The Summoning: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 4)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  “Sure,” she said stiffly, which made me think the real answer was “no.”

  “And I know this is difficult, but can you just answer a couple of questions about Alan’s death ...”

  “Seriously, Charlotte? I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to go.”

  “No, please. I just need a couple of questions answered. And then I promise that will be it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” I repeated stupidly. Her question threw me for a loop, and my mind went completely blank.

  “Yes, why do you want to know? You just told me again how you thought Alan was going to kill you. So why do you need to know the details?”

  Because I think he faked his death and is still coming after me. I had a feeling Annabelle wouldn’t find that very persuasive. “I’m having trouble processing his death. I thought if I could get more of details, it would help.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Annabelle’s voice was heavy with disbelief.

  “It’s true.”

  “Then why were you running away from him? Why didn’t you want to have anything more to do with him?”

  “I was afraid of him,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. I never wanted him to die. I certainly didn’t expect that, and I wasn’t able to go to his funeral. I’m struggling here, Annabelle. I’m having bad dreams, I’m just ... I just want to know the details of his death, so I can hopefully start to move on.”

  There was a long pause. Then Annabelle let out a long sigh. “What do you want to know?”

  “Just what happened. Where was he? Who found him?”

  “He was found in a ravine. They think he swerved, maybe to miss an animal, and lost control.”

  “Who thinks?”

  “The state troopers. They were the ones who called me.”

  “New York?”

  “I think so. Why does that matter?”

  “Like I said, I just wanted to know where it happened. And when.”

  “I don’t know all those details,” Annabelle said impatiently. “All I know is by the time the troopers got to him, he was dead, and had been for a while.”

  “Do you know who identified him?”

  “I have no idea. His parents, probably. Why would you ask such a grisly question?”

  “I ... I was wondering about the funeral,” I lied. “Did he have an open casket?”

  “We weren’t invited,” Annabelle said stiffly.

  “You weren’t? Why not?”

  “Why do you think?” Annabelle asked, her voice frosty. “When his family found out you wouldn’t be attending the memorial service, we were politely asked not to either.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. Annabelle had liked Alan, God knows why, and for her to be denied the chance to say goodbye because of my actions made me feel terrible. In that moment, I almost wished I had made the effort to go back for the memorial service, if nothing else than for Annabelle.

  “Yes, well, what can you do? My understanding is it was a simple-but-lovely memorial service. No funeral, because he was cremated. It was either that or a closed casket. An open casket was not recommended. No word on what will be done with the ashes.”

  Well, that was a disappointment. I wondered who had recommended not having an open casket. Was it the mortician? The state troopers? Whoever identified the body? I suspected Anabelle wouldn’t know that answer, and if I asked, she would probably get even more suspicious than she already was.

  “I appreciate you telling me all of this,” I said.

  “Well, I hope it helps you,” she responded, her tone clearly conveying her doubt. “I have to go. I have a lot of things to do. Some of us have responsibilities.”

  “Thanks again,” I said, but she had already hung up.

  ***

  I needed a break, so I went outside and did some gardening. I wanted to feel the dirt in my fingers and spend some quiet, calming time in nature. Midnight joined me in the yard, stretching out in the sun while watching me tend to the new green growth.

  My feelings were a tangled jumble of emotions. On one hand, did I really think Alan had faked his death? That he would have put his parents and his sisters through the pain and heartache of a memorial service just to get back at me?

  It felt so farfetched, especially since Annabelle had agreed to help him. Wouldn’t he have just found another way to track me down instead of creating such an elaborate hoax?

  On the other hand, I still didn’t know if anyone had actually seen his body.

  Which didn’t mean anything. As Claire had said, there were other ways to identify a body. And someone in his family may very well have seen him.

  Nevertheless, it was one thing to feel like I was overreacting while sitting in my garden smelling the sweet, delicate scents of flowers and herbs with the sun warm on my back, and quite another to feel the related paranoia in the middle of the night as I lie awake in the dark, wondering if every creak and groan was Alan coming to finish the job.

  No, I started this. I had to finish it, despite it making me feel like a spectator watching the horror of a train crash, not to mention more than a little guilty for what I had put Annabelle through.

  Finally, I decided I had put it off long enough. I headed back inside to wash up and start calling police departments.

  It took a few tries and a variety of conversations with bored desk clerks, but eventually, I tracked down the name of the lead detective in Alan’s case and was transferred to the correct department.

  “Oh yeah, I remember him,” the detective said after I identified myself. I explained I had been out of the country when it happened and had a few questions about his death. “That was a terrible way to die. Here, let me get the file.”

  I swallowed. “Terrible?”

  “Yeah, burning up like that.”

  “His car caught on fire?” I couldn’t hide my shock.

  “Well, yeah.” He sounded surprised. “Didn’t the family tell you?”

  “I’m ... well, let’s just say I’m not on great terms with the family,” I said quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding genuine.

  “It’s okay,” I said, pushing down the guilt around how I was manipulating the situation. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you directly.”

  “Makes sense.” I heard him paging through the file. “Unfortunately, there’s not a lot to tell. Around 10 pm Tuesday night, the driver lost control of his car and crashed. We did see some swerve marks that indicate there may have been an animal on the road he was trying to miss, or that he might have fallen asleep. That happens more than you might think. When he swerved, we think he lost control and went over the side of the embankment.”

  “When did you find him?”

  “We got the call at 11:37. A good Samaritan saw the flames and stopped, but realized there wasn’t much he could do himself. By the time he found a phone and called it in, it was late, and the fire had pretty much burned itself out. Unfortunately, it happened along a fairly desolate part of the road and the guy wasn’t very familiar with the area.”

  “If you had gotten there sooner ...”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” the detective hastened to reassure me. “The coroner thought it was likely he was unconscious when the car caught on fire, and he died quickly. Once the car went up in flames, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. It all would have happened very fast.”

  “Who identified Alan?” I asked. “Was it his dad?”

  He paused, cleared his throat. “No one identified him. The body was burnt pretty badly.”

  My chest started to feel constricted, like a giant snake had wrapped itself around it and was slowly squeezing. “So, how did you identify him? Dental records?”

  “Actually, there was some confusion with his dentist. They weren’t abl
e to locate his records.”

  My chest was so tight, I was having trouble breathing. My scar was starting to burn. “But ... how do you know it was him, then?”

  “We were able to positively identify his car. We also found a gas station where he bought gas an hour before the accident, and the attendant positively I.D.’d him as the driver of the car. He had told the attendant where he was going, and they talked about the drive and the condition of the road.”

  “But you don’t know for sure it was actually him then,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “He could still be alive!”

  “Look, I know how difficult this must be for you, and I am very sorry for your loss, but Alan is dead,” the detective said, his voice compassionate but firm. “We know he was going to the Palisades. Wasn’t it your sister who confirmed that?”

  There was a roaring in my ears, which made it difficult to hear the detective. I sat down on the floor to put my head between my knees. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “We have confirmation from the gas attendant that he was definitely driving on that road at that time. What we were able to identify of ... what was left ... matched Alan’s height, weight, and build. It was him.”

  “But it could have been someone else.”

  “It wasn’t,” the detective said flatly. “Look, Miss Kingsley, I can only imagine what you’re going through. But trust me when I say it was him. The best thing you can do is accept that and move on with your life. Don’t get caught up in some foolish fantasy. That’s the worst thing you can do to yourself. I know it’s difficult, and right now, this may sound cruel, but trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time. False hope is much, much more damaging over time. The quicker you can accept his death, the better.”

  None of his words sunk in. All I could focus on was that no one had actually identified Alan’s body without a shadow of a doubt.

  Was it possible he was still alive, then? That he really had faked his own death?

  Chapter 24

  “Hey, Charlie! Over here!” Lou waved at me from the booth in the Tipsy Cow. “Claire told me to tell you she’d be a bit late.”

  I smiled tightly as I made my way over. I had thought it was just going to be Claire and I, and this was an unwelcome surprise. I wondered if I should make my excuses and duck out now.

  I had thought about not coming at all. Even the idea that Alan could be alive was enough to make me start hyperventilating. I had seriously considered throwing my clothes in a suitcase and just driving away.

  But then I’d have the same problem I had before. I’d be on the road, cut off from any sort of income source, and I had assured Mr. Farley I would be able to support myself in Redemption with my job and plan for a business. Trying to access more cash wouldn’t work. Plus, I owned a house that I would be leaving vacant.

  What made the most sense, for the moment at least, was to stay put. That didn’t mean I couldn’t change my mind at any point.

  I also didn’t think telling Lou and Bill that I suspected Alan had faked his death was a great idea. The fewer people who knew, the better. That would hopefully keep everyone safe, just in case.

  I slid into the booth next to Lou, who was practically bouncing in her seat from excitement. “What’s going on? Claire said she’s investigating something for you.” Her cornflower-blue eyes sparkled madly, even in the dim light of the bar.

  Claire told Lou that much? I wanted to wring her neck. I mentally kicked myself for not asking her to keep all of what was happening to herself.

  “Charlie, can I get you something to drink?” Bill asked.

  Lou rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Order your drink. Then tell us everything.”

  “Well, honey, it seems only fair. We have one,” Bill pointed out.

  “ What are you drinking?” Lou asked.

  “A rum and Diet Coke,” I said, wishing Claire would hurry up and arrive.

  “Be right back,” Bill said, sliding out of the booth.

  Lou still had her eyes glued to mine. “That’s okay. Charlie and I have plenty to talk about.”

  “I think I should wait for Claire,” I said. “Then I don’t have to repeat myself.”

  Lou sucked in her breath, her rosebud lips opening in a round O. “Noooo, you’re going to make me wait?”

  I shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

  “What shouldn’t be too long?” Jesse asked, sliding into the booth, Jonathan right behind him. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I shrieked in frustration. This was getting worse and worse.

  “When Charlie finally tells us what’s going on,” Lou said, swatting me playfully.

  “Wait, I need a beer first,” Jesse said. “You too?” He asked Jonathan.

  “You know it.”

  “Be right back,” Jesse said just as Bill showed up with an armload of drinks.

  It was a few minutes of chaos getting everyone settled with drinks in front of them. I kept straining my neck, looking for Claire, still unable to believe she had not only called Lou, but wasn’t even there to help me deal with it.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready,” Jesse said, beer in hand. His eyes, a darker, more sapphire blue than his sisters, also sparkled with excitement. “Let’s hear it.”

  “There’s Claire,” I said, relieved to see her hurrying toward us. I waved my hand in greeting, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Her lips were compressed in a firm, tight line, and she had two high red spots on her cheeks.

  “I can’t believe he did this,” she said, as she slid into the booth next to me. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  “Believe what?” I asked.

  “I need a drink,” she said, looking around for a waitress.

  “We had to go up there,” Bill pointed, looking meaningfully at Jonathan as he was the one sitting at the end of the bench.

  “I can get it,” Jonathan said, standing up. “What do you want?”

  “White Zin,” Claire said, running her hand through her hair. It was frizzier than normal, and a few strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks that were shiny with sweat.

  “My God, the suspense is going to kill me,” Lou said. “Will you hurry up and talk?”

  Claire rummaged around in her purse before slapping something down on the table. “That,” she announced.

  It was a folded-over page of a newspaper. Why did she have a newspaper? Had his accident been covered in it?

  “Why do you have a copy of The Redemption Times?” Lou asked.

  Claire stabbed her finger down. “Because of this.”

  Lou craned her neck to look over my shoulder as I pulled the paper toward me. The headline next to a picture of my house read “Witch House Sold?”

  “Oh, it’s that little twit Tad,” Lou sighed.

  I started reading.

  “It appears the ‘Witch House’ has a new owner.

  Real estate records obtained by The Redemption Times indicate that Helen Blackstone has transferred ownership of the Witch House to Charlotte Kingsley, a newcomer to the area.

  It was a surprising move as Blackstone, who grew up in the supposedly haunted house, had never shown any sign of intending to sell in the past.

  “We never saw a ‘For Sale’ sign, or anyone express any interest in even seeing the house,” said Janice Anderson, one of Blackstone’s neighbors who lived a few blocks down. “Helen was born in that house. We always assumed she would die there, too.”

  Blackstone, a noted recluse, refused to comment.

  The house is supposedly haunted by Blackstone’s mother, Martha, who, in 1913, murdered her maid Nellie before killing herself.

  “None of us understood why Helen would stay in such a house,” Anderson said. “And we certainly don’t understand why anyone else would buy it.”

  Kingsley also refused to comment.

&n
bsp; According to official documents, Kingsley moved here from New York City.

  “It’s all very odd,” Anderson said. “And not at all neighborly. I certainly hope once she’s settled in, she’ll be more welcoming.”

  Other people have a different opinion of Kingsley. “She’s always been very warm and friendly,” said Howard Turley. “I see her almost every day for breakfast at Aunt May’s. You know she’s working there, right? Just because she’s a little reserved and doesn’t constantly chatter on about all the details of her life doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her.”

  Some people have speculated Kingsley is here because the town ‘summoned’ her. “Redemption clearly wants her here, and in that house,” said Josephine Knightly, referring to a popular town lore about Redemption ‘choosing’ who stays and who goes. “That’s the only reason Helen would ever leave that house.”

  “Nonsense,” Turley scoffed. “They both probably just wanted a change. There’s nothing supernatural or odd about it.”

  “Did Tad try and interview you?” Claire asked.

  I was still trying to process having been written about in a newspaper. “Someone called. I’m not sure who, but I told him I had to go to work and wasn’t interested in discussing it. But I didn’t think he was writing up an article like this. He made it sound like it was just going to be part of the real estate section.”

  “Well, now it’s public,” Claire said, shaking her head as Jesse pulled the paper over to him and Bill. She reached for her wine. “So, if Alan is still alive, now he’ll know where to find you.”

  “Wait? Alan is still alive?” Both Jonathan and Lou said at the same time, while Bill asked “Who?”

  Lou nudged Bill. “Her fiancé.”

  “Former fiancé,” Claire corrected.

  “Oh, the one killed in the car crash,” Bill said.

  “Or maybe not,” Claire said.

  I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, barely listening to the conversation as the enormity of everything that was happening settled over my shoulders like a wet, heavy blanket. “It’s possible,” I said, my voice muffled.

  “Did you say, ‘it’s possible’?” Claire asked. “What happened today? What did you find out?”