Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2)

by T Patrick Phelps

  "So, Maggie," Derek said. "Do you work outside of your home?"

  "I am a photographer, but haven't done much in the last few years," she replied, thankful that her thoughts were interrupted. "Too busy to take portraits of other people's kids."

  "Photography is a skill that I wished I shared."

  "It really just takes a good eye and the right equipment," she said.

  Derek gazed at her brilliant green eyes and felt a stirring in his stomach that reminded him of other days.

  "All I have is my iPhone for equipment," he stammered.

  "Well," she said, "if things go well, and you have time after these two days, I could give you some pointers. That is, if you want."

  Though he considered himself to be a freelance detective, Derek did follow several rules when it came to how he conducted business. In addition to giving 100% of his attention to resolving his client's issues, he also never allowed himself to get close to his clients. No matter how attractive they might be.

  "Let's see how these next couple of days turn out. But I do appreciate the offer."

  Moments later, Jack returned to the living room, both his hands on the shoulders of a small boy.

  "This is our son, Robby. Robby," Jack said to his son, "this is Mr. Cole. He's here to help us."

  Robby walked to Derek, who had stood up, and extended his hand.

  "Hello, Mr. Cole," Robby said, his voice flat.

  "Hello, Robby. You can call me Derek if it's okay with your parents."

  Jack and Maggie smiled their permission.

  "Your mom tells me that you're going to turn thirteen pretty soon," Derek said.

  "Next month. February 15."

  Robby's size defied his age. He stood no taller than an average eight-year-old. His frame was slight, his shoulders were too narrow, and his head still looked a size or two too large for the body it commanded. His soft-red hair framed his childish face. Its color contrasted against Robby's bright green eyes.

  "You have your mom's eyes." Derek said.

  "Nope. They're mine," Robby answered, causing his mom to laugh more loudly than what the tired joke deserved.

  "You're a good-looking young man," Derek said. "I bet you have to beat the girls away from you in school, huh?"

  "I dunno," Robby said, his face instantly flushed.

  "Well, Robby, I only have a couple of days to spend with you, so why don't we sit down for a few minutes, and you tell me why you think your parents asked me to visit with you."

  "It's because of him," Robby said.

  "Because of who?" Derek asked. "Do you see someone in the room with us?"

  "He's not here, but I know you are here because of him."

  "How do you know that?" Derek asked.

  "He told me that you were coming to talk with me."

  "Who told you?" Derek questioned.

  "He doesn't want me to tell," Robby asked.

  "Robby," Derek said as he shifted his stance, "please understand that I am not here to do anything but help you. I won't tell anyone what you tell me, and I promise that I won't tell you that you're making everything up."

  Robby sheepishly matched his eyes with Derek's, nodded, then lowered his head.

  "Can you tell me what he looks like? Is he old, young? Black, white?"

  "You don't believe me, do you?" Robby asked Derek.

  "I believe that you think you see someone that no one else can see."

  "That means you don't believe me. Everyone says the same thing."

  "Robby," Derek said as he sat back down on the couch, hoping Robby would follow his lead, "it's very hard for me to believe in something that I can't see. But I will tell you that I saw my wife not too long ago, and she died over three years ago. I saw her after I got hurt really bad, and she helped me get better. So, I don't know what you believe you have been seeing, and I'm not going to tell you that I believe that what you have been seeing is real, but I'm also not going to tell you that you're not seeing anything. Make sense?"

  Robby slowly sat down next to Derek. His face had changed from flat and emotionless to one displaying hope and promise.

  "He's not here to hurt me," Robby said.

  "What's his name? Did he tell you his name?"

  "Phillip. And other people see him, too."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Derek and Robby spoke for an hour. They spoke about Phillip, about why Robby thought that Phillip visited him, about what his parents thought, and about why Robby thought his parents were so concerned. They spoke about Robby's friends and whether or not Robby told any of them about Phillip.

  "I didn't tell anyone except my parents, the doctors, and you."

  "Does Phillip not want you to tell anyone?"

  "He asked me not to tell anyone about him. He knows that my parents know and said that my parents told you about him, too. But I don't tell anyone else about him. I know that people won't believe me. If I told anyone, they would think I'm nuts."

  "You're probably right about that," Derek said, smiling. "People would think I'm nuts if I told them about seeing my dead wife. Or they'd say that my mind was playing tricks on me."

  "Do you still see her?" Robby asked.

  "No," Derek answered. "Sometimes I wish I could, but I don't think things work that way."

  "But she was real, right?"

  "What do you mean, 'real?'"

  "Your wife. She was a real person, right?"

  "Yes, of course. Why do you ask that?"

  "Because I think Phillip was a real person, too."

  Something about Robby's last comment caused a stir in Derek's gut. Though never a true believer in ghosts, Derek often wondered if the thousands of reports of ghostly encounters all contained an element of truth. He wondered if it was possible that a spirit was actually haunting Robby.

  Derek knew that ghost hunting was not one of the many services he offered his clients and that, regardless of his feelings about ghosts, he needed to proceed with the case with under the premise that someone had convinced Robby that a ghost was haunting him.

  "Who told you about Phillip?" Derek asked.

  Robby dropped his head, his gaze fixed on his hands, folded across his lap. He sat, not saying a word for a full minute before his mom spoke.

  "Robby? Mr. Cole asked you a question. Remember your manners."

  The mood in the room had changed. Robby sat, head down, in absolute stillness. His parents, who were both sitting on chairs across from the couch, perched themselves at the end of their seat's cushion. Derek sensed a tension, something uneasy that was keeping Robby still and quiet.

  "Robby?" Jack said, his tone stern and targeted.

  "It's okay, Robby," Derek said, more to Jack and Maggie than to Robby. "You don't have to tell me anything more about Phillip. Maybe Phillip doesn't like being talked about."

  Robby lifted his head and locked his eyes on Derek's. His face had softened, as if an immense concern had been removed. The corners of his mouth pulled slightly upwards.

  "Yeah," Robby said. "I think he would get mad if I said too much."

  "Has he gotten mad at you before?" Derek asked.

  "A couple of times. Nothing too bad."

  "What does Phillip do when he gets angry?"

  Robby's head dropped again.

  "Can you ask him the next time you see him why he gets angry when you talk about him?" Derek asked.

  "Okay," Robby said.

  "If he's not here now, it's probably okay to talk about him. Don't you think?"

  "I don't think so. He told me that if people knew too much about him that he would have to go away."

  "And you don't want him to go away?" Derek asked.

  "I don't know."

  Derek sensed that continuing the conversation with Robby while Jack and Maggie were in the same room would yield few results and create plenty of tension for the family.

  "Listen, Robby," Derek said. "Why don't you let your parents and me talk for a bit? You and I can get together later on. Sound
like a plan?"

  "Okay," Robby said.

  Robby stood up, shook Derek's hand, thanked him for trying to help, and then moved quickly down the hallway. Moments later, Derek heard the soft closing of a door.

  Derek remained quiet, waiting for Maggie or Jack to start with the expected barrage of questions. Instead, all three sat in silence, each making sure not to make eye contact. After a few minutes, Derek broke the silence, cutting the tension in the air.

  "I think that your son is a hell of a kid. Seems smart, pretty focused, and to me, pretty damn normal. Again, I really don't know what I can do to help, but I will do what I can."

  "Thank you," Jack said. "We have two or three people that we suspect may have messed with Robby's head. I think you should go talk with them. Shake them up a bit, if you think that's needed."

  "I'm not here to shake anyone up. I'm here to learn if anyone convinced your son that there's a ghost visiting him, and to see what we all can do to make it stop."

  "We understand," Maggie said. "My husband didn't mean that you should do anything to harm people. It's just that we don't know what should be said, how to say it, and if saying anything will really help. We don't want to blame anyone for this whole thing. We just want to see if anyone said something, intentionally or unintentionally."

  "I don't care if you piss any of them off," Jack said. "If it were up to me, I'd talk to all of them myself."

  "Jack!" Maggie scolded. "Stop with your tough guy act. This is our son we are talking about, not some customer who didn't pay their bill."

  "Let me start with both of you, if you don't mind," Derek said, feeling the need to alter the course the conversation was taking.

  "You think we caused this?" Jack said, his deep, gravelly voice booming across the small living room. "You think that we put this crap into his head?"

  "I am not suggesting that you or anyone else put crap into your son's head. I just need to understand a few things first. Okay?"

  "Fine, but know that we never talk about ghosts in this house. I don't believe they exist and that all the stories about them are nothing more than people trying to scare little kids or make a few bucks off their stories," Jack said.

  Derek opened up his moleskin notebook, popped the top off a pen, and started asking questions to the Bryants.

  "First off, who do you know named Phillip? Living or dead."

  "Robby has a friend in school named Phillip. We have a neighbor named Phillip, but he's been in Florida since September, and I don't think Robby has every spoken with him alone," Maggie said.

  "Anyone in your families with the name?"

  "I don't think so. Jack?" Maggie asked her husband.

  "I don't know. Not on my side. Father's name was Luke. His father's name was Lyle, I think."

  "Your parents spend time with Robby?" Derek asked.

  "My dad died before Robby was born," Jack said. "My father was an abusive drunk. Beat my mom almost every week when he would come home blitzed out of his mind. He died when I was fifteen, and I was happy as hell when he did. My mother is nothing more than an intruder in our lives. We haven't let her see Robby in well over five years."

  "Maggie, how about your parents?"

  "They have a wonderful relationship with Robby. They live in Virginia and haven't been up for a visit since August. I already asked them if they have ever said anything about ghosts to Robby. They swear they haven't."

  "Listen," Jack said, "I know we only have you for two days, and I would rather see you spend the time talking with the people we suspect. You can drill us all you want, but you aren't going to find anything that leads us to figuring this whole thing out. I know you're the detective here and certainly know a hell of a lot more about investigations than we do, but I don't think sitting here with us is doing any good."

  "Fair enough," Derek said as he closed his notebook. "Give me the names and addresses of the people you want me to speak with. Just let me know the main reasons you suspect them and nothing more."

  "Just the facts, ma'am?" Maggie laughed as she handed Derek a folded up sheet of loose-leaf paper. "There are three names on this list, two of which I am not at all concerned about, but Jack is."

  "And the third name?" Derek asked.

  "Father Flannigan," Jack responded. "He's the priest at the church Maggie and Robby go to."

  "And you suspect him?" Derek asked.

  "Why not?" Jack said. "We figure that he's always talking about the Holy Ghost and Jesus dying. Plus, Robby goes to religious education at the church, and Father Flannigan teaches it. I don't know how vividly he talks to the kids about spirits and death. Who knows? Maybe a long shot."

  "I don't consider him to be a suspect. Jack added his name after thinking about who Robby may have spoken to about ghosts," Maggie offered.

  "Okay. Please don't say any more. I'll head out now and will get in touch with you either tomorrow evening or sooner if I come up with anything. I have your cell numbers, and you have mine. I ask that you don't call unless it is important or something happens."

  "What could happen?" Maggie asked.

  "Probably nothing."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "I should have expected this. After all, the first person parents blame when something happens to their kids is the teacher." Melissa Humphrey had been a teacher for over fifteen years, the last seven of which were spent teaching sixth grade. "You can ask anyone at the school about me. Go ahead and ask. I take my position very seriously, Mr. Cole, and I take the welfare of my students equally seriously."

  "I'm not suggesting that you don't. I hope you understand my role with the Bryants and their son, Robby."

  "Actually, I don't understand at all," Melissa said through drawn and tight lips. "The very fact that the Bryants are employing you to run their witch hunt investigation baffles me. Honestly, Mr. Cole, the only thing wrong with Robby Bryant are his parents."

  Melissa Humphrey's home was fifteen minutes north of the Bryant's house. Set back over two hundred feet from the main road, the house was difficult to see, as trees obstructed the road's view and offered privacy for Melissa. Her one-story ranch home was immaculately kept. Though Derek wasn't one to look for dust, dirt, or things out of place, the lack of anything unkempt or displaced was remarkable.

  The list the Bryants had given Derek had Melissa Humphrey's sitting in first place of their possible suspects. Her name was circled with a hastily moved and emotionally driven pen. Derek crossed out the notes that Maggie had scrawled beside her name, notes that he assumed listed the Bryant's reasons for their suspicion. He didn't want to be prejudiced against any of the people whose names appeared on the list. To Derek, Melissa Humphrey was a middle-aged schoolteacher, living alone in a small, coastal town in southern Maine. He didn't want to know what anyone else thought about her.

  "Miss Humphrey," Derek continued, "I'm sure that you are aware of the Bryant's concern. Have you noticed a change in Robby's behavior over the last couple of months?"

  "I am fully aware," she said. "They all but accused me of brainwashing Robby right in front of Mr. Scharf, our school's principal. And in answer to your question, no, I have not seen or noticed any change in Robby's behavior whatsoever."

  "So the Bryants did speak to you about their concerns?" Derek asked, his pen and his notebook at the ready.

  "Mr. Bryant came to the school last Friday. Demanded that I be called to the office and, with a disturbing lack of manners, accused me of planting ridiculous ideas into Robby's head."

  "I am sorry that he did that," Derek said, hoping to soften the brick wall exterior that Melissa had put up. "That just doesn't seem like the right thing to do, in my opinion."

  "It certainly wasn't," Melissa agreed.

  "And you said that you haven't noticed any change in Robby's classroom behavior?"

  "Nothing of any importance."

  "No changes at all?" Derek questioned.

  "Besides his display of what I can only attribute to embarrassment when I now call o
n him during class, I have noticed nothing."

  "The Bryants told me that you were teaching a subject on the Civil War recently, and that subject did include how many soldiers were killed on battlefields. They also told me that you suggested to your class that if any of them were to take a vacation near any of the Civil War battlefields, to keep an eye out for ghosts. Is that accurate?"

  "The very nerve of them. Yes, the American Civil War was a covered topic last November, per the State of Maine's approved curriculum. It is also true that I shared stories of past students who visited some of the more famous battlefields with their families. But I object to being accused of suggesting that my students keep an eye out for ghosts if they ever visit a battlefield. Ridiculous!"

  Melissa was obviously offended by the accusation, perhaps more so than what might be expected. She held her body stiffly pressed against the high-backed kitchen chair, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and her eyes planted firmly on Derek's. When he had introduced himself, explained the reason behind his visit and had seen her reluctant gesture for Derek to enter her home, it was easy to see that Melissa Humphrey was not going to be an effortless, easy interview.

  "Miss Humphrey," Derek said, "I really don't think that you did anything to harm Robby or any other of your students. Honestly, I think even if you did talk about some of the paranormal reports surrounding the battlefields during class, that it wouldn't have been enough to bring Robby to the point of concern."

  Her face softened as her arms relaxed. Her breathing slowed as she leaned forward, resting herself her on her elbows, which she placed delicately on the kitchen table.

  "Kids Robby's age have very vivid imaginations," she said. "Couple that with limitless curiosity, and it's no wonder that a young mind might give more credence to a story than it deserves."

  "I imagine that the other kids in your class, at least some of them, liked hearing about the ghost stories," Derek said.

  "They were far from ghost stories," she said through a sarcastic grin. "I may have mentioned that some people made claims to experiencing strange, unexplainable events when visiting a battlefield or two. But I never explored the stories to any depth."