Trace of a Ghost

by Cherie Claire

I hear Dwayne clearing his throat and look over. He still has the rope in his hands and it’s back to being taut against Carmine’s neck.

  “I have to tell you about Cora,” I repeat. “I found out something today that indicates she was murdered and didn’t die inside an institution.”

  Again, Ricky hesitates. He’s not sure what’s going on and I don’t know how to convey our danger. “It’s okay Vi. Jacob showed me the documents earlier. I now know that she was the one who helped those slaves to freedom.”

  I close my eyes. At least one good thing happened today.

  “But what’s going on? Something happened to you and Carmine?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  I look at Dwayne still holding Carmine captive. I’m helpless on how to make this right. If I say more, Cora will appear and cross over and I will cause her soul to disappear as well. If I explain where we are, Dwayne will undoubtedly kill Carmine, if not us both, and take off in the van.

  Tears pool in my eyes but I can still see Dwayne gripping that rope and Carmine shaking his head.

  “Forgive me, Cora,” I whisper, then say to Ricky, “Cora was hit on the head by someone Wendell sent to murder her. She died in the pond.”

  Instantly, Cora appears, a wisp of a vision surrounded by soft, white light. Dwayne relaxes his grip on Carmine and he once again leans forward coughing. Ricky’s calling my name in the phone, sounded more and more urgent, but my focus is on Dwayne, who’s standing and about to join Cora to steal her soul.

  “Devil’s Punchbowl,” I whisper to Ricky and hang up.

  Cora looks at me and it’s as if my soul floats there with hers. I’ve been a part of her life — literally — even if it’s only been in visions. As she gazes at me with a sweet smile, knowing that the truth has emerged and she will go to a better place, something else passes between us. I slip my hands inside my jacket pocket and know I’m right.

  Dwayne walks between me and Carmine heading to Cora’s side but before he can reach her, I pull out the kitchen knife and stab him soundly in the foot. My nemesis howls and falls to the ground while I crawl to Carmine’s side. In the meantime, Cora’s light fades and she disappears.

  “Bitch,” Dwayne yells at me.

  I reach in the other pocket and pull out my St. John the Conqueror root and hold it before both of us for protection. Dwayne pulls the knife out of his foot and turns, his gaze two blue flames staring at us.

  “That won’t save you.”

  I hold the root higher and proclaim, “St. John protect us. Let your unbeatable spirit surround us with your white light of protection and fight off the evil visiting us this night.”

  Dwayne steps back, unstable on his feet. I don’t know if it’s the wound I inflicted on his foot or St. John coming to our aid but it gives me time to think. I close my eyes trying to remember something Aunt Mimi might have taught me, something that might help deliver us from this evil man. Instead, I hear Dwayne laughing. At first, it’s a chuckle, then it turns into a roaring guffaw.

  “Stupid witch, stupid descendant of Gabriel.” He walks closer and knocks the root from my hand. “Did you really think a bunch of hoodoo is a match for me?”

  He inches closer, dragging that bum foot behind him until he’s inches from our face. I reach behind Carmine and take one of his bound hands. He squeezes back.

  “No one will know how you died, SCANC girl,” he says so close to my face I can feel the warmth of his breath on my aching cheek. “Not your stupid husband, that’s for sure. So, your ghost hanging around this remote place hoping for a SCANC to come along is a waste of time. Just cross over after I kill you and we’ll call it even, okay?”

  He gives us both that sickening sly smile and pulls that kitchen knife up to my chin.

  “How about you go first, SCANC girl. I’ll make the throat cut nice and clean.”

  I close my eyes for the inevitable, brace myself for the impact, say a prayer that God or whoever is out there will save me and my soul.

  Instead, two sounds jolt me awake. Stinky lets out a howl, claws extended and heading straight for Dwayne’s face. My husband stands above us, his entire body glowing with a blue light so intense it burns my eyes, his hammer held high above him like Archangel Michael fighting the dragon, yelling, “Get your hands off my wife!”

  Dwayne screams in pain as my blessed cat claws the crap out of his face. He stumbles backwards on to the ground while TB stands over him with one foot on his chest, that hammer still threatening, and the force of that light blinding Dwayne into submission. I see our nemesis hold up his hands in surrender and I can’t help wishing TB would kill the son-of-a-bitch. But he doesn’t, for sirens and cars are pulling up behind us, Shelby’s voice shouting out our names. TB instantly returns to my carpenter husband, the hammer lowering to his side, and that intense light dimming like a lightbulb switch. Dwayne’s hands are about his face, blood pouring through his fingers, and I see Stinky off to the side, cleaning himself as if nothing unusual just occurred.

  I couldn’t make this up if I tried.

  The others rush over, Winnie untying Carmine and the police assessing the scene. Dwayne points to me and TB and starts muttering how we attacked him. No one believes him, of course, so he turns to the three women he made love him during our trek down the Natchez Trace.

  “Pepper, Kelly, you know she’s dangerous. She left that horrid animal at your camp and tried to kill you, Kelly.”

  I look at the women in question and wonder if, as happens so many times in this case, they will stand by their man. Instead, Pepper places her hands on her hips and Kelly looks fit to kill. But it’s our non-committal PR person who has the final say.

  “This man has been trying to hurt us since we left Florence, Alabama,” Shelby says. “Officers, you need to arrest this man for kidnapping, stealing my vehicle, attempted homicide, and animal mutilation.”

  The police grab Dwayne and pull him to his feet and he screams bloody murder. They haul him to their cars and someone calls an ambulance. When Carmine’s hands are untied, he takes me into his arms and hugs me tight.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I look over his shoulder and see my heroic husband standing there looking as if he’s just another guy while one of the cops asks him questions. I expect him to rush to my side as well but there’s something in his gaze that unnerves me, something holding him back.

  When Carmine releases me my friends have a million questions. Suddenly all that adrenaline and blood retreats and the vertigo comes back full force. I fall ungracefully into the mud, face first, and black out.

  Trace of a Ghost

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wake in a hospital bed, my head bandaged and an IV needle in my arm. My eyes aren’t sticky anymore and the pain has subsided. In fact, I feel pretty good.

  TB notices and rushes over. “How are you feeling?”

  I nod and suddenly realize the pain’s still there.

  “You have a concussion,” he tells me. “The doctor said it was mild and you should be better fairly quickly but it’s best to relax. He thinks you can go home this afternoon if all goes well.”

  I sit up and realize it’s not as bad as I imagined. There’s a bit of dizziness and pain but nothing like the night before.

  The night before.

  I close my eyes remembering the horror of Dwayne kidnapping us, Cora’s crossover, and how I tried to fight him off until TB arrived.

  “Is Carmine okay?”

  TB takes my hand. “Carmine’s fine. He has a slight concussion like you do. His partner’s here and will drive him back to Dallas.”

  “Stinky?”

  TB grimaces and I dread hearing that my cat’s lost in the woods.

  “He’s fine. He’s in my pickup although I haven’t been out there lately and I’m worried he’s cold and hungry.”

  I doubt that Tabby will let anything harm him, even weather, but I feel TB’s pain. “You should go and check on him.”
>
  TB looks at our entwined hands. “I wanted to be here when you woke up.”

  I wish I could say there was love and affection in that statement, although I’m sure he didn’t mean otherwise, but an uneasiness begins in my belly. Something’s not right here.

  “What is it?” I ask, although I’m dreading to hear the answer.

  TB swallows. “Why were you there, Vi?”

  He’s worried I went with Dwayne willingly? Seriously?

  “Sweetheart, I was at the cemetery tour. He grabbed Carmine, then he grabbed me, and drove us out to that god-forsaken place. He wanted me to cross over Cora so he could steal her soul. Then kill us and do the same. He evolves by tapping into the light, has lived since Cora’s time as far as I know.”

  TB doesn’t look up through this whole explanation, but I guess he knows about Dwayne’s life extensions since he saw the man in the newspaper article.

  “But you knew something was going down tonight.”

  True. I look toward the windows. The wind has died down but no doubt it’s cold outside since the front came through. The sun manages to filter through the blinds and feels warm on my bruised cheeks and I wonder how bad I look. I finally exhale the breath I’m holding.

  “Carmine didn’t want you to know about Dwayne, thought you’d be safer if you weren’t involved.”

  TB laughs and shakes his head but there’s pain in his gaze. “Right, he makes sure I come on this trip to protect you but I’m not supposed to know anything, not supposed to help.”

  This surprises me. “You knew about him arranging for you to be on the trip?”

  TB stands, stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, and heads to the window, staring outside. “Y’all think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

  I use my elbows to rise to a better sitting position but the IV grows taut. “What? No.”

  “That I wouldn’t know a descendant when I see one.”

  This shocks me, too, for Carmine insisted TB didn’t know who he was. But then, after last night and TB’s angelic rescue, not to mention that enormous bright light he possesses, I’m thinking my husband knows a lot more than he’s letting on. He turns and looks at me as if he reads my mind.

  “Of course, I know. Both my parents are descendants, you think they wouldn’t have told me what I was growing up?”

  I shake my head since this is all new ground to me. “Carmine said….”

  “Carmine’s wrong.” His voice rises and he appears like he did last night, a warrior with a hammer. Then TB looks away, that simple, sweet man returning. With a sad smile, he adds, “You didn’t think I read Dwayne’s aura and knew who he was?”

  “Why didn’t you tell...?”

  “Tell you?”

  I feel bad because my husband’s right, he should have known what we were up against, knew the complete history between Carmine and Dwayne. He must feel as helpless as I did when Carmine routinely refused to tell me anything. And if he’s as powerful as I witnessed him to be, we could have avoided the whole scene with his assistance.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. And I truly am.

  TB leans against the table, his hands snug in his jeans pockets. “The trouble is, Vi, you don’t trust me.”

  I try to rise again, but the IV and the pain in my head causes me to fall back against the pillows. “Of course, I do.”

  “Always trying to contact Lillye when I’ve told you.…”

  He looks away and I see his eyes glaze over.

  “I know, TB. It’s just that….”

  “I failed her, you know.”

  This stops me cold. “Who?”

  He frowns and doesn’t answer and I realize he’s talking about our child. “I should have protected her. I have it in my power and I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.”

  Tears pour down his cheeks and I wish with all my heart and soul I could get out of this bed and touch him.

  “There was nothing you could do, TB. No one can save a person from leukemia. Not even an angel.”

  He rubs the back of his neck and looks away and I know that nothing I say will ease this guilt he carries with him.

  “I’m not an angel.”

  But he is. On so many levels. I want to tell him so but watching him suffer and thinking of my own guilt forces a lump in my throat and my own tears fall.

  “I’m no witch,” I manage, because thinking back I should have known of something that could have eased her pain, could have stopped Dwayne last night.

  To my surprise, TB smiles. “Yes, you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  What does that mean, I wonder? But I don’t have time to ask.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” he says softly.

  I look up and find TB taking my hand once again and it feels wonderful touching him but that uneasiness has returned. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t watch you chase after ways of reaching Lillye. I can’t go through this anymore.”

  I’m ready to admit my mistake and tell him he’s right, vow to speak to Lillye in my heart and know she’s listening, but I remember the kitchen knife. I pull my hand free and this time manage to sit up.

  “TB, I have evolved.”

  He shakes his head, exasperated. “Oh God, Vi, not this again.”

  “Something happened this time around. I wasn’t just watching like I used to. I actually participated in the visions.”

  TB stands again and walks back to the window.

  “Cora showed me a knife in her skirt when I was in her point of view. Did you hear me, I was in her point of view. As in walking in her clothes, thinking her thoughts. I did the same thing with Jacob.”

  He says nothing, keeps staring out the window.

  “I had Cora’s knife in my possession when Dwayne kidnapped us. That’s why he was limping. I stabbed him in the foot before you arrived. With Cora’s knife.”

  TB’s still not looking at me but I see him shaking his head.

  “Did you hear me? Cora gave me a knife from the Other World.”

  This time, TB turns. “I’m taking some time off. I’m going to Florida to see my folks.”

  “Did you hear what I said?

  He grabs his coat that’s lying over a chair.

  “Shelby will bring you back to New Orleans with the rest of the group. They all insisted on staying here until you and Carmine are better.”

  A panic begins in my chest. “You’re leaving me?”

  He looks at me then, that sadness still lingering in his gaze. I feel like he doesn’t want to do this but he must. “I have to, Vi. I can’t stand the secrets….”

  “Secrets?” Now, my defenses are at attention. “How about you being an angel and going back to LSU?”

  This takes him back. “I’m not an angel.”

  “Gosh, I’m so sick of people telling me that. And what was that angelic light saving my butt?”

  “Nephilim lumen de lumine.”

  “What?”

  He changes the subject. “I didn’t tell you about finishing my degree because you’d probably think it was stupid.”

  I shake my head. Who is this man? “I think it’s awesome.”

  He shrugs. “It’s just a general studies degree. Nothing meaningful.”

  Now, I’m getting mad. “What are you talking about? It’s everything. I’m so proud of you.”

  He looks down at his feet and for the life of me I don’t understand why he feels this way. Who’s been feeding him this nonsense? It couldn’t have been me. Could it?

  “TB, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel this way. I never meant to….”

  He sighs and smiles and I sense a maturity that was never there before. “I’ll always be there for you, Vi, but I need to do this. And I need to do this alone. You of all people should understand that.”

  But I don’t. “Do what?”

  “I need to be away from you.”

  The tears come fast and furious because I don’t want this man walking out the do
or and out of my life. Dwayne was right. I am a stupid witch.

  “I love you,” I whisper, hoping that it’s enough.

  But it’s too late. TB smiles sadly, a lone tear falling on his own cheek, and walks out of the room. I hear him say to someone in the hall, “She’s all yours,” and it’s not two seconds before Winnie waltzes in and catches me bawling like a baby.

  “Are you in that much pain?” she asks.

  If she only knew.

  By late afternoon, after being grilled for two hours by the police, I’m dressed and bandaged and Shelby’s guiding us all to another van, this one smaller, brightly painted, and one she drives herself. I get the impression she hopes it cheers us up but we all remain silent the three hours to New Orleans. Winnie keeps a sharp eye on me but she lets me be quiet, thinking my head pain is too unbearable to speak. If only she knew my broken heart hurts so much more.

  Carmine had already been picked up by his partner, Dale, by the time we headed back. I spent another hour crying over that goodbye. Carmine didn’t ask about TB, and refused to comment on his own head injury.

  “It’s nothing,” Carmine said, waving off my concerns. “But we need to talk. After we get home.”

  I wanted to talk then, but now I know that some things must wait. There’s so much to digest it makes my head pound all over again. Why had TB never revealed who he was to me? Why had I not known who I was? All those herbal lessons from Aunt Mimi and she couldn’t tell me once that I was a witch, descended from a long line of healers? My St. John root could have worked, I know it, but I failed to use it properly. How do I learn these things now?

  And then, there’s Dwayne. Police admitted him to the hospital for his foot and head wounds and kept an armed guard at his door. By morning, he had disappeared. Vanished. Poof. So, had the guard. What does that mean for Carmine and me? Will we be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives?

  More importantly, how will I get my personal nephilim back? I feel like Scarlet O’Hara in Gone With the Wind. I must get him back but I can’t think about it today.

  Shelby pulls up to TB’s house in New Orleans, the place where I left my car. It’s really our house, but where once I didn’t wish to remain in this home, now he doesn’t want me here. I give my fellow travel writers hugs and assure Shelby that I’m fine, that I won’t be suing anyone. She still gives me her lawyer’s card and insists that I contact her. Winnie is last in the hugs, holds me tight, and tells me she will call every night to ensure that I’m okay. I tell her I’m fine but I’m anything but.