Possessing Elissa

by Donna Sterling

  “No.” When Lehmberg’s thin brows rose above her glasses, Elissa explained, “I want to stay home with Cody.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” She took a spoonful of yogurt. “Unless, of course, you let some narrow-minded fools run you off like a dog with its tail between its legs.”

  Her throat tightened. “No one ran me off.”

  “Think you’re not good enough to counsel students, now that you’re an unwed mother?”

  As usual, she’d hit upon the truth. “I suppose some people might question my judgment. My...morality.”

  “I didn’t ask about some people. I asked about you.”

  “I’d be happy to discuss it with you, Dr. Lehmberg, if you’re ready to discuss your personal life with me.”

  That closed the professor’s mouth. And turned it up in a begrudging grin. “Come on, now. We both know that I don’t have a personal life...as far as my colleagues can tell.”

  The mutual glance lengthened—both women acknowledging the point and establishing a subtle new equality. Lehmberg lowered her booted feet from the desk. “If I can’t bully you into spilling your guts, what have you come to discuss?”

  “The articles you wrote about paranormal phenomena.”

  Interest brightened her eyes. “I’ve documented quite a few cases. Remote viewing, where the subject sees a scene taking place miles away. Psychokinesis, where objects are moved by sheer mental force. Telepathy, which is thought transference. Astral projection, also called out-of-body experience. Precognition, or awareness of future events...”

  “But all of those involve a living subject, right? Not someone who’s...dead?”

  Surprise rendered the professor silent.

  Shifting her sleeping baby in her arms, Elissa hesitated to pursue the topic, then cleared her throat and forged onward. “I want to know about...ghosts.”

  Lehmberg studied her closely, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. At long last, she queried, “What about ’em?”

  “I’ve researched materialization. You know...apparitions.”

  Lehmberg nodded.

  “Some researchers believe they take form from a substance called ectoplasm,” said Elissa. “I’m wondering what ecboplasm feels like. I mean, can an apparition feel solid? Warm?” In a near whisper, she added, “Muscular?”

  “Descriptions recorded of apparitions and their feel vary. But I, personally, don’t believe apparitions are formed from ectoplasm. I think they’re projected by the psychic energy of the departed. If the life force that drives a human being—his spirit, some might call it—does not cease to exist when his body dies, then I believe it’s possible for that energy to project itself to the living. And to stimulate our senses: vision, hearing, smell, taste.” With a slight smile, she added, “Touch.”

  “You mean, a spirit might be capable of making me feel something that’s not really there?”

  Lehmberg steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “If a spirit is present, then he is really there. How can he move things or be felt to the human touch? By the power of his mind, I say. A good hypnotist, for instance, can make his subject believe he’s experiencing anything he describes. Why shouldn’t those who inhabit the spiritual realm use similar methods to communicate?”

  “Ghosts with hypnotic powers?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Lehmberg leaned on her elbows and continued with quiet passion, “I think the capabilities of a person’s spirit depend entirely on the strength of that person’s mind. The strongest minds, especially when trained, can attain miracles. Like barefoot men walking over red-hot coals without blistering their skin. Masters of meditation levitating above the ground. Psychokinesis experts bending metal utensils with their thoughts. Faith healers curing diseases. Who knows what boundaries a well trained mind can exceed— especially after crossing over into the spiritual realm?”

  Elissa sat spellbound by the possibilities. “What do you mean by a ‘well trained’ mind?”

  “Psychic abilities are like other skills. The more one practices, the better one gets.” Lehmberg lounged back in her chair, her hazel eyes brimming with curiosity. “May I ask what brought on your sudden interest in parapsychology?”

  Elissa hesitated, not quite ready to share the details with anyone. “An experience in Savannah.”

  “Ah. Savannah. This experience didn’t take place at the old Pirate’s House Restaurant near Bay Street, did it?”

  “No.”

  “One of the renovated mansions on the squares? Or the antebellum plantation house off the expressway?”

  She shook her head and volunteered no specifics.

  Lehmberg opened her bottom desk drawer. “Here’s a list of psychical research centers you can contact—in North Carolina, Pennsylvania, California, England, Germany.” She handed a page to Elissa. “Call one of them.”

  Grateful, she took the paper and rose. “One more question, Doctor. Do you know why a spirit might appear?”

  Lehmberg shrugged. “Case studies suggest that reasons might be revenge, vindication, protection of a loved one, the desire to right some wrong or assuage some guilt. Whatever the goal, it’s one the spirit feels passionate about. And until it’s met, chances are he’ll remain.”

  Jesse’s demand rang in her memory: I want to see my son. Was that the goal that kept his spirit chained to this level of existence? Or was it guilt that kept him here—guilt because he’d avoided her and Cody while barhopping in Asia before his last mission? Either way, his “passionate goal” was obviously to see Cody.

  Elissa paused in the doorway. “Is it painful for the spirit,” she somberly asked, “to be kept here after death?”

  “That’s hard to say. Some spirits seem playful enough. Others, angry and obsessed. But channelers often describe a sense of anguish emanating from them. I can only surmise that as time wears on, it does become painful for the human spirit to be blocked from its final destiny, whatever that might be. Painful, and maybe even destructive.”

  Elissa knew then in her heart what she must do. She had to help Jesse achieve his goal. She had to take Cody to him.

  AFTER ARRANGING FOR a licensed substitute to handle her day-care business—no small feat—Elissa faced an even more difficult task: telling her parents, and then Dean, of her decision to leave town with Cody for possibly as long as a month, with no greater reason than to “get away for. a while.”

  As she had expected, her parents bombarded her with questions, pointed out difficulties and plied her with long, searching looks, but eventually agreed to respect her right to privacy as long as she kept in contact with them.

  Dean, on the other hand, fervently objected. She wished she could tell him the truth about Jesse, but when she had casually asked if he believed in the paranormal, he dismissed it as “the silly ravings of sensationalists.”

  Even on Wednesday morning as he helped pack luggage into her car, he complained. “It’s absurd, leaving town on a whim. Who knows how this could hurt your day-care business!”

  “You should accept my credentials as a professional counselor when I say that for the sake of my emotional well being—and therefore, Cody’s—I need some downtime.”

  “Downtime? Okay, so I’ll take a few days off and we can drive into Atlanta, see some plays, tour some museums.”

  “Not that kind of downtime.” She removed a box of diapers from an awkward corner and fit it into the travel bassinet. “I want time away, so I can think. Just me and Cody.” Resolutely she slammed the trunk.

  Dean grabbed her hands and held them, capturing her full attention. “Is it something I said or did? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. If I sounded put out yesterday, it was only because I’d been looking forward to your pot roast”

  That she believed. He hated any change in their routine, but especially when it came to food. He was used to a home-cooked supper at her house every Tuesday, but she’d been too busy to cook.

  “You haven’t done anything wrong, Dean.” She squeezed his hands and gazed
into his beseeching blue eyes, hating to upset him. “I’ll make you a pot roast when I come home.”

  “But...but...who will watch our TV shows with me? How can I play ‘Jeopardy’ by myself?”

  Aware that he was somewhat joking now with that lost-little-boy expression that went so well with his sandy brown curls, Elissa patted his cheek. “Know that I’ll be beating you just as badly from a living room in Savannah.”

  Softly, he said, “I hope all this thinking you’ll be doing has to do with us, and that you’ll decide on ‘yes.’”

  She didn’t disillusion him, but she’d almost forgotten about the marriage proposal he’d made last month. He slipped his arms around her and kissed her. It was a pleasant kiss, as most of his were. But she backed away before he could deepen it. She simply wasn’t ready for further intimacy. “Now, get going,” she said, “or you’ll be late for school.”

  Obediently he trudged toward his station wagon—a tall, sturdy figure in his blue oxford shirt, navy tie and tweed trousers already rumpled although his workday hadn’t yet begun. He called from the car window, “If you wait until Saturday, I can drive you. It’s dangerous for a woman and baby to travel alone.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve traveled alone before.”

  A few hours later, on a deserted highway miles from anywhere but dense Georgia forest, with a flat tire and lug nuts that had rusted too tight to budge, Elissa’s assurance rang mockingly in her ears.

  The two huge black motorcycles that rolled to a halt on the grassy shoulder beyond her car did little to allay her anxiety. Two men climbed off and ambled toward her. The noonday sun glinted on the beer cans in their hands...and the disturbing gleam in their eyes.

  IN THE COMFORTABLE clutter of his own garage, the satisfying smell of gasoline and engine oil filled Jesse’s nostrils; the feel of the screwdriver in his hand made him whistle a merry ditty. He’d been thinking about fixing the carburetor on this old bass boat engine since his last leave. Odd, what months of forced idleness could put in a man’s head. Someone who’d never been a prisoner might guess his thoughts to have been strictly of the life-and-death variety. But his had often wandered to details he’d left unfinished at home. Like this boat engine.

  And Elissa.

  She’d be coming today. She’d stay the night. Anticipation sluiced through him. He’d have a whole month of days and nights with her. And he’d hold his son for the very first time. Cody.

  Jesse contentedly tightened a screw on the boat engine. Life couldn’t get much better.

  As he discarded his screwdriver and reached for the oilcan, his attention was caught by a sound. A cry. An urgent cry. He angled his ear to the open garage door and the woods beyond, listening intently.

  The cry came again. Elissa. It was her cry; he knew it. But it wasn’t an actual cry. It wasn’t a sound at all. It was a sense. A sudden, urgent awareness.

  Danger.

  SHE ROSE TO HER FEET from where she’d been kneeling in the grass beside the flattened tire. Her hand tightened around the wrench as the two men drew near.

  The husky, bearded one wore shabby jeans and a dirty sleeveless T-shirt, and had snake tattoos on his sunburned biceps. The other wore shabby jeans and an open leather vest—shirtless, to show off his thin, snake-tattooed chest. Both men reeked of beer and old sweat.

  “Looks like you could use some help, ma’am,” greeted the bearded one in the T-shirt. His appraising gaze settled not on the flat tire, but on the swell of her breasts beneath her sweater, then slithered downward to the curve of her hips beneath her jeans.

  “No, thanks,” she replied in a voice that shook only slightly. “I’ve already called for help on my cellular phone. They’ll be here any minute.” She’d have given anything for that to have been the truth.

  “Hear that, Bones?” He elbowed the lanky one in leather. “She’s got one of them fancy car phones.”

  “I’d sure like to see that phone. Wouldn’t you, Fuzz?”

  A sick fear skittered through her. She hadn’t locked the car doors. Cody lay inside. The can of pepper spray she’d brought as protection remained in her purse on the floorboard. Would she have the courage to use the tire wrench against the men? And would it stop them or only enrage them?

  “M-my husband took the phone with him,” she improvised, edging toward her car door, holding the wrench behind her, “into the woods. He had to...you know...take a short walk. But he’ll be back very soon.”

  “Your husband?” said the husky one called Fuzz. “Where was he when you stopped at the gas station? He didn’t pump the gas. Or pay for it, either.”

  Her heart dropped. They’d been following her...for miles, it seemed. The last gas station had been at least fifteen minutes back. Maybe they’d even punctured her tire!

  “Yup, sure is funny,” ruminated Bones as he pressed in closer, “I didn’t see no man in the car with you at all.”

  Her mouth went dry, and frantically she tried to fabricate an answer.

  Before she could think of one, a reply resounded from an unexpected direction—from behind her, past the rear bumper of her car, near the edge of the deep, pine-scented woods. “Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.” The quip, softly spoken, was rife with masculine challenge.

  Jesse stood there, just inside the forest’s shadows, his eyes gunmetal dark and deadly.

  6

  “JESSE! THANK GOD.”

  The stark relief on her face told Jesse all he needed to know. They’d scared the hell out of her. Anger, cold and intense, gusted from him. A sudden wind whipped the dry, rustling leaves at his feet into a miniature cyclone.

  He wanted to kill the bastards.

  Their progress toward Elissa stopped as they followed her gaze. Jesse stood ready for them; ready to tear off their thick skulls with his bare hands. His stare alone should have conveyed this mind-set. It was a look that had stopped fully armed enemies dead in their tracks, when he himself had been weaponless.

  But these scum bag fools didn’t even focus their eyes on his face. They seemed to look clear through him, the same way Suzanne had. Their eyes swept the forest’s edge, lingering only on the leaves swirling at his feet

  The skinny one mumbled, “Who she lookin’ at?”

  The hefty creep turned his attention back to Elissa. “You’re seeing things, sugar...or tryin’ to pull a fast one.”

  Stunned by their reaction to him—or rather, lack thereof—Jesse stood motionless. Couldn’t they see him? He couldn’t buy that. They were ignoring him. Had to be...

  “Somethin’s whooping them leaves around, Fuzz.” An apprehensive frown formed on the skinny one’s face as he watched the commotion of the leaves. “And it’s gettin’ cold.”

  Fuzz had other things on his mind. “What did you plan on doing, sugar?” he murmured to Elissa. “Running off while we was lookin’ the other way?” He took a step closer and his voice lowered to a purr. “What happened—you decide to stick around for some fun with Bones and me?”

  She cast another panicked glance at Jesse. “They can’t see you!” Her fear jolted him into action, and he strode toward her, his anger building with every step.

  Fuzz then made a tactical error of critical proportions. He reached out to touch her.

  Jesse’s fury erupted. He rounded the back bumper of the car and lunged, his right fist whistling as it caught Fuzz under the chin. His left fist then drove into his solar plexus, and Fuzz responded with an audible “oof.”

  Fuzz’s head jerked sideways with the first punch. The second doubled him over. The next smashed into his nose and propelled him backward toward the asphalt highway, where he skidded on his rump.

  “What was that?” cried Bones, his bloodshot eyes wide and fearful. “What the hell was that?”

  “She punched me,” murmured Fuzz in dazed amazement, shaking his head as if to clear it. Droplets of sweat and blood flung from his face like water from a wet dog.

  “B-but she didn’t move.” Bones stared a
t his bloody-nosed cohort in confusion. “No one punched you.”

  “The hell I didn’t,” muttered Jesse. With another long stride, he caught Bones by the throat and wrapped his fingers around the column of his windpipe. His mouth gaped open like a beached fish as he gasped for air. Jesse drew back his fist for another satisfying slug.

  “Jesse, stop!” cried Elissa. “You’ll kill him!”

  Her words penetrated his red haze of anger, and he realized she was right. The thug was choking in his punishing grip. With a distasteful shove, Jesse released his stranglehold and sent him sprawling on the ground in a gasping heap of leather, hair and snake tattoos.

  The heap rolled to its bony knees and scampered while the other thug stumbled toward the black motorcycles. Curses and mutters about a voodoo woman floated back on the autumn breeze. Engines roared to life. Grass flew from beneath spinning tires. Rubber burned against asphalt.

  Voodoo woman? Had they been talking about Elissa?

  There was no time to ponder. A tiny sob and a choked “Thank you, Jesse” swung his attention to where she stood beside the hood of her car. Her face was pale, her lips trembling. “I needed you,” she whispered, “and you came.”

  Something in jesse’s chest rolled over. She’d needed him. He moved toward her, wanting to touch her.

  She came willingly into his arms, pressing her cheek against the curve of his neck, her arms around his shoulders. Her body molded to his with utter, aching perfection.

  The effect was immediate. An electric current crackled through his veins, stunning him. A tumult of emotions surged from her to him: the aftereffect of an adrenaline high; a dizzying relief; intense curiosity; profound awe. And thick, smothering apprehension. Other emotions rushed by too quickly to understand, but packed their wallop all the same.

  These were her emotions storming through him, without a word spoken. A connection beyond his comprehension. But the power blasting through him steadily grew into an unbearable force, as if to drive her from his arms.

  Elissa seemed to sense his turmoil and tried to withdraw from his embrace. Jesse’s resentment flared against the intrusive force. He wanted to hold her, and hold her he would. He’d worked wonders with his mental powers before. He’d bent metal with his mind, for God’s sake. Surely he could tame whatever force now plagued them.