The Fifth Sense

by Michelle M. Pillow

  The plastic bag Sue had been avoiding since her hospital discharge sat on the floor next to her feet. If not for the life insurance check that arrived to remind her of the hospital, she might not have thought to pull it out of the coat closet.

  “Twenty thousand dollars,” she read before muttering, “wife severance pay.”

  A wave of grief washed over her as she stared at the numbers so long that they blurred. She wasn’t foolish enough to think Hank had bought the policy to take care of her. His motivation would be more so that other people thought he was taking care of her. Appearances had been everything.

  Sue pushed aside her teacup, lifted the hospital bag to the table, and reached inside to pull out Detective Sanchez’s card. The woman had tried to talk to Sue a couple of times. She had been unable to make a case out of her theories. About a week after the accident, the detective’s picture had been in the news in relation to a double homicide investigation.

  Sue found a pair of jeans with cuts up the legs from when they’d removed them. Her shirt was missing, and there was blood on the one shoe included in the bag. Sadness and pain clung to them, these everyday objects. She had done her best not to think about the details of that night.

  When she started to shove the clothing back into the bag, she noticed an unfamiliar jewelry box inside her shoe. The black-covered chipboard was worn along the edges. Someone at the emergency room had probably dropped it into the wrong bag. She shook the box lightly, hearing the clack of something inside, before opening it.

  Sue didn’t recognize the tarnished silver ring with delicate engravings. Hank bought her jewelry to wear in front of his friends but nothing like this. Jewelry wasn’t her forte, and she wasn’t sure if it was an actual antique or just made to look that way. Regardless, whoever had owned it had worn it often. They would probably be missing it.

  Sue’s attention went to her wedding band with the obnoxious diamond. Most women would have found the size romantic, but Sue knew it for what it was—a giant, shiny warning to other males that she was taken. She pulled the wedding ring off her finger and set it on top of the life insurance check. Her hand looked naked without it, but there was something freeing about knowing she didn’t have to slip it back on ever again.

  Knowing she should call the hospital to report the mistake with the antique ring, Sue still slid it onto her right ring finger to see what it would look like. Strangely, once she had it on, the silver didn’t appear as tarnished. She held up her hand, admiring the simplistic beauty of the piece.

  “Keeping you would be wrong,” she said to the jewelry. Her finger tingled where it touched her, and she flexed her hand, wondering if the band was a little too tight.

  Leaving it on, she picked up her phone and searched for the hospital’s number.

  “Put the phone down,” a voice demanded loudly.

  The sudden burst of sound caused Sue to jump in surprise. Realizing it was only an exuberant commercial for an ambulance-chasing law firm boasting million-dollar payouts, she laughed and resumed her search. Finding the hospital, she tapped the screen to call.

  “I said put the phone down!” a woman’s voice chided. “Don’t call until you know who to call.”

  Sue glanced at the television in annoyance as she lifted the phone to her ear. It was silent.

  She checked the screen. The call hadn’t started. She tapped the screen again and watched to make sure the call went through this time. As it began to ring, she held it to her ear with her shoulder.

  Folding the check, she placed it with her wedding ring and the jewelry box inside a zipper pocket in her purse for safekeeping.

  “Stop what you’re doing,” a car commercial demanded.

  The phone stopped ringing and went silent.

  “Hello?” She paused and listened. “Hello?”

  Sue checked the phone. It had exited to the home screen.

  “For a limited time, escape in a brand-new sedan,” a salesman dressed as a ninja offered. Technology might have changed, but car commercials were as stupid as ever. The word escape began echoing as the ninja posed, “Es-cape. Es-cape. Es-cape.”

  Sue patted around the couch, looking for the remote. She finally found it trapped between two cushions. She muted the television and dropped the remote on the couch before reaching for her phone to try again. The screen flashed and went black.

  “Great,” she mumbled in annoyance, dropping the dead phone into her purse. At least walking to the cellular store would give her something to do in the morning.

  Sue reached for her tea to take a drink. The cooling liquid passed her lips—and instantly set her mouth on fire. She spat bourbon at the television in surprise, opened her mouth wide, and breathed fast to try to calm the burning sensation.

  Lifting her teacup, she sniffed the hard liquor inside it. “How in the…?”

  Sue gathered the cup and plate and took them to the kitchen.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” She dumped the liquor down the sink. The taste of bourbon lingered in her mouth. She didn’t remember pouring it.

  The sound of television static came from the living room. The steady light from the lamp flickered off, replaced by the bright television light cast on the doorway.

  A click sounded, and the channel changed. The light became softer. She slowly walked toward the doorway.

  “Enjoy our quaint coastal…”

  “Is someone here?” Sue called, really hoping she didn’t get an answer. “Kathy?”

  Hank’s mother had a key to the house. The woman might have come over when Sue didn’t answer the phone.

  “You’ve never experienced a place like Freewild Cove, North Carolina.”

  The television blipped again, and a woman belted out a soulful song. “Run away. Time is short.”

  “Kathy, is that you in there channel flipping?” Sue’s voice came out in a shaky whisper. She leaned to look past the doorway into the empty living room. The remote was on the couch where she’d left it.

  The channel changed again, and an angry man covered with tattoos pressed his face to the bars of a jail cell and yelled, “You better watch your fucking back. I won’t be trapped forever, and when I get out—”

  “Hello?” Sue demanded. “This isn’t funny.”

  A black-and-white movie replaced the jail scene. The Mid-Atlantic accent of a 1920s movie star boasted, “I’m from North Carolina, and there’s something you need to know about girls from North Carolina. We don’t give up without a fight.”

  Sue glanced around the empty room before slowly making her way toward the couch. She stood by the arm and stared at the changing screen.

  “Run away, run away, run, run, run!” the woman sang desperately into her mic.

  The channel changed to a closeup of a clown holding a knife next to his face. “I’m coming for you.”

  Sue took a deep breath. She believed in logical explanations, not the paranormal. Mrs. Dane at the store had joked that Mercury was in retrograde and that would make electronics malfunction. The cable provider had once issued some statement about radiation or sunspots or something messing with signals. That sounded like a reasonable, science-y explanation she could get behind.

  Sue picked up the remote and hit the power button. The unit didn’t respond. She walked closer to the television and hit the button repeatedly with her index finger.

  “You’ve never experienced a place like Freewild Cove…”

  Sue reached for the power cord and yanked the plug from the wall. The television turned off. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Without the television, darkness flooded the space. The drawn curtains blocked the view of the street. Sue blindly navigated the living room, letting her leg brush along the edge of the coffee table. She reached her hand out and walked until she felt the wall. Her fingers moved around a corner and down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  Her hand met the door, and she skated her fingers to the doorknob.

  Static sounded behind her, and her
shadow flashed next to her. Sue flung around in surprise.

  The television had turned on.

  “I turned you off.” Shaking, she forced herself toward the light. “I unplugged you.”

  She flipped the hall light switch as she passed it. The remote remained on the couch. Sue passed in front of the television.

  A black-and-white closeup of a woman’s face filled the screen, and the actress seemed to stare directly at Sue. She wore a sleek hat and dark lipstick indicative of film noir, as the serious male voice narrated, “I could see the lady was frightened by the way she lingered in my doorway, even after I invited her in. I’d seen this kind of desperate look before. She was in danger, and she needed my help.”

  Sue looked at the plug. It was in the wall.

  “You’ve never experienced a place like Freewild—”

  Sue pulled the cord and watched the plug come free of the wall before draping it over the edge of the television.

  “I unplugged you. I’m looking at you, and you’re unplugged. The television is unplugged.” Sue took a deep breath.

  Cedar and gun oil filled her nose. She hated that smell. Why wouldn’t it go away?

  “It’s just phantosmia,” she whispered, unable to stop her hands from trembling. Sue walked with purpose down the hall. “I need to sleep.”

  “Magic is real. I’ve seen it, Bev.”

  Sue stopped halfway down the hall as a contemporary soundtrack played behind the woman’s excited words. The mounting terror caused her eyes to fill with tears. She’d unplugged the television and hung the cord. She knew she had. She heard the small blip of channels changing as the voices continued.

  “Have you ever been to North Carolina?” a man asked with a slight twang.

  “You’ve never experienced a place like Freewild Cove, North Carolina,” the travel commercial insisted.

  “I escaped across the moors,” a British lady sounded like she read from a book, “away from the tyranny of my father’s house.”

  “…run away, run, run…”

  Sue sprang into action. She ran into her bedroom and grabbed a suitcase from the closet. She didn’t think as she threw things into the bag, scooping up armfuls of clothes and shoving them inside.

  “…a place like Freewild Cove, North Carolina.” The volume became louder.

  Sue zipped the bag and dragged it behind her down the hallway. The plug was in the wall, and the television kept flipping through channels. She snatched her purse from the coffee table.

  “Freewild Cove, North Carolina,” the television practically screamed.

  As she was backing away from the couch, she caught movement. The remote lifted on its own to hover in the air. The television screen paused on a beach scene, rewound a few frames, only to play.

  “Freewild Cove.”

  It did it again.

  “Freewild Cove.”

  And again.

  “Freewild Cove.”

  Sue ran for the door.

  “Freewild Cove.”

  It slammed shut behind her with unnatural force.

  The evening had turned to dark, and she saw a hint of light playing through the seam in the curtains. She couldn’t go back in. Head-injury-induced hallucinations or not, that shit was terrifying.

  She stood on the front sidewalk and glanced up and down the quiet block, unsure what she was doing. It was late, and the only car she owned was spending its eternity in a junkyard. All she knew was she couldn’t go back into the house.

  The smell of cologne drifted past, bringing with it a chill.

  Sue hurried down the sidewalk, keeping her head down and hoping none of her neighbors chose that moment to look outside.

  Chapter Three

  Sue tried not to look at the series of beach pictures that the bored teenager next to her kept flipping through on his phone. His parents were in the seats behind them. Every once in a while, his mother would try to hand him a water bottle and snacks. The kid would answer by shifting in the seat, slouching down as if to hide the bikini babe he’d found, and then sighing in annoyance. His leg encroached on Sue’s space, but instead of saying anything, she leaned closer to the window.

  The tinted windows kept the interstate lights from shining in her face as they traveled past the dark landscape. She’d been on the bus for—gah, what was it, fifteen?—hours, and as much as she hated being crammed next to two dozen strangers, she needed their nearness. Whatever weirdness had followed her through town until she’d ended up taking refuge at a bus station didn’t seem to stir around the other passengers.

  The screen of a tablet reflected in the window next to the seat in front of her. Though she couldn’t hear the words, she saw the face of the clown with a knife. She knew it was impossible, but it felt like the clown smiled directly at her. She hugged her arms across her chest. The screen flashed to that of a couple in deep conversation at a restaurant. It didn’t look like the same movie.

  Sue turned her gaze to the back of the seat. The teenager suddenly jerked, hitting her shoulder with his elbow.

  “Ow.” Sue rubbed her arm.

  “Sorry,” the kid mumbled, but he continued playing a video game.

  She pressed closer to the window to give him space. Her purse sat on the floor, squished between her feet. She thought of the check shoved in the zipper pocket of her purse, thankful she’d had the presence of mind to grab the bag.

  Fear beat through her, tightening in her chest and flowing through her nervous limbs. She tried to convince herself that she’d hallucinated the remote hovering in the air, just like she hallucinated the smell of Hank’s cologne.

  Sue glanced at the teenager’s phone just as he crashed the car he drove in the game. It flipped off the side of a cliff and exploded. She looked toward the window. The clown face was there, as he threatened with his knife. Tears gathered, and she closed her eyes.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  She had to calm herself, or she’d find herself screaming nonsense on a bus full of people.

  “I can’t wait to get to the beach,” a woman said.

  Sue had no idea where she was going. She had bought a ticket on the first bus leaving the station—anyplace to get away from the cloud of Hank’s cologne following her down the sidewalk. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong, which was ridiculous. If she wanted to buy a bus ticket and travel all night, she should be able to do that.

  Hank didn’t like her traveling alone.

  “Fuck Hank,” she whispered. “I can if I want to.”

  “You want this? I’m done with it.”

  Sue opened her eyes. The woman in the seat ahead of her held a magazine toward her. Sue automatically lifted her hand to take it even though she didn’t feel like reading. “Uh, thanks.”

  She put the magazine on her lap. A model’s smiling face graced the cover next to the bold words, “Know when to shut your mouth.”

  One of the scented inserts that advertised cologne had slipped to the side. A nerve in her hand stung, and she looked at the ring she’d found in the hospital bag. In her flight from the house, she’d forgotten about it.

  The teenager bumped her again, causing the magazine to slide on her lap. The scented insert slipped farther from the pages. With a shaking hand, Sue pulled it out. A glass of bourbon neat was printed on it, and the smell of gun oil and cedar wafted over her. The smell made her sick to her stomach.

  “Cool. Can I have that?” the teenager asked.

  Sue looked from the insert to the boy, not following his question. He gave a meaningful look at the cologne ad. She slowly handed it to him. The teen snatched it from her and instantly peeled it open to rub the scented paper on his neck. The stench of the cologne became unbearable.

  “Do you know if we’re stopping soon?” Sue asked.

  The teen shrugged and went back to his game. “Probably never. This stupid trip…”

  His words disappeared into a grumble as his attention disappeared into his game.

&n
bsp; Sue rubbed her sore hand. Even though she hadn’t wanted it, she opened the magazine to distract her mind from the overwhelming smell of her cologned neighbor.

  She flipped to the center of the magazine to an article about a historic theater screening old movies. Sue almost ignored it but for an emblem carved in the front of the building. It looked similar to the band she wore. She turned the band on her finger and lifted it next to the picture. They were almost identical.

  What could that mean?

  “Warrick Theater,” she read, mouthing the words quietly, “named for eccentric businesswoman Julia Warrick, who’d commissioned the building in the early nineteen-hundreds, represents a colorful chapter in North Carolina’s history. A self-proclaimed medium, Julia wanted a place to hold séances. People would travel for hundreds of miles to have her contact their dead relatives.”

  The smell of the cologne tickled the back of her throat, and she gave a light cough. Sue tried to ignore it as she looked at a series of photos. Inside, the art deco theater appeared well maintained, if not a little outdated. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen gold and burgundy sponge-painted walls.

  Seeing a picture of a woman with dark hair standing behind a concession counter, Sue read, “Julia’s granddaughter, Heather Harrison, is keeping the entertainment tradition alive and the theater doors open.”

  Sue started to pull the ring off her finger to get a better look at the design.

  The bus lurched. A collective gasp of surprise sounded. Sue braced her hands to keep from flying out of her seat. The magazine slid off her lap and under the seat in front of her.

  Thud. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Clank.

  They bounced in their seats as the bus slowed.

  “Oh, that can’t be good,” the teenager’s mom exclaimed.

  “Duh,” the boy mumbled.

  Sue leaned against the window, seeing the lights of a service station beckoning them as the bus turned off the interstate.

  A staticky voice came over the intercom, “We’re sorry for the interruption, folks. It looks like we’re going to have to make an unscheduled stop. Feel free to stretch your legs and relax as we work out a solution and check back in twenty minutes.”