by Hunter Shea
She looked at him with cold, emotionless eyes. If he hadn’t just seen her fifteen minutes before, he would have sworn she was sleepwalking. She had gone through a terrifying phase of it when she was twelve. He and Rita called it The Year Without Sleep. Months of counseling did nothing to stop it. The day after she turned thirteen, it simply stopped. No rhyme, no reason.
Suddenly, the right side of the car dipped and the ramp shot forward like a cannon ball.
He didn’t even have time to scream at his daughter to move. The ramp clanged off the wall the same time as the car slammed down on its struts. Greg was jolted to his side and lost sight of Selena.
He jammed into park and jumped out of the car, sure to find Selena in a crumpled heap on the cold floor. He cursed himself for setting the ramps up so far into the garage and for not locking the door that led to it.
His heart stopped when he looked down and saw nothing but an empty, oil-and-grease-spotted floor.
“Selena?”
Panicking, he dropped to his knees and looked under the car.
Please, please, please, don’t be hurt, he silently begged.
She wasn’t under the car, either.
“Selena?” he said, his voice cracking with concern.
He was answered with a muffled, “What?”
It was Selena, but she was upstairs in the room above the garage.
“Honey, are you okay? You scared the hell out of me,” he called up through the ceiling.
Her footsteps walked across the floor and down the steps. She opened the door, saw the tilted car and said, “What did I do now? Why are you asking if I’m okay?”
Greg wanted to rush over and pull her in his arms. At the same time, he wanted to yell at her for walking into the garage while he was putting the car up.
He compromised, placing a hand on her shoulder and asking, “Selena, you know you’re not supposed to come in here when I’m putting the car up, right?”
She looked at him as if he had just given birth to a two-headed goat. “Yeah, I know that.”
“I could have killed you just now.”
Selena backed out of his grip. “How? You can’t blame me for dropping the car off the ramp.”
Greg had to check his anger. In a measured tone, he replied, “When you popped in here, I had to jam the brakes, and then the ramp came out. I thought you were hurt, or worse.”
“But I wasn’t even down here. I was on the couch texting Julie.”
“Honey, I know you were down here. I looked you straight in the eye. Are you sure you didn’t fall asleep on the couch?”
Great. It was back to sleepwalking again. Greg shivered at the thought of going through that one more time. He also didn’t want to think about the damage he had just done to the car.
“I was wide awake. Here, you can see the timeline of my texts.” She held her phone out for him.
“That’s not possible. You must have thought you were texting Julie.”
“Look at the phone, Dad. I’m not lying.”
He took her phone and scrolled up through the texts.
He swallowed hard.
She was right. She hadn’t been down in the garage.
Chapter Eleven
“Take a look at this and tell me whether I should call the cops or just kick this guy’s ass myself!”
Jessica dropped a folded piece of paper down on the table with a combination of revulsion and anger. Angela Bastiani slid forward in the booth and picked it up. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a tight braid, giving her emerald eyes a chance to sparkle. Angela could have been a model, if not for the fact that she was barely five feet tall.
“You get another creep email on your website?” she asked. She knew full well that an angry Jessica could be hazardous to the health of the person pissing her off. Aside from her kickboxing and self-defense skills, her friend had a dark, angry streak that would make most people wilt.
“Read it and see for yourself.”
A few nearby patrons in the diner paused to look over at the visibly irritated girl in the booth by the window. Jessica shot them a warning look that quietly advised them to go about eating and talking.
Angela’s eyes grew wide as she read the printed email. “Oh wow, Jess. How is this possible?”
“I have no frigging idea. It’s more than just knowing my name. Only me, you and my aunt know about the other stuff, and I’m pretty damn sure that neither of you told anyone. Hell, even Liam doesn’t know that.”
“You’ve got that right. I’d die before I told a soul.”
A waitress came over to take their order. Angela asked for a Cobb salad and iced tea. Jessica ordered the double cheeseburger deluxe with a side of brown gravy and a Coke. The waitress looked her over, raising an eyebrow that said she wondered where she planned to put all the food. Sensing the tension in the air between the two girls, she darted back to the kitchen.
Once the waitress was out of earshot, Angela asked, “What are the odds that he just came out with this by chance?”
“That would be slim to none,” Jessica said, fiddling with the salt-and-pepper shakers. Idle hands were never an issue for her, especially when she was upset.
Angela re-read the email, folded it back up and passed it across the table.
“Then that leaves only one thing,” she said.
“Not possible,” Jessica replied, keeping her eyes on the salt-and-pepper shakers.
“Actually, it’s the most possible. My only question is, how?”
Jessica slipped the paper back into her purse. “My question is, why? I mean, why this guy? What makes him so damn special?”
Angela placed her hand over Jessica’s. “You’ve been through and seen a lot weirder stuff. I know it hurts to think about it, but once you get past that, you have to admit that this could be important. I mean, why else would he talk to this stranger?”
The waitress brought their lunch over.
Angela poked through her salad with her fork, looking for the perfect first bite. Jessica dug into her burger like a lioness to a zebra hide. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Angela could see the wheels turning in her best friend’s head.
While dipping a handful of fries in gravy, Jessica said, “I guess I should meet him, then.”
“I think you should. But only on three conditions—you meet in a public place, in the daytime, with me. Does that sound fair? I know you like to kick ghost ass alone, but when it comes to real, live people, you need backup.”
Jessica nodded. “Done. I’ll reply to his email as soon as we’re finished here. You free tomorrow?”
Angela’s eyes sparkled. “Hell, even if I wasn’t, I am now. I’m dying to know what the heck this is all about.”
Her best friend could only mumble an unintelligible reply and brood. If what she read was true, something equal parts strange and remarkable was in store for Jessica, and Angela wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she were in her friend’s shoes.
Scared and confused would be a start.
Eddie Home was in the process of pouring boiling water into his noodle cup when he spied the addition to his email inbox from the corner of his eye. He sealed the top of the cup so the noodles could steep and sat down behind his laptop.
“Oh, you spammers, you must know how lonely I am.”
Except for a change, the new email wasn’t spam or a quick word from his mother or Tobi Cruz who was threatening to come up to New York so they could spend a weekend of debauchery in the big city.
He read it once silently, and again out loud just to make sure the words sounded as welcome, and crazy, to his ears as well as his brain.
Eddie,
Okay, you finally broke me down. I’m not too happy about the way you did it and I have some questions you better be prepared to answer. I can meet you tomorrow at Skate U in Queens at one o’clock. When you get there, rent a pair of skates and get on the rink. I’ll be there. You’ll know it’s me because I’ll be the one wearing a Slayer shirt. If y
ou’re late, well, you missed your one and only chance to talk.
Jessica
Eddie sat back and stared at the screen. He absentmindedly fumbled with his noodle cup, flipping the top off and getting hot water splashed on the back of his hand. He didn’t react.
“A roller rink? I have to give her credit for originality.”
Sleep did not come easy that night.
Chapter Twelve
Jessica and Angela arrived at Skate U at twelve thirty so they could get situated. Jessica carried a large duffle that looked as if it could double as a body bag. She plopped it down on a wooden bench with a loud sigh of relief.
“Please don’t tell me you brought a sawed-off shotgun or something,” Angela said, eyeing the bulky bag.
“Like I’d need it. No, rental skates and shoes skeeve me, so I bought us each a pair of roller skates. Ta-daa!”
She handed over a pair of white leather skates with pink pom-poms attached to the top laces.
“You didn’t need to do that, Jess. I’ve never roller-skated in my life, and probably never will again after today. I could break my ass just as easily in rented skates.”
Jessica pulled out a pair of matching skates. “It’s just like roller-blading, only easier. Who knows, this might become a habit for us.”
Angela looked around at the aging rink. Skate U was just the latest name for the Queens rink that had been around for close to forty years. For some reason, every time it closed, someone else was quick to buy it up, thinking they were the one who could make an old-time roller-skating rink a success. The wood slats of the rink were worn and scuffed by countless rubber wheels and stoppers. The entire place smelled of cheap wood polish and stale popcorn. The DJ booth that sat above the rink was manned by a young guy with an array of laptops instead of turntables. At tops, there were about twelve people in the rink.
No, Angela thought, this is not a habit I’m about to dive into.
“Why did you bring such a huge bag to just carry a couple of skates?”
Jess pulled aside the open flap and rooted around. Without revealing its contents, she said, “Oh, just a few little things I thought it would be smart to bring in case this dude was a psycho. Nothing to be alarmed about.”
She gave Angela a mischievous grin. Angela knew better than to pry.
As they laced up, Angela asked, “So how come this place?”
Jessica gave her laces a tight tug and stood. “I figured, what better way to keep him off his feet, both mentally and physically? You said you wanted a public place, this is public. Besides, this way, I have the upper hand.”
As she made to skate over to the rink entrance, her left foot slipped out from under her and she collapsed onto her butt. That got Angela laughing until her cheeks turned hot.
“Are you sure he’s the one that will be off his feet?”
Angela’s loud laughter brought the attention on them, resulting in some snickers from a pair of young kids who skated by Jessica. The pre-pubescent boys left a malodorous wake of greasy French fries and cheap ketchup as they passed, covering their mouths to keep from laughing like hyenas at her pratfall. Jessica looked as if she was about to lob a veiled threat in their direction but stopped herself. They were just a couple of little kids, after all.
She rolled her eyes at Angela and held out her hand. “Some back up you are. Just help me up and take your position.”
Because of Jessica’s threat of being late, Eddie arrived at Skate U fifteen minutes early. He sat in the parking lot for ten of them, not wanting to go inside and appear over eager. When he did go in, he walked straight to the rental counter, careful not to stare at the skaters. It would be better for her to spot him first.
The leather of the skates was so worn, they felt like wet paper. Ankle support was nil, which meant there was a high possibility of embarrassing himself. He’d never skated before in his life, leaving him to wonder if Jessica Backman knew that and used it to her advantage. Maybe he wasn’t the only super psychic in town.
The music was terrible and loud. He spied the DJ, eyes closed, earphones planted on his head, positive he couldn’t be listening to the mix of bad ’70s disco and modern house music that he must have made in a drug-induced haze in his basement home studio. Eddie’s tastes were the exact opposite, more in the Frank Sinatra era. His mother had once sung backing vocals on a Tony Bennett album, back when she was young and ready to take on the world. Growing up, his life was filled with crooners, and he never grew out of it. This stuff blasting out of worn-out speakers was intolerable.
He made it to the rink and clung to the side wall on wobbly legs. His heart ran a steady, meth-head beat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous.
Spotting Jessica in the thin crowd was easy. He was surprised at how naturally beautiful she was without seeming to know it herself. As promised, she was wearing a black Slayer concert shirt. Her auburn hair fanned out behind her as she breezed along on the other side of the rink. She was long and lean with small, tight curves. Understated beauty was what came to mind. He had to force himself not to stare.
She saw him, hanging on for dear life, and gave him a crooked smile, the way a hunter would look at her prey as it was caught in a trap.
This should be fun, Eddie thought.
The rubber stopper on her skates shrieked as she pulled up next to him.
“You must be Jessica Backman,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but I think I might fall if I tried.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t offer to shake your hand anyway.”
She looked him over from head to toe, sizing him up in more ways than he could imagine. He had to give her credit. For a single girl to meet a total stranger who had been pestering her through email, she really knew how to take complete charge. He admired both her bravery and her street smarts, two traits he was far from mastering himself.
“Is there any chance we could sit down and talk?”
She shook her head. “I prefer to do all of our talking out here.”
“Somehow I knew you’d say that.”
Eddie pulled himself along the wall, locking his knees to keep his feet from going out from under him. It didn’t help much, and he had to use all the strength in his now shaky arms to hold himself upright. People who didn’t understand the true abilities of psychics would laugh at his not foreseeing his first meeting with Jessica going down this way.
Jessica rolled beside him. “First things first,” she said with barely concealed anger simmering in her voice. “Who the hell told you to write what you did? As far as I know, only two people in the world know what my father called me and where I go. I guess I was wrong. So tell me who it was so I can wring their neck.”
Eddie looked over and saw her hazel eyes had turned an almost golden color. He was pretty sure she would beat the information out of him if he tried to keep his source a secret. Hell, she might beat him anyway. She may have been a thin girl, but every ounce of her was coiled muscle.
“I think I should preface my answer with a quick question. Do you know who D.D. Home was?”
His right leg shot out and he had to grip the wall to keep from falling. If she was what she promoted herself to be on her website, it was a sure bet she knew about his great-grandfather.
Without hesitation, she replied, “D.D. Home was the greatest mentalist and spiritualist of the nineteenth century. I once read where he literally floated out a second story window in front of a team of debunkers and floated back in the adjoining window. Just crazy stuff. He was the only one who was never discredited, even though countless people tried. What does a dead man have to do with this?”
Eddie stopped and faced her. “Everything.”
He saw the light suddenly shine behind her eyes. “Wait, your last name is Home. Are you trying to tell me you’re related?”
“A direct descendant.”
“And you expect me to believe you have some psychic powers?”
“I was hoping you would.”
Jessica pushed off and skated ahead of him with surprising speed.
Jesus, you’re blowing it!
“Jessica, wait! Your father is the one who told me what to say!”
The DJ had just started playing Sugarhill Gang’s Rapper’s Delight and cranked up the volume. There was no way she could have heard him, and even less of a chance for him to catch up to her.
But he was wrong. She stopped on a dime and turned to him. The fire in her stare singed him from twenty feet away. Swinging her arms at her sides, she came back to his spot on the wall. Her hands were balled into fists and her mouth was pinched in a tight line.
“What did you say?”
Eddie swallowed hard and stood as straight as his legs would allow. It was make or break time.
“I’ve spoken to your father several times over the last few months. He was the one who told me to refer to you as squeakpip in my last email and also mention how much he enjoys your visits to his death site in Alaska every year.”
Jessica shook her head. “This isn’t possible.”
“I know it sounds weird, because it is weird. That’s kind of my specialty. I was desperate to meet you and he wanted to help.”
“Out of all the people in the world, why would he talk to you?”
Eddie sighed. Great. He had her attention and she wasn’t running away or hitting him. If he was lucky, things would stay that way.
“To be honest, I don’t know. I was at the Rhine Research Center for the past year and I took up a specialized form of meditation. I was mostly using it to clear my mind.” For now, the simplest explanation seemed best. “Then one day, he came to me out of the nothing. I could barely understand him the first couple of times we connected, but it seemed the more he reached out to me, and now me to him, the stronger our bond grew. He was the one who pointed me to your family’s experience and he’s the one who urged me to get in contact with you. Over the years, I’d heard about an incredible paranormal event in an Alaskan town that no longer exists, and to tell you the truth, always assumed what I heard from the grapevine had to be bullshit. From the little that is spoken about it, it sounds too crazy to be true, even for people crazy enough to believe in the impossible. Kind of like the Mothman phenomena—when something singular seems so outlandish, you tend to discard it. Your father changed my stance on that. But to tell you the truth, beyond confirming an event that happened over a decade ago and pointing me towards you, I have no clue what’s supposed to happen next.”