by Ann M. Noser
Walker drums the desk with his fingers. “Plus, there’s an attractive life insurance policy on her.”
“It’s not him. I know it.” I bite my lip, pausing to think. “I don’t understand how none of her girlfriends knew she was having an affair.”
“Well, at the time I didn’t know to ask them that particular question, but I’m not sure they would have told me if I had.” Walker files away folders in the cabinet near his desk.
I tug on his shirt. “But I’m a girl.”
“Thank you for that news bulletin.”
What an idiot he is sometimes. Apparently, I have to spell it out for him. “Do you think they’d tell me?”
Walker locks the cabinet. “I realize you’ve had great success in the past crashing funerals and weddings, but this is official police work.”
“You need to pursue this angle. Girls talk. You know, a real heart to heart. Jennifer was their friend. I’m sure they’re devastated, but maybe they knew she was cheating and didn’t want to tell you—a guy—about it because they didn’t want to ‘speak ill of the dead’ or whatever.”
“I’ll think about it.” Walker drains his coffee cup.
I stretch, scanning the police station. “In the meantime, we should search Carson Park for clues. That’s where the attack started.”
“You sound like Velma on Scooby Doo. Are you sure you’re up for this?” Walker frowns at me like I’m crazy. Maybe he’s right.
“Yes.” I sure as Hell don’t want to go home until I figure out how to exorcize my demons.
Walker’s truck rolls up the steep drive into Carson Park and nears the playground as the sun begins to set.
“Pull in here.” I point to a corner spot. “This is where she parked.”
Walker obeys. I shiver as my arms turn to ice, despite the summer heat. I jump out of the car and my heart begins to race.
At the edge of the blacktop, I pause. “Here’s where he knocked her over, and she stabbed him with her keys.”
Walker kneels down to study the spot as I rush past swings and slides.
Pausing at the tree line, I reach out for guidance. “Help me, Jennifer!” I call out.
“Ah… you’re talking to her now?” Walker’s heavy boots snap a twig behind me, making me jump. “That’s new for you, right?”
“Shhhh. Be quiet. I hear something.” Pushing branches out of my way, I ease into the woods. The fading orange sun glints through the gaps in the dense greenery.
“Please don’t,” Jennifer pleads with someone deep in the woods.
I glance back at Walker. His face is blank, questioning. It’s obvious he can’t hear her.
“You asked for it, baby,” the murderer growls.
Jennifer’s screams agitate the leaves. She’s close by. The underbrush catches my hair and shirt as I rush toward the sound of her agony.
“I’m coming, Jennifer,” I call out. “I’ll help you.”
“Does talking to her help?” Walker asks, and I ignore him.
Her perfume tickles my nose-then I’m after the scent like a bloodhound.
Heart pounding, I push through the branches.
Just a little further. I’m almost there. She’s just a few steps away.
I halt, sweating in my hot pink turtleneck. Walker runs into me from behind.
“Watch out.” I spread my arms to stop him.
Walker leans over my shoulder. “Holy sh—”
“Don’t say that. I’ll tell your mother.”
“Emma, I’m loving you right now.” Walker whips out his phone, then pauses. “Don’t tell her that, either.”
I don’t respond. I’m too busy staring at the ground before us, at the remains of Jennifer’s clothing, bloodied and torn.
alker’s hurried phone call rallies the troops. Police vehicles crowd the playground parking lot. Headlights reflect off shiny yellow security banners stretched across the bushes. Uniforms march into the woods. Flashlight beams bounce through the trees. Everyone barks orders at each other and stares warily at me.
“How did she know about this?” one cop asks Walker.
I can’t make out his reply.
After that, I hide in Walker’s Ford, away from the questioning looks. Maybe I should walk home. But it’s late and I’m so tired…
I wake hours later, stomach growling. I scrounge around in the glove compartment, hoping for a granola or candy bar. No such luck. A woman’s scream draws my eyes back to the edge of the woods. Again the murderer stands over her, kicking her in the chest and abdomen.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch!” Is that angry voice coming from outside the truck or inside my head? My stomach twists and quivers. Gripping the armrest, I close my eyes, trying to block out the vision.
“Don’t turn away. Help me. Look closer.” Jennifer’s plea forces me to open my eyes.
I lean forward until my head touches the windshield. She races past unseeing policemen into the parking lot, jumps in her car, slams the door, and jams the keys in the ignition slot.
CLICK.
The truck door opens right next to me.
I shriek and flatten myself against the seat, bracing for the attack.
Walker jumps. “Emma! You just about gave me a heart attack!”
My eyes widen. “Oh, thank goodness! It’s just you.”
“Who’d you think it was?”
I pause, my heart still banging in my throat. “No one. Can we go home now?”
“Not quite.” Walker grins like he’s the smartest man on the planet.
I groan. “Why not? What are you up to?”
“I have a hunch.” Walker’s eyes light with excitement. “You’re coming with me.”
“Right now? I haven’t showered, or eaten, or anything.”
“Sorry, but I need to question Jennifer’s best friend again before news of this gets out. She’s either hiding something, or maybe she doesn’t even know yet…”
Fifteen minutes later, the sun bursts over the horizon. We pull up to a large two-story house with a cupola.
“Here we are.” Walker gets out of the car and gestures for me to follow. “Come on.”
I trail him up the front steps. He rings the doorbell. Twice, which is kind of rude this early in the morning.
“Are you sure they’re even awake?” I yawn as a sleepy looking woman wearing a silky turquoise bathrobe opens the door.
“Officer Walker?” She cocks her pretty blonde head, giving him an uncertain smile.
“Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry to intrude at this hour, but there’s a new development in Jennifer’s case. I have a few urgent questions to ask.”
“Of course.” She waves us in. “I’d do anything to help find Jennifer’s murderer. And, as I told you before, please call me Naomi.” She tightens her robe and directs us into the living room.
My tired feet drag across the plush carpet. Overstuffed couches laden with pillows in warm fall colors surround us. Everything seems too big, like I’ve reverted back to a small child. Why did Walker bring me here?
“Make yourselves comfortable.” She eyes me quizzically.
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling like a toddler as I sink between two enormous cushions.
Walker gestures in my direction. “This is Emma Roberts. She’s been job-shadowing and helping us with the case.”
Naomi smiles as if I’m a girl scout and she’s buying cookies. “You both look so tired.”
“That’s part of the job,” Walker says. “We just pulled an all-nighter.”
Naomi shakes a perfectly manicured finger at him. “Don’t work her too hard. You should let her get more rest.”
For a moment, my mother’s face flashes before me instead of Naomi’s. I blink, and everything returns to normal.
Naomi stifles a delicate yawn. “Excuse me! Would you like some coffee?”
“I would,” Walker replies.
“Nothing for me,” I say.
“I’ll be right back.” Naomi leaves the room.
/>
While she prepares coffee, I glance around. The furniture is well made, the décor tasteful. Two grade school photos hang above the gas fireplace—a boy and a girl.
Soon Naomi returns. “Here you go.” She hands Walker a mug and turns to me. “I brought you some juice, in case you’re thirstier than you think.”
“Thanks.” I swallow the refreshing drink. My throat doesn’t burn so much anymore, which is a relief.
The metallic ticking of a clock fills the empty silence as we all stare at each other.
“Naomi.” Walker clears his throat. “I need to ask you a difficult question. Did Jennifer tell you she was having an affair?”
Her eyes fly open. “What? That’s impossible. She wouldn’t… or at least she would have told me about it if she did.”
The front door slams.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch!” the killer’s voice rings in my head.
I stiffen, put a hand to my head, and turn to find Walker watching my reaction.
“Richard, we’re in the living room,” Naomi calls out. “He runs every single morning before work.”
“What’s going on in here?” Behind us floats the voice from my nightmares. But this time it’s crossed into the day, in real time.
Right now. In this very room.
The bottle slides from my trembling hands, spilling juice all over the carpet.
“Oh, dear! Let me get a towel!” Naomi rushes to the kitchen, explaining over her shoulder. “The police are here asking a few more questions about Jennifer.”
I whirl around, knowing I’ll find the demon from my nightmare.
Here in the daylight.
Where he can hurt me. Again.
My heartbeats flail then calm. Because now I can hurt him, too.
“How’s your eye?” I ask.
“My eye is fine,” Richard replies quickly. Too quickly.
Naomi hurries back with two hand towels. “Oh, dear. Did you ask about his eye? He sure is a sight, isn’t he?”
She kneels down and dabs the carpet. “But it looks much better than before. Silly Richard, driving right into a bee in his convertible. You wouldn’t believe how bruised and swollen it got. I told him to go see a doctor, but you know men.”
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize to Naomi, not taking my eyes off her husband. She probably thinks I’m referring to the spilled drink. But I’m apologizing for ruining her life, for exposing Richard as the monster he is. Poor woman. She’ll soon discover she’s married to a murderer.
“Don’t worry about it,” Naomi says. “You’re just tired, working all those hours.”
Walker stands up, clearing his throat. “Mr. Hudson, I think we’d better ask the rest of our questions down at the station.”
“What are you talking about?” The rest of his face flushes purple-red to match his eye.
I cross my arms. “I think you know.”
“Oh, my God,” Naomi whimpers, grabbing the couch arm to brace herself. “What’s going on?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Richard yells.
“Listen, buddy, we can do this the easy way… or the hard way.” Walker takes out a set of handcuffs.
Richard stares at the handcuffs for a long moment. He swallows hard, then turns and rushes out the front door. Walker dashes after him, two seconds behind.
“What’s going on?” Naomi’s voice cracks.
I turn back to face her.
Naomi gapes at me, her complexion draining to white. “Jennifer? Is that you?”
What? I glance down at my hands. Long red fingernails and the mother-load of a diamond wedding ring on the left hand. My hands aren’t mine, not anymore.
“Oh, my God.” Naomi collapses onto the sofa. “Jennifer, you’ve come back from the dead to tell me something, haven’t you? It’s like a movie. This can’t be real… can it?”
“Richard killed me.” Jennifer’s voice and Jennifer’s words. She’s using my body and making it hers. “It’s true. And I’m so sorry… for everything. Your husband is a murderer and I’m a terrible friend.”
“No! It can’t be! Get away from me!” Naomi scrambles to the far end of the couch. “Get out of my house! You’re lying! This can’t be happening.” She collapses to the floor with a sob. “Please. Get out before the kids see you.”
I flee outside and find Walker on the phone. “Mid-forties, dark hair, Caucasian, fake-baker.” He winks at me.
I lean against his truck as the world starts to spin. Trees and cars fly by.
“Emma, what’s going on?” Walker sounds small and far away. He grabs my arm and holds me up.
A kaleidoscope of images flood my brain: Jennifer running through the woods, Richard knocking her to the ground, Naomi calling me Jennifer, and the flashing yellow lines in the road.
I refocus on Walker’s face. “Richard’s headed for the park.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
I finally feel in control. “Trust me. I can see what he sees.”
Walker pauses only a moment before speaking into his phone again. “Watch out. He’s headed your way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He shoves his cell into a pocket and nods at the car. “Come on. Let’s go.”
My knees buckle. “I feel so dizzy.” So much for being in control.
“Whoa.” Walker eases me onto the passenger seat. “Don’t worry. I got ya.”
“Thanks.” I can’t see Walker’s car, there are too many visions in my head. I’m blind to everything but Richard. When will this stop?
“Is this what happens every time?” Walker asks.
I shudder. “Sort of.” Only it gets worse. Way worse.
“No wonder you don’t want to do this anymore.” Walker hops in and slams his door shut.
We speed to the park. Finally, my sight clears. Richard stands in the middle of a crowd, arms flailing, a crazed look upon his face.
Walker touches my shoulder. “I want you to stay in the car. Got it?”
Not gonna happen. I throw open the car door and stumble into the parking lot.
Everything is blurry.
“Get back in the car, Emma!” Walker yells.
I stagger forward. “I can’t let him hurt anyone else.”
Richard glares across the parking lot at me. “Jennifer! You’re such a whore. You deserved it.”
The images crowd my mind again, leaving me woozy but determined. Richard’s ugly, screaming face. Jennifer’s torn clothes. Her pain rips through me. I keep moving toward him, egged on by an inner force. My legs jerk forward without any thought of my own.
I’m not myself.
I’m Jennifer’s puppet.
“You bitch! You’re supposed to be dead, damn it!” Richard lurches toward me, his breathing loud and ragged.
I tense, but remain still.
He’s so close I can see the color of his eyes.
And yet I refuse to move.
A single gunshot echoes across the park.
Richard falls at my feet. The ground darkens below his chest. Dark red. Oozing.
Blood. I don’t like blood.
I cover my mouth, trying not to gag. Guess I’ll never be a doctor.
Colored sparkles dance across my vision.
“Emma. Can you hear me?”
I strain to focus on the face of a female police officer. Oh great, I passed out in public. How embarrassing.
“What happened?” I sit up too fast in the damp grass, and feel dizzy.
“The ambulance took Mr. Hudson away,” she says. “But don’t worry about him. Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
Ha. Ghost. That’s almost funny. “Too much excitement.”
“Walker asked me to drive you home.” She smiles kindly. “He said he’d call to check on you later.”
I glance at my trembling hands. Once again, they look familiar: short nails, unpolished, and no jewelry whatsoever.
I shudder. Even my hands looked like Jennifer’s. This is going too far. If
Richard and Naomi can see Jennifer within me, it’s high time to learn the fine art of exorcism.
I knew I was raised Catholic for a reason.
Not sure whether to be relieved or afraid to be home, my hands clench as we pull into the parking lot of my apartment building.
“Thanks for the ride.” Once again, I feel like a small child. When do I get to be an adult?
“Now get some rest.” The concerned policewoman pats my shoulder. “You need it.”
“I will. Don’t worry.” I step onto the sidewalk near my apartment building, pausing to check for snakes. None. Thank goodness. I head inside and up the stairs. My stride slows as I approach my apartment door. I reach for the handle, then drop my hand to my side.
You can do this.
I take a big breath, unlock the door, and rush inside, heart pounding. The living room looks innocent enough. Everything sits in its proper place, as if there had never been a disturbance. All right, so far so good. No funny noises or billowing smoke. I flick on all the lights, yank open every shade, and flip on the computer.
After grabbing a snack, I settle down to conduct a web search on “exorcism.” Several warnings caution that only a priest designated by the local bishop should perform them. This doesn’t bother me. I’m not a very good listener. But the admonition that demons can take possession of a person simply because they read Harry Potter or ask a Magic 8 ball a question make me angry.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Why is Harry Potter so bad when The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is considered Christian Lit? Both of them are great, as far as I’m concerned. I modify my search to find more pleasant (and practical) websites, take a few notes, but eventually give up. In some ways, Internet surfing sucks. There are too many psychos out there and so much mis-information.
I slump in the chair, wondering what to do next. The bright blue sky out the window beckons to me. Maybe sunlight can kill demons like it kills bacteria. I grab my backpack, shove in writing supplies and a few water bottles, then venture outside. Hearing a commotion in the stairwell below, I peer over the railing and spot Phoebe dragging a chair out onto the lawn. I’m not in the mood for her nosy questions. I turn down the hall toward the back staircase instead.
Once I get outside, my feet bring me straight to the edge of the Chippewa River. I can’t stay away. Part of me needs to stare deep into the depths.
