by J. R. Rain
“Told him we had a witness in the church.”
“How did you explain your involvement?” I asked.
“I didn’t. Not really. He was rather shocked and numb and probably a little high on whatever it was he had last taken. He didn’t ask who I was or how I was involved.”
“So how did you get him to come down here?”
Pauline smiled. She looked tired. I could see this had taken a lot out of her. Confronting a serial killer, I was sure, had been stressful.
“You bet your ass it was stressful,” she said. “You owe me big, mister. Maybe you can ask your friend Jesus to toss me a miracle or two.”
I grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She went on. “So I told Eli, quite bluntly, that I was a medium and that his brother was still haunting the church of his death and that he, Eli, needed to do something about it.”
“And Eli believed you?”
“He’s here now, isn’t he?”
“Okay, so he believed you,” I said. “What’s next?”
“That,” she said, “is between you, Eli, and Jacob. And maybe the police. And maybe even God.”
At Pauline’s request, I retrieved Jacob from one of the school hallways, where I found him trying unsuccessfully to drink from a water fountain.
Now the four of us were standing near the altar, the scene of so much pain and suffering. To the naked eye, of course, there would have appeared to be just two people standing there.
Pauline was holding Eli’s hand, which should have surprised me but didn’t. I felt neutral toward Eli. Yes, I had taken much from him, but that had been a reckless, stupid accident. Eli, on the other hand, had hunted me down and killed me in cold blood.
Tit for tat.
Jacob was by my side, and his little face was screwed up in utter bewilderment as he took in the scene. On some level, I knew the boy recognized his twin brother, but I also knew that Jacob saw Eli as his music teacher’s killer. I sensed the kid’s confusion and conflicting emotions. I looked from one to the other. It was hard to imagine that these two had once been identical twins. I had taken so much away from them. One was so young and bloodied, and the other so much older and damaged. One had stopped growing in death, while the other had marched on into misery.
“They’re both here,” said Pauline gently to Eli.
For the first time since entering the church, Eli raised his head. “Who’s here?” he asked. His voice was soft yet hoarse. A smoker’s voice. A screamer’s voice. The voice of someone who had neglected his body in one way or another.
“Your brother,” said Pauline. “And James, one of the men you killed.”
A mélange of emotions crossed his face at once: doubt, amusement, fear. In the end, I think he settled on dubious trepidation. He was still a handsome guy. Dark hair, flecked with premature gray, perhaps indicative of a life not very well lived. He was also not very tall. Pauline had him by a few inches, which might have given her a false sense of security. Indeed, Eli had wide, round shoulders. Strong for his size.
He said, “You mean, you know, like, here from the other side? Like in that show Crossing Over?” As he spoke, he did so with a pseudo-Brooklyn tough-guy accent. Except, I knew he had lived in LA most of his life.
“Close, Eli. These two never crossed over. They have been with us ever since.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. The Brooklyn tough guy was gone in an instant.
“Your brother has been haunting this church since his death, Eli. For nearly twenty years.”
The bigger twin suddenly looked sick. He also looked like he needed to sit down.
Pauline pushed on. “And James never passed on, either.”
“Never passed on?” he asked weakly, confused.
“Crossed over,” she explained.
“Where…Where are they?”
“Standing by my side.”
He looked to her side, at a place somewhere in between Jacob and me.
“Bullshit,” he said. “I don’t fucking believe it.”
He adjusted his shoulders. The tough guy was back. The street drug dealer, the ex-con, the killer. But Pauline was a tough girl, too, and she was unafraid. I also knew she preferred not to waste her time convincing skeptics, but apparently, this case was different.
“Eli, your brother is standing next to the man you killed. They are both looking at you. Your brother is wearing a school uniform. Dark pants and a short-sleeved white dress shirt. The dress shirt is covered in blood from a massive head wound. His neck also appears as if it might be broken. Your brother understands very little of what is happening presently. Young spirits are often confused, and he is very, very confused, Eli. He needs your help to move on.”
And as she spoke, the drug-dealing, murderous ex-con slowly broke down. I saw his face change shape. The hard lines softened. The lower lip quivered. Eyes watered.
She pressed on without pause. “And the man who accidentally killed your brother is here, too. The man you, out of revenge, killed in return. James is standing next to Jacob.”
Eli got hold of himself at the mention of my name. Pauline was in a near trancelike state now that she was truly locked in to the two spirits in the room. Sometimes I took her mediumship for granted. I knew such focused concentration took a lot of effort.
“James is really here?” said Eli.
“Yes, Eli. He really is.”
But he still didn’t seem entirely convinced. He also didn’t seem entirely stable, either.
“What about Dustin Hicks?” he asked.
“Dustin passed over long ago and is not here, although he is taking an active interest in this from afar.”
Oh, really? I thought. Pauline never ceased to amaze me.
“Thank you,” she said to me.
“What?” said Eli.
“Nothing,” said Pauline.
But Eli wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, he was focused on the spot between Jacob and me. Sweat had formed across his brow, and he was absently cracking his neck, rolling his head around on those wide shoulders. I could only imagine that his neck was tense as hell.
“What about the old lady?” he asked.
“Mrs. Randolph?” asked Pauline. “Whom you murdered a few months ago?”
I didn’t know a murderer could look sheepish, but Eli managed to do so now, ducking his head a little. “Um, yeah, her.”
“She’s not here, either. She has passed over and is taking no interest in this.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so he closed it again and hunched his shoulders some more.
“From what I understand,” said Pauline, cocking her head and listening to voices even I couldn’t hear, “she has forgiven you and holds no ill will toward you for taking her life.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, and this time he was successful. “I never meant to kill her, you know.”
“She knows.”
He cracked his neck again. “So James and my brother are really here now?”
“Yes,” said Pauline.
“Is there, um, any chance they can give me a sign or something?”
“Your brother doesn’t understand the concept of ‘giving a sign,’ Eli, but James might oblige.”
He nodded. “Fine. Could you, um, ask him for me?”
“He’s right here, listening to you,” she said. “What would you like him to do?”
“I dunno. Maybe move something.”
There was a silver candlestick holder on the altar. I took Eli’s hand, drew energy from him, and promptly pushed over the candlestick. It landed with a thunderous clang, and Eli jumped back.
“Holy sweet Jesus!” He gripped his chest and looked at his forearm, which was now completely covered in gooseflesh—a result, no doubt, of my grabbing his hand. “Is he going to hurt me?”
“Are you going to hurt him?” Pauline asked me.
“Of course not,” I said.
“He says, ‘Of course not.�
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Eli had backed up all the way to the edge of the stage. He looked as if he might bolt at any moment.
“Tell him to come back,” I said to Pauline.
She repeated my request to him.
Eli did so, grudgingly. He said, “Tell James no more, you know, proof. I believe he’s here.”
I sighed. Scaring the hell out of him had been, admittedly, kind of fun.
“So what now?” Eli asked. There was a little more pep to his voice. Being scared half to death has that effect on people.
“Now,” said Pauline, “is when things get interesting.”
“First of all,” said Pauline to Eli, “we need to get Jacob up to speed here. He’s very confused. Mostly, he recognizes you as Mrs. Randolph’s killer, but there’s a part of him that thinks he might know you from somewhere else.”
“Why…Why doesn’t he recognize me?” asked Eli, truly hurt.
“It’s the nature of lost souls,” said Pauline. “With no real feedback from, well, anyone, they lose sight of themselves, forget who they are, and their memories subsequently go as well.”
“He doesn’t even remember who he is?” asked Eli, and I could hear the anger and pain in his voice. I was also aware that the anger was probably directed toward me.
“Mostly, he doesn’t,” said Pauline. “Sometimes he has glimpses of who he is and who he was. But every day he forgets more and more, Eli. Every day the condition worsens.”
“You mean, someday he won’t even remember who he is?”
“Exactly.”
“Then we need to help him,” said Eli firmly. “Send him to heaven or something.”
“It’s not going to be that easy, Eli. Your own father planted the seeds of doubt in the afterlife, which is why he is still here.”
Eli didn’t say anything at first. Sweat continued to bead along his forehead, and he seemed to be growing paler by the minute. I wondered if he was ever going to get his color back. Finally, he started nodding.
“Yeah, Dad was an atheist. Hard-core atheist. Mom wasn’t. Dad was against us going to Catholic school from the beginning, but Mom won out. Still, whenever we were alone with him, he would tell us we were wasting his money and that there was no God or heaven or hell. We believed him. Hell, he was our dad—we would have believed anything he said.”
“What do you believe now?” asked Pauline.
“I believe there’s a ghost in here—a ghost who can fucking knock over a candlestick. That’s enough for me.”
Pauline nodded. They were silent.
After a moment, Eli asked, “So there really is a heaven and a hell?”
“There is whatever you want there to be, Eli. Your brother believed in no heaven or hell, so he is stuck here, in disbelief.”
“Then why is James stuck here?”
“Ah,” said Pauline, smiling over at me. “He had the opposite problem.”
“Opposite?”
“He believed too much.”
“I don’t get it,” said Eli.
“He truly believed he was going to hell, Eli, and he was afraid.”
“And why was he afraid of going to hell?” asked the bigger twin. He had inched closer to the altar. Not quite as close as before, but he was growing braver.
“Do you really want to know?” asked Pauline.
“Yes.”
“He regrets killing your brother, Eli. Regrets it more than you will ever know.”
Amazingly, Eli looked right at me. People are more psychic than they know. He looked and said nothing.
“You didn’t have to kill him, Eli. He was killing himself, slowly, surely, much the same way you’re killing yourself now.”
The young man suddenly covered his face and broke down in tears. Pauline never moved, but Jacob did. The little boy was by his brother’s side in an instant, trying unsuccessfully to take his hand.
It was heartbreaking and piteous.
And it was all because of me.
“My hand is cold,” said Eli between sobs. He opened and closed his hand slowly. I could see the occasional shiver coursing through him.
“It’s your brother,” said Pauline. “He’s trying to hold your hand. He’s trying to comfort you.”
Eli looked down at his empty hand. “What…What does Jacob look like?”
“Ah,” said Pauline. “He’s young. Maybe eight years old. Seems sort of small for his age. Hair disheveled. And…” Pauline stopped. I knew she had been about to mention Jacob’s wounds but caught herself. “And he loves you. But he still remembers you as his piano teacher’s killer, Eli, so you will need to speak with him.”
“What do I say?” Eli was still looking at his hand. His forearm was completely covered in gooseflesh.
“First, let’s sit.”
And Pauline led the way over to the wide first step leading up to the raised stage. She sat and patted the spot next to her. Eli slouched over and sat there.
“Invite your brother,” said Pauline.
“How?”
“Just ask him to come over.”
Eli looked at her for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether or not she was crazy—or perhaps trying to decide if this was another drug-induced hallucination. Finally, he nodded, resigning himself to accept as true the strange events unfolding around him.
“Jacob…” he said quietly, looking over at Pauline as if to ask, Is this how I do it?
She nodded approvingly.
Encouraged, Eli raised his voice. “Jacob, it’s me, Eli. Your brother. Come sit with me, okay?”
Jacob didn’t move. Instead, he looked at me, eyes wide, mouth open, confused as hell.
“Go on,” I urged him. “It’s okay.”
The confusion turned briefly to fear, then to hope. I encouraged him again, and finally, he drifted over and sat cautiously next to his brother on the carpeted step. All three of them—Pauline, Eli, and Jacob—were now facing out toward the empty church. I stood behind them.
“He’s sitting next to you now,” said Pauline to Eli.
And, surprising the hell out of me, Eli said, “I know. I…I can feel him.”
I moved off the stage and sat before them in the front pew. Pauline glanced over at me. “I owe you big,” I said to her.
“I know,” she mouthed quietly.
Needing no further prompting from Pauline, Eli said, “Hi, Jacob. I’m your brother, Eli. Do you remember me? We were twins. We are twins. We did everything together. Do you remember any of that?”
Jacob, who was about half the size of Eli, looked up at his twin brother in complete confusion.
“Keep going,” urged Pauline. “Keep reminding him of who he is. Talk about anything that comes to mind.”
And so Eli did. He opened up about everything, especially about their immediate family, speaking at length about their mother and father, repeating names often, telling funny and sad stories. As he spoke, Eli broke down often, fought through the tears, picked up where he had left off, and went on. All the while, he held out his hand for little Jacob to hold on to, which the boy did.
“And I had no idea you were still here, Jacob. If I had known, I would have visited you every day. I’m sorry you were alone for so long. I’m so sorry you lost your memory. I’m so sorry I stole the money and you got blamed. I’m so sorry you got killed. It should have been me. Not you. I’m so, so sorry, so sorry…”
Pauline was in tears. Eli was in tears. And Jacob was hugging his twin brother with all his ghostly strength. After a while, the boy turned and looked back at me.
“This is my brother, Eli,” he said excitedly.
I smiled and nodded, and he went back to hugging his brother.
“He’s hugging you,” said Pauline, wiping her eyes.
Eli nodded. He knew. He was getting used to this stuff. He and his brother hugged some more while Pauline and I watched them, saying nothing. Finally, the boy pulled away and looked up at his brother.
“Where have you been, Eli?” asked Jacob.
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“He’s asking where you’ve been,” relayed Pauline.
Eli, aware that the physical connection with his brother had been broken, sat up a little straighter and dried his eyes on his sleeve. “Tell him—”
“No,” said Pauline. “You tell him. He can hear you.”
Eli nodded. “I’ve been away, Jacob.”
“Where?”
“He’s asking where,” said Pauline.
“I’ve been in jail. I’ve done some bad things, Jacob. Very bad.”
“Why?” asked Jacob.
Pauline repeated the question. Eli, who was still seated, suddenly stood. He ran his hand through his oily, unkempt hair and paced the wide carpeted area between the front pews and the stage.
Eli answered, “It was the only thing I could think to do, Jacob.”
We were silent. Jacob was still sitting next to Pauline. He looked up at her. She smiled down at him. He then looked at me, and I smiled, too.
“I don’t understand,” said Jacob. I wasn’t sure whom he was addressing, but I sensed it was my time to step in, and so I did.
I drifted over and settled next to him.
Pauline spoke. “Your brother is still very confused, Eli. James just sat with him.”
“Why is James sitting with him?” Eli paused, spitting the question.
“James is here for a reason, Eli. He has his own issues, and he needs to resolve them with Jacob. You need to let this happen. It’s okay.”
Eli didn’t like it, but he resumed pacing. Jacob alternated between watching his brother and watching me.
“I don’t understand,” Jacob said to me. “Eli keeps telling me I’m dead, but I’m not dead.”
Some days were better than others for Jacob. Today was a bad day—he remembered little, if anything, of his death. And it would only get worse for him. If ever there were a correct time for him to move on, now would be it.
Pauline caught my eye and nodded. I knew what she was thinking: Yes, now is the correct time.
I said to the boy, “About twenty years ago, Jacob, you fell from up there.” I pointed to the rafters above.
Jacob followed my finger. His mouth fell open a little, although he said nothing.
