by James Hunt
“You awake?” Carla asked, her voice sounding as tired as Lindsy felt.
“I can’t sleep on these pieces of cardboard they call a mattress,” Lindsy answered, rubbing her eyes until her vision blurred.
Carla lay flat on her back on the cot in her cell. She stared up at the cracked ceiling, which may have been white at one point but was now an incredibly dull grey.
“What do you think our husbands are doing right now?” Carla asked.
“Probably at the strip club, tossing dollars onto women working very hard for those singles,” Lindsy said.
Carla was quiet for a moment, and Lindsy was about to say that she was joking when Carla snorted and then giggled.
Even in a place like this, being locked away in a cell, their freedom taken away, they could still laugh. For Lindsy, laughter was the final stand against those who believed they could strong-arm people into submission. Whether suppressed through physical, mental, or emotional strain, laughter was a weapon that could always be used to fight back.
“Knowing Mike, they’ve probably already dug up the trunk,” Lindsy said. “At least that’s what I hope they’re doing.”
Carla sat up, shifting to the side and using her arm to prop up her head at an angle. “How was Daniel?”
Lindsy hadn’t told her all of the specifics of what Daniel had gone through, only that the midwife had influenced him to try and distract them from finding their daughter. She hadn’t told Carla that it had been Daniel who gave the child to the midwife in the first place. She didn’t think that was her place to say.
“He was better when I left,” Lindsy answered, sticking to the truth she knew wouldn’t hurt Carla. “And I know Mike will keep an eye on him.”
“That’s good,” Carla said, her voice drifting off as her mind was already concentrating on another thought. “I didn’t even realize there was something off about him.”
Lindsy turned to Carla. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. You were dealing with something that was far beyond your ability to control. Hell, I’ve been doing this for the past seven years, and he managed to pull one over my eyes.”
Carla nodded. “I just know how he gets. This will haunt him for a long time.”
“The good ones tend to do that,” Lindsy said, knowing Mike was the same way.
“How long do you think we’ll have to stay here?” Carla asked.
Lindsy shifted to the head of her cot and then leaned back against the wall, using it to prop herself up. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here before dawn.”
“How?” Carla asked.
“Still working on that part,” Lindsy answered.
Another stretch of silence passed between them, and for a moment, Lindsy thought Carla had fallen asleep.
“I keep feeling my stomach like I did when I was pregnant with Angela,” Carla said, her hand resting over her tummy at that very moment. “I thought that habit would go away after Angela was born, but every time I wasn’t holding her in my arms, I had one hand on my stomach. It was Daniel who was the first to bring it to my attention. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Carla said, tearing up. “It’s like I can still feel her inside of me, but I know she’s not there. I keep catching myself thinking I’ve heard her cry, but it’s only in my head. Or maybe it’s not, and it's just… her manipulating me. Toying with my emotions. Making sure I feel every ounce of pain imaginable.”
Carla wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be blubbering.”
“It’s okay,” Lindsy said.
Carla turned to look at Lindsy, eyes still red from crying. “Do you think you and Mike will ever try for children?”
“We already tried,” Lindsy said. “I’ve had three miscarriages.”
Carla quickly sat up with surprise and horror. “Oh my god. Lindsy… I’m so sorry.”
Lindsy gently placed her hands over her womb and breathed softly as she tried to remember the feeling of life. She tried to remember the joy she felt, only to have it ripped away and replaced with the horrific sensation of death. “You know how I told you that I sometimes get glimpses of the future and the past?”
“Yeah,” Carla answered. “You told me that you had to concentrate hard and be able to touch the person to do that.”
“If they’re alive, yes,” Lindsy answered, her voice drifting off into that tone where she was present but speaking as though she were alone. “Each time I was pregnant, the month before the miscarriage, I would have visions of my baby dying inside of me. I felt their heart stop, and the blood that continued to keep them alive flood out of me, killing the child I had carried in my womb. And I saw those visions every day until they came true.”
Carla covered her mouth, tears in her eyes. “Couldn’t you… tell the doctor? Could they help if they knew it was coming?”
“I tried telling them,” Lindsy said. “And in the beginning, they ran all sorts of tests on the child to look for anything that might be wrong, but each time I had a test done, it always came back the same. They could find nothing wrong. I was healthy, the baby was healthy; everything was moving along perfectly normal.”
Lindsy removed her hands from her womb. “And then at the end of the month, I would have the miscarriage, just like I had seen. The child would die inside of me, and I would be able to feel it die.” She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’m able to comprehend that feeling even to this day. To feel death. I mean, I’ve always been able to see it, to speak with it, but I had never felt its essence before. It was… painfully empty.”
Aside from the conversations Lindsy had with Mike and the doctors, she had never spoken to anyone else about what happened to her with the miscarriages.
“And you had to do that three times?” Carla asked.
Lindsy nodded. “It was hard to come back and try again after that first time, but no one, not the doctors, not Mike, not even me, believed it would happen again. And then it did. Seven months into the pregnancy. Just like last time. I don’t know what made me want to try a third time. It was probably my stubbornness. I had always been that way. I think it’s just how I’m wired. But after the third time… Something broke inside of me. Something that’s still broken, and I’m not sure it’ll ever be fixed again.”
Lindsy’s words drifted through the air for a little while, the weight of what she had said hanging heavy above both of them. She didn’t realize how much of that had been building up in her, just waiting to be released, and while she could have kept going, she suddenly realized how tired she was, and she didn’t have the energy to speak anymore.
“Is that why you came?” Carla asked. “Is that why you responded to my email, because you knew what it was like to lose a child?”
Lindsy looked to Carla, the pair of women connected through their pain, neither of them able to completely comprehend the tragedy that brought them together in this place where hope so often died. “Your daughter isn’t lost, Carla. Not yet.”
Carla wiped a tear from her eye, nodding. “It’s just the longer this goes on, the harder it is for me to keep the hope that she’s alive.”
“It takes courage to keep hope alive,” Lindsy said. “Don’t lose that hope now.”
Carla took a breath, laying flat on her back again, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think you’ll ever try again?”
“To have kids?” Lindsy asked. “There are some days when I think I could do it, and then there are other days where I don’t know if I could, days when I remember what it was like to lose them.”
“Did you ever find anything medically wrong with you?” Carla asked. “Even after the other miscarriages?”
“No,” Lindsy answered. “By all accounts, I’m healthy and able to bear children.”
“Well, it’s like you said,” Carla said. “It takes courage to hope. And there is no greater hope in this life than hoping for a child. Don’t give up.”
Lindsy knew she should
take a page out of her own book, but despite her talk of strength and perseverance, she was still afraid of going down that road again.
No longer wanting to dwell on the past, Lindsy slid off of the cot and walked to the front of the cell where she saw the glow from the lights down the hallway at the front of the station.
“What do you know about the deputy on duty?” Lindsy asked, keeping her voice low even though it wasn’t likely the cop would be able to hear them from back here.
Carla stayed prone on the cot and shrugged. “Not much. He seemed nice enough when the police first showed up at my house.”
Lindsy nodded. Her interactions with the young Deputy Williams didn’t leave her as tainted as the interactions she had with the sheriff.
“Deputy?” Lindsy shouted, making her voice sound as strained as possible.
Carla sat up, frowning. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to be proactive in getting us out of here,” Lindsy said, whispering, and then raised her voice again. “Deputy Williams?”
A few seconds later, Lindsy watched a tired-looking deputy turn the corner of the hallway down to the cells, looking concerned. She might be able to use that to her advantage.
“Everything all right?” Williams asked, a hint of a drawl in his voice even though Lindsy had never heard it before now.
“Deputy, I need to ask you something,” Lindsy said. “I need you to hold my hand.”
Both Williams and Carla looked confused.
“I’m sorry?” Williams asked.
“I need to hold your hand,” Lindsy repeated.
Still bewildered, the young deputy shifted his weight from the right leg to his left and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I think you know what I already know,” Lindsy answered. “There is something wrong with what’s happening in this town.”
Williams’s frown deepened. “There’s nothing wrong with Roster. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“But you weren’t born here, were you?” Lindsy asked.
“Well, no, I wasn’t, but I don’t know what that has to do with—”
“You’re familiar with Roster’s history, aren’t you, Deputy?” Lindsy asked. “About the midwife.”
Williams’s expression slackened. “I’ve heard of it.”
“That’s who took Carla’s baby,” Lindsy said. “It’s real, Williams, and I can prove it to you.”
Williams looked between Carla, who had moved from her cot to the front of the cell, hand gripping the iron bars, face pressed into the narrow space between them.
“If you all are going to play games, then don’t expect me to come back the next time you call,” Williams said, and he turned to leave.
“Wait!” Lindsy stuck her arm through the bar, which was just skinny enough to fit, though she scraped up her arms pretty bad, and it would hurt pulling it out. “Just hold my hand. Just for one minute, and I’ll be able to prove it to you.”
Williams turned around again, eyebrows arched in suspicion. “How is holding your hand going to prove anything about the midwife?”
“You don’t believe in ghosts,” Lindsy answered. “But they’re real. I’m sure the sheriff told you about my husband and me. About what we do. We’re ghosthunters, we help people who have a problem with the afterlife, and we help those lost souls cross over into the next realm.”
Williams continued to stare at her for a long time, and Lindsy wasn’t sure if any of this was working on him, but then he took one step forward. “You mean you help get people to heaven?”
Lindsy didn’t know if heaven existed. She didn’t know if there was a hell. All she knew was that this wasn’t the end for people and that they went somewhere…. else. But if it was heaven Deputy Williams needed to believe in, then so be it.
“Yes,” Lindsy said. “I help people get to heaven.”
Williams chewed this over and then scratched his hairline, which was oily with sweat. “That’s something mighty fine to do.”
“Do you believe in heaven?” Lindsy asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Williams answered.
“Then you must believe in hell too,” Lindsy said.
“I do,” Williams replied, sounding slightly worried.
“I don’t know if all of the souls I help cross over to heaven,” Lindsy said. “Maybe some of them do, but I’m sure there are others that go to hell. I’m not the one to pass judgment on someone’s life. That’s not my job. But this woman, the midwife, Evelyn Carter, I can tell you that the things she has done would not get her into heaven, in my opinion.”
“She did a lot of bad things,” Williams said.
“She’s still doing bad things,” Lindsy said. “And if I don’t get out of here soon, she’s never going to stop.”
Lindsy could tell the young deputy was struggling to come to terms with what she was trying to sell. He wanted to believe her because he was a good person, but he still hesitated to take that first step.
“You don’t have anything to lose,” Lindsy said. “I’m not trying to play any games, I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you—If you’re worried about me overpowering you, then handcuff my hands together. I don’t care. I just need to prove to you that I’m telling the truth. Because if I can prove to you that I can see the dead, if I can prove it by telling you something about yourself that you haven’t told anyone, ever, then you’ll know I’m telling the truth about all of it.”
Lindsy didn’t know what else she could say to the deputy to get him to believe her, and she was on pins and needles as she waited for his response.
“No tricks,” Williams said.
Lindsy nodded eagerly. “None.”
Williams looked to Carla, who was still at the front of her cell, and then back to Lindsy. He took a breath and then chuckled to himself. “Can’t believe I’m doing this.” He stepped closer, but just enough to reach his left arm out to touch Lindsy’s hand, while his right held his pistol grip. “Don’t even think about trying to make a move, all right?”
“I won’t,” Lindsy said, and then gently squeezed Williams’s hand and concentrated.
It was difficult at first to get a read on Williams’s thoughts, not because he had any kind of defense up, but because she was so exhausted from the day. The altercation she had with the midwife inside of Daniel’s mind earlier had severely drained her mental prowess, but she mustered up enough mental fortitude to break into the fog of Williams’s mind.
There wasn’t anything groundbreaking at first. Just a few images from his day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. The kid held food as a priority, and for some reason, Lindsy decided to drill down on that fact. She traveled deeper into his head, scouring the memories of his childhood, and that’s when she felt it.
The pain of hunger, deep in her belly. It was an ache she had never experienced before, as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. She caught a whiff of something savory, steak maybe, or burgers, something on the grill. It was intoxicating.
Lindsy followed the thought and saw a family through some bushes. They were laughing, playing. Lindsy suddenly felt dirty. Because Williams was dirty, he was filthy.
It was here in the bushes where Williams stared at the family, the food, wishing he had both, but focusing more on the smell of the grilling meat.
“You were hungry as a kid,” Lindsy said, holding onto the memory. “You hadn’t eaten for a week, and you ran away into the woods to escape your parents.”
She concentrated harder and saw the bruises on Williams’s arms and legs.
“Your father was a brutal man,” Lindsy said. “He’d hit you and your mother, and whenever you tried to interfere, he would simply hit you until you couldn’t stand anymore. That was what brought you to the woods, and why you followed the sounds of that happy family.” She opened her eyes, looking at a stunned Williams. “You imagined what it would be like to have that kind of a family. You pictured yourself playing with your brothers and sisters
. You fantasized about having a father who showed you how to fix your bike or grill a burger instead of trying to beat you half to death. And while that wasn’t your life, you held onto the hope that you might be able to have that one day. That was when you decided you could bear the pain until you were ready to leave the house, until you could stand on your own two feet. That image of the backyard of that family, and their happiness, fueled you to survive.”
Williams let go of Lindsy’s hand and retreated backward as if he had just seen a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak, but he only spewed incoherent grunts of disbelief.
Lindsy pulled her hand back through the bars, and then grabbed two of the iron rods with both hands, pressing her face close to the front cell door, staring at Williams through the gap in the bars. It was apparent his mind was blown, but sometimes even when people were able to see with their own eyes, the truth was too much for them to deal with, and Lindsy was afraid that Williams wouldn’t be able to handle what she had just shown him.
“How did you know all of that?” Williams asked, his voice barely registering above a whisper. “How could you possibly know any part of my life so intimately?”
“It’s because I saw it in your mind,” Lindsy answered. “Just like how I can see the dead. I’m telling you the truth. No tricks, remember?”
Williams glanced between Lindsy and Carla, still shocked, still unable to fully wrap his mind around what had just happened.
“Williams, we’re running out of time,” Lindsy said. “Every second we are locked in here is one less we could be spending to put the midwife away for good. We have a chance to do some good. Help us.”
Lindsy had put all of her cards on the table. She didn’t have anything left to play. Their lives and the lives of countless others were now in the hands of a young deputy who probably didn’t have more than a high school diploma to his name. Lindsy hoped that was enough.
Williams stepped closer, holding Lindsy’s gaze the entire walk. He didn’t stop until he was only inches away from Lindsy.
