by Mary Lindsey
“He didn’t do it!” Ethan moaned. “Floorboard.”
“And her finger was cut off.” Mrs. Nelson slumped into a chair in the corner. “They never found the murder weapon or the finger.” She began to sob again. “My real estate agent told me about the murder and the rumors that the house was haunted. I just didn’t believe her. I thought it was all nonsense and was glad to have such a cheap price on the home because of silly superstition. My daughter and her husband told me not to buy this house. She won’t even set foot inside it.”
Vivienne jumped and a surge of surprise ran through her when Ethan yelled, “Floorboard!” She spun around to face the direction of his voice.
“Okay, Ethan. Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to show me the floorboard. I want you to tell me when I’m close. Is it in this room?”
“No!” he screamed.
“Lower your voice, or I’m leaving.” She walked to the kitchen. “How about here?”
“No!” He was not as loud this time.
The hallway, I said. It’s where the homeowner first encountered him.
“Two invisible people talking to me is over-the-top, Paul. Just felt the need to share that.” She stopped in the dark hallway. “How about here, Ethan?”
“Here, yes! Here. Dig. Dig!”
“Too loud, dude. Keep it down.”
I marveled at her ability to remain calm and keep the spirit calm as well.
“I’m not liking the idea of ripping out the entire floor. How about we play a game of hot and cold. You tell me when I’m standing over it, okay, Ethan?”
“I’ll do it. I want to dig it up!” he shouted. It felt like I’d been gut punched when he tried to enter her body to soul-share. I pushed back at him and he exited.
“Why won’t you let me in? I need your body,” he wailed.
Vivienne took a few more steps down the hallway. “Yeah, well, I need it too, and you seem a little unstable to me. I’m afraid you’d get carried away if you had a real body.”
She was even up-front and honest with ghosts. More than that, it worked.
“There,” Ethan moaned when a floorboard creaked under Vivienne’s boot.
“Got a crowbar or something to take up this wood?” Vivienne asked Mrs. Nelson.
“Now you’ve gotta stop being so cryptic and come clean with me, Ethan,” Vivienne said after Mrs. Nelson scurried to go fetch tools. “Exactly what’s under that floor? Because if it’s a body or something creepy, you need to tell me now so I don’t lose it when I see it, okay?”
“Letter. Letter for son.”
A flood of relief washed through her. “A letter I can deal with.”
“Exonerate! Clear his name! ME!” His screams were so loud, Vivienne covered her ears.
“Shut it, Ethan, or that board stays right where it is. Got it? I’m not in the mood for this.” She leaned against the wall. “Are they always this loud and pushy, Paul?”
They’re all different. This one is pretty agitated. It sounds like he killed his wife and his son was prosecuted for it. I was glad Ethan couldn’t hear me talking to her from inside her body, or he would have probably gone nuts. Since this one keeps trying to barge into your body, I think it’s actually a Malevolent and not simply a Hindered. The fact he wants to clear his son’s name, rather than seek revenge, makes it unusual. It’s good we’re catching him now, because after a while, they lose sight of what can be done to help them. We’ll know if he’s turned when you resolve it.
“What does it matter?”
We are kind of graded. We get more points for resolving a Malevolent.
“Graded like school? This sucks.”
Mrs. Nelson returned with a crowbar and other garden tools. Vivienne reached for the crowbar.
No, I said. It’s best that she tear up her own house.
Before long, Mrs. Nelson had pried up the creaky board.
“There’s nothing here,” she said, dropping the crowbar with a clang.
Having my soul in Vivienne’s body made reading her emotions easy. Disappointment flooded through her.
“Further south!” The ghost yelled. “Idiot girl. Go further south.”
Vivienne spun in the direction of his voice. “You start calling me names, Ethan, and you’ll be haunting this house forever, you hear me?”
“Let me in! Let me do it!”
“No. Freaking. Way.” She picked up the crowbar. “Which way is south, Mrs. Nelson?”
The poor woman pointed toward the entrance to the living room, tears streaming down her face. “Is he here? Are you really talking to him?”
Vivienne nodded.
“Why is he doing this to me?”
“It has nothing to do with you, really. He’s just trying to get something cleared up.” Vivienne shoved the end of the crowbar under the next plank closest to the living room and pulled up. After several tries, she had an end of the board loose. She reached under and yanked the board out.
“There! Yes, there!” The spirit yelled. “Clear his name. Condemn me to hell where I belong.”
Vivienne set the board against the wall. “Whoa, there, crazy dead guy. I don’t condemn anyone to anywhere. You’re on your own there. I’m just digging up floorboards and talking to you. That’s all.”
Mrs. Nelson leaned over to pull out what looked like a rolled-up newspaper. When she tugged on the end, it unrolled and several items fell back into the empty space under the floor with a thud.
“Crap,” Vivienne said, kneeling down. “What is it? That didn’t sound like a letter, Ethan.”
Don’t touch it! I shouted.
“Don’t you start screaming too, Paul.”
Mrs. Nelson huddled against the wall. “Who is Paul? Are there two of them?”
Sorry. Just don’t touch anything until we know what it is, I said.
“It’s evidence!” Ethan wailed. “Proof I killed her.”
“Oh, man,” Vivienne said. “Now what?”
We need to see it.
“Do you have a flashlight?”
Mrs. Nelson nodded. “Yes, in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Ethan continued to moan and wail about justice and exonerating someone named Wayne while Vivienne paced the hallway.
Once we check it out, we need to have the homeowner call the cops. She needs to tell them she found it because she was suspicious of the loose floorboard. If it’s possible, she should not mention us. She should not mention the ghost at all, or she’ll come off as crazy.
Mrs. Nelson shone the flashlight in the hollow in the floor and gasped. She covered her mouth and backed away, dropping the flashlight with a bang. It rolled under a bench against the wall.
“What is it?” Vivienne asked, kneeling to retrieve the flashlight.
Mrs. Nelson remained speechless, a look of wide-eyed horror frozen on her face.
Through Vivienne’s eyes, I stared down into the gap between the bottom of the wooden floor and the concrete slab below. A hammer, a bloodstained piece of paper, and what appeared to be a shriveled, severed human finger lay in the flashlight’s beam.
“Clear his name!” Ethan shouted.
“Oh, God. That’s hair and dried gunk on the hammer,” Vivienne gasped. “And that other thing is a . . . Is that a . . . ?” Because I had no physical sensation in a Speaker’s body, I could only feel her emotions—the panic and revulsion-but I could tell by her rapid breaths she was about to throw up.
Stay together, Vivienne. I’m here. You’re okay. Keep calm and help Mrs. Nelson.
“Clear his name. He didn’t do it. I did!”
“You did this, Ethan? Why?”
Why doesn’t matter, Vivienne. Find out what he needs done in order to release him.
“Yes, I did it, but they blamed him.”
“Who?”
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br /> “My son! He’s innocent. I let him go down for something I did. Give me your body. I must make it right.”
She stood and set the flashlight on the bench. “No way! You think I’m letting your sorry, murdering self into my body, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Ethan howled, and the bench slid to the end of the hallway, crashing into the wall. Mrs. Nelson covered her ears, screamed, and flattened against the wall.
He’s turning demonic, I said. You’ve got to help him before it’s too late. Find out what he wants.
“Why would I help him? He obviously murdered his wife.”
We can’t let them linger here. You’ve seen the damage he’s done already. He’s strong enough to move things. If they have evil intent, the longer they’re here, the stronger they get. Find out what he wants and free him.
She took several deep breaths, and her heart rate slowed. “So, I uncovered your dirty secret, Ethan. What do you want me to do about it?”
“What is he saying?” Mrs. Nelson whined.
“Call the police. Clear Wayne,” Ethan howled.
“Now what?” Vivienne said.
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Nelson asked.
Have her call the police. Then we need to leave. IC involvement needs to be minimized.
Vivienne turned to face her. “So, Mrs. Nelson. I’m not really supposed to be here, and you probably shouldn’t tell the cops about me or the ghost, okay?”
Trembling, she darted glances down the hallway. “Is he gone?”
Vivienne placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Not yet. Will you please call the police right now and tell them you found what looks like evidence of a murder under your floor. Tell them the board creaked, so you wanted to check it out and found the stuff.”
Mrs. Nelson pulled a phone out of her jeans pocket and dialed 911.
“Promise me!” Ethan shouted.
“Sure. What?”
“Clear his name. I feel like I have to leave. Can’t . . . stay.”
“Yeah, no problem. We’ll take care of it.”
“Promise!” His voice had become weak. Almost a whisper.
“Consider it done. The cops will come and clear this up, and he’ll be free as a bird.”
“Over.”
“Yep. Done. Take off now, okay?”
As I watched through Vivienne’s eyes, an elderly man in overalls appeared standing over the gap in the floor. He glowed luminescent blue, like a hologram.
This is it, Vivienne. He’s about to move on. That’s the only time they’re visible.
“It’ll be all right, Ethan. I’ll be sure the cops set it straight.”
“Be sure Wayne reads my note.”
“You bet. Done.”
“It’s finally over.”
“Over and out. You can go on now.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but before a word came out, a black cloud surrounded him and then dissipated into nothing.
I felt the turmoil of sorrow and relief welling up in Vivienne’s chest. We didn’t have time to hang around. We’ve gotta get out of here before the cops arrive.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Crap,” Vivienne said, panic rising.
“Go out the back door,” Mrs. Nelson said. “And thank you. Thank you so much.”
Go, Vivienne!
She ran to the back, winding through the kitchen, out the back door, around the hedge line on the side of the house, and to the dirt road where we had left my car. A spot that was now empty.
“Oh, great. Where’s your car? How are we going to get back?”
We had a much worse problem than trying to get home. Where’s my body?
EIGHT
A Protector losing his body is one of the worst mistakes possible. Charles was going to kill me. Actually, the Intercessor Council would probably take care of that for him.
“What are we going to do?” Vivienne asked.
I have no idea.
She laughed. It was a high-pitched, awkward sound. “Well, this certainly sucks. We’re stuck here, I guess.”
Headlights winked from down the road.
“The cops could help us find it,” she said.
No. We can’t be conspicuous.
She took several steps closer to the road and waved her arms. “Okay, we’ll just ask for a ride, then. We’ll run it by the old man when we get back to your place and figure out where your body is.”
No! I shouted.
“Ouch!” Vivienne said, covering her ears. “Well, covering my ears won’t help much, considering you’re inside my head. Keep it down.”
Hide. Now.
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
No. I’m dead serious. Hide in the bushes. Quick.
“I—”
For once, Vivienne, don’t argue. It’s really important. Trust me.
She headed back toward the house and crouched behind a bush off the side of the porch.
Thank you, I said.
A spike of adrenaline ran through her body when the cruiser pulled up to the gate. She remained silent until the two police officers were inside the house with Mrs. Nelson.
“Now what?” she asked. “I don’t know anyone in Houston and don’t have anyone to call to help us. Do you know any of your buddies’ numbers? Couldn’t that tall blond guy come get us?”
I was so reliant on technology, I hadn’t bothered to commit anyone’s number to memory except Charles’s and the IC’s, neither of which I could use without compromising us. Cabs probably didn’t come out this far from the city. And if by some miracle, one did, it would take forever, and my wallet was on my body . . . wherever that was. We wait for the police to leave, then we ask Mrs. Nelson for a ride home.
She rolled back from her crouching position and sat, head in hands. “God, this sucks. I’ve got stuff to do, you know.”
So did I, like find my body before the IC found out I’d lost it. It felt like forever before the cops finally left, taking Mrs. Nelson with them.
“Crap. Crap. Crap. She went with them, and I have an appointment,” Vivienne muttered, feet crunching in the gravel on the front walk of the house. “We could take her car and return it later.”
Take her car? Did your grandmother teach you to hot-wire cars between telling fortunes?
“I have lots of hidden talents,” she said. “But no, I saw her keys hanging on the hook inside the door.”
We’d lost my body, and now we were preparing to steal a car. Perfect. It’s a terrible idea, I said.
“Why?” She tugged on the front door. It was locked. She walked around to the back of the house and tried that door. “Locked.”
Let’s just wait for Mrs. Nelson to come back. They’re probably just taking her statement or something.
“Nope. I’ve gotta be somewhere. Can’t hang out here all night.” She pulled up on a window. “Ha! We’re in.”
Great. Add breaking and entering to jacking a car and top it off with losing my body. Perfect first resolution.
She climbed through the window and headed straight to the hook by the back door. “Got it.”
Stop! I said. We can’t just steal her car.
“We’re only borrowing it.”
Without permission. That’s theft.
“You are the most uptight person I’ve ever met. I need to be somewhere soon.” Her frustration was like a live current blasting through the part of my soul in her body.
Where do you need to go so badly that you’d steal a car to get there?
“Someplace important. Okay. I’ll leave her a note and my phone number. Does that make you happy?” she said.
Not really.
“Close enough.” She grabbed a pen and paper and scrawled a note, then stabbed it onto the key hook at the
door.
Mrs. Nelson had an old pickup truck that rumbled to life after several failed attempts to start it. Then there was the matter of the locked gate. Fortunately, the key to the padlock was on the ring with the truck keys. Vivienne was so determined to get wherever she needed to be, she’d have probably busted down the fence to get out.
“Ha. I wonder what the old man will say when he sees this hunk of junk in the driveway of his humongous house,” she said when she finally pulled onto the dirt road.
He can’t know this happened, I said. We have to find my body and make everything right before he ever finds out.
She pulled onto the highway. “Exactly how do you propose we do that?”
I have no idea. I didn’t even know who had taken my car and body. Maybe we should start calling hospitals to see if I’m in any of them.
“We?” She changed lanes and passed a slow-moving RV. “You mean me, because you’re pretty much useless right now.”
Useless. Yep. No disputing that. No body. No plan. No car. Possibly no future, unless I figured something out quick.
She glanced at her phone long enough to see the home screen. “Ugh. I’m going to be late.”
What is it you have to do that is so important? We’re in real trouble here.
She put her phone in her lap and rolled her eyes. “You are such a worrier. Loosen up. It’ll all work out.”
You don’t understand.
As she turned off of the country highway onto Interstate 10, her phone rang. A quick glance at the screen revealed the number was unknown.
Answer it, I said.
“Nope. I don’t answer calls from people I don’t know.”
Answer it. It could be the IC.
“They don’t have my number.”
Don’t kid yourself.
She kept driving, and the phone call went unanswered. Her emotions were level, as opposed to mine, which bordered on frantic.
Pull over.
“What?”
Pull over. I need to show you something.
She took the first exit and pulled into a closed windshield repair company parking lot. “What?” she asked, irritation rising.
I’m going to give you a memory. I think it will help put this in perspective. Are you ready?