by David Clark
Jordan’s hands dropped to his lap. He didn’t have a tight grip on his phone, and it slipped from his hand and tumbled to the floor. The sound caused a stir next to him, but Megan stayed in her blissful slumber. Jordan reached and picked the phone up, stood, and stormed out of his room as silently as he could while one hand searched his contacts for a number.
It rang once, before he got to the living room. The sound of a voice cut the second ring short. “You still get up early, even on your days off?”, asked Todd from the other end of the call.
“Yes. Yes, I do. Todd, I need to talk to you about that case. The one you sent me up to check yesterday. Sharon Carter,” Jordan spit out urgently.
“I read your report, and all of your emails. Jordan, I am sorry, but it is a local matter. You were asked just to advise if you saw anything abnormal about her death. Now unless you missed telling me something in your report, which is very unlike you, there was nothing, correct?” asked, Todd.
There was a lot. That her ghost had to point out to him the true cause of death and appeared to have so much more to tell him. Of course, none of that was anything he could share with his boss. While they knew he had immense knowledge in matters of the paranormal and supernatural, and even an awareness that he felt tingles, something still met with odd looks by the few that knew, admitting to seeing full bodied ghosts was a line he was not going to cross. Something Orville Moon warned him of. It was hard enough for him to be taken seriously as it was. Admitting to that was a sure fire way to never be taken seriously again. “Just the marks on her arm,” Jordan responded reluctantly.
“So, sloppy work by the coroner. Not the first time we have seen that, and won’t be the last. They never like it when we catch their misses. Is there anything else I am missing Jordan?”
“No sir,” Jordan said reluctantly. His mind raced for something that might help turn the tide. “I just think it could be an interesting case. She was so young. No appearance of drug use other than marks. Overall good health. It doesn’t make any sense.” Jordan paused before he used the next word. He used it in one email and even felt queasy as he typed the letters. “It almost appeared like an... assassination.”
“Oh, come on Jordan. This is just a homicide. There were hundreds of them the same day she was killed. Each is a little different, but in general they are all the same. It is out of our jurisdiction. We can’t handle it. So, take my advice. Let it drop. Go for your run and do something other than work for the next few days. I will talk to you on Monday morning,” Todd ordered flatly.
There was no annoyance in his tone, but a serious one that told Jordan he was done talking about the subject. The quick disconnect of the call confirmed that. Jordan let his head slump down into his hands as he sat on the edge of the couch. The image of the woman’s eyes begging him consumed him. As did the disappointment of not being able to do anything about it. A frustrated groan escaped from between his lips. The sound was muted by his hands, but loud enough to elicit a response from Megan, who stood behind him in the same t-shirt of his she had worn the night before. Two delicate fingers caressed the back of his neck.
“No?”, she asked.
“Yep,” Jordan said. His voice still muffled behind his hands.
“Then maybe it is best to let it drop,” she said as she walked around the table and had a seat beside him. Her gentle lips pressed against the side of his cheek. He felt the warmth of her breath before the warmth of her lips.
“I can’t,” Jordan said.
“Then, did you explain that to Todd?”
Jordan raised his head and gave a look to Megan that said it all.
“Oh, you can’t.”
Jordan laughed. “Not exactly something you can share at the office.”
Megan sat back and Jordan saw the wheels turning in her head. He got up to go start the coffee, more for her. He filled the grinder full of beans and pressed down on the top. No instant or pre-ground for her. A mistake Jordan made the first time she stayed over. If it was important enough to drink every morning, then it is important enough to do it right, she told him. The loud crunching and whirr sent shivers up his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. One of the sacrifices he made for her. The sound settled down to just the whirr telling him it was done. He opened the top and poured the contents into the filter when she bounded up to the bar and sat on a stool across from him. Her smile beamed from ear to ear.
“I got it,” she announced as Jordan filled the coffee maker with water. “Look into it yourself.”
Jordan shook his head violently from side to side, “Uh huh. No can do. This is outside of my jurisdiction. Todd reminded me twice this is just a local matter. Our job here is done. Having an FBI agent interfere with another department's investigation would break so many rules, I would be fired.”
“Not in an official capacity. Just as a person. A person doing a paranormal study,” She looked at him with wide and hopeful eyes, but Jordan turned and walked away. “Where are you going?”
“For a run. Help yourself to the coffee when it is done.”
Just as quick as he disappeared to his room, Jordan emerged back out in shorts, t-shirt and running shoes. He paused just long enough to plant a kiss on Megan’s forehead, while she gave him her best fake pout. An expression he had seen many times before.
The morning was brisk and clear. Just like Jordan liked it. He passed many of the regulars as he headed west along his street. They were regulars because he passed them every day around this same time. He knew none of their names, and they didn’t know his either, but every morning they shared the same nod or smile like old friends as he passed by. It didn’t take more than a quarter of a mile before he felt his mind start to clear. One of the effects of his morning ritual he really enjoyed. But on this morning, this clearing left more room for ideas to bounce around. One of those ideas was the pondering if Megan’s suggestion wasn’t all that crazy. He dismissed it again at the first mile, but in the next half a mile it had worked its way back in, as it always did without really creating an issue. At two and a quarter miles, the idea was pushed away, but not for long. It came back in the next tenth and hung with Jordan the entire return trip east back home.
When Jordan burst through the front door, he found Megan sitting on the couch drinking her coffee watching the morning news. He felt fresh and renewed, like he always did, but he also felt confident and as a result, asked Megan, “What are you doing for the next few days?”
11
Thanks to the invention of the internet, search engines, and social media, Jordan was able to find where Sharon Carter lived in a matter of just a few minutes. Jordan also found where her body had been found, and that she was deeply missed by her mother, Delores, her father, Lewis, and her younger sister, Cicely who was named after a famous actress, a fact that was listed on her social media account.
The six-hour drive was a little longer than what Jordan wanted to make on his day off, but he felt motivated, and it gave Megan time to secure lodging for them. Of course, what she found wasn’t just some interstate dotting non-brand motel. While that might do for the FBI when a task force is following scenes across the country, that would never do for Megan; she made sure to throw in the name of her show and what channel it aired on in their area when she made the reservations.
They exited the Interstate in the Bellemeade area of Richmond just before four in the afternoon. Long shadows from the late autumn afternoon stretched across the road of the inner city neighborhood. Some were from the trees that lined the lots and towered above the simple homes. Others were the curved lines from the powerlines overhead. They occasionally crossed each other, creating a lattice pattern on the ground. They followed Mimosa Street until they reached Columbia Street, where they took a right. Finding the right house was not difficult in the least. A yellow ribbon of crime scene tape wrapped between the power poles in front of it still protected the single story white shingled structure. Another ribbon was wrapped around the metal poles tha
t supported the awning over the front porch, and a third, but shorter piece, blocked the front door. Seeing her home blocked off like that told Jordan the local police had a suspicion that the murder had happened there.
They pulled and parked Jordan’s white BMW on the side of the road in front of the house. He and Megan got out but stayed behind the crime scene tape and observed from where the pavement ended and the loose sand began. Jordan felt a sad energy over this place, but it had nothing to do with his paranormal abilities. He felt the same at every murder scene. Every agent he had talked to about it admitted to the feeling as well. It came from the knowledge of what had occurred here. He didn’t know if Megan felt it as well, but she was being uncharacteristically quiet as she looked at the house.
From where they stood, Jordan saw graphite smudges around the handle on the front door and a few more on the frame. There was probably more of that inside. That was not what he was looking for. What he sought had yet to appear, and there was no guarantee it would. Only time would tell, so he waited and paced the length of the tape, taking quick glances up at the house. Each time, it stood there like it had before. Only the shadows had changed. Megan stayed by the car and asked him every once in a while, if he felt anything. To each question he responded with a quick “nah”, or a shake of his head. The path of his pace was now clear in the sand that sat at the edge of the pavement. The pattern of his shoes had now replaced any remnants of tire tracks from cars that had pulled up at the house or ran off the edge. A foolish feeling crept into his mind. Maybe he missed his one chance to help her that day.
“Can I help you?”, asked a scratchy voice from the home next door. Jordan looked and saw a grandmotherly woman standing on the edge of her front porch. She leaned against a single aluminum cane that opened up at the bottom into four rubber covered feet. A pair of glasses hung from her neck on a chain against her red and white checkered house dress. They weren’t on her face as she leaned to look at Jordan and Megan. She didn’t appear to need them; she wasn’t squinting to see them. The short and neatly curled salt and pepper hair told of a recent trip to a hairdresser, or maybe a friend or relative that knew how to do perms.
“Yes ma’am,” Jordan said. He walked closer to her, but remained out on the road just outside the rusted chain link that lined her property. He had no intention of going closer until he had a better feeling about her. “Did you know Miss Carter?”
“Sharon?” she asked curiously.
“Yes ma’am, Sharon,” confirmed Jordan.
A look of dismay came across the woman’s face, replacing the cautious curiosity she previously addressed the two strangers standing in her deceased neighbor’s yard with. “It’s a damn shame,” she sighed. “Such a sweet girl. I couldn’t believe it when they told me.” She paused and looked at Jordan and then at Megan. “Been a lot of your type around lately.”
Jordan replied, “Yes ma’am.” He knew she meant cops and investigators. Plenty of people had told him he had that look. Megan, on the other hand, usually didn’t, but she was wearing dark pants and a white shirt under her black jacket. The jacket was for comfort and not style, even though it was still stylish. “Do you have any ideas of what happened or why?” A question he was sure others had asked, but he didn’t have access to any of the investigator's reports and needed to ask himself.
“No, she was a polite girl. We talked almost every day. During the lockdown, she checked on me every day to see if I needed anything from the store. A really sweet thing. I am sure her parents were proud of her.”
“Did you know her parents?”, Jordan asked.
“I think I met her mom once. Sweet lady, though I felt some tension between her and Sharon. I don’t know why though. Can’t say I saw any other family over there. If they were, it wasn’t often. Just your kind,” she said.
That statement struck Jordan as both peculiar and interesting. Hearing that cops were there after her death wasn’t surprising, but hearing that they were there before was troubling. “Do you know why law enforcement was here that often?”
“No. Not cops. People like you. White people. Fancy cars. Drive up. Stop. Pick her up, and speed off. Some stayed a while, but most didn’t.”
“Do you know what that was about? Were they her friends?”, Jordan asked, trying to keep his best poker face. What the woman had just told him sparked his curiosity. Deep down he knew it could be nothing, but he had to wonder. If it was nothing, what about it stood out to the woman who lived next to Sharon during that time? People remember events and scenes that are odd. The normal and mundane blend in and are forgotten.
“Nope,” she said tersely. Her free hand lifted and landed on her hip, and she leaned forward slightly.
“I am sure you were asked this before, but do you have any idea what happened to her or why?”
“Nope, I don’t. If I did, I would have told the others that asked. This is a quiet neighborhood, or was,” she said. Her voice trailed off, but the short terse response, and the pinched expression and slight lean of her posture told Jordan he was close to wearing out his welcome.
“Well, thank you ma’am. Have a nice afternoon.” Jordan waved to her as he started to turn to walk back to Megan. The woman didn’t return his wave. Instead, she huffed and shuffled around in a circle, turning and heading back inside herself.
“Nice woman,” Megan said sarcastically as Jordan passed her.
“Cut her some slack. Neighbors of crime scenes are usually on edge and irritated by the constant appearance of cops,” Jordan said as he kept walking to the far end of the tape. He was a few steps short of the power pole when he felt it and spun on his heel. Megan was already three feet inside of the tape.
The agent inside Jordan wanted to yell at her to tell her to get back, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked back to the car and popped the trunk. From inside he retrieved a navy blue backpack, threw it over a shoulder, and joined her.
“A backpack, really?”, Megan mocked with a smirk.
“Hush it,” replied Jordan as the two of them walked down the driveway, which was just two grass and weed covered cracked concrete runners. On instinct, he scanned every window along the white shingled side of the house with his hand positioned close to his belt where his sidearm should be. The target was not a suspect, it was what he felt. That presence that hung in the universe around him. It was close, that he knew from how heavy it felt, but close could be anything from a foot to a few blocks. There was no way to know until he found it.
There wasn’t much Jordan could see through the windows. It was dark inside, and the little sunlight left in the late afternoon didn’t have a chance to breach the screens. Drapes hung in a few of the windows on the back corner of the house. Jordan assumed that was her bedroom. Around the corner sat a screen covered porch with a washer and dryer pressed up against the back of the house. Three worn wooden steps led up to a red door with smudges of black graphite around the handle. Behind him was a detached garage covered in the same white shingles. The door was opened, and it was empty. Jordan knew her car would have been towed back to be processed for evidence. There was nothing else in the garage beside the empty slab, but he poked around for a minute anyway to see if what he sought was inside.
When he came back out of the garage, he saw Megan on the top of the three steps. She had already pushed open the red door and was about to step inside. She looked back at Jordan and pointed inside. He shook his head. But she just pointed again, more insistent than before. He rushed toward her whispering, “no”, not wanting to draw the attention of any other neighbors, but she didn’t listen and stepped into the darkness of the room beyond the door.
Jordan ran to the top of the stairs, but stopped there, his heart pounding and lungs gasping for breath. Not from the exertion of the run, but from panic. He leaned in and angrily whispered, “what the hell do you think you are doing?”
“It’s in here,” Megan said. He couldn’t see her at first, but it wasn’t long before she turned around with her c
ell phone light. The light illuminated the small kitchen with a single row of cabinets along a wall with a window with the white ceramic sink under it with several chips exposing the rusted aluminum from under it. A table sat against the far wall with a single chair pushed up to it. A set of salt and pepper shakers stood guard where Jordan imagined Sharon had breakfast and morning coffee, if she was one of those people that drank it. The rest of it was what he would expect in the meager settings. A simple refrigerator hummed just a few feet away from the door. In the opposite corner, sat a stove with pots still on it.
“Come on!”, Megan beseeched him from the darkness.
“Hell no. This is a crime scene,” Jordan refused. “Now get out of there.” Jordan waited at the door, listening for the sound of footsteps coming toward the door. They went in the opposite direction, as did the occasional flash of light from her phone.
“Megan!” There was no reply. Jordan whipped the backpack around and quickly unzipped it and retrieved two objects. While muttering, “Jesus,” he stepped into the darkness of the kitchen and turned the first of the two objects on. A bright beam illuminated the bleak kitchen. The walls were a light yellow, and the floor was white rolled linoleum with black and grey specs. He moved past the kitchen table and wondered if Sharon had sat there eating the morning before she was murdered. Another door opened into the attached living space. Before he stepped on to the hardwood floor, he turned on the second of the two objects he carried in his hand. The K2 meter beeped once, and then an arc of colored lights flashed on and then off. They didn’t stay off; Jordan might have felt better if they had. Light danced between the red, orange, and yellow bulbs. That meant one of two things. Either the wiring in a nearby wall needed some work, or there was a spirit with them. The heaviness he felt and the light chill told him which of the two it was.