One can never be too careful.
She pulled up to the quaint, early 20th-century colonial house she was staying in and shut off the engine. Her lips curved as she looked down at her dog.
“Today has been an exciting day, my darling,” she said, scratching Gatsby playfully behind his ears. His tongue lolled out lovingly as he leaned into her hand, his auburn and white fur soft beneath her skin.
She glanced up at the house, noting it was one of the few on the street glowing with light and teeming with sound. At this late hour only the creatures of the night thrived and danced as the demons do in Hell. But these were her people, her crowd. These were the misfits of society—the lonely, downtrodden, and forsaken. She always found herself drawn to those who defied convention and lived true to their nature, preferring freedom of restriction to conformity.
She herself had long since broken away from the rigidity of such a life. Never again would she be bound by its chains.
Unbuckling her seat belt, she slipped from the car and grabbed her emerald green, beaded purse. Gatsby hopped out on cue, following her as she made her way up the short walkway to the front door. She considered slipping in the back instead, but knew she was more likely to run into Dominic if she did so. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she needed to be alone.
As she entered the house, a wave of smoke, acoustic guitar, laughter, and loud voices hit her. She shut the door and went straight for the stairs, avoiding the living room where several people lounged, high on more than just life itself.
Before she could take the first step, she felt an arm wind around her waist and pull her close against a long, lean body she had known for more years than she could count. She felt his breath on her neck as he nuzzled against her, the scent of Jack Daniels invading her senses.
“I need to rest, Dominic,” she began, already attempting to pull free. “Please leave me be.”
He grinned lazily, the haze of whatever high he’d ventured into that night clouding his eyes. “You rest too damn much, Jackie. Life should be lived, moment by moment, second by second.”
They’d been on and off again lovers, always ending with her goodbye and beginning again with his hello. They tended to wind up in the same places, though she didn’t always attribute that to fate. She just knew he possessed a lonely heart and a lost soul beneath all the tanned skin, tattoos, and needle marks.
She started up the stairs, dragging him along like dead weight. Gatsby charged ahead of her, ears flicking back and forth uneasily. As little as he was, he’d take a bite out of Dominic if he tried anything unseemly.
“I agree, but I’ve drained my energy for the day,” Jackie told him as she approached the bedroom they temporarily shared. She turned to face him, her eyes softening as she reached to cradle his cheek in her hand. She worried about him even though they were more friends than lovers these days. His path had and always would be a dangerous one. “Good night.”
He let her go, his long arm returning to his side as she slipped into the room. Once inside, she leaned up against the door and shut her eyes. Her hands came up to rest over her heart, and its gentle beating soothed her, centered her. She used its rhythm as an anchor to bring her back to reality.
Samhain, All Hallow’s Eve, was upon them. She sensed the spirit world writhing with renewed vigor, eager for the chance to mingle with the living. Soon they would get their wish.
Every year she was bombarded on that day, her senses flooded with the voices of the dead. This year would be no different. In fact, she had a feeling it would be much, much worse.
The spirits within the Sparrow House were already thriving. Upon Samhain, they might just take over the entire place.
* * *
When she pulled up to the Sparrow House the next evening, Jackie made sure she had her protective charms with her. She did one last check of her skirt pockets, feeling for her tiny bundle of sage, her vial of holy water, and her satchel of salt. Her hand came up to touch the tiny, silver cross necklace she wore specifically for days like this. Days when the break between the living and the dead was even wider than usual.
Satisfied that she was prepared, she slipped on her peacock feather masquerade mask and admired herself in the rearview mirror. Fixing a serene smile on her face, she left the car and approached the house.
The light breeze caught the ends of her sunny yellow skirt, sending it billowing around her legs. Her ebony curls hung loose down her back, nearly to her waist.
She spotted Grace sitting on the front porch steps, arms crossed and an anxious look on her face. When Grace noticed her, dry amusement replaced the anxiety.
“Aren’t we a little old to be dressing up?”
Jackie continued to smile. “When we feel we are too old for the little things, then we surrender to the boring and the mundane.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I guess the look suits you.”
Jackie settled onto the step beside her, removing the mask and setting it aside. She let her arms drape lazily over her knees, and the faint glow of the dying sun caught the silver of her numerous rings.
Around them, the neighborhood was oddly quiet. Most people had settled in for the night. Since no children lived on the street there was no reason to celebrate Halloween. A few had porch lights on just in case, but most were treating the night like any other.
Jackie knew better than to assume this night would be normal.
“There is motion in the air tonight,” she mused, staring around the yard. “We are not alone.”
Grace frowned. “You can drop the act with me. I won’t rat you out to the guys, I promise.”
Jackie glanced over at her, an innate curiosity and humor brightening her face. “Then you can drop your act as well, darling. I promise not to rat you out, either.”
“What act is that, exactly?” Grace asked, meeting the other woman’s eyes directly. Up close, she realized that Jackie’s features were not nearly as perfect as she had earlier thought them to be. There were soft lines of heartache, pain, and even suffering written into the planes of her face and burrowed in the depths of her eyes. Instead of making her less beautiful, however, it only made her beauty more compelling.
But what did that pain and suffering say about the woman? How could she seem so aloof and carefree if she had known great heartache in her life? Grace desperately wished she knew the answer. She could use some advice in that department.
“You have built a wall around you for protection. It hinders your sight,” Jackie explained, her voice taking on a wistful, ethereal tone. She stared off into the night sky, her lips upturned in a knowing smile. “You peek over your own wall constantly, wanting to be a part of what’s happening around you, but fear holds you back. Let the wall come down and things will make themselves right again.”
Troubled, Grace looked away and rubbed at her temple, feeling a headache coming on. And the night had only just begun.
“That’s all very philosophical of you, but I know my own mind. And rationalizing the paranormal is something I just don’t have the energy to do.”
“Life is more satisfying when we accept that we do not know everything,” Jackie told her, watching as the moon began its slow ascent over the trees. “Tonight, there will be more things you won’t understand than things you will.”
Before Grace could think of something to say in response, Ian and Alex both emerged from inside the house. Alex brightened instantly at the sight of Jackie.
“Hey! I was wondering when you’d be back,” he greeted, reaching for her hand to help her up. She rose to her feet, holding the peacock feather mask in her hands.
Without a word, she slipped the mask over his head, fastening it in place. She stepped back to admire him with a smile. “Marvelous.”
Alex looked to his partner. “Ian, I think this should be the new look for our show.”
Ian coughed, horrified by the thought. “No.”
“Why not?” Alex reached over and casually draped an arm over
Jackie’s shoulders. “We could be the masked ghost hunters. Say that they keep us impervious to negative energy so no evil spirits follow us home. It’s brilliant.”
“Oh, my God.” Grace buried her face in her hands and broke into laughter, while Ian sighed.
“Can we just get on with the investigation?”
“We have to eat first,” Alex protested, removing the mask. “I will not be forced to go hungry again.”
Jackie giggled as Grace looked up at him. “I wasn’t notified that I have to feed you people.”
Ian sighed. “You don’t. We can go get something and come back.”
“I know how to make a splendid tortilla soup,” Jackie suggested.
Alex beamed at her. “That sounds amazing. Let’s do that.”
“With what ingredients?” Grace pointed out. “I don’t really cook. Nellie brings me food.”
“Then run over and ask Nellie for the ingredients,” Ian told her, running with the idea. “I could make us some tacos, too. I’ll make a list and you can go get everything.”
He disappeared inside and Alex and Jackie followed him in, excitedly talking about the soup.
“Oh, sure. I can go get everything. And then you can shove it up your ass,” Grace grumbled to herself as she got to her feet. She was being outvoted and overrun in her own house. The old her would have never put up with it.
Then again, the old her wouldn’t have heard strange voices in the middle of the night, either. Nor would she have humored ghost enthusiasts in their hunt for evidence.
No, the old Grace would be too important and busy to give an ounce of her time to any of it.
But even she wouldn’t have turned down a bowl of homemade tortilla soup.
* * *
The scent of poblano peppers and tomatoes filled the house, blending with the hot spices of Ian’s signature carne asada. Grace made herself useful by chopping up tomatoes, onions, and cilantro, while Alex toyed with his camcorder at the dining table. Ian and Jackie bustled around the kitchen, silently building a masterpiece.
When they all sat down to eat, Grace eyed the carne asada warily.
“You’re really going to make me eat this, aren’t you?” she asked Ian, lifting a thin piece of meat between her fingers.
He flashed her a proud smile. “You haven’t lived till you’ve tried my carne asada, Doc.”
“I suppose I won’t live much longer after trying it, either.” She sighed, then bit hesitantly into the piece of steak. As she chewed, her eyes narrowed and held his.
“Well?” He filled a corn tortilla with meat and crisp green cilantro as he watched her.
Her chin lifted imperiously. “It’s okay.”
“Why can’t you just admit you like it?”
“Because I’m stubborn.” She grabbed a tortilla and piled more carne asada onto it. “Take my going for more as confirmation that I enjoyed it well enough.”
“I could eat this every day,” Alex piped in cheerfully, already through one taco and halfway done with a bowl of soup. He smiled at Jackie. “Both talented and beautiful. Are you sure you’re real?”
Jackie sipped at her bowl of soup, forgoing a spoon. “Are we ever one-hundred percent confident of what is real and what isn’t?”
“Grace thinks she is,” Ian said, earning an icy stare from her across the table.
“The human mind is capable of all kinds of fallacies,” Grace replied, lifting her glass of wine as she fell into her element. “Paranoid schizophrenics can hear voices. Focal seizures in epileptic patients can elicit visual hallucinations. Dementia can cause psychosis and bring on aggression. So, the statement that we are not one-hundred percent confident of reality is certainly true for many people. Not all, but many.”
“What did you specialize in as a doctor?” Ian asked, his blue eyes intent on hers.
“I’m a surgeon. I work at the most prestigious hospital in Chicago, just like my father and grandfather before me.”
“You work with your dad? That must be cool,” Alex said.
Grace froze, realizing the slippery path she was heading down. Her heart rolled over in distress, torn by that perpetually gaping wound. She fought back the feelings and looked to Alex with a forced smile.
“Not anymore.” She rose from her chair and began gathering their plates, taking them into the kitchen so she could clean up. She was grateful that they didn’t push her further about her father.
“Well, it’s almost nine o’clock,” Ian announced, checking his watch. “We might as well get started.”
Jackie swept into the kitchen to help Grace while Ian and Alex went upstairs to double-check their equipment. As she began washing plates in the old farmhouse sink, Jackie tilted her head to smile at Grace. “The doctor is your father,” she said quietly, sympathy in her eyes.
Grace’s lips pursed in anger as she dried off the plates that Jackie handed to her. “I don’t see how it’s your business.”
“He sent the ghost hunters to help you.”
Grace sighed. “You know, I want to like you. I really do. But if you piss me off, don’t be surprised when I kick you out of my house.”
Jackie cleaned the last dish and looked at Grace as she handed it over. There was no hostility, no judgment in her eyes. Only empathy. “You come from a rough world. You’ve seen more death than most will ever see in a lifetime. A five-year-old boy died on your operating table just days before you lost your parents.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “How…”
“Your wall has all kinds of inscriptions upon its surface, Grace.”
Deeply disturbed, Grace turned away, unable to look at the woman any longer. She fought to catch her breath, the memory of losing the boy that night coming back to her. She’d almost forgotten about that, had lost it under the heavier weight of her parents’ deaths. But now, reliving the experience of having to deliver the news to the boy’s parents was crushing down on her like a hundred-ton boulder.
Her arms clutched her torso, the pain too great to bear. She sat down in one of the dining chairs and shut her eyes.
Jackie said nothing as she sat beside her, reaching for Grace’s hand with a comforting squeeze.
When Grace felt she could speak again, she tried hard not to cry. “Is this all real?”
“It is real if you want it to be,” Jackie said quietly, sorry to see such pain. She wished she had the power to relieve Grace of all the darkness that plagued her. “If you can’t handle it, then you don’t have to. You can leave this house.”
“No, I can’t,” Grace choked out, eyes on fire as she looked up from the table. “I tried to leave, but I was pulled back here by something. I don’t know how, or why, but it wouldn’t let me go. She won’t let me go.”
Jackie nodded, understanding. She squeezed Grace’s hand again. “Then you must learn to accept what you cannot control, what you cannot rationalize. It is the only way to see this through to the end.”
“What happens at the end?” Grace wondered aloud, feeling helpless and lost.
“No one knows.” Jackie’s eyes drifted to the grandfather clock and became unfocused, misty. When she spoke again, there was great sadness, and even a hint of fear, in her voice. “There are monsters here.”
Grace found she had nothing to say in response. Instead, she simply held Jackie’s hand, not realizing just how badly she had needed the comfort the gesture offered.
Just then, Ian and Alex came down the stairs. Alex hoisted his professional grade camcorder up onto his shoulder, while Ian grabbed his digital recorder and Mel Meter. Alex had a small backpack with other equipment in it that he slung over his other shoulder. They turned to face the women, looking determined and focused.
Ian’s mouth spread in an adrenaline-charged smile. “We’re ready.”
* * *
They turned off all the lights in the house and armed themselves with flashlights. Alex instructed Grace and Jackie to leave the flashlights off unless it was absolutely necessary. Grace held he
rs like a weapon, not appreciating having to walk around in the dark. It made it easier that some faint moonlight trickled in through the windows.
“I’m going to start filming now,” Alex told them. He stood back and focused in on the others, watching them through the screen of his camcorder as he hit record.
Ian faced the camera and began his introduction, giving a brief background on the house and on Grace and Jackie. He explained some of the experiences that Nellie had, and named off the key locations where they had set up static night vision cameras to capture any activity both upstairs and downstairs.
“The most important area is the basement, so we want to focus most of our attention there,” Ian continued, nodding to Jackie. “Jackie, will you lead the way and give us an idea of what you see and feel?”
Jackie waved graciously at the camera and approached the door to the basement, focusing her senses. Despite the darkness, her vision was alive. Earlier, she had noticed things—shadows—slithering over the walls, but had ignored them. Now, she purposely sought them out and found they weren’t the only energy pulsating within the home.
There was misery like molten lava oozing over the floor, sliding through the rooms of the first floor like a plague. It shifted like a living, breathing thing, black as coal. A shiver ran across her skin, an effect of witnessing such an unnatural entity. It was compiled of residual energy and dark, dark pain. An old suffering that had lain dormant in the house for a very long time.
She considered this as she tried to put into words what she was seeing. “There’s a dark energy on the floor…some of it slithers up the walls.” Her eyes drifted upward to the ceiling light in the living room. “It’s pouring out of the light bulb like rain…”
The others were silent as she continued to gaze around, trying to make some sense of what she was witnessing. That was always the hardest part for her. Most times, the spirit energy she observed was so chaotic, so extraordinarily frenzied, that it was difficult to judge the source or the meaning behind it. Then other times, there was a direct point of origin for what she experienced, and a spirit would make themselves known to her personally. Those were the most emotionally and mentally draining of experiences, as they required so much of her focus and energy. But she knew they could be helpful when trying to determine what kind of turmoil resided in a home.
So Fell The Sparrow Page 11