Souls Estranged (The Souls Trilogy Book 2)

by Anne B. Cole

  “You need to rest, Claire. Into the shower, Sam. When you’re done I’ll check to make sure no dirt found its way into your incision. We don’t need another infection. There are towels in the hall closet. Tim, fetch Claire a glass of water.”

  At Ruby’s commands, Pop left the room while Sam lingered at Claire’s side.

  “What did you just say, Claire? Tell me what Gretta said when she called. I need to know.” Sam knelt directly in front of her. “Claire, you said Gretta didn’t mean to hurt me, that she loved me. What else did she say?”

  Claire blinked several times and appeared as if she didn’t know who she was talking to.

  “She said she didn’t know the contents of the package. She thought she was being tested.” Claire clutched Sam’s hand with both of hers. “She loved him and never intended to hurt him. She was prepared to tell him everything tonight.” Her voice drifted to a whisper. “She didn’t mean to kill him.” Her lips quivered.

  “Claire, I don’t understand. I love Gretta. She didn’t hurt me. I’m not dead. Where is she?” Sam glanced at Ruby, who busied herself, cleaning off Claire’s face.

  “Where’s Gretta? She’s at camp. She should be here for you.” Claire let go of his hand. “Where’s your father? He doesn’t know.”

  “Claire.” Pop pushed his way between Sam and Ruby. “Drink this.” He guided her hand to the glass, and she took a sip.

  Claire touched his cheek. “I’m sorry, Tim. I’m so sorry.”

  Pop set the water on a table as Ruby washed layers of dirt off Claire’s arms.

  An eerie silence filled the room. Ruby frowned, stood, and disappeared into the hall. She returned within minutes with two pairs of hospital scrubs.

  “Off to the bathroom, Sam. Tim, wait in the other room until I get Claire changed into clean clothes.” Ruby patted Claire’s shoulder. “Rest now, dear. Things will make sense after you get some sleep.”

  “It will be on the news.”

  “Hush now.” Ruby embraced her.

  “Come on, Sam.” Pop touched his shoulder and pointed to the bathroom. They split in the hall and Pop entered the bedroom, but left the door cracked open.

  With the bathroom door closed, Sam wondered what Claire’s ramblings meant. She couldn’t be thinking straight. Yet whatever she was trying to relay had to be important. Stepping into the shower, he let warm water run over his head and face.

  Grabbing the soap, he lathered and rinsed. Dirty bubbles swirled around his feet. Water flowed down his back for several minutes as his thoughts scrambled over what Gretta could have said to her mother during her phone call.

  That damned ringing in his ears.

  Danger.

  His thoughts flew to Gretta.

  Where are you? I must protect you from danger, here in the real world.

  Sam bumped his shoulder against the shower wall. Shooting pain smacked him both physically and emotionally.

  How the hell could he keep her safe with no knowledge of her whereabouts, not to mention a busted shoulder? He understood her need to do the right thing by isolating herself, but damn it, he couldn’t shake the feeling she was in danger.

  Stepping from the shower, he dried off and noticed Ruby had taken away his dirty clothes, leaving a single pair of green scrub pants on the edge of the sink. He frowned. The woman had also taken his ‘drawers.’

  He gingerly stepped into the pants, lowered the lid of the toilet, and sat. His shoulder throbbed and when Ruby burst through the door with an ice pack in her hand, he nearly cried.

  She gently examined the incision and secured the ice over his healing bones with purple stretch gauze. She sighed and took a bottle of pills out of her pocket. Handing one to Sam, she reached across the vanity and filled a Dixie cup with water.

  “Here. This will help. You’ll stay with me tonight.” She patted his knee with a saddened expression.

  Sam downed the pill, ready to feel relief from the pain. His phone rang in the pocket of his muddy jeans which he spotted in a heap just outside the bathroom door. He stood to retrieve it.

  But Ruby blocked him from reaching for his filthy clothes. She folded her arms over her chest with a flare of determination.

  “Tell me who it is, Sam.” Her usually sweet voice held a snapping bite.

  His heart raced.

  Katarina is back, within Ruby.

  “What do you see?” she demanded.

  “Danger. I don’t know who or what is the source. I need my phone. Gretta’s in danger. I must get to her.”

  “No, Sam. Roxana is with Gretta. She will keep her safe. Who is on the phone, Sam?” Ruby drilled the question.

  “I know who it is,” he replied.

  The phone rang a final time and stopped.

  “Chaps, an old friend of Pop’s. I’ll get back with him later. Where’s Gretta? I can’t stay here and do nothing,” Sam heard himself repeat Claire’s earlier declaration. “Her mom is crazy with worry.”

  “Claire is fine,” Ruby retorted.

  “What? She’s on meds, and she’s drinking. It’s like Pop all over again, but worse. She’s not making any sense and—”

  “Claire inherited a gift. She has visions, similar to Tatiana’s. She doesn’t have control over them, so her visions only make sense to her while she is under influences of medication or alcohol. Sam, you also have a gift, one similar to Roxana’s. You can anticipate what someone will say or do. You knew who was on the phone without answering it. Concentrate. Use your gift and you will know Gretta is safe.”

  “No. She’s not. I don’t have powers, just a gut feeling. You’re lying to me to keep me away from her. Damn it, I have to see Gretta.” He clenched her arm, so tightly the old woman winced.

  “Don’t hurt Ruby’s arm. It’s me you are angry with, not her. The pill I gave you is a sedative. It will help. Sam, you know I’d never lie to you. Gretta is safe. No matter how bad things get, I’ll be near.” She leaned closer as the sedative kicked in.

  “You control Ruby better than I ever controlled Lorenzo. Will she remember this conversation?” He stared at Ruby, knowing Katarina had full power over her.

  “I don’t know. I feel a special connection with this woman. Roxana may need to wipe her memory if she remembers.” Ruby’s lips moved with Katarina’s words.

  The pain lingered even though his body relaxed and his vision became blurry. He looked at his jeans on the floor.

  Why would Chaps be calling me?

  The New York City Police Chaplain had kept in touch with his father after their move, but he never called.

  Did he hit the wrong number, intending to call Pop?

  “Into the living room, Sam. Come on before—”

  Sam flicked his eyes toward Pop’s phone. It rang a moment later, exactly as he predicted. On the second ring, Sam pushed the door open. Pop stood, digging his cell out of the pocket of his pants.

  I know why Chaps is calling.

  “No, God, no.” He knocked Ruby off her feet and rushed over to his father who held a hand out, signaling him away.

  “What’s gotten into you, Sam? Help Ruby up.”

  “Give me the phone, Pop. Please, I need to talk to Chaps first.” He couldn’t believe what his mind told him.

  Visions of an explosion and a beautiful woman kneeling beside his brother’s body filled his head. Claire had said the woman loved him and she didn’t mean to kill him.

  Sam swung to face Claire, whose sympathetic gaze told him his thoughts were true.

  He froze, unable to move.

  Pop pushed past him. “You okay, Ruby?” He helped her to her feet, and returned the phone to his ear. “Hey, Chaps.”

  Sam’s legs quivered. The sedative had taken over his body.

  Claire stood and ea
sed him on the couch beside her. Her hand squeezed his as he watched his father’s face pale.

  “Sam’s with me.”

  Those were the last words his father spoke. The rest of the conversation continued on Chaps’ end. Pop’s free hand covered his face.

  The phone clattered to the floor. Sam picked it up, listening to Chaps explain how his brother's murder—

  “. . . under investigation by the FBI. There’s a private plane on its way. It’ll arrive in Richmond tomorrow morning to fly you both to New York City—”

  Sam listened, unwilling to believe. Ruby removed the phone from his hand. His mind continued to whirl as someone lifted his legs onto the couch. A hand guided his head to a pillow.

  His father’s muffled sobs sounded distant. Sam tried to go to him, but his body wouldn’t respond. A scratchy afghan tucked over his chest both annoyed and comforted him.

  “Claire is with your father. The next few days are going to be hard. I’m going to New York with you two,” Ruby declared.

  Justin.

  Sam tried to remember the last time he saw his big brother. They rarely talked on the phone but sent texts regularly. Justin’s last message stated he met an intriguingly beautiful woman.

  She killed him.

  He knew Justin worked a dangerous beat, but his brother had always been careful.

  None of it mattered.

  Fury grew inside of him.

  His brother’s death had to be related to the curse. His relationship with Gretta killed Justin.

  Sam had promised to help, but this changed everything.

  Chapter 33

  Cookie Dough

  Gretta

  Emeye growled as Gretta’s heart raced. She couldn’t remember whether or not she had locked the cabin, and tightened her hold on the cat.

  Without knocking, the stranger entered the screened-in porch and grasped the knob to the front door. Finding it locked, he searched his pockets, muttering to himself.

  “Wrong set of keys.” He ripped off his Nationals ball cap and wiped his brow, revealing very short, dark brown hair. He wore jeans and a red flannel shirt. No uniform or name tag indicated he belonged there for any reason other than breaking in.

  She watched him exit the porch and walk around to the back door which led into the kitchen. Taking a single key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock. Unable to turn the key, he swore out loud and scanned the area. She crouched into waist high brush alongside the road. Clearly agitated, the man stomped to the shed.

  Gretta forced herself not to fidget as several long minutes passed. Why did I throw my phone over the side of the mountain?

  Emeye hissed when the man left the shed with nothing in his hands. He disappeared into the woods.

  The cat wormed her way out of Gretta’s arms. Afraid the man would return, she ran to the fake rock she’d purchased the day before. The false bottom slid off easily, but her trembling fingers dropped the key. Emeye rubbed her hand when she reached to retrieve it.

  Gretta threw open the screen door, ran across the porch, and grabbed the cabin cell phone. Her fingers tapped three numbers.

  “911. What is your emergency?” the operator asked.

  “A man tried to enter my cabin. Well, it’s not my cabin. I’m house sitting for Reverend Glenn.” When she paused to take a breath, the woman responded.

  “Are you safe?”

  Gretta scanned the area. “I think he’s gone. He just walked up on the porch and got mad when he realized he didn’t have the right key. He also tried the back door.” She trained her eyes on the driveway as she spoke. No one in sight. Maybe she wasn’t in danger any longer.

  Was I to begin with? She had to wonder.

  The operator confirmed her location, then instructed, “Go inside, lock the doors, and stay on the phone with me until the officer arrives.”

  The woman’s calm voice soothed her nerves.

  “I apologize. I may have jumped to conclusions. It could have been a volunteer from the church. I don’t want to tie up this line unnecessarily.” Gretta felt a little silly as she entered the cabin.

  “It’s not a problem. An officer is en route. He will arrive within ten to fifteen minutes.”

  Feeling embarrassed, Gretta thanked the dispatcher and hung up.

  Thinking about her isolated location, it occurred to her that she had not met any of her distant neighbors. She had no weapon and didn’t know how to shoot a gun, but was confident she could do so if she had one. Alec had taught her.

  Alec?

  Gretta ran to the roll top desk in the corner of the great room, and pulled out her yellow notebook. She flipped to the page with Alec’s name at the top and added the words ‘taught me how to shoot’ directly under the words ‘safe,’ ‘protective,’ and ‘never swears.’

  Her pen froze as tires crunched the driveway gravel. She glanced at her watch.

  Three minutes. This can’t be the police.

  Terrified, she held her breath. A car door slammed. She wished she had stayed on the line with the friendly dispatcher.

  A heavy knock rattled the cabin. She focused on the door. A tall figure stood inside the porch, peering through the sidelight window. The sun’s rays were casting eerie shadows upon the cabin. Grabbing an umbrella from the closet, she cracked open the door and thrust it through. The tip poked into a man’s chest.

  A gun pointed back.

  Gretta slammed the door, bolted the lock, and pushed all of her weight against it. A knock sounded, followed by a muffled voice.

  “Police. Deputy Scott from the county sheriff’s office.” The deep voice sounded reassuring, like Theo’s.

  She ran to her notebook, flipped to Theo’s page, and read the word ‘safe.’ She underlined the word twice and added ‘Deputy Scott’ before walking back to the door.

  Through the window, he displayed his badge and identification along with a sheepish grin. Not taking any chances, she read his credentials. Everything seemed to be in order. His birth year made him to be twenty-four years old.

  “Why aren’t you in uniform?” She noted nicely filled out jeans and a blue Captain America t-shirt that accented muscular arms.

  “I apologize if I frightened you. I’m off duty and happened to be in the area when I heard the dispatch.”

  His smooth tone resonated ‘safe.’ Deputy Scott stood a little taller than Sam, with hazel green eyes.

  Filled with embarrassment, she unlocked the cabin door.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called 911, let alone slammed the door on you. I’m Gretta Dobbs. Please, come in.”

  With his gun back in its holster, he removed his VMI ball cap. Short, brown hair stuck out in several directions. If left to grow, she believed his hair would be curly, like Theo’s. Comfort filled her as she made a mental note to jot the memory.

  She offered him a seat on the small couch as she sat across from him in the rocker. He opened a notebook and scribbled notes as she explained what happened.

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t see the man’s face up close. I’m sorry my description sounds vague.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, and he appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty-five years old.”

  Deputy Scott frowned at that. “May I take a look around outside?” he asked.

  “Sure. The shed is behind the cabin.” She started toward the front door.

  “You mentioned another entrance?”

  “Yes, in the kitchen, but that door has a broken hinge. The owners nailed it shut.”

  Deputy Scott held the front door for her. They walked to the shed in silence.

  Putting on gloves from his pocket, he clicked on a flashlight and entered. She remained outside and petted Emeye, who had followed. With the sun nearly set, she shivered in
the cool breeze.

  After a couple minutes, the deputy poked his head out. “Please come in, just don’t touch anything. Do you think you could tell if something was taken or moved?”

  “I think so.” She entered the shed. The beam of his flashlight played around the musty enclosure, casting eerie shadows across cobwebbed walls. She scanned the workbench and tools. Although not certain, everything appeared to be in the same disarray.

  “What’s under here?” He pointed to the tarp covered trunk.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Gretta couldn’t remember if she had recovered the trunk with the tarp or not. Her hesitation seemed to arouse Deputy Scott’s attention, and he stepped closer.

  “An old trunk. It’s locked. I don’t have a key.” Not wanting him to think she was a complete nut case, she decided it best not to tell him she couldn’t remember if she replaced the tarp.

  Deputy Scott studied the trunk for a few seconds. He played the flashlight around the cramped area before heading to the door.

  “Probably some guy down on his luck, looking for an easy burglary,” she stated, attempting to sound braver than what she was. The trunk bothered her. Tomorrow she would have to search for a key to open it.

  “I’d like to take some prints off the door. You didn’t mention if he wore gloves. Do you remember if he did?”

  Deputy Scott’s question made her feel like a fool.

  Of course I’d remember if he wore gloves. Anyone in their right mind would. It’s June. Gloves would stand out.