Soul Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  They sat. Sam skimmed the watch cap from his head and pulled his ponytail out of his shirt. He already had on his knee-high moccasins. Clicking the lighter, he put it to the smudge stick and blew on it gently until tiny embers flared to life.

  Lacey started filming.

  As soon as pale blue smoke coiled up from the smudge stick, Sam began to speak.

  “Gerald Brandt Mayhill,” he said softly. “We know who you are. We see you. We feel you.” He walked to the nearest corner of the room and wafted the smoke upward, then trailed it to the next corner. “We know your guilt, but we also know what happened. It was a rainy night. It was dark. The rain had caused a rock slide.” He walked to the third corner, let the smoke congeal there, then moved on.

  “The rain and the dirt combined to make the road slippery. Too slippery for the bus. It slid out of control. There was nothing you could do.” He smudged the fourth corner. “You are not to blame, Gerald. It was a terrible, tragic accident. It was unforeseen and unknowable. Do you hear me, Gerald? It was unforeseen and unknowable. No one else could have done more to avoid it. No one could have saved those children.”

  He stood in the center of the room, at the foot of the bed, and turned a slow circuit, dragging the blue smoke around in a lazy circle.

  “You are not to blame, Gerald. You didn’t do this. It happened to you, just as it happened to those children. You were all victims. You all suffered. But you’ve suffered enough.”

  He approached the closet door. Lacey stepped back and aimed her camera, making sure she had both Sam and the closet on her screen.

  Sam smudged the door. He held the bundle up to the top of the door, to each side, to the bottom. Then he took hold of the doorknob and turned it slowly.

  The door swung open.

  Lacey almost dropped her phone. She had a fleeting glimpse of a face, swollen, infused, the eyes bulging, the mouth slack. But the eyes—pain, guilt, grief, sorrow. Then it was gone, fading into the dim recess of the closet.

  “Gerald,” Sam intoned, “you have suffered enough. You’ve more than paid for a debt that you never owed. Let go, Gerald. Let go.”

  He waved the smudge stick into the corners of the closet, up high and down low. He let the fragrant smoke curl around the clothes rod, cleansing it, purifying it. He turned a full, tight circle in the closet, the blue smoke curling upward in a drifting spiral.

  “It’s time, Gerald. Let go. There are other things for you to do, other lives to live. Let go. Move on.” He stopped in front of the clothes rod and dragged the smoke along it. “Move on, Gerald. Go find your wife; find your son. Your daughter wants you to move on. Move forward. She wants you to find peace.”

  He brought his arm down to his side, the smudge stick still smoldering.

  “We all do,” he said solemnly. “Go, Gerald. Go with God. It’s time.”

  For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke. The only motion was the lazy drifting of the smoke. Sam pulled in a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, then let it out slowly. Lacey, watching through the screen, saw his shoulders loosen and relax.

  He stepped back out of the closet.

  Lacey turned off her video.

  Sam glanced around, noted the tiny coffee-maker on the table and grabbed a cardboard cup to stub out the smudge stick. Both Ed and Christine blinked as if just coming awake.

  “Did it… work?” Christine asked softly.

  Sam nodded. “Yes. I felt him slipping away. He still didn’t feel he deserved forgiveness, but that’ll be for him and his God to decide. At least now they can have that discussion.”

  ~~~

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sam sat on the bed, ready for a bit of a break. Lacey went to the bathroom and got a cup of cold water for him. He thanked her with his eyes and sipped gratefully.

  “Wow,” Christine said. She shook her head at what she’d just witnessed.

  “You’ve never seen Sam work before?” Lacey asked.

  “No. I mean, not like this. That last case in San Juan Capistrano was the only thing I’ve ever been involved in. But this…” She pulled in a breath. “It’s so sad.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lacey agreed. “You can see why we couldn’t walk away. We couldn’t leave him to be a tourist attraction. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “No.” Christine’s voice was soft and a little unsteady. Ed took her hand and squeezed it.

  Sam finished the water and tossed the empty cup in the trash. “All right. Let’s go to round two.” He looked to Ed and Christine. “You two up for it? If not, you can wait here.”

  Ed tilted his head at his wife; it was her call.

  “Is it… helpful to have an audience?” she asked.

  “It’s helpful to have as much support and good intentions as possible. But if you’d rather not, that’s fine. Lacey and I can do it.”

  Christine thought for a moment, then glanced at Ed. He shrugged with a smile.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  The four of them trained over to the back room. As before, Ed and Christine took seats at the small table. Sam relit the smudge stick and Lacey had her phone set to video.

  She wondered if he might say anything about the personal nature of this release, but he didn’t. She could understand that. This was about Trudy, not Sam.

  Again he smudged the room, taking the smoke from corner to corner, wafting it all about. Unlike Gerald’s room, there seemed to be no central point of trauma. Lacey guessed the bed was the closest thing, but they didn’t know how the room was set up back in 1929. Sam would feel what was best.

  “Trudy Raines,” he intoned kindly, “we are here to free you from your pain. We know what happened to you; we know you were taken, used, silenced. We know you were scared, confused, and traumatized. What happened to you should never happen to a five-year-old, but men can be monsters. Not all, but some. We… I am so sorry you were forced to experience that.”

  He stood in the center of the room and held the smudge stick so the pale blue smoke spiraled up and pooled at the ceiling, then drifted outward.

  “But this is not the end for you, Trudy. There is much more in store for you—good things. Life, love, growing older, growing stronger. There is a path ahead of you, and it will take you to a better place. It will take you to a place of wisdom, of understanding, of balance and harmony. It will take you to a place of love. There are people waiting there for you, Trudy. Your father, your mother, the divine goodness that is within all of us. You can go there now, Trudy. Leave this behind. Let go of this trauma. Let your small fingers relax their grip on this pain, let your body float and drift. You can feel yourself floating, carried along by the smoke and God’s love. Carried in the comforting arms of the universe. Relax your grip, Trudy; let go and rise up. Rise and drift; rise and drift. This place has no power over you anymore. You are free. Free to run and play. Free to be the person you can be. Go. Grow into the person you want to be. Stronger, wiser, happier.

  “Rise up, Trudy. Rise up, and go with God.”

  All eyes in the room lifted, drifting with the smoke as it floated and reached outward with soft, fragile tendrils. Lacey imagined Trudy riding the smoke, flying with it, spiraling upward to a place of warmth, safety, and love. She breathed in the comforting scent of cedar, let it fill and purify her own being, and then released it again with a grateful exhale. Sam didn’t need to tell her; she knew Trudy was gone.

  “That was beautiful,” Christine said. Her soft voice cracked. Her chin quivered, but she swallowed down the tears. “Sam, do you remember when Kenzie was five? That awful day?”

  Sam met her eyes and nodded. “Yes. I remember. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I first felt Trudy.”

  Christine bit her lip, but that didn’t stop the tears from leaking out of her eyes. She wiped them away, tried to laugh at herself, but there was a catch in her voice, a sob. She rose and went to Sam, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. He held her fiercely and let her cr
y.

  Lacey and Ed exchanged shy smiles. There was no jealousy, no fear, just a shared, silent relief. Like a stream that had been dammed, the sticks and leaves washed away, little by little, until the water ran free and clear.

  Free and clear.

  Christine pulled away and wiped at her eyes, giving out an embarrassed laugh.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that got to me—”

  A sudden shriek filled the room, replacing the soft, fragrant air with the recurring mechanical screech of a smoke alarm. It jolted them all; Sam and Christine separated, Ed jumped to his feet. Lacey clapped hands to her ears.

  “What is that?” Voices out in the hall. The sound of doors opening, of feet running.

  “Smoke! Get out! Fire!”

  Sam held up the smudge stick, still smoking. “Shit,” he said with a wry grin. He crossed to the bathroom and flushed the bundle down the toilet.

  “Come on,” he said to the others. “Let’s get our stuff and get out of here.”

  Lacey pulled open the door. Other guests were hastily grabbing their belongings, dragging suitcases downstairs.

  “Fire!” one man said to her. “Get out!” And he was pounding down the steps.

  Ed ran to the other room and got their bag. Sam opened a window, then snapped his and Lacey’s bag closed, and the four of them trooped downstairs.

  “Hey!” the clerk called out to the mass exodus. “What’s that smell? Were you smoking dope up there?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sam said truthfully. “But there’s smoke up there from somewhere. Better check it out.”

  The four of them hurried outside, snickering like teenagers as they went.

  ~~~

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Monday evening, Lacey planned a simple dinner and a simpler evening. No work, no kids, no TV; just her and Sam. They hadn’t debriefed when they’d gotten home; it was too late and Sam had to be up early.

  Over dinner, Lacey relayed her conversation with Hazel.

  “She cried,” Lacey said. “There was so much of the story she never knew. She didn’t know about all the kids, didn’t know her dad was the driver of the bus. But once she knew that, she understood.” She sighed. “It was actually pretty amazing. She didn’t remember him, didn’t really have a lot of emotion around him, but she cried when I told her how you released him. She asked me to thank you. She said she felt so much lighter just knowing he was free.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “I do, too.”

  Lacey hesitated a moment, then reached across the table and touched his hand.

  “And Trudy? Did releasing her… release you, too? Was there any redemption there for the Sam Firecloud of four years ago?”

  He frowned down at his empty plate, tapped a fingernail on his water glass. “I hadn’t thought about that in so many words, but yeah, I think there was.” He lifted his head and met her eyes. “For me and for Christine. I was so busy blaming myself, I didn’t really think about what she was going through, the guilt she was carrying. I realize now that I released all of us—Trudy, myself and Christine.”

  Lacey smiled. “I’m glad. That’s a terrible burden to carry. Especially for a what if that never happened.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment, still feeling the afterglow of last night’s adventure.

  “I just wonder what Bobbi and Vince will think when they realize their ghosts are gone.” Sam’s eyes laughed.

  “Me, too,” Lacey said, grinning. “Which reminds me; I got an email today from Diana. She said in view of the, uh, artistic differences, I think she said, they’ve decided not to option our involvement in the series. She said she hoped we could understand their decision.”

  Sam laughed once without humor. “They just knew we’d never agree to it,” he said. “If they’d asked, they’d have gotten a bellyful from me.”

  Lacey nodded. “Although she did say we were welcome to appeal it if we had a ‘change of heart’ in the future.”

  “So basically, if we’re willing to sell out, they’d take us back? No, thanks.”

  “I was going to reply and tell her that, but wanted to talk with you first. I figured we were on the same page.”

  “You were right,” he said.

  After the dinner dishes were done, they lounged on the couch to soft music. Lacey sighed.

  “I feel like now we can get back to our own lives,” she said. “Make a decision on an apartment, get everything moved and let go of the old places.”

  Sam was silent for a moment, toying with a lock of her hair. “What do you think of that one we looked at early on? That nice one?”

  She tilted her head up at him. “I like it. It’s at the upper end of our budget, but I think we can manage it. And none of the other ones measured up.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Let’s go over this weekend and start the ball rolling.”

  “Deal.” She snuggled against him. The music played softly, surrounding her in contentment.

  “Do you want to get married?”

  The question jolted her until she remembered asking him the same thing weeks ago. And she remembered his response.

  “Is that a question or a proposal?” Smiling, she tipped her head up again and found his dark eyes on her.

  “It’s a proposal.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed. “Really?” Her voice came out a squeak.

  “Really,” he said. But nothing more. He wasn’t going to push.

  “In that case,” she said, “yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  He studied her face, ran a gentle finger around her cheek, across her mouth and under her chin. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly.

  “We make a good team,” he said.

  Lacey grinned at him. “You just now figuring that out?”

  Sam laughed.

  ~~~

  The TV show aired on January twenty-first. They watched it with equal measures of pride and disgust. Pride that they had been ultimately successful, even if no one else ever knew that, and disgust for the blatant tricks used by the studio to hype up the situation. When the show drew to a close and the epilog began, they read the rolling script with disdain.

  The Unexplained Channel wishes to thank Sam Firecloud and Lacey Fitzpatrick for their participation in this episode of The Restless Dead. Unfortunately, due to scheduling conflicts, Sam and Lacey will not be returning to the show, but will continue to pursue their paranormal investigations on their own.

  Sam and Lacey looked at each other in shock, then laughed out loud.

  “Scheduling conflicts?” she repeated.

  “That’s rich,” he said. Then, “Hey, look at this.”

  Lacey glanced back at the TV. The epilog continued.

  As of this time, the Offendahls have reported no further ghostly apparitions at their bed and breakfast.

  “Well, what do you know?” Lacey said with a grin.

  “I guess the team of Firecloud and Fitzpatrick did the job after all.”

  “Never a doubt,” she said. “Never a doubt.”

  ~~~

  Thank You for Reading

  I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.

  --MJB

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Melissa Bowersock is an eclectic, award-winning author who writes in a variety of fiction and non-fiction genres: contemporary, western, action, romance, fantasy and spiritual, satire and biography. She lives in a small community in Northern Arizona with her husband and an Airedale terrier.

  For more information, visit

  http://www.newmoonrising.net

  or

  http://www.melissabowersock.com

  Find Me Online on Twitter and Facebook or visit my blog at:

  http://mjb-
wordlovers.blogspot.com

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