Ghost Trippin'

by Cherie Claire

  “We’ll figure it out,” I whisper and we slip into slumber.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep but I awake to find the bed bathed in soft blue moonlight. I sit up and gaze out the window to this giant orb hovering above the Gulf waters, its reflection on the waves below. Staring at the full moon and reveling in the love I just shared with TB, I’m reminded of what Mimi said, that the way of the Craft is connecting to the love that flows through nature. So many religions and ways to call the source that we come from and return to eventually, the spirit that energizes us and binds us together, but all I can think of to name this powerful feeling surging within me is love.

  I slip out of bed and pass Stinky on the chair, who gives me a wink. I scratch behind his ears and he gifts me with a heavy purr.

  “Love you Stinky,” I tell him.

  He winks again.

  I look back at my husband, his baby face peaceful in sleep.

  “Love you, husband.”

  I open the balcony doors and slip outside, not caring that I’m buck naked; there’s no one around this time of night anyway. I gaze up at the full moon, feeling amazingly at peace after such a stressful week. Love will do that to you, I think.

  And there’s then Lillye. For the first time since she left us I recall her without grief, without tears, without anguish. I sense her presence, hear her laughter as if she’s right behind me, feel those tiny fingers on my arm.

  “She is here with you,” a voice tells me, although I can’t make out who it is. “She’s always there and always will be.”

  This is when I normally resist, demand to see her, touch her, know she’s alright. But tonight, this overwhelming rush of love is enough. Deep in my heart, I know my baby’s okay, that I never truly let her go.

  I’m not sure what I’m doing but I hold my hands up to the moon like Mimi showed me, cupping its round shape like a chalice. I close my eyes, hear Lillye’s laugh again and allow that sweet sound to fill my heart. I then ask the goddess for her love, to guide me in my journey, to help me heal, and to make my marriage whole again. Visualizing the power of the moon pouring into my hands, I draw down the moon, showering the magic over my body.

  The rush is immediate, a fire igniting in my soul and shooting out through my body much like the joy I just experienced with TB. It takes my breath away and forces my eyes wide open wide. I absorb the beauty nature has bestowed upon me in this instant – the Gulf waves and its pulsing action, the bright glow of moonlight, the cool breeze teasing my hair.

  A love so intense fills me up and I want to stand here forever, but two arms snake around my waist and lips begin working their magic up my neck. I reach back and my hands find TB’s thighs, realize he’s as naked as I am, then turn and absorb every last inch of the man while he does the same to me. The rush of the moon remains, tingling my skin. I swear I see a light emanating from our bodies, but we’re too busy making our way back to bed, kicking off the blanket and merging once again for me to be sure. We throw all cares to the wind and for the second time that night I travel to heaven on a magic carpet ride of love.

  I hear the shower being turned off in the bathroom, the plumbing making a clunking sound as it does. I look over and the bed’s empty. Stinky’s still curled up in his chair, but he looks my way and winks.

  “What is it with cats and winking?” I ask.

  Stinky winks again.

  TB emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, looking like the love god I slept with the night before. “Oh, you’re up,” he says.

  I’m reminded of everything that happened last night so I know my face is burning bright red, not to mention the insipid smile on my face.

  “Hi.”

  You’d never know I was a writer.

  TB’s beaming as well. “Hi.”

  “Wow, twice in one night.”

  His smile fades and he runs a hand through his hair. The air suddenly changes from steam heat to chill. “Portia called, said to meet her in the lobby restaurant in fifteen minutes.”

  I don’t know what just happened but the turn in conversation was startling.

  “Okay. Does that give us time for another romp?” I suggest, hoping to see that smile again.

  My comment only makes it worse. TB looks pained for some reason.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He clears his throat and tries to shake it off. “Nothing, we just need to get going.”

  He grabs the clothes he’s placed on the bed and heads back toward the bathroom. I hear the door click shut.

  I look down at Stinky. “That was weird.”

  I’m not sure what to make of TB’s behavior so I pull my own clothes out of my bag, grateful that the end of the trip is near for I’m down to my last clean outfit. When TB emerges fully dressed, I pass him in the hall on the way to the shower and lean forward, hoping for a kiss. He delivers and there’s power behind the emotion but still, something feels off.

  I don’t inquire further, hope it’s all my imagination, so I hop in the shower. While I’m washing my hair — I do all my great thinking communing with Aveda products — I can’t help wondering if he’s regretting last night.

  “Don’t be silly,” I tell myself. “He said he loved me and he sure as hell proved it. Twice.”

  I dress and emerge from the shower with wet hair. It’s crazy curly so all I do is wash, shake, and wear but today it’s a bit more unruly than usual, more than likely due to that rain we had yesterday. TB has always loved my almost kinky hair and I’m about to make a joke about it when I catch him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from me, staring out the window. A shiver runs through me, because now he’s scaring me.

  “Are you okay?”

  TB straightens, turns, and offers up a smile, but it’s a half-hearted one. “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He stands and shrugs. “Just thinking. My uncle called and work’s picked up.” His shoulders rise and fall. “Back to reality, I guess.”

  I nod because that would definitely be a killjoy to the great sex we had last night. Still….

  I grab my purse and we head to breakfast, TB not saying much all the way to the elevator. When we get inside, he looks me over shyly.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You feeling okay?”

  “Yeah, why?” I attempt one last try at post-sex humor. “I had a busy night.”

  Whatever I was hoping would stir the man up falls flat. He swallows hard and turns toward the elevator door.

  “Do you regret last night?”

  His head shoots back around. “What? No!”

  I exhale the breath I’ve been holding but I’m still not convinced. We hit the lobby and head to the restaurant and spot Mimi and Portia cradling their coffee mugs like lifelines, seated around a large round table with several open seats.

  “Tough morning?” I ask, grabbing one.

  They both send me evil eyes.

  TB and I sit down and the waitress arrives. We both order coffees but TB claims he’s not hungry.

  “When are you not hungry?” Portia asks.

  That shiver returns but I ignore it. Maybe that’s the problem, he’s not feeling well.

  Just then Wanda strolls in wearing plain clothes. Her eyes betray a rough night and she sits down and asks for coffee and a biscuit. She, too, isn’t very hungry.

  “Clayton said he’d join us soon,” she tells us. “He wants to go over the details of the investigation.”

  “Is this the moment when he tells me I have one phone call?” I ask, half serious.

  Portia looks at me, then Wanda. “Vi’s not in trouble, is she?”

  Wanda shakes her head. “Most people in law enforcement dislike psychics but Clayton’s not one of them.”

  How did we get so lucky? In the past when I’ve told cops the truth about my abilities, I was rewarded with everything from raucous laughter to rudeness.

  TB’s phone vibrates and he glances down at the number, then rises.
“I’ll be right back.”

  We all watch him walk away while Mimi gushes about our victory the night before. “You should have seen them, Wanda. It was amazing. And they won five hundred.”

  Wanda sends me a smile but her heart’s not in it. Mine’s not either.

  The front lobby door opens, letting in a burst of fall air followed by Agent Clayton Ginsburg. His long legs carry him to our table in a few strides. We all make pleasantries and he sits down, tells the waitress coffee only.

  “So, what’s the story, morning glory,” Mimi says, trying to be lighthearted but none of us laugh. We’re dreading this conversation.

  “I’m afraid the body we found yesterday is that of Elena Gomez.”

  Wanda tenses and Mimi takes one of her hands and I the other.

  “Elena has been working with us for some time,” he continues.

  Wanda pulls her hands free. “What?”

  “She was instructed not to tell anyone except your boss. Secrecy is essential in this work. It’s for the safety of everyone she loves.”

  Wanda turns her head away, squinting her eyes. I take her hand once again and she lets me.

  Clayton looks toward me and Portia. “When your father got mixed up in all this — basically he and Elena were in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed the cartel murdering that woman — Elena asked that we protect him as well.”

  Portia frowns at this piece of news. “I don’t understand. They checked into a rehab clinic.”

  Clayton nods. “Your father was a mess. Katrina was heading toward New Orleans and he wanted desperately to get back to his family. But the cartel was on his heels and Elena was certain he’d be killed. They both saw too much at that park.”

  “What happened then?” Mimi asks.

  “At first, Elena hid him away with our assistance in McAllen and he started a serious drinking binge. There was no way he was getting back to New Orleans after the storm, so we advised him to go into hiding for a while and rehab sounded like a good start.”

  “Why did Elena go with him?” I ask.

  Clayton pauses and turns his pad around and around on the table. I’m wondering if he’s contemplating whether to tell us the truth or not.

  “Tell them,” Wanda whispers.

  “They killed two members of her family in Mexico,” Clayton says softly. “We thought it’d be the best thing, for her to lay low for a while until we could come up with a plan.”

  “And that plan was to put her in harm’s way?” Wanda almost shouts.

  Clayton leans forward. “She volunteered.”

  “And you let her.”

  “It’s our job, Wanda. You of all people know what’s involved. In all likelihood she and John Valentine saved lives getting us information on the cartel’s activities. That counts for something.”

  The tears fall down Wanda’s cheeks this time; she looks weary of holding them back. Mimi hands her a tissue and I slide a glass of water her way. Clayton’s rubbing his forehead. If he was friends with Elena, I figured this is hard on him as well.

  I think back on those days when Dad’s drinking got the best of him, the look of defeat on his face. Maybe this was his idea of penance, a way to help the universe since he failed to help his family.

  “Go on,” Portia says.

  “We sent them to Jack’s. We were on good authority that Jack was moving drugs from his nursery on Padre Island so we thought Elena and John showing up asking for help might bring the cartel there. And we were right.”

  Now it’s my turn to get emotional. “Didn’t you say they wanted to kill my father?”

  “Jack played the go-between, convinced him that your father would be a benefit to them.”

  Portia huffs. “How? He was Dean of Students at Loyola. He loved watching birds, for Christ sakes.”

  “Portia,” Mimi admonishes.

  “Exactly,” Clayton answers. “Your father knew those islands like the back of his hand. He came down there often to bird watch.”

  I close my eyes and groan. Birds. An owl got him into this mess and then birds were keeping him captive. Clayton looks at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. “His hobby likely saved his life.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’d really like to shoot that owl.”

  “Vi,” Mimi fuses again.

  “I’m just kidding, Aunt Mimi.”

  “And then what happened?” Portia asks, clearly impatient.

  “Jack got sloppy,” Clayton continues. “Left his computer on one night while he made a delivery and Elena stole vital information from the hard drive. The two of them took off. We had a backup plan, that if things got heated or they found what we needed, they were to head to Galveston and meet up with one of our agents. Elena made contact with the Galveston PD so they were expected. Even had a place for them to hide out.”

  Wanda wipes her cheeks and leans across the table. “So why did Elena get killed?”

  Clayton shakes his head. “They never made it.”

  “I don’t understand?” Mimi says. “The police yesterday told us about the apartment they had for them. And we found her body in Galveston.”

  “We were all set,” Clayton says, “waiting for their arrival, and they never showed. The cartel must have intercepted them on the way into town.”

  TB returns to the table and catches my eye. I get up and we both walk away from the group. “What’s up?” I ask him.

  “My uncle again. The Lake Charles job needs me so I’m heading over there now.”

  “What? To Lake Charles? Now?”

  He looks away, rubs his chin. “I can’t help it, Vi. They need me.”

  My mind’s racing thinking of the possibilities. “I guess we can head that way. We’re almost done here. Doesn’t look like we’ll learn anything more.”

  TB shakes his head. “I got a ride. My uncle was in Houston picking up supplies and he’s swinging by to get me.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m stunned, really. After our trip to heaven, this is beginning to feel like hell. News of my father’s involvement with the cartel, Elena’s horrific murder, and now TB’s avoiding eye contact and splitting.

  “When are you leaving?” I ask.

  “Uh….” He looks out the door and we spot a familiar pickup truck outside. “Right now, actually.”

  “Now?”

  He finally looks at me, kisses my forehead, and hugs me tight. “I’ll call you later, okay?” he whispers into my hair.

  Before I can say a word, TB releases me and heads to the front door where his bag is waiting. Sometime during breakfast he made arrangements with his uncle and packed his bags. He grabs the leather luggage and jumps inside his uncle’s truck, doesn’t once look back.

  I feel like an elephant has kicked me in the chest.

  “Vi,” I hear Mimi calling from behind.

  I swallow the hurt coating my throat and sit back down at the table. Even the air feels cooler without TB here.

  “Clayton was telling us that Jack confessed everything yesterday,” Portia says. “He said Elena and John disappeared one morning while he was on a delivery and by that afternoon Manuel Ruiz had called and said Elena had been taken care of.”

  “But, what does that mean?” Wanda asks.

  “We suspect that someone followed them after they left Jack’s place, your father escaped, and Elena was killed at the site of the old Stewart Mansion,” Clayton says. “That’s really all we have to go on.”

  Mimi looks around the table, her eyes settling on me. “Where’s TB?”

  I’m not able to answer with that elephant sitting on me so I ignore her.

  Clayton takes a long sip of his coffee, grows solemn. “A few weeks ago, Ruiz showed up at Jack’s and said your father’s dead and that he killed Peter Thomaston.”

  “Thomaston’s the drug lord?” Portia asks.

  “Yes. Ruiz’s boss.”

  Clayton spins his pad again and it takes everything in my power not to grab his hand and ma
ke him stop. “I wish we knew more, but Jack killed Ruiz. Apparently, according to Jack, Ruiz was going to turn state’s evidence and go into witness protection. And Jack couldn’t have that.”

  We all sit in silence, digesting this news.

  “The evidence Elena and my father stole?” Portia asks.

  “Never found, as far as we know. Jack said Ruiz didn’t have it.”

  “Are we in danger?” Mimi asks. “Will the cartel come after us?”

  We all gaze upon Clayton, holding our breaths. “With both of those men gone, no. Whatever Jack had on his computer, it most likely involved him, Ruiz and Peter Thomaston. And all three of those men are out of commission.”

  Clayton explains more about the investigation while the waitress refills coffee cups and asks if we enjoyed our breakfast. We all look down at our half-eaten plates and insist it was all delicious. She slips away, confused. After we have asked all the questions we can think of, Portia stands and stretches.

  “I guess it’s time to head home,” she says solemnly.

  We shake Clayton’s hand — except for Wanda who crosses her arms, sulking — and thank him for his time. When it’s my turn, he hands me his card. “Most agents don’t believe in psychics and I’ll admit, I’m on the fence. But it’s hard to discount what you saw and discovered. If you ever have need of a federal agent, let me know.”

  I reach in my purse and pull out my card. “Same here. Although as I told you yesterday, I only see those who have died by water.”

  He pats the card against his wrist. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Once Clayton has left, we turn our attention to Wanda, circling her and offering a three-person embrace. Her arms are still firmly crossed but after a moment of our hugging, she relaxes, even laughs. “Oh, for goodness sakes, y’all.”

  We smile but our hearts are heavy. A moment gazing at an owl and an undercover agent following a lead left two lives cut short by ruthless men infiltrating America with drugs. But at least we have answers. And Wanda now has a body to return to Elena’s family for closure.

  “You heading back to McAllen?” Portia asks.