Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  Jimmy went to where Derek had set his coffee down and fingered the mug. “Nah, I get it. Derek’s been a man for a long time now. I know he doesn’t need me.”

  “But you need him. Otherwise you wouldn’t still be here, right?”

  Jimmy shrugged.

  “Why are you still here, Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know. What else is there?”

  “When you died, didn’t you see a light?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Why didn’t you go into it?”

  “Because Derek did need me. He was only thirteen when it happened. Just a kid. And he blamed himself. He still does. I just want to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I’m the big brother. It was my job to protect him.”

  Ron could relate. All the times she’d gone all mama bear over someone messing with Chris, especially after their mom had died . . . “I get it. But you did protect him, didn’t you? Is that how you died?”

  Still staring at the mug, he nodded. “I just need him to know that I’d do it all over again.”

  “You want to tell him that?”

  He let out a brief, sharp laugh. “How?”

  “My sister, the one he was a jerk to? This is what she does. She helps people like you take care of unfinished business so they can move on.”

  “Move on to where?”

  It was Ron’s turn to shrug. “Whatever’s next.”

  “That’s comforting,” he said. “So why are you still here?”

  “Long story. But it’s not Chris’s fault.”

  “Chris is your sister?” he asked, and she nodded. “How was Derek a jerk to her?”

  “He went on the news last night and made her look like a fraud.”

  Jimmy winced. “Sorry. Yeah, Derek’s not a big believer in the supernatural.”

  “Well,” said Ron, reaching over to pluck the coffee cup off of the counter. “It’s now your job to change that.”

  “How?”

  Ron tossed the cup to him. He caught it deftly, and stared at it in his hands a moment before setting it back on the counter.

  “Keep practicing what I showed you,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ll talk to Chris, and we’ll come up with a plan.” She glanced at the clock and realized it was already after five-thirty. The house would be waking up soon. “I need to get home.”

  “Will you be back?” His voice was eager, and he seemed to realize it. “I mean, it’s just that I haven’t had an actual conversation with someone in . . . I guess since before I died.”

  “I’ll be back. Don’t worry. Until then, just remember what I told you. It’s all about channeling strong emotions.”

  He nodded. “It’s hard to stay focused and make things move.”

  “I know. It gets easier with practice. So practice. And keep working on getting his attention.”

  “I will.”

  Ron smiled. “See you later, Jimmy.” With that, she faded out . . .

  . . . and materialized in the attic, where Joe sat, wide awake. Waiting for her.

  And clearly not happy about it.

  “You’re awake!” she said, forcing cheer into her voice.

  “You went there, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and it’s a good thing, too. Guess what I found out?”

  “I don’t want to know,” he said, getting to his feet. “Not unless it involves the words, ‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ and ‘I shouldn’t’ve snuck out on you.’ ”

  She sighed. “I am sorry, and I shouldn’t have--”

  “Then why did you?”

  “You were asleep!”

  “You could’ve woken me up!”

  “Not the way you were sleeping.”

  “Then you could’ve waited. Or left a note. Or, here’s an idea: how about respecting your sister’s wishes for once and doing what she asks?”

  Ron folded her arms. “Derek Brandt had to be taught a lesson, and you know Chris doesn’t have it in her to do it. You should have seen her, Joe. I found her passed out on the couch next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey.”

  “She’s well over drinkin’ age. She ought to be able to have a drink once in a while without you reading into it.”

  “Except it clearly wasn’t just ‘a’ drink. I know my sister. Better than you do, thank you very much. And why are you so mad about this?”

  “Because you don’t listen! You always think you know what’s best for everyone, and you go off and do it without any thought to those of us left behind in your wake.”

  “Whoa.” Ron held up her hands as if to ward him off. “Where is this coming from?”

  “From you goin’ off half-cocked on your own. You don’t know how this is gonna come back on your sister. Or on us.”

  She dropped her arms in defeat. “All right, I’m sorry. No, actually, I’m not sorry.” She balled her fists and planted them stubbornly on her hips. “Because it’s a good thing I went over there, as I was trying to tell you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It turns out that Brandt’s already haunted. By his brother, Jimmy. The kid’s been stuck there for Lord knows how long with no way to make contact. He needs our help.”

  “And I suppose you went and promised him that your sister would take care of it.”

  “Well, yeah. That’s what she does. I know she’d want to.”

  “You do, do you? Did it occur to you that maybe she won’t want to get involved in helping the man who humiliated her on TV?”

  “No. Of course she’ll want to help him.” That didn’t come out sounding as sure as she’d meant it to.

  “Well, then. I guess we’ll see. You want me to go with you when you tell her what you did?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t want you there to gloat when she gets mad.”

  “That’s not what I--”

  “And I know she’ll be mad, okay? I know what I did was impulsive, and maybe I should’ve listened to her. I don’t need you to lecture me on that. And since when do I have to report all of my comings and goings to you, anyway?”

  Joe sighed. “You don’t. But it’s common courtesy. When I wake up and you’re not here, nowhere in the house, how do I know you haven’t--” He bit off his words and shook his head.

  “Haven’t what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. I just want you to slow down and think, Veronica. You’re a force of nature. You just plow ahead on the course you think is right, and that’s one of the things I love about you. But sometimes, you’re more destructive than you know.”

  Ron stared at him a moment, not knowing what to say. She seized on the only positive thing she could think of. “I helped that kid tonight. I gave him the tools he needs to communicate with his brother, and I gave him hope.”

  “I don't doubt any of that. The question is, did you help Chris?”

  Ron looked down at the floor. She hated this. She felt defensive, and angry, and hurt, and helpless to fix it. Maybe she hadn’t done Chris any favors. Her whole motivation for going over there was to vindicate Chris, but did that really undo any of the damage or improve Chris’s life in any way?

  Joe was right about one thing: what she’d done would only make Chris’s life more complicated. There was no doubt that Chris would step up and help Jimmy, but was it really fair of Ron to dump that on her?

  Not that there was a choice about that. She couldn’t just turn her back on the kid. Chris wouldn’t want her to.

  A heavy sigh came from Joe. “Come here,” he said.

  “No.” She hated how petulant she sounded, but at the same time, she didn’t care. Instead, Joe came over to her. He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into him in spite of herself, and as he held her, a little of the hurt faded away.

  “I’m sorry I got angry,” he said, nuzzling her hair.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, not specifying what for. Let him read into it what he wanted. She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “I hate fighting,” she said. “I just want to go to sleep and
forget this happened.”

  “Chris’ll be up soon,” he reminded her. “Might as well pay the piper and get it over with.”

  “I don’t know. I think there’s an argument to be made for not ruining her morning with it. At least let her have her coffee f—” She was interrupted by a pounding so loud it shook the house. “Is that the front door?”

  “Sounds like it. Somehow, I don’t think a good morning is in the cards for any of us.”

  Chapter Three

  At first, she thought the pounding was in her head. It matched the throbbing rhythm of her headache. Chris groaned and turned over, trying to burrow into the couch cushions and willing it all to stop.

  But the pounding only became more insistent, and Chris realized sleepily that it was coming from the front door. She sat up and listened, wondering what on earth those ghosts were up to. She also wondered what she was doing on the living room couch. She only vaguely recollected falling asleep there. Her cat got up from the opposite end and came over to head-butt her chest, letting her know it was breakfast time.

  The pounding stopped, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Then the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang again. “Who in the . . .” Chris muttered, not having the energy to finish the question. She pushed the cat off her lap and pushed herself off of the couch, then padded barefoot toward the entryway, doing her best to smooth her messy hair and her rumpled clothes as she went.

  She found Ron and Joe standing at the foot of the stairs, staring anxiously at the door. Buster circled near their feet, barking his little head off. Their expressions as they turned to look at her made her stomach turn over.

  “It’s Derek Brandt,” Ron said before she could even ask. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Chris stared at her sister as her words, and their full meaning, slowly penetrated her hangover haze. “Ronnie, tell me you didn’t.”

  “I swear, I had no idea he’d do this.”

  “I can’t believe you! How could you--” The doorbell rang again, cutting her off. Buster let loose another salvo of barks. “In a minute!” she snapped. Then to Joe, “Can you please hush him up?” Joe grabbed the dog and tried to oblige, but Buster only wriggled and kept barking. Chris sighed. None of this was doing anything to help her headache.

  With another glare at Ron, she moved past the ghostly trio and went to answer the door. She peered out the window before opening it. Brandt stood there, rocking on his heels, looking ready to pounce. He also look scared. What exactly had Ron done to him? She wished she had time to ask.

  Glancing down at her wrinkled clothes, she briefly considered checking the hall mirror to see if she had pillow creases on her face, but it wasn’t like she could do anything about it if she did. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and opened the door.

  “Mr. Brandt,” she began, but before she could finish, he barged past her into the foyer. “Come on in,” she finished, adding a touch of sarcasm. Buster went berserk. Totally unbeknownst to Brandt, the dog leapt from Joe’s arms and started running circles around him, yapping the entire time.

  “How did you do it?” he asked.

  She let her confusion surface on her face. It wasn’t hard. She had to strain to hear over the dog. “Do what?”

  “You know what. Just tell me how you did it. There weren’t any wires. You couldn’t’ve broken in. Was it hypnotism? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Chris closed the door and rubbed her temples. “Okay, first of all, you’re going to have to back up and tell me what the heck you’re even talking about. And secondly, how do you even know where I live?”

  “I’m an investigative reporter and you’re not exactly off the grid. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” she said, trying to hear herself over Buster’s yapping. “But I‘m telling ya, this is going to be a one-sided conversation unless you start explaining.”

  “Why are you shouting?” he asked.

  “Why are you shouting?”

  “I’m not. Believe me, I want to, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job of keeping my tone civil under the circumstances.”

  Chris had to give him that. She looked over at Ron and Joe and jerked her head toward Buster. Joe got the hint and scooped up the dog. “I’ll just take him upstairs,” he said, and the two of them disappeared, leaving Ron behind.

  Finally, blessed silence. Chris let out a sigh of relief.

  Brandt also sighed, but his came out more as exasperation. He looked really tired as he looked around the foyer. For a hair of a second, Chris almost took pity on him. Until he asked, “Is there somewhere we can sit down?”

  “Oh, sure. Would you also like me to get you some coffee and cook you breakfast while you grill me?” He just stared blankly, as if he wasn’t sure whether that was a sincere offer. “No!” she clarified. “You humiliated me, and then you woke me up at an ungodly hour and barged into my house to tell me off for I don’t even know what! You don’t get to be comfortable while doing it!”

  “You’re yelling again,” he said.

  “That’s right! I am! This is my house and I’m very tired and confused and I have a headache and I can yell if I want to!”

  It wasn’t her most mature moment, but at least it seemed to knock some of the self-righteousness out of him. He slumped and actually looked a little bit shamefaced. But only a little, and not nearly enough for her liking.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said. “I was just—if you did it, I have to know, and I have to know how.”

  “Did what?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped and looked embarrassed. Finally, he blew out another sigh, and said, “My coffee mug flew around my kitchen. By itself. And then it smashed on the floor.”

  Chris’s eyebrows lifted by a fraction, and she looked past him at Ron, who said, “It wasn’t me!” Chris narrowed her eyes and turned her gaze back on Brandt. “Okay. And you think I’m somehow responsible for this?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She snorted. “Typical.”

  Brandt narrowed his eyes and appeared to study her. He shook a finger at her face. “There’s that look again.”

  “What look?”

  “That look like you know me and we’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  “Well, duh.” She waited for him to react, to show some recognition, but when all he did was stare blankly at her, she threw up her hands in disbelief. “You actually don’t remember me, do you?”

  He looked confused. “Should I?”

  “Apparently not.” She tucked her hands under her arms. “So then, let me get this straight. Something you can’t explain happens in your kitchen and you just automatically assume that I’m somehow responsible because, why, exactly?”

  “Oh, come on. I do a story exposing a psychic—”

  “I’m not a psychic. I’ve never claimed to be.”

  “Or whatever you call yourself and then suddenly, I’ve got dancing drinkware in my kitchen. How can that be a coincidence?”

  Chris couldn’t argue with that, especially since she knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Again, she cast a glare at Ron, who again said, “It wasn’t me. It was his brother.” She glanced at Brandt, then back at Chris. “The kid’s been stuck there, unable to get through to him for years. You need to tell him.”

  Chris felt her eyes widen. Oh sure, let’s tell the angry, unreasonable man that his long-dead brother is responsible for the spooky shenanigans. That’ll go over real well.

  She didn’t know whether it was her protracted silence or the look on her face that made Brandt re-think his theory, but suddenly, he shook his head and said, “I don’t know. Maybe it really is a coincidence. Maybe I’m being an idiot.”

  “Maybe,” Chris allowed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding out a placating hand. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should leave.” He started back toward the door, and Chris stepped out of his way.

  “
No!” said Ron, rushing to Chris’s side. “I promised Jimmy you’d help. Chris, you have to tell him!”

  Chris wanted nothing more than to ignore her sister and let Derek Brandt go home and lick his wounds. Actually, what she wanted more was to unleash all of her wrath on Ron right then and there. But the man deserved to know the truth, and she couldn’t in good conscience let him go without being told. Whether he listened or not was none of her concern.

  She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, heaved a defeated sigh, then followed him out to the porch. “You’re right,” she said. He stopped on the steps and turned to look up at her. “It wasn’t a coincidence.”

  His face drew tight, and he put his hands in his pockets. “So how’d you do it?”

  “I didn’t. It was—” She’d started to say it was her sister’s ghost, but she realized at the last minute that that wasn’t likely to go over with him any better than the truth. Might as well be straight. “It was your brother.”

  He looked at her like she’d physically slapped him, and she immediately regretted her decision.

  “Wow,” he said. “You actually went there.”

  Ron appeared next to Chris. “Jimmy’s been with him this whole time. He wants Derek to know what happened wasn’t his fault. That given a choice, Jimmy would do it all over again to protect him.”

  Chris repeated Ron’s words. Brandt’s face grew stonier and stonier as she did. When she was done, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and actually slow-clapped.

  “Impressive,” he said. “You know it was in all the papers when that happened, right? I mean, of course you do, because that’s how you know about my brother’s murder.” He shook his head in amazement. “I gotta hand it to you, I didn’t think you’d actually stoop so low as to exploit something like that. Thanks, though. I’m gonna sleep a lot better after this.”

  He turned to go, but on the bottom step, he turned back and pointed up at Chris. “By the way, stay away from me, and stay away from my house,” he said, then continued down the walk and climbed into a green Mustang parked out front.

  Chris hugged herself as she watched him drive away. “At least you told him,” Ron said. Chris gave her a look as stony as the one Brandt had given her, then turned and went inside. Ron followed. “Sis?” she asked, but Chris did her best to tune her out as she made her way to the kitchen. “Chris, talk to me.”