by Wendy Wang
Jason's shoulders lifted with a heavy breath and then sagged as he blew it out. "Yeah, I'm going to have to make that up to her."
"Yeah, you are," Charlie said. " So, what's going on?"
"I need you to check out a victim’s house. Can you meet me tomorrow?" Jason asked.
"Sure. If we can do it after work."
"Yeah, I should be able to swing that," Jason said.
"So you want to tell me about it or —"
"The only thing you need to know is that the victim is dead,” Jason said.
“Is this the latest victim?” Charlie asked.
“No, the second victim. Unfortunately the first victim didn’t live here and her folks cleared out all of her stuff a couple of months ago,” Jason said.
“Okay. Why aren’t we starting with the latest victim?”
“Listen, I’ll tell you anything you want to know after you see the house," Jason said.
"That's fine. I understand,” Charlie lied. She knew he didn’t want her to infer anything from him but that’s not what this felt like to her. It felt more secretive. She shook off the feeling and smiled.
Jason had a faraway look in his eye for a few seconds and Charlie couldn’t tell if he had his mind on the case or his missed time with Lisa. He brought his gaze back to her and said, "I just need a fresh set of eyes."
“Isn’t that what your FBI friend is for?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah but he can’t do that thing you do,” Jason’s face softened and he smiled. “We’ll see what you find, if anything.”
"Okay. You want some ice cream? Evangeline was experimenting with flavors all day and sent home several for us to try."
"No, thank you," Jason said. " I better go smooth things over with my girlfriend."
Charlie cracked a wide smile and chuckled.
"What?" Jason said.
"Nothing," Charlie said. "Go. Get out of here before she gets into her pajamas and snuggles up with the cat. Once she turns on the television I don't think you'll have much of a chance."
Jason's lips curved into a sly half-grin. "Don't you worry about me and my chances."
Charlie snickered. "Oh I never do. Text me tomorrow."
Jason gave her a nod, then turned and disappeared through the screen door.
Chapter 4
Charlie sat in traffic on I-526 when her phone rang. She glanced around at the other drivers who looked just as frustrated as she felt and dug her phone out of her purse. Jason's photo greeted her and she pressed the green phone icon.
"I'm on my way," she said. "There must be an accident or something on 526 because I’m sitting in traffic. Seriously, nothing is moving."
"No worries," Jason said. "I'll stall until you get here. Be careful."
"I will," she said. The phone clicked in her ear and the line went dead. She turned on the radio and scanned through the channels, listening for any news about what could be holding up traffic.
"It’s gonna be hot, hot, hot the rest of the week, so stay tuned folks to find out more. Up next, the local weather," a man's smooth, practiced voice said right before a tire commercial began to play. Charlie stopped drumming her hands against the steering wheel to listen. After two more commercials, one for a new urgent care center and another for a local restaurant, the weatherman resumed. "It’s hurricane season. Are you ready? Because we've got what could become the first tropical storm of the season forming out in the Atlantic, folks. Two tropical depressions pushed off the coast of East Africa overnight. We’ll be keeping a close eye them as they make their way across the ocean and you can count on us to keep you updated on what they become and the track they take. Here’s your friendly reminder to put together your family's hurricane kit and update your evacuation plan for the season. You can get a Hurricane Preparedness Checklist from our website at WROC979.com. Download your copy today and —" Charlie switched off the radio.
Tropical depressions headed into the Atlantic a lot this time of year. She would keep an eye on it, but knew that it was way too early to know if it would even head this way or not. Still the apparition’s words rang through her head.
You should keep your own house in order before judging mine. Otherwise, it could all disappear in a storm.
She wished she could shake the feeling that something was coming. Something bigger than anything she had faced before. Something completely out of her control.
Finally, without warning, traffic began to move again. Charlie took her car out of park and rolled forward heading towards West Ashley.
Charlie stared at the little yellow farmhouse where the victim had once lived. The property sat a few miles off of Highway 165 and out here were long stretches of pastures between wooded breaks. There wasn’t a neighbor within shouting distance and she closed her eyes trying to gauge the energy of the house, searching for some sign that a spirit might be clinging to this place.
A bead of sweat started at her hairline and traced an itchy path down her cheek. She opened her eyes and swiped away the wetness. Nothing. She sighed and got out of the car. Jason stood up from the top step of the porch and waved. An uneasiness bloomed in her chest when a tall, dark-haired man she had never seen before stood up next to him. The man had large brown eyes and he seemed to observe her with curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Dealing with a new person’s energy could be exhausting and she had a job to do. She took a deep breath and touched the black tourmaline stone hanging around her neck.
"Sorry I'm late," Charlie said, the weathered boards creaking under her feet as she climbed up to greet them. "Traffic was a bear."
"No problem," Jason said. "I appreciate you coming out all this way."
The man with dark hair cleared his throat. Jason gave him a quick sideways glance. "Charlie this is Cameron Reed."
“Right, you’re the FBI friend.” She regarded him with care. Suspicion radiated from him. The uneasiness she’d felt a few moments ago transformed into a cold seed of dread that planted itself in her gut.
“I am.” Cameron smiled but it never touched his eyes. His hand jutted forward and he held it there waiting for Charlie to shake it. She forced a smile and her eyebrows rose as she shifted her gaze to Jason. He gave her a short nod and placed his hand on top of Cameron's gently pushing it down.
"Charlie doesn’t like to shake hands," Jason said quietly.
"Does that get in the way of her mojo or something?" Cameron’s lips twitched at the corners.
“Nope.” Charlie kept her face as neutral as she could. Picking a fight with someone who clearly didn’t believe in the supernatural was akin to screaming into the wind. But his smug tone dug into her like a pebble in her shoe. “But it does let me see things about people. Hidden things. And Quite frankly, it’s been a long day and I’ve spent it listening to complaining customers so please forgive me, if I’m not really up for dealing with whatever nasty spirit or wound to your psyche is clinging to you this afternoon. I need to save my energy if I’m going to help Jason with this.” She gestured to the house.
“What the fu—” Cameron started.
"Would you excuse us for second, Charlie?" Jason cut him off and pushed Cameron toward the other end of the porch.
"Sure,” Charlie said. She toed the top of a nail head that jutted up from the porch and tried not to look at them as they argued in loud whispers. After a few minutes of back and forth, Charlie blew out a breath and walked over to them. “Listen, I’ve been up since five o’clock this morning and I just sat in traffic for almost forty-five minutes. I’m really not in the mood to listen to y’all snipe at each other like two old biddies. Why don’t you call me when y’all have worked out whatever this …” she waved her hand over them and frowned, “is. Okay?”
“Charlie, please don’t leave. I’m sorry,” Jason said.
“Yes, Charlie. Don’t. Leave.” Cameron’s mimicry of Jason and the way he inflected Jason’s words made Charlie’s fingers twitch. Some part of her wanted to reach out, grab him
by the arm and pull out whatever secret most haunted him so she could throw it back in his face. Maybe a little shock would put him in his place. It had worked on Jason. But the more rational part of her knew this was never the best way to deal with those who didn’t believe. And if she were being honest, it would do nothing but drain her energy and aggravate her if he still acted like a jerk, which she suspected might be his normal modus operandi.
“Stop it Cam. Please Charlie,” Jason pleaded.
“Fine,” Charlie said. The stress and weariness of the day settled into her body pulling her shoulders down. “But my patience is thin. Don’t test it.”
“Thank you,” Jason said. He knocked on the door and an older woman with a kind, round face answered.
"Hey, Ms. Coker. How you doing?" Jason asked, flashing his best sympathetic smile.
"It's good to see you deputy." She stepped back from the door. "Why don't y'all come in from the heat?”
Jason wiped his feet on the faded plastic Wipe Your Paws doormat and led them inside. He took off his mirrored sunglasses and tucked them inside his breast pocket.
“Is there any news?” Ms. Coker took them through a pair of open French doors into a large and tidy parlor. The carved, tufted sofa looked antique but it fit perfectly atop a faded Persian rug. Two Queen-Anne style chairs with a coordinating fabric sat across from the sofa, facing the large windows that overlooked the small front yard. Two horses roamed the high grass of the pasture beyond the front yard while a third sought shelter beneath a run-in shed near the edge of the fence.
“No, ma’am. I’m afraid not,” Jason said.
“Oh,” Ms. Coker said. Her round face deflated with disappointment and she bit her bottom lip.
“But just so you know, we’re working really hard to find the man that hurt your daughter.”
“I know you are,” Ms. Coker patted Jason’s arm. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us Lieutenant. ”
A pang of admiration squeezed Charlie’s heart. Jason could always be counted on. It was one of his best traits. Sure, he could pour on the charm when needed but he shined when dealing with the families of victims. She hoped one day when he retired that he would become some sort of victim’s advocate. He would be good at it.
Ms. Coker let out a soft sigh and pressed her hand to her heart. “Can I get y’all some iced tea? I just made some this afternoon."
"Yes ma'am that would be wonderful, thank you," Jason said.
“None for me, thank you,” Charlie said, giving her a polite smile.
The wrinkles around her mouth deepened and she gestured to the dainty furniture. "Y'all have a seat. I'll be right back."
Jason and Cameron traded uncertain glances but each took a seat in the delicate chairs facing the couch and windows. Charlie opted to walk around the edges of the room, admiring the Americana artwork, the collection of leather bound books and the bric-a-brac on the floor to ceiling built-in shelves flanking the French doors. She held her hand out, running it above various figurines and music boxes filling the middle shelves, gathering as much information as the energy of this old place would give her. The thing that struck Charlie most was the lack of dust. She reached out and ran a finger across the shelf in front of her and brought back nothing. The poor woman must spend her whole day cleaning.
Charlie moved on to the other side of the door and came to a shelf with various pictures. It appeared that Ms. Coker had built a little shrine to her daughter, complete with a half-burned tea candle and a gold cross on a chain hanging across a framed graduation photo. Charlie could smell the homey scent of vanilla still lingering and she wondered if that was her daughter’s favorite scent.
To the right of the frame was a little statue of Jesus holding a lamb and opposite Jesus was a smaller picture frame holding a cross-stitched version of the Lord's prayer. Charlie touched the small gold cross and the image of Mrs. Coker standing in front of this photograph filled her head. Every day the old woman lit the candle, bowed her head, and said a prayer for her daughter’s soul right before asking God to cast the man who did this into hell. Charlie understood the woman's feelings. If someone did to Evan what had been done to the woman’s daughter, she would hunt that person down and hand him over to the devil himself, if that’s what it took.
"Here we are." Mrs. Coker rounded the corner carrying a tray with the pitcher of iced tea and three glasses. She set it down on the marble-topped coffee table and took a seat at the sofa.
"I'm sorry I'm out of lemon." She picked up the first glass and handed it to Cameron, then handed the second glass to Jason. "So what can I do for you?"
Jason took a sip of tea and placed it on one of the coasters on the coffee table. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. "I need to see Ruthanne’s room again.”
“All right, but y’all have already been through it twice. Last time they left a mess,” Ms. Coker said.
“I know and I’m real sorry about that. This time’s a little different.” Jason glanced up and gestured for Charlie to join them. “See, this is Charlie Payne. She’s a consultant that we bring in sometimes to help out. I promise she won’t leave the room in a mess.”
"And you think it will help find the man who hurt Ruthanne?" Mrs. Coker’s voice shook and she regarded Charlie with caution.
The cracks in this woman’s carefully constructed world began to show, starting with the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her tidy house. The freshly ironed blouse and shorts she wore. Even the perfect curl of her short, silver hair. In her world, there was a place for everything and everything had its place. The only problem? There was no place for ritualistic murder. It didn’t fit neatly on a shelf next to family photos or among her collection of cute Hummel figurines.
Words like murder did not have a place in this house and certainly not in Ms. Coker's mind. Charlie could feel her thoughts as they moved around the dark center of her daughter’s death, feeling their way along the edges, never getting too close. People lied to themselves all the time. Sometimes it was what made life bearable. Charlie could feel Ms. Coker's lies to herself.
Her daughter was hurt not murdered. She died. She wasn't raped repeatedly then killed and raped again. She was hurt. She wasn't left to the elements and the animals like some sort of sacrifice. Ruthanne was missing. Ruthanne was hurt. Ruthanne had passed away. Simple euphemisms that allowed Ms. Coker to get out of bed in the morning. Those words echoed so loud in the woman’s head that Charlie wanted to cover her ears.
"I do." Jason offered up the sympathetic smile.
Ms. Coker’s forehead wrinkled with worry and she let out a sigh. "All right then. When you finish your tea I'll be happy to take you up to her bedroom."
"Why don't y’all finish up your tea and I'll go check out her room,” Charlie said to Jason. “You can have a good visit with Ms. Coker."
Jason sat up straight in his chair and nodded. "Yes, that's a great idea. Why don't you go on up and take a look around."
"All right," Ms. Coker said, her voice straining.
"I can wait if you would prefer," Charlie said, as gently as she could.
"No," Ms. Coker said. "It's fine. Come with me dear."
Charlie traded a look with Jason then followed Ms. Coker into the foyer and up the staircase that wound its way through the three-story farmhouse. They walked together side-by-side on the wide steps until they got to the landing for the second floor. Ms. Coker rounded the walnut banister and walked along the balcony that overlooked the first floor. The very last room on the right was closed. Ms. Coker pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.
"We don't really go in here anymore," she said apologetically. “ Just to clean. My husband would come in and stay for a little while but he’d just get mad. So I asked him to stop."
"And he did?" Charlie asked.
"Yes, he did. Losing Ruthanne has been very difficult for both of us."
"I imagine so. I can't even begin to understand how
profound your loss is. I have a son and if anything ever happened to him …” Charlie paused and patted Ms. Coker’s shoulder and the woman stiffened at her touch. A zap of pain shot up Charlie’s arm and she pulled her hand back as if she’d been stung by a bee. The sting of the woman’s raw grief was worse than any bee sting that Charlie’d ever felt. Her fingertips pulsed with the sensation and Charlie massaged the fingers and palm. “I'm so sorry."
Ms. Coker smiled but it seemed perfunctory. Charlie recognized the universal politeness of someone who was sick and tired of people telling them how sorry they were. But Ms. Coker couldn’t very well say that. What would people think?
Charlie wished there were words or even a spell that could ease the woman’s pain. But nothing she could think of would soothe the hole that had been ripped into the poor woman’s heart. The only true balm was time and maybe justice, if they caught the man who tortured her daughter. The lock clicked and the older woman turned the knob and pushed open the door. Charlie walked inside the room but Ms. Coker stopped at threshold.
"I'll be right downstairs," Ms. Coker said. "I'd appreciate it if you would put things back the way you find them."
"Yes, ma'am," Charlie said. "I will."
Ms. Coker let her cloudy brown eyes scan across the room for a second then she let out a sigh, turned and headed quickly down the stairs.
The stale air coated the back of Charlie's throat, but even this room that had been closed up for months was as clean and tidy as the parlor. No dust motes dared to dance in the light streaming through the windows.
Charlie walked around the room with her arm out and hand splayed. She let her palm hover over the furniture, across the pillows and stuffed animals. Over the books on the bookshelves. But there was not one tingle. Not one twitch. Not one sign that Ruthanne had been here physically or as a spirit.
"Come on Ruthanne. Talk to me," Charlie muttered. She paused, hoping for a whisper. For any sort of sign. She faced the wall behind the bed. A framed poster of van Gogh's irises hung above the old spindle headboard. One white iris among a sea of purple. Why had Ruthanne chosen this one? Why not the starry night? Or sunflowers?
