Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2)

by T Patrick Phelps

  "At the very end of this journal, you will find the article that I was preparing to publish. Since I am dead, please see to it that the article is sent to the list of publishers that appear on the final page.

  "Since my time is short, I will get directly to the main point of this letter. Ghosts exist, Mr. Cole. They are the wandering dead of the earth. My theory is that ghosts were once human beings who, upon their death, chose to remain on earth instead of advancing to the next realm of existence. Millions of them walk the earth, unrecognized as being what they are. Once they are seen by someone who knew them while they were alive, they are returned to the other realm, forever banished from existence.

  "I, myself, have recognized someone who I knew and who I knew had died. I saw him through my telescope and watched him when the realization of being recognized flashed terror across his face, and I watched him fade into nothingness.

  "The vast majority of these walking departed spend their existence hiding on the margins of society. I imagine that they spend their time in fear of being banished and regretting their decision to walk the earth. Their existence is one of solitude, vacancy, and of all-consuming paranoia. Visit any large city and look at the faces of those we often call 'bums' or 'vagrants.' Those who shy away from eye contact, who hide in places that no man would ever wish to call home, are often these wandering dead.

  "Be wary of approaching them for they know what being recognized would result in for them. If you do not recognize them, they may have built enough strength to prevent you from every becoming a threat to their pitiful existence.

  "The ghost that visits Robby is real, Mr. Cole, and is becoming stronger with each visit. He is becoming very dangerous and must be recognized and returned before Robby is injured or forever damaged. I cannot tell you, with any certainty, who he was in life, but I am certain of three things:

  1- His name is not Phillip.

  2- He is visiting Robby for a specific reason.

  3- He is attached to the Bryant family.

  "Find out who he is, Cole, and return him before something terrible happens.

  "Lastly, if my theory is correct, and I am given the choice to either advance or to continue walking the earth, I may choose the latter. Please do not look for me.

  Ron White."

  Derek held the two-page note in his hands for several seconds, both digesting its contents and desperately trying to determine his course of action. He realized that trying to find Maggie, Robby, and Jack Bryant was better left to the police. They had the resources and the manpower that he lacked. While he set his mind on letting the police search for them, he also committed that he would not allow any police procedure or protocol to get in the way and allow Jack to harm Maggie, Robby, or Jack's other, unknown son. He had let protocol take precedence over action once before, and doing so resulted in the death of his wife.

  Derek sat on his bed and skimmed the rest of Ron's notebook, hoping that it contained something that would tell him what his next step should be. The first page was filled with short notes, some circled, and some crossed off with an "X." Before reading any of the notes, Derek skimmed through the pages, finding that page after page followed the same theme as the first. When he reached the final page of the notebook, Derek read several of Ron's notes.

  "Spirits use any means of entrance. Deception is their ally."

  "Phillip is not his name."

  "Jack Bryant's father was an amateur ghost hunter. Knew a lot about paranormal research and history."

  "Spirits gain strength over time. Return as soon as possible!!!"

  "Robby's ghost is much too powerful. Robby/Maggie are in danger. Need to identify and return."

  "Derek Cole has a spirit protecting him. Cole will play a critical role soon."

  It hit him after reading the final note. Derek knew what he had to do. Though he didn't know how to proceed or if his intended action would help prevent Jack Bryant from harming Maggie and his two captives, he knew what he had to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "Father, I need you to get me into Maggie's house."

  When Derek walked into his den without notice, John Flannigan stopped pacing, an activity he had been engaged in for well over an hour. When John discovered that Maggie had not gone to the rectory's guest room to take a nap, but had instead snuck out of the rectory, taken his car, and headed to wherever it was that she went to, John placed the full burden of what may happen to her on his own shoulders.

  "What are you talking about?" John said. "Maggie didn't go back to her home. She's out...there...somewhere," John said, with an exaggerated wave of his arm towards the general vicinity of everywhere. "We need to figure out where she is."

  "I read Ron's journal, the one you brought back. I know this sounds insane, but I think I need to do something about the ghost that is visiting Robby, and I think I know what to do."

  "What the hell are you thinking?" John said, disbelief marring his normally kind and gentle face. "Maggie and Robby may be in a life or death situation, and you want to run around chasing a ghost?"

  "Father, listen to me. I don't know this area of Maine at all, and I don't know Jack well enough to form a list of places that he may be hiding out. The police are all over the search and, honestly, I think that you and I would get in the way if we joined in on the search. I can't tell you why I feel this, but I almost know that I need to do something about Phillip."

  John considered Derek with a long, silent stare. "What do you plan to accomplish by getting into Maggie's house?"

  "Father, I don't even know that much," Derek admitted. "All I know is that getting in her house is what I need to do."

  "I'm not one to question your expertise on investigations nor one to dismiss the possibility of divine inspiration, though I am challenged to believe that your inspiration is, in fact, divine."

  "I don't know what it is, either. I just know what I need to do." Derek took a step closer to John. "Please, Father, get me into her home."

  "How?" John resigned.

  "Penitent privilege."

  #####

  As expected, the Bryant home was a flurry of activity. Three State Police cars lined the driveway. Troopers were frequently entering and exiting through the home's front door. Derek and John drove around the house so that Derek could better survey the area.

  "There are two troopers in position," he said to John. "One near the trees in the backyard and another in the neighbor's house. I spotted him peeking through the curtains."

  "They can just take over someone's house?" John asked, incredulously.

  "Not legally," Derek responded, "but I'd be willing to bet that the homeowners allowed the troopers to use their house as a surveillance point. Maggie told me that many of these homes are only occupied during the summer months. State Police probably contacted the owners and received permission to set up shop in their houses."

  "So," John asked, "with all the troopers milling about, just how will I get you inside again?"

  Derek turned his car around and headed back towards the Bryant home. He parked the car at the curb a few houses up the street from the house.

  "We walk right in, of course."

  "Are you going to tell me that some divine inspiration gave you this idea, or have you snapped under the pressure?"

  "Father, the troopers will obviously know you're a priest," Derek said as he gestured to the black shirt and white collar John was wearing. "And since I'm already known as your associate in these parts, the troopers will not suspect any malicious intent from us."

  "So we walk right in the front door, and tell them what exactly?"

  "You are Maggie's priest and as such, it is not at all uncommon for a person to trust their priest. Or, in this case, their priests. They will ask what you are doing here, to which you reply that Maggie asked you to retrieve something from her home if ever anything like what is happening now occurred. She asked you during a past confession, thus giving it penitent privilege."

  "Rather sus
picious, I'd say, and I am certain that the troopers will have plenty of questions about my knowledge of the abduction."

  "Agreed," Derek said. "That's why, if they ask, that you tell them that Maggie has been worried about Jack for quite some time. The conversation that you will be referencing..."

  "The one that never took place?"

  "That's the one. The conversation took place a few weeks ago, well before Jack killed Ron and abducted his two kids."

  "I have no idea how your mind works," John said. "Why would the police allow me to retrieve something from her home when they are involved in a serious criminal investigation?"

  "All I am looking for is old family photos," Derek said.

  "And why, may I ask would Maggie ask me to retrieve old family photographs?"

  "Penitent privilege."

  "That's preposterous, Derek. Preposterous, deceitful, and it will never work."

  "Father," Derek said, turning his body to face John, "you don't understand how powerful a presence a priest has at a crime scene. I've been at hundreds, and whenever a priest shows up, few questions are asked, and no one gets in the way. Worst case scenario is that we are followed around the house while we search for the pictures."

  "Actually," John said, "worst case scenario is that we are both arrested and convicted of tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. I'd say that would be worse that being followed through Maggie's house looking for old photos, wouldn't you?"

  "That would suck," Derek admitted, "but is so unlikely that I can't even include it in my list of bad things that could happen as a result of my plan."

  "Derek, I am certainly not comfortable with lying to the police, but I am willing to do it if it somehow helps Maggie and Robby. But I have to tell you that I see no benefit to your plan's success."

  "Father, I need you to trust me here. Honestly, I don't know why I need to do this but I know I do. Can you trust me, Father?"

  "And people say the Catholic Church is the one that lays on the guilt. Okay. I'm done debating this. Let's go. And as God as my witness, if you say, 'Bless you, my child,' or 'Thank you, my child,' or anything including the words 'my child,' I'll smack you as hard as I can."

  Neither Derek nor John noticed the trooper that had walked up to the driver's side of the car. Seeing two men sitting in a parked car outside of an active crime scene quickly captured the interest of the troopers.

  "I need you to step out of the car. Both of you," the trooper said, his right hand positioned over his holstered Glock.

  "Of course, trooper," Derek said as he and John exited the car.

  The first thing Derek noticed was the change in the air. He knew a winter storm was approaching, but as he felt the damp, cold air greet his face, he wondered if the prediction model would be proven to have significantly underestimated the storm's impact.

  "This is Father John Flannigan, and I am his associate. Father John is the parish priest at St. Mark's Roman Catholic Church where Maggie and Robby attend mass. Father and I need to speak with whomever is in charge of this investigation, please."

  "Follow me, Father," the trooper said without hesitation.

  John glanced a brief look towards Derek, who was walking closely behind the trooper, his head held high. "You are trying to look too holy," John whispered to Derek, being sure his comment could not be heard by the trooper. "Walk normally."

  The trooper escorted Derek and John into the dining room of the Bryant home, and offered them a seat. He introduced them to Captain Mark Irish.

  "I'm sorry, Father," Mark Irish said to Derek, "I didn't catch your name."

  "Derek. And thank you for showing us in so quickly."

  Mark considered Derek and John with his brow creased and his mouth contorted into a questioning frown.

  "Not sure how I can help you, Father and Father, but, as you can see, we are a tad busy."

  "We know, and we certainly do not want to interrupt your work," John said. Derek was both shocked and concerned that John seemed to want to take the lead on the plan's execution. "Maggie Bryant asked me, several weeks ago, that if anything should happen to her, to retrieve some old family photographs from her home."

  "She was expecting something like this to happen?" Mark asked.

  "I'm afraid that Maggie and Jack have been going through a rather rough and very personal time in their marriage. She certainly did not suggest that Ron would be accused of murder or abduct her child...."

  "No one is accusing Jack Bryant of murder," Mark stated. "He is wanted for questioning. That's all. And no one is saying that he abducted his child, either."

  "Then why all the fuss?" John asked.

  "Father, we are very busy. Too busy to explain complex police investigation tactics with you. Now, with all due respect, I have to ask you to either get directly to your point or to allow us to continue our work."

  "Maggie received a call from Jack less than an hour ago," John said. "She was in my car with me after she and I had left your Trooper headquarters. I don't know what Jack said to her, but I know that it made her very upset and angry. So angry and upset that she tricked me into thinking that she was going to take a nap, but instead, snuck out of the rectory, took my car, and left for God knows where."

  "Are you saying that Margaret Bryant is on the lam?"

  "Heavens no," John said, his tone stern and commanding. "She apparently went off to wherever Jack told her he was holding her child, and Jack's other child, captive. She is a mother desperate to have her child back in her arms."

  Mark Irish stood up, walked into the living room while dialing a number on his State of Maine-issued Blackberry phone. While the two sat alone at the table, Derek glanced at the open file folder that Mark Irish had been reading when they first were escorted into the dining room. Derek could make out photographs of Maggie, Robby, Jack, and another small boy who Derek assumed was Jack Bryant's son from Portland. Beneath the photographs was a sheet of paper, scribbled with notes. Derek glanced over his shoulder to see if any trooper was watching him. He then craned his neck, trying to read the notes.

  The page was mostly covered by the photographs, allowing Derek to only make out the start of a few sentences:

  "Bloody fingerprint found at scene, positive ID to..."

  "Security camera of loading docks captured image of..."

  "Margaret Bryant wanted for suspected invol..."

  Mark Irish returned to the dining room. He remained standing.

  "All you want is to find some old family photographs?" he asked.

  "Yes," Derek said quickly. "We don't know where Maggie has stored them, however."

  "I'll give you ten minutes, and I'll have an officer with you. Not that we don't trust you, but we need to make sure nothing is taken from these premises. Once either you find the photographs or your ten minutes expire, I have to ask you both to leave. Fair enough?"

  "Thank you," John said. "Derek, you look upstairs, and I will take this floor and the basement."

  "There is no basement, Father. Just the ground and second floors."

  "Is there an attic?" Derek asked. "I know that my parents store old photographs in their attic at home."

  "Yes. You'll find a drop down staircase leading to the attic in the upstairs hallway. Trooper Girard," Mark called. "Please assist Father John and Father Derek in their search."

  With that, Mark turned his attention away from Derek and John and back towards the notes that Derek wished he could gain a clearer view of.

  "Father," Trooper Girard said to John, "I'll show you where I believe I saw a box of pictures in the master bedroom. And Father Derek, you can make your way upstairs, and I'll be up in a few."

  "Thank you, my...friend," Derek said, as John shot him a glance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  He questioned his condition. He knew there was a difference between now and before but not so much as to justify all the changes. There was no one he could complain to, to state his case to, or to challenge his designation. He expec
ted, after all he had been told, that there would be at least one to address his concerns with.

  Despite his inability or reluctance to believe, there were some conditions that he could not explain away. The long stretches of time during which nothing was retained. The only way to know that time had passed was found in external circumstances. A clock that read 5:00 PM one moment would read 2:30 AM the next. He had no explanation.

  During his "before," he was familiar with periods when all things seemed to stop. But they, he now admitted, were caused by his own hands. These periods, since the change, had no catalyst. He did not cause them, nor could he prevent them. Not at first, that is.

  He knew, somehow, that the longer he remained, the more his strength would build. He felt it and recognized his strength growing exponentially over the past few weeks. For so long, he was impotent to cause any disruption in the external world. But now, he could have influence.

  Others like him had told him, that when strength is realized, the greatest dangers are close to follow.

  "You'll get cocky," one had said. "I've seen it time and time again. You start to think that you got it all figured out. You take some risks, test a few things that shouldn't be tested, and then it's all over. I've seen the look on their faces when they realize their mistakes. And let me tell you, it isn't a pretty look at all."