“Nothing,” Martin dismissed. “She’s just imaginative.”
“No, Dad, I’m not. I know—”
“Quiet,” Martin ordered softly. He looked tired, almost defeated as if he’d been fighting a never-ending battle for a long time. “Don’t do this here, Jan. We’ll talk about it at home.”
“Please, just…” Heather looked between father and daughter. It wasn’t her place to butt in, but she couldn’t stop herself. She saw Martin’s frustration and the girl’s pain.
Heather went to Jan and knelt on the floor in front of her. The girl took a step back.
“Jan, your friends, what do they look like?” Heather asked.
“I’m not supposed to encourage—” Martin began.
“Let her answer,” Vivien interrupted from the landing near the stained-glass window as she gazed down at them. She nodded at Heather, giving her a meaningful look. “We can help.”
“Jan?” Heather prompted. “Can you describe them to me?”
“They’re not real,” Martin stated. “My daughter has a vivid imagination. It’s normal for kids to have imaginary friends.”
“Do you think that they are imaginary, sweetheart?” Heather asked, keeping her attention focused on the child.
Jan looked at her father, as if not wanting to go against what he was saying.
“I promise, you can tell me,” Heather said. “My mom used to tell me I had imaginary friends, too.”
“We’re leaving,” Martin pushed lightly at Jan’s shoulder to turn her toward the door.
“Like people,” Jan said.
Martin stopped pushing.
“They look like people you can see through, and they talk funny,” Jan said.
Heather glanced to where Lorna had joined Vivien on the small landing. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Oh, fuck.
When she opened her eyes, she saw herself reflected in Jan’s expression. She remembered that fear, that feeling of loneliness because no one understood. At that age, she’d had her grandmother to explain things to her. Jan had no one.
“See, imaginary friends. She’s creative,” Martin rationalized. “I should get her home.”
Heather reached up to touch Martin’s arm. Her eye met his dark ones. “Please, I think we can help.”
His mouth opened as if he would protest, but through the contact of their touch, she detected a sad desperation in him. He’d probably been fighting and struggling with this for a long time.
“Are you talking about ghosts?” Heather asked Jan.
The girl looked at her father before slowly nodding. “They’re my friends.”
“We see them too,” Vivien stated.
Heather would not have said it as bluntly as her friend. She looked up at Martin for a reaction. He appeared as if he didn’t know what to say. Heather couldn’t blame him. Not many people understood the supernatural.
Heather let her hand fall away from him as she reached toward Jan. “Viv’s right, you know, we’ve seen them.”
She kept her eyes on the child, not wanting to see what had to be Martin’s obvious disbelief. If he didn’t believe his daughter, how could she expect he’d believe her?
“I see them,” Heather said.
“You do?” Jan’s expression lost some of its anger.
Heather nodded. “Since I was little, like you.”
“This isn’t…” Martin began. “I mean, we can’t…”
“It’s going to be all right,” Vivien assured him.
“This isn’t a joke,” Martin stated.
“Trust me, that I know.” Heather inched forward and then reached to push back a strand of Jan’s hair from her face. “People don’t listen when you try to tell them, do they?”
Jan shook her head in denial. “They say I’m making it up.”
“I know you’re not making it up, sweetie.” Heather put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Usually when it came to others, only Vivien sensed what they felt. Heather had never been clairsentient or claircognizant. Yet somehow with Martin and his daughter, she felt a trickle of what they were going through. Martin was worried, as any parent would be. Jan had a wall built around her and lived in her own world—presumably with her ghost friends.
That last fact worried her. Ghosts needed energy to manifest. Heather knew from firsthand experience how much they could take from a person sensitive to their presence, how much they could demand. She had to learn to control it, but she had help. Julia had been there to teach her. Jan had no one.
“Most adults didn’t listen to me either,” Heather said. “They thought I made up stories.”
“You really see them?” Jan turned her attention to Vivien and Lorna. A sense of hope and relief came over the girl at the idea.
“Not like Heather, but we can with help,” Lorna answered.
Heather let her hand fall away from Jan, feeling like she was eavesdropping on her emotions. “I had a grandma who understood the truth because she saw them too. You see, you’re not alone. I’m going to tell you what she told me. She said, most people fear what they don’t understand, and they have a difficult time believing because they can’t see. That doesn’t make them bad, so you can’t be mad at them for it. We’re special. We’ve been blessed with a gift. That means we have to be extra careful because we have a responsibility to the dead. They’re trusting us to keep their secrets.”
Jan nodded.
“One of those secrets is that they’re here,” Heather said. She had always resented the advice, but it had made her life easier as a girl. “You have to stop telling those who can’t see that they’re with us.”
Jan frowned. “But that’s lying. I do see them.”
It was like talking to her past self. Heather took a deep breath. “I know. I know it doesn’t make sense now, but I need you to trust me. Keeping this secret will help.”
Jan gave a halfhearted nod.
“Do they sometimes get loud?” Heather asked. “Like a dozen people screaming at once?”
Jan nodded. “They want me to do things for them. They make it hard to sleep.”
“I can help you learn to quiet them,” Heather said.
“I’ve heard enough.” Martin leaned over to take his daughter’s hand. “I’m sure you mean well, but this isn’t… This… I’m going to have to trust the doctors on this one.” He gave a slight tug. “Come on, Jan. It’s time for bed.”
“But I want to—”
“Bed.” Martin pushed open the front door and walked her out. Heather didn’t see his truck, so she assumed he’d parked around back where he’d seen her bike.
“Negotiate,” Jan countered.
“No. Get in the truck. And don’t think we’re not going to talk about you running off.” He strode around the side of the house. Jan glanced back at Heather before running after him.
Vivien and Lorna appeared next to her.
“I take it back,” Vivien said. “She’s not a monster.”
“I hope she didn’t hear us talking about the picture,” Lorna added.
“She didn’t,” Vivien assured them. “She mostly seemed frightened, then relieved. I don’t think she’s ever met anyone who believed her before.”
“That has to be awful,” Lorna said. She stepped back into the house. Vivien and Heather followed her. “Though, I can’t blame Martin. Until I moved to Freewild Cove, if one of my kids had told me they were seeing people who weren’t there and hearing voices, I would have taken them to see the doctor, too. I wouldn’t have believed them.”
“I don’t think he believed us, either,” Heather said. “Did you see his face?”
“He wanted to.” Vivien bit her lip and turned to the stairs. “I’ll pick up.”
“What is it?” Heather grabbed her arm to stop her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“You don’t want to hear it.” Vivien’s concern flowed through their connection.
“Try me. Is it something about Jan?” Heather insisted.
>
Vivien stepped away so that Heather had to let go. “All I say is that you should pay more attention to Martin.”
“Is he dangerous?” Heather returned to the door to look out.
“Only to your maidenhead,” Vivien muttered.
“What?” Heather spun back around.
“Nothing.” Vivien’s voice was forcefully cheerful. “Going to pick up our mess now.”
“Don’t you dare take another step,” Heather demanded, following her toward the stairs. If there was something off about Martin, she wanted to know. “Explain.”
Lorna chuckled and moved to go past Vivien. “How about I clean up?”
“I’m just saying it’s been so long that the cobwebs probably sewed your hymen back together,” Vivien stated. “I think they call it virginating.”
“Revirgination,” Lorna corrected. “Hymenorrhaphy. It’s a real thing.”
“I’m terrified that you know that,” Vivien said.
“Daytime talk shows.” Lorna stopped on her way upstairs to remain in the conversation.
“Why the hell would anyone want to be a virgin again?” Vivien asked with a small shiver. “All that fumbling and, ugh, no one knew what they were doing back then. It was awkward and weird and uncomfortable.”
“I know, right? They did a whole show on the subject. Born again virgins.” Lorna frowned. “It all seems very medieval to me. Why would a woman want a man specifically looking to marry a virgin? I mean, out of the three of us, I’m probably the biggest prude and I don’t get it. That should be low on the list of considerations. If a woman is, great for her, her choice. If she’s not, starting a relationship by lying about it isn’t a good start.”
“If the man is obsessed with virginity over every other quality, then I think the police need to take a deeper look into his psyche…” Vivien held up her hands. “Or his basement. Just saying.”
“Hey, queens of digression, why in the world are you talking about this? The whole turn of conversation is disturbing,” Heather said. “And nice try you two at trying to avoid answering me.”
“Who’s avoiding? I tell you to get laid all the time,” Vivien quipped. “I even offered to hire a gigolo for you.”
“That wasn’t a gigolo. That was a man in a speedo on the beach,” Heather corrected.
“Practically the same thing,” Vivien dismissed.
“I don’t know why I have to keep telling you that I’m perfectly happy being single. I have a full life.” Heather moved past Lorna and Vivien to go upstairs to clean. “We should be thinking of ways to help Jan.”
“We’re not saying there is anything wrong with being single,” Vivien said. “You know I loved being single. Now I love being with Troy.”
Heather hesitated. She was unsure she’d be able to see the ghosts if they were around. It was a strange feeling to doubt her abilities. There had been so many of them in the house, and she hadn’t felt them.
Unless the ghosts had followed Jan there, which seemed to be a possibility.
“We want you to be happy,” Lorna said, “and maybe stay open to the possibilities. Maybe that’s how you help Jan by being there for her.”
“I can be there for her and not date her father.” Heather didn’t want to talk about this.
Was she attracted to Martin? Yes. He was a handsome man.
Did she want to disrupt her life? No. She worked hard to find her normal.
Did she get lonely sometimes and wish there was someone to hold her at night? Sure. Sometimes.
Did Martin have the kind of arms that looked like they could hold a woman close before he leaned over and kissed her? Well, damn Vivien anyway for even putting thoughts of sex into her head.
Heather gathered the four candles and set them together on the floor before bundling up the book. She shoved everything into the messenger bag.
“I’m sorry if we upset you,” Lorna said.
“You didn’t upset me.” Heather stood with the messenger bag. “But if you want to help me, hand me a cupcake for the drive home.”
Chapter Eight
When a phone rang in the middle of the night, it was never good news.
An instant knot formed in Heather’s stomach before she became fully awake to the sound. A thousand panicked tragedies tried to run through her brain in the mere seconds it took her to fumble around in the dark looking for her phone—her mother, her brother, Vivien, Lorna, Mr. Willis, the theater, problem at one of the properties, fire at Anderson House as predicted in Jan’s drawing.
After saying goodnight to her friends, Heather had come home to her empty house. She’d been preoccupied and forgot to plug in her cellphone, so it wasn’t on her nightstand. She fumbled her way toward the sound, finally feeling her purse in the dark. The blackout curtains made it impossible to see as they blocked out the moonlight. When she opened her purse, the light from the screen made it easier to see so she could check who was calling.
Unknown.
“Hello?” Heather sat on her bedroom floor and held the phone to her ear. Static pops answered. “Hello?”
The call disconnected.
Heather pulled the phone away and looked at the screen. It didn’t give her any answers.
She pushed up from the floor and used the phone screen to light the way back to the bed. It was too late to call and check on people over a middle of the night misdial. She found her charger and plugged the phone in before crawling beneath the covers.
Heather waited, listening to see if anyone would call back before letting herself succumb to sleep. Just as she was about to drift off, the phone rang again, causing her to jolt awake. She rolled over and grabbed the phone.
Unknown.
“Hello?” Heather held the phone to her ear as she sat up in bed. Again static filled the earpiece speaker. “Hello? Is someone there? I can’t hear you.”
The static continued, a droning of white noise. She thought she heard what could have been someone talking beneath the sissing, but it was too difficult to make out.
“I’m going to hang up,” Heather said, waiting a few seconds longer. “If this is important, please find another phone and call back.”
She set the phone down on the mattress next to her and laid on her side, watching it. Fifteen minutes passed. Nothing.
Heather closed her eyes, determined to go back to sleep.
Just as she relaxed, the phone rang again.
Heather sighed in irritation and answered. “Hello.”
This time the line was silent.
“Hello? I can’t hear you.” Heather waited a few seconds before hanging up.
The phone rang again as she set it down on the mattress before she could even release it from her fingers. Heather instantly lifted it.
Unknown.
She answered and said nothing for several seconds. White noise static came from the earpiece.
“This isn’t funny,” she stated. “I’m trying to sleep.”
She hung up.
It instantly rang again.
“What?”
Static pops covered what could have been a voice.
“Find a different phone or stop calling.”
She hung up again and toggled volume off to mute the ring. Guilt tried to slip in that maybe it was something important. Maybe her mother was in the hospital, or Lorna was being attacked by demons again.
Heather lifted the phone and called Vivien.
“Mm?” Vivien’s sleepy voice answered.
“Everything okay over there with you and Lorna?” Heather asked.
“I’ve got a little kink in my neck from laying on the pillow wrong,” Vivien said, “and you interrupted a very nice dream with that cute actor from that movie with the thing?”
“Sword?” Heather guessed.
“No.”
“Car?”
“No. Sexier than the car guy.”
“Hey, I’m right here,” Troy’s voice came from behind Vivien’s.
“No, it wasn’t you,�
� Vivien said.
“Ray gun?” Heather asked.
“Yeah, that guy,” Vivien said. “He was making me a souffle, but the zombie groaning made it fall.”
“Okay, then,” Heather chuckled. She stared at the ceiling, not really seeing it in the darkness. “What about Lorna?”
“She wasn’t there,” Vivien said, yawning. “She should be in her own dream.”
“So, it’s all good?”
“Why are you calling?” Vivien asked. “Yeah, everything is fine. William came over, and they’re sleeping.”
William was there. That meant it wasn’t something to do with their mother. Bonnie would have called him first.
“I had a few staticky phone calls. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything important,” Heather said. “Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”
“Did you feel threatened?” Vivien asked. “Do you want us to come over there?”
Heather closed her eyes. “No. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Night, love,” Vivien said.
“Night.” Heather hung up the phone and dropped it on the bed next to her.
The mattress began to vibrate as someone called the phone. Heather let loose an aggravated sigh. She pushed up on the bed and looked at the screen.
Unknown.
“Fuck you, unknown,” she muttered. Still she found herself pushing the button and answering, “Hello.”
She wasn’t surprised by the static on the other end.
Heather stomped in anger to her bedroom door and opened it. She threw the phone toward the living room before shutting the door with a decisive thud. Let them call. She was done.
Chapter Nine
Heather touched her son’s bedroom door lightly as she left the bathroom. Instead of passing by like she usually did, she reached for the doorknob and held it. Her fingers shook so severely that she barely felt the metal against her palm.
She pulled her hand away, but in the process, she must have turned the knob. The door inched open a crack. She stared into the dimly lit room to the unmade bed with the dark blue bedspread.
Heather brushed the back of her fingers against the door, edging it open slowly. Her son had picked the light blue shade of the walls to match a sports team. They’d painted it together.
The Fourth Power Page 8
