Sinful Silence

by David Clark

  Jordan didn’t say anything as he slipped a clean white under shirt over his head and then donned his light blue button up. As he tucked it in, he walked toward the door. “The reservation? Remember?”

  “Yea. Yea,” she said as she let a hand brush his chest.

  That simple touch stirred something deep inside and managed to move that single consuming thought out of his head, but only for a moment. That moment ended as he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. When he pulled back, she stayed frozen. “Shall we get going?”, he asked.

  9

  “I sure hope that phone looks better than I do in a pink bra and pantie set.”

  Jordan fumbled with his phone, almost dropping it in the bowl of Gazpacho in front of him. It clanked off the lip of the bowl, somersaulted after a bounce on the table down to the floor. He leaned down to get it, half distracted. The other half was embarrassed. The image of Megan in what she described flashed in his mind. Maybe he had been working too hard. There was no maybe about it, and now it was beyond that. It was an obsession. “Sorry,” he mumbled and sat back up, putting the phone on the table beside his bowl.

  “It’s okay. I can tell something is on your mind. You haven’t gone more than five minutes without checking your phone. If I was anyone else, I would be more than a bit miffed,” Megan said waving a breadstick at him with each word.

  “I am sorry.” This time Jordan looked right into her eyes as he delivered the apology.

  Megan took a sip of white wine from the crystal goblet that sat before her and then placed both elbows on the table, propping her head on her hands as she leaned forward toward him. “It’s okay,” she assured him in a voice that was both comforting and seductive to the soul. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No,” Jordan said calmly, half catching his eyes starting to cut toward his phone. “Let’s not.”

  “Okay.” Megan leaned back in her chair and picked up her soup spoon.

  Jordan wasn’t much of a fan for appetizers, or multiple courses. He wasn’t a big eater at all. A grazer might be a better description. His meals were small, but the trips to the kitchen during the day were numerous for nuts, fruits, and anything else he could munch on while working. A dinner like he was having now was the oddity, but it was a splurge he accepted and appreciated wholly. There was something about 22 Square’s Gazpacho and the roasted pork that he couldn’t resist. Of course, Megan always ordered a plate of stuffed mushrooms as a starter and if he didn’t eat at least two, she would never leave him alone. With each dip of the spoon into the chilled Spanish soup, his eyes snuck a peak at the phone for a missed call or message, and hoped he hadn’t been caught.

  “You sure?”

  “Sure about what, Megan?”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she asked, almost pouting.

  “I am sure. I am fine. Let’s just have a nice dinner. Why don’t you tell me about your next show?”, Jordan suggested. He wanted to change the topic to get his mind off of its obsession.

  Across the table from him, a spoon fell the distance of fifteen inches and banged against the white porcelain bowl. A single red drop sloshed out on to the white tablecloth, while the silver utensil bounced up and landed on the table, skidding dangerously close to the edge. “Jordan Blake. You better start telling me what is wrong right now, or I... or I...” she exhaled heavily.

  Both hands went to her hips and then shot to the table. Her fingers drummed a rhythm on the table that sounded like the executioner coming for Jordan. He had seen this before, only this time he didn’t have a clue what he did wrong. Though he had a feeling he was about to find out. Megan was never a person who bottled up her feelings.

  “In all these years, you have never once asked me about my show. So, what is it? And you better not say nothing. We are going to sit here all night until you spill it, or I might just have to talk a bit louder. We don’t have secrets.”

  Jordan looked around at the other tables. Usually when she spoke that fast, her volume increased proportionally to the speed, but so far it appeared no one else had taken notice. The stern look that stared at him from the opposite side of the table waited for his response. A response he knew he would need to give. There was part of him that thought it might do some good to tell her. She claimed to be a medium, something Jordan was still not completely convinced of. Based on their past conversations he didn’t doubt she knew her stuff about that world, making her perspective of certain events valuable and beneficial. He had benefited from them in the past. The only voice that kept him from opening up was the one that always spoke to him in times like this. This was bureau business. A real case. Worst of all, it was a case he wasn’t assigned to yet. In the past he had been able to talk about a generic theory. Could he strip this down to that? He wasn’t sure.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  Megan’s expression changed from stern to disappointed. He could see the glow she had earlier dull, as she sunk back into her chair. Her shoulders slumped and then her focus, which had been on him all night, even though his hadn’t been on her, waned and wandered around the restaurant. As her mood descended from the bliss the evening started with, Jordan felt his follow. He had never met a woman who wore her feelings on her face as much as Megan did. Her eyes were the windows to her soul. Nothing was ever hidden. If you wanted to know how she felt at that moment, you could just look at her.

  “Is it about yesterday?”, Megan asked without looking at him.

  Jordan said, “No. Look, it is nothing important. Just something in a case that has me bugged that is all.”

  Megan shook her head, again not looking at him. Instead, she gazed out the window at the people walking by. Old fashioned gas lamps lit the sidewalk creating an interesting intersection of time. A world that looked much like it did a century ago. Brick covered roads, gas lamp lanterns, the occasional horse and buggy coming down the road, of course those were now full of tourists seeking a romantic connection with the old world. Those that walked the sidewalk, or road in the buggies, looked down at their cell phones or used them to take pictures. Jordan often wondered what the spirits he saw wandering the roads of this old city thought of how the world had changed. “I’m not buying it Jordan. I know you well enough and have seen when something bugs you. This has you consumed, almost spooked. I sensed something when I walked up on you earlier.”

  “You what?”, Jordan gasped.

  “There was something on you. Like an after image of something you encountered. I run into them a lot when I visit a haunted place or someone who has had an encounter. I have felt it on you a lot in the past.”

  “Something is on me?”, he was concerned. The observation Megan had just shared with Jordan was both fascinating and disturbing. This may be the first bit of proof he’d seen that Megan had a little something like he did, that or she had made a lucky guess. The thought of something attached or lingering disturbed him. Jordan ran across plenty of case studies of where a paranormal entity clung on to someone and followed them to torment them and everyone they came in contact with.

  “Not now, but you have been around a spirit recently.. and,” she paused, and squinted her eyes and leaned forward to make an imaginary circle around Jordan’s face with her finger. “That is what is bothering you. Something you encountered and you are not sure how to get the others to believe you?”

  Either she was getting good at reading Jordan, or this was another lucky guess. Either way, she wasn’t going to let this drop. Jordan knew that for a fact. He had to say something, or the rest of the evening would be like this. Not that this was completely a bad thing. There was something cute about her trying to play detective and working the problem. “Kind of,” he confessed.

  “Kind of?”, Megan asked. It was a simple question that slipped passed her lips, while her eyes asked the dozen or more follow-ups.

  “Look, they sent me to check a body today, and you know how I see things from time to time, well I saw something today,” Jordan s
aid. His voice hushed to avoid others over hearing. Talking about a dead body might not go well with the crème brulee being served at the table next to theirs.

  Megan leaned forward against the table again, causing a few dishes to clatter against the surface. She asked, “A woman, mid-twenties?”

  “Why?”, Jordan asked, surprised. Did she really know, or was this some carnival psychic trick where she would start with a guess and keep refining based on his responses?

  “It’s what I feel. It was definitely a woman, and there is a sense of surprise about her death. Not just because of the circumstances, but because her life was just beginning.”

  “Yes, in her twenties,” Jordan confirmed. He saw no harm in her knowing that.

  “Okay, so female, in her twenties, homicide victim probably, and you are trying to convince others of something about her spirit,” recapped Megan. Jordan could see the wheels turning in her head. While they did, he returned to take a few more bites of his soup before they took it away when the main course arrived. She mumbled to herself while she tried to solve the problem. A few occurred with a mouth full of salad or breadstick. Her attention was up in the air at nothing at all.

  The waiter had arrived to take their soup and salad away, Jordan’s salad hadn’t been touched. He wasn’t a salad person. At least not how the salad was made here. Throw some chicken or steak on it and drown it all in a rich and creamy dressing, then it would be more to his liking. That was something he fixed often at home when it was just him. It was quick, and had vegetables.

  It was in between Jordan’s second bite of roast pork and first bite of the loaded mashed potatoes when Megan blurted out, “It’s not your case, and you want it. She tried to tell you what happened to her, and you are asking to be assigned to the case.”

  The potatoes on his fork hung there for a second, but gravity eventually won and pulled them from the utensil sending them plopping back on to Jordan’s plate. His mouth also hung opened, but this had nothing to do with gravity. It had everything to do with the shock he felt at her guess.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I can tell I am right. So, are they going to give you the case?”, she asked and went right back to her pasta like nothing had happened.

  Jordan stammered for a moment before putting his fork down. “I’m not sure yet. They haven’t replied yet.”

  “How did you explain it to them? I assume you can’t come right out and tell them the ghost is trying to talk to you.”

  Megan had that right. Only a few people in the bureau knew he felt spirits. Two to be exact, Neal Lawson and Jordan’s own predecessor. Todd had no clue. He was like the rest of them and just viewed Jordan as that strange man who picked a peculiar line of study in school. Like someone who studied computer hacking or psychology had their special areas of expertise in their assignments, he had his. Jordan’s motivations to enter that line of study were less creepy than what his peers might imagine. He wasn’t the kid who grew up with a fascination of the dark world and everything that went boo at night. There were no periods of fascination with music associated with the occult or periods of dark eye shadow in his formidable teenage years. Instead, there were weary moments of self-doubt and wondering if he was seeing things that he shouldn’t see, and felt things in the world he shouldn’t feel.

  “The first email just said while I didn’t see specific evidence of the paranormal world here, I do believe I could aid the investigation. The next few tried to add on to that with examples from the past where I helped discover leads and evidence others might look over.”

  “The next few? How many emails did you send?”, Megan asked.

  “Nine.”

  It was now her turn to have the shocked look on her face. “So, let me get this right. You sent not one, not two, not three, but nine. This doesn’t appear to just be the normal, you think you can help case. What is so special about it?”

  Having already gone this far, Jordan didn’t see any harm in telling her more, as long as he kept names and specific details out of it. “I don’t know if there is anything special about the case, but her. There was something special about her.”

  “Oooh,” Megan interrupted. “Was she pretty?” She fluttered her eyes across the table at Jordan.

  Her attempt at humor slightly annoyed Jordan. “No. Not that. She panicked when she saw me leaving. Her hands waved widely while reaching for me. Her mouth was moving faster than I had seen anyone try to talk. Even you.” Jordan paused to let that little jab settle. The little skewed smile he saw was rather satisfying. “But it was the eyes. There was fear. She wanted to tell and to show me something.”

  The half amused smile that was on Megan’s face a few moments ago, was gone now. Instead, she appeared surprised, but mostly intrigued. She took another fork full of her pasta from her plate to her mouth, but the journey took longer than the others. There was deep thought going on underneath the function of eating. Jordan could tell that. He had experienced the same on the flight back as he dissected every detail of that momentary encounter to make some sense of it. “Do you think she wanted to show you what happened to her?”, Megan asked.

  “That would be my guess.”

  “You know, there are a lot of documented cases of this kind of thing. Ghosts appearing to mediums and psychics to help them solve their own murder or abduction. It is not that uncommon.” Her fork was on the path back to the bowl, but stopped just enough to point at him in an accusatory manner. “I know you. Don’t dismiss this as one of those things on one of those shows you like to make fun of, mine included. You should be open to seeing the impossible, more so than most.”

  Over the rest of the main course and dessert, Megan recited the names and details of the specific cases where such a thing had happened. From Etta Smith to Sylvia Brown, but there was one that stood above all others in Megan’s mind. She didn’t have to say it herself. Anyone that listened to her talk about other mediums for more than a few moments could tell she was enamored with Fionna Johannsson, the “Persian Medium.” Those that didn’t know her might think she modeled her dark appearance after her idol.

  The lecture on the benefits mediums have provided law enforcement continued until they were just a few blocks from his apartment. Nothing else replaced it except the feeling of her grabbing hold of his arm with her other hand, and her head leaning against his shoulder. There was no more talking of mediums or ghosts for the rest of the walk. The topic didn’t even come back when they settled on the couch in front of the television. His arm around her. Her head on his chest. He only checked his phone twice while they sat there. Each time earned a little look from Megan. When Megan excused herself to the bathroom and returned wearing just one of his t-shirts, the topic was the furthest thought away from Jordan’s head.

  10

  The first light of the morning shone through the bedroom window and across the floor. It crept towards the bed occupied by two individuals. One draped across the other. It climbed up off the floor and up the side of the bed until a single sliver of light hit Jordan right in the eyes. The intrusion was enough to cause him to stir. Not an easy task with Megan’s head on his shoulder, but he had experience in moving in such a situation. Plus, she was a very deep sleeper. He could shove her out of the bed and probably not wake her. Not that he wanted to try. He just needed to wiggle a few inches to change the angle to put his eyes back in the darkness.

  The awareness of the moment prompted another thought, work. Jordan’s eyes popped open and looked at the clock. 6:17 am. Damn, the sun comes up early. There was just under another hour before his alarm would go off. He could lay there and try to get back to sleep, but this had happened to Jordan a few times before. Each time, he dozed off just moments before the alarm sounded, and that was after a good night’s sleep. Last night was anything but good. He startled awake three times since 4:00 am. Each time a dream that involved the ghost of Sharon Carter was the cause. Each dream was the same. Her spirit called out to him. This time was no different, a
nd with his mind leaving the refreshing nothingness of sleep, it returned to the thoughts of her. His left hand dropped off the side of the bed and searched the floor for his phone. He remembered hearing it fall from the nightstand at some point the night before. His fingers felt the edge just under the bed skirt and grabbed it. A quick check showed no response to any of his emails yet. Then he realized the time and knew Todd hadn’t read them yet. The next few minutes found that thought batted about by the alternative. Maybe his argument wasn’t convincing. How he could reword it consumed the next several minutes until he drifted off again. None of the new arguments made it from his mind before he slipped under.

  At 7:15 am, his alarm went off as it always did. Weekday. Weekend. It didn’t matter. Jordan never managed to be able to sleep in. If he did, he felt sluggish the rest of the day. Every day started with the same routine. Out of bed, which sometimes was just a quick sit up and out or a slow maneuver to keep from waking Megan when she stayed over, a quick change in to running shorts, shirt, and shoes. If it happened to be a brisk winter or spring day, he would opt for longer pants. Then before any breakfast, a quick run down and back three squares. Four laps around the third and two around the second gave him the perfect three-mile run. Something he had mapped out shortly after he moved to the area. Then he hit the shower. Similar to sleeping late, if he didn’t get his morning run in, his mind felt like it was in a fog the rest of the day. No amount of coffee or caffeinated drinks, his real preference, would help that. Not that he didn’t try. There were several rainy days he tested that theory to see what could be done. Not to mention the days after any long work related travel.

  On this morning, the alarm woke Jordan as it always did. He looked over at Megan to make sure it hadn’t woken her. She slept there curled up under the covers with her head propped on his pillow, which somehow she ended up with after he fell back to sleep. Its softness folded up to create the perfect platform for her head. Because of her, Jordan knew what angels looked like when they slept. He slid to the side of the bed and sat up. Instead of hopping up for his running gear, he reached down and checked his phone. A single envelop appeared in his tray, which he clicked with all the eagerness of a child on Christmas morning. The message he expected to be lengthy, with agreement to his many well structured arguments, was short. It was not just short; it was tragically short compared to his expectations. It was just two lines followed by Todd’s name. “Enjoy your days off. You earned them.”