Ghost Maker

by Robin D. Owens

  “Okay,” he said, but she heard the reluctance in his tone.

  “I’ll be fine.” She opened the door and left.

  He snorted but hung up without saying good-bye.

  Deli Delish had been a welcome respite, but she needed to develop a tougher hide . . . besides, the ghosts of the young couple floated toward her. Just one glance and she knew they’d decided to move on, and she’d promised to help. Enzo continued to patrol the street, but now and again, he’d stop and lick one of the couple’s free hands.

  She took a deep breath and considered how to do this here and now. First, she’d seen a nice, clean but slightly narrow and shadowy one-car alley a block over. Since it seemed as if they weren’t nailed in place by whatever held them here, that could be a good place to go through the transition with them. Her step hesitated.

  Chapter 19

  Helping two spirits cross over at the same time would be a challenge. And though they might not be major projects assigned by the universe, she couldn’t say no. Perhaps she might have been able to if they’d been arrogant or demanding, but not now when they were eager to move on together and find what awaited them next. She did worry a little about being in a weakened state from her wound, and the threat that it might rip when she aided them.

  But she anticipated trouble, since they hadn’t said anything. She might even be able to put them off until later. So she leaned casually against a fancy lamppost and fixed her gaze on the racks of clothes outside a store across the street, but kept an eye out for one or both of them to talk.

  Come on! Enzo encouraged. They moved closer. Arms around each other’s waists, they smiled at her. The girl spoke first. I am Nelle Emerson, Mrs. Emerson.

  Clare thought she looked like sixteen, legally a child in this day and age. The girl dipped a curtsy to Clare, and she realized that she must appear ancient to a teenager.

  The young man gave a half bow. I am Alger Emerson. Both our families had just arrived in Manitou Springs, Alger said.

  The girl gazed at him, then looked at Clare with the shifting-fog eyes she’d become used to. For us, our families came for us, because each of us was sick. They were very good people.

  Alger nodded. And most of them lived long and healthy lives. I met them when their spirits left their bodies and moved on.

  As did I, Nelle added.

  Clare cleared her throat, as if she needed it to speak instead of sending telepathic thoughts to the phantoms, and said, But you didn’t want to move on.

  Most particularly, we wanted to remain together, and in the early years we feared going on, that we would be separated, no matter that we tried to remain together, Nelle answered.

  We know better now, the young man said confidently. So he had some knowledge that Clare didn’t, and she noted that nugget of information to write in her journals.

  Yes, but we had just come here, to this beautiful, beautiful place. And we’d just met, Nelle explained.

  And just fallen in love and married. Alger smiled down at her.

  Yes. She leaned against him. We wanted to stay here as well as be together.

  But now we’re thinking that we might be ready to move on to heaven.

  Oh, Clare said. She angled her head up the street, not extending her ghost sight to see what the block or buildings had been in their time period. All right, why don’t you follow me. She tried out her sympathetic, you-can-trust-me client smile, and they both beamed back at her.

  Come along, Emersons! She pushed off the lamppost and walked toward the alley and the town clock beyond. She could do this and be done before she met Zach.

  Glad we found you, Alger said.

  Nelle laughed. She would have been hard to miss, since rumor is circulating so much in our community.

  Clare stared.

  Alger frowned a little, lifted a hand that seemed to flow close to Clare. And we are drawn to her.

  Yes, but nice to meet you on our walk. We stroll from Seven Minute Spring to the Loop, though usually we cross the street later.

  Apparitions who had a wide area of movement were standard for Clare. She’d met more of them than those who were stuck in one spot.

  They trailed along behind her, their aspects significantly changed. They’d become as fizzy as the mineral springs, effervescent with hope—that they were moving on to a better place and they’d be together. And with that was a soupçon of fear at the unknown—the process, Clare thought, rather than the result. Enzo caught up with Clare and she glanced down at him, then a smudgy gray movement caught her eye and she glanced back. She led a parade.

  It appeared that this time when she practiced her craft she’d have an audience—which she was becoming used to—but they’d all be phantoms. First time ever.

  They reached the mouth of the alley, between two painted brick buildings, and Enzo raced down it and back. No one is around, Clare! No one is here, Emersons!

  Very well, the Emersons said together.

  We’re ready, Nelle added when Clare turned to them. They stood side by side, smiling, with expressions of acceptance, hands linked across their bodies.

  If they believed the time was right—sun, moon, stars aligned or in the afternoon on a partly sunny day, or whatever, and Enzo thought so, too, she wouldn’t question any of them.

  “Right,” Clare said aloud. No live person passed the alley, nor did she see anyone on the opposite side of the street. Maybe she could get this done quickly and without looking like she suffered from drugs or seizures or anything else. Or, even better, go into the parking lot behind the buildings and hope no one in the houses on the terrace above looked out their back windows. In any event, she had to do this.

  When she’d turned the corner behind the building into the uninspiring lot, Alger looked around and said, This is a beautiful little glade. Thank you for finding a good place for us to . . .

  Transcend. Clare finished his comment with a mental projection, glad they didn’t see the cracked asphalt with gravel-edged lot.

  Yes! they caroled excitedly in unison.

  With a last hasty glance around, Clare began inhaling and exhaling, counting breaths ever slower.

  This will be fun! Enzo said, jumping around them, cheerleader to—their, the Emersons . . . last. That should help them all.

  Each of you hold out a hand, Clare instructed mentally.

  They looked at each other, then at Clare, then did as she’d asked. But went back to locking their gazes with their spouse.

  All right, rather romantic, and if she was in their position with Zach—no, don’t think of that. And if they stood in the shade instead of the sun now breaking through the clouds, too bad. The time had come.

  She clasped each spectral hand with her own, gritted her teeth to stop her shudder at the freezing cold, accepted the world turning into sepia tones, and stepped into the couple. Flashes of their lives struck her mind. Their all-too-brief lives. Pity bloomed and she crushed the feeling. No one wanted pity. Both sickly from tuberculosis, both brought to Manitou in hopes they’d heal, meeting each other and each’s joy at finding a soul mate, marriage and—

  Go! she commanded telepathically. “Go!” she emphasized aloud, managing to spurt the word through numbing lips.

  Look! Nelle sounded thrilled. She turned away from Clare, breaking her grip, but Clare was caught in their experience. Alger moved with Nelle and both gasped—Clare heard their intakes of breaths.

  Heaven truly does have pearly gates! Alger whispered.

  The visualization solidified in her mind—open gates of a white sheen, and beyond that a sunrise, with bright rays shooting out in a rainbow of colors. She even thought she saw a hint of winged beings.

  Angels! Nelle sobbed. Oh, and more, Alger, I sense some our family waiting for us.

  His arm came around her waist held on tight. Yes, and they approve of us and, finally, of
our marriage.

  So very much love.

  That lapped over to Clare, too, the love, and seemed to reduce her chill slightly. Go, she projected, this time a whispery thought.

  The couple clasped hands and ran. With each step, their speed increased.

  Clare grunted as her etheric body pulled and stretched, and the rip—

  Stop! Alger yelled. He and Nelle turned toward Clare and he made a huge slicing motion with his arm. Thank you, Clare Cermak. We are grateful.

  We feel such joy! Thank you! Nelle enthused, made the cutting gesture, too. Considerate ghosts. Who knew? Clare rocked back on her heels, the sepia tones of the word switching into brilliant color. She groaned and felt a sprinkle of raindrops.

  A dark cloud rolled over them, seething with anger. Two ghosts who had been watching and had stepped forward—women—vanished so quickly they looked like streaks of marbled gray.

  Enzo barked. There is a threat here.

  Well, that didn’t sound good.

  A bad ghost.

  Not again! Clare snapped.

  Enzo stood, quivering, muzzle moving as if he casted around for an odor. No, I was wrong. Not a bad ghost.

  Clare let out a huge sigh.

  But something is . . . odd. Something I don’t know of. A slight whine from him. Maybe I should consult the Other, or call him and let him come out.

  “The Other is rarely helpful,” Clare said aloud. “Do you really think that he’ll give us any information?”

  Enzo’s tail wagged once. Maybe not.

  “We’ll just have to learn as we go, as usual.” Clare compressed her lips. “I only brought one of Great-Aunt Sandra’s journals with me.” She usually toted one around in her bag in case she had free time to work on taking notes and organizing the information of the chaotic entries. Her aunt had kept blank books in every room in her house, picked them up and wrote in them when she felt the urge, so the entries weren’t even in any sort of chronological order. “I really need to scan those.” And even buy a scanner. In her multitudinous spare time. But she moved it up in her mental list to be a priority.

  Her cell phone rang, Zach’s throbbing, edgy tune.

  “Hi, Zach.” Her mouth felt normal; the numbness had faded more quickly than usual.

  “Is everything okay?” he demanded.

  “Fine,” she answered automatically. “I’ll meet you at the town clock shortly.”

  “Yeah, I’m turning onto the main drag from the highway.”

  “Excellent timing.” She put enthusiasm into her voice. It wouldn’t take him long to drive, so she’d better start moving. She hurried down the alley, and by the time she’d exited the shade of the overshadowing buildings, sunshine broke through the clouds again. In fact, she looked at the sky and saw only a few high scarves of ice crystal clouds. Weird.

  “Be right there,” Zach said, and disconnected.

  Enzo caught up with her, trotted beside her, but kept craning his head. Something is off.

  Clare sighed, dipped her hand into the ice that was his head for a quick pat, and replied mind-to-mind with only a hint of bitterness, Something is always off, Enzo.

  He glanced up at her with huge eyes, then shot toward the town clock. She walked more slowly, her etheric wound throbbing from the cold, but it hadn’t torn.

  She waited by the clock, discerning the locals by the jugs they carried to fill up at nearby Shoshone Spring—including the woman in a patchwork jacket she’d seen yesterday at Seven Minute Spring—from the tourists who all aimed their cell phone cameras at the sculpture garden, or Barker House, or the town clock with the goddess Hebe atop it.

  A few minutes later, Zach stopped his truck in the center lane designated for deliveries, and she took advantage of a break in traffic to hurry to it.

  “Did you find the healer?” Zach asked abruptly as he lifted her into his truck. Hey, Enzo, he said mentally, glancing at the truck bed where Enzo stood watching them. Remaining a ghost dog and not the Other. Good.

  She replied to Zach, “No.” And when her bottom sank into the new, cushioned seat, weariness descended so that she didn’t know how she’d remained upright. “I didn’t find the healer.”

  He got in the driver’s side. “We gotta do that, and soon, Clare.”

  “Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “Let’s take another look at Navajo Spring.”

  He stilled beside her. “Haven’t you done enough today?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, only one, a mannerism she’d picked up from him. “Rossi would have told you that we didn’t do much, mostly driving.”

  Zach made a disgusted noise, his nostrils flared. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t help a ghost transition, because I won’t believe you. I damn well know how you look after you’ve moved a spook on.”

  She huffed a breath. “All right. Two. A very nice couple walked straight through heaven’s pearly gates.”

  Zach stiffened, spared her a quick look, his blue green eyes yet dark with anger. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. They both believed in heaven, both believed they belonged together and in heaven.”

  A pause a couple of beats. “Were there angels?”

  “Brightly lit greater spirits, certainly, beyond the gates. I, ah, didn’t approach.” Her turn to think for a few seconds. “Awe-some. Truly. I felt awed.”

  “Uh-huh.” Another sideways glance. “You’re getting your color back.”

  “Drive to Navajo Spring, Zach.”

  He did, and when they entered the space again, Enzo joined them and it simply felt right to Clare. She would find the Sister of Mercy. Confidence filled her, especially since the area itself seemed nearly deserted. Having Zach with her made a difference, perhaps only in her attitude, but that was everything.

  Oh, and aided and abetted by the matzo ball soup, a nice solid warmth in her stomach once she’d thawed out a bit more.

  Holding hands with Zach so he felt more in the loop, Clare narrowed her eyes to facilitate seeing into the deeper shadows. Yes, a woman stood very still against the wall, next to the fountain, and though the black skirts of her habit and veil merged well with the gloom, her pale gray wimple showed up against the white paint of the back of the candy store.

  They strode to the phantom of the nun, and she abandoned the wall to move at more than human speed, blurring her form, toward the red benches that separated the picnic area from the rows of mechanical rides for children outside the arcade.

  Clare touched her voice memo app to record. She and Zach stopped outside the circle of personal space people of the 1800s preferred, and she inclined her head in a nod, deciding to be more formal in her approach this time. How do you do, Sister? I am Clare Cermak.

  You ARE real and you CAN see me. I thought, par chance, I imagined you and the . . . chien. Her mental words flowed with a definite French accent. Then the nun sighed and her garments moved as if she’d shifted.

  Clare blinked and replied mentally, I thought the Sisters of Mercy were Irish.

  My other sisters here were. I was with an Irish friend when they were asked by Father Francolon to come, and I decided to come with them.

  Ah, Clare replied. That cleared up, she continued, Yes, I sense you and I can see you. As I said before, I can help spirits transcend, and move on to . . . heaven.

  The young phantom’s head angled away from them. Clare believed she heard a whimper.

  Chapter 20

  Enzo padded up to the near-transparent phantom woman and sat close to her. I am Enzo, Clare’s guide, and a minor spirit myself. You are very beautiful.

  Now the nun’s head angled down as she looked at the ghost Labrador. Even blinking, Clare couldn’t bring her into focus.

  With a bark, Enzo looked back at them. That is my friend Clare, who is also beautiful, and my friend Zach, who is beautiful! We are all beautiful h
ere!

  You do have a shine, the sister stated. She leaned forward and Clare thought the woman tried to see Enzo better. She probably hadn’t seen that breed of dog when she lived, since Labradors came to the States in the early twentieth century.

  So we are Enzo and Clare and Zach and the Sister of Mercy! Enzo enthused. His promptings drew a laugh from the apparition and she looked in Clare’s direction. I am Sister Julianna Emmanuel.

  I am very pleased to meet you, Sister Julianna Emmanuel, Clare sent to the spirit, though her ears picked up people outside on the street, buying candy.

  Zach is a very virile man, the ghost said hesitantly. Her voice sounded high, more like a girl’s than a woman’s. Her skirts belled restlessly. She continued, His aura is strong and vigorous and very masculine. She swayed sideways, nearly sinking fully into a large concrete pillar, as if such machismo threatened her somehow.

  So, in this instance, Zach might be a detriment. Unlike Clare’s previous case where the ghost had bonded more with Zach than with her. Sister Julianna’s blacks, grays, and pale shades began to meld together as she evaporated. Because of Zach?

  He’s also wounded and suffering, Clare said telepathically.

  Zach flinched beside her and dropped her hand to set his fingers on her shoulder with his free hand. On the top of his curved wooden cane, his left knuckles tightened to white.

  The nun’s phantom sharpened. Is he? She sounded extremely interested, as a healing spirit would be. Yes! Clare had discovered her at last!

  Can you see his wound below his left knee? Clare asked.

  A slight fluctuation in the atmosphere as if Sister Julianna gasped. Yes, a nerve is severed!

  Zach’s jaw flexed.

  The nun flowed forward, knelt before them, crooning softly, ghostly hands trying to wrap around Zach’s leg but passing through.

  Zach’s breath hissed out of him. “Hot touch,” he muttered. “Hands?”

  Yes, Clare sent telepathically, specifically to him. A warm ghost? Wow, definitely different.