“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly,
Lavender’s blue
You must love me, dilly dilly,
’cause I love you…”
Monica held the lantern up, lifting it as high as she could in the center of the old cabin as her eyes swept the room. “There’s nothing in here.”
Val turned in place. “There’s something in here.”
“Well, I was talking about furniture, but I know what you mean.” Monica scanned the floor. “But still, nothing much to trip over, so that’s good.” The only structure left in the cabin was the stacked stone chimney and hearth.
“I heard one say, dilly dilly,
since I came hither,
That you and I, dilly dilly,
must lie together.”
“I am so sick of that song,” Val muttered.
Monica found a hook in the ceiling and hung the lantern. The wooden walls were open to the weather outside, the chinking long rotted away. Two windows were boarded up and covered with what looked like plywood.
“Rosemarie?”
The singing had stopped, but someone was still humming in the background. Robin leaned against one wall, holding her sketchpad under the light. She picked up the song and started singing under her breath as she drew.
Monica walked over to Val, who took three smudging sticks and four white candles from the backpack she carried. “Are we sure the candles are a good idea with Rosemarie?”
“I think we’re pretty safe.” Val handed Monica the three bundles of dried herbs for burning. “She only went after young people. All three of us know who we are and know our own minds. I don’t think she’d be able to influence any of us.”
“Middle-aged moms are too damn stubborn to be possessed?”
Val gave her half a grin. “Too damn opinionated.”
“We are that.”
Monica peeked out the doorway. The guys were laying a thick border of salt around the whole cabin, trapping whatever energy Robin was calling within the barrier.
The energy of the cabin was depressing. Monica wanted to leave. She desperately wanted to leave, but she knew enough about ghostly oppression by now to know that it was the spirit pushing her toward the door. She turned and faced the old stone fireplace.
“Come on out, Corbin.” She lit her cedar and stuffed the lighter in her pocket as Val placed four white candles at each corner of the cabin, far enough away from the walls that they’d be safe even if they tipped over.
A rippling black shadow grew in the corner to the right of the fireplace.
“I think I got him,” Robin said quietly. “Come on out, Corbin Sanger.”
The thing in the corner growled.
“We’re not little girls,” Val said. “We’re not scared of you.”
As Robin sketched furiously, the black shadow began to take shape.
“Holy shit.” Val glanced at Robin. “Can you see this?”
“I see him.” Robin’s jaw was tight. “You’re only seeing his shadow.”
“He’s big,” Monica said.
“He likes that,” Robin said. “You like people being afraid of you, don’t you, Corbin?”
Monica might not have been able to see more than a shadow, but she could hear the ghost’s voice.
“Know your place.”
Robin didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve been hanging around for a long time, Corbin. There’s no place left for you to go, is there?”
The growling whisper came back. “This… my house.”
“Wrong.” Robin kept her eyes on the corner, but Monica could see her distracted by something across the room. “It’s not your house. You’re dead, Corbin.”
Monica said, “I’d say sorry to break it to you, but you seem like a horrible person.”
“You’re dead,” Val said. “Dead, dead, dead. Worm food. Your daughter lit a fire and killed you. Which means you must have been a really big asshole.”
“My… house.” The growling voice drew out the s at the end of “house.” It felt like a fingernail scraping down Monica’s back.
“Smoke him,” Robin said. “Keep him away from the fireplace.”
The one point of entry they couldn’t control was the chimney, ironically enough. Monica walked to the hearth and placed a small brass bowl in the center; then she placed smoldering cedar in the bowl. She carefully added the two other bundles of dried herbs to the cedar. Lavender for protection. Rosemary for cleansing. They had all been taken from the gardens at Russell House.
“There.” Monica straightened and watched the smoke curl up the chimney and around the room, filling the space with its fragrance. “That should keep him contained.”
“Rosemarie?” Robin called. “I see you over there. I understand you’re frightened.”
“Is this who you let into my house, girl?”
The shout was so loud and violent Monica took a step back. She and Val exchanged a look.
“Robin?” Mark was calling from outside.
Val stuck her head out the door. “We’re fine.”
“What the hell was that?”
“Corbin doesn’t like company.” Val handed Monica another bundle of cedar. “Rosemarie Sanger, time to come out.”
“She won’t.” Robin was still sketching. “Not until he’s gone.”
The walls of the cabin began to shake, and Monica looked up. The lantern was swinging wildly from the shaking. “Robin?”
“Almost done.” She swept her fingers over the sketch and stood up straight. “Corbin Sanger, you’re dead. It’s time for you to go.”
The cabin shook again, and the voice came even louder.
“Rose! Get these women out of my house.”
The last faint sound of humming went silent, and a hollow energy filled the cabin.
Robin laid down a pencil sketch of a middle-aged man with an angry brow and the body of a grizzly bear. His head was bald, but a long, tangled beard fell down his chest.
“There you are, Corbin. Did you think you’d escape forever?” Robin sat down next to the sketch. “She tried to kill you with fire and ended up killing herself and the sister she was protecting.”
Val handed Robin a bag of salt.
“Rosemarie isn’t responsible for that fire or Bethany’s death,” Robin said softly. “You are.”
“She’s a crazy bitch,” the shadow growled. “Just like her mama.”
“No,” Robin said firmly. “You are a bully and a monster.” She started pouring a line of salt around Corbin’s picture. “It’s your fault, Corbin, you weak, sad man. You killed them, and it’s time you faced your judgment.”
Monica walked in a circle around the cabin, waving smoke into every corner except the one where the shadow lived. In that corner, nothing drifted. All the light seemed to vanish into the shadows.
“He’s not moving,” Monica said. “Do it.”
Robin took a match from Val and struck it on one of the stones in the fireplace. “Time to go, Corbin.” She placed the match in the center of the sketch, and the roar that shook the house was enough to break open the panels covering the windows. One of the candles tipped over.
“I got it!” Val shouted. She dove for the candle and threw dirt on the flame that was already trying to creep up the wall. “I got it, keep going.”
“You bitch!” The voice got louder and louder. Unintelligible yelling that made Monica’s toes curl. It was animalistic, the sound of pure hatred.
Robin didn’t flinch. She struck another match and placed it on another corner of the sketch. “Leave this place, Corbin Sanger. Go into whatever dimension will have you, but you cannot stay here.”
Monica watched as the malevolent shadow in the corner shook, fracturing like glass before it seemed to fall like ash to the ground.
The shaking stopped, and the wave of cedar smoke that Monica directed into the corner filled the space and expanded. The smoke crept into the chinks between the logs and drifted into the pearled-grey morning sky.
&nbs
p; But even as Corbin disappeared, Monica could still feel another presence in the room.
“You can come out, Rosemarie.” Robin took a deep breath, and Monica could see the lines furrowed between her eyebrows. “It’s safe. He’s gone.”
Someone pushed at her back. Monica looked over her shoulder and glared at the rippling shadow behind her. “Don’t even think about it, kid. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
But she would be. Monica could already see Robin’s hand moving over her sketchbook.
“It’s time to go,” Robin said. “Rosemarie, it’s time.”
Val and Monica circled the room, smudging smoke into every corner.
“No,” Robin continued, “that’s not your job. Corbin is banished. He’s not going to be bothering Bethany.” She set her pencil down. “It’s time for you to go. Who knows? Bethany may follow you if you go willingly.” Robin’s expression changed. “You’ve been guarding her for eighty years. Longer than that even.” She nodded. “Rest. It’s time for you to rest.”
Monica couldn’t describe the feeling of lightness that filled the formerly oppressive cabin. It was as if a pressure valve released.
“Okay.” Robin nodded. “I can do that.” She put a picture of a beautiful young woman in the center of the salt circle. The paper lay on top of the ashes of Corbin Sanger. Very gently, Robin struck a match and lit the corner of Rosemarie’s picture.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,” Robin sang. “Lavender’s green.”
Val and Monica joined her, singing the sweeter words of the old folk song.
“When I am king, dilly dilly,
You shall be queen.”
The three women sang together as the sketch of Rosemarie Sanger curled and blackened in the safety of the salt circle.
“Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
’Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so.”
Monica watched the picture burn, and when the last pieces of Rosemarie’s picture went black, a gust of wind like a heavy sigh swept through the room and carried cedar smoke up and out the chimney.
Robin curled into a ball and fell to the side. “Get Mark.”
Val ran for Mark while Monica laid Robin’s head in her lap. “You did so well.” She put a hand over Robin’s eyes, knowing that an excruciating headache was just around the corner. “You did so good, honey.”
“She was so tired,” Robin murmured. “She was in so much pain, and she was so tired.”
“Rosemarie can rest now.” Maybe someday Monica would have more sympathy for the girl who’d tried to kill a monster in life only to have to tame it in death, but for now she was just relieved.
She wanted a cold drink.
She wanted something for her headache.
She wanted to close her eyes, lay her head down, and fall into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 29
“Monica?”
Her eyes flickered open, then closed again. Where was she? The chair she was sitting on was so hard. She wanted to put her feet up. She could already feel her ankles swelling, and her legs ached. Where was she?
Hospital. Right. Hospital.
“Mom?” There was a hand on her knee. “Mami, wake up.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to wake up, Sam. She’s probably fucking exhausted.”
“Dude, don’t use that kind of language. You know she hates that.”
Another voice intruded on the twins. “Idiots, leave them alone. They were awake all night looking for Logan.”
“We got coffee.”
Monica was leaning on something soft and warm. It smelled like cedar, clean laundry, and leather.
Oh. Gabe. She had fallen asleep on Gabe’s shoulder. That was nice.
“Just get out of here,” Sylvia hissed at her brothers. “Go to Kara’s room, okay? I’m sitting with Logan until Chief Peralta wakes up.”
Heavy footsteps receded down the hall, leaving Monica and her shoulder pillow in silence.
“If you don’t open your eyes,” she whispered, “they’ll eventually leave you alone.”
“Your kids must think you’re the heaviest sleeper on earth.”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“Are you?”
“God no. I’d wake up if one of them skipped a breath at two a.m.”
Gabe’s shoulder shook, and Monica cracked one eye open.
He was looking down at her with warm dark eyes and a soft smile. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Monica whispered. She didn’t move her head. “Thanks for the shoulder.”
“Thanks for banishing the ghost that was haunting my kid.”
“It’s not usually a service the hotel offers, but we try to go above and beyond for the fire department.”
Gabe smiled again. “Why are we still whispering?”
“Because my children have ears like cats, and before they get back, I want to do something.”
“What’s that?”
Monica put her hand on his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.
Gabe’s lips immediately moved over hers with purpose. He’d thought about kissing her, and it was evident. One hand cupped her cheek and the other tucked her hair behind her ear before it slid to the back of her neck. His lips were warm and firm; his tongue touched the corner of her lips without being pushy. His teeth caught her lower lip in a gentle bite before he drew back to take a breath.
“Yep,” Monica said.
“Yep what?”
“I thought you were going to be a good kisser, and you are.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not too bad yourself.”
“Thanks.” She pressed her lips together for a second. “Darn it. I forgot about my breath. I am so sorry.”
“Can I be honest? I didn’t even notice and my breath is probably pretty bad too. We drank a lot of coffee last night.”
“What time is it?”
Gabe’s arm stretched across her shoulders and he looked at his watch. It was an old-fashioned watch with a regular display. Nothing smart or electronic or connected to anything. Just a watch.
“It’s nearly two.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes.”
She wiped a hand over her eyes. “I wonder when the kids got here.”
“I think it was a few hours ago. Pretty sure I heard Sylvia taking charge and ordering her brothers around while she got reports on Kara and Logan.”
“She’ll do that.”
“Order everyone around?”
“Yes. She was always my second-in-command. When you have three boys, it’s necessary.”
“Chain of command. I can understand that.” He reached out both his arms and stretched his shoulders. “I am going to be sorry that I slept that long in a hospital chair.”
“I don’t think we had an option.” Monica flexed her ankles. “My hips are going to hate me later.”
They both stood and stretched. Monica could hear the popping and crackling of both their joints.
“I would make a comment about the next time we sleep together being on a flat surface,” Gabe said, “but that seems forward.”
“More forward than telling you I had a sex vision about you?”
His chuckle was low and seductive. “About that vision—”
“Mom!” Caleb charged into the waiting room. “We got you coffee. I think it’s still hot.”
“Thank you, baby.” She patted his cheek when he bent down to hug her. “Gabe, this is my youngest, Caleb.”
“Youngest by four minutes.”
“But I felt every four of those minutes,” Monica said, “so they count.”
Caleb turned and held his hand out to Gabe. “You’re Logan’s dad. He seems like a cool kid.”
“Thanks.” Gabe looked up, swamped by the linebacker-sized man who was her baby. “Is he awake?”
Sylvia charged into the waiting room, her hands on her hips. “I told you not to wake them up!”
“They were a
lready awake.”
“Did you get them their coffee then?”
“No, I was—”
“Get their coffee while it’s still hot.” Sylvia turned to Gabe. “Sorry. Caleb got you coffee with milk. There’s sugar on the side. We don’t know how you take it.”
“He doesn’t take sugar,” Monica said. “Thanks, honey.”
Sylvia raised her eyebrow. “So you know how he takes his coffee?”
Monica glanced at Gabe, then back at her daughter. “We’re not talking about this right now. I want to see Kara and Logan.”
Sylvia shot Gabe a smile. “Later.” She took Monica’s arm and leaned down. “Tan guapo, Mami.”
“You think he doesn’t speak Spanish?” Monica shook her head.
“I’m a little rusty,” Gabe said. “But I got that.”
Sylvia cackled. “This is gonna be fun.”
At the end of the day, Logan was treated for dehydration, a few cuts and bruises, but nothing more serious than that. He was confused by how he’d gotten up to the old cabin, but he didn’t remember much.
There had been no fire, so there was nothing for Gabe to investigate. The two Peraltas went home that afternoon when Logan was released.
Kara’s case was another story. Two of her burns would require skin grafts, and she was facing criminal arson charges.
Sully sat with Monica, Val, Mark, and Robin in the waiting room. “I’m doing what I can.”
“Can Gabe alter his report to make it seem more…? I have no idea.” Monica took a deep breath. “It’s bad.”
“I think her state of mind is the key,” Mark said. “The lawyer seems to be pretty optimistic.”
The lawyer Mark had contacted to represent Kara was already talking with the district attorney about her history of anxiety and the unexpected side effects of her medication. He was optimistic that since Kara had turned herself in and confessed and none of the fires had caused significant property damage or injuries to anyone other than herself, she had a good chance at probation and counseling instead of jail time.
“I know Gabe is going to do everything he can to help her out,” Sully said. “As will I. Some of this is out of our hands, but we’ve both got a pretty good relationship with the DA. Kara is cooperative, and it’s obvious she’s telling the truth about not remembering the fires.”
Psychic Dreams: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Glimmer Lake Book 3) Page 21
