Beacon's Spark (Potomac Shadows Book 1)

by Jim Johnson

But then again, she might flip out. I bit my lower lip and glanced at the old Tom and Jerry clock set above the main door. I put on a pleading expression. “Could you close a little early tonight? I need to talk to you. It’s important, I think.”

  Bonita glanced at the clock. “Well, I guess it’s close enough. We don’t get a lot of customers on Wednesday nights as it is.”

  Someone cleared her throat behind me. It was the other customer, the one Bonita had been helping when I had walked in.

  Bonita raised her hands. “I’m so sorry! Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  The woman shifted a look between Bonita and me, and then shook her head. “No, I’ll just take these.” She indicated a pair of maternity jeans and a couple of nursing bras.

  Bonita smiled and then glanced at me. “Why don’t you go into the back room and get some water on for tea. I’ll ring this up and then lock up.”

  Relieved for the chance to get away and regroup, I made my way to the store’s small back room. Wedged in between the oversized wooden desk, a large trash can, a recycle bin, and assorted boxes of unsorted stock, was a simple square folding table, the blue vinyl cover patched in a couple areas. One section of it was bubbled and partially shrunk from where Bonita had once accidentally dropped a hot iron on it.

  There was a basket of assorted teas, an electric kettle, and a small multicolored pyramid of mismatched mugs on the table. I busied myself with filling the kettle with water from the spigot in the tiny bathroom, and then set the kettle on its hot plate and hit the switch to start it boiling.

  I pulled two mugs off the stack and dropped a bag of Earl Gray in mine and chamomile in the other. While I waited for the water, I poked around in the half-fridge underneath the desk. There was just a little bit of milk left in the two-percent quart container, and several plastic sealed cups of half-and-half in the door. There were a couple science experiments tucked into the back of the fridge as well, emitting some sort of odor that I didn’t even want to think about. I took the creamer and the milk but left the rest of it. Bonita told me on the first night I worked for her that she preferred to clean her fridge herself, and I had agreed to leave it alone.

  I wondered how often she cleaned it, because it sure didn’t seem like all that often to me.

  The tingling bell sound in the distance told me that she had probably finished with the customer and had let her out the door. Sure enough, the light spilling in through the back doorway dimmed by about half—sure sign that Bonita had turned off some of the lights in the front of the shop.

  I was pouring hot water into the mugs when she joined me, her hands full of the cash tray from the register, my satchel, and a dog-eared romance novel she’d been reading behind the counter when there weren’t customers in the store.

  She placed her load on the desk to one side, and then toed over one of the wooden stools. She smiled at the steeping mugs of tea and then indicated I should sit in the old wooden captain’s chair listing next to the desk.

  I eased down into the chair, feeling it settle under my weight. It made a few alarming creaks as it did so. Against all odds, the thing held fast, as it always somehow managed to do. I reached over for my mug of tea and blew across the rim to cool it.

  Bonita left hers to steep a little longer. She gestured toward the cash drawer. “Pretty decent day. Almost three hundred in cash and about half that in credit card receipts.”

  I smiled as I blew across the rim of my mug, sending thin wisps of vapor toward her. “Really nice. Any new consignment items?”

  She nodded. “Three more boxes of assorted clothes. I had to pass on a few that were just too ratty.”

  I nodded. “Pretty good haul for a Wednesday.”

  Bonita took an experimental sip of her tea and then leveled her gaze at me from across her mug. “So what did you want to talk about? That crystal?”

  I leaned back in the captain’s chair to get a little distance from her, and took a sip of my own tea. I grimaced; it was still too hot. I placed the mug back on the desk, taking my time, stalling.

  To her credit, Bonita didn’t push. She never pushed. I guess it was part of being a calming presence as a midwife and doula. She could wait me out and she knew it.

  We sat in companionable silence for several heartbeats, though I admit I was getting even more tense the quieter we got.

  Finally, I couldn’t take the quiet any more. “It’s that crystal,” I blurted.

  Bonita lifted the corner of her mouth in a slight smile. “What about it? You had quite the reaction to it.”

  “I don’t know how to describe it, really, but I thought...” I stared at the cross-stitch bouquet of flowers picture on the wall above the desk. “No, it’s stupid. Never mind.”

  She took another slow sip of tea. “Not stupid, Rachel.” She rested her mug on the desk next to mine. “Come on, tell me what spooked you. You do still look pale, even for you.”

  I snorted. I couldn’t do much about my fair skin. Product of my partial Irish heritage, I guess. I had skin that stayed pale all the time, even in the sun. I didn’t tan—I just burned red. Uncomfortable and annoying, though at least Abbie liked my skin. I was kinda fond of it too, to be honest.

  “I think…I think the crystal spoke to me.”

  Bonita smiled and finished off her tea. “Oh, that’s good! I wondered if you might be sensitive to crystals.”

  I stared at her. “You mean it’s not weird to hear voices from crystals?”

  “Voices, visions, however the spirit moves through the crystal and speaks to you.” She shrugged. “Sometimes the person chooses the crystal but sometimes the crystal chooses the person.”

  I just stared at her, unsure what to say or think. I didn’t go to church anymore and I’d never thought much about her spirituality other than knowing that some of the incense she burned in the store tickled my nose and made me sneeze a lot.

  She reached over and patted my hand. “Not to worry, kiddo. Would you like to take the crystal?”

  I blinked, slow, then a feeling of certainty struck me. “Could I?”

  She nodded. “Of course. Don’t even worry about paying for it. Miss Chin didn’t want much for it, anyway.”

  I frowned. “I’m happy to pay for it, Bonita…”

  She raised a hand and then stood up and started to busy herself with cleaning up the mugs and tea. “Not to worry. I’ll cover it. Consider it part of your pay.”

  I thanked her, wondering why I wanted a hunk of rock that apparently could talk to me.

  Chapter 8

  I GATHERED UP THE CRYSTAL AND then helped Bonita clean up the store and got the trash out to the dumpster in the alleyway behind the stores. I felt kinda wigged out while we did so—I wanted to tell Bonita more about what happened to me at Branchwood, but I couldn’t quite figure out the best way to bring it up. I let it go, figuring I’d sleep on it and try to make sense of it in the morning.

  As Bonita was locking up, I got a text from my stupid brother stating that he wanted to meet up for lunch tomorrow, and after some thought I accepted. I needed my monthly stipend and I really didn’t want to wait another week to get it. Ramen noodles three times a day really kinda sucked. It wasn’t that bad right now, but I’d been there and had no desire to get back to those days.

  Bonita gestured toward her Prius. “Give you a lift home?”

  I took a lungful of the cool evening air and shook my head. “I think I’ll walk home and see if I can clear my head. This has been a day for the books and I’d like to see if a walk will calm me down before I get home. Otherwise I’ll be bouncing off the walls and driving Abbie nuts.”

  Bonita nodded and then hugged me. “All right, kiddo. Have a good night. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

  I waved at Bonita as I headed off toward home and she headed to her car. The rental I lived in with Abbie and our roommates was maybe fifteen minutes away.

  Del Ray is a mostly residential town, especially once you get off the main drag, so
I usually felt pretty safe. I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and shrugged my satchel more comfortably across my chest, wishing again that I had thought to wear my heavier coat.

  I let my mind wander as I walked home, though as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get away from thinking about the ghostly face I’d seen and that glowing curtain of light, and all the other things Malcolm and I had run into. As cold as it was, I had expected to have a fresh headache, but I felt no pressure, no pain, nothing. In fact, my head felt clearer, more open somehow, than I could remember it feeling in a long time.

  About ten minutes from home I started to get really chilly, and felt my teeth starting to rattle of their own accord. It must have dropped into the low twenties in the last few hours, and the moisture in the air suggested some light rain or maybe even some snow showers. Sure smelled like snow, anyway.

  I passed a pair of alleyways on either side of me, and either a flash in the corner of my eye or a muffled whimper—I wasn’t sure which—made me pause mid-step.

  A heavy-set black woman, her hair done up in long braids that hung past her waist, wearing of all things an old flower-print dress and flip-flops, stared at me from the depths of the alleyway to the left. The alley was bordered by the backs of multiple single-family homes.

  The shadows in the alley played off the woman’s face and form, and while it was hard to make out much in great detail, I could tell that her face was misshapen. And, that flower-print dress definitely looked too thin for her to be comfortable in this weather.

  I cleared my throat and tried to be brave. “Hi,” I said. “Cold night for a walk?” My breath bloomed around my face as I talked.

  The woman didn’t move. She just stared at me from the darkness in the alleyway.

  I tried a little hand-wave. “Can you hear me?” I pointed at my ears. “Hard of hearing?” There were a lot of older couples and families in the neighborhood, and several caution signs for deaf folks.

  The woman didn’t respond to my motion or my words. We stared at each other, some thirty feet between us. I got shivers up my spine again, and they weren’t caused by the chill in the air. My mind flashed to that old woman’s face I’d seen at Branchwood.

  The woman inclined her head as she stared at me, and the changed angle revealed the rest of it in the wan streetlight in the alleyway. I flinched when I saw why I had thought her face to be misshapen.

  The whole left side of it was caved in, a bloody, matted mess of blood, dirt, and gore. Bits of hair and clumps of...something...clung to her scalp in pieces.

  I took a half-step back into the street and tried to swallow the bile that had risen up in my mouth, but the scream I was working on from somewhere deep inside me didn’t come out. It just caught up in my throat and constricted my chest.

  I couldn’t breathe. I gasped and clenched my arms around my chest. As I stared at her, I realized that I could actually see through her.

  Almost like…like a ghost.

  I blinked a couple times and made to take a tentative step toward her, confused out of my mind but somehow not terrified. That curious cat inside me just didn’t know any better.

  Just like in the retirement home hallway, though, I felt my feet frozen to the ground. I stared down at them in dumb fascination. I forced myself to think about moving, to start walking, but it was eerie to look at my feet and see them not obeying my commands.

  Panicked, I glanced down the alleyway. The woman had somehow moved toward me without making a sound. Hell, she might have glided across the ground for all I knew. Ghosts do that, right?

  She was about fifteen feet away from me now, close to the edge of the alleyway. She was in a pool of bright light spilling out of a lamp-post, and I got another good view of her too-thin dress and the ruin of her head and face. No normal, living person would have been able to stand after taking such a blow.

  I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming. If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed this woman had just walked off the set of one of those zombie shows on cable TV. She looked deader than dead, and while she didn’t look hungry for my brains, it seemed evident from the expectant look on her face that she wanted something.

  I shivered in place, my arms wrapped tight across my chest, my thin sports hoodie scant protection against the cold of the air and the unnatural chill emanating from her. Tears ran unbidden down my face. “I don’t know what you want! Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  The woman moved a little closer to me, and I swear she didn’t move a muscle in so doing. It was like one moment she was fifteen feet away, and then I blinked and she was like ten feet away. I couldn’t smell anything about her, though my breath was coming in short gasps now, every inhale freezing my nose hairs and every exhale coming out in a harsh, short burst of vapor.

  I turned pleading eyes on her implacable, unreadable face. “What do you want?”

  The woman lifted a beefy arm and gestured toward me with an open hand. Her mouth opened, and she breathed one simple word. “Peace.” It was so quietly spoken that I almost didn’t hear it, like it was a whisper on the wind. After that, she faded away, melting into the air right before my eyes.

  As soon as she slipped from sight, my feet somehow broke away from the cold ground and I realized I could move again. I took a few short breaths and then turned and tore down the street just as fast as my sneakers could carry me home.

  The porch lights were on at home, and I navigated the small lawn and the three steps up in a few easy bounds.

  Bathed in the warm porch light, I leaned over and took several deep breaths. No freaking ghosts and no disembodied voices to bother me here, hell no. I doubled over and just breathed, hyper-ventilating and trying to get control of myself. God, I hadn’t had a panic attack in forever.

  I lost track of the moments, but soon enough, I felt the pressure on my chest ease off and felt like I could take a few breaths without starting to panic all over again. What I needed more than anything else now was to wrap myself up in Abbie’s arms and fall asleep in a warm bed.

  I smoothed my hair and my rattled nerves, and reached out to unlock the door. After one last glance up and down the road in front of the house, I pushed open the door, hoping for one small moment of normalcy after what had turned out to be a seriously screwed-up Wednesday.

  Chapter 9

  AND STILL WEDNESDAY WASN’T QUITE FINISHED with me! I walked out of the cold evening air and into a frigid nightmare.

  It was quiet in the house, but it was the quiet you got in the middle of a storm, where things are loud and energetic at the start, then it tapers off, then it starts up all over again.

  I glanced into the living room. My girlfriend, Abbie, was perched on the edge of the couch, her dusky features looking as tense as I’d ever seen—hands clasped in her lap over her dressy skirt. She hadn’t even changed out of her work clothes.

  That was a bad sign.

  Penny, the longest-tenured renter in the house and the de facto head of the household, turned her icy gaze off Abbie and focused it on me, switching targets with practiced ease. “You’re home. Finally.”

  Penny sat across from Abbie in an old threadbare green and gold wingback chair, an original piece that had come with the 100-year old house, and might have been here even before the house had been built. The thing seemed to be made of cobwebs, dust, and musty stink. Any time I was in the living room I did my best to give it a clear berth.

  I carefully pushed the door shut behind me and then waved half-heartedly. “Ah, hi. Yeah, I’m home. You didn’t have to wait up for me...” Sometimes when I’m stressed out or know someone else is stressed out, I try a little humor, but sometimes my sense of humor doesn’t work out so well.

  And this was one of those not-so-well times, judging from the look on Penny’s face.

  She leveled her beady black eyes on me and stared at me through her heavy lids. “Took you long enough.” She didn’t bother hiding her disdain. I couldn’t quite figure out if she didn’t like m
e because I was Abbie’s girlfriend, or because I was a lesbian, or maybe because...well, who knows. The only person she seemed to like was her boyfriend, Cooper.

  “Uh, yeah. Rachel. Been waiting on you for a while.” Cooper, dressed in a Stanford muscle shirt and athletic shorts, with his trademark bro-style baseball cap turned backwards, slouched in a battered gray metal folding chair, his contribution to the living room’s decor. He was Penny’s boyfriend and was effectively bulletproof—he could do no wrong in her eyes and was not given any particular task to do in the house. Penny gave him a pass, much to the annoyance of the other renters in the house.

  I didn’t get off so lightly. While I was living with Abbie and technically not a signed renter, Penny had made it clear the day I moved in that I was to contribute to the rent as well as my share of the chores and house maintenance.

  Naturally it wasn’t fair for me to do a share and Cooper to get off with nothing other than to help Penny hold down her bed at night and eat a share of food he didn’t pay for, but whatever. Penny was an asshole, and we had to either make it work within her rules or move out.

  I tried a feeble smile that had no energy behind it. “Well, I’m here now. Fresh from work and in from the cold air.” I made a show of rubbing my arms and hands. “It’s getting colder out there. Might want to tweak up the thermostat or break out the extra blankets tonight.”

  Penny’s mouth and eyes got tighter as I talked and the color rose up her neck and spread to her rounded cheeks. “The thermostat is fine at sixty-eight and I’m sure we all have plenty of blankets.”

  I dredged up some energy from the depths of my being. After my epically screwed-up Wednesday, I just did not have the energy to deal with Penny or her house drama. The pleading look on Abbie’s face suggested I should tread lightly. All I really wanted to do was tweak Penny and then take Abbie upstairs and crawl into bed and find one moment of joy.

  Abbie cleared her throat and then smoothed her hands along her thighs, wrapped in her gray wool skirt. “Rachel, Penny was just telling me...”