Jon's Spooky Corpse Conundrum

by A J Sherwood

  Rodger shook his head in denial, unable to accept anything. He looked from face to face, trying to find some means of support, but we just stared back at him. In truth, none of us had ever liked him. We’d put up with him for our mother’s sake, and that was now unnecessary.

  Donovan slowly let go of him. Rodger staggered away from the couch and stared at my mother again. His mouth worked, searching for words, but he couldn’t find them. His lines flared red as his temper snapped, and he stormed out of the living room and through the back door, the metal clanging hard as the door slammed shut.

  The silence left behind him was a heavy one. Natalie broke it by sniffing, her breathing shaky. “Donovan. You have my father’s phone number, right?”

  “Yeah.” Donovan immediately dug out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it over.

  “I want to talk to him too,” Lauren said softly, still staring at the closed door. “There’s a great deal we need to talk about.”

  I thought about letting him break the news, then thought about how scared he’d been of my reaction and reconsidered it. “Before you call him, Nat, head’s up. The reason why our parents’ marriage failed is that Dad’s gay.”

  Both women looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head. Aaron let out a low whistle, dark eyebrows getting lost in his hairline. “Well that certainly puts an interesting spin on things.”

  Mom spluttered for a full minute. “He’s gay?! Why didn’t he tell me that!”

  “Mom.” I gave her a weary look. “You know his parents better than I do. Why do you think he didn’t tell you?”

  She winced. “Oh dear. On second thought, I can see why he didn’t. Damn, that does make sense why…” She trailed off, her mind going into the past.

  I let her think, even as I filled in the rest of the most vital information. “He’s only gotten comfortable with his sexuality in the past few years, and he was half-convinced when I showed up I wouldn’t be able to accept him.”

  Natalie snorted a laugh. “It must have been funny when you told him about you and Donovan.”

  “I could have knocked him down with a feather.” I grinned at the memory. “I’ve assured him you’ll be okay with him, but make sure you say that. He’s rather insecure about being accepted. Second thing: he’s remarried.”

  Lauren’s head came up at that. “To a man this time?”

  “Yeah. Neil is his name. Really good guy. I think you’ll like him.”

  Donovan added, “He’s been very supportive of Caleb through all of this. Also relieved, I think. He’s been trying to get Caleb to hunt his kids down for a while now. I understand Caleb tried to find Jon, at least, but couldn’t find an online footprint of any sort.”

  “He tried to find you, too, Natalie. He’s kept track of us as much as he can. He found your marriage certificate, knows you’re married. He just wasn’t sure of his welcome.”

  Natalie searched my eyes, and I could see her questions double. “Okay. I’ll make sure to say something. Thanks for that head’s up. Mom, no offense, but me first.”

  Lauren gestured for her to go ahead, and Natalie went upstairs to my reading nook before making the call. I took my mother’s hand and pulled her back down to the couch, cradling it with both hands. She was still livid with Rodger, but also very hurt. I didn’t want to disregard the brutally hard decision she’d just made. “I love you. I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

  “He wasn’t like this when I first met him,” she whispered, staring down at our hands. “He was sweet and giving. We’d only split up romantically because we weren’t really sure if we were in love with each other. We did better as friends than lovers. But…something changed along the line. I don’t know what changed him or why. If we hadn’t been partners, I’m not sure if I’d have stayed with him this long. I’ve been really unhappy with him recently, mostly because of how he treated you. Rodger acted like you were the enemy. I’ve never been able to understand why he thought that way. It’s not like you ever started the argument. I guess it’s clear, now. He was afraid you’d seen through him.”

  “Well, I had. I chose to keep my silence because it only started arguments between us. I hoped he treated you better than he did me.” In retrospect, I shouldn’t have kept it all to myself.

  “He did. But he didn’t. Anything done against my children is done to me too.” She wiped her fingers under her eyes, clearing the tears and her slightly running mascara. “You’ll help me remove the bond?”

  “Of course,” I gently assured her.

  She sniffled a little more. Donovan handed her a Kleenex, which she took with a grateful nod and a watery smile. I let go of her hand so she could wipe her cheeks and blow her nose.

  Mom searched my face, her lines cloudy with anger and regret. “Jon. He’s really gay?”

  I could see this had truly thrown her for a loop. “He really is. He told me he married you because the two of you got along well and he didn’t want to be gay. He wanted to be like everyone else, a husband and father.”

  She accepted this with a slow nod. “It does explain why our marriage fell apart. Although I feel so bad about how things happened. I honestly didn’t suspect Rodger of manipulating the situation like that. Perhaps I should have. I was so hurt about Caleb asking for a divorce, and so worried over you kids. You especially, Jon. Your sight was coming in far too quickly. I knew we’d have trouble helping you. So much was happening, I took any helping hand offered.”

  And of course Rodger took full advantage of that. “I don’t lay all the blame on you, Mom. Or Caleb. He regrets how things happened just as much as you do.”

  Her eyes lifted back up to mine. “I’m so glad, especially in situations like this, that you can really see what I’m feeling. That what I say isn’t just words to you. Your father…you think you can forgive him?”

  “I think so. He’s as much a victim of the situation as everyone else, really. Even he’s frank about how poorly he handled it, how much he wishes he’d done something different. I meant what I said to Natalie earlier. He’s stoked to reconnect with me. He’s dying to see Natalie too. I want to give him a second chance.”

  She gave a taut nod and a sigh. “Okay. I trust your judgement. I want to talk this all through with him too. I think we could both use some closure.” Turning, she caught Donovan’s attention and waved him in closer. “Donovan. I hate to ask this of you, but when I go home later, can you come with me? Rodger’s not known to be…reasonable when he’s mad.”

  Donovan could no doubt hear her worry as clearly as I did. He gently promised, “Of course, Lauren. And if you need to just pack a bag and come back here, stay for a while, you can.” He shot me a look and leaned in to murmur, “I know we planned to leave in the morning, but….”

  I shook my head in agreement. “No, we need to see this through first. Call Jim and Neil, explain the situation? We’ll drive over the day after.”

  “Yeah, better plan,” he agreed.

  Mom listened with growing consternation. “Is something going on? Natalie told me you’d met Caleb in Sevierville on a case. What case?”

  “Tell you what, Mom, let me catch you up on the situation while everyone else is on the phone. It’s a doozy of a situation. You especially will be able to appreciate this.”

  Breaking a psychic-anchor bond was no joking matter. I only knew how to do it in theory and I called in Carol to help me break my mother’s.

  “I don’t know what you expect me to do from here,” Carol said with a mingle of exasperation and sympathy. “Breaking a bond is a very personal thing. I mean, you can link up and help her, but she still has to be the one to do it.”

  “I know that, but neither of us have even seen this done. We only know in theory how to do it. But your cousin did this a few years ago, right?”

  “Ah, that’s why you called me. Yeah, I helped Libby with hers. Although I’m frankly not sure whether your mother’s situation is better or worse than hers.”

  That was indeed the questio
n. Her cousin Libby had had a good woman as an anchor, and they’d been dating for about three years when Libby’s anchor was in a terrible motorcycle accident. It hadn’t killed her, but the anchor was left in a vegetative state with absolutely no hope for recovery. Because she was still living, the bond was intact. They’d chosen to break the bond before taking her off life support, as feeling her anchor die would have been so much worse for Libby. Carol had been somewhat traumatized by the experience afterwards and told me flatly she’d never do it again, not unless life and death was on the line.

  So I was thankful she was at least talking to me about this over the phone. “Anyway, what do we do?”

  “This is a lot like chopping off an arm. Unfortunately. It’ll be easier for your mother if you link up with her. Then you can not only support her, but show her precisely where to cut.”

  This made sense to me. Psychic-anchor bonds were visible to any psychic, more so with the visual-type psychics than the more emotional-based ones. It was tricky to see your own bond unless you were very oriented towards sight. Mom was, of course, but living energy was blinding to her. It was too strong. It would be easier on her if I showed her precisely where the bond was. “I can’t do this for her?”

  “Unfortunately not. Bonds are strong against outside interference.”

  I’d been afraid that was the answer. I looked toward Mom, who sat on the couch with me. She took my free hand and gave me a game nod. If she was willing to proceed, I was determined to help her.

  We linked up, and that part was easy—like breathing. I’d linked up often with my mother during my formative years as she tried to show me what she was seeing. Or I tried to show her what I saw. Once linked, I kept hold of her hand and looked at her. One glance made me internally wince, and I had to lock down my expression before it gave too much away. She was in so much pain, her lines writhed with it. Agony beat through her like a drum and if I’d had the power, I’d have dulled those lines for her. Given her some type of ease.

  I dove through the agony to find the bond. I touched the line in question and guided her finger to it. “Here. Precisely here.”

  Her hand shook in mine, the skin cold to the touch. She was nervous and afraid. Her determination was stronger.

  “Lauren,” Carol’s voice came over the speaker clearly, “don’t half-ass this. You have to strike brutally hard, otherwise it won’t take. It’s like chopping wood, if you’ve ever done that. One strong strike will split the log. Anything weaker than that, you’ll have to strike more than once.”

  That was a rather brutal metaphor. I had a feeling it was far too accurate, though.

  “I understand,” Lauren answered. “Thank you, Carol.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck?”

  “We’ll call later if we need help. Thanks.”

  Lauren ended the phone call and then pulled back, her hand still locked with mine. With a deep breath, she met my eyes. I gave her a reassuring nod. I’d be here as a support, she knew that. She sucked in another breath, this one even deeper, and I could feel her psychic energy building. I could see it too, of course, but mostly I felt it like an electrical storm building, and the fine hairs along my arms stood on end.

  In one sharp blow, Lauren directed that energy toward the spot I’d pointed at and the bond severed neatly, cut so cleanly it didn’t even fray around the edges as it dissolved. It left a gaping hole in its wake, and the emotions that had been tied in and around it were left sagging by its removal. Forty years of emotions, memories, bonds all left bereft in one moment.

  I was prepared when she curled into herself, nearly fetal. I stayed linked with her, even though it hurt like hell to feel what she was feeling. But I couldn’t disengage and leave her completely alone. I wrapped my arms around her as best I could, let her lay there for however long she needed. The sobs that tore through her nearly set me off, too.

  God, I could kill Rodger for this. I hoped he burned in hell.

  It took a good two hours before she was able to pull herself together enough to talk. The energy of both me and Donovan was too much for her to handle. She didn’t even remember how to shield without an anchor. I had to run her through the basics of it.

  We spent most of the day helping her through recovery. At one point, I came into the living room to find Mom curled up against Donovan like he was a teddy bear. Donovan, bless him, held her firmly and just let her cling for a while. I felt really, really bad about leaving her in this situation, but it wasn’t like I could do much to help. And Natalie had already invited her to stay with them for a while until Mom felt she could put her feet back under her. I could trust my sister to keep an eye on her.

  We left for Sevierville Saturday morning, later than planned. Getting Mom situated with Natalie was the priority, so I didn’t regret the late start time. Fortunately, everyone waiting on us was more than understanding. Donovan gave me a break from driving and took the wheel, his phone propped up in the dash so that he could see the GPS.

  It was a quiet ride, both of us lost to our own thoughts. Donovan didn’t say a word to me until we’d made the turn off the highway and into Sevierville.

  “You know that none of this is your fault, right?”

  Of course he was worried about that. “I know. I just feel bad for Mom. I know exactly what it feels like to walk around in the world without an anchor to help shield you. And I really don’t know what she’s going to do next. Working in the morgue is going to be really rough on her without shields. But she’s not even sixty—it’s too early for her to retire.”

  “And finding an anchor at her age is going to be a little tough,” Donovan completed with a sigh. “Hell, finding an anchor seems to be tough no matter the age, but she’s got a lot of baggage to deal with.”

  “Yeah. I really don’t know what she’s going to do. I support her decision to get rid of Rodger—he’s just toxic—but it does leave her in a tight spot.” Maybe my sister would be willing to step in? She’d never offered for me, but I was too much for anyone but Donovan to handle. Mom was leagues easier to deal with. I’d find a way to ask.

  12

  Neil, bless him, had scheduled the interviews so we could have that extra day with Lauren. She’d desperately needed it. Whenever I’d looked at her, saw the way she flinched at everything, it made me remember the way Jon had been. But it also sent a sympathetic pain through me. I knew an anchor couldn’t feel it, when the bond was broken, just as I couldn’t feel the bond now. And yet I had to wonder, was that still the case? Even after forty years? I hoped it wasn’t. I hoped Rodger felt every bit of the pain she did.

  We had to get right back into the saddle the second we returned to Sevierville. Jon and I had expected that, so we didn’t even swing by Neil and Caleb’s first to drop off luggage. We just went straight to the station. It was early afternoon by this point, and Jon still expected the interviews to be quick and easy—a way of crossing potential suspects off the list. He even said as much to Neil before we settled into the conference room.

  I think Jon regretted calling on Murphy’s Law the way he did. The interviews were anything but easy. Mostly because of the whining. My god, could these people whine.

  Jon and Neil downplayed the questions, not tying them to the murder, just asking about the protests. They had conducted five interviews already, all of them held in the conference room of the police station instead of an interrogation room. They didn’t want to give the game away, and an interrogation room would have done just that. I manned the camera in the corner to give me a reason to be in the room without lurking like a stalker.

  “No,” Mrs. Tiffany Randolph informed Jon flatly, “I don’t see anything wrong with the protest. We were well within our rights to preserve cultural heritage.”

  I could see my lover visibly take hold of his temper. I didn’t blame him for that. I didn’t like her tone either. It was a verbal attack. “Do you mind if I ask why you protested this renovation but not the one in 1976?”

  “Th
e reason why we protested this one was because of what happened in 1976’s renovation,” she riposted, her words sharp enough to fillet someone. Tiffany Randolph’s fingers flicked impatiently against the table top, making the gold rings on each hand spark in the harsh florescent light, her stiletto nails clicking audibly on the Formica surface. She looked perfectly ready to stab someone with those nails.

  Neil leaned forward a mite, adjusting his chair to draw her attention. “Explain that, please. We don’t have much information about the house.”

  Her luridly pink lips pursed, she unbent enough to explain, “What was supposed to happen was just some repair work, update the internal plumbing and electrics in order to keep the house safe. Instead, he remodeled the kitchen and bathrooms and replaced the roof altogether with something they’d never have used in the original construction of the house. It completely ruined the integrity of the house’s architecture. We were appalled at the outcome, but of course it was too late to do anything about it. We thought when Mr. Witherspoon first came in and discussed renovations, he’d do a better job than the last owner. Mr. Witherspoon had an extensive background in vintage renovations, after all. But his initial plans suggested he intended to change even more than the last one, which was plainly ridiculous. Of course we protested it.”

  “I see. After the protest, did you see Mr. Witherspoon at all?”

  “No, we had no physical interaction with him. All of our protests were filed through the city.”

  Jon gave Neil a faint nod, confirming this, and Neil let out a sigh. “Thank you for coming in to answer our questions.”

  Taking that as a dismissal, she gathered up her purse and exited with a huff. I stopped the recording of the camera before stepping around it. “Wow. Jon, what all were you seeing?”

  “She was sincere about keeping the integrity of the house,” Jon answered wearily, passing a hand over his face before reaching for his water bottle. “But she definitely has her own agenda too. I couldn’t quite read what it was. Anyway, it doesn’t tie into the murder.”