The Inner Shadow (A Project Specter Mystery Book 3)

by Paul Seiple

  Debbie’s black hair danced over shoulders as the fall winds tried to stir her from meditation. She didn’t move. Meditation was Debbie’s time to cleanse her energy of negativity. She guarded it with every ounce of her being. Debbie had mastered the ability to lose herself in the surroundings. It was one of the few times she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

  The door bell rang, jarring Lanky. He shifted his weight to the bad leg and almost tumbled. He caught the corner of a table with his hand for support, sending a stack of magazines to the floor.

  The door bell rang again. Rapid knocking punctuated the ring.

  “OK, OK, Ok,” Lanky said.

  He grabbed his cane and headed for the door.

  “Don? You there? Derek screwed up again.”

  Lanky smiled and shook his head. “Sam.”

  He opened the door. Sam moved by him into the foyer. Derek followed and apologized for Sam’s behavior.

  “Apologize for me? You brought those demon kids back. I know you did,” Sam said.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Sam,” Lanky said.

  “What’s the fuss? You almost interrupted my self-care,” Debbie said, rounding the corner. “Lucky for you, I finished meditating before the interruption.”

  “Oh, good, you’re here. Derek summoned a demon… again,” Sam said.

  Derek exhaled. “I didn’t summon a demon. We were working on Sam’s book and some strange things happened. We felt it would be best if we came here,” Derek said.

  “What kind of strange things?” Lanky asked.

  “You know, the usual… weird noises and things flying across the room,” Derek said.

  “We didn’t stick around to see if it was demon kids trying to play catch with our souls,” Sam said. “Can we stay here?”

  Lanky flashed a look at Debbie and waited for her to answer.

  “I don’t care, but don’t interrupt my self-care again,” Debbie said.

  Lanky waited for her to leave before asking more about the strange things.

  “You jonesing to get back to ghost busting?” Sam asked.

  “I’m tired of being treated like damaged goods,” Lanky said.

  Sam looked at the cane Lanky was resting against. “Well, you kind of are, aren’t you?”

  “One condition on staying here is you have to be kind to the host,” Lanky said.

  Derek started scrolling on his phone.

  “And what are you doing?” Sam asked.

  “Looking for hotels. There is no way in hell you can be kind to anyone,” Derek said.

  Lanky laughed. “Come on in. I’ll get you guys a sandwich.”

  “Got ham? I’m craving a good old ham and tomato sandwich,” Sam said.

  Debbie placed a pitcher of tea on a table overlooking wooded scenery. The fall air seeped through the screened porch and pecked at the sleeve of Sam’s flannel shirt. Derek fared better against the elements. He zipped the parka up to his neck.

  “What is that?” Sam asked.

  “Tea,” Debbie said.

  “I’m not drinking anything you give me after last time. That crap was awful,” Sam said. “Tasted like a broth made from demons.”

  Derek nodded. “It was pretty bad.”

  “Suit yourself,” Debbie said, pouring a cup of tea. She took a sip and stared at Sam.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m just trying to imagine what you’ve gotten yourself into this time,” Debbie said.

  “Why does it have to me?” Sam asked. “He messes with some evil things, too?”

  Debbie stared at Derek for a moment. “He’s actually right.”

  “Look, everything was quiet in the house. No demons singing ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. Nothing. And then he showed up with those murder diaries,” Derek said.

  “They’re journals. And you asked me to bring them. I’m the old man, but it seems you’ve forgotten we’re writing a book about my career,” Sam said.

  “I’m writing a book about your career. There is no we,” Derek said.

  Debbie sipped her tea and listened to them continue to argue.

  “If it wasn’t for my stories, there wouldn’t be a book to write,” Sam said. “Oh wait, you’d just make something up like you did with that Hayes book.”

  “Sam, you’re still not mad at him over that. You shouldn’t keep bringing it up.”

  “Thank you, Debbie,” Derek said.

  “Oh, I’m not taking your side on this. You’re just as stubborn as Sam,” Debbie said.

  Sam laughed.

  “You shouldn’t find this funny either, you know that,” Debbie said to Sam.

  “I’m trying to generate some heat. Do we really have to do this outside? You’re a witch. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of bringing something into the house,” Sam said.

  “Of course not,” Debbie said.

  She stood up and walked into the house. Sam stared at Derek, who returned the glare.

  Debbie stuck her head back on the porch. “Are you coming in or what?”

  “So, you didn’t set us up out here to find out what’s attached to Derek?” Sam asked.

  “Correction. What’s attached to Sam,” Derek said.

  “No. Well… I set you up… again. We don’t need to talk outside. I just thought it would be fun to watch you shiver a little,” Debbie said.

  “That’s elderly abuse,” Sam said.

  “Don’t be a baby,” Derek said.

  “That’s rich coming from the man who cries if I question a comma in his writing,” Sam said.

  “The comma was needed,” Derek said.

  “I don’t have all day. Do you want to get rid of the supernatural hitchhiker or what?” Debbie asked.

  Lanky sat at the kitchen table reading a magazine between bites of lemon pie. He ignored Debbie’s laughter, followed by Derek and Sam’s bickering.

  “I don’t blame you for divorcing her,” Sam said.

  “Oh, he didn’t divorce me,” Debbie said.

  Lanky never took his eyes away from the magazine.

  “Sit,” Debbie said. She pulled up a chair next to Derek. “OK, tell me what happened.”

  “Well…”

  Debbie interrupted Sam. “Let’s hear from Derek first.”

  “It’s an age thing with you, isn’t it?” Sam asked.

  Debbie sighed. “Not at all. Derek’s a writer. He’s probably better at telling stories.”

  “Oh, so you don’t believe us?” Sam asked.

  “Believe that something supernatural latched onto you? Of course, I believe that,” Debbie said.

  “Quit while you’re ahead,” Lanky said. He turned the page but never looked up.

  Sam nodded and pointed to Derek.

  “Well, we were going through Sam’s journals researching for the book and noises started up in other parts of the house.”

  “At first, I thought it was rodents. I heard they run in packs,” Sam said.

  Debbie turned to Sam. She didn’t say a word. The look on her face spoke clearly. Sam sank back into the chair.

  “I followed the sounds down the hall. The air grew warmer,” Derek said.

  “And I saw flames. I knew they weren’t real, but they were there,” Sam said.

  “Did you see them?” Debbie asked Derek.

  “No, but I believe him. I did witness one of Sam’s journals levitate and fly across the room,” Derek said.

  “It happened,” Sam said.

  Debbie smiled.

  “What’s funny about that?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing. This may be the first time I’ve seen you agree on anything,” Debbie said.

  “Yeah, well, can you bless us or something to keep the evil away?” Derek asked.

  “Probably,” Debbie said.

  “Well…” Sam said.

  “Let me meditate on it,” Debbie said.

  “Weren’t you just meditating?” Sam asked.

  “Yep… until you interrupted me,” Debbie said.

&nbs
p; “You said we almost interrupted you,” Sam said.

  Debbie smiled. “Did I?”

  “You can’t just let this hang around us,” Sam said.

  “Relax,” Debbie said. “There’s nothing around you at the moment." She took another sip of tea before standing up. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  “I’m good,” Derek said.

  Sam shook his head. He grabbed a fork off the table and snuck a small piece of the lemon pie Lanky was eating.

  “You can have the rest,” Lanky said, pushing the pie towards Sam. He watched for Debbie to leave before continuing. “What was in the journal that levitated?”

  “Huh?” Sam said, taking a bigger piece of the pie.

  “We were talking about an unsolved murder,” Derek said.

  “Guy’s name was Brightside,” Sam said. “Ended up dead in a hotel hot tub.”

  “Cold case?” Lanky asked.

  Sam placed the fork on the table. “The case is over thirty-years old. I’d say it’s frozen.”

  “Did you bring the journal?” Lanky asked.

  “Yep. Do you think the demon has something to do with the Brightside case?” Sam asked.

  Derek exhaled, drawing their attention to him.

  “What’s wrong?” Lanky asked.

  “He knows this has everything to do with Brightside. Hell, Brightside practically introduced himself to us in the car ride here,” Derek said.

  “Tell me more about it when Debbie goes outside,” Lanky said.

  “Do you think you’re ready to face the supernatural?" Derek asked.

  “Probably not, but I’ve been stuck in this house so long, and there’s only so many episodes of This Old House a man can take,” Lanky said. “Let me see the journal.”

  “Great. He’s bored. Let’s play demon roulette. Am I the only one who sees a problem with that?” Sam asked.

  Derek handed the journal to Lanky.

  “I guess I am,” Sam said.

  Thirteen

  “The flowers are so beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Joan Glover didn’t wait for her friend Judie to answer before going into a five-minute rambling about lilies as someone from the funeral home brought out more flowers.

  The temperature was slightly warmer than it was for Sunday services. Small paper fans depicting a portrait of Jesus waved in unison to circulate a little cool air on the warm fall afternoon. The church was almost at capacity as people gathered to say their last goodbyes to Doug Jarvis.

  Doug passed away a week earlier after a year-long battle with heart disease. He lived most of his adult life as a firefighter and retired a few years earlier as a captain.

  “I’m partial to the yellow roses,” Judie said as Joan stopped talking to take a breath. “I read somewhere that yellow roses represent friendship and caring. Look at how beautiful that bouquet is, Joan. They got it right. Doug was the most caring man I know. It’s a shame he had to die at such a young age, but the Lord called him home for a purpose.”

  “Young age? Jarvis was seventy-five.”

  Judie and Joan stopped fanning themselves and stared at the boy, who spoke those words.

  “Corey Morgan, you should be ashamed of yourself. Doug saved your behind several times,” Joan said.

  Corey smiled, stood up, and moved a few pews back.

  “Kids these days have no respect for their elders,” Joan said.

  “Amen,” Judie said.

  “You’re right, the roses are pretty, but…”

  The soft piano grew louder as “Be Still for the Presence of the Lord” played. Joan turned and faced the pulpit. Judie followed suit and fanned herself again.

  Reverend Neil Cobb entered the room. He stopped in the doorway to speak to several people before turning his attention to the Jarvis family sitting on the first row of pews. Reverend Cobb was short in stature, but his love for the lord made him a giant in the eyes of the parishioners.

  “Doug always seemed to have a warm demeanor about him. Let’s all thank him for the beautiful fall day,” Reverend Cobb said. He waited for the parishioners to give thanks before continuing. “Doug touched everyone of us with his selfless and caring ways.”

  A tickle scratched Reverend Cobb’s throat. He coughed into his hand and apologized for the disturbance. The tickle turned into a knot. Cobb coughed harder, trying to dislodge the obstruction. Sweat beaded on his forehead and formed rows of dampness on his balding scalp. He wiped his face with a handkerchief.

  “Oh my, it looks like Reverend Cobb is sick,” Joan said.

  Cobb heard the statement even though Joan sat many rows away from the pulpit.

  “Sick,” he said. Cobb’s voice was deeper than usual and vibrated through the microphone. He looked up and took in all of those mourning the loss of Doug Jarvis. “I’ll tell you who’s sick.” He waved his pointed finger in front of him. “All of you sinners are sick.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Judie asked.

  “I’m fed up with all of you fake Christians. You think you can do whatever you like during the week and Jesus will wash away your sins on Sunday.” He smashed his fist into the pulpit. “You’re all goddamn sinners. Every one of you.”

  “I’m not staying and listening to this,” Joan said.

  “That’s right, Joan Glover, turn your back on the Lord. All of you are a disgrace in the eyes of God.”

  “That’s enough, Cobb.”

  “Is it, Tom? It wasn’t enough when you told Nancy you were working late. Didn’t you text her from Beth Alderson’s bed?” Cobb asked.

  Tom Garner rushed the pulpit and knocked Reverend Cobb to the floor. Cobb laughed and placed his hands on Tom’s shoulders.

  “Free yourself from the secrets buried deep inside,” Cobb said.

  “What is wrong with you?” Tom asked.

  Cobb wrapped his hands around Tom’s throat. “I’m finally free.”

  Tom pawed at Cobb’s meaty wrists as the reverend tried to crush his windpipe.

  “Help him,” Judie said.

  Wayne Rusk sprang from his seat and applied a chokehold to Reverend Cobb. “Please let him go, Reverend.”

  A deep, guttural laugh echoed through the church as Cobb tightened his grasp on Tom.

  “You’re leaving me no choice,” Wayne said.

  He sank the chokehold deeper. He wrapped legs around Cobb’s waist. The shadow raged inside Cobb. He burned, let go of Tom, and smacked at Wayne’s forearm. Cobb’s eyes grew heavy. His eyelids fluttered as breathing became a chore. Cobb lost consciousness and fell beside Tom.

  Fourteen

  Noah watched a shaky cellphone video of what happened during Doug Jarvis’s funeral. He paused the action when Reverend Cobb smashed his fist into the pulpit and spit out a string of obscenities.

  “What the hell is going on?” Noah asked.

  “I thought you were supposed to answer the questions, not ask them,” Jaime said, moving in behind Noah.

  “What are you doing here?” Noah asked.

  “I see you’re still pissed?” Jaime said.

  “No… It’s just been a rough day. Actually, you’re right. I am pissed. Why won’t you tell me the truth?” Noah asked.

  “I’ve tried. You refuse to listen,” Jaime said.

  “I refuse to listen to scatterbrain talk of the supernatural,” Noah said. “I live in the real world, Jaime.”

  “Have you met with Reverend Cobb yet?”

  “No, he’s a bit out of control,” Noah said.

  “Let’s take a few minutes before you go see Cobb,” Jaime said. She pointed to a small room used for questioning. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I owe you one.”

  “I don’t drink the stuff here,” Noah said. “Just tell me, Jaime.”

  “In here.”

  Jaime stepped into the room. Noah followed. Jaime removed a backpack from her shoulder and eased it to the floor. She sat and motioned for Noah to join her. He declined, folded his arms, and rested his back against the door.
>
  “Do you remember when we were sixteen, and we went to that old brick house in the woods?” Jaime asked. “The one with that weird treehouse in the backyard.”

  “What’s that have to do with this?” Noah asked.

  “Nothing, really. But do you remember it? Mark stepped onto the porch and swore something grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the house.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I also remember we’d been drinking that night,” Noah said.

  Jaime reached into her backpack and removed a pile of photos. She spread them over the small desk. “There are things in this world that are not of this world, Noah.”

  “I don’t have time for this now,” Noah said.

  “Wait,” Jaime said as Noah turned to leave.

  “Look, I understand Don got you into the paranormal or supernatural, or whatever you call it, but you know I don’t believe in it,” Noah said.

  “Just give me a minute.” Jaime examined one photo. “This is from Wyatt Riley’s mugshot.”

  Jaime pointed to Wyatt’s left arm. Black streaks resembling roots from a tree moved from the inside of his wrist up to his shoulder.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Noah said. “His mother said he was a user.”

  “We both know those aren’t track marks,” Jaime said. She rummaged through the photos and handed one of Dolores Williamson to Noah. “See anything familiar?”

  The old woman had similar marks on the inside of her left arm.

  “Here are three more,” Jaime said, pushing the photos toward Noah. “Same marks, all on the left arm.”

  “I know this, Jaime. It’s strange but…”

  “Strange is an understatement. They’re identical and all on the left arm. That’s not a coincidence, Noah.”

  Noah unfolded his arms and took a seat beside Jaime. “And you think this is related to the explosion and the incident with Cobb?”