by E. Clay
I went from one crisis to another and it was taking its toll. I didn’t sleep much, maybe an hour here and there. Too much mental chatter inside my head.
Around midnight Jo returned my call. I was half asleep but I quickly became alert. I ran into the study and picked up the call. It was a terrible connection. All I could hear in the background was her favorite Tom Jones number.
It’s not usual to be loved by anyone. It’s not unusual to have fun with anyone...
“Jo, if you can hear me call back. You must have a weak signal. Call me back.”
I was relieved that she called. I still had questions but at least I knew she was okay. She didn’t call me back. I went back to sleep.
On the way to work the next day I ran into Carl and his daughter Gabby. He was taking her to school. He buckled Gabby in the rear seat and met me at my car. He appeared concerned.
“Carl, long time no see. Hey, did you finally pick up that guy?”
Carl loosened his collar then responded.
“Aye, but he’s not the one.”
Carl put his arm around me and led me out of earshot of Gabby.
“Clay, I don’t really know how to say this any other way but…”
“But what?”
“Jo is gone.”
“I know. I’m upset with her. She never told me she was leaving. The removal van cleared her place out yesterday.”
Carl elaborated.
“Clay, I mean she’s our number 8. He got her. Jo’s dead.”
My legs buckled at first but logic kicked in.
“Carl, that can’t be. I had several missed calls on my cell from her when I landed. And she called me last night on my cell.”
“Clay, we found Jo’s body last Saturday. She couldn’t have called.”
I reached for my cellphone and I found no record of her midnight call. Maybe I dreamt it. However, the calls that flooded my cell upon my arrival in England were still there.
Carl suggested the calls were late coming through. I quickly checked my email notifications. Jo’s invitation to her book signing was still there and it was date-stamped the day of my arrival. Carl’s explanation was plausible but not convincing. Logic eventually prevailed. Jo was dead and there had to be some rational explanation.
The reality of Jo’s death started to sink in. I was completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I wanted to respond but I couldn’t.
“Clay, I’ve gotta run now. Stop by later.”
Carl drove off. I remained in that same spot for a few moments, completely motionless.
I went upstairs and laid across my bed staring at the ceiling. It was getting more difficult to suspend reality. I sat up. The letter from Hinchingbrooke was on top of my alarm clock. I delicately opened it with the sharp edge of my house key and read it.
Ms. Tompson,
It is my great pleasure to inform you that your test results are close to normal limits and there is a significant decrease in the size of the cancerous mass we detected during your initial visit. In my thirty years of practice I have never seen such progress. I am reluctant to use the word remission, but this is truly remarkable.
Dr. M.K Ahmed
The anger that seeped into my veins was only trumped by overwhelming grief. I lost my friend and she wasn’t coming back. My bottom lip started to quiver uncontrollably and my grip on the corners of the letter tightened until the letter ripped in half. I sobbed and the more I thought about it the harder I wept. The floodgates holding my tears at bay gave way. Jo beat cancer only to lose her life for what? I could see her smile in my mind’s eye and I could hear her voice in my head. I reflected on the highs and lows of our friendship. I remembered when she chastised me about calling her home number and not her cell.
“Clay, if you want to reach me, call me on my cell.”
I also recalled her ‘70s talk.
“Groovy. ”
I had lost her and there was nothing I could do about it.
Later That Afternoon
I should have taken the day off. I was useless the entire day and accomplished little to nothing. On the way home, just before my exit, I realized I still had Nemo in a Ziploc baggie in my utility sink. I made a promise to Jo that if something happened to Nemo I would do the right thing.
I struggled to find a suitable send off for a fish and I found myself sitting in my driveway racking my brain over what I should do. I reversed out my drive and headed to Homebase just down the street.
As I walked through the aisles I was discouraged about finding a solution, until I passed checkout. There was a sale on garden solar lights. The lights had a dull black finish with brass trim and came in a set of four.
I could place one in each corner of my garden and avoid having a morbid constant reminder. I bought the lights.
In the far right corner of my garden I dug a hole deep enough for the Ziploc baggie containing Nemo. It affected me a lot more than I thought it would. I wept as I placed Nemo into the ground. I think subconsciously I equated burying Nemo to burying my friend Jo.
I filled the hole with dirt and patted the surface down with a gardening tool. I removed the four solar lights and placed them in the four corners of my garden. The far right corner was where Nemo was buried. I stood in front of my garden and was happy with my choice of remembrance.
“I miss you Jo, may your soul rest in peace.”
I went inside and closed the door.
TWENTY-EIGHT
* * *
Screen Play
It had been almost two weeks since I had last seen Monet. It wasn’t getting easier, in fact it was harder. Jo’s death coupled with my breakup with Monet was a miserable life that sometimes didn’t feel worth living. While laid-up in the hospital my only desire was to get back home. I realized just how much I took for granted. Life was great. I just didn’t know how great it really was. I soon would find a little clarity, by way of the Royal Mail service. It was an unexpected letter from Marc. The first thing I checked was the return address to make sure it wasn’t mailed locally. It wasn’t. I read the letter.
I found your address on your author website. I didn’t want to write this letter but after last night I know this is the right thing to do. I still love Monet and I never thought I would ever comfort her over the loss of another man, but that’s what’s happening. It’s only because I love her I am writing you. She never told you why she bailed me out of jail, so I will. After our daughter Michelle found out why I was in jail (the whole story) she ran away and cut off contact with her mother. Monet found Michelle hiding out in my house that Tuesday. They had a big fight. Michelle threatened never to speak with her mother unless she posted my bail. Michelle has decided to live with me and will not accompany her mom to England. Michelle will eventually come around, but in her own time.
Monet deserves happiness and I can’t give that to her. Spending a couple of nights in jail helped me realize that.
Marc
P.S. It seems we both were in Mogadishu at the same time, it’s probably a good thing we didn’t meet then. I will never be your friend but I won’t be your enemy either.
Give Monet a call.
Marc’s letter proved he was a bigger man than me. I wanted to thank him but I knew that would be out of order. My only regret was that Monet didn’t tell me why she posted Marc’s bail in the first place. She didn’t choose Marc over me, she chose her daughter over me. I would have done the same thing as a parent. Unfortunately, my hopes of reconnecting with Monet were dashed by the recording saying her phone was disconnected. If things were meant to be we would find a way back together.
After dinner I finally decided to go outside and view the pretty solar lights in my backyard. I stood in the center of my yard and noticed one of my lights didn’t illuminate. It was the one used to mark where Nemo was. The other three lights worked just fine. I took the defective light back to Homebase that night to complain.
“Sir, we just tested your light and it works fine.”
&n
bsp; I felt I was being made a fool of. I knew the light was damaged. I protested.
“Follow me, sir.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He didn’t respond. I followed him to the outdoor Garden Center.
“Sir, that’s your light.”
It was shining bright. Maybe they switched the light with a good one. I looked at the sales clerk suspiciously as I repackaged it and took it home.
The light malfunctioned again when I repositioned it. I switched it with the other lights that I knew were functioning. It wasn’t the damn light. None of the lights worked in that spot in the far right corner. In the front yard they all worked beautifully. I put the lights back like they were before with the same result, three out of four illuminated. I even showed Carl and he couldn’t figure it out either. It was strange but not worth worrying about. In that far right corner was darkness. I left it that way.
Almost three weeks passed before my cellphone rang. When I finally got a call I was excited. I was thrilled because it was a Skype call and only one person knew my Skype number and that was Monet. I anxiously took the call in my study: it wasn’t Monet. It was a close friend from way back, Yolanda. I called her Yo Yo. She was like a sister to me over the years and she recently married another Marine named Richard. They called from Japan. I had never met Richard in person so Yolanda looked me up on Skype to virtually introduce us.
“Clay, you know I can’t go too long without talking to my brotha. How you doin’?” Yolanda asked.
“Yo Yo, I wish you were here. I’ll tell you ‘bout it later. So where’s your other half?”
“Richard’s on his way, he’s feeding the dogs.”
“Brrr. I feel a cold draft, I must have left a window open. I’ll be right back,” I said.
I propped the cellphone up against my PC and went into my bedroom to shut the window. It was only slightly ajar.
I returned and Missy started to purr around my feet.
“Clay, this is Richard my new husband,” Yolanda said excitedly.
Richard and Yolanda looked so happy together. As long as she was happy I was happy. Richard was easy to converse with and I was glad he accepted my fondness for Yolanda.
Yolanda continued.
“Clay, are you going to introduce us to your new lady friend?”
Yolanda didn’t know about Monet. I was confused.
“Lady friend?”I asked.
“Yeah, the woman who followed you into your bedroom.”
“Yo Yo, there’s no one here but me and my cat,” I said looking over my shoulder.
Yolanda looked at Richard and then they both gave me a funny look. Like I was hiding something.
The temperature in the study dropped fast. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Missy retreated behind the hard drive underneath the desk. Something spooked her. Her ears folded back and her tail got bushy. She was staring at something.
Yolanda knew something was wrong. Her next response evoked absolute fear within me.
“Clay, there she is. The woman in the doorway.”
Richard pointed to my left.
I cleared my throat. My voice cracked.
“Uhm, what does she look like?” I asked worriedly.
“Ahh, she’s bald and has a red turtleneck sweater.”
In a matter of seconds Skype froze up. Missy hissed before she ran out of the room.
I knew something was behind me. I felt it staring at me. I started praying the Lord’s Prayer. I stuttered through it. I was hoping it didn’t touch me or speak to me. I could feel it come closer to me, directly behind me. I couldn’t keep my hands still, they were shaking and then paralysis set in and I couldn’t move.
Lord, please protect me. Don’t let this happen.
The bald woman wearing the red turtleneck could only be one person and she was dead.
“Jo?”
I think I blacked out in place for about fifteen seconds. My body was no longer a safe haven so I checked out.
When I could no longer feel the presence behind me I grabbed my keys and slowly walked downstairs and opened the door. I got in my car and drove to a lodging on a US military base nearby. I didn’t look in the rear view mirror. I probably would’ve crashed my car if I had seen her in the back seat that night.
“Mr. Thompson, the chaplain will see you now,” the chapel secretary said.
I followed the secretary into the chaplain’s office. The Base Chaplain was known as Padre. I never saw Padre dressed in anything but clergy attire even when he shopped on base. Padre was a man of God first and a Navy Commander second. His crew cut and wire-framed spectacles gave him that distinctive officer look.
“Have a sit down, Mr. Thompson. I was just looking at your referral sheet. I want you to know that everything we discuss here is confidential.”
“Thanks, Padre. If my office finds out why I’m here, my suitability for holding a security clearance may be challenged.”
Padre cleaned his glasses while he spoke.
“So, you think your house is haunted?”
“No, sir, it’s not my house. It’s me that’s haunted. I know it sounds crazy but I know her, I mean the spirit. Her name is Jo.”
Padre ceased cleaning his glasses and placed them on his desk.
I thought he would find my issue bizarre and unusual but he didn’t. He responded without hesitation.
“The chaplain community is aware of the paranormal incidents in Europe and particularly here in England. Some chaplains choose to ignore such complaints. At least once a week I have an appointment that involves a spirit inhabiting a service member’s dwelling. Believe it or not, some Americans request rental accommodations that are haunted. I call them my ghost hunters.”
“That’s insane. Why would anyone do that?” I replied.
“Mr. Thompson, it is not within my pastoral duties to convince you that ghosts exist. But what I can tell you is that God’s love will protect you, always. If you want I can come to your home and bless it and rebuke any evil spirits in the name of the Father.”
“But Jo is my friend, she’s not evil. There must be a reason why she came to see me,” I said in her defense.
Jo wasn’t done with me and I knew it.
After my appointment with Padre, I checked out of my quarters and returned home.
TWENTY-NINE
* * *
Night Flight
The first three nights I slept with all the lights on and the flat screen in my bedroom was on constantly when I was home. I can’t remember reading the bible so much, but it helped ease my fears. I often wore headphones and listened to iTunes to drown out unexplained noises. Listening to music helped distract me from ruminating on unpleasant thoughts. The headphones worked great for the first three days but on the fourth day there was an episode.
While listening to iTunes there was a delay between track one and track two. I manually advanced the track with my headphone settings. Track two didn’t play, something else did. What I heard was confusing and extraordinary. I heard women’s voices whispering in the background of white noise. I wasn’t scared, I wanted to know what they were saying. I turned up the volume on my headset. The whispers were louder but they weren’t any clearer. I turned up the volume as loud as I could. Whispers were panning in my ear from right to left and back again. With the volume on max, I realized they were not whispers but prayers for help. Again, I wasn’t scared, I was too mentally occupied listening to what was being said. The women’s prayers suddenly ceased at the same time. There was a brief silent pause before I heard a woman’s voice.
“Please Lord, don’t let us perish in vain.”
End of transmission.
Her voice was crystal clear, it wasn’t Jo’s voice. I believed it was a message. I grabbed my headphones and hit the back button to replay the transmission. The women’s voices were not there. Track two played without the extended delay. I was mentally frustrated. What was I supposed to do with that? Cryptic messages from�
�� the dead? Were these voices from the killer’s victims or was I going insane?
I looked outside my window. There was still some daylight left so I wasn’t afraid. I felt compelled to speak to Jo’s spirit. I removed my headphones and turned the TV off.
“Jo, I know it’s you. Why are you doing this to me? I’m your friend. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I thought about what I just said and rephrased it a little.
“I mean, show me, don’t tell me.”
My cellphone rang. I saw it light up on my bed. No way in hell was I going to answer it. It rang just three times. I eased over to the bed and hesitantly picked up my phone.
You have one missed call.
I checked the caller’s ID.
Out of Area.
Jo wanted me to do something. Did I promise her something? I replayed many conversations with Jo in my head and I remembered only two promises I made to her.
Take care of Nemo in the event of his demise.
Be the first one to buy her book.
The first promise I had kept. The second was yet to be fulfilled. I checked on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and the book was not available. There was only one way to be sure I would be the first. Attend her book signing. Even though the book signing would be cancelled her pre-ordered books would be in stock. I had a date for 7 August, only a couple of weeks away.
August seventh came quickly and I had no strange activity in my house since the headphone incident. The Milton Keynes mall was about an hour away and it was heavy rain all the way. There was a road accident along the way and I almost got lost taking the diverted route. I was on a mission. I got there in just over two hours. I headed to the Water-stones book store just inside the mall.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m looking for a children’s book. I don’t know the title but the author is Joanne Tompson,” I said, standing in a small puddle of rain water.
“Let me check our system. We ordered 30 copies for the book signing today but I think we voided the orders after we were notified about the cancellation. I don’t see any in stock,” the store clerk said.
