The Fifth Sense

by Michelle M. Pillow

  The bus continued to bounce as it rolled into the service station parking lot.

  She watched people stand up in anticipation of leaving the bus. Sue didn’t want them to leave her alone. She didn’t want to get off, either. There was a strange kind of safety in the lit cabin full of strangers, a comfort in knowing the bus rolled forward for endless miles, as if here, in this moment of perpetual movement onwards, nothing could catch her.

  The passengers filed off the bus, giving her no choice but to grab her purse and follow. It had stopped on the far side of the parking lot, away from the front doors of a gas station boasting a connected fast food restaurant that served fried chicken and tacos.

  She walked slowly as the others hurried past. As she went between a couple of gas pumps, a man said, “That didn’t sound good at all. You guys all right?”

  Sue stumbled to a stop and looked around. Kind brown eyes met hers. The directness of his gaze took her by surprise, and she didn’t answer.

  He gestured toward the bus. “Sounds like you guys had a bit of road trouble.”

  “Oh, ah…” Sue needlessly looked back at the broken-down bus. “Yeah, engine, I think. Or tire, maybe? I don’t know. There was a lot of thumping and clanking.”

  “I’m Jameson Lloyd.” Jameson held his hand out to her and kept smiling, but she didn’t trust his smile.

  Hank smiled all the time too. People thought he was terrific.

  “Sue.” She ignored the offered hand. “Susan, Sue.”

  “Nice to meet you, Susan Sue.” He pushed his dark hair away from his face with the back of his rejected hand.

  He turned his attention to his car and pulled the nozzle from the red sedan’s gas tank.

  “Hey, Jameson, can I ask you something?” Sue stepped closer. “Where are we? What town? The driver didn’t say when he kicked us off the bus while he figures out what’s wrong with it.”

  “Freewild Cove,” he answered. “We’re about a half-mile from the beach. Not a bad place to get stranded. Though I live here, so I’m biased.”

  Freewild…?” She looked around. The nerve in her hand tingled, and she absently rubbed it. What were the odds that she’d see a commercial and then get blindly on a bus that broke down in the exact same town it advertised?

  And the magazine article mentioning séances?

  And the picture of the beach on the teenager’s phone?

  “Cove,” he finished when the word got stuck in her throat. “Freewild Cove.”

  “Heather Harrison,” she whispered, tugging at the ring. It didn’t slide off her swollen finger.

  “Oh, yeah, sure, I know Heather.” Jameson continued to smile, the look friendly and unassuming. “She just moved into the Old Anderson House, right? I was happy to hear someone bought that old place to renovate it. It’s a beautiful historic property.”

  “I don’t know. I saw her name in an article I was reading on the bus.” Sue glanced around the parking lot. “Warrick Theater.”

  “Sure, sure, I know it,” Jameson said. “It’s downtown. Another great historical building.”

  “I need…” Sue took a deep breath. Need sounded too desperate. “I want to see it.”

  “It won’t be open this time of night,” he said.

  “Yeah, of course.” She walked toward the gas station. “Thanks for the information.”

  “No problem,” Jameson called after her. “Maybe I’ll see you around if you decide to stay and check out the theater.”

  Before she answered, a loud clang came from the bus. She turned to see smoke billowing from under the hood. The bus driver cursed and flung his arms in agitation before he began pulling the luggage from the baggage compartment. He tossed the bags unceremoniously next to the bus.

  “Come on, Jerry, we need to find a hotel before all the rooms are taken,” a woman from the bus said, pulling on her husband’s arm. “There is no way they’re going to be able to get a replacement out here tonight, and I’m not sleeping on the sidewalk while we wait for them to tell us as much. I told you we should have flown but you wanted to save a few bucks. I hope you’re happy. You get what you pay for, Jerry.”

  Sue went back toward the bus to grab her suitcase, unsure what she should do next. This wasn’t a planned trip. No one knew where she was or why. The only person she could think to call was Hank’s mother, and she would come with a lecture about responsibility and a guilt trip.

  The smell of Hank’s cologne stirred around her. She needed to get out of there.

  “That definitely can’t be a good sign.” Jameson appeared next to her. “Listen, there’s a hotel a few blocks that way.”

  Sue watched him point but didn’t take her eyes off him. She hugged her purse against her. “I’m not looking for a date.”

  “What, oh, date? No.” Jameson laughed. “I’m sorry, no, you’re right. That sounded forward of me. I just meant there’s a hotel close if you’re going to be stuck here for the night. I can drop you there if you want. It’s on my way.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll figure it out.” Sue walked faster, giving the man no choice but to end the conversation.

  She told herself that not every man was Hank. Not every smile had something hiding behind it. Still, the easiness of Jameson’s expression made her nervous. She couldn’t help it. Nor could she help her response to it, and the feeling that at any moment, something solid would slam into her stomach as punishment for daring to talk to him.

  The smell of gun oil and cedar drifted with her as she walked toward her luggage. Jameson’s car drove past slowly as he made his way out of the gas station parking lot. Their eyes met, and she looked away first.

  Her suitcase was on its side in a shallow puddle. She frowned as she lifted it from the ground. Muddy water dripped down the side.

  “Folks, it looks like we’re going to be here a while,” the driver said. “If you’d like to wait in the restaurant, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  Sue glanced at the giant lettering on the window boasting fast food chicken and tacos. Through the window, she could see that already the booths were filling up with passengers.

  Sue lifted her suitcase and began the long trek in the direction where Jameson had pointed.

  “If you leave, we can’t guarantee a refund,” the driver called after her.

  Sue lifted her hand to indicate she’d heard him and kept walking. She had no idea where she was going or if they’d have rooms available when she got there. The knowledge made her both nervous and excited, mostly nervous because she was in Freewild Cove due to a possessed television.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  She steadied her breath to match the rhythm of her pace. The sound of interstate traffic zoomed above the frontage road she traveled. The busyness contrasted with the lonely walk. If she didn’t think about it, the suitcase wasn’t too heavy. The streets created pockets of light on the ground between stretches of shadows. She quickened her steps when she went through the dark.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  As she walked around a curve, a hotel sign lit up the sky, boasting vacancies. She sighed in relief and hurried toward it. No one would know she was there. Sue had no choice but to keep moving forward. She could hide away in a room, surrounded by people but alone. One scream, and they’d come running.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Sue went into the lobby. The woman behind the front desk reversed her coffee cup mid-drink as she smiled. “Welcome to Dicken’s Inn. Do you have a reservation?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I saw you had vacancies on the sign.” Sue wasn’t sure why she was apologizing for being a walk-in. She hated that about herself, always saying sorry even when it wasn’t necessary. The word had always fallen out of her mouth like a preemptive strike against Hank’s moods.

  “That’s quite all right. Is there just one?” The woman went to her computed and began typing.

  “Yes. I’m alone.” Sue glanced at the woman’s name tag. “Agnes. That’s a pretty name.”

>   “Thank you, hon. Smoking or non?”

  “Non.” Could she ask for a room without a television?

  “I have a king- or queen-size bed.” Agnes glanced up and smiled. “Actually, it’s late. I’m going to give you a suite for the regular room price.”

  “Oh, ah, thank you,” Sue said in surprise. She reached into her purse and grabbed her license and credit card.

  “License plate number?”

  “No car. I was on a bus, and it broke down at the gas station down the road. I walked here.” Sue glanced out the window, half expecting other passengers to show up.

  “No worries.” Agnes took her credit card, ran it through the reader, and then handed it back to her. “You’re all set, Susan Jewel. Checkout is normally ten, but I’ll write you in for a late check out so you can stay until noon. Breakfast is complimentary. It opens at six. Wi-fi password is right here.” She circled the room number printed on the envelope holding the key card and then handed it to Sue. “You’re in room 336. Elevators are down the hall to your left.”

  “Thank you.” She started to turn, only to stop. “Any food delivery nearby?”

  “Pizza. Numbers are in the binder in the room. Or, if you’re desperate, there are cookies around the corner under the plastic dome.”

  Sue gave a small laugh. “Yeah, desperate.”

  The front desk phone began to ring.

  “Help yourself, sweetie.” Agnes waved Sue toward the cookies as she picked up the phone.

  The chocolate chip cookies looked a little sad on their plate, but she grabbed a handful on her way to the elevator. A grinding, creaking noise sounded over her head as the elevator moved. She shoved a cookie into her mouth and chewed. The taste of hard liquor-filled her mouth and she coughed the cookie into her hand. She stared at the moist blob, going so far as to sniff it. It smelled like chocolate, but the aftertaste in her mouth was all smoky bar and cheap booze.

  No. It was Hank’s kisses. His mouth tasted like bourbon and cigarettes after he’d been out drinking with his buddies.

  The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors opened on the third floor. She trembled as she stepped into the hall, dragging her suitcase in one hand while clutching the cookie mash in her other. A maid cart was parked in the hall, and she grabbed a fresh towel to wipe the cookie off her hand before dropping it into the dirty laundry bag on the side.

  Sue had to look at the key card envelope for her room number and instantly forgot it again as she moved her tongue around her mouth in a failed attempt to get rid of the taste. She looked yet again and whispered, “Three-three-six. Three-three-six.”

  In her over-concentration to find it, she almost walked past it. Shaking, she shoved the card into the key slot and then pressed the door open with her shoulder. Once inside, she released a breath she felt as if she’d been holding for hours.

  Sue dropped her bags on the floor and threw the cookies in the bathroom trashcan. The suite was nothing special, looking like a billion other hotel suites just like it in the world—soft pastel walls and nondescript decor. She went to the television in the media cabinet and pulled its cord from the wall before turning the flat screen around to face the wooden back.

  Her stomach growled with hunger, protesting the fact she’d thrown out the cookies. Sue grabbed a water bottle from the mini-fridge with its five dollar price tag. She closed her eyes and gulped as the blandness of water turned to the fire of burning liquor as it passed her lips. She tried to ignore it, filling her stomach as fast as she could.

  Sue fell back on the bed, still in her travel clothes and not caring. Her hand tingled, and she pulled at the ring to get it off her finger. Everything had changed the second she’d put it on. None of what happened made sense.

  Her lips still burned. She waited for the world to spin, but the water turned liquor did not carry alcoholic effects, and her mind remained unhappily aware.

  Chapter Four

  Everything happened for a reason.

  Sue wouldn’t have believed that statement five months ago, but now, as she walked along a sidewalk to look up a woman whose name she’d read in a magazine article, she hoped it was true.

  She had been scared into getting on the bus.

  Someone thrust the article at her.

  She met Jameson, who told her where to find Heather Harrison.

  Every sign screamed Freewild Cove. So here she was in North Carolina, following a historical town map that had monstrously bad proportions drawn on it, looking for Old Anderson House.

  I’m officially a stalker, she thought in dejection.

  What else could she do?

  Her hand shook as she held the tattered black box with the antique ring. It had taken soap and a lot of pulling to get it off her finger. Hunger and exhaustion tainted each step and made it hard to concentrate. Everything she put into her mouth tasted like liquor and ash. If she’d slept at all the night before, she wouldn’t know it. She’d closed her eyes and tried, but her mind wouldn’t shut off.

  Moving vans passed her on the otherwise quiet road. Sue kept her gaze on the uneven sidewalk as to not make eye contact with the people inside. Tufts of grass pushed through the cracks, and she stepped around them.

  Fear lingered in her, causing her heart to beat fast. Sue expected someone to jump out at her from each tree she passed. This was insanity. She knew it. She felt it. She still kept walking.

  The wind picked up, bringing with it a chill. She caught the scent of cologne, a fleeting whiff as the breeze carried it past.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  All she could do was walk and breathe and pray Heather Harrison didn’t think she was insane.

  The faint sound of female laughter came from up the block. Sue quickened her pace. A woman stood looking toward where the moving vans had disappeared. She recognized Heather from her picture in the magazine.

  Heather wore her long, dark hair pulled away from her face, and jeans with a flannel shirt. There was a natural beauty to her as if she didn’t try too hard. Broken-down moving boxes were stacked by the driveway. It seemed fitting that the looming Victorian would have a local name, Old Anderson House. The half-painted siding contrasted old and new, what had been and the possibility of what could be.

  When Heather didn’t notice her and started to go inside, Sue said, “Excuse me?”

  The woman turned to look at her; her expression caught between surprise and a smile. When she looked at Sue’s face, her smile dropped some into concern. Sue could well imagine what impression her wild red hair and sunken, tired eyes would give.

  “I know this is going to sound strange, but…” Sue edged closer. She forgot to plan out what she was going to say. How did you explain supernatural signs leading you to a person’s front lawn? “I think I’m supposed to be here. I think I’m meant to talk to you. I keep receiving signs that all point to this house.”

  Well, crap. Honesty was one way to go about it. Probably not the best way, though.

  “I’m sorry?” Heather asked, confused. Why wouldn’t she be? Sue sounded like a lunatic.

  “Heather?” Another woman asked from the doorway, her voice concerned. The woman looked as if she was helping Heather move but still somehow managed to look like she was a midlife model at a magazine shoot and not doing manual labor. Her wavy brown hair looked just messy enough to be staged. The color matched her eyes. “What is it?”

  Sue’s hands shook as she fumbled open the jewelry box and took out the ring. The box fell to the ground, and she held the ring between her shaking fingers to show Heather the engravings. Her hand vibrated when she touched the metal. At first, she thought the sensation was from the ring being too tight and pressing on a nerve, but now as it vibrated down her fingers, she knew that wasn’t the case. “Does this mean anything to you? Because when I touch it, I feel like I have to be here.”

  Heather twisted a ring on her forefinger as she narrowed her eyes, looking at the jewelry Sue held.

  A third woman appeared in the door
way. Unlike the well-put-together brunette, this woman tied her reddish-blonde hair into a messy bun with thin strands of hair escaping in frizzy protest around her head. She tucked her long bangs behind her ear as they moved from the doorway to join Heather on the lawn.

  Sue picked up the box from the ground. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” She placed the ring in the box and closed the lid, needing the vibrations emanating from the jewelry to stop. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

  “No, wait.” The model shared a look with the other two.

  “Are you hungry?” the blonde offered, coming toward her.

  Sue was too tired to step away as she swayed on her feet.

  “We’re just about to have dinner,” the blonde continued.

  “Yes, please come in and sit down,” Heather added. “I think maybe this is where you’re supposed to be.”

  Sue stiffened as the blonde hooked an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” the blonde whispered as she guided Sue inside. “We’re here to help you.”

  The blonde stopped in the front room. Boxes created neat stacks against the wall, and a couch had been placed in the center of the room. Though of an old design, the home had been restored. Art canvases leaned against the light brown painted walls as if someone contemplated decorating choices.

  Even with unpacked boxes and strewn furniture, the house felt like a home. An impression hummed in the air, the kind of gentle electricity that emitted a welcome to all that entered. The smell of roasting meat only added to the effect.

  Sue’s stomach growled in response.

  “What’s Julia up to now?” she heard the midlife model whisper.

  “I don’t know,” Heather answered, “but it can’t be a coincidence that she shows up today of all days when we are moving into our new home. Plus, she has one of Julia’s rings.”

  Sue frowned. Julia Warrick? The woman who built the theater? She couldn’t still be alive, could she? That Julia would be over a hundred years old by now.