Reign of Silence

by Tony Martin

  “I believe you,” said Al.

  Al's frank statement caught Joshua off guard. “You do?”

  “I do,” said Al. “I know there are plenty of people who wouldn’t – or couldn’t – believe you, but I think everything you’ve said has indeed happened.”

  “Wow,” said Joshua, not sure how to continue.

  “Josh,” Al said, “you know I come from an Irish background. Now, I’ve not been around my folks enough in recent years to keep much of my accent, but I do know something about my culture. We Irish are a mystic bunch. Let me tell you a story.”

  “Go on.”

  Al leaned back, cracked his knuckles. “Mother was what they used to call ‘black Irish,” with dark, dark hair and green eyes. Now, Papa was Irish through and through, with reddish hair and a temper to beat all. But Mother grew up on a farm not too far from here, up around Clio. She had three brothers.

  “Mother grew up in horse and buggy days,” Al continued. “She told us kids the story of how she and her folks would drive to town in the back of a wagon, pulled by a mule. They lived a couple of miles from town, but in order to get there, they had to cross over a one-lane bridge, and down on the river beside this bridge had been an old gristmill.

  “Some while back this old mill had burned, and the family that lived there – a mother, father, and two kids – all died in the fire.

  “Mother said that on some evenings, when they’d cross that bridge, they could hear the sound of a baby crying, clear as could be, down on the banks. And sometimes, if the moon were bright, a little lamb would run up from somewhere down by the river, walk alongside the wagon, and as soon as they’d crossed, would run back down out of sight. It was almost like the little lamb was keeping them company as they crossed.”

  Joshua shivered, and then snickered. “That is so classic,” he said.

  “Classic? I guess,” said Al. “But I will tell you, I believed it because Mother believed it. And there are other things. My Uncle Thomas – when he was a boy - saw a man in his bedroom, a man with a snowy white beard and hair, and he described him as having ‘the most beautiful blue eyes’ he’d ever seen. He was convinced that it was an angel. And when he described what he’d seen to his mother, she said that that was a perfect description of her father, who’d died in Ireland years earlier.”

  Joshua looked bemused. “So, then, you believe in ghosts?”

  “I do,” said Al. “Now, I’ll leave the interpretation of what I’m telling you up to you theologians, but I will tell you that my whole family has had similar experiences. Mother even seemed to have some sort of gift of premonition – she’d have these ‘feelings’ that something was going to happen, and they did. Like, when my father was in a near-fatal car accident, she heard him calling to her while she was washing dishes … and he was hundreds of miles away. What I’m trying to say, Josh, is that I can accept these things, even though I’m not sure what to make of them.” Al watched Joshua closely for a reaction.

  Joshua rubbed his face. “I am on this amazing little pilgrimage,” he said. “I am trying to warp and adjust my worldview to accommodate all that’s happened in the last few days. I can’t decide if I’m a skeptic or believer … and I’m not sure what to be skeptical about or what I believe anymore. I do know that I’ve got to get some outside help. I don’t have the resources to deal with this … I must’ve skipped the class that dealt with hauntings in seminary.”

  “I don’t think that one’s offered in your basic Baptist seminary,” said Al. He looked around his office, as if trying to find some sort of resource book in his personal library. “Well,” he said slowly, “would you like for me to give you the name of someone who might be able to help with some of your questions – maybe even help in a more hands-on way?”

  “Huh,” grunted Joshua. “You mean you know someone who’s versed in this kind of thing?”

  Al seemed flustered. “Actually, I do.” He reddened. “It’s my cousin.”

  “Your cousin?”

  “Yeah,” said Al. “How about that?”

  Joshua laughed. “You’ve got to fill me in on this.”

  “Long story,” said Al. “I’ll see if I can make it brief. My cousin is named Precious McRae.”

  “Precious?” said Joshua.

  “His real name is Hardwick,” said Al. “Named after his father, my uncle. His mother just always called him ‘precious,’ and it stuck.

  “At any rate, Precious grew up with our family in Clio, went to Samford, graduated a few years after me, and went on to New Orleans Seminary as a theology major. A couple of years into his degree work, something happened – I think it was a major rift between a professor and him. Maybe he just got disillusioned somehow. I’ve never been clear on the details. Anyway, he dropped out, stayed in New Orleans, floated around doing odd jobs. He worked as a stevedore for a while, drove a tour carriage, just random things.

  “We were never really close, not because of any problems, but just because our lives took different paths, and we were never around each other except for family reunions and funerals. But about five or six years ago, as I recall him telling me, he got involved in a little nondenominational church in the French Quarter. Actually, the church – the Church of the Open Door – seems to attract an eclectic bunch. You’ve got street people, musicians, and, what I’ve found especially interesting, psychics.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with where this is headed,” said Joshua.

  “It gets even more bizarre. Turns out this church is a haven for misfits, and, to their credit, they manage to reach folks way outside the mainstream. I think they do a good job with benevolence ministries, but I’m vague on their theological stance.

  “Precious just loves it there, and while he says that he thinks the psychics – and you see them with their tarot cards and other paraphernalia all over Jackson Square – are off base spiritually, he has found them open to the truth.”

  “So what does Precious feel the truth is?” asked Joshua.

  “Again, we haven’t talked in depth about this too much,” said Al, “but I think he believes that a lot of this paranormal stuff is baloney, but some isn’t. He has befriended a couple in the church who are parapsychologists. This couple has PhD’s in anthropology, but they’re, well, ghost hunters.”

  “Lordy,” said Joshua. “When does this end?”

  “So, these are the ‘who ya gonna call’ couple in New Orleans. And, their co-worker is Precious. That’s what he does now … he’s a paranormal investigator.”

  Joshua was incredulous. “You can make a living doing that?”

  “Apparently so,” said Al. “But Precious also is a tour guide for one of the local tour companies in town, and between the two, he manages OK. He’s got a little efficiency apartment on St. Ann in the Quarter. He’s never married, doesn’t have much in the way of expenses. He’s a little peculiar,” Al concluded.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Joshua. “What exactly does a paranormal investigator do?”

  Al shrugged. “Well, basically, I think Precious goes into a house and determines if there are ghosts hanging around.”

  Joshua finally gave way to the impulse he’d been choking down. He laughed hysterically. “I never, ever dreamed I’d ever have a conversation like this!” he said, between guffaws. “I’m actually talking with my minister of music about hiring a real-live ghostbuster!”

  “I’m just tossing this out as something to ponder,” said Al, a little hurt. “Because, frankly, I don’t think you’re making much headway otherwise.”

  Joshua stopped laughing and considered this. “You know, you’re right. But what would the church say if they knew their pastor was thinking about contacting a – a – paranormal investigator?”

  “A board certified paranormal investigator,” Al added.

  “Amazing,” Joshua muttered. “You can get certified in this. Simply amazing. So … anything else I need to know about Precious? Because I think I’m goin
g to call him.”

  “It may help your feelings to know that Precious approaches situations as a skeptic,” said Al. “I think he does believe, but he’s seen plenty of fraud. He believes that much of what we consider hauntings have a plausible explanation – that there are bona fide scientific reasons for what happens. Some can’t be explained. So, he’ll take a professional attitude toward whatever you ask him to do. Of course, he’ll have a certain way of doing things. He’s had training and experience, remember?”

  Joshua rocked back on the two back legs of his chair. “I stand amazed,” he said. “I think I will call him, but I’ve got a couple thousand questions for him before we go any further.”

  Al flipped through his planner and wrote a phone number on a slip of paper. “Joshua, I can’t give you too much counsel here. But just know that you’ve got an ally in me, and I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Al grinned. “You may decide here real soon that I’ve helped too much.”

  “I’ve got to go to the hospital. Now,” said Meredith, glaring at both Jimmy and Christine.

  “We’ll take you up there,” said Jimmy. He’d just told Meredith about Bernadine. “But just understand that she’s unconscious and won’t know you’re there.”

  “That’s not the point,” said Meredith. “I need to see her.” Her eyes filled with tears. “She’s the closest thing to family I’ve got.”

  Christine reached for Meredith’s hand, squeezed it. “I know, sis. This is hard.”

  Jimmy rose. “We’ll go now.”

  Together the three boarded Jimmy’s car and drove to the hospital. After identifying themselves to the triage nurse, they went to the ICU. Bernadine’s sister Rebecca was there, along with her two grown sons.

  Christine hugged Rebecca. “How is she doing, Rebecca?” she asked.

  Rebecca sat and motioned for Christine and Jimmy to take a seat. “She’s actually doing fine, other than the fact that she’s unconscious. There’s no sign of a stroke, heart attack, or anything of the sort. She’s just … out.”

  “We can be thankful that it’s nothing worse,” said Jimmy.

  “Can I see her?” asked Meredith.

  Rebecca checked her watch. “Actually, visiting hours are about to start,” she said. “Why don’t you and Christine slip in, and we’ll swap out with you in a minute?”

  “OK,” said Meredith, and she and Christine went through the double doors into the unit. Jimmy sat with Rebecca and her sons.

  Meredith went to the nurse’s station and asked for Bernadine’s room. “Room 7,” said the nurse.

  The two went around the corner to Bernadine’s room – actually, just an open cubicle with a glass front and sliding door facing the hall. Medical equipment whirred and beeped.

  Meredith and Christine walked to Bernadine’s bedside. Bernadine was lying, slightly inclined, on crisp white sheets. A nasal cannula was providing oxygen, and she had a glucose IV, but otherwise, she looked perfectly healthy. She was breathing deeply; she simply seemed asleep.

  “Hi, Bernadine,” said Meredith. She gently stroked Bernadine’s forehead. Christine took Bernadine’s hand and held it. “Warm,” she noted.

  “Bernadine,” said Meredith, leaning in, “This is Meredith. Can you hear me?”

  Bernadine didn’t respond.

  The two girls stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Then Meredith leaned in again and said, “Bernadine, I just wanted you to know that I’m fine. Everything is going to be just fine. Just … wake up, OK? I need to know you’re all right.”

  Again, no response. But Meredith was grateful that Bernadine seemed to be resting easy.

  “I guess we need to slip out so Rebecca can see her,” said Meredith, looking down at Bernadine.

  “Yeah,” said Christine. She massaged the back of Bernadine’s hand. “Listen, Meredith,” she said, “Bernadine’s going to come out of this and get better.”

  “I know… I believe that,” said Meredith, sniffling a little. “Let’s go, OK?”

  Meredith and Christine went back to the waiting room. Rebecca stood to meet them.

  “I don’t guess there’s any change,” said Meredith. “So, y’all can go see her for a minute.”

  “I was just telling your dad that if Bernadine’s condition didn’t worsen, they’ll move her to a stepdown room in the morning,” said Rebecca. “So far, there’s been no change – if anything, they say, her vital signs are even better.”

  “Lordy, I hope so,” said Meredith. “You’ll call me if there’s any change, won’t you? I’ll be back tomorrow, one way or the other.”

  “I sure will,” said Rebecca. “I’m planning on spending the night here tonight anyway, till we can see just how she’s doing. I’ll probably stay with her tomorrow … our sister-in-law is coming from Pensacola in the morning, too. And these two knuckleheads will be around.” Both her sons – who’d been checking Meredith out with frank curiosity – hastily dropped their eyes.

  “Sounds good,” said Meredith. “I’m going to be staying over at the Tracy’s for a couple of days, but here’s my cell phone number.” While talking, she’d dug down in her purse for a scrap of paper and a pen, and passed the number to Rebecca.

  “We’re in the phone book, too,” said Jimmy.

  After hugs and handshakes, Jimmy, Christine, and Meredith headed back to the Tracy house. “I’ve got to go to the bank for at least a little while,” said Jimmy, stopping in the driveway. “But call me if you need me, OK?”

  “Mamma’s home,” said Christine, as they climbed out of the car. “And Mark will be home from school before long.”

  “A lot of help he’ll be,” said Jimmy. His son, Mark, was a fifth-grader, obsessed with sports, and a real grouch these days … a sprained wrist sidelined him from softball.

  Jimmy gave Christine a quick kiss, winked at Meredith, and drove off. The two girls took the bags of clothes and went inside.

  “You know something?” asked Meredith. “I think I need to crash for just a while. I’m not feeling quite up to speed.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Christine, as they went to the guest bedroom. “Get a nap in. I’ve got some homework … think all of this will count as an excused absence?”

  “Don’t know,” said Meredith. She kicked off her sandals and fell, sprawling, face first, across the bed. “Chrissy, I’m just exhausted.”

  “You’ve got to admit this hasn’t been your average day,” Christine said.

  “It’s time to do something,” said Meredith, covering her head with a pillow. Peeking out, she said, “I’m kinda crazy about your pastor.”

  “He’s the greatest,” said Christine, “and he’s gonna help you through all this.”

  “Think he’ll pray for Bernadine?”

  “I’m sure he already has,” said Christine. “Listen … you snooze a while, OK? I’ll be on the sun porch. Just holler if you need something.”

  “Right,” said Meredith, her voice already fading.

  Christine gave her a gentle punch on the leg before leaving, turning out the light as she left. Meredith didn’t move.

  Gathering her backpack, Christine walked out to the sun porch, pulled a wicker chair up to a glass-topped table, and spread out her Western Civilization notes and text. Before long, she was engrossed in the study of the ancient civilization du jour, and was able to push away the extraordinary events of the previous evening.

  Chapter Nine - Precious

  Joshua found himself staring at a lamp on the table across from his desk. His mind was unfocused; one random thought seemed to crowd the previous one out before he’d had a chance to do any processing.

  Finally, Joshua pulled out Precious McRae’s phone number and called. He was surprised to hear a professional female voice: “Crescent City Parapsychology Society. How may I direct your call?”

  “Precious McRae, please,” said Joshua, feeling thoroughly foolish.

  “Hold for
Mr. McRae.”

  Joshua waited as a muted composition by Bach played. Then: “This is Precious McRae. May I help you?”

  McRae’s voice was deep, soothing. “Mr. McRae,” Joshua began, “This is Joshua Nix.”

  “Joshua!” McRae’s voice boomed. “So good to hear from you! Al’s told me about you. How are things at Calvary?”

  Joshua shook off his brief bewilderment. “Well, Mr. McRae --”

  “Please, my name is Precious, and that’s what you’re to call me.” Joshua could feel the hearty good cheer through the phone lines.

  “OK, Precious,” said Joshua, thinking he were addressing a dog or other pet. Calling another man “Precious” was a struggle. “Things at Calvary are going well. There are some other things that, well, have me troubled.”

  Joshua heard paper rattling. “So, what seems to be the problem? Vampires? Werewolves? Zombies? Or just your basic unquiet dead?” Precious was almost smacking his lips with barely disguised glee. “Just kidding,” he added.

  “Yes. Well. I think we may have a young lady who is – what? Being haunted? Living in a haunted house? Something, at any rate.” Joshua thought about what he’d just said and just about laughed aloud.

  “A traditional haunting,” said Precious. “What makes you believe that?”

  Joshua took a deep breath and began sequentially telling Precious about the events of the last couple of weeks. Precious stopped him occasionally, to raise a question or have some point clarified. He asked several questions about the supposed wet footprints, making comments such as “This is intriguing.” Joshua had the impression that this was all very ordinary, even cut-and-dried, for Precious.

  Precious seemed especially interested in the appearance of Meredith’s eyes, a topic that never failed to chill Joshua. “So – uh, Christine said that her eyes were black, as if the pupils were entirely dilated?”

  “My understanding is that her eyes were completely black, no whites showing at all.” Joshua squeezed his own eyes shut.

  “Interesting,” said Precious, for the first time sounding puzzled. “But Meredith spoke of being raised to a sitting position involuntarily. This description of her eyes is, frankly, new to my experience.”