Far and Away

by Fern Michaels

  She’d been celebrating; Sophie knew this as she felt the woman’s anticipation. Focusing on the emotions coursing through the woman, Sophie again felt the woman’s fright when it rekindled the same fear in Sophie that had awoken her from a sound sleep. The first trickle of apprehension coursed through her, the woman, as Sophie’s external self would refer to her.

  A tinge of alarm was replaced by an icy-cold fear that permeated the woman as she called out a name. Sophie homed in on the words that only she could hear.

  “Theodore?”

  Anxious, Sophie concentrated on the name, hoping that her perceptiveness would lead her to find the meaning behind the woman’s fear as she spoke the man’s name. Again, centering every ounce of her psychic abilities on the emotions felt by this woman, she experienced a stabbing fear so great, she felt panicky. Acknowledging her gift, yet sometimes unsure of her own power, Sophie felt the force of the woman’s complete and utter fear spread through her nervous system like an electrical jolt.

  Leaning forward in the chaise lounge, Sophie catapulted from her visions of another’s past and became instantly aware of her present surroundings. She was sitting in the backyard, her pack of cigarettes lying on the small table beside her. Her hands shook as she reached for the lighter and smokes. This dream, this vision, this clairsentience, if that’s what had just happened, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Last year, she’d discovered this ability when two children had gone missing. She’d been able to touch their possessions, feel their emotions in real time, seeing through their eyes as they’d been led down into a dank basement in Charleston. By the grace of God, the police found them before they were shipped off to a known pedophile.

  But this experience was different. She knew she was seeing through the woman’s eyes, and the woman had lived in the early 1920s. Sophie could almost feel the lightness of her undergarments, something very different from the corsets of the previous decade. Most likely she was wearing a chemise or a camisole and bloomers. Her low-waisted gown with the just-below-the-knee hemline and the bodice typical of the time was made of the finest silk embellished with rhinestones that sparkled when the right lighting hit them. She was waiting at the top of the staircase for her husband. All of this Sophie knew.

  That’s it, Sophie thought. Theodore was the woman’s husband!

  Sophie took some deep breaths, hoping to steady her erratic heartbeat. Confused and trying to make sense of what she’d seen as she reached for yet another cigarette, she almost jumped out of her skin as she heard the back door slam.

  Placing a shaking hand on her chest, she shouted, “Damn you, Goebel, you just about scared the life right out of me.”

  Goebel, wearing a navy robe and carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, sat down at the foot of the chaise. “When I woke up, you were gone. Figured I’d find you out here huffing.” He held the coffee cup out for her.

  She sipped at the hot brew, then placed the cup on the table. “Huffing? Goebel, you’re going to have to check your choice of words in the future. Do you really know what huffing is?” Sophie didn’t want to talk about her dream, her vision, just yet. Still the world’s leading expert at changing the subject when it suited her, most often to distract her from her own thoughts, she raised an eyebrow, demanding an answer. “Well, do you?” she asked again. She pulled her legs up to her chest and drank her coffee, patiently waiting for her husband of one year and one day, almost, to answer.

  Goebel sighed, patted her on her knee, and took a sip of his coffee. “Why do I think you’re about to tell me?” he asked, his voice laced with humor.

  “I can’t believe you, a former New York police officer, don’t know what huffing is.”

  “Okay, Soph, you got me on that one. Of course I know what it is. It’s called all kinds of names. Bagging, dusting, sniffing. All ways to partake of a chemically soaked rag or a can of something, like cooking spray or Freon, and I’m sure there are more than even I know, but yes, to answer your question, I know what huffing is. Next time I refer to your cigarette habit, I’ll make sure not to use the word huffing. So now that that important information is out of the way, I would love to know why you, my intelligent and sexy wife, are lounging in the backyard in the wee hours of the morning?”

  Sophie couldn’t help it; she laughed. God, she loved this man. He knew her too well, but in her case, it was a good thing. “I wanted to huff.”

  They both laughed at her words.

  “Seriously,” Goebel coaxed. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Sophie knew he wasn’t asking if she was physically well. He wanted to know her mental state, if her psyche was in a good place. Not wanting to discuss her vision just yet but knowing she would tell him soon enough anyway, she asked, “Another cup of coffee?” That would give her a few much-needed minutes to try to figure out how exactly to explain what she’d seen to Goebel.

  He reached for her cup. “Two minutes.” Light on his feet since he’d lost over a hundred pounds with their friend Mavis’s encouragement and rigid diet, he hurried inside, leaving her alone with her crazy thoughts.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell Goebel what had actually brought her outside in the wee hours of the morning. The problem was that she didn’t really know how to describe this very new experience. What she’d seen had been from the 1920s, close to a century ago. But that wasn’t what was really bothering her. No, her main concern was that something was nagging at her subconscious, something Sophie needed to know, something that the woman wanted her to know.

  For no reason that she could come up with, the words the attic came to mind. Sophie recalled several large trunks she’d seen when Goebel and she had first moved in to the old plantation house outside of Charleston, months earlier. At the time she didn’t give them too much thought. Old houses always had items left behind from previous owners. She’d planned on going through them, but the timing never seemed to be right. She always seemed to have more important tasks to attend to. Now, though, she knew that there was something she had to investigate and that whatever she was supposed to find would be in one or more of those trunks. She would immediately put the task on her to-do list.

  Goebel let the back door slam behind him, startling her. She sat cross-legged and put her smokes beside her, giving him room for the tray he carried. “You’ve either done something you don’t want me to find out about, or you’re trying to butter me up. Which is it?” Sophie asked, as Goebel refilled her mug.

  He snickered. “Neither. Now, quit stalling and tell me why you’re out here at this ungodly hour.” He’d put prepackaged blueberry muffins on two plates, along with the butter dish. He sliced a muffin in half, slathering it with butter. “Is that real?” Sophie asked, eyeing the butter.

  Goebel continued to swipe the butter on the muffin. “No, it’s not. If you don’t stop stalling, I might be forced to rub this fake butter all over you. Then of course we would be forced to shower together to clean ourselves, or I could just lick—”

  “I get your drift, Mr. Blevins.”

  “And?”

  “I know you’ll accuse me of stalling, but I’m being serious. When you bought this house, did you research its history? Did you get the names of any previous families who’d lived here? Did Toots share anything with you?”

  Goebel had formally proposed to her the night he took her to see this house, telling her it was theirs to do with as they pleased. He’d actually carried her across the threshold. She smiled at the memory.

  “As you know, Toots had the place for a few years. Before she bought it, it was owned by the great-great nephew of the original plantation owners. I think it was built sometime in the first half of the nineteenth century, maybe in the eighteen thirties. I think that the great-great-nephew inherited it sometime in the nineteen seventies or eighties, maybe a hundred and fifty or so years after it was built. Why all the sudden interest? I thought you hated history.”

  “Do you know the great-great nephew’s name?”


  “It’s somewhere in all the papers I have. Is it important? If so, I’ll go look now.”

  Sophie took a pull of her lukewarm coffee. “It’s important, yes, but you don’t need to look now. This is so strange, I’m not sure how to put it into words.”

  “You’re never at a loss for words, Soph,” Goebel encouraged.

  As the sun started its ascent, the sky became a hazy bluish gray, replete with oranges and pinks. The birds were chirping loudly, and, from somewhere in the distance, Sophie could hear a car door slam. Most likely that little place across the road, where a young couple lived. She’d yet to meet them but had seen them coming and going. Probably yuppies, she thought, with jobs downtown in Charleston.

  “You’re distracted, Soph. Go on, try to focus and tell me why you came outside so early.”

  “I thought I was dreaming when I first woke. I was sweating, my heart felt like it was going to explode. I was nervous and shaky, thinking I’d had a nightmare. I felt a woman’s fear and pain, saw her as she tumbled down a set of stairs, but it wasn’t like I was seeing this as it happened now. This wasn’t in real time like those kids who went missing last year. This was in the nineteen twenties. The woman—that’s what I’ve been calling her in my mind—wore a low-waisted dress with a hemline and bodice typical of the early nineteen twenties. She had on a chemise or camisole and bloomers, no corset. That’s what is so weird. I felt the lightness of her undergarments. Very different from what I would have felt had she been wearing a corset.

  “As you can see”—she touched her nightgown—“there is nothing at all restraining here.” She wore a loose, light green, cotton gown with a pocket. Sophie was big on pockets. “This is perfectly comfortable, with no pressure on me at all. And that was the same way that woman’s undergarments felt.”

  “I can see that, but you know I like you better without it,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye. “Now, go on and finish your story. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Sophie reached for his hand, giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll hunt you down if you do.”

  “Never. I love you too much.”

  “Ditto, sweet man. Keep talking to me that way, and I’ll never get the words out.”

  “And you’re stalling,” Goebel said, leaning forward to place a light kiss on her nose.

  “As I was telling you, I could feel what the woman felt, see through her eyes, but nothing more. I can’t identify her, I haven’t held any items belonging to her, or at least any that I know of. But as she went tumbling down the stairs, she called out the name Theodore. That’s an old name, not that common now. I feel as though there is something I’m missing, like this woman, whoever she is, wants me to know . . . that’s just it, I don’t know what it is she wants me to know. When you went inside a few minutes ago, the words the attic came to me. I think this woman wants me to look in those trunks. Sounds crazy, but it is what it is. Tell me, Mr. Detective, does this make any sense at all?”

  “It’s not too far off from the messages you get during a séance. Maybe you should have the girls over tonight, hold a séance, see if this woman, whoever she is, will try to make contact with you. It’s worked in the past, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t work now.”

  Sophie pondered the idea. In the past, séances had always been held at Toots’s place. Since she and Goebel had moved into the house, she’d kept one small room, located at the top of the stairs and around the corner, for that express purpose. Nothing had been touched. The walls were still covered in wallpaper, a faded pattern that neither she nor Toots had been able to identify. It didn’t matter to her, but there was something about that particular room that said leave it alone. In her mind, it had already become her séance room, though she had yet to hold a single séance there. She and Goebel had had several psychic investigating jobs, but they all took place in other people’s old homes and buildings. Old haunting grounds, she liked to think of them.

  “Yes, I think you’re right. I’ll call Toots and see if I can drag her away from Jonathan and Amy for a few hours.” Toots’s daughter Abby and her husband Chris were now the proud parents of one-year-old twins. Toots rarely let a day go by without seeing her grandson and granddaughter. Of course, Sophie, Mavis, and Ida all used any and every excuse under the sun to see the precious pair as well. After all, they were all Abby’s godmothers and had been friends for decades. The twins had brought even more joy and light into all of their lives. Poor kids were going to be so spoiled by the time they reached school age that poor Abby would have to homeschool the pair of them. Sophie thought this a good idea, and would mention it to Abby the next time she saw her. She couldn’t bear the thought of those two spending hours and hours away at school.

  Sophie downed the last of her coffee, grabbed the tray, and tossed her smokes and lighter into her pocket. “Come inside, Goebel. You have papers to search through, and I have to make a phone call.”

  Goebel shook his head, a goofy grin on his face. Hot damn, he’d never been this happy ever. And it just kept getting better and better.

  Chapter Two

  Sophie, now showered and dressed, busied herself making another pot of coffee while Goebel searched the records for the house. “What’s taking you so long?” she called out as she filled two clean mugs with coffee. None of that two-hundred-dollar-per-pound stuff from the Philippines that Toots had bought. Nope, she and Goebel liked the good old three-dollar Folgers brand.

  Goebel was so different from that idiot first husband of hers, Walter. Marriage the second time around for her had been nothing like her first. Almost daily, she discovered things about Goebel, good things, things that showed his strength of character, things that made her love him just a little bit more with each passing day. Walter, the old bastard whom she hoped was roasting in the fires of alcoholic hell, had been an abuser, a drunk, and, once he’d lost his job at the bank, a lazy son of a bitch.

  Goebel was a man. A real man. He cared for her, always put her needs before his, and never, since the first night they’d spent together as husband and wife, had he gone to sleep without telling her how much he loved her. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she dabbed at them with a tea towel. If he saw her bawling, he’d tease her to no end, especially if she told him why. Good old, pure happy tears. Nothing more.

  “Be there in a minute,” Goebel called from the other room.

  “Gotcha,” she answered.

  She looked at the clock on the stove. It was already six thirty. She’d better call Toots now or she’d miss her. Taking the portable phone and her coffee out to the veranda, she punched in the number she knew by heart. She and Toots called each other every day. No matter what.

  “Hello.”

  “Bernice, it’s me. Put Toots on the phone. It’s very important,” Sophie said in her most professional voice. She crossed her fingers.

  “Oh, hold on,” Bernice said in her usual dragged-out tone. Bernice was still alive and kicking two years after major heart surgery. In fact, Sophie thought, the old coot was better than ever. She’d been screwing Robert, the new neighbor, for the past year. Good for her, she thought, but no way in hell was Sophie going to tell this to Bernice. She loved the older woman, but she loved aggravating her even more.

  “Sophie. What’s up?” Toots asked.

  “Glad I caught you. I figured you would be at Chris and Abby’s with the kids.”

  “No, not now. I promised Abby I would stop coming over before nine in the morning. She said she and Chris need family time alone with the twins. Of course, I agreed with her, but I truly don’t because I am their grandmother, and the last time I heard, that was considered family, too. But, you know Abby, headstrong as ever. More so since she’s become a mother. She watches those two little ones like a hawk.” Toots stopped to catch a breath.

  “I agree with you one hundred percent, but that isn’t what I called to talk about. Do you think Mavis and Ida, and yourself, of course, could come over tonight, say around nine o’clock, when it’s dark
? I want to have a séance.”

  “Oh shit, Sophie, for the love of God, are you really serious? At nine o’clock? Why so late?”

  “Oh my gosh! You are really turning into an old woman! Why, nine o’clock is the beginning of the evening for Goebel and me. Hell, we’re up all hours doing all kinds of fun and nasty stuff.” Sophie laughed and heard Toots follow suit.

  “Phil and I have been spending our evenings preparing for his book-launch party. All the big guns will be there. He’s nervous. Told me that open-heart surgery was far less nerve-racking. His book is good, Soph. Really, really good. I think he’s every bit as good as Robin Cook. He’s onto something with these medical thrillers.”

  How well Sophie knew. His success in the book world would far surpass his career as a cardiac surgeon, at least on the financial side. The importance scale, not so much. She’d told this to Toots before, and Sophie knew that Toots had never told Phil of her prediction.

  “And I can’t wait to read it once it’s published, you know that. However, I’ve had an . . . let’s say another unusual experience. I’m not sure if this is another episode of clairsentience, but it’s alarming me enough that I feel I must do something. Goebel suggested a séance and I think that he’s exactly right. I’m going to have it in the room, you know the one, with the strange-looking wallpaper?”

  “Yes, and I also know there is something extra creepy about that room. I felt it the last time I was over. I don’t know why I didn’t mention it to you,” Toots said.

  Sophie knew what she meant, but to her it wasn’t a feeling of creepiness. No, not creepiness but something altogether different, and that’s another thing that really puzzled her. She could not pinpoint what it was that bothered her about the room. She knew, without a doubt, that whatever it happened to be was connected to her vision this morning. How she knew it and why she was just now acknowledging it was a total mystery. And those were things that she needed to find out.