Ghost Memory

by Maer Wilson

  Gary continued to stare and just as I thought he’d never answer, he gave another short nod. I saw the moment when fear or maybe even common sense made him realize this was a no-win situation for him.

  “Excellent!” said Thulu, as he rose and backed away. “I see no reason you need to hang around. And no need to come back. And if you do, Gary…” Thulu raised his eyebrows.

  Gary continued to watch Thulu warily.

  “Well, you’ve already seen that there are things other than me that you have to worry about. You’re a smart guy and figured that out already, though.” Thulu gave Gary’s chest a significant glance. “Okay, you can get up and leave now.”

  Gary stayed down for a few more moments. He probably needed to let the blood flow again. Finally, he got up, keeping his distance from Thulu. His hands were shaking, either from anger or the result of having the pressure point in his neck messed with.

  We watched him as he walked to his bike. He sat on it for a moment before putting his helmet on. I could only hope he would take Thulu’s threats seriously and stay away.

  The churning in my stomach had eased up, and I resolved to put any thoughts of Gary from my mind.

  Mr. Quinn opened the door. He joined us as we watched the bike until it was out of sight.

  “Well, young man, that was quite a display. What was that exactly?” he asked. There was a slight tremor in his hands from left-over nerves.

  “That was Karate, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Was it now? But what was that bit before you got here?”

  “Oh, that was Mr. Swanson.” I explained how he had defended the door and how unusual his action was in one of the dead.

  “Well, seems you two have helped me quite a bit today. How about you stay for dinner?” he motioned us inside.

  We countered with an offer to take him to deposit the check before the bank closed and to take him out to dinner to celebrate. He agreed with the bank part, but said that dinner would be on him.

  “Just let me get my coat,” he said and took it off the coat rack in the foyer.

  As he was putting it on, he asked me if Peter was still there. I told him that he was.

  “Can you ask him how long he has before he has to go into the Light?”

  I looked at Mr. Swanson. I knew that it was entirely up to him, but I didn’t want to say something in case he was ready to move on.

  “Tell Don that I’m here as long as he needs me. We can go into the Light together. But please tell him not to rush. He still has his life to live.”

  I relayed the message and Mr. Quinn nodded thoughtfully.

  “You’re a sweet girl, Fiona. And your young fellow is a good man. You’ve done a tremendous service for an old man. And I don’t mean the money. Knowing Peter is here will be a relief. Even if I can’t see or hear him.”

  We smiled at him.

  “It was our pleasure, sir,” said Thulu.

  “It really was,” I added sincerely.

  “So,” he paused and gave me a crafty smile, his eyes twinkling. “So, you really like our house, do you?”

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  As with my other writing, I received an enormous amount of support in creating this novelette.

  To Purgatory and the wonderful writers who are such a grand source of support, inspiration and friendship, especially Lisa Brackman, Rick Campbell, Kim Taylor, R. M. Clark, LynDee Walker, Jennifer Nelson, Cindy Pon, Kell Andrews and Jennifer Walkup.

  A very special thank you to my awesome beta readers: Derek Rost, Cheryl Rodgers, Danielle DeVor, Zachary Matzke, Leslie Cholowsky, Robert Williford, Glen Nowling, Cloyd Miller, Dr. Kim Farrell and Sharda Garrett. Their honesty and support is appreciated more than words can say.

  And to all the OTGers, my fabulous guild and friends who listen when I ramble.

  To Carla Clifton for her friendship, unwavering support and willingness to always be there, no matter what.

  To Jen Ryan, my editor and friend, my heartfelt thanks for going above and beyond with support, advice, friendship and wine. Let’s not forget the wine.

  And of course, to my family and extended family who have cheered me on and been there for me every step of way through this journey: my brother - Shawn Wilson, and the rest of my extended family - Shawn Woodrich, Todd Meyers and Andrew Dolle. Love you all.

  About the Author

  After a successful career being other people, and later teaching others the many tricks of that trade, Maer Wilson has decided to be herself for a while. Turns out she’s a writer. She’s always loved stories, especially fantasy, mystery and sci fi. Maer was born in the Year of the Dragon and has a dragon-themed room in her home, but sadly no dragons in the back yard. When she’s not writing, Maer plays online video games, teaches college and reads. Maer is a partner in Ellysian Press, a small publishing house. She also co-hosts the literary podcast MythBehaving. Maer lives in the high desert of Southern Nevada with her three dogs, a chihuahua and two poodles.

  Maer’s books include Relics and Portals, Books 1 and 2 in the Modern Magics series. The third book in the series is the upcoming Magics. There are also three novelettes in the series - “Ghost Memory,” “Unwanted Ghost” and “Ghost Dancer.” A fourth story, “Wedding Ghost” is also in the works.

  For more info, you can visit Maer’s website at http://maerwilson.com/. You can also follow her at the social media links below:

  Maer on Facebook

  Maer on Twitter

  Bonus Material

  Relics

  Chapter 1

  Under miles of mountain-cloud I have wandered

  Through ancient woods without a human track

  TOWARD THE TEMPLE OF HEAPED FRAGRANCE

  Wang Wei (A.D. 701 - 761)

  When the dead are afraid, there’s a big problem. The fear cut through the abandoned warehouse as sharp as the dagger at my throat. The tall, powerful being easily held me immobile. Breaking promises and lying to ancient creatures who can make you very dead, very fast was not such a good idea.

  Humans and non-humans, living and dead, all of us were cautious not to make any sudden moves that would send my captor over the edge.

  I tried to take careful breaths. I was terrified, more afraid than I’d ever been in my life and in shock, too. Betrayal and death will do that to you, let me tell you.

  Like a car out of control on ice, my thoughts careened all over the place. I could only hope someone in the group was thinking clearer than me. I kept my eyes down to hide the emotions I knew would upset the others. No sense letting Thulu and the rest know just how freaked out I really was.

  All I could tell myself was to breathe easy and try not to swallow. There was nothing but silence for long minutes, as both sides continued to wait. No one moved. Even the dead were frozen with fear. Now there’s a scary thought.

  * * *

  I’m not quite sure how old I was when I first saw the dead. Maybe I’d been seeing them all my life and never realized it. They didn’t approach me when I was a little kid, so it’s hard to tell. Besides, I didn’t really pay attention to people in the background. That all changed when I was ten years old and found out that I could communicate with them.

  There was a big storm in Phoenix that early-spring day, and it was quite dark when I came out of my after-school computer club meeting. The other kids ran through the rain to waiting cars and SUVs, but my folks were late again.

  I sat on the steps under an awning and watched the pounding rain as I waited. My parents were usually pretty good about being on time, but sometimes they got involved with a client in their small accounting firm and time got away from them. Usually they called my cell phone, but it had been silent that day. A sure sign they’d be there any moment.

  I pulled my well-used copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix out of my bag and started reading it for about the fifth time.

  I loved the smell of rain in the desert. There were a few gusts of wind and rain, but a light jacket was all I
needed over my jeans and t-shirt. At one point I heard a loud crashing noise in the distance. I got up to check the sky for lightning, but the cloud cover was a dome of uniform dark gray.

  I was always fascinated by the desert light shows of crackling lightning, but the show was dark that night. That one crash of thunder was all there was, so I gave up and went back to my perch on the steps. I got lost in my book, and it must have been half an hour later when I heard voices.

  “Oh, there she is. Fiona, I’m sorry we’re late.”

  I looked up and saw my parents in the rain about twenty feet away, coming toward me. The lights from the well-lit school entrance didn’t quite reach them for some reason. Or rather, the light seemed to go through them. I put my book in my bag, slipped a strap over one shoulder and looked up just as they got to me.

  That’s when I froze. I could see through them – both of them, just a bit.

  Fear tinged my voice, “Mom? Dad?”

  “I’m sorry we’re late.” Dad gave me his crooked grin. “We were in a car accident, and we had to walk. It took a while in the rain.”

  I think my horror finally registered with them.

  “Fiona, what’s wrong?”

  “What happened to you – both of you?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. Suddenly, my hands were ice cold and shaking. My bag slipped back to the sidewalk.

  They looked at each other in surprise, but they too realized that the other wasn’t quite substantial. I don’t know how long the three of us stood there, but it seemed an eternity. I watched their facial expressions change from concern to horror to resignation.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, sweet Fiona.” Mom’s voice was gentle. “I don’t think we will be picking you up after all.”

  I felt the rain on my face as I looked from one parent to the other. I was a bright kid. I knew they were there to say goodbye. Whatever had happened, they were no longer alive.

  “Stay here, Fi,” my dad said. “Do not leave here under any circumstances, until a trustworthy adult shows up.”

  “Make them show their ID. Under no circumstances are you to leave with anyone who isn’t a police officer or someone you know.” Mom turned to Dad. “My mother, we can get to her and let her know.”

  Dad asked me to repeat my instructions, a precaution they always took.

  “I’m going to wait here until someone comes to get me. They must show me ID. They will get me to Nana.” My voice was low, dull and leaden. My parents nodded, and Mom reached out a hand, but stopped when she realized what she was doing.

  “I love you, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry we won’t be here to watch you grow up, but no matter where I am, I will always, always, always love you more than anything in the world, times three.”

  The rain was pouring harder down my face. When I looked up, I saw I was nice and dry under the awning. The streams of water on my face were tears.

  “My lovely Fi, you take care of yourself. You are smart and talented, and you can do anything you want to.” Dad turned to my mom. “Will she be okay with Nana? How can she stay sane in that place?”

  Nana worked as a fortuneteller in a traveling carnival. She was a bit eccentric, but I adored her.

  “Maybe Nana will settle somewhere. Hopefully, we can have a clear line of communication. See to it that she gives Fiona a solid, normal home.”

  I followed all of this with some detachment, probably shock. Hearing my dead parents talk about normal things, as if they were simply going on a long trip was – well, bizarre. I had accepted that they were truly dead pretty quickly. Something inside me recognized that. Even though it was my first real communication with the dead, I knew it for what it was. The grief would set in later.

  “Well, we don’t know how much time we have, so we are going to Nana now, Fi. I know this will hurt you for a long time, but you must stay strong and know that you are going to be safe and taken care of. Your mother and I love you more than we can ever say. Stay here.”

  He reached out a hand, but, like Mom, didn’t make contact. I heard sirens far off in the distance as my parents started to fade from view.

  I called after them, afraid they’d go before I said the words, “I love you both, and I always, always, always will love you more than anything in the world times three.” The strain in my voice caught their attention and brought their figures back clearer for a few seconds, and then they faded from view. By then the sirens had also faded.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, not thinking, frozen in place. Time didn’t have any meaning. My brain had shut down, and I existed in some place where nothing could touch me. I simply – was.

  “Fiona Bartlett?” A soft male voice, then a pause. “Fiona? What’s wrong with her?”

  Voices started to penetrate. A young cop, early twenties, stood a few feet away. He had a sweet face, currently crinkled in anxiety as he looked up at a very tall, stocky woman in her mid-thirties.

  She shook her head and asked, “Fiona? Are you Fiona Bartlett?”

  I thought for a second. Then I realized that yes, I was Fiona, so I gave a small nod.

  She gave a small sigh of relief. “I’m Officer Green, and this is Officer Brown.” She paused. “Fiona,” she continued, “we need you to come with us. We’re going to take you somewhere warm and dry while we wait for your grandmother.”

  I looked around and saw their car parked in the drop-off drive. I remembered my instructions. “May I see your ID, please?” My voice cracked as if I hadn’t spoken in years.

  Green immediately showed me her ID. I looked at it carefully, comparing the picture to her face. She had medium brown hair, hazel eyes, a rather large nose and a light scattering of freckles. I decided that she was indeed Officer Marna Green.

  Officer Brown presented his ID, and I repeated the process, discovering that he was Kevin Brown. He had dark blonde hair and brown eyes. His sweetness came through even in the picture. I nodded to them that I was satisfied.

  Officer Green reached an arm toward me, but I stepped back. She immediately dropped her arm and stood still. I simply looked at her. I didn’t want to leave the school. It was a place I knew.

  Officer Brown said soothingly, “You’ve got to come with us, Fiona. You can’t stay here all night.”

  I looked from one officer to the other, picked up my bag from the walkway and trudged to their car, careful to step around them. I didn’t want to be touched; I was afraid I’d break into a million pieces.

  Behind me I heard Brown say in confusion, “She didn’t even ask why we’re here or where her parents are.”

  “Don’t ask me how, but I think she already knows,” was the soft, low response from Green. I heard their footsteps as they followed along behind me.

  When we came into the station through the front door, we met a crowd of people. Some were crying, some just sat and stared. The noise and pain levels were almost physical.

  My escorts led me to a door, where we were buzzed through. Brown moved off in one direction, while Green led me in a zigzag past desks and even more people. I didn’t want to look at them too closely, so I kept my head down, watching the back of Officer Green’s khakis and shoes.

  I was shown into a room with a table and a few chairs, and the door was shut behind us. I was glad. The pain in that other room was too much to bear when added to my own. I sat quietly in that small room. Officers Brown and Green took turns staying with me, but it seemed that Green was there the most. I answered when asked a question, but I didn’t ask any of my own.

  I sat in that room for several hours. They offered sodas, sandwiches, cookies and candy, but I only accepted the soda. They also offered to take me somewhere I could sleep. I mumbled, “No, thank you,” in that scratchy croak that had become my voice.

  Eventually, after one of his longer absences, Brown came back in with my grandmother. Nana wore her travel outfit - jeans with a butter-soft leather jacket over a T-shirt. She carried a large bag over her shoulder.

  She came ove
r to me immediately and pulled me into a tight hug. I closed my eyes and just melted into her. I heard the scrape of a chair as it was pulled close, and she moved slightly away to sit down. She immediately pulled me close again, smoothing my hair and kissing the top of my head.

  Nana was awesome personified. People often said I looked like her. While there was some resemblance, I wasn’t a carbon copy. She was an elegant lady, striking rather than pretty. In her early fifties, her hair still had the red from her younger pictures. She kept it stylishly short. It had faded a bit, though, and I suspected she hit the highlights because it seemed blonder than the last time I’d seen her. She had bright green eyes that just seemed to look right into your soul. Her features combined into a classic look. The light freckles across her nose and cheeks only added to that.

  Nana’s delicate features were less refined on me. My nose was slightly crooked from being broken in a bike accident, and my hair was a pale golden blonde. I did have her green eyes and freckles, though. I’m sure I had the same strained, numb look that she had that night, too. My eyes felt as hollow as hers looked.

  “I think we have it sorted out for the most part,” Brown said to his partner as he handed her a folder. She read through it. I watched her from the safety of my grandmother’s arms. Brown watched me.

  Green looked up at Nana. “Did you want to do this in another room?” She gave a small glance at me as she handed the folder back to Brown. I got the impression he wasn’t going to take it, but finally he did.

  “No,” Nana said as she shook her head. “She might as well hear it now.”

  Brown sat back down, taking a deep breath. His voice was firm, but quiet. “Mrs. Roberts, Fiona, there was an accident on the freeway. The rain made the road slick. One of the plastic barrels at an off-ramp lost enough of its weight somehow that the wind picked it up and blew it onto the freeway. The safety barrel got caught in one of the wheels of a gas tanker. The driver lost control, and his rig jack-knifed across the lanes of traffic. When a panel truck hit the trailer, it exploded, even though it was nearly empty. The smoke and debris formed a wall that the other cars simply couldn’t avoid.” He stopped, looking down at the folder.