Lightning Strikes

by Theresa Parker

  “I think you can start calling me Nick now, don’t you?”

  “You’re right,” I said sleepily. “After all, you did see me naked.”

  “And you kissed my owie,” he remarked, chuckling.

  I gave him a lopsided grin. “Exactly!” I think I started to doze, but came back when he tucked the blanket around my now-shoeless feet and stood to leave.

  “Nick, you said I can see you naked,” I reminded him drowsily.

  He blew out a strained breath, and then gave me a cheeky grin. “Yeah, I did say that. But now is not a good time,” he told me.

  “’Kay, later,” I whispered as I rolled to my side and snuggled into the blanket.

  “I hope those happy pills of yours make you forget the last thirty minutes, or you’re not going to be happy with yourself when you wake up,” he said with a soft laugh.

  The last thing I remembered was feeling a soft, sweet kiss on my cheek and Detective Cavanaugh—Nick—whispering, “Sweet dreams, Tinkerbelle.”

  When I woke up, I had to lie there for a little while, looking around to remember where I was. My headache was gone. I sat on the edge of the cot. Spotting my shoes on the floor, I slipped them on. Detective Cavanaugh must have brought my purse and jacket after I knocked out, because they were lying on the next cot. I grabbed up my purse and went to check myself out in the mirror hanging over a wall-mounted sink. Yikes, talk about major bed head. I rummaged through my purse and found an old rubber band. I put my hair up into a ponytail and smoothed out my makeup as much as possible. Not bad, I thought. Maybe a little pale because my blush had rubbed off, but I was passable. I checked my cell for messages. Mom, Kelli, and Cassie had called. I listened to the messages they left, but nothing needed my immediate attention, so I slung my purse over my shoulder, snatched my jacket up, and I went out into the squad room. I found Detective Cavanaugh sitting in the middle of files and pictures of missing kids. He looked scruffier than he did earlier—still sexy, but a lot more tired. He was making notes on a legal pad.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling. “Feel better?”

  “Yeah,” I told him, draping my jacket over the back of the nearest chair. “Ready to get back to work.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Tink, but Johnson said no more for you today.”

  He stood and stretched his glorious body. When he called me Tink, I instantly recalled everything that had happened when I was under the influence of those dratted pills. I was really embarrassed by what I’d said and done, but I was not about to let it show. Unfortunately, the gleam in his eye told me I wasn’t fooling him one bit, and that he knew I knew.

  I covertly eyed him as I recalled him telling me that I could see him naked later. Was it later now? I sighed, knowing that was probably a bad idea. So I grabbed my jacket up again. “I guess I’ll head home then,” I told him. “Should I come back in the morning?”

  “Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked with concern. “I can have a patrolman bring you your car.”

  I wanted to take him up on the offer, despite that fact that he irritated me most of the time (and on purpose, I believed). It was just that since I’d met him, for some reason, he made me feel safe. Weird, I knew, but again, I didn’t want to jump into something that was probably a one-night stand, possibly a short fling, with someone I would be working very closely with. Maybe when this case was over, we could see where it led.

  “No, that’s okay,” I told him. “I’m going over to my parents’ for a while. You should maybe get some sleep yourself. You look beat.”

  He smiled and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I am pretty beat,” he told me. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  I waved at Johnson as I left the squad room. He barked at me to be here no later than nine tomorrow morning, and then went back to reaming the detective that was standing in front of him. As I drove to my parents’ house, I called Kelli.

  “Oh my God,” she said when she answered my call, “please tell me you’re free tonight?”

  “No, I’m not busy. What’s up?”

  “I’m still at work.” Her voice lowered to a whisper.

  Kelli worked at the university. Her degree in psychology, which had made her parents so proud, had turned into a job as head psychologist on Professor Grant Nichols’s team in the university’s Parapsychology Department. Kelli had a big crush on the young and handsome Professor Nichols. I believed the feeling was mutual, but Professor Nichols was a little clueless when it came to women and a little oblivious to anything that didn’t have to do with ghost and psychic abilities. I’d allowed Kelli to tell him I see ghosts, and because I’m such a good friend, I let her drag me to a few known haunted areas that the Parapsychology Department was investigating, but I drew the line at telling him about my other abilities. I can go to a few haunted houses now and again, and maybe a few séances, but between handling my parents’ store and working with the police, I could not possibly have Professor Nichols nipping at my heels wanting to test me and write papers about me. Kelli agreed.

  “We’ve finally been able to get that medium, Pamela Murphy,” she said. “She’ll be here for testing all next week. We start tomorrow, but Grant wants to know if you can meet with her tonight. It’s just going to be the four of us, kind of an informal meet and greet.”

  I smiled at her enthusiasm. The séances and mediums that I am asked to check out are either the real deal, which isn’t very often, or total frauds. The university’s Parapsychology Department takes the frauds they come across very seriously; their shams are perpetuated for money, and there was nothing Kelli hated more than someone taking advantage of a grieving family. It was her mission in life to expose these people as the fakes they were. She was pretty good at figuring out how the frauds made the noises and other physical manifestations they claimed came from the visiting spirit. Pamela Murphy was the real deal. Grant met her six years ago and had been trying to get her to the university ever since.

  “Yeah,” I told her, “I can be there, but I can’t stay very late. Johnson’s got me working on a case.”

  “Ooh, I can’t wait to hear about it later,” she said in a low voice.

  I told her I would see her soon, and hung up with a chuckle. I don’t know why she whispers to me at work. It’s not as though her colleagues don’t know that I can see ghosts, but that’s what I love most about Kelli. No matter what, she always keeps my secrets. Since we were seven years old, she has always been my partner in crime in all things. When I was struck by lightning and started experiencing all my weird new abilities, she was right there with me, standing by my side. I was afraid that she would treat me differently and maybe think I was a freak or something, but she surprised me by taking an interest in what I could do and helped me work through my feelings about it all. She stuck up for me fiercely when other kids at school would make fun of me. I would do anything for Kelli.

  I pulled up in front of my parents’. I’d called my sister, Cassie, earlier, and she told me that she was manning the shop by herself because Mom and Dad had to take Nana to a doctor’s appointment this morning.

  I entered the foyer and hung my purse and jacket up in the closet. I started to call out to my mom as I rounded the corner into the living room. No sooner had I opened my mouth than I got a face full of ice-cold water. I sputtered, water dripping from my face and hair onto my T-shirt. Nana stood in front of me, holding a large, gold chalice and dressed in what looked to be papal robes. She uttered some prayer, made the sign of the cross, and wandered off to the kitchen. My mom came down the hall with a basket of laundry tucked under one arm. She reached into the basket and pulled out a towel, handing it to me as she passed into the living room.

  “What the heck was that about?” I asked her, following her into the room. I toweled my face and blotted my T-shirt.

  Mom sat on the couch and began folding laundry. “Your grandmother is experiencing her papal period,” she told me.

  “Huh?” I said, having no idea wha
t she was talking about.

  “She thinks she’s the Pope,” my dad said, coming up behind me and kissing my cheek. “Be thankful she used the chalice on you and not the bucket she used on me this morning.”

  My mom chuckled and shook her head. “You shouldn’t complain, dear,” she told my dad. “At least she wasn’t able to refrigerate the bucket of water like she did the chalice.”

  I gripped the towel to me. “She’s not going back for a refill, is she?” I asked, wondering if I should look for my old raincoat.

  “No,” Mom replied. “Once you’re blessed for the day, you’re safe. I can’t promise she won’t get you again the next time you come over.”

  I wandered over to the recliner and sat.

  “Honey, you look tired,” my dad observed. “You’re not overdoing it on this new case with Captain Johnson, are you?”

  I had been hoping no one would notice. I’d swung by my house and reapplied my makeup so no signs of this morning were visible on my face, but thanks to Nana’s unexpected baptism, it had all washed away.

  “I’m okay. I took a nap this afternoon,” I told them, hoping to get away with that small lie. My mom gave me a squinty-eyed look to let me know that I most definitely didn’t get away with it, but she was going to let it slide.

  “You’re just in time for dinner,” she told me. “Why don’t you help your dad set the table?”

  I hadn’t planned on staying long. I just wanted to check in, but being caught out in my little white lie, I felt it was safer to do what she said. Dad and I chatted as we set the table. Mom brought in a beautiful roasted chicken with mashed potatoes, wilted spinach salad, and angel food cake smothered in berries for dessert. As we started to sit, Mom noticed Nana was missing and gave my dad an arched look.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake,” he said as he left the room in search of Nana.

  “We’ve been humoring Nana. The doctor gave her new medication today, but thought it would be best if we went along with her delusions as long as it was nothing harmful,” she explained. “I hope the medication kicks in soon. I don’t think your father’s patience will last much longer. We were doing okay until she insisted he kiss her ring.” She giggled and shook her head.

  I started to ask her how and when this transformation into the Pope began, but Dad walked in with Nana on his arm. My mom made a quick motion for me to stand, and rose out of her chair. I followed her lead, and we stood at the table and watched my father seat Nana at its head. With all the flourish of visiting royalty, Nana gave him a regal nod. He walked over to his place setting. I started to sit, but my mom stopped me with a quick shake of her head. We all stood, staring expectantly at Nana. She raised her arms and then lowered them slowly, palms down, indicating that we may be seated. Dad reached for the mashed potatoes, but pulled back when Mom tsked at him. We all, again, looked expectantly at Nana. She made the sign of the cross, touching her forehead, her chest, and then both shoulders, and kissed her fingertips before clasping her hands in prayer.

  “Ordlay lessbay this oodfay,” Nana said in the ringing tones of a Gregorian chant.

  “Pig Latin?” I mouthed to my mother. She just shrugged.

  Dad and I muttered “amen” and reached for bowls of food.

  “Lessbay the ickenchay, lessbay the ashedmay otatoespay,” she continued.

  Once again, Dad and I muttered “amen,” but as Dad reached for the potatoes, Nana kept going. Dad growled. I had never heard him growl before. Mom widened her eyes at Dad and then looked at Nana nervously.

  “Lessbay the pinachsay aladsay.”

  “Amen!” all three of us said together loudly.

  Not giving Nana another opportunity, my mom started in on a cheery discourse about a new love potion she had been working on. After dinner and a very large piece of angel food cake smothered in berries and whipped cream, I waved good-bye to my family.

  Chapter 5

  I pulled into the university’s parking lot a little after eight. The Parapsychology Department was located in the middle of the campus. I got out of my car and trekked through the empty, darkened walkways. I hated walking the campus after dark. The small, dull lights above the individual classroom doors did little to dispel the shadows cast by the shrubbery and trees. The taller lights spaced along the walkways seemed miles apart and only left small pools of weak light around their concrete bases. The atmosphere was creepy. I kept my eyes on the most shadow-infested areas, hoping that there wasn’t a homicidal maniac waiting for an unsuspecting victim to walk by. I sped up when I saw the fully lit Parapsychology building. Whenever I had to come to the campus at night, upon first spying the Parapsychology Department’s lights, I always wanted to yell, “Sanctuary,” in my best Quasimodo voice.

  The door to the building was propped open and I entered the empty hall, turning left and making my way down to room 402, where Kelli and her crew kept their testing labs. I opened the door just enough to squeeze through, trying not to disturb the occupants of the room.

  I’ve always noticed that when you try to be quiet or enter a room unseen, it always backfires on you. The door creaks loudly or grates across the floor, or you bump into something and knock it over. Of course, it causes everyone in the room to stop what they’re doing and stare at you. This always happens to me. No matter how hard I try to be quiet, or how stealthy I try to be, I always end up, one way or the other, making more noise than if I just walked into the room in my normal way. Yet I always feel as though I have to keep trying, even though the outcome is always the same.

  Tonight I managed to catch the strap of my purse on the drawer handle of a rolling cart that sat by the door. The drawer, full of instruments used by the department, pulled completely out of the cart and crashed to the scuffed linoleum floor. The resulting noise not only made everyone jump and turn in my direction, but also elicited a variety of exclamations at being startled.

  Kelli hurried over to me as I was tossing the instruments haphazardly back into the drawer. She swooped down and picked up the drawer, fitting it back into its slot in the cart.

  “Way to make an entrance,” she laughed. “Come on over and meet Pamela.”

  She led me over to the other side of the lab, where Professor Grant Nichols, head of the Department of Parapsychology, sat with the medium, Pamela Murphy. My first impression of Pamela was brown—brown hair, brown eyes, and brown clothes. This woman was in serious need of a wardrobe makeover. I bet that if she lay down in the flowerbed outside, she would disappear like a chameleon. She wore little to no makeup, and her hair was caught up in a tight, painful-looking bun at the back of her head. But her face was open and friendly, and she reminded me of my kindergarten teacher, Miss Harris.

  “Andromeda, we’re glad you could make it,” Grant said. “I’d like to introduce Pamela Murphy. Pamela, this is the woman I was telling you about, Andromeda Spencer.”

  Pamela smiled and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she told me, giving my hand a brisk pump up and down.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said to everyone. I took a seat at the long folding table next to Kelli and opposite Pamela.

  “That’s okay,” Grant said. “We just barely arrived ourselves. It seems everyone is running late this evening. Now that we’re all here, we can get started. Tonight I just want to talk. Get caught up with what you’ve been doing, Pamela, and give you and Andromeda the opportunity to get acquainted. As I’m sure Kelli informed you, Andromeda, Pamela has agreed to allow us to test her for the week, starting tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, Kelli told me. It’s really brave of you to be the guinea pig,” I told Pamela. Kelli kicked my ankle under the table. “Ow, crap!” I glared at her. “What I mean is…”

  Pamela laughed. “It’s okay.” When she smiled, her plain features transformed her into an attractive young woman. “I don’t mind being a guinea pig,” she said.

  I was a little amazed by her answer. I hated it when people poked, prodded, and questioned me because of my abilities.
I guess I just assumed the few other people out there like me would feel the same.

  “Why?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Why would you let them do this to you?” I neatly missed Kelli’s next kick to my ankle, so she pinched my thigh instead. This time, she also glared at me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day and I seemed to have diarrhea of the mouth.”

  Pamela’s eyes twinkled. Apparently, instead of finding me rude, she found me amusing.

  “I was born with the ability to see and speak with spirits,” she told me. “It runs in my family, passed on from mother to daughter. My father has always been interested in the science of what my mother and I can do. I guess he passed that interest on to me. So, here I am, furthering science. I’m hoping that with each test I participate in, I might learn something new about my abilities along the way.”

  I thought that was very commendable. I, too, wanted to know the hows and whys of what I could do, but not bad enough to be a permanent rat in Professor Nichols’s maze.

  “Andromeda,” Grant said, “I took the liberty of filling Pamela in on your situation. I think she can help you handle the more unruly ghosts that plague you occasionally.”

  This has been my number-one complaint about my abilities since I discovered I could see ghosts. I don’t know how they know I can see and hear them, but they do. My initial problem was, at first, I couldn’t distinguish them from the living. A ghost would walk up and begin talking to me, and I wouldn’t realize who and what they were until the living people around me started giving me a wide berth and funny looks. Thank God for Kelli. She would immediately begin talking like I was carrying on a conversation with her. Even if she was across the room, she would raise her voice in response and draw the attention of the passersby away from me and on to her.

  As I was approached more and more by the dead, I became adept at telling the difference. I tried to ignore most of them. I know that sounds mean, but I didn’t want to interact with them. There were so many that I felt overwhelmed. The ones that won’t let me ignore them are the current bane of my existence. They have no intention of moving on to wherever it is they are supposed to move on to. They prefer to just hang out in populated places such as malls and their old neighborhoods, watching people as they go about their daily lives. But that only satisfies them for a short time. After a while, they want to start interacting with people again. When they realize I can see and hear them, they want me to pass on messages to family and friends. At first, I did what they wanted just to make them leave me alone. Of course, this never worked out well for me. Once I passed on the message, which always resulted in the living becoming upset (because they never believed me), the ghosts would still want more. It was never enough for them. So that’s why I ignore most of them.