Addison Lockhart 3

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I also found a short obituary for Cora,” Lia said, “and another for William Ravencroft. He was six when he died, and aside from the fact he died so young, there’s another, even more unusual part of the story.”

  Addison raised a brow. “What did you find out?”

  Lia typed a few words on her computer and turned the screen back to Addison. “Cora and Billy died on the same day.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Addison waved to Luke and her father, watching them back out of the driveway and head down the road. Seeing them go was bittersweet, but something she had to do. Lia offered to do more digging on the Blackthorn family’s history, but Addison asked her to hold off. She needed to talk to Catherine first.

  Addison walked back inside the manor to find Catherine waiting in the entryway, tapping the bottom of her ballet flat on the wood floor like a restless mother anxious to scold her child.

  “Your husband just left,” Catherine said. “Why didn’t you leave with him?”

  “I’d like to stay a bit longer if it’s all right. Just another couple of days or so. I’ll pay you double the room rate.”

  Catherine glanced at her watch. “One hour, twenty-seven minutes.”

  Addison leaned against the wall, crossing a leg in front of her. “Excuse me?”

  “One hour, twenty-seven minutes. That’s how long you have until checkout, and that’s how long you have to leave. I hope your grandmother is prepared to drive you home.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “We just did.”

  “Not about when you want me to leave, about why I want to stay.”

  “I don’t care why you want to stay. You can’t.”

  “Why not?” Addison asked.

  “I have more guests arriving. I’ll need your room.”

  It was a lie. Earlier, when Catherine was gone, Addison had snuck into Catherine’s office, checking the reservation book. There were no future bookings, not a single one.

  “I know we got off to a rocky start,” Addison said. “I was hoping we could try again.”

  “Whatever for? There’s no need. We’re not going to be friends. We’re not even going to be acquaintances.”

  “If you would just hear me—”

  Catherine squinted. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, you know. I see what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m not doing anything. I don’t get to spend much time with my gran nowadays, and I thought it would be nice to spend an extra day or two with her before we head back home.”

  “So now you expect me to allow your grandmother to stay here longer too.”

  Addison nodded. “Yes, I was hoping we both could. My friend Lia would like to tag along too.”

  Catherine glanced back at her watch. “One hour, twenty-one minutes, and then I’ll expect you all to be out. Whitney informed me she took breakfast to your room some time ago. You’ve been fed. I suggest you start packing.”

  Catherine whirled around and walked down the hall.

  “Wait,” Addison said. “Please. Just give me one minute.”

  “I just gave you six. I don’t have time for more. Even if I did, I wouldn’t spend them with you.”

  Catherine rounded the corner, leaving Addison with a decision—take a gamble she didn’t want to take or find another way. When no alternatives came to mind, she went after Catherine, catching up with her in the kitchen. “I ... ahh ... found something in my room, and I wanted to give it to you.”

  Without looking her direction, Catherine pulled several plates out of the dishwasher and deposited them on the shelf. “What do you mean—you found something?”

  Addison removed the red ball from her sweater pocket, bouncing it on the ground. Once, twice, and then a third time, until it achieved the desired result. Catherine’s eyes widened like saucers. She lunged at Addison, snatching the ball out of her hand. She stared at it for a time like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, turning the ball over inside her palm until she noticed a tiny divot in the side—a divot she seemed to recognize. “I haven’t seen this in so many ... I can’t believe ... it’s not possible ... there’s no way ... I’ve searched for this for so ... there’s no way it could show up after all this ...”

  “Allow me to explain.”

  Catherine squeezed the ball in her hand. “You’ve been snooping again. Where did you find this? The truth this time.”

  “He gave it to me.”

  “He ... who?”

  Addison stared at Catherine and whispered, “Your son—Billy.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Catherine pressed a hand to her chest like she was struggling for breath. “How can you be so cruel? Why would you say something like that?”

  “If you could just hear me out,” Addison said. “I’ll explain everything.”

  Catherine stumbled to the kitchen table and sat down, her eyes focused on Billy’s ball clenched in her hand.

  Addison sat across from her.

  “How do you know about my son?” Catherine asked. “Did Gene tell you? He must have told you. He’s always taking too many liberties with our guests.”

  It was a loaded question, a ticking time bomb with no right answer. Whether she told the truth or whether she lied, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Catherine would either believe her, or she wouldn’t, and odds favored the latter. “It wasn’t Gene.”

  “Whitney then?”

  Addison shook her head. “Do you know what a psychic medium is?”

  “I’m familiar with the term, but you’re avoiding my question.”

  “I am a medium. I have the ability to communicate with spirits at times, with those who have passed on from this life. I can see and experience things from the past, present, or future, depending on the situation.”

  Addison went silent, letting her words hang in the air while she evaluated Catherine’s reaction. She expected Catherine to lash out in a furious tirade, but Catherine remained stolid, her expression blank.

  “You don’t know me,” Addison said, “so I know how hard it must be for you to believe what I’m saying is true. I am telling the truth, though.”

  Catherine waved a hand in the air. “I’m guessing there’s a point to all of this. Get to it.”

  Addison leaned back in the chair. “I ... ahh ... I never know when I’m going to be contacted by a spirit. Sometimes I go months without a visitation. Other times it’s a matter of days. When contact is made I don’t always know what they want or why they’ve reached out, but there’s always a reason, something they want or need to happen, even though sometimes they themselves don’t always know what it is.”

  “Why you? What could you possibly do to help? They’re dead. What more do they need?”

  “They’re trapped here, between this life and the next. Some don’t know how to move on. Others can’t move on. It’s my job to figure out why they’re still here and what they need in order to enter the afterlife.”

  Catherine rapped her fingernails along the table’s surface. “I was raised to believe life exists after this one, that there’s something waiting for us all, something to make the hell we endure in this life worth it in the end. I’ve always imagined at the moment of death, a person’s soul is swept away, taken to a better place. If true, why wouldn’t it be the same for everyone? Why would some leave and others stay? Why would anyone be trapped here?”

  “Most people do move on. In my experience, those who don’t usually suffered a traumatic event just prior to their death. Some seem tortured, unaware of how they died or what needs to happen in order for them to move on. Others cling to this life and refuse to leave. That’s where I come in.”

  Catherine’s demeanor softened, but Addison didn’t believe her words had swayed her. The ball had conjured tender memories Catherine had stowed so deep inside herself, she’d forgotten what it was like to feel them anymore. It made sense now. Catherine’s tough, rigid exterior was partially a façade, a front she displayed to others in order to mask her
pain.

  The death of a son.

  Catherine’s only son.

  It was the kind of grief Addison couldn’t imagine.

  Still, there were questions.

  Why had Billy died so young?

  What had happened to the boy?

  The sound of wind chimes dancing into each other outside the kitchen window brought Catherine back to herself again. “How is it you claim to possess such a gift?”

  “It is passed down through the women in my family and has been for several generations.”

  “So your grandmother, Marjorie. She fancies herself a medium too?”

  Addison nodded.

  “You’re crazy,” Catherine said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I understand how it must seem to you. One day I was a normal child, and the next I picked an innocent-looking penny off the sidewalk and saw a homeless man’s future.”

  Catherine smacked a hand on the table, tossed her head back, and laughed. “Well, I’ll give you this. I haven’t been this amused in a long time. I don’t know what you think you know about my son, or what you think you’ve seen, but I don’t believe in ghosts, and I don’t believe in psychic abilities, either. Dead is dead. Spirits don’t come back, no matter how much you want them to.”

  “I used to feel the same way. I didn’t want any part of what I’d inherited at first. It didn’t seem fair that people I had never met before could enter my life, needing my help. In ways it made me angry. I’m expected to help perfect strangers, and yet I lack the ability to communicate with my own mother.”

  Catherine raised a brow. “When your family arrived, I wondered why she wasn’t with them. Since you seem so keen on sharing stories, you won’t mind telling me what happened to her, yes?”

  “She died in a car accident five years ago.”

  “Yes, well, I can see how it would be a tragic thing for you to go through. Here one minute, gone the next. It’s the hardest way to lose someone, in my opinion. You never quite get past it. It’s the one thing that sticks with you over time and never goes away.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I will say one thing. In talking to you now, I can tell how passionate you are about this psychic-ability business. And though I don’t share your beliefs, I believe you actually think you possess such a power.”

  Addison considered Catherine’s statement to be a move in a positive direction. She didn’t need Catherine to believe her as much as she needed Catherine to see her as someone who wasn’t out to do her harm. “If you don’t mind, I would like to know more about the manor.”

  Deep in thought, Catherine glanced around the room. “The estate holds many memories for me. Some of them good. Some bad. My grandfather built it when I was a child. He wasn’t the nicest person. Actually, nice isn’t a word I’d use to describe him at all. He tormented us as children. We were all terrified of him. Whenever we heard him coming, we’d all run and hide.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Eventually he did us all a favor by drinking himself to death. It’s strange, you know? I still feel him sometimes, like he’s still here in this house, watching my every move, judging me, even though I’m smart enough to know it isn’t true. It’s funny how the negativity of a single, ignorant person has had the power to plague me throughout my life, even when I knew what he thought of me wasn’t true. It’s like an axe, I suppose, slowly chipping away at me until there was nothing left to chip.”

  Did the spirit of Catherine’s grandfather, or even her father—still reside within these walls?

  And was one of them the spirit that Billy feared?

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Catherine said. “Life isn’t about being happy. It’s about enduring what comes your way and learning to live with it. We’re all survivors in our own way.”

  “I assume your father left you the manor when he died?”

  Catherine nodded. “Not because he wanted it to go to me. He didn’t. He made his decision out of spite. It should have passed to my brother Raymond, but my father made sure it didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to teach Raymond a lesson, and he succeeded.”

  “What did Raymond do to upset your father?”

  “He went against my father’s wishes. It was a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter now. I took it over, even though I would have had a better life if I had left this place.” Setting the ball on the table, she said, “You could have just told me where you found this instead of making up a story to get me to talk about my son.”

  Just when Addison thought they’d reached square two, she was dropped back to one.

  “I understand you don’t believe me, but I didn’t make it up. I haven’t lied to you about anything.”

  “If you expect me to believe you have magical powers, you’ll have to prove it. Otherwise, I think we’ve bonded enough for one lifetime.”

  “How do you expect me to prove it to you?”

  Catherine shrugged. “What about a demonstration? You say you’ve communicated with my son. Summon Billy. Right here, right now. Bring him back to me.”

  “I can’t give you what you want. I wish I could. It’s true: I have seen him in this house, but only once.”

  “Where?”

  “In a bedroom upstairs, the one a few doors down from mine. I believe it was his when he was alive.”

  “And when did this alleged vision of yours take place?”

  “Right after we talked in the parlor last night.”

  “My son was the sweetest boy. A good boy. Why would he be trapped here? Why wouldn’t he be able to move on?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.”

  “What has he told you?”

  “The important thing is, I believe he’s waiting for something to happen first.”

  “Like what?”

  Addison shrugged. “He seems to think he’s leaving here soon. When I asked him where he was going, he said he was going away, but he didn’t say where. And there’s something else ...”

  “Something like what?”

  “He’s afraid of someone he calls ‘the bad person.’ I have tried to get him to give me more information, but he wouldn’t.”

  “Useless,” Catherine said. “I don’t know why I’m still sitting here with you. You’re spinning stories, ‘going around the houses,’ as they say. Nothing you say leads anywhere. It just loops around and doesn’t make sense.”

  She scooted the chair back.

  “Even if I could get Billy to appear right now, you wouldn’t be able to see him,” Addison said. “I’m the only one who can, and that only happens when he allows it.”

  “I knew it.” Catherine rolled the ball toward Addison. “I don’t know where this toy came from, but it didn’t belong to my son. So take it. Take it back, and get out of my house.”

  “You know it’s his. I can tell.”

  Addison reached out and grabbed it. When she returned her attention to Catherine, Billy was standing beside her, his hand resting on his mother’s shoulder.

  “Are you deaf?” Catherine asked. “I just told you to get out of my house. And yet, for whatever reason, you’re still sitting there, staring at me like I have pie all over my face.”

  Billy waved at Addison.

  Not wanting to alarm Catherine any further, Addison only smiled back.

  Billy looked at his mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I know I wasn’t supposed to go past the gate.”

  He turned toward Addison and nodded.

  “Billy is sorry he went past the gate,” Addison said. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, her face a combination of pain and disbelief. “The gate? There’s no way ... how could you possibly ... you’re saying he told you this? He told you this himself?”

  Addison nodded, assuming Billy’s comment had something to do with the day he died. “Do you know what he means?”

  “He wasn’t a
llowed to go past the gate—not alone—not unless Gene or I were there with him.”

  “What happened?”

  She closed her eyes like she was picturing it in her mind. “One minute he was right there, standing next to me. I had a basket of sheets and was hanging them on the line. He started tugging on my dress. He wanted me to play with him. I shooed him away, said I was busy. I had chores to do. We would play later. The wind kicked up. I glanced down where he had been standing and noticed he wasn’t there anymore.”

  Had Billy slipped past his mother, deciding to play in the ocean, and drowned? If Addison’s hunch was right, it explained why he’d been stuck in between this life and the next for so long. Had the sea taken him like it took Joseph? Had his body never been found?

  It all seemed logical until Billy shook his head.

  Was it possible?

  Could he understand her thoughts without any words being spoken between them?

  Without speaking, she looked at him.

  Can you hear me? Can you hear my thoughts?

  Billy nodded.

  Did you die in the ocean?

  He shook his head.

  Did you die because you went past the gate?

  He nodded.

  What happened to you?

  “I wanted to know where she was going,” he said.

  Where who was going? Your mother?

  He shook his head. “My auntie.”

  Cora?

  He nodded. “I saw her crying. She was sad. She was always sad, and I wanted to make her feel better.”

  Addison pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “What’s going on with you?” Catherine asked. “Hello? You’re not talking now?”

  “I know what happened,” Addison said, “the day Billy died. I know why he went past the gate.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. You don’t know anything.”

  Addison stood, placed her hands on her hips. “He was following Cora.”

  Catherine shot out of her seat, her eyes narrow like a cat ready to strike. Voice raised, she said, “Never speak her name in front of me again! Do you hear me?”