“Something happened when we all touched that book,” Lorna added. “It’s… It’s…”
“Magic,” Heather finished when Lorna couldn’t think of the right word.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but yes. We’re magical.” Lorna gave a small shake of her head, a little dazed by the reality of what she’d been able to do. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. But how? Why us? Why me? You both, I understand. You come from families of mediums and psychics. I have never been exceptional at anything. I’m just a nobody.”
“Stop that,” Vivien scolded. “I can’t stand when women our age think they should fade away into the background like life is over. Forget that. I never want to hear you say anything, ever again, that makes it sound like you don’t matter. You are special. You are somebody. We all are. We all matter. And I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so. Grandma Julia, from beyond the grave, has brought us together.” She paused to fan her face. “And, also, hot flashes can kiss my butt.”
“Easy there, menopausal magician.” Heather patted Vivien’s arm. “Take a deep breath.”
“Peri-menopausal,” Vivien corrected. “And menopause can kiss my butt, too. And ovaries in general. I’ve been on a period for a freaking month now.”
“Okay, I think a certain cranky-pants needs to be fed,” Heather said, scooping up her bloody napkins and throwing them away. She quickly disinfected the countertop.
Vivien gave them a sheepish look. “I am a little cranky, aren’t I? Sorry about that. My hormones are in overdrive lately.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that I think I’m worthless,” Lorna clarified to Vivien. Her comment had come off negatively, but she hadn’t meant it that way. “I’m just saying my female ancestors are housewives, not magical. The only thing noteworthy that happens to the women in my family once they enter their forties is a couple of them got hysterectomies.”
“You’re not wearing shoes.” Vivien looked down at Lorna’s feet, abruptly switching the subject. “What were you doing down here without shoes? And who brought the coffee that was upstairs? Is William here?”
“You know he was,” Lorna said. “You interrupted us.”
“I did what?” Vivien asked. “And what do you mean by interrupt? Interrupt what? Answer the third question first.”
“If we’re going out in public, I better go up and change.” Lorna made a move to leave, not answering Vivien’s questions.
Vivien hooked her arm. “Don’t you dare. You are perfect the way you are. We’ll go through a drive thru. If you don’t want to walk on the sidewalk in your socks, I’ll carry you to the car. Now, seriously, why and what do you think I interrupted?”
“The clapping,” Lorna said.
“What clapping? Heather, do you know what she’s talking about?” Vivien asked.
Lorna glanced over her shoulder toward the empty theater. Vivien seemed sincere in her confusion. If the clapping wasn’t her, then…? A small shiver worked over her.
“No clue. When I came down they were on the stage looking at the missing hole.” Heather moved toward the door and pushed it open. “Wait here. I’ll bring my car around.”
A streak of white fur shot past them as Ace ran out the front door. The cat made a strange noise.
“I guess his vacation is over,” Heather mused, watching him run down the sidewalk in the direction of the bookstore.
“What interruption? What clapping? What missing hole?” Vivien eyed the two of them. “Will someone please catch me up with what I missed?”
“You do it,” Lorna said, slipping out of Vivien’s grasp. “I’m going to grab my shoes and find some saline for my dry eyes. I’ll be right back down. Don’t leave without me.”
The last thing she wanted was to be left alone in the haunted theater.
Chapter Nine
The first night alone in her apartment after their failed séance had been rough. Lorna had lain awake, curled under her blanket as she watched each shadow for movement. The problem with ghosts was that they were freaking invisible. So even when they weren’t there, it felt like they might be.
Every settling creak and bend of light took on a life of its own. She concentrated so hard that those sounds became possible footsteps and a door opening and closing. Voices from those walking outside appeared to whisper within the room. Even the light from the bathroom didn’t help. She contemplated getting a hotel, but that would be a short-term solution to her anxiety, one she couldn’t afford more than a few nights. In those lonely hours, it wasn’t lost on her that she was a grown woman who needed a nightlight and shield of blankets to feel safe.
As it often does, the morning brought clarity to the terrors of night. She was able to laugh at herself for getting little sleep, and for the tired reminder that she had not been courageous, which lingered throughout the rest of the day.
Sounds became nothing more than people moving about in the theater, clapping, laughing, gasping, leaving. Hours blended, as she moved from mindless task to task, stocking and cleaning, locking the doors.
Heather called to check in but didn’t stop by, and Lorna could hear the hesitance in her tone. At breakfast, they had all agreed they needed time apart to think clearly about whatever was happening to them. When they were together, inhibitions had dropped and they’d been reckless in their summoning.
During the second night, exhaustion was Lorna’s friend, as was the glass of red wine she gulped like medicine to help her sleep. The creaks were there but they weren’t as loud as before, their eeriness dulled by sanity. And the shadows remained, crawling over her apartment from the windows, vanquished somewhat by the protective glow coming from the lightbulb in the bathroom. Those footsteps and closing doors that she’d been so sure were real drifted out of her thoughts as dreams rushed in to replace them.
The third night, she forced herself to turn off the bathroom light, as if that act would prove she was the strong, brave, confident woman she believed herself to be. Lorna expected to be haunted by thoughts of ghosts in the darkness, but something unexpected happened instead. She found herself thinking of William and the brief kiss. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if they had not been interrupted.
The images that played in her head came like scenes cut from a movie. First he’d smile, the slow, easygoing movement that crept up into his eyes whenever he looked at her. She imagined his hand on her cheek, running down her neck. His fingers would be the perfect combination of rough calluses and gentle caresses. Then she thought of his shirt peeling from his chest, of that strong hand inching up her naked thigh, of his mouth lowering to hers.
Lorna closed her eyes as a shiver of desire worked over her. She brushed her fingers along her naked thigh. It had been a long time since she’d had sex, and even the idea of the imagined touch made her a little hesitant—not because she’d never experienced self-pleasure, but because this was the first time that pleasure came with such a defined face and the memory of a kiss.
William.
Lorna’s breath caught. Her limbs stirred under the covers as their lighter weight pressed into her stomach and breasts. The mere thought of him made her heart beat a little faster. Her fingers ventured into her pajama shorts.
Crick.
Lorna froze.
Creeech.
She pulled her hand out and slowly lifted her head to look toward the direction of the noise. It came from the apartment. Why had she turned the lights off?
Fear caused her breathing to become ragged and she pressed her lips together to try to silence the noise. She waited for what felt like a long time before lowering her head with a small laugh.
“It’s an old building,” she told herself. “Buildings settle. Heather said she didn’t see anything strange here.”
With more determination than remaining desire, she tried to pick up where she’d left off as if doing so would prove she wasn’t scared.
“William,” she whispered, bringing her thoughts back
to his mouth. Her fingers slid into her pajama shorts.
Crick.
Lorna shot up on the bed. “Who’s there?”
No one answered.
She waited. Her eyes moved from shadowed shape to dark corner. Without her contacts, it was difficult to bring objects into focus. She pulled the covers off her legs.
“Go away. You’re not welcome here.”
A dark flutter moved across the room, so faint her rational mind couldn’t be sure it was anything. Yet, considering all that had happened, her rational mind couldn’t be trusted.
Lorna quickly moved from the bed, around the partition to the bathroom. She flipped the switch and for a brief second light shone into her apartment from the bathroom door. The bulb popped but, before darkness consumed once more, she saw a figure blocking her way to the stairs. The image was too brief—or perhaps too unhuman—for her to place who it might be.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Lorna yelled, stumbling back as she stared in the direction where she’d seen the figure. She bumped into the stacked washer and dryer unit that took up a corner of her bathroom. She pulled the dryer handle near her head, opening the door but the inside light didn’t come on. “You are not welcome here. You need to leave.”
She faintly remembered seeing a horror movie where ordering the spirit to leave had worked.
Lorna listened for a response but wasn’t sure which would be worse—getting an answer from the undead, or not getting an answer at all.
Lorna wished the lights from Main Street shone brighter into her home. She thought about shutting herself into the bathroom and hiding until daylight. But that would be hours, in the dark, with an unknown spirit that could probably travel through walls so a locked door would do little good.
There was an emergency fire ladder under her bed. She could hook it to a window and climb out to the sidewalk below. No, that would take too long.
She could make a run for the door right past the entity. That seemed like a worse option.
What about her phone? If she could get to it, she could call… Who? Not the police. They’d put her on a psychiatric hold. Heather? Yes, Heather.
Lorna shook as she forced herself to take small steps. Her feet barely lifted from the floor as she shuffled along the partition. The frosted glass felt cold against her hands. Her fingers worked, as she tried to hold on to the smooth surface to keep from falling. She couldn’t look away from where the figure had been standing.
She opened her mouth to yet again command the intruder to leave, hoping to scare the spirit away, but the words merely crawled from her throat in a tiny, incoherent grunt.
Lorna wasn’t sure how but she made it around the partition to the other side. She hugged close to the wall, picking up her pace as she neared the nightstand. The charger yanked from the phone under her fumbling grasp. The screen lit up, a beacon in the dark. She tapped the screen, turning on the flashlight app.
Light beamed across her apartment. The shadowed figure was gone. She drew the light back and forth, and when she didn’t find anything she made a direct path toward the stairs.
One thought filled her mind. Escape.
As she neared the kitchen island, the already chilly temperature in the room dropped to freezing. Her phone flickered and she looked at the screen, watching the full battery icon drain of power until the light shut off.
Crick.
“Lorna.”
The whisper came from her right. Lorna yelped and ran for the stairs, able to sense more than see where they would be in the dark. She didn’t look back as she ran as fast as she could through the theater lobby to the front door.
As her hand pushed the handle, she finally looked behind her. The lobby was empty. Nothing followed her that she could detect.
She felt warmth against her cheek and swiped at the tears that had fallen. The spirit had said her name. It knew her. Could it be their drunken séance worked?
“Glenn?” she asked, not releasing the door. “Is that you? If it’s you, please stop scaring me.”
The sound of music came softly from beyond the lobby, followed by the static changing of radio station channels. It stopped on a song that had been popular when she first met Glenn.
Emotions rolled through her—fear, amazement, heartache, embarrassment, anger. They became a jumbled mess until she wasn’t sure what she was feeling.
“Glenn…”
If he was here…
If this was her chance…
So many times Lorna had thought of all the things she wanted to say to him in a thousand different clever ways. Of course, none of them entered her mind now that she had her chance.
“Why?” she asked, shaking. “How?”
A car drove past, the headlights casting her shadow into the lobby. Lorna let go of the door. The questions brought forth her anger. She wasn’t frightened by Glenn in life, and she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her in death.
“Damn you, Glenn, twenty years. We were married for twenty years. Three kids. A dozen family vacations. Neighborhood barbeques with Martin’s awful potato salad. So, I need to know why and how.” She moved to the center of the lobby, staring into the shadows leading back to her apartment.
The radio turned off.
That was just like him to run away from a confrontation. Any time they argued, he would do anything he could to end it without being on the side of trouble—sweet talk, gifts, distractions of something worse that wasn’t his fault. Nothing was ever his fault. She’d forgotten how annoying that quality was. It was amazing what someone could learn to put up with in a marriage. Instead of just facing an issue, he’d bury it in anything and everything.
She strode toward the office, pushing thoughts of the paranormal from her mind as she focused on her anger. “Glenn, answer me. I deserve that much.”
The radio blipped but didn’t play. He was there.
“If you had married her when you were young and then accidentally never finished filing divorce papers, that I could maybe understand, but you had a life with her. Glenn and Cheryl Addams of Norwich, Vermont. You left me to raise our kids every other week while you went to play husband to someone else on your business trips. You let me worry about bills and work as a part-time cashier because we needed the money for Nicholas’ asthma treatments, and that was the only place that could give me the hours I needed. All the while you were not only supporting another woman but living in a damned mini-mansion.”
Lorna stared into the empty spaces, listening for an answer. If he was still there, the coward didn’t make a noise.
“You even used the same wedding ring for both of us,” Lorna said in disgust. “Go to hell, you bastard. I want nothing to do with you. I was wrong. You weren’t worth summoning for answers. You’re a loser, a joke, and a crappy husband!”
Without warning, a cold blast hit her in the chest. It lifted her off the ground and flung her several feet through the air. She landed on her back. The air whooshed from her lungs and she barely had time to process what had happened when her head smacked into the hard floor.
Chapter Ten
“Mrs. Addams? Lorna? Can you hear me, Lorna?” the steady voice came through the darkness of her mind.
“I don’t know what happened. I just found her like that,” Heather said, sounding farther away. “I didn’t try to move her.”
“Lorna, can you open your eyes for me?” the voice persisted.
She had the impression of people touching her and wanted to brush off the hands.
“I didn’t see anyone else in the theater,” William said. “I checked while my sister called 911. It doesn’t look like anyone broke in.”
“Do you know how she got these bruises on her chest?” a man asked, his tone different than the first guy.
“No clue,” Heather answered. “Do you think she was attacked?”
Someone pried open Lorna’s eyelid, simultaneously blinding her with light and awakening her body to the pain radiating through her back and nec
k. She groaned, trying to turn away.
“There she is,” the steady voice said. The man wore a paramedic uniform, but Lorna couldn’t focus on his nametag to read it.
“Lorna?” Heather appeared behind the man. “Oh, thank God you’re awake.”
“Lorna, what happened? Who did this to you?” William came into focus next to his sister. The sight of him caused her thoughts to flash to the night before when she’d imagined him while lying in bed.
She made an incoherent sound in response. Emergency lights from the cars outside created a blinking rhythm on the walls, illuminating their faces through the lobby windows.
“Maybe she tripped,” Heather said.
“I’m…” Lorna struggled for the word she wanted as she tried to push the paramedic away. Her thoughts were muddled. “I’m fine. It was a Glenn-demon.”
“Who or what is a Glenn-demon?” William asked.
Heather’s eyes widened.
“Does she have a history of mental health issues or drug use?” the paramedic asked Heather.
“I don’t think so,” Heather said.
“Is she on any medications?” the paramedic continued.
“No,” Lorna mumbled. She wondered why he wasn’t asking her directly. “There isn’t any…”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know her medical history,” Heather stated.
“Heather?” William insisted. “Isn’t Glenn the name of her dead husband?”
“She hit her head,” Heather dismissed her brother. “She’s a little dazed.”
“This is what happens when you—” William began.
Heather grabbed her brother’s arm and yanked him out of Lorna’s eyesight.
Lorna reached to feel her neck, but something blocked her. She tried to sit up, and the paramedic held her down.
“I’ll be fine. I felt something and I tripped and…” Lorna tried to reason. Actually, she tried to form a coherent lie.
“Lorna, look at me. Did you say you saw a demon?” the paramedic asked.
“Yes, but I shouldn’t tell you that,” Lorna thought. At least, she hoped she thought it. The truth would not be her friend in this instance. However, by the concerned look on the man’s face maybe she had said it out loud.
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