Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  A nurse places several charts on the counter and faces us. “Did you say Daniel Wynter was your father?”

  “Yes.”

  The nurse smiles and brushes her graying blond hair from her face. “I remember him. He was one of my first patients.”

  Thrilled with this surprising turn of events, I smile back. “Do you have some free time?”

  “A few minutes. Dr. Jenkins had been your dad’s doctor.”

  My stomach relaxes. I don’t know whether to be relieved I knew Doctor Anderson hadn’t been the right doctor, or scared.

  “He’s retired now. Lives in the big house by the mountain.”

  I blink. Coincidence? Highly doubtful.

  “Your dad seemed like such a happy man despite being so sick.”

  “The treatment didn’t help him?” Lydia asks.

  She rubs her chin. “Now that you mention it, he actually seemed to get sicker. I remember not being surprised when he refused it after a while. Didn’t blame him. There was nothing medicine could do to save him. It was only a matter of time.”

  Medicine couldn’t save him.

  Because magic had been at work?

  All the more reason not to trust the witches.

  Chapter 17

  NURSE OLIVIA LEWIS gives me her number and tells me to call if I have more questions for her. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this optimistic.

  “Now where to?” Lydia asks as we climb into her car.

  “Field trip to Dr. Jenkins’?”

  “You got it.”

  We drive with the windows down, and Lydia’s hair flutters wildly. “You know,” she says, “I’m really enjoying this. Maybe I’ll be a detective instead of a doctor.”

  “Don’t you have to be a police officer before you can be a detective?”

  “I think so. Nah, I don’t want to be a cop. Doctor it is.”

  We arrive a few minutes later, and Lydia parks on the street. She whistles. “Now that is one sweet house.”

  With two chimneys and a three-car garage, the brick mansion has to be Doctor Jenkins’ place. I glance at the mountain. How could a place that looks so peaceful harbor powerful magic?

  “Let’s go.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. Maybe he isn’t home.

  My finger taps against the cool doorbell.

  A minute later, a pleasant old woman answers the door. “Hello? May I help you?”

  “Hi, we’re looking for Dr. Jenkins,” I say.

  “You are?”

  “I’m Crystal Wynter, and this is my friend—”

  “Let them in, Jane,” a worn voice calls from within the house.

  “Come in.” Jane Jenkins ushered us inside and nods to the right. “He’s in the parlor. Would you care for some tea and biscuits?”

  “Yes, please,” Lydia says.

  We enter the parlor while Mrs. Jenkins strolls down the hallway.

  “Have a seat.” Doctor Jenkins is an old man now, with age spots and white hair. He’s sitting in a large, plush red armchair.

  Although the furniture looks too elegant to be comfortable, it’s so soft, and I sink into the cushion.

  “You want to know about your father.” Doctor Jenkins stares at me with shrew, ice blue eyes.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. Daniel Wynter,” I add, although I have the feeling he doesn’t need me to.

  “We have some questions,” Lydia says.

  He points a gnarled finger at her. “I know you. Aren’t you one of Hall’s kids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to be a doctor too?”

  “That’s the plan right now.”

  Doctor Jenkins reaches for his cane beside his chair and fiddles with the top. “I remember your father’s case quite well actually. Daniel came to the hospital originally because he had been hit in the head. They did a thorough evaluation when he mentioned he had been having neck pain and hoarseness on and off for several months. Combined with enlarged lymph nodes, they did further testing to see if it was a thyroid nodule. Most nodules are benign, but, unfortunately, his was malignant. He had papillary thyroid cancer.”

  “Isn’t thyroid cancer one of the easiest to cure?” Lydia asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Why did he die then?” My voice is desperate.

  Doctor Jenkins’ light blue eyes pierce through me, and I feel vulnerable, as if he can see my soul. Is he a witch or in league with them somehow?

  “He died because it was his time to.” His words leave a trail of cold sweat down my back.

  Mrs. Jenkins enters and places a silver tray on the elegant black-and-white marble coffee table. “Help yourselves.” She bustles out of the room.

  Lydia pours herself some tea, but I don’t move.

  “His time? By whose watch?” I ask, watching him closely.

  His features might look tired, but his eyes are sharp and focused. “There are lots of different watchmakers in the world, Crystal.”

  “But only one who can come back to life,” I counter.

  Confusion written on her face, Lydia looks at us as if watching a tennis game.

  “I’m a man of faith.” His weathered fingers clutch his cane.

  “One faith or more than one?”

  “Many. I am a man of faith, and of science.”

  And of magic. Somehow I know it to be true, but he won’t dare say so in front of Lydia.

  “A lot in this world can’t be explained,” I say slowly. My head is starting to hurt from our riddles. “People die before their time. Mistakes are made—”

  “No mistakes were made concerning your father,” he says calmly.

  “Ignorance doesn’t give one the right to seek absolution.”

  “I never had reason to seek absolution.”

  “Hold on. I’m so confused.” Lydia places her teacup into a saucer. “Mistakes, absolution, faith, science. Let’s get back on track. Mr. Wynter had a curable cancer.”

  “No cancer is completely curable in every cases,” the doctor says.

  “His timeline didn’t match his diagnosis.” She tugs on the end of her hair.

  “Medicine evolves over the years. Nowadays, yes, he would have lived longer, perhaps have been cured. Remember, this was seventeen years ago.”

  His memory is astonishing, the seemingly total recall of my father’s case.

  “Why didn’t he respond to treatment better?” Lydia tries.

  “Because it was his time,” Doctor Jenkins repeats.

  Lydia opens her mouth then shuts it. She looks at me and shrugs. “Can I use the bathroom?”

  Mrs. Jenkins stands in the doorway. “You may. Follow me.”

  I wait until they’re out of sight before leaning forward in my seat. “Please tell me the truth.”

  “I have told no lies.”

  “You’re holding back.” Frustration creeps into my voice. I’m gripping my hands together so tightly I’m hurting myself.

  “Your friend has no idea.”

  “None.”

  “Keep it that way. Knowledge is power, and power is deadly.” He twists off the top of his cane. “Your father did not die from cancer.”

  I knew it. “Witches,” I breathe.

  “Part of bringing you into the world required many things.”

  My eyes widen. Does his knowledge have no bounds? Shakily, I nod. “The six elements.”

  “Yes. And also life and death.”

  Another puzzle piece clicks into place. “My parents were never told that the witches would demand their lives.”

  “No. Who would agree to such a price? I tried my best to keep your father alive, but there was only so much I could do.”

  My eyes well with tears. “There was no way the witches would have allow him to see me born.”

  “Yes, but I tried anyhow.”

  “Why didn’t they punish you for interfering?”

  Doctor Jenkins stares at the window behind me, pain and bitterness etched in the deep lines on his face. “They for
ced me to cover up their deeds. I was their pawn for many years…”

  “My father had been sick for some time before the deal with the witches had been made,” I muse.

  “Yes. He did have thyroid cancer, and we did manage to cure him, but around that time, the deal must have been made because he never fully recuperated. His symptoms changed, and he grew sick and sicker. It became quite clear to me that he would never recover.”

  Tears sting my eyes, and I stare at my lap, hoping the doctor doesn’t see them. “So his having cancer wasn’t related to why he died?”

  “Not at all.”

  I bite my lower lip. Some of the reason why Marian had been desperate enough to seek out the witches had been because of Daniel having cancer. God, not the witches, not magic, had given him cancer. Could that mean God had been involved in my birth indirectly, even though I’m not completely human?

  I smile at the notion, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being naïve, that I want this to be true even though it might not be.

  “I have something for you.” He pushes a crocked finger inside his cane and eases out a letter. “Keep it to yourself.”

  Hands trembling, I accept it. I want to open it and burn the words into my brain, but I hear approaching muted footsteps on the fine rugs, so I tuck it inside my shirt.

  Lydia reenters the room and takes her seat.

  Trying to act inconspicuous, I help myself to a cookie. It melts in my mouth. “This is delicious.”

  “Thank you.”

  I smile at Mrs. Jenkins, who now stands in the doorway. She must have incredible hearing to know exactly when to appear.

  Mrs. Jenkins smiles back. A cross swings on the simple golden chain around her neck. It resembles the one I wear.

  “Any more questions?” Doctor Jenkins asks.

  Lydia shakes her head, shoulders hunched, lips slightly curled downward.

  I bite the inside of my cheek. As much as I hate to keep my friend in the dark, there’s no way I’m telling Lydia what she wants to know. A car accident, a mugging… what if a car jacking is next? Maybe it would be better for us not to grow so close. If anything should happen to her or any of my friends, I’d never forgive myself.

  But I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of leaving Claymore.

  Doctor Jenkins holds out his hand. I stand and walk over to him so I can shake it. “Thank you for your time,” I say loudly then drop my voice to a whisper. “Thank you for everything you did for my father.”

  “My pleasure.” He, too, wears a cross, and I wonder if it keeps the witches at bay, prevents them from using him anymore. I hope he can one day forgive himself for what he did under duress and send up a quick prayer that he will soon.

  Mrs. Jenkins sees us out, and we climb into the car.

  While Lydia is buckling, I shove the letter into my purse.

  “That was a disappointment,” she says. “I’m sorry I even brought it up in the first place.”

  “Don’t be. It was nice to talk to people who knew my father.”

  She smiles. “At least some good came out of today. How about we get some lunch?”

  My stomach rumbles. Cheerios never fills me up for long.

  Lydia giggles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Before she can put her car into drive, her cell rings. She glances at it and tosses it to me.

  My face warms when I see who the caller is. Vince. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Crystal. Your mom told me you were with Lydia. Whatcha up to?”

  “We’re going to eat lunch.”

  “He can come with,” Lydia says.

  I hold the cell away from my mouth. “You sure?” I ask her.

  “‘Course. How about Claymore Grille?”

  “Great,” Vince says, obviously having heard our exchange.

  “See you then.”

  We arrive at the Grille fifteen minutes later. Vince stands by the front door, leaning against a window. A lazy smile crosses his face as we approach.

  “Hey.” I’m not sure how affectionate to be—the last thing I want is to make Lydia feel like a third wheel after everything she’s done for me—but I want to acknowledge him and our dating, so I settle for a one-arm hug.

  He kisses my forehead. “Hi, Lydia. Let’s get a table.”

  I glance at her as Vince opens the door. She puckers her lips teasingly, and we start to giggle.

  The Grille’s packed, but we don’t have to wait long for a table. I slide into a booth, Vince next to me, Lydia across from us.

  After we place our order, Vince drapes his arm across the back of the booth. “What have you girls been up to?”

  I stir my iced water. “We paid a visit to my dad’s doctor.”

  “Oh, wow. Did you learn anything?”

  “Medicine’s come a long way. If he had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer now, his recovery would have been almost a lock.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much, but I am.” The warmth in his tone eases the knot tightening in my chest. I hate keeping secrets from him, from everyone.

  “Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?”

  I was so focused on not revealing anything on my face I didn’t see Gavin approach.

  “Go ahead.” Lydia smiles and shifts over to make room for him.

  He sits, and our waitress approaches. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Diet coke. And I’ll take the…” He scrambles to open a menu.

  “If you’re hungry, man, try the Claymore Monster. It’s amazing,” Vince suggests.

  “Ok, I’ll take that.”

  “How do you want that cooked?” the waitress asks.

  “Medium.”

  “You got it.” She walks away.

  “What is there to do here on a Saturday night?” Gavin asks.

  I go to answer until I realize he’s asking Lydia. A wave of jealousy washes over me, and I clench my teeth. I don’t know Gavin. I have no claim over him, and besides, I don’t want Gavin. I have Vince.

  Turning to my boyfriend, I say, “I’m glad you called.”

  “Of course. You need to get a cell of your own, though.”

  “Working on it.”

  “Good.” He brings his arm down from the top of the booth so it rests around my shoulders.

  I’m so glad to have time with Vince. He grounds me. Makes me feel… well, human.

  “How’s your mom?” I ask.

  His smile tugs at the knot in my chest, loosening it even more. “She’s fine. A little tired and sore, but other than that, you wouldn’t even know she’d been in an accident. Our insurance will cover the cost of the car damage.” His lips twist into a grimace. “The police said it’s highly unlikely they’ll be able to find the guy who hit us. Who the hell does that? Hit and run?”

  “No one good.” Major understatement.

  Lydia and Gavin are deep in conversation, their heads close together. No worries about third wheel now. Good for them. Seems like everyone is pairing up.

  Vince drinks some of his soda. “I meant to tell you, I started working at a daycare center.”

  “You?” Of all the places he could work out, he picks a daycare?

  Vince puts a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt. I like kids.” A shadow flashes across his face. “When I had gone to my therapist, he mentioned it might be a good idea for me. ‘Have little brothers and sisters,’ he’d said.” He shrugs. “It’s actually a lot of fun.”

  “That’s great.” I don’t know what makes me happier—that he no longer needs to see his therapist or that he’s found something that makes him happy. He never looked so proud of himself before.

  “Yeah, reading to them is great. Their little faces light up. Art time is cool, but it’s so messy. I swear I should wear a cover or something to protect my clothes.”

  “Do you mean an apron?” I tease, knocking my shoulder playfully into him.

  His hand squeezes my shoulder. “No, more like a… a smock!” He snaps his fingers. “That’s
the word. Anyhow, there’s another opening. We could work together, and I’ll be able to drive us to and from work. It’s four to six on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

  It’s tempting, sorely tempting. I’ve always enjoyed kids, I wish I have siblings, and a few times, I’ve babysat Julie for Bri’s parents.

  The almost nonexistent knot in my chest sinks to my stomach and grows to the size of a basketball. One of the future scenes from the cauldron was of me working at a daycare.

  “I might be able to,” I say slowly. “I just told Mrs. Pullman I’ll start working at the bakery.”

  “Oh, ok. Don’t worry about it.”

  I squeeze his hand on my shoulder. “I see if I can handle both. The daycare sounds like fun.”

  Our food comes, and I enjoy my bacon cheeseburger. My eyes bulge when my peas rearrange themselves to spell “mt.”

  Mountain.

  Now or tonight?

  The peas roll around and form into a moon.

  Tonight.

  With my fork, I scrap the peas together. Although I have questions for the witches, I’m not sure I can believe anything they tell me. I won’t drop everything and run to the mountain. No one is going to dictate what I’m going to do.

  And I’m not about to let the fear of dying dictate my actions either.

  Chapter 18

  AFTER LUNCH, WE congregate outside the restaurant. It’s so refreshing to talk and joke around. It’s so normal. So human. Just what I need.

  Vince’s phone rings, and he steps aside to answer.

  “I have to get going,” Lydia says. “I told my parents I’d be home by one. Do you need a ride home, Crystal?”

  I glance at Vince. From the few phrases I overhear, he’s talking to his mom. “I’ll be fine. Worse comes to worst, I’ll walk home.”

  “Sounds good.” She smiles widely at Gavin. “It was nice talking to you.”

  “You too.” He seems so relaxed. Good. We all have issues, and that includes Gavin, and if Lydia can help him, I’m thrilled. Maybe they’ll only be friends, but sometimes friendship can lead to something more. Just like me and Vince.