by Jade McCahon
He went on like I hadn't spoken, going off into one of his signature rants. “Did you acknowledge for one moment that maybe that was all I could do? That I was there with you the whole time?” he asked. “No.” But he was smiling. “You had an explanation for every single thing that happened.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. How foolish I’d been.
“It’s okay. The whole thing with the tape recorder made up for it. Did you like that?” he laughed. “I sounded like a real ghost, right? Liiiiiisttttteeennnn…” he drew out an overdramatic whisper. “Spooky, huh?”
“I did listen. Finally.”
He grinned wider. “That’s all I ever wanted you to do.”
The simplicity of this world was overwhelming. I smiled. For once, I understood.
“I was really hopeful when Jamie moved next door because she's been communicating with spirit guides since she was a kid,” Tommy went on, sounding almost impressed. “And let me tell you…that is a mind you don’t want to be caught up in.” He laughed. “But she did get to Emmett somehow. Even though she was so stuck on the belief that talking to me would somehow offend you, she still passed the information on to Emmett. Yeah.” He sat back, clearly satisfied with himself. “It was all part of my big plan. But what a bunch of dense people I had to put up with. And Mom and Dad…forget about it. I didn’t even try.”
“You should have.” I looked down at my hands, remembering my conversation with my father. “What about Bonita? She must have been easy. She must have been trying to communicate with you, right? Or Jon?” I asked.
“Jon? No, not really. And believe it or not, Bonita was the hardest of all to get through to,” he answered thoughtfully. “She closed her mind off completely when I…well, you know. The one time I did reach her, I used it to put my two cents in on something some might not consider a practical utilization of my abilities.”
“What?” I asked.
“Ahh, you’ll find out,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
I made a face. “Okay, but it had better not be gross.”
There was mock hurt in his eyes. “Gross? Me? No. Not this time. This was too important.” He grinned. “I got to go in on a name.”
I had no idea what he meant, so as was typical of our relationship, I ignored him. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked him. “I mean, here, in this place? Alone?”
He grinned again. “Yeah. Of course. Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve seen Grandma and Grandpa…Jenny…” he was wistful. “Out there isn’t real. What’s here is what’s real. This is where you come back to when you’re done with all that. This is home.” He made a sweeping gesture toward our house, and I realized he was right.
“I want to stay here with you,” I whispered.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Wow, you really have to keep working on that listening thing. It’s not about winning, Sara. It’s about getting to play the game.”
“Please, Tommy. I don’t want to play anymore.” I placed my cards down on the slats of the swing.
“You’re forfeiting?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes.” How could I leave this beautiful place?
He rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Quit being a baby.” He reached across the swing and hugged me unexpectedly, and even without a body he had such warmth and energy.
I didn’t want to let go. “I can’t. It hurts too much.”
He pulled back, smiling at me. “Sure it hurts now, and it's not going to get better any time soon.” His voice was matter-of-fact, his tone inarguable. “But trust me, Sara,” he said. “You're gonna live.”
****
I woke up feeling a cold breeze against my neck. My eyes were stuck shut, my eyelashes caked in the glue of my own blood. A blanket was being wrapped around me. There were so many voices. Every time they touched me it was like they were breaking more bones. I couldn’t cry out. I couldn’t move. I felt my back against something soft and unsteady. My head was on a pillow. My damaged hearing picked up the muffled sounds of what seemed to be a bed being placed in a box. “No, I don’t want to go in the casket,” I finally managed to croak out. “Please don’t lock me in the casket.”
“You’re not going in a casket, you’re going to the hospital,” answered a voice. It was calm, a relieved and familiar voice, and I was so glad to hear it. Jamie’s voice. I felt her warm grip on my hand. “The wrecking ball crashed into the room you were in. It just went by itself…it was a freak accident. They’d already called the demolition off because they were trying to find you.”
“Emmett!” I gasped, and my ribs screamed. “Where’s Emmett? Jamie, you have to find him!”
“It’s okay, he’s okay,” she replied soothingly. “He didn’t get hurt. He was thrown clear. He’s fine. Raymond and Cole are bringing him along to the hospital.”
“No, he's still sick,” I insisted, even as my lungs protested the air escaping my throat. “He needs help too.”
“Shhh. He’s fine.” She squeezed my hand again. Her voice dipped low and grave. “They found Brad in the rubble. And Ead.” She knew it was better to tell me this now than keep it from me; that it would reassure me, not upset me. “They weren’t so lucky.”
Luck had nothing to do with it, I knew. I thought of Tommy’s notebook and spirit board, his voice on the recorder, his helmet…probably lost forever in the collapsed walls. There are no coincidences.
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “Ead…Brad…he tried to kill me.”
“I know,” Jamie whispered. “Bonita’s father is having a field day with what he’s uncovering. And…they found Jenny.” Jamie sounded sad. “They found her before they found you. When the wrecking ball hit, it destroyed the wall. And she was there.”
I heard the beeping of machines, felt a cold plastic mask being placed over my face. Someone else was in the ambulance with us, poking my skin with needles and prodding my body parts. Compared with the pain I already felt that was beginning now to numb slightly, it was nothing. I heard Raymond’s voice again, somewhere not far away. Everyone sounded frantic. “Tommy told you, didn’t he? Tommy told you to go to Emmett,” I murmured, my words muffled by the mask. It was the dreams that had started the domino effect these bizarre twelve hours had cascaded into, the dreams that were all too real.
She heard the desperation in my voice, the acceptance. “Now you know the truth,” she whispered. “You don’t need me to tell you.”
“Are we okay here?” I asked. “Will you stay with me? Did you tell them it was police brutality?” I asked, hearing my voice crack, tears stinging my glued-shut eyes. “Am I going to be okay?”
I felt Jamie squeeze my hand again, heard the rumble of her quiet laugh. “Of course. Doug’s here. Remember? My EMT friend I told you about?”
“Hey,” said a man who was adjusting tubing very near my head.
I tried not to laugh. It hurt. “Hey,” I answered. Life was so stupid, so ridiculous. And it was so good to be alive.
“You’re not going to believe this, but your mother is already on her way here,” Jamie told me, over the noise of the machines.
“How…what? Did you tell her what happened?” It would be so wonderful to see my mother, I thought.
“She called me, hysterical, about five minutes before they found you,” Jamie explained. “She demanded to know where you were, knew something bad had happened to you.”
“How did she know?” I rasped.
“She said she looked out the window and saw you and Tommy playing cards together on the porch swing.”
The ambulance doors closed. And away we went.
****
…And Beyond…
****
The smell of lilacs swirled about in the air on a warm breeze that accented a beautiful, perfect spring day. “Here, Mom,” I said, handing her a foam plate of French fries, then turning back to my father. It was early evening and this particular backyard cook out was surprisingly crowded. Half the town had to be here, I thought.
My dad was making some joke about how he should have hosted this at the restaurant so he could charge people for their burgers.
I was a little apprehensive about what was to come. Then all too quickly, the moment was here, and I put down the plate of food I was helping my dad with. “Is it okay if I go?” I asked him. He smiled at me. I looked at my mother and she nodded, her eyes tearful. I could feel them watching me as I walked through the gate and strode across the lawn toward the ancient black Mustang that had just pulled up in the driveway. Emmett caught up with me and grabbed hold of my hand, and I looked up at him appreciatively as he crossed the yard with me, never faltering in his step. We knew things other people didn’t know. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
In the hospital I awoke and he had been there, smiling at me from the chair next to my bed. I was glad I hadn’t forfeited. It was like seeing the sun rise in the middle of my room. I knew I’d be seeing many sunrises to come. As we walked toward the road, I knew everything was the way it was supposed to be.
Bonita stepped out of the car, looking radiant. I could definitely see now what had attracted so many boys to her side over the years. She swept her long dark hair back and reached down into the backseat of the car. Jon got out on the other side, greeting Emmett, handing him a foil-covered dish of some sort. I was happy she and Jon were together. Both had lost the loves of their lives and found some solace in each other, and it made sense. I waited for Bonita, watching her bend down and unhook a car seat. There was the sound of tiny footsteps on the pavement, and then there he was scampering toward me, a little boy about four and a half years old…a boy with Bonita's raven hair and my brother’s gold-flecked eyes. He had on a little basketball jersey, looking as cute as a picture. “Hello, there,” I said, bending down to him. My eyes blurred with tears, and I pinched his tummy playfully and grinned at him. “My name’s Sara,” I told him. “I’m your aunt.”
“I know that, silly,” he answered, grinning back at me. He had the sweetest little voice, and already I loved him.
I laughed. “And what is your name?” I asked.
He swiveled back and forth, a ball of energy, just like his daddy. I wondered if he would jump off of our chairs in a pillow-case cape. I decided I would make him one. “Joseph Thomas Featherstone,” he recited perfectly, holding out his hand for me to shake.
We all stood around him, enthralled by how little and precious he was. Down on one knee, I could see into his big eyes, and I shook his chubby little hand properly. “That’s quite a name,” I teased him. “Is there something I can call you for short?” I asked.
He grinned at me, a little angel's smile, so familiar and yet all his own. “Yes, ma'am,” he answered, ever so politely. “You can call me Joey.”
********
Come visit my author page at http://www.facebook.com/jademccahon
And check out my page for A Night at the Asylum at http://www.facebook.com/anightattheasylum
And if you like paranormal novels that are edgy and sexy, visit author Scarlett Jade’s page at http://www.facebook.com/scarlettjadewriter
