by K E O'Connor
“No, they are here.”
I nodded, not sure what else to do. Jasmine was right, her home was full of ghosts.
“I think I’ll sleep a little longer,” said Jasmine. “But don’t let me stop you. Get yourself some tea, and I’ll join you downstairs later to finish the invitations.” Jasmine’s head was already sinking back onto her pillow. The medication she took was obviously effective.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” I said.
“Very good.” Jasmine’s voice sounded sleepy.
I risked another glance at the wall before I left the bedroom, but there was no sign of the female ghost. What was she trying to show me? She’d been swaddling something in her arms, but I hadn’t seen what it was. Did she have some information about the death of the children she wanted to share but didn’t know how to?
Whoever she was, and whatever she wanted to tell me, I needed to find out what it was. And, if possible, I needed to find out about Jasmine’s health and how long she’d been unwell. It worried me that she may have had some sort of breakdown or relapse and injured the children without realizing it. If she had done that, I could understand why Michael and Mirabel were still here, as they tried to figure out why they’d been harmed by the person who should love them the most and want to keep them safe.
I pulled the bedroom door shut behind me and leaned against it. Dealing with the ghosts of children was hard. Little lives over before they’d even begun. I was determined to get them the help they needed, whatever they needed. Even in the afterlife, they might be vulnerable and need protecting. And as much as I sometimes resented it, I knew it was my job to assist them.
There were so many puzzles in this house. It was time I started solving them.
Chapter 11
“That was another amazing meal,” I said to Helen as she cleared away the empty plates from the table.
Jasmine had decided she didn’t want any dinner that evening, much to Francis’s annoyance, and that had given Helen and me the perfect excuse to avoid another plate of sloppy greens and soggy pastry.
It also meant I could catch Helen up on my discovery when I'd been in Jasmine’s bedroom earlier that day, as she whipped up a fantastic stew and dumplings.
Helen pulled an apple pie out of the oven and presented it to me.
My mood brightened as the sweet scent of baked apple filled the annex. “You are a cooking super star.”
“I aim to please,” said Helen with a smile.
“I’m a bit worried about Jasmine,” I said. “All those pills I found today make me wonder just how stable she is.”
“It does sound like strong medication.” Helen sliced into the apple pie. “But we can’t know for sure how long she’s been taking it. It could be something the doctor gave her after the children died.”
“And there’s no way for us to find out,” I said. “Unless I get you hacking into her private medical records.”
“Even I’m not that good.” Helen grinned at me as she passed me a steaming bowl of apple pie. “But we can have a discreet hunt in some of her papers. We may reveal some old prescriptions with dates on them. That will give you an idea as to how long she’s been on the pills.”
“If the medication is as strong as I think it is, Jasmine may not even have known what she was doing a lot of the time.” I cut into my apple pie and then left it to cool, despite the enticing aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg drifting up my nose. “Those kinds of pills can make people hallucinate.”
“How do you know that?” asked Helen.
“The Internet is a wonderful thing,” I said. “The antidepressants I can understand. Everyone needs the edge taken off when they suffer a tragedy.”
“Isn’t there a medical condition that makes mothers hurt their children?” asked Helen. “Munchausen something or other.”
“There is, but I think it’s unusual.” I pulled out my phone and did a quick search online. “Here it is; it’s when a parent makes up illnesses their child has, and they can go as far as harming the child to make them ill. But that can’t be the case with Jasmine or Chris. The children definitely had problems with their hearts. You can’t fake that.”
“Well, there’s an odd sort of relief in knowing that,” said Helen. “What about this ghost that keeps appearing to you? You think she knows something about the children’s deaths?”
“I’m not sure about her,” I said. “It’s frustrating that she won’t even attempt to communicate with me. I know we can’t speak to each other directly. Other ghosts we’ve met haven’t been so reticent in telling me what their problem is, but she seems determined to show up, pull an angry face, and then disappear.”
“Maybe she’s shy.” Helen ate a large mouthful of apple pie and then blew out as the hot apple touched her tongue.
“Or stubborn,” I said. “Maybe she thinks I know something, or I’m involved with the children in some way. That could be the reason she’s angry with me. Could she be mistaking me for Jasmine?”
“You have the same dark colored hair,” said Helen. “It could be possible. Who knows how good a ghost’s eyesight is?”
“And as for the male ghost, I haven’t seen him since his appearance in the nursery,” I said. “And he wasn’t happy with me either.”
“And the ghosts you really want to see aren’t showing themselves to you at all,” said Helen.
A loud crash had us both jumping to our feet. We hurried out to the hallway, to discover Chris had thrown open the front door and was down on his hands and knees, his briefcase halfway across the floor.
I hurried towards him and grabbed hold of his arm. “Everything okay?”
“Just lost my balance.” The strong odor of whiskey drifted out of Chris’s pores, and he gave a loud hiccup.
“Let me help you up.” I took a firm hold of his arm, and Helen grabbed him on the other side, and between the two of us, we managed to get him to his feet.
“Thanks ever so much,” said Chris. “I always misjudge that step.”
I let go of him, and he wobbled precariously from side to side. “Would you like a coffee?”
“That sounds like a good plan,” said Chris. “Had a heavy day at work. Need something to buck me up.”
More like he’d had a heavy afternoon in the pub if his disheveled appearance was anything to go by.
“I’ve got some apple pie you might like with your coffee,” said Helen. She raised her eyebrows at me and then discreetly pinched her nose behind Chris’s back.
“Apple pie is my favorite,” said Chris. “Coffee and apple pie is just what I need.”
I helped Chris off with his coat and picked up his briefcase. “Come this way.” I led him into our annex and settled him at the kitchen table.
“We should have employed you as our cook, Helen,” said Chris as he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.
“I thought you liked Francis’s cooking,” said Helen.
“Well, it’s not always terrible.” Chris gave a shrug. “But honestly, I eat it because I think Jasmine wants me to. She was so keen on keeping Francis here. I don’t have the heart to tell her that Francis’s cooking tastes like dirty rubber boots that have been marinated in a sour hot sauce for too long.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said as I took my seat at the table again.
“It’s also not that good.” Chris sighed and played with the salt shaker on the table. “Are you both settling in well?”
“Yes, this is perfect,” I said.
“And how has Jasmine been today?” Chris nodded thanks to Helen as she placed a large mug of black coffee in front of him and a huge slice of apple pie.
“We’ve been doing some work on the memorial invitation,” I said.
Chris nodded as he ate a mouthful of pie. “She told me about that. Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” I said. “It’s nice to remember lost loved ones.”
“She did seem happy about it
.” Chris took a slurp of his coffee. “And that’s all I want, for her to be happy again.”
Helen settled at the table. “It can take a long time to get over such a sad loss.”
“I didn’t mean for her to tell you about the children so soon,” said Chris. “We don’t talk to many people about it. Maybe that’s part of the problem. We keep everything inside and put on a united front when we’re out together. Once we’re inside these four walls, everything crumbles.”
“People will expect you to be sad,” I said.
“For a while they will,” said Chris. “But just because your own world falls off its axis when a tragedy happens, doesn’t mean the rest of the world does. I remember the first time I left the house after the children died. I only went to get a newspaper and some milk. I was so shocked by how normal everything seemed. My world was imploding, shaking like a force ten hurricane was whipping through it, but nobody else was affected. Nobody knew what was happening to Jasmine and me. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that they wouldn’t care even if they did know. They were unharmed and unhurt. Their loved ones were safe and happy. What was happening to me didn’t impact them. And that’s one of the things that hurt the most.”
Flipper stood up from his curled position by the log burner and trotted over to Chris. He laid his head in Chris’s lap and looked up at him.
Chris smiled down at Flipper and fed him a piece of his pie crust.
I realized the alcohol was loosening Chris’s tongue, but I was happy to let him talk. “I think a lot of people feel like that when they experience such a tragedy. And it is okay to fall apart in front of others. They will understand. You cannot go through this life without experiencing a few bad things.”
“There’s bad and there’s bad.” Chris placed his empty bowl down and sat back in his seat. “I’ve got my work to focus upon, but Jasmine is here every day. She’s surrounded by all the memories of our children. I did encourage her to get out more, maybe even get a part-time job. But she was adamant she wanted to stay here. It’s the main reason I insisted we employ you, Lorna. At least now, Jasmine has some company during the day, and isn’t alone dwelling on the past.”
“And I think it’s helping,” I said. “It isn’t healthy to keep yourself too isolated from the rest of the world, no matter how much your heart is hurting.”
Chris ran a hand over his face. “The worst thing is, people are already dropping hints about us having more children.”
Helen tutted and gathered our dessert bowls. “I know they mean well by saying that, but it is rather insensitive.”
“They don’t mean any harm by what they say,” said Chris, “but it makes me want to punch them in the face. I had children and now they’ve gone. I can’t replace them with more.”
“Maybe you’ll think differently in the future,” I said. “And you wouldn’t be replacing Michael and Mirabel. These would be different children, with unique personalities and habits.”
“Yes, I know that.” Chris sagged into his seat. “I sometimes wish we’d never had any children. I mean, everything changed when they came along. And they were so fragile. I was terrified of hurting them every time I picked up either of them. Jasmine really pushed me into having kids, though. She said the house wouldn’t be a home until we’d had some. I was happy to wait a few years, but then she got pregnant, and the option was out of my hands.”
“You don’t regret having them, though, do you?” Helen exchanged a worried look with me.
Chris stared up at the ceiling and let out a long, slow exhale. “No, and I take it back. I loved my children very much, but they changed everything in our relationship. Suddenly, we were a mother and father of two fragile beings. They took over every waking moment of our lives. Life was different when they were here. And then they died, and there was nothing. The void couldn’t be filled by going back to the way we used to live our lives. So, what were we to do after they’d gone?” He looked first at me and then Helen.
I wished I had some inspiring words to fill Chris with hope, but all that ran through my head were pointless platitudes and promises that things would get better with time. “How about some more pie?”
Chris nodded. “Yes, pie makes everything a little better.”
After Chris had returned to the main house, I sat back at the kitchen table with Helen, and we finished the apple pie and drank tea.
“Chris didn’t want to be a father,” said Helen.
“He didn’t say that exactly,” I said. “He said that having children changed everything. And he’d be right; you have to alter your whole life to accommodate them.”
“Could be that he decided he didn’t want to change his life,” said Helen.
I took a drink of tea as I considered this possibility. “Chris killed the children in the hope that his life with Jasmine would return to normal? He must have known that wouldn’t be possible. You don’t lose two children and expect everything to be fine.”
“Maybe he expected Jasmine to get over it more quickly,” said Helen. “Or he could be the one making sure she takes all of her medication to keep her subdued and under control.”
“Chris doesn’t strike me as that sort of husband,” I said. “He is a mess, and he drinks too much, but then, why wouldn’t he? He’s struggling to cope as much as his wife is.”
“Maybe him being so nice is an act,” said Helen. “He could have this friendly facade that he trots out in front of other people, but when he’s alone with Jasmine, he’s a different man. I’ve heard about those kind of men; they’re all charm and loveliness in public, but then turn into vile demons when alone with their wives.”
“But he was so nice to Flipper just now,” I said. “He even fed him his apple pie crust.”
Helen smiled at me. “Again, it could be a really good front. If he was alone, maybe he’d have eaten the pie crust himself and tried to kick Flipper.”
“He’d better not,” I grumbled as I looked over to where Flipper was sleeping in front of the log burner.
“We shouldn’t rule out Chris straightaway. He could be involved in the deaths of Mirabel and Michael,” said Helen. “Is it possible we’re looking at the wrong parent? Being on medication doesn't automatically make you a killer.”
Helen was right. Although I didn’t get any sense of malice from Chris, I didn’t know him. Maybe he did have something to hide. He could have done something to harm the children and be blotting out the memories by drinking heavily and staying away from the house as much as possible.
“Okay, he goes on the suspect list as well. But we need to find these ghost children and get them to tell us what’s going on. Otherwise, we’ll just be going in circles and finding more suspects.”
“You’ll find the children,” said Helen. “They always make contact with you eventually. And remember, they are little; they may not know what they’re supposed to do.”
“That’s our mission for tomorrow,” I said. “Find the ghost children and get them the help they need.”
“Agreed,” said Helen. “Let’s go on a ghost hunt.”
Chapter 12
I awoke with a start. My skin prickled with the unpleasant sensation that I was being watched. I shifted in my bed, disturbing Flipper, who was stationed in his usual place next to my feet.
Flipper raised his head and looked at me.
“Have we got company in here?” I asked him quietly as I scanned the room for any signs of a ghostly presence.
Flipper whined and then rested his head back on his paws. He didn’t seem concerned by whatever it was that had woken me.
I snuggled back into my covers and shut my eyes, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
I sat up as the sound of children’s laughter drifted past my door. I jumped out of bed, put on some clothes, and hurried out of my room, going straight into Helen’s and shaking her awake.
“What’s wrong?” Helen blearily blinked open her eyes. “It had better be
something important. I was having a lovely dream about some hunky guy on a beach and a bottle of suntan lotion.”
“Your dirty dreams will have to wait,” I said. “The children are here.”
“Let’s go get them.” Helen jumped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, and then followed me and Flipper out into the hallway.
I stopped by the stairs to listen for any sounds of the children. After a few seconds, running feet could be heard, but they weren’t upstairs; they were by the front door.
“Looks like they want to go outside,” I said to Helen. I pulled open the front door and walked out into the chilly autumn morning. There was a light mist floating over the dew-covered grass, giving the village an otherworldly appearance. Dawn was lightening the sky from its inky blackness, and long thin clouds drifted overhead.
“Where are they going?” whispered Helen.
A faint drift of laughter passed by me. “They’re heading over that way.” I pointed to the left. “I don’t know what’s over there, though.”
“Let’s find out,” said Helen.
We hurried along the lane and stopped outside a small children’s play area, containing several swings and a wooden climbing frame.
“Look at that.” Helen gestured to a tree sitting in the center of the play area. There was a large, bulky treehouse stuck between two branches.
“Maybe that’s where they want us to go,” I said. The sound of children’s laughter came again.
“I heard it this time.” Helen clutched my arm. “How is it that we can hear the children? Normally, we don’t hear any ghost voices.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe children’s ghosts are different. But it’s not as if they’re actually speaking to us. I’d prefer it if they did.”
“Maybe they’ll be able to tell us what happened to them,” said Helen. “It would be nice if we could actually speak to a ghost, without going through all that ridiculous miming you have to do. Although, it is quite funny to watch.”
“It’s not funny for me,” I said. “Let’s go see if we can find anything in the play area.” I pushed through a wooden gate and walked into the grassy play area.