by Terri Reid
“Clarissa,” her mother said weakly. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
Clarissa stumbled forward, in a mock half-asleep manner. “Oh, I woke up and I was thirsty,” she lied, wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist. “Were you thirsty too?”
Her mother nodded. “Yes, yes, I was,” she said, her voice weak and tired. “Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll get us both water.”
Tightening her arms around her mother, she shook her head. “No, it’s my turn to get water,” she insisted, as she guided her mother back to the couch. “You lie down and let me get it. I’m real good at getting water.”
Her mother crumpled onto the couch and Clarissa tucked the covers around her. “Is there anything else you want from the kitchen, Mommy?” she asked. “Do you want some of your medicine?”
Her mother shook her head. “No, Clarissa, I’m all out of my medicine,” she said, “I’ll get some more tomorrow. Just water will be fine.”
Clarissa bent over her mother and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Okay, Mommy. You just rest and I’ll get us water. And don’t worry; Daddy’s going to send us angels.”
A single tear formed in her mother’s eye and slid slowly down her cheek. She lifted her hand and gently stroked Clarissa cheek. “That will be wonderful, darling. Angels are just what we need.”
Chapter Five
Mary, Bradley and Ian climbed up the stairs of the Brennan’s front porch. They paused before knocking on the door.
“We have to be honest,” Mary said, “totally honest.”
“Even if it makes us look like a bunch of daft loons running about after things we can’t see?” Ian asked.
“Well, we can see them,” she countered. “They can’t see them. Besides, it’s not like it’s totally unbelievable. Bradley believed.”
Clearing his throat and glancing away from his friends for a moment, he paused before answering. “Even after witnessing Earl thumping through your house in the middle of the night, I still had my doubts,” he said. “It wasn’t until I was able to see them when I touched you, that I really began to believe.”
She exhaled slowly. “Well, I don’t think we’re going to get any supernatural help,” she said. “But, even if they think we’re nuts, we have to tell them the truth.”
Ian nodded. “Aye, if for nothing else, it will help prepare the way for Maggie if she ever decides to let them know about her gift,” he agreed.
Bradley leaned forward and knocked on the door. Mary, standing between the two men, grabbed hold of their hands and squeezed. “For luck,” she whispered.
“For luck then,” Ian agreed.
“Can’t hurt,” Bradley added.
The door opened and Katie stood before them, a wide smile on her face. “We thought you would never knock,” she said with a laugh. “Please come in out of the cold.”
“We were just having a wee chat before we came in,” Ian explained.
Clifford walked up behind her. “Well, it would be much warmer to chat inside,” he said, standing back and letting them enter the house.
Stepping into the Brennan home was a step back in time for Mary. Organized clutter is what her mother used to call it. The home of a busy family; with hooks for coats and backpacks next to the door, rubber mats for boots and shoes underneath the coats and a bookshelf of cubbyholes for papers, art projects and anything else that could fit. The couches and chairs were overstuffed and well-used, the perfect place to sit when reading a book to a child or several children. There were precious objects d’art Brennan-style scattered across walls and other surfaces. But most of all, Mary could feel the love and peace inside the walls of the house and desperately hoped their conversation with the Brennans would not do anything to alter it.
“I love your house,” Mary said, glancing around. “It reminds me of my house when I was growing up.”
Katie smiled. “Well, it’s nice to hear that you lived in a home like this and grew up to be a fairly normal person.”
“Fairly normal,” Ian teased.
“Which brings us to the purpose of our meeting with you,” Bradley said.
“The fact that Mary is only fairly normal?” Clifford asked with a laugh.
“Actually, yes,” Bradley replied, in a more serious vein.
Both Katie and Clifford paused for a moment, their smiles dropping slightly. “Well, let me take your coats and hang them up,” Katie said. “And you can follow Clifford to the kitchen table. Help yourselves to tea and cookies.”
They followed Clifford to the country- style kitchen and each took a place around the large oak table. Ian leaned over and picked up the teapot. “Shall I pour?” he asked.
“Please,” Clifford replied.
Ian poured tea and passed the cups around while they waited for Katie to come into the room.
A few moments later she entered the room and took her place at the table. “I just checked on the kids,” she said. “They’re all asleep, so we shouldn’t be disturbed. And I have to admit, you have me just a little bit worried.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” Mary assured her. “We just need to talk to you about some things...”
She faltered.
“Aye, fill you in about some things we’ve learned in the past couple of months,” Ian added. “That might be able to help you...”
“And, in turn, you might be able to help us,” Bradley finished.
“You really haven’t eased my mind,” Katie said as she slipped into a chair at the table and picked up a tea cup.
Ian picked up the teapot and filled her cup. “Really, it’s not so hard as all that,” he said. “Although, you might need to keep an open mind to some of the things we’re going to talk about.”
Katie nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Mary turned to Katie and Clifford, took a deep breath and began. “I don’t know if you knew that I was a police officer in Chicago before I moved here,” Mary said.
“I think I remember hearing that,” Clifford said. “Maybe Andy mentioned it.”
Mary smiled. “He does tend to have very good hearing. Yes, I was a police officer and I was...,” she paused, hesitant to continue.
Bradley reached across the table, placed his hand over hers and gave her a nod of encouragement.
“I was shot,” she finished, sending Bradley a grateful smile. “I was rushed to the hospital. Emergency surgery. And I died.”
“What?” Clifford asked. “I don’t understand.”
“I remember walking towards a bright light and thinking, ‘Okay, wow, there is a light. I guess I’m dead,’” she said, a little flippantly.
Then her voice softened as she continued, “But then someone called my name and I stopped moving toward the light. This voice...it was like it was both inside of me and outside of me, but I could hear it clearly.”
The memory of the encounter played in her mind for a moment and she paused as she remembered. Shaking her head slightly, she continued, “Anyway, the voice said I had a choice. I could continue to the light and wait for my family to join me someday or I could go back, but things would be different.”
“Obviously you choose to come back,” Katie said.
Mary nodded. “Yes, I didn’t want to leave my family,” she explained. “I didn’t want my brother...anyone...to feel guilty about my death.”
“So, what was different?” Clifford asked.
Taking a deep breath, Mary met their eyes. “When I came back, I discovered that I could see and communicate with ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Clifford asked, shaking his head. “Are you kidding?”
Ian saw both surprise and doubt in Clifford’s face. “It’s not uncommon for people who have had a near-death experience to come back with extra-sensory gifts,” he explained. “I’ve not only done studies about it in the UK, I’ve also experienced it myself.”
“Wait! You’re telling me you can see ghosts too?” Clifford said. “Is this some joke or are you all just plain crazy
.”
He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. “We let you watch our children,” he said, his eyes widening with sudden fear. “You didn’t tell them...you didn’t expose them to your fantasies?”
“Of course not,” Mary cried.
“Mary would have never...” Bradley began.
“They wouldn’t have to,” Katie answered calmly. “Our Maggie can see ghosts all on her own.”
Everyone stopped and stared at Katie.
“You knew?” Mary asked.
“What the hell?” Clifford asked.
“I’m sorry, Cliff,” Katie said. “I’ve known that Maggie could see things since she was little. When she was a baby, I’d catch her lying in her crib, looking around the room and laughing at things I couldn’t see. At first I just thought she was seeing angels, but as she got older and started having conversations, I suspected it might be spirits or ghosts.”
Clifford turned to Katie. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t think it was something you’d really want to know,” she replied.
Sighing, he sat back down in his chair. “My grandmother used to tell me she could see ghosts and I always thought she was nuts,” he confessed. “I always told her there were no such things as ghosts.”
Bradley laughed softly. “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought a couple of months ago. Until I met Mary and my whole perspective changed.”
Clifford turned to Bradley. “What changed your mind?”
“Seeing a ghost for myself.”
“You actually saw one?”
Bradley nodded. “Yeah, and I thought I was going nuts.”
Clifford turned to Mary. “Is this for real? Is there a purpose to it or is it just a cool parlor trick?”
“It’s real,” Mary said, “and it’s not a trick, I promise.”
“She’s solved a number of local murder cases,” Ian said. “Ghosts don’t just appear to her, they seek her out when they have unfinished business that’s keeping them here.”
“Mary was able to solve the murder of my wife using her talents,” Bradley added. “If not for her, I still wouldn’t know what happened to Jeannine or to my daughter.”
“You have a daughter?” Katie asked.
Bradley ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Yes, I do,” he said. “And that’s the main reason we’re here tonight.”
Chapter Six
The television glowed in the darkened living room and emitted the voices of an evening news show host who held conservative political leanings and the noted celebrity he was interviewing. Stanley Wagner snorted as he lifted up the remote and pressed the mute button. “Who cares what that nincompoop thinks?” he grumbled, standing and making his way from the living room into the kitchen. “Why the hell does he think that just because he can act in a movie, I’m supposed to consider him an expert on politics?”
He switched on the under-the-cabinet light and pulled a saucepan out of the drawer. Placing it on his butcher-block counter, he turned to take the milk out of the refrigerator across the room. On his way, he spotted the remainders of the strawberry-rhubarb pie Rosie had brought him. A lopsided grin spread across his face. Yeah, asking Rosie to marry me is one of the best decisions I ever made, he thought.
Pulling the milk carton out and grabbing the pie plate, he placed them both on the counter next to the oven. He poured a generous cupful of milk into the pan and set it on a low flame on the stove. Reaching up to the cabinet above his head, he pulled down a small plate and immediately filled it with an oversized piece of pie.
“Nothing like a little snack before bed,” he said, wiping the knife with his finger and licking the filling off. “Yes, sirree, tart and sweet, just the way I like my women too.”
He reached over to the silverware drawer to pull out a fork when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something, no someone, had just moved across the hallway between his bedroom and the bathroom. Dropping the fork back into the drawer, he walked across the kitchen to the hall. He flipped on the lights and looked around. The bathroom was empty and so was the bedroom. He moved into the bedroom and checked the windows and the closet.
“I ain’t going crazy,” he muttered. “I seen something.”
Kneeling down on the floor, he checked under his bed and, except for a few dust bunnies, found it empty too. Grabbing the side of the bed to help get back up; he realized his next mistake as soon as he heard the unmistakable sizzle. He rushed out of the room back to the kitchen in time to watch the hot milk overflow onto the stovetop. Grabbing a hot pad, he picked up the pan and carried to the sink, letting it cool down while he cleaned up the mess on the stove. He picked up a roll of paper towels and started mopping up the milk when he froze and turned back to the hall.
The light had been off. The hallway had been dark. Whatever he saw had its own light source. Whatever he saw had been glowing. A chill ran down his spine and he shook it off.
“I’m a grown man,” he said loudly. “Ain’t gonna get spooked in my own home. You hear me. I ain’t going to get spooked.”
The light in the hallway turned off by itself.
Stanley took a deep breath. “Well, maybe I ain’t and maybe I am,” he whispered.
###
Rosie Pettigrew leaned forward over the bathroom sink and peered into the mirror, staring intently at her reflection. Without shifting her eyes, she reached down, picked up a plastic tube and squeezed a small amount of white cream onto her finger. She dabbed the ointment lightly into the fragile skin beneath her eyes and then patted the area until it disappeared into her skin. Glancing a little lower into the mirror, she studied what her gaping nightgown neckline revealed, looked down at the tube in her hand and shook her head. “There isn’t a tube large enough to lift and firm those,” she said with a giggle. “Oh well, Stanley didn’t fall in love with a twenty year-old, so he’d better not be expecting one.”
She put the lid back on the tube, placed it in her cosmetic drawer, flipped off the bathroom light and walked into her bedroom. Smiling, she took a moment to look around the room. Bathed in soft light from the lamp on the nightstand, the soft pink hue of the floral bedspread matched perfectly with the blush colored carpeting and curtains. Bright accent pillows of sage green, plum and periwinkle on the bed and a pale pink chaise lounge picked up the delicate flowers from the spread and made the decor more vibrant. A tall rose-colored vase stood in the corner of the room holding a bouquet of silk tiger lilies that added a delicate sophistication.
Walking over to the small vanity, she stroked the antique sterling silver brush and mirror that lay on the marble top and sighed with satisfaction. This room was everything the closet-sized bedroom she had as a child had not been. She had meticulously picked out every detail, even painting the walls herself. This was more than a bedroom, this was a statement. Rosie Pettigrew had made it. She had pulled herself up by her bootstraps and gotten out of the muck and quicksand of her childhood. She had left the feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy behind and replaced them with self-assurance and love. She glanced in the mirror and smiled. She liked herself, saggy parts and all. And that was the most important gift she’d ever given to herself. She had discarded all the unkind labels her father and those like him had placed on her. She wasn’t ugly. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t unlovable. She was a wonderful person, a good friend, and worthy of love and care.
“Welcome to the Rosie Pettigrew fan club,” she said, turning to the top of her dresser where a number of small picture frames stood. “Our numbers may be small, but they are growing every day.”
She was drawn to the newest one where she was in the middle of a photo with Maggie and Andy Brennan. The two children were smiling widely, their lips covered in chocolate frosting from licking the beaters. She remembered Mary insisting on taking the picture and the two children waiting until the last moment and then turning and placing chocolate kisses on either side of her face. She could almost smell the Dutc
h chocolate from the frosting. And she could remember the warmth from their innocent display of love.
Glancing at the other photos, she smiled at the collection of her friends; Mary, Bradley, Ian and, finally, Stanley. She took a deep breath. Stanley.
She picked up the silver frame and studied the face looking back at her. He hadn’t wanted to have his photo taken and he had declared he wasn’t going to smile. She cajoled, pleaded and bribed, but nothing seem to work. Until, finally, she simply said, “Stanley, this is important to me,” and he immediately lifted his wrinkled cheeks into the closest semblance of a smile she’d ever seen coming from him. She almost expected his face to crack from the use of those muscles that hadn’t been exercised in years.
Chuckling, she lifted the photo to her face, she gently kissed his picture. “Good night, sweetheart,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”
Gently laying the frame back on her dresser, she crossed the room and climbed into her bed. She leaned across and turned off the lamp on the nightstand, grabbed the gel-filled night mask and situated it over her eyes. Then, with a smile on her lips, she scooted beneath the covers and snuggled into her pillow.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, her closet door soundlessly opened. Slowly, first one inch, then two and soon, the door was wide open. From the depths of the closet, a dark figure floated into the room. It was as tall as a man and was hulking in size. It hovered several inches above the floor and wavered next to the closet for only a moment. In the blink of an eye, the figure swept across the room, stopping at the edge of Rosie’s bed. Slowing, it hovered next to the bed, moving around the edges, studying the resting woman.
Rosie, blinded by her mask, lifted her pillow, plumped it several times, placed it back down on the bed and snuggled back into it. The figure merely observed her, waiting patiently. Within moments, her soft rhythmic breathing confirmed she was asleep.
Rising into the air, the figure hovered inches above the sleeping woman and finally dropped down to lie beside her. Rosie moved in her sleep, inching away, but the specter followed. She shook her head. “No, leave me alone,” she moaned in her sleep.