Loose Ends (A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery)

by Terri Reid

  “A paramedic had to look over you?”

  “Well, he was there when I woke up,” she yawned.

  “You fainted?” Bradley’s voice was getting more and more agitated.

  “No, I think I knocked myself out,” Mary said wearily, “I don’t remember much after running into the fort.”

  “You’re telling me that you actually ran, like running ran, into a fort?”

  “Well, it was a meadow at the time,” she replied, her eyes slowly closing.

  “Is it me or are you not making any sense?” he asked, looking down at Mary sleeping soundly on the couch. “Well, damn.”

  The wind ruffled the sheer curtains that swept over the polished wood floor. Bradley slept in the recliner next to the couch, keeping vigil over Mary. In the hall, the antique grandfather clock struck midnight. Clear tones echoed the twelve chimes throughout the quiet house. Bradley woke, instinctively knowing something was different.

  Silence shrouded the room for a moment. Then a muffled noise came from behind the basement door. Thump. Thump. Thump. It moved closer. The doorknob rattled. Bradley pulled his service revolver from his holster and slowly, carefully walked toward the basement door.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. The door shook from the force of the blows, the damaged brass lock couldn’t hold and the door crashed open.

  “Freeze, Police,” Bradley yelled, his revolver stretched out in front of him, his stanch lethal.

  “Bradley, what’s going on?” Mary called.

  “Stay put,” Bradley commanded, as he dove over the counter, bringing a large cookie jar with him, and rolled to face the basement stairs.

  The doorway was empty. He plastered himself against the wall and investigated all of the corners of the kitchen.

  “Bradley, what in the world have you done to my cookie jar,” Mary asked, her drowsy expression filled with confusion, as she entered the kitchen.

  Bradley dashed through the kitchen, pulled Mary into his arms and pushed her behind him. “I told you to stay put,” he growled.

  “While you destroy my kitchen? I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “Mary, there is an intruder in your house,” he whispered ferociously. “An intruder.”

  Mary tried to look past him to the clock on the stove, but couldn’t. “What time is it?” she finally asked.

  Bradley was stunned. “Didn’t you hear me; there is an intruder in your home.”

  “Yes, I heard you,” she replied and then repeated slowly, “What time is it?”

  “It’s about five after twelve,” he said.

  “Oh, okay, it’s Lieutenant Earl Belvidere,” she said, yawning and leaning against the counter. “Once he realizes that I’m not upstairs, he’ll come on back down.”

  “What the hell?” Bradley asked.

  “Shhhh, you’ll scare him.”

  Bradley stood still and could hear footsteps above them.

  “How the hell?”

  “Shhhhh,” Mary insisted, moving toward the stairs.

  Bradley moved so he was shielding Mary, his gun still drawn. He heard the footsteps on the staircase, but he couldn’t see anything. The sounds moved directly past him, but no one was there. He thought he caught a whiff of the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

  The basement door across the kitchen closed by itself, the broken lock tumbled to the floor and echoed in the now silent kitchen. Only then did he hear the retreating thumping sounds on the stairs. Then everything was quiet once again.

  “But...there was no one there,” he said slowly, his wide eyes never leaving the door.

  “Yeah, ghosts are pretty particular about who they show themselves to,” Mary said.

  Bradley dropped back against the counter. “But there are no such things as ghosts,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s right, I keep forgetting,” Mary said, walking across the kitchen. “You can clean up the cookie jar; I’m going to lie back down.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mary woke up slowly. Every bone in her body ached and her head felt like someone had hit it with a two-by-four. “Or a log fort,” she remembered.

  She opened her eyes and gazed around the room. Definitely not her bedroom. Her gazed rested on Bradley sound asleep in the recliner. Most definitely not her bedroom.

  She sat up slowly and eased out from under the comforter that someone, most likely Bradley, had tucked around her. She noticed the same someone had also slipped off her socks and shoes. Okay, that was sweet. Points for him.

  She padded into the kitchen and stepped on a shard of broken cookie jar glass. “Ouch, damn, he just lost all his points.”

  She remembered the midnight visitor and smiled. Men were so cute when their whole belief system was whipped out from underneath them.

  She opened the broom closet and swept up the small shards Bradley had missed. Then she went upstairs to examine the damage her run-in with a fort had caused.

  The slightly purple and brown mark covered half of her forehead and surrounded her left eye. “I look like the Phantom of the Opera, in graphic color,” she groaned. “The Chief definitely gets his points back for not running away screaming.”

  She examined herself closer. “Obviously a man who’s seen his share of hideous scenes,” she muttered.

  She smiled into the mirror, remembering Bradley’s late night encounter with Earl. “He was so cute last night, protecting me from Earl. All Rambo and X-Files mixed together.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Mary, are you okay?” Bradley asked, “Is there someone in there with you?”

  “No,” Mary said, opening the door a crack and peering out. “Just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.”

  He looked uncomfortable, then said, “Well, you know, after last night...I didn’t know if... I mean... I just wondered if some kind of, um, presence...”

  He stopped and just stared.

  “Bradley, did you need something?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and then sighed.

  “I just wanted to be sure that you were okay before I left,” he said,

  She stepped out and closed the bathroom door behind her.

  “Ouch,” Bradley grimaced. “That still looks like it hurts.”

  Just what a girl wants to hear, she thought.

  “Oh, it looks worse than it is,” she replied. “Can I make you breakfast before you leave?”

  “No, I received a call and I’ve got to go,” he said, shaking his head. “How about a rain check?”

  Mary smiled. “Sure, you’ve got it. Thanks again for helping me last night. I really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no problem,” he smiled, “But, before I go, I have a question.”

  “Sure, shoot,” Mary said.

  “Last night, did I dream...”

  Mary shook her head. She was not going to make this easy for him. “No, you really did break my cookie jar – but, considering the circumstances, don’t worry about it.”

  He leaned against the hallway wall, ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Mary, did I see a ghost in your house last night?”

  Mary shook her head, “No, you didn’t.”

  He looked relieved for a moment.

  “You couldn’t see him. He was invisible.”

  “Mary, this isn’t funny,” he said, standing up. “I think I saw a ghost.”

  She leaned forward and patted his arm. “Do you want me to call your deputies and have them escort you to your office?” she asked solicitously.

  “Damn it, don’t be patronizing,” he growled. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Mary shrugged and walked back to the bathroom. “Well, Chief, maybe they don’t believe in you either,” she said over her shoulder just before she closed the door. She was sure she heard a few choice words from the Police Chief as he stormed down her stairs.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  A freaking
ghost! He had seen a freaking ghost. Well, okay, he hadn’t seen it, but he had heard it and watched it open doors. What the hell was going on in this world?

  Maybe it was a trick. Maybe Mary had lured him into her house and had the whole thing set up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Yeah, because that was a believable scenario.

  He tried to read the reports on his desk, but his eyes would blur and he would be back in her kitchen again. Watching the door open and close. Hearing the sounds of footsteps on the stairs.

  Something happened in that house that he had no logical explanation for and it left him feeling unsettled.

  Mayor Hank Montague, Bradley’s boss, poked his head into the office. “Hey, Alden, can I talk to you?” he asked.

  Bradley sat up in his chair and motioned to the seat on the other side of the desk. “Sure, Hank, what can I do for you?”

  The Mayor was a slight, dapper man with thick dark hair, a well-manicured moustache and piercing blue eyes. He took pride in his appearance and, Bradley thought, he considered himself quite a ladies’ man.

  He also had a keen intelligence and plenty of political savvy. He was able to size up a person and a situation quickly and use that knowledge to his advantage.

  Bradley also noticed the Mayor must have had a soft spot, because he surrounded himself with people who weren’t always at the top of their game. Bradley often thought of the folks at City Hall as the island of misfit toys – people who had no other place to go. Of course, Bradley mused, it also gives the Mayor a great deal of loyalty from his staff.

  “So, how’s the search for your wife coming along?” the Mayor asked, sliding comfortably into the chair.

  Bradley did a little mental head shake. Had the mayor really asked him about his wife? What the hell? That was no one’s business but his, and he certainly didn’t want it nosed around City Hall.

  “Well, I’m not actively pursuing it right now,” Bradley answered coolly.

  The Mayor shook his head. “Nonsense, young man,” he argued. “You got the resources of the City of Freeport behind you. You go ahead and keep up with that search. You don’t know if a new lead might pop out of nowhere.”

  Does he really think that’s new advice? Bradley wondered, or is he was just trying to be helpful?

  Bradley nodded. “Thank you, sir, I’ll certainly consider it.”

  “So, your little girl, she’d be about eight now, right?” he asked. “What a tragedy, you never even saw her.”

  His stomach clenched. He really didn’t need to be reminded that he’d never set eyes on his daughter. He didn’t need to be reminded that she was almost eight years old.

  “I’d really rather not discuss it, sir,” Bradley said firmly.

  “And your wife, she just disappeared,” he continued, ignoring Bradley’s wishes, “Your house broken into, your possessions taken and your wife gone. I think something like that might drive a man a little crazy.”

  Bradley sat up straighter. Had the Mayor been doing a little digging on his own? Was this more of a threat than misguided concern? Bradley narrowed his eyes, “Is there something you need, sir?”

  The Mayor smiled. “Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” he said, “The O’Reilly gal – the witchy one – I’ve been getting some calls about her. Some of the neighbors don’t like the way she carries on.”

  “Carries on?” Bradley asked.

  “You know, incantations, dancing in her back yard naked in the moonlight,” the Mayor paused and rubbed his chin. “Course, I got to say I wouldn’t mind watching that.”

  “Those would be Wiccan ceremonies,” Bradley said flatly. “Ms. O’Reilly is not Wiccan. She just sees ghosts.”

  “Well, whatever she does and whatever she is, my constituents don’t like it,” he said, standing up and leaning over the desk toward Bradley. “So keep an eye on her and if you can find some way to encourage her to move back to Chicago, I would appreciate it.”

  Bradley understood politics; he also understood that if he stood up, he would be taller than the Mayor and that would not please him one bit. So, he sat back and met the man’s eyes.

  “Are you asking me to harass an honest citizen of Freeport?”

  The Mayor chuckled. “No. No, of course not, Chief. I would never do something like that. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on a troubled gal,” he smiled ingratiatingly. “We have to keep the citizens of our good city happy, or we might find ourselves without employment. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you Chief?”

  Bradley just nodded, he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would lose his job.

  The Mayor nodded, an amused smiled playing on his lips. “Have a good day, Chief,” he said as he let himself out of the office and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Bradley stared at the closed door for a few moments. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two hours and a heavy make-up job later, Mary sat in her office researching the disappearance of young girls near northwest Illinois in the mid-eighties. The FBI’s missing persons database provided her with the information she needed. There had been five of them, including Jessica, and none of the cases had been solved. They came from small towns within a thirty mile radius of Elizabeth – two from Illinois, two from Wisconsin and one from Iowa.

  She printed out each case, four of them looked alike – they could have been sisters. Only Jessica stood out. Only Jessica was not among the ghosts that the paramedic had seen.

  Mary glanced at the clock on the computer screen. It was after nine – she was sure her old pal Gracie, the shrink, was at her desk at the district office in Chicago. She dialed the number and within two rings Gracie had answered the phone.

  ‘District 43, Gracie Williams speaking. What can I do for you?”

  “Hi, Gracie, this is Mary O’Reilly. How are you doing?”

  “Why Mary O’Reilly! What have you been doing with your skinny self lately? I haven’t seen you laying on one of my couches for months. You still seeing ghosts?”

  Mary laughed. “Yeah, I’m still seeing them and I’m still nuts. But, I’m getting used to the idea...you know, psychiatric adaptation.”

  Gracie laughed deeply. “Girl, if you’re nuts, then we’d all be better off being nuts just like you. What can I do for you, sugar? You got yourself a man you need me to analyze?”

  An unbidden image of Bradley Alden flashed in Mary’s mind and she pushed that thought away.

  “No, no men. I’m working on a case that’s about twenty-four years old. It involves at least four little girls – all about the age of eight – and perhaps another one, but I’m not sure she is part of the same case.”

  “What’s your hunch?” Gracie asked.

  “They’re connected,” Mary said.

  “I know that the girls were murdered and all brought to one place, but I don’t know if they were sexually assaulted,” Mary added.

  “Well, sugar, there are a couple of choices in your cast of characters,” Gracie said, “Because of the systematic way the predator has killed his victims, some good possibilities would be a child molester who was a Sadistic Pedophile or a sociopath, or a serial killer who just happens to like eight-year old girls.”

  “Okay, do you mind giving me an over-view of each one, so I know what I’m looking for?” Mary asked.

  “A Sadistic Pedophile gets a kick out of abusing their victims – sex is power and control. These are the pedophiles that kill their victims. These types search for the perfect victim and they don’t mind traveling a long distance to gain access to their quarry. Think of a cougar and a hunting territory – that’s your pedophile.”

  “Sounds like an intelligent predator,” Mary said, “Someone who thinks things through – not an impulse kind of guy.”

  “Yes, usually, this type of pedophile is intelligent and middle to upper class,” Gracie answered. “Some of them tend to have large egos and feel that they are unstoppable. That’s gen
erally when they get caught. They act impulsively, change their patterns and make a mistake.”

  “So, the last girl, Jessica, she might have been an impulse, rather than a planned victim?” Mary asked.

  “Well, if she didn’t fit his usual pattern, you could be right. He could have acted on impulse – which was more seductive because it was risky. Which could have caused him to change some other part of his modus operandi,” she replied. “Also, if she was an impulse, it was likely an impulse opportunity – so look for your molester to have closer ties to that community than the other ones he was hunting in.”

  “But, she could have stumbled on him killing one of the other girls,” she added, “And just got in the way. You gotta cover all your angles.”

  “Okay, how about the other kind of child molester?” Mary asked.

  “A sociopath uses violence to have power over others - sexual violence is not sex gone too far, it is violence with sex as its instrument,” Gracie explained. “And once again you have someone who has a big ego and loves power.”

  “Like a politician,” Mary mused.

  Gracie laughed. “Girl, I like my job - I take the Fifth!”

  “All right, how about a serial killer?” Mary asked.