Caruthers had intended to show them to the small parlor just off the large foyer where they could wait until Miss Arlene came down, but as soon as they learned that she was in her bedroom, they stepped past the housekeeper and bounded up the wide marble staircase that led to the second floor, ignoring Mrs. Caruthers' appeals to stop.

  Originally retained as a part-time bookkeeper to help track the bills and make payments to contractors while the mansion was being restored, Arlene had asked Mrs. Caruthers to stay on as housekeeper when the work was completed. The sixty-year-old woman, whose once black hair was now mostly grey, appeared at first to be someone's sweet grandmother, but she had a sharp mind and could be all business when required. Barely topping five feet, she never let her height stop her from speaking her mind when she knew she was right.

  Mrs. Caruthers scowled, snorted quietly, and returned to supervising the maids who were presently cleaning the downstairs rooms. Both young visitors were well known to her and intimately familiar with the house, but she always expected more maturity from them.

  *

  "Ar!" the girls shouted as they entered the bedroom.

  "Be right out," Arlene shouted back from her bathroom. Emerging a few seconds later, she squealed joyfully and ran towards the two girls, who likewise squealed and ran to meet her halfway. They, along with Megan Kearney, had grown up together and had been best friends since entering kindergarten, but they hadn't seen one another since spring break. After a few seconds of hugging, Arlene took a step back and said, "You both look great. Erin, your skin has completely cleared up now. And I love your new hairstyle."

  Erin McDonald smiled widely and said, "Finally. I still have to watch the chocolate though." For most of her teenage years, Erin's otherwise pretty face had been covered with acne, and her mousy brown hair had been cut to conceal as much of her cheeks as possible. Her new hairdo, replete with highlights, proudly swept her hair back and away from her face. Like Arlene, the young woman was in her third year of college. She hoped to become a pediatrician one day, and her grades were more than adequate to achieve that goal.

  "And Renee, you look great also," Arlene said. "Of course, you always look great."

  Renee Dennis, twenty-one now like the other two young women, had always been the most attractive of the quartet while they were growing up and definitely retained that distinction now. The five-foot, seven-inch blonde, with jade-green eyes, perfect smile, soft, lush lips, and a curvaceous body, practically had to beat the boys off with a stick while in high school. If she had one serious failing, it was her mouth. She often said what she thought before thinking about the possible repercussions of her words. And her penchant for making facetious remarks often kept people from taking her very seriously.

  "I see you've decided to join us blondes," Renee said.

  "Yes, I have," she said with a smile, then added, "It's always worked for you, so I decided to give it a try. I felt it might be a nice change from my auburn color."

  "It does looks great, Ar— but you don't. What's wrong? Man troubles?"

  Arlene grinned. "As if that could be a problem. No, I haven't found anyone yet who could hold a candle to my Jeremy. Perhaps I never will."

  "You have to forget Jeremy and move on," Erin said. "He died in 1937. You had fifty-three wonderful years together, but it's time to find another love."

  "You're one to talk. Have you forgotten Donald, or your children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren?"

  "I didn't mean forget, exactly. I'll never forget a husband I loved with all my heart for half a century, or our progeny, but these twenty-one-year-old bodies have definite physical needs. I once thought I'd be so busy with my schoolwork and then with a job that I'd be content just having fond memories of my past life. But I've come to realize during the past several years that I was very wrong. I'll never forget Donald, but I need to find a man to share this lifetime with. And it's not like I'd be cheating on him or anything. He passed on more than seventy years ago."

  "I suppose you're right," Arlene said. "During the past few years I've felt incredibly lonely at times."

  "Is that why you look so awful?" Renee asked. "You're lonely?"

  "No, that's not it. I've been having a recurring nightmare every time I try to sleep. I wake up soaked with perspiration, and then I'm afraid to go to sleep again."

  "Tell us about it," Erin said.

  After Arlene had related the dream, Renee asked, "Do you think it's a premonition?"

  "I don't know. I only know it's significant."

  "Have you consulted the cards?" Erin asked, referring to Arlene's psychic connection with the spirit world and her talents with a tarot deck.

  "Of course. But the answers are always ambiguous."

  "Uh oh," Renee said. "I'm getting that funny feeling again. The last time you started getting ambiguous answers from the cards, we all wound up in 1883, in other people's bodies."

  "Oh, Renee, you loved it," Arlene said, grinning.

  "Don't pay any attention to her," Erin said. "Like us, she wouldn't trade that time for anything in the world. So what do the cards say about the murder?"

  "I asked them if I was involved, and they said yes. So I asked them if I was the victim, and they said no. So then I asked them if I was the killer."

  "The killer?" Erin echoed. "That's absurd. You don't even like to kill houseflies. In high school biology you refused to dissect the frog, accepting a failing grade for that lab exercise instead."

  "I had to ask," Arlene said. "I can't see either the victim or the killer in the dream. Anyway, the cards said no. So how else can I be involved if I'm not the victim or the killer?"

  "You don't think that you…" Erin said, her voicing trailing off.

  "I honestly don't know," Arlene said, instantly picking up on Erin's thought. "I suppose it's possible that the answers from the cards could still be considered accurate if only my soul was inside the murdered woman."

  "Well, I for one am comfortable right here," Renee said. "I have one more year of college to get my BS degree in chemical engineering and then another to get my Masters. I don't want to vis
it the past again before then. So if some spirit suggests they send us to another era, I hope you'll decline this time, or at least delay it."

  "We weren't exactly offered a choice the last time," Arlene said.

  "Yeah, but we were only sixteen then and your powers hadn't fully developed. Now you can see them coming."

  "Unless they're trying to conceal themselves from me."

  "You didn't recognize the place at all?" Erin asked.

  "No. I'm sure I've never been there before."

  "Did you see any distinguishing landmarks, like towering buildings or bridges?" Renee asked.

  "No, nothing. Just woods and then a stream."

  "There must be something that distinguishes that place from a hundred thousand others like it," Erin said. "What kinds of trees were in the forest?"

  "I don't know. I guess there were a lot of pines." Closing her eyes, Arlene breathed in deeply and said, "I can smell their sap if I close my eyes. It was too dark to really identify anything else, except— the fallen tree used to prevent my body from floating downstream had what looked liked sycamore leaves."

  "Keep your eyes closed and move to the stream," Renee said. "You said the trees on the other side of the stream had been harvested. Is there any large equipment in evidence?"

  "No. All I see are low tree stumps. There's almost no undergrowth. Wait, there's a sign on the other bank."

  "Focus on that," Erin said. "Can you see what it says?"

  "It's just a 'No Trespassing' sign, barely readable in the moonlight."

  "Read it to us," Renee said, "everything you can see."

  "No Hunting, Fishing, or Trespassing. Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association."

  "That's it," Renee said. "Now you know where it happens."

  "But how can we locate what sounds like an obscure social group?" Erin asked.

  "Just check the internet. They'll probably have a website or something."

  Arlene opened her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "It's worth a try," she said as she moved towards the computer on her desk. Calling up a search engine, she entered the name and clicked the 'go' icon. The search only took a few seconds but didn't produce any results, except offers to buy a Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association at Amazon and numerous other internet retailers.

  "Nothing," she said.

  "Let me try," Renee said. "I know this great search engine. It taps into all the other major search engines and always finds something."

  After some twenty seconds, Renee's search yielded the same ridiculous results as Arlene's search. In the absence of any solid leads, search engines usually tried to have the user click on links that took them to a retailer because the search engine provider got paid for every click-through.

  "I can't believe it," Renee said. "I always get something."

  "It's possible it doesn't exist yet," Erin offered.

  "Or maybe," Arlene speculated, "it doesn't exist anymore and was simply gone before the internet got popular, so they never had a website or anyone talking about it online."

  "Well, like you said, it was worth a try," Erin said.

  "There's one more thing I can try," Arlene said as she picked up the phone and entered a speed-dial number. A couple of seconds later she said, "Daddy? Can you do me a huge favor? Would you search your sources for any references to the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association? That's G-L-E-N-N D-O-W-N-S… Thank you, Daddy, you're a dear. Call me back if you find anything. I love you."

  "What makes you think he'll have any more luck than we did?" Erin asked after Arlene had hung up the phone.

  "His IT company is tied into all kinds of special databases around the world. If the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association has existed during the past fifty years, he'll find a record of them."

  "Glenn Downs is sort of a funny name for a place with forests," Erin said as they waited. "Doesn't 'downs' mean 'a rocky, treeless highland with limited soil?'"

  "Maybe it will be a rocky, treeless highland with limited soil now that all the trees have been cut down," Renee quipped. "Besides, you can't always expect logic from a bunch of liquored up, overgrown boys with deadly toys."

  Arlene reached for the phone as it rang and picked up the receiver. "Hello?— Oh hi, Daddy— You did? That was fast— Okay, I've got it. New York State. What county?— Isn't that in the Adirondacks? Okay, thanks Daddy. I love you. I'll see you tonight."

  The other girls looked at Arlene questioningly as she hung up the phone.

  "The Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association was incorporated in New York State as a non-profit organization thirty-eight years ago. It was dissolved about ten years ago."

  "Ten years ago?" Renee asked. "In your dream, what kind of shape was the sign in?"

  "It looked almost new," Arlene replied.

  "That means the dream is about something that has already occurred."

  "Or will occur sometime in the past," Arlene said.

  "Don't start that time paradox stuff again," Renee said.

  "What now?" Erin asked.

  "I'm going to send an email to the sheriff's office in the county where the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association was located and inquire about my murder."

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Immediately after supper, Arlene climbed the rear stairs to the second floor and walked tiredly to her bedroom in the family wing. Too exhausted to stay up any longer, she had to at least try to get some sleep.

  Thankfully, she didn't remember a thing after her head hit the pillow. Awakened by the sun gently layering her face with smothering warmth, she felt rested and relaxed for the first time in a week. She had slept the entire night without being visited by the nightmare.

  "You're looking much better this morning, Miss," Cook said warmly as she brought her a cup of tea in the family dining room.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Brittle. I feel much better also. I slept through the entire night without having a nightmare."

  "That's wonderful, Miss," Cook said, smiling. "Would you like some breakfast this morning?"

  "Yes, I believe I would. How about a couple of your wonderful pancakes with maple syrup?"

  "I'll get started on them right away. With blueberries?"

  "That sounds wonderful."

  "I'll have them ready in about ten minutes."

  Cook stepped back into the kitchen, delighted that Arlene's appetite had returned. She believed Miss Arlene had been a little too slender when she first came to work for the family. Having filled out a little in recent years, she looked much healthier for it, but she hadn't eaten enough to keep a hamster alive during the past week, and Cook had been worried.

  Relaxing and occasionally sipping at her tea as she waited for breakfast, Arlene used the time to think about recent events. The cessation of the nightmares immediately after she sent an email to the county sheriff's office in which she requested information about a possible homicide had to be more than mere coincidence. The night's rest had refreshed her mind and she was able to reexamine everything she had experienced since the nightmares began.

  It was entirely possible that the simple act of sending the email had triggered something in her mind to stop the nightmares, but her knowledge of paranormal forces made that difficult to accept. She believed outside forces were at work. From past experience she knew that spirits who had crossed over could exert powerful influences over the minds of the living, but the nightmare was much more elaborate than anything she had previously experienced. It was far more likely that a spirit who had chosen to remain on this plane of existence rather than immediately crossing over to the immortal world was involved. Their ability to interact with mortals was much greater, and they didn't tire nearly as quickly as those making contact from the immortal world.

  The pancakes Cook prepared were delicious and Arlene returned to her suite in the family wing of the mansion feeling quite sated. She decided that her parents must be sleeping in because they still hadn't appeared by the time she was finished with breakfast, and her brother must be o
ff battling aliens on distant worlds or perhaps fighting numerous marauding bands of mutants on a post-Apocalyptic Earth. The state-of-the-art video arcade she'd built in one of the extra bedrooms in the family wing saw far more of her thirteen-year-old brother during weekends and summer vacation than the family ever did.

  Having been so fatigued during the past week because of the nightmares, Arlene had been out of touch with friends, so she made up for lost time by spending the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon on the telephone.

  * * *

  The lanky, six-foot-two-inch frame of Lt. Richard Bolger was sprawled unceremoniously over the chair behind his desk as he contemplated the brief lifespan of the ordinary housefly moving around the rim of his empty coffee cup. His sandy-colored hair was neatly combed, but his suit, freshly pressed before work, was showing signs of his having spent the entire morning at his desk. With no new investigations to use as an excuse to leave the office, he had been forced to shuffle paperwork all day.

  The thirty-five-year-old bachelor had been with the county sheriff's department for almost twelve years, joining within a month of separating from the Army. He had, through very long hours and diligent effort, attained his present position as Detective Lieutenant. His success hadn't been achieved by climbing on the backs of other more senior deputies, but he hadn't simply waited for them to get out of the way either. He'd busted his buns on every assignment given him and had eventually come to the attention of the sheriff. There were no higher positions on the ladder now, except the sheriff's post. And while sixty-eight-year-old Sheriff Canaar had been threatening to retire for the past five years, Bolger had begun to suspect it wouldn't actually happen until the day the sheriff's body reached room temperature. Bolger preferred to be doing actual police work anyway instead of hobnobbing with politicians and civic leaders, sucking up daily to the county chairman of the political party in power and kissing babies for several months every two years while begging the citizens of the county to give him another term in office.