by Linda Wisdom
Free Spirits
Linda Wisdom
A JOYRIDE ROMANCE
Published by Joyride Books, PO Box 258, La Honda, CA, 94020
The Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 1991 by Linda Wisdom
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN: 978-1-937791-11-7
FREE SPIRITS
Chuck-It-All Tours motto, “We send you where you don’t want to go,” is another word for “The trip from hell.” Many thanks to Susan James, CIA’s best customer, who has traveled the world over, and, thanks to Chuck-It-All, now refuses to leave that dark spot under her bed. We had no idea your Halloween weekend at Dracula’s castle would end up with your blood pouring instead of blood pressure soaring with excitement. The least we could do was cover all charges from the blood bank. It is clients like you who make the travel business fun, fun, fun!
Prologue
Cartoonist Talks About The “Trip From Hell”
The newest cartoon strip to come to the Sunday comics section is “Chuck-It-All Tours,” with the whimsical motto, “We send you where you don’t want to go.” That is just what cartoonist Alex Cassidy and her alter ego, Fritzi, a frizzy-haired tour operator have done. They’ve shown us the kind of vacations we could have ended up with if we weren’t careful! From a trip to the Himalayas to a hike with the Abominable Snowman (with the caution to bring enough food for yourself and your leader, since his carnivorous appetite is well known!). My favorite is the U.S. gourmet tour which involves visiting all well-known truck stops along the highways. For an extra fee, the client can also work there!
Alex Cassidy prefers the quiet life, staying close to her San Marino apartment where her strip comes to life under the watchful eye of her Siamese cat, Suzi Q. Divorced, the lovely cartoonist enjoys playing softball with friends and creating new tours to alternately shock and send the readers into gales of laughter. If you want to discover which trip to miss when vacation time rolls around, read “Chuck-It-All Tours.” Los Angeles Times
Chapter One
“I’m very worried about her, Patrick. She should have awakened hours ago.” The woman’s voice was soft and normally soothing to the ear, unless said ear felt as if it would fall off at any moment. “Do you think something could be wrong? I wish we could call a doctor for her.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her, Marian. Considering her condition when Beth brought her in last night, she’s better off sleeping as long as possible.” The male voice was equally intrusive to the delicate eardrum. “Remember when she rolled in after her all-night party when she graduated from high school? Of course, she hadn’t imbibed then. At least, that’s what she tried to tell us, although a hangover is something that’s easily recognizable. I guess she figured her birthday was another reason to tie one on.”
The object of the whispered conversation moaned and slowly rolled over onto her back, her arm flung across her closed eyes. Unintelligible words left lips still colored with a trace of deep red lipstick.
“Alex does not look well.”
“You wouldn’t either if you had crawled in at 4:00 a.m. singing ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ at the top of your lungs. She still has a tin ear when it comes to music.” The masculine chuckle pounded through the sensitive brain encased in cement. “She’s going to wake up with one hell of a hangover.”
“Please, stop,” Alex begged, her cement-encased eyelids fluttering. “And turn out those psychedelic lights before they blind me.”
“Alex, please wake up. We’ve come a long way to see you.” The woman’s voice coaxed.
Alex’s brow furrowed. Something didn’t seem right. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it could be. She carefully drew her arm away and slowly raised one eyelid. Two shadowy figures stood at the foot of her bed with blinding smiles on their faces.
“Mom? Dad?” she croaked, wincing as the sound of her words reverberated through her pounding head.
“You’ve got one beauty of a hangover, sweetheart,” her father told her. “You must have celebrated your birthday in style last night.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. You know, it’s really funny. I thought you two were dead. Isn’t that…?” Reality may have been slow sinking in, but when it arrived, it arrived like a proverbial freight train. “No!” She shot up in bed, eyes the color of blue ice widening until she looked bug-eyed. One look was enough to convince her she wasn’t having your normal, everyday hangover dream. She did the only logical thing. She screamed.
The couple stepped back a pace, startled by the shrill sound escaping her lungs. The scream turned into a moan of pain as her head separated from her body while the sound bounced around inside her tender brain. “Oh. My. God.” She squinted at the figures standing before her. “But you’re… and I… then, if you’re…I must be…” She held up her hand in front of her, fully expecting to see it disappear in a wisp of smoke before her very eyes. “I’m dead!” Alex wailed, her bloodshot eyes widened in horror at the idea that she had died and didn’t even know how it happened.
“Oh no, my dear!” Marian Cassidy, sitting next to Alex’s hip, shifted to put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, but Alex shrank from her touch. “Alex, you are not dead. You’re very much alive. We’re the ones who are dead,” she informed her with a broad smile that indicated that everything should be all right now that she explained the obvious.
Alex didn’t see it that way. She watched Marian with a wary gaze. “This has got to be somebody’s idea of a sick joke.”
“No joke, and you’re still hung over and very much alive,” Patrick Cassidy said dryly.
She would have shaken her head, but she knew better than to try any movement that might dislodge the fragile threads holding her skull together. “This doesn’t make any sense. How can I be alive and see you when you’re dead?” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch. “I should know you’re dead. I was at your funeral ten months ago!” She whimpered as she placed her hands against the side of her head. She greatly feared it was going to shatter into millions of tiny pieces any moment now. “This is all a bad dream. It’s just part of my hangover,” she assured herself, but not sounding very convincing. After all, how could a person sound convincing when she was whimpering like a lost puppy?
“You got any tomato juice in the kitchen?” Patrick questioned.
“Yes. There’s a can in the cabinet over the refrigerator,” Alex answered without thinking. She stared at the two people standing in the middle of her room. Two people who most definitely did not belong there. She wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.
“I’m going to fix her my infamous hangover cure,” he told Marian. “Once she drinks that, she’ll be fine.”
Alex watched the man leaving her bedroom and shifted her apprehensive gaze back to the woman smiling at her. The woman who looked like her mother, sounded like her mother, but who couldn’t be her mother. She wondered if she wouldn’t be better playing along with this crazy vision until her dream stopped and she fully woke up. “Look, it’s very nice to see you again, but luckily I’m intelligent enough to know you’re nothing more than a figment of my hangover. Once I wake up, you’ll be gone and I’ll be able to suffer this torture in peace.”
“No, dear, we’re not a figment of your hangover or your imagination. We’ve come back to be with you for a very important reason.”
Alex opened her mouth to ask what reason would bring them back from the dead, when her father walked in carrying a tall glass of red liquid with strange specks floating on top
. “Drink this down in one gulp and then take a long hot shower,” he advised. “You’ll feel loads better afterward.”
“This can’t be real,” Alex chanted, cautiously accepting
the glass. She grimaced at the first taste. “It’s amazing something that doesn’t exist can taste so horrible.”
“You go take that shower while I fix you some breakfast.” Marian patted Alex’s hand as she stood up on wobbly legs. “You’ll feel even better after you put something in your stomach.”
Patrick grimaced. “Marian, please, do her a favor and don’t cook. She feels bad enough without having to eat your cooking.”
“Wait a minute,” Alex begged their backs as they left the room. “I have questions. This is my dream, I should be allowed to find out what’s going on before I wake up. Plus, if you’re ghosts how can you cook?”
Marian smiled. “Trade secret, dear. Although we’ll feel solid to you. Just not anyone else.”
“We’ll answer them while you eat.” The door closed after them.
Alex looked around the room, wondering if that had also changed. Nope, her decorating efforts of four months ago were still intact. The quilted bedspread with the hand-painted irises fluttering across the soft cream background lay in a tangle at the end of the bed. Matching shams were tossed onto the nearby soft turquoise chair. Even the vertical blinds with the same design remained closed against the bright morning light that she knew would sear her tender eyeballs if she dared open them.
She practically crawled into the bathroom. The same design was echoed in the embroidered design on the towels and in the stormy blues, purples and hints of pink in the shadow pattern on the rug and shower curtain.
“It appears the only thing that changed overnight was the number of occupants in this apartment,” she muttered, closing the door behind her. “At least that imaginary concoction helped my head. It’s amazing how real dreams are getting nowadays.” With a critical eye, she examined herself in the mirror over the sink, and then wished she hadn’t. Thick, dark brown hair hanging in limp tangles framed a pale face blotchy with hectic color, once-clear blue eyes were bloodshot and sore looking. Even her teeth hurt.
“This is it. No more hangovers. My system can’t handle this. Freddie Krueger looks better than I do right about now.” She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature before stepping behind the curtain.
Alex turned on the massage unit on her shower head and stood under the hot pulsating jets for as long as she could handle it. Once she began to feel a bit more human, she set about washing her hair and soaping her body.
“It was all a dream,” she reassured herself, as she briskly toweled herself off and wrapped another towel turban-style around her hair. “It was just wishful thinking on my part. And perfectly natural. I thought about Mom and Dad last night during my party. I was wishing they could be there, so naturally I would dream about them suddenly appearing before me.” She loaded toothpaste on her brush, in hopes a good brushing would banish the green fuzzy things she was certain resided inside her mouth. “You’ll go into the living room and you’ll see that there’s no one there.” She kept up her speech as she emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, her robe now wrapped tightly around her body. She froze in the doorway, her head uplifted, her nose quivering from a scent she never thought she’d inhale again. There was no mistake. Bumed French toast.
“No, it can’t be.” She hurried out of her bedroom and through the living room to the kitchen, where she found a scene from her past. Her mother stood at the counter overseeing blackened pieces of bread while a sleek Siamese cat yowled her way around her ankles and her father sat at the table reading the paper. “Oh, no,” she moaned, collapsing against the doorway. “It’s got to be a dream.”
Patrick looked up from the sports page. “You look much better, kiddo. Of course, you haven’t eaten your mother’s cooking yet.”
“Patrick,” Marian remonstrated, turning from her task.
“Marian, we’ve been married for thirty-four years and you still can’t cook worth a damn.” He blew her a kiss. “But I love you, anyway.”
Alex clutched the doorway to keep from falling to the floor. When would she wake up from this crazy dream? “I still don’t understand what is going on here.” Her normally husky voice sounded rough.
Patrick put the paper aside. “Come and sit down, Alex. Have some coffee. We’ll try to explain this to you as best we can.
Marian handed Alex a cup filled with the dark brew as she hesitantly took a chair across from her father.
“You—ah—you look well. For being dead, that is,” she said for lack of anything better. “Someone must have put some kind of drug in the champagne last night. That’s the only way I could sit here with you.” She beamed, pleased that finally she had come up with an appropriate reason.
Patrick chuckled. “No such luck, kiddo. I know this is a shock for you, Alex. This is a bit of a surprise for us, too. We didn’t think this was possible. We’re very glad it is.”
“Oh, Patrick, tell it to her straight,” Marian urged, taking a chair next to Alex. “You see, dear, we’ve come back to see you properly married.”
Alex choked on her coffee for two reasons. One, because of her mother’s announcement; two, because her mother’s coffee was always strong enough to float the entire U.S. Navy. No, it was all some drug-induced dream, and she only thought she was sitting here drinking coffee when she was actually still in bed. She held on to that thought and sat back to enjoy her dream.
“Jason hasn’t proposed yet,” she explained.
Patrick grimaced. “Jason Patterson? You’re still seeing that stuffed shirt? I thought you would have had more sense by now.”
“Jason Palmer is a wonderful man. He has an excellent position with Trainor and Associates. And most of all, he’s nothing at all like Craig.” Her face twisted with distaste as she mentioned her ex-husband’s name.
“The man is boring.”
“You only met him once!”
“Once was all it took to tell me he was more boring than an insurance salesman!”
“Now listen, you two, time to stop before you end up in a shouting match,” Marian announced, as she placed a plate in front of each of them, then returned with a bottle of warmed syrup. “The two of you have never agreed on Jason. And I doubt either of you will change your mind now.”
Alex stared at the black squares of bread her mother called French toast. She looked up at her mother. Amazing how dreams were so real, she marveled to herself.
“Mom, didn’t they have cooking classes in…on…wherever you were?”
Patrick chuckled. “I think it’s too late for that.”
“This from the daughter who dared to have me buried in this horrible dress,” Marian grumbled, placing a dish of cat food in a corner. “Here you are, Suzi Q. At least someone appreciates my cooking.”
“She doesn’t need to worry. You only opened a can for her,” Patrick murmured.
Alex sat back, amazed at the familiar banter floating around her. She felt as if she had fallen back in time. Her father, dressed in his favorite blue suit and white shirt with a blue-and-gray striped tie. She remembered the tears she shed as she pulled the suit from the closet to take over to the funeral home. His thick silver hair was brushed back from his forehead in the style she well remembered. Her mother wore a deep rose silk dress, her hair, tinted to a lighter brown than Alex’s own dark tresses, was pulled back in the French twist she’d worn for years. Her mind, still befuddled from the events of the night before and what she’d seen this morning, could only come up with one conclusion.
“I don’t want to believe you two are ghosts.”
They looked up, both smiling at her.
“Too bad, daughter of mine, because we are,” Patrick assured her.
Alex’s laugh was a bit shaky. “No, you’re not.” She studied each of them long and hard. “Ghosts wear long white robes or look transparent or walk through walls or something
. This is just a dream that I’ll wake up from in the morning.” She smiled brightly, pleased with her decision.
Marian sighed. “Myrna said her grandson said the exact same thing. Alex, we’re real ghosts, not the kind from books or movies. Due to special circumstances we were able to return here to make sure you’re married properly.”
“As long as it isn’t that Potter idiot,” Patrick muttered, into his coffee.
“Palmer!” Alex was astounded she could argue so easily with a figment of her imagination. “I’m curious. If you two are real ghosts, can just anyone see and hear you? Or just members of the family? I mean, are there special rules?”
The couple shared a long look that said they were going to have a long haul convincing Alex.
“Just you,” Patrick replied. “You’re the only one who can see and hear us. To you, we’re as real as any three-dimensional object. That means you can also touch us. Anyone else would just walk right through us as if we weren’t there, and they wouldn’t feel anything nor would we.”
“And Suzi Q.” Marian looked down at the Siamese prowling around her ankles. “She also sees us.”
Alex looked off in space as she blindly reached for the pack of cigarettes and lighter on the table.
Marian fixed her with a steely glare. “You told me a year ago you gave up that nasty habit. You even said something about going to one of those stop-smoking clinics.”
Alex lit the cigarette. “I lied,” she admitted without apology. After all, she wasn’t actually talking to her mother, right?
The older woman straightened her shoulders. “Then I’ll just have to convince you to give up the filthy habit.”
Alex shook her head. Her argument with her mother about her smoking had gone on for a long time, and Alex wasn’t about to give in just because her mother came back in a dream to hound her about it. “This is an incredible dream. My friends give me a surprise party last night to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, I have a bit more fun than usual, and I wake up to find my dead parents in my bedroom telling me they’ve come back to see me properly married. I once read somewhere that dreams are a part of a person’s subconscious. It’s amazing what I’m learning is in mine. I only hope I remember all of this in the morning.” She frowned in thought. “My dream hangover is bad enough. I hate to think what the real one will be like.”