Troubled Spirits

by Sandy Wolters

  Landing with a resounding thump, Jody immediately wondered if any part of her body had been broken. Struggling to regain her senses, she noted Fiona’s nervous giggle. She immediately questioned why the little girl’s uneasy laugh was heard in her mind instead of with her ears.

  Focusing her attention outward, she found herself staring at Fiona’s cute little shoes. It took a moment for her brain to catch up but as it did, her body started to quake from shock. Only then did she realize, her visual viewpoint was from the child’s perspective, not her own. What the—

  “Sh-h-h!”

  Horrified, she watched Fiona’s finger disappear from view then move in an upward arc toward her own face. As if Jody had been the one to brandish the shut-up gesture herself, she felt the pressure of the little girl’s finger at her own mouth.

  “My mommy doesn’t let me say those kinds of words.”

  Uh-oh, Jody thought before panic could take root. Everything she saw was through Fiona’s field of vision. Some piece of her was now somehow a part of Fiona. She glanced at the black toaster and then the checkered tablecloth. It didn’t matter where she looked, all of it was seen through the child’s eyes, not her own.

  Careful not to speak aloud, Jody thought, “What in the hell is going on here?”

  Fiona giggled again.

  Aghast, Jody asked without speaking, “Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

  “Of course, silly. I jumped inside you and brought part of you with me.”

  Agitated, Jody refused to allow her thoughts to linger on what Fiona had just said. She’d have plenty of time later to figure out what had just transpired to protect herself from this experience ever happening again.

  Jody couldn’t stop worrying about what was happening with her body while her soul was here with Fiona. Visions of her physical body moldering without the soul to keep it alive zipped through her mind, making her more than a little tense. Having no idea how long she could remain within the child’s spirit spiked the need to act quickly. It became imperative to find something with an address. As soon as that task had been completed, she’d figure out how to get the hell out of Dodge, or in this case Fiona, and back into her own body.

  They continued to sit on the floor while Jody formulated a plan. Distracted, she couldn’t help but watch through Fiona’s eyes as the little girl playfully tapped her toes together. Click, click, click.

  If she had control over her own teeth at the moment, they’d be gritted with tension as the image of Judy Garland flitted across her mind. She tried to erase the thought of ending up in Kansas, fearful it might actually happen.

  “Where does your mom keep the mail?”

  Fiona jumped up, making Jody queasy and feeling as though she’d throw up from the motion. Clearly not in control, she didn’t like this situation one bit which turned her attitude surly. Attempting to distance herself from her fear, she focused instead on a feeling of urgency. Since the child could hear her thoughts, maybe she’d be able to pick up on her emotions as well. Hopefully, this action would light a fire under Fiona and get her to pick up the pace to find an address.

  Trying her best to get used to seeing through Fiona’s eyes, Jody decided to concentrate on her surroundings. Everything appeared so big and tall. Across the room, she spied what looked like a stack of mail on the kitchen counter.

  Sensing Jody’s thoughts, the little girl sashayed toward the countertop and raised herself up on tiptoes. Her tiny hand disappeared over the countertop as her arm stretched as far as it could go.

  Jody could feel the girl’s fingertips barely touching the corner of the envelopes. Out of frustration, she spit out, “Can’t you just float up and get them?”

  Fiona’s little curled up fists landed on her hips. “This is not my fault. You’re heavy! I can’t lift us both.”

  Jody couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation. She could feel Fiona’s frustration as if it were her own, and who knew? Perhaps it was. The absurdity of being swept up in a four-year-old’s body was a situation she wanted to escape as soon as possible. The only way to make this bizarre experience worthwhile would be if she could get her hands on a piece of mail to find an address.

  “Calm down, Fiona. This shared body experience is all new to me, too. What if you and I both think about jumping at the same time? Maybe if we jump together, we’ll be able to grab some of the letters and knock them to the floor.”

  Fiona’s delight at being helpful was unmistakable. Jody could barely handle the giddiness being relayed to her directly from the little girl’s soul. She suddenly felt a strong desire to skip around the kitchen island. Since she hadn’t skipped anywhere for years, she acknowledged the child-like compulsion more than likely had been influenced by the little girl who’d somehow kidnapped her spirit.

  “I can count to three,” Fiona exclaimed excitedly. “Looky! One.” She held her pointer finger out so Jody could see it. “Two.” She added her middle finger. “Three.” Her ring finger popped up.

  “That’s good. You count to three, and we’ll jump together.”

  “One. Two. Three,” Fiona called out. Together, they jumped, and Fiona’s fingers landed on the corner of the mail. As gravity took its course, they held on as best they could while falling back to the floor. The envelopes flew through the air around them, scattering everywhere. Jubilant from their success, they mentally high-fived each other as letters rained down on them.

  Bending down to the now scattered pile of mail, a loud gasp sounded from behind them. “Who’s here?” The woman’s terror laced shriek filled the room.

  Fiona spun toward the voice leaving Jody dizzy and seeing stars. They each caught a glimpse of a woman’s bare feet running from the kitchen. With each heavy footfall, her scream faded into the distance.

  At the same instant, a deep, penetrating fear swept through Jody, paralyzing her. She used every last ounce of energy she had to stifle her scream. Had Fiona’s mother seen the little girl, or had the mail being propelled across the room frightened her? In those brief seconds before everything went black, she recognized the gut-wrenching fear she’d just felt wasn’t her own or Fiona’s, but that of Fiona’s mother.

  Chapter Nine

  As Terry circulated through the throng of people and listened to the art show patrons critique his work, their reactions thrilled him. From what he’d been able to garner, his paintings were a resounding success. The buzz around the gallery led him to believe that several pieces of art had already sold.

  Throughout the evening, he’d purposely kept his distance from Solitude. Since his passion for the piece extended to the extreme, if people didn’t react to it as he’d hoped they would his heart would break. If anyone dared to offer any negative remarks, he didn’t want to hear them. The portrait laid his heart and soul wide open on the canvas. People judging Solitude meant they were judging him, not on a professional level but on a purely personal level. To hear someone tearing the portrait apart would be too difficult and may result in bloodshed.

  Still, his curiosity got the best of him. He kept nervously glancing over at the crowd surrounding the portrait. Throughout the evening, people gathered around Solitude and scrutinized it with intensity. The patrons would gaze upon his masterpiece until Julianne stepped in signaling the time had come to move on to other pieces of art. She would gently nudge them out of the way to make room for new viewers who’d patiently waited for their opportunity to see the canvas. That had to be a good sign.

  Julianne deserved kudos for doing a magnificent job showcasing Solitude in such a short period of time. The canvas, while in a place of prominence, was angled in such a way the viewer had to walk around to see it. This approach created a unique kind of unveiling experience for each person. The spotlighting highlighted the piece with an exquisite soft glow, effectively adding another layer of mystery to the portrait. She’d also surrounded the canvas with the images he’d provided showing it in various stages of completion.

  Although Julianne invited peop
le to get a closer look, he noticed she stood guard over Solitude like a soldier in front of Buckingham Palace. Her unswerving presence ensured no one forgot their place and reached out to touch Solitude, which invariably they all seemed to want to do.

  Lost in his visual eavesdropping, Terry jolted back to reality when he felt the weight of a heavy arm land on his shoulders. The shock of this intrusion on his personal space caused him to flinch involuntarily, spilling his champagne in the process. He’d never been a touchy-feely type of person, in fact, just the opposite. Always protective of his personal boundaries, he’d only felt comfortable with shows of affection between his close, life-long friends, Jody and Nathan.

  Expecting to meet another art scene groupie who had no problem at all invading his personal space had him bracing himself. Plastering a smile on his face, he swung around to greet the most recent masher. Instantly, his phony smile transformed into a genuine grin as he found himself face-to-face with Nathan, the second musketeer in his intimate group of friends. Terry allowed Nathan to pull him into a familiar, warm hug, one so full of love only dear, old friends would dare display in public.

  Nathan, Terry, and Jody had started out as childhood friends who remained as thick as thieves over the years. Good or bad, sickness or health, they were always there for each other. Despite the fact they knew one another’s deepest, darkest secrets, the love they shared broke all limits. They’d spent the majority of their lives proving their devotion by dropping everything when needed and being there for support or whatever else the situation called for. The comradeship and love between them had deepened and became even more treasured with each year that passed. They were family, not by blood, but by choice.

  “Dude, hell of a show! I’m impressed,” Nathan bolstered.

  Terry slipped out of his friend’s embrace. “Of course, you’re impressed. My craft touches the soul.” He waved his hands in a grand, dramatic gesture. “Just ask anyone here,” his voice comically haughty.

  Nathan laughed as he accepted a glass of champagne the waiter had dutifully offered him. He held his glass high and teased, “You’re the man!” He downed the sparkling wine in one gulp. The timber of his voice lowered conveying his sincerity. “Seriously, Terry, what I’ve seen so far is breathtaking. I’m really proud of you.”

  Puffing his chest out with pride, Terry allowed a broad smile to light his face. His biggest critics had always been his best friends. If they liked what they saw, he knew they’d tell him. They’d also be the first to say his art was shit, and he needed to go back to the drawing board. Literally. Heat borne from pleasure radiated through his face with his friend’s sincere praise. “That means a lot coming from you, Nathan. Thanks.”

  Terry scanned the people standing around Nathan. “Did Jody come with you?”

  “No. I tried calling her, but I figured she was too busy getting ready to put all the other women here to shame to answer my call.” He traded his empty glass for a full one. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

  From the moment he’d decided to include Solitude in the show, Terry had been antsy. He should’ve gotten Jody’s permission before showing the canvas. Not having her consent weighed heavily on him. Truth be told, he’d acted like a selfish prick, and that fact ate him up inside. He knew if she had objected and asked him not to show the canvas, he would’ve gone against her wishes for the first time in their lives. Jody hadn’t even been aware he’d used her likeness. The thought of his best friend seeing the portrait for the first time in such a public setting had his heart skipping a beat. What would her reaction be? Would she love Solitude? Would she understand he’d created the portrait out of love for her? Would she forgive him for displaying her very raw emotions in such a public way? Oh God. What have I done?

  Showing his annoyance, Nathan snapped his fingers in front of Terry’s face. “Where’d you go? I’ve been talking to you, and you’re completely ignoring me.”

  Guilt caused him to wince involuntarily. “I’m not a good friend. I haven’t told Jody about the portrait I did of her. I hope she doesn’t kill me.”

  Nathan waved him off. “I haven’t seen it yet, but don’t worry your pretty little head off. I’m sure it’s a beautiful piece of work. If I know Jody, she’s going to love it.”

  His best friend poked him hard on the shoulder. “So did you surprise me with a portrait?” He made a show of craning his head while looking at the paintings in his field of vision. “I’m a god. I should be immortalized.”

  Grateful for the subject change, Terry laughed and handed Nathan a third glass of champagne. “You may be a god, but you’re ugly as hell. Your portrait would scare the crap out of people. Small children would have nightmares. I can’t have the art gallery patrons running in all directions screaming about how awful the subject matter of my work is, now can I? The press would crucify me. People would ban me from parties.” Continuing with the lighthearted banter, Terry pretended to be apologetic by exaggerating a shrug. “I’d probably never get laid again. You wouldn’t want that weighing on your conscience, would you?”

  “You’re an ass,” Nathan said with a chuckle and a quick shove. “By the way, I brought my partner. You should be impressed. I don’t think he ever goes out socially.” He glanced around at the people surrounding them. “I don’t see him at the moment, but I’ll introduce you when we come across him.” He took a sip of the cold, sweet, bubbly wine and made a show of letting it roll around in his mouth. “Damn, that’s good champagne.”

  Nathan leaned in closer to Terry. “The guy is exorbitantly wealthy, but I wouldn’t expect a sale from him. Your work is emotionally stimulating, and he’s purely cerebral. He seems to like art but responds better to more of an architectural aesthetic. I don’t think he’d know what a genuine emotion was if it sashayed right up and bit him on the ass.”

  Taken aback by his friend’s unflattering remarks, Terry shot his eyebrow up questioningly. Nathan rarely talked about the man who’d convinced him to retire from the Phoenix police department. Spurring his curiosity, he wanted to hear more. “Really? That surprises me. Why would you go into business with someone like that?”

  Nathan chuckled. “Well, there are several reasons, but I’ll give you the two most important. First, he’s filthy rich, and I get whatever I need without much fuss. Second, his personality is perfect for being a private investigator. He’s analytical to a fault and about as cold as they come. He doesn’t let emotion alter his judgment. That’s a good thing because I don’t think he’d know what to do if he suddenly displayed such a girly aspect to his persona. He’s a man’s man. He might crumble and fall to the floor in little pieces if he actually felt any type of honest emotion.

  “I swear he’s the reincarnation of John Wayne, or at the very least one of his more memorable, take-no-shit, old-time western characters. The man doesn’t let anything get in his way. He’s tenacious and never gives up the hunt no matter how difficult. Besides, people don’t say no to him, ever. He just turns those steely, dark eyes in their direction, and the world drops at his feet. If you’re unfortunate enough to be on the other side of that piercing, intimidating glare, you’re a goner. In great part, he’s the best in the business because he’s composed and relentless. People don’t hire him because they like him. They hire him because they know he will deliver whatever dirt he can find on the asshole he’s got in his sights.

  “When he asked me to leave the police force and head the new security division of his company, I couldn’t say no to him. You remember how frustrated I was while on the force? A cop always has to be careful not to step on anyone’s toes for fear the case will fall apart due to some trumped up legal technicality.”

  Terry made a point of nodding his head affirmatively, happy his friend had found a way to deal effectively with the criminal element he detested so much.

  He’d always idolized Nathan’s superhero mentality. He was born to be in law enforcement. He was aware of how frustrated his friend had been during his time wi
th the Phoenix police department. Not only did the bad guys always seem to win, but the justice system provided them with all the rights. That fact left the victims of crime feeling abused and victimized all over again, effectively making him lose his passion for police work.

  While most people thought of Nathan as being an intimidating tough guy, Terry knew him to be quite softhearted. Because of his sympathetic nature, the justice system had left him disillusioned many times.

  “J.D. is a force to be reckoned with, never breaking the law per se, but skirting the edge of it to get whatever he needs to crack his case. He always finds a way to apprehend the bad guys which allows him to make a real difference in the world. The rules are far more lax for private investigators than they are for cops, and he has no qualm about pushing those boundaries to the limit.”

  It’d been Terry’s experience that every time Nathan thought back on his life as a cop, his mood turned sour. The inadequacies of the justice system had started to stress his friend out so he’d lighten the mood a bit. “When you say ‘filthy rich,’ are you talking Paradise Valley rich?”

  Nathan scoffed. “After everything I’ve just said, that’s what you zeroed in on?”

  “Hardly.” To prove his point, he listed what he’d heard, ticking off each personality nugget Nathan had covered with his fingers. “Filthy rich. Recluse. John Wayne. Bigger asshole than most. Badass P.I. See? I was listening.” Terry laughed and playfully punched Nathan. “However, we are at my art show, and my work is for sale. That just seemed like the most pertinent information about him at the moment. So, how rich is ‘filthy rich’?”

  His ploy worked. Nathan’s mood visibly lightened. “Okay. I see your point. What I mean by ‘filthy rich’ is an isolated mansion on top of Camelback Mountain with a private jet, personal pilot and crew rich.”

  The impressive list of assets had Terry’s mouth dropping open. “I think we need to find him and give him the personal touch when showing him my art. Surely there is something here he’d like.”