by Eve Paludan
I wrapped my fingers around the bars and rattled them.
“We’re apparently on Venice Beach and I don’t want to alarm you but we’re behind a storm grate, inside a storm runoff tunnel, and the tide is coming in.”
“Oh no! Let’s break out!” I said.
Diego replied, “It’s chained with a padlock and we’ve pulled and pushed and we can’t break the chain. Ellen and I have shoved and heaved ourselves to no avail. Our phones are wet and they don’t work.”
“Let me see if I have a cell signal before we have to start treading water.” I stuck my hand through the grate that trapped us and held out my Android cell phone, which I had in that Ziplock bag, thank goodness. “I have two bars for cell reception!”
Both Diego and Ellen cheered. I dialed Sandy from my contact list instead of 9-1-1 as I assumed that the fire department was already in the building and freaking out at the collapsed tunnel, probably thinking that we three were all dead. I had no doubt they were shoveling for us and had already found out that I was not at the end of the fire hose.
Sandy answered right away. I told her where I thought we were. I told her to also make sure that Ezekiel came with the rescuers and that he needed to bring Nightfire’s bones. She said, “Oh my goodness. Does that mean you found the jockey’s bones?”
“Yes!” I screamed. “Hurry, Sandy! We’re about to drown!”
It turned out that it was a good idea to call Sandy because our rescuers at the art gallery were less than a block from the headquarters of the best lifeguards in the entire county.
We all shivered and Diego called out for his wife and then for Sandy.
“Think positive!” Ellen said. “Don’t give up!”
As the tide began to rush into the locked grate and we were suddenly up to our necks in cold seawater, trapped in the drainage pipe, we heard the lifeguard jet skis coming and saw their lights growing larger and brighter across the dark water that came for us with a cold, relentless and terrifying grace. We three yelled bloody murder, just like we were at a Lakers game and they had just won the championship. I don’t think any of us were intelligible because we were treading water and screaming and the waves kept washing over our heads and making us gulp seawater.
I shrugged out of my backpack with the jockey’s bones in them. Ellen was my priority. I lost my Android phone because I was holding up Ellen as high as I could, making her get on my back while I treaded water. The three of us were shouting for our lives. It was coming down to moments, not minutes, whether we would be rescued in time, or drown. I kept gulping seawater and Ellen was tired. No way was I going to let go of her. I’d seen Titanic. You just decided never to let go. Not ever.
Just before our rescuers were upon us with bolt cutters for the padlocked chain, Ellen started screaming that she saw the spirit of Nightfire with ghost of the jockey on her back behind us, also trying to get out of the locked storm drain. The LAFD lifeguards cut the chain on the storm drain, pulled us out of the pipe and into the cold sea where they strapped life jackets to us. They pried my hands off of Ellen.
The next thing I saw was Ezekiel sitting in a rubber boat perched on top of a huge Rubbermaid container that must have been full of horse bones. He raised his arms and shouted, “What the heck do you want me to do with these?”
“Throw the horse bones in the sea!” I shouted to him.
“Where are the jockey’s bones?”
“In the sea!” I screamed across the water. “I had to leave them to save Ellen, but they are already in the water. Hurry, Ezekiel!” I said. “Dump the horse bones!”
The lifeguards looked at me like I was crazy. But yeah, drowning people scream a lot of weird stuff. So they didn’t ask any questions.
Ezekiel opened the lid of the Rubbermaid container and started pitching the horse bones in the sea, not fifty yards from where I had left the jockey’s bones in my discarded backpack in that dreadful storm drain.
According to Ellen, as Ezekiel fed the horse bones into the sea, Nightfire, the beautiful ghost horse with its diminutive rider, sailed out of the storm pipe into the Pacific Ocean. When all of the horse bones were in the ocean, the jockey disappeared from Nightfire’s back. The last thing that Ellen said she saw were two beautiful black ghost horses, plowing through the waves under the soft glow of a divine Southern California moon, heading to open sea. She says she saw the shafts of moonlight brighten and draw the two ghost horses up high into the sky, into their light.
I didn’t see any of that. Even if I could have, I wasn’t going to look away from Ellen. Not for one blessed second.
Epilogue
The co-op art gallery’s grand opening on First Friday in Venice was a tremendous success.
The L.A. Times sent an arts reporter to cover the grand opening and each of the artists was interviewed. Hector, the gallery’s unpaid intern, made a film of the highlights of the event, and posted it to his YouTube channel, garnering thousands of hits in a single day. Sister Maggie sold dozens of her inspired paintings of dead people she had never met. Ezekiel and his family gave a presentation on the Native traditions of making organic art from bones, fur, and feathers, in order to honor the animal spirits; they just about sold out of everything they had made from horse skulls.
Diego Francisco was accompanied all day and evening by Sandy, our psychic cab driver, who glowed with happiness by his side in a Chanel suit, as he explained to the reporter, the concept of older artists mentoring and supporting younger artists in their creative aspirations. He sold a lot of stuff, too. Sister Maggie took it upon herself to snag the taxidermied chupacabra from Diego’s gallery and spirit it away for a “proper burial,” whatever that meant. I had a feeling that holy water and Latin were involved, but it seemed like all of the tough paranormal issues of this case had been conquered, with plenty of help. Whew, what a whirlwind it had been!
Thanks to the timely rescue by the Venice Beach Lifeguard Division of the Los Angeles County Fire Department, it was now chill-out time for Monty and Ellen Drew, paranormal investigators, friends, and lovers. Ellen and I had finally made it onto Venice Beach. Hardly anyone was even on the beach, which seemed crazy to me. Where else would anyone be on a warm, sunny day in Southern California? Forget school, work, or the real world. The beach was heaven on earth.
We kicked off our flip-flops to stake out our spot on the smooth sand, far down the beach from everyone else, so that we could be completely alone. We reclined on colorful beach towels spread on the warm sand, all decked out in our bathing suits and nothing else, save for Ellen wearing the chalcedony pendant that rested in my favorite spot on the planet. One small glitch occurred: It was the first time that I had worn my old board shorts in a while and I ended up wearing them pretty low on my hips, as they seemed to have shrunk.
As we settled in for some serious laying-around time, I opened the lid of our rolling cooler and popped open a couple of icy sodas: a Coke for me and a Diet Pepsi for Ellen. She sipped hers gratefully and even said Ahhh! That’s what I was feeling, too, a huge sense of relief, like my parched throat was being quenched after a long, dry hot spell had nearly dehydrated me to a shriveled gnome of my former robust self. The Santa Ana winds had subsided and another death-defying and successful paranormal investigation was behind us. Thank goodness.
Ellen laid on her tummy and undid the strings of her bathing suit top, so that her back was completely bare, right down to the hip dimples. She motioned to the tube of sunscreen and raised an eyebrow, saying, “It was very generous of Diego to barter all of our gallery purchases in exchange for our paranormal investigations fee.”
“Uh-huh, very generous. We got the better end of that deal,” I said, as I obliged her hint by smearing sunscreen lotion on Ellen’s gorgeous, lithe body and rubbed it in well like a massage, in order to get happy sighs out of her, which I did. It felt good to touch her. She may have been middle-aged, but she still had her girlish figure, and then some. Va-va-va-voom!
“Isn’t it wonderful how
Diego and Sandy hit it off?”
“Yep, they would have never met, but for us,” I agreed, seeing where her romantic mind was connecting the dots.
“Do you think it’s sort of bad that Diego’s dead wife might be an entity still in partial possession of Sandy’s body?” Ellen asked. “Or at least influenced their attraction.”
“Who are we to judge another couple’s love life? And how do we know we aren’t really mortal shells possessed by the spirits of Bogie and Bacall?”
“I think I’d know,” she said, laughing. “But what an interesting analogy, Bogie,” she teased. Ellen turned over, wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down to kiss her under the shade of our huge, rented umbrella that shielded us from public view, for the most part.
“Ow, watch the broken nose,” I said.
“They did a good job at UCLA Hospital of fixing your nose. When the swelling goes down, it shouldn’t look bad at all,” Ellen said.
“Yeah, then I can be like Diego and say, ‘Yeah, I’ve had work done on my face.’”
Ellen giggled. “You are such a brat about other men. You know you are the only one for me.”
“I know it, Ellie, my love.”
She kissed me again, completely ignoring that her bikini top was not even attached.
I held her top in place, so it wouldn’t fall and said, “You’re so bad, Ellen. We aren’t twenty-one anymore.”
“Yes, we are. And then some,” she teased, to let me know how perfectly she could read my mind.
Oh, you’re gonna get it back at the hotel! I thought.
She chuckled wickedly and just kissed me harder. “Promises, promises!”
“I’m so glad we lived through this paranormal investigation,” she said. She had a couple of small gauze bandages on her arms from the ghost fire burns. And we both had bumps, bruises and scratches from our ordeal under the building, in the tunnel and the storm drain. My finger marks were on her forearms where I had held her above water to keep her from drowning in the storm drain, when she could no longer tread water.
I replied, “Yes, just imagine if we had died. I would have missed seeing Ellen with her top off at Venice Beach at age—!”
“Shut up about my age!” She giggled and wriggled under my lotioned fingers, teasing me just the way I liked. Then she lay back down again on her tummy and pulled the loose strings out of the way so she could get a line-free tan on her back and also to tease the heck out of me, which I liked. She opened one of those romantic suspense novels that she enjoyed so much when she was trying to decompress from her stressful job. I looked over her shoulder.
“Is the book any good?” I asked, sneaking my hand onto the yellow polka-dots on her cute butt.
“It’s suspenseful. Riveting, in fact! Did you bring a book?” she asked.
“No, I’m just going to look at you,” I said. “And the ocean.”
“Your two favorite things,” she said, and became quickly absorbed in her book, letting my hands stray where they wanted to. After a few minutes, she closed her book and put it aside on her beach towel, stretching her back into my moving hands, like a cat arching up into a serious petting session. I didn’t stop touching her back, neck, and shoulders. I dragged my fingers through her hair and thought about what she said, how we were spiritually connected by a golden thread, forever. I hoped that when we left this mortal coil, that it would be together, at the very same instant, with no ghostly after-selves pining for each other for years and years.
“Hey, Monty! I can hear your morbid thoughts,” she chided me. “Don’t be so sad. Live for today!”
“Sorry, Ellie,” I said, and turned my thoughts to happier things, so she would know that I was thrilled that she had forgotten her old one-piece bathing suit at home. In a way, I almost thought she did it on purpose. The concierge at the Viceroy had correctly assured us that Ellen would be able to buy a bathing suit on Venice Beach. She now wore an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weenie yellow polka-dot bikini, because she knows how much I love that song.
With her top undone and her sculpted back gleaming, all oiled up and baking to a golden brown, for the first time in over a decade, my wife was wearing a bikini for me. Well, half a bikini, which was even better, as long as she didn’t flip over right now. If she did, I would have to chase off the paparazzi, who would surely wonder if she wasn’t the reincarnation of Lauren Bacall.
“Flatterer,” she said softly, reading my mind.
I drew a heart on her spine with my index finger. Ellen looked fine. In fact, she looked damn fine. I really wanted to end this vacation with a song in our hearts. I hummed a few bars of “As Time Goes By,” feeling the best I had ever felt in my life with Ellen. After the dust settled from our crazy wedding anniversary, we were closer than we had ever been, stripped down to who we were, who we are, and who we will be, to each other. We were stronger than ever. Together. I wished I could afford to take her around the world on an endless vacation.
She turned her head and grinned at me. “Thank you, Mr. Drew, for thinking those cheery thoughts.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Drew.” I love you.
She caught my hand and pulled it to her lips to kiss my palm. I didn’t have to be a medium to know what she was thinking: I love you, too.
As for me looking damn fine, well, “chocolate pancakes” was all I can say…
The End
Monty and Ellen return in:
Ghost Hall
The Ghost Files #4
Available now!
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Paperback * Audio
Also available:
The Man Who Fell From the Sky
Angel Detectives #1
by Eve Paludan
(read on for a sample)
Chapter One
“To be reborn, first you have to die,” whispered a familiar voice in the Council Hall of Angels.
Cody whirled, his wings rustling. “Emily! What are you doing ?” Her hair was as white as her feathers.
“I wouldn’t miss your hearing for anything, grandson-in-law.”
“But who’s with Mariah?”
“A guardian angel pro tem.”
“Oh!” Cody gulped. “Are you upset that I asked to replace you as guardian?”
“No. Your concerns are valid.”
He nodded. “I’ve got unfinished business with Mariah. Thanks for coming.”
“I’m not a spectator. Didn’t they tell you I’m your Champion?”
“No! I’ve been on retreat since my last guardian post ended. When my charge crossed over into the Light.”
“Nice. Where’d they send you on retreat?”
He smiled. “Hawaii. I swam and sang with dolphins.”
“Oh! I want to do that when my charge crosses over.” Emily winked. “In about sixty years.”
Chimes rang.
Cody squeezed her hand. “It’s time, Emily. Thank you for the support.”
“It’s what we do. Godspeed.” Emily glided into the champion’s box.
Cody floated slightly above the dais in the golden-lit room. Whatever the council decided, he’d have to accept it.
Haniel, council leader, spoke: “Cody, you requested a guardian appointment to serve Mariah Bliss of Third Planet, North America, U.S., western Montana, rural district.”
“Yes.” Recollections of his widow surfaced from his mortal memories: mahogany-red tresses, ivory skin spattered with pale freckles, blue-gray eyes and a lush red mouth. Most of all, Mariah’s heart still tugged at him.
Haniel addressed Emily. “Does the Champion wish to speak on the Petitioner’s behalf?”
“Please honor Cody’s request. No one could be a better guardian angel for her.”
Haniel softly conferred with the council and Emily.
“Cody, your request was denied.” Haniel raised an index finger in a “wait” gesture. “But this was in preparation of a more suitable post.”
Cody bowed his head. “Please assign me where I may serve the great
er good.”
“Thank for your humble answer,” Haniel replied. “Based upon your record of devoted service, and by your Champion’s request, you’ll be sent back on official, special assignment to Mariah Bliss. But not as a guardian angel. Your new post requires you to return to mortal life.”
Cody gasped. “?”
“Your angelic spirit will descend into an existing mortal. You’ll influence his consciousness and use his human form to solve your own demise. Your Champion describes her charge, Mariah, as despondent after your mortal disappearance almost a year ago. Emily asks if you can assist with some...”
Haniel looked at Emily. “What did you call it?”
“TLC,” Emily replied. “Tender loving care.”
Cody’s feathers quivered. “I can assist with TLC. I’m grateful for this chance to discover the truth about what really happened. But I have questions.”
“Ask.”
“Well, the Highest knows the answer to every whodunit. So, why have me ‘solve’ my own murder?”
Haniel framed his answer with care. “In order to manifest positive changes to the lives of Mariah and others close to her, a re-mortaled angel can’t simply be provided with the identity of the perpetrator of a crime. Your investigation will be a labor of love, diligence, even spiritual seeking.”
“Could you explain a little more?” Cody asked.
Haniel sighed. “The mortals are bumbling your missing person’s investigation. Mariah isn’t moving forward with her life. She needs closure and compassion. Or as Emily called it, ‘TLC.’ You’re the only one who can provide what is necessary to resolve the mystery. But the only way you can provide this ‘TLC’ is from within a mortal body because angels aren’t supposed to…”
“Gotcha.” Cody felt a blush rising. “What will I remember in this man’s body?”
“You keep all your memories, human angelic—except for the twenty-four hours preceding and including your death—so that you can find your killer in due time.”