by Aiden James
“All right son…I’ll watch you.”
Cute as a bug, he no longer needs a life preserver. He’s mastered the beginner strokes, and is getting better every day at the intermediate skill set. I lingered long enough for Ryan to join Stella in the pool’s shallowest end, where Alex paddled around. Alex hates his preserver, but until he gets a little older, I’m reluctant to take it off, even for a few minutes. Something tells me his auntie and mom have been a bit less restrictive, but I’m sure they take extra care in watching over him. Tougher for me, since I’m usually working on a few things and not near as attentive as they are.
Not a lot has happened since my battle with that weird mist in my kitchen, in the wee hours last Tuesday morning. It’s sort of like we not only entered protective custody at Stella’s, but also stepped out of the real world where shit happens every day. No, Stella’s place isn’t a complete oasis...at least not one where everything in life is now pure bliss. Being out of circulation has definite consequences…like missing band rehearsal. I missed one on Thursday, even though Ricky sent me a text later that night saying everything went fine.
By the way, apparently text messages are okay, as long as we don’t respond. A one-way avenue for important info is a real pain in the ass. If Fiona or I need to reply to anything, we have to send those responses through Ed, who then uses his official cell phone. As you can imagine, we’ve only sent a few replies through him, all abbreviated. And no phone calls are allowed, period, unless we’re speaking to Detective Silver’s office.
But, back to what else was missed this week. Two paranormal investigations had to be postponed indefinitely. That really sucks, and is sort of the reason why Fiona is still on the phone right now, speaking with Ed, who called and left her a message earlier today. Something about ‘potential good news.’
That’d be really nice—especially since we couldn’t attend Mitch’s funeral on Thursday. We also missed Susan and Paul’s service on Friday, after Ed couldn’t arrange protection for us inside the Spring Hill Episcopalian Chapel where it was held. Fiona wept for hours on account of this, since she wanted to be there for a final goodbye to Susan. Me, I hate funerals, as I mentioned before. If nothing else, recent events have given me a deeper appreciation of those around me, the people I care about. After all, tomorrow’s not guaranteed to anyone. Only the present moment.
“When’s Mommy gonna join us in the pool?”
Alex sounded so somber…deadly serious as he asked me this question. Standing on Stella’s lap beneath the water’s surface in the shallow end, for a moment he looked a couple of years older.
“She’ll be along in a minute, too,” I told him, hoping my tone didn’t sound perturbed. It didn’t matter that it was Alex’s tenth request like this in the last hour, and probably the fourth or fifth time I gave my standard ‘in a minute’ response. “Just as soon as she finishes her phone call, and discusses something important with Daddy. Okay?”
No reply from my youngest. Just that same sullen look…deep blue eyes regarding me thoughtfully like he thought I was so full of shit. Good thing accountability ain’t enforced by the world’s dependant, helpless, and meek.
“There’s a fresh pitcher of sun tea on the kitchen counter if you’d like some, Jimmy,” advised Stella. She motioned to the kitchen window. “Why don’t you pour yourself a glass and I’ll tell Fiona to come find you when she’s done?”
Stella obviously sensed my growing restlessness, getting worse the longer my wife allows Ed to chew her ear off. My relentless pacing from one end of the pool’s deck to the other didn’t help. Hell, Daddy’s Stalin-esque vigil might be why my boys can hardly wait for Mommy to rejoin them, knowing my ass would have no choice but to relax and participate in some water volleyball and sea-creature chase.
That’s all totally fine by me, provided I get some time alone this afternoon. I need to strap on the bass and rehearse by myself…at least a little. I’ve gotta keep my chops fresh for the next get-together with my band mates, hopefully in the next day or so.
“I’ll do that in a moment. It actually sounds good, Nan,” I told her, using Stella’s preferred nickname.
The tea did sound quite tempting, and I headed inside the house to get some. I’d barely made it through the backdoor when Fiona called after me. Apparently her conversation with our friendly neighborhood dick had ended.
“What’s with you anyway?” she called after me, her tone irritated.
“Huh? What’s with you?” I retorted, more harshly than intended.
Actually, that’s not true. More like harsh and then ‘oops!’ once I realized it wasn’t the wisest response.
“Do you really want to go there with the attitude, Jimmy?” She stood up and moved over to where the boys and Stella were gathered. Alex reached up for her to lift him out of the water, which she managed to do without tumbling into the pool or her prized Blackberry nearly getting doused. “Everyone can feel your energy, buster, so you need to chill!”
Alex’s perturbed gaze now matched his momma’s, while Ryan nodded emphatically in agreement. Stella smiled lovingly, although the expression on her face served to further validate my wife’s point of view.
“Okay…I’m sorry,” I told my wife, foregoing the tea for now.
I stepped back outside and moved over to her, hoping to offer a hug and kiss to make up. Tough to do when it included my soaking-wet four-year old.
“It’s okay,” Fiona told me, her voice much softer. She smiled. “Ed gave the go-ahead on lifting our house arrest.”
Ah, the subtle comedienne in our family, she always knows how to make me smile.
“So, I can join Ricky and the guys on Wednesday?” God I prayed that’s what she meant.
“Yes!”
Her smile immediately widened, which always makes her whole countenance glow. Like a frigging saint, she lights up everything around her. Even Alex’s sternness softened.
“It also means we can reschedule the two investigations I had to cancel last Thursday!” she continued, scarcely able to hide her excitement. I hoped Stella understood this wasn’t an indictment on her hospitality. Far from it. “We’ll still have to hang out here for a few days, just to be safe.”
“I’m fine with that,” I agreed.
“Me, too,” she said and then looked over at Stella. “You won’t mind us hanging around a while longer, would you Auntie?”
“Not at all!” she beamed, although the prospect of us heading back home later this week seemed to sadden her. “You can stay here as long as y’all like, you know.”
“I know, Auntie,” said Fiona. She sat Alex down and moved over to her aunt, stooping down to give her a hug at the pool’s edge. “I love you so much!”
“And I love you, too!”
Stella looked like she might cry, but caught herself.
“So, I take it the cops will still hang around?” I asked, ready to change the subject.
“Yes, the Goodlettsville police will still watch Auntie’s place,” Fiona advised. “And, wherever me and the kids go, an officer will be coming along. Ed said it will be a little complicated, so he’ll need to know where I’m going to be so he can make prior arrangements with the other departments.”
I guess that means I’m still thug-bait if I traverse the greater Nashville area alone. No surprise there.
“He doesn’t hate you, Jimmy—really he doesn’t,” she said, responding to either my thoughts or facial expression. “He just feels you can effectively fend for yourself. Especially if all you’ll be doing is going to band rehearsal in Madison.”
It’s probably a good thing she’s only visited our rehearsal room in the daytime. I doubt she’d be nonchalant if she visited the place late at night. Ignoring the likelihood of crack hangouts and other nefarious activities sheltered within the row of deserted warehouses next to our building is like saying Hell is just a campfire. Maybe that’s how she deals with me being there. She’d never try to sway me from pursuing my music dreams when t
he best shot to make them happen is holed up in Quagmire’s little hangout.
And what about the ninja dude or the owner of the Buick who seems to have a fetish for me? At best, it’s some sick obsession...unless I’m the means to some other end.
Vito Travini’s lucky number eight?
“You’re so silly,” she said, chuckling before she came back over to me. This time, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close. The thing that always makes me think of what I’d really like to do with her, alone…later on. “Ed’s convinced that Mr. Travini has left the area. Apparently he’s finished with what he came for.”
“How so?” I asked, frowning. Yeah, I confess to being either amazed or annoyed when she does that…reads my thoughts. This time a little annoyed. “Is this just Mr. Ed’s apple fritter gut feeling, or does he have some facts to back up his assertion?
“Well, smartass, he actually does have some evidence,” she said, pulling away from me. She’s probably annoyed by my annoyance. Her tone got a little bit icy too. “A dark Buick SUV with an insignia matching the one you described was found near Paducah, Kentucky yesterday. The plates were removed, but the VIN matched a recent purchase by Vito Travini. He bought it in New Jersey right after his release from prison.”
“So, it’s not really a van, then?”
That was more a statement than a question. It had to be the same vehicle, but I needed additional information to confirm this as true.
“Not exactly, but Ed said it’s big enough to look similar to a van—especially at night. He told me his contacts on the east coast said this is a classic example of ‘Mafia M.O.’,” she said. “Ditching the vehicle in plain sight in a bordering state is their way of saying ‘hey, we’re done for now...and you better not give us a reason to return’. Blood residue found inside the SUV is being analyzed. If it belongs to Candi or one of the others, Ed told me the Nashville PD will seek to impound it.”
“So, what does your gut tell you? Do you believe we’re really in the clear, and the killer is long gone, satisfied by the seven lives he stole from us?”
Such senseless deaths, as I thought again about our lost friends.
“I’m not sure,” she said, looking away for a moment while shaking her head sadly. “Let me think on that for a little while.”
Her cell phone chirped. Once, and then followed by three more chirps. Text messages from someone.
“It’s Jackie.”
She shielded her handset from the sun so she could read the four messages. In reality one long message that could only be transmitted in sections.
“How are she and Angie doing?”
“Apparently very well,” she told me, and then her face lit up. Actually, her mouth dropped open first. “Jackie’s talking about a local television station that wants to do a weekly talk show centered upon the paranormal. Paranormal investigations—what we do! And, they’re really interested in our group—NVP—hosting the series! Can you believe it??”
She nearly shrieked this last part, perhaps unaware of the potential damage to anyone’s eardrums nearby. Namely mine again. Even so, my excitement wasn’t far removed from hers.
“Are you serious??”
“Yes!”
“That’s wonderful news, Fiona!” said Stella, stepping out of the pool with Ryan right behind her.
“I’m hungry, Mommy!” he announced, focused on his growling tummy.
“Me, too!”
Isn’t that how it always works? Little brother’s urgent tone came out shriller than Ryan’s.
“Why don’t I fix you some grilled cheese sandwiches?” Stella suggested, wrapping both boys with towels as they stepped into their flip-flops. She grabbed a towel for herself. “Would you like anything, Jimmy? Fiona?”
“A grilled cheese sandwich sounds pretty good,” I told her, still trying to wrap my mind around Fiona’s announcement. “Do you need any help in the kitchen?”
“No, I’ll take care of everything—you and Fiona just relax with the boys in the living room, and I’ll call you when everything’s ready.”
I must admit, a guy could really get used to such pampering. Fiona warned me it would be like this when we decided to move in for the week. Sort of like the Siren affect on Odysseus and his men, or was that some other Greek myth I’m referring to?
“Thanks, Auntie…I think I’ll pass on the sandwich. Maybe I’ll dip into the wonderful stew you fixed last night,” said Fiona, still reading the texts from Jackie. She smiled even more while nodding her head. “It sure looks like things might finally be looking up for us!”
“Well, I sure hope so!” said Stella, motioning for us all to follow her inside her wonderful home after waving to the Goodlettsville cop parked inside her spacious carport. “Lord knows you two could sure use a break!”
***
The day disappeared quickly. Before I knew it twilight had arrived, and instead of planning lunch, Stella and Fiona cleaned up after dinner.
The good news is we’ll be able to rejoin the NVP gang tomorrow night at Tom’s place. One of Nashville’s finest will be in attendance, but I believe we can ignore any smirks or cynical remarks while we review the findings from our last three investigations. I’m a little miffed at myself for not getting a picture of that damned mist last week. So far I’ve only told Fiona about it…and I gave her such a summarized version of events that I’m not sure even she understood the full impact of the experience. I sometimes assume her gifts will fill in the blanks, but it doesn’t always happen.
I look forward to finding out more about the TV series, and I’m assuming we’ll work out the details for the two investigations this week. Then on Wednesday, I’ll rehearse with the band—our final run-through before the big gig on Saturday. I would’ve liked to get one more practice in before the weekend, on Friday, but Mongo has a country gig that night he can’t get out of. Frigging traitor.
Other than the fact Fiona and I must return to our day jobs this week, I’d be feeling really good about this week’s prospects, given all the music and paranormal research excitement going on. But the thing that Fiona told me earlier, about giving her some time to ponder our safety?
After dinner, we all went back outside. The pool area’s an amazing sanctuary, complete with a natural rock spring and waterfall that also feeds the pool. A great place to relax at night, either sitting on the extended patio or in the spa I mentioned earlier.
Not tonight. That fantasy disappeared as soon as my wife brought her tarot cards outside with her.
Stating she felt burdened to ‘take a look’ at what’s going on around us, she normally reserves this kind of reading for her clients and friends outside the immediate family. It’s definitely not a good sign she was doing it for us that night.
I tried to distract myself by playing with the kids in the pool, while Stella relaxed in a lounge chair nearby, sipping a glass of wine. All the while, I wondered what Fiona was picking up from the other side. She chose a table near the pool’s deep end, beneath one of the security lamps. The glow provided sufficient light for her to conduct her reading despite the table’s umbrella. I could see enough of the cards’ reflected surfaces to detect the cross formation she favors.
Some readers say her ‘flow and follow through’ are incorrect. Maybe unorthodox in traditional occult terms, yet Fiona is always accurate. Always.
“Well, Ed’s right about Vito Travini,” she said afterward, out of earshot of the kids and her aunt. She placed her cards back inside her purse. “The cards and my guides gave me nothing about him.”
She shrugged her shoulders, but the wan expression on her face told me this really bothered her.
“What is it, babe?”
“I’m not sure... it’s kind of weird that I didn’t pick up anything on him.” She studied my face before going on. “If he was here, I should’ve picked up on his energy—especially after everything Ed shared with us. I got nothing, and my guides were silent.”
“Maybe he’s so long
gone from here that he took his black-ass aura with him,” I teased, which was met by a reproachful glance. “Okay, I have no idea what to think about all of this.”
She nodded pensively, and then sighed. Deeply, as if her soul might dissipate if she drew another breath.
“The killer is still here…somewhere in our area,” she said, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “The guy I’ve seen since this all started? He’s never left.”
The dude with red hair.
Chapter Twenty
“So, do we tell everyone the details from your card reading last night?”
6:30 p.m., Monday evening at Tom’s place. Fiona and I’d just arrived in Stella’s Cadillac, hoping a different vehicle might bring us some luck against the red-headed killer dude still here…somewhere in Nashville. Honestly, that reason was secondary to the fact Stella insisted on Fiona driving her car, since it rarely gets taken on trips of twenty-five miles or more. Ed thought it’d be a good idea too.
Yeah, he showed up in Goodlettsville that afternoon. Though I’m never gonna fall in love with the guy, I think we’re beginning to develop some level of mutual respect. In other words, we’re not nearly as standoffish to one another. The real test will come if we ever have to interact outside of Fiona’s presence. The fur might fly if that happens.
“I don’t know,” she replied, pausing while she finished parking the car inside Tom’s carport. “Tonight might not be the right time to say anything, especially when everyone’s excited about the television show and the fact we can get together again, after a week in isolation from one another.”
Good point.
“But, if this guy goes on the attack again…could you live with yourself by not saying anything?” I persisted. She regarded me for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. I almost moved to smooth over what I just said, but she stopped me.
“I’ll tell them,” she said, dabbing at her eyes so her mascara wouldn’t run. “Just let me do it my way tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” I agreed, making sure I sounded compassionate. Sometimes I don’t, even though I feel empathetic. I’m a bit jaded after spending the last five years at my day gig. “I’ll follow your lead. Should I say anything to remind you if we’re about to leave and the opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet?”
