by J. R. Rain
I went on. “Do you remember falling and hitting your head?”
His eyes traced the path from my finger to the altar below. “I…I fell on that?” he asked. It was partly a question, partly a statement.
“Yes, Jacob.”
“There was a lot of blood,” he said. He was remembering.
“Yes.”
“I got killed.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“I was a bad boy,” he said.
“No, Jacob,” I said. “You were a good boy. I was a bad boy.” And so, after many days and weeks and years of living with the guilt—and dying with the guilt—I knew it was time. “Jacob, do you remember the boys who dragged you up to the rafter, the boys who hung you over the edge?”
He scrunched up his little face as he thought back. “There were two of them,” he said, and now that he was being prodded, his memory was coming back to him in bits and pieces. Pauline watched us silently, listening, tears in her eyes.
“Yes, two of them,” I said. This was going to be harder than I had thought it would be, but I forced myself onward. “Jacob, I was one of those boys.”
He looked sharply at me. “I don’t understand.”
“Jacob, I was one of the two boys who pulled you up to the rafters. I was the one who hung you over it. I was the one who accidentally dropped you.”
“But I don’t under—”
“Jacob, I killed you. It was me. I dropped you. I caused you to fall and hit your head. It was me who killed you.”
The nave was empty. Outside, in the adjoining halls and rooms, I could hear a vacuum running and the murmur of voices. The main church itself was empty, except for the four of us—two humans and two ghosts.
Jacob said nothing at first. He stared up at me with his head tilted slightly, his little knees pressed together. I couldn’t help but notice the ethereal blood from his wound was everywhere: over his collar, down his shirt, even up along his sleeves.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” I said. “I’m so very, very sorry. I didn’t mean to kill you. I didn’t mean to drop you. I was just trying to scare you, I was just trying to find my wallet, but you had no idea what I was talking about, and you were scared, you were so very scared, but I didn’t believe you…”
I broke down completely, weeping into my hands, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to focus, unable to live, unable to die, unable to do anything.
I felt another presence next to me.
It was Jacob, and he had wrapped his arms tightly around me.
I was standing with Pauline off to the side of the sanctuary, near the piano, while Jacob and Eli sat together on the stage’s top step. Pauline was holding my hand.
“Jacob forgives you, James.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Now it’s time for you to forgive yourself.”
“I know.”
Jacob was jabbering away nonstop to his brother. Eli gave no indication of hearing him, but if this bothered Jacob, he didn’t show it. As I listened in now, Jacob was busy telling Eli about what had happened to him in school on some unknown day in some unknown year. Whether or not the boy had been dead or alive on this school day, I didn’t know, and I didn’t think Jacob knew, either.
Amazingly, no one had yet stepped inside the church, and I wondered if Pauline’s big private eye guarding the outside foyer had anything to do with that.
“Either that or divine intervention,” said Pauline, reading my thoughts.
“You think?” I asked.
She grinned. “Nah. Just dumb luck.”
I thought of my daughter growing up without me. I thought of my wife moving on without me. I thought of the world spinning around without me. I really was dead. I really was moving on.
“You can always come back, you know,” said Pauline.
“From the dead? I thought that only happened in horror movies.”
“Hey, sitting in a creepy old church with a serial killer and two ghosts is a horror movie,” she said. “For some people.”
“But not you,” I said. “You’re a brave girl.”
“Or a stupid girl,” she said.
I looked at her. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Pauline. Thank you.”
“What’s a medium to do?”
Pauline and I were quiet some more. Jacob kept talking; he hadn’t stopped or slowed down. Eli, for his part, sat still and seemed to revel in the presence of his twin brother.
“When you said I could come back, what did you mean?”
“Reincarnation,” she said. “That is, if you choose to come back. Or you can come back in other ways, too. In spirit, in dreams, in thoughts. Not to mention every time your daughter thinks of you or speaks your name or asks for your help, you can instantly be by her side.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked, amazed and thrilled by the prospect of seeing my daughter again.
“My dear, there are far greater things in heaven than on earth. You’ll just have to ask around up there.”
As if on cue, a glow appeared from above. The tunnel had returned.
And it was closer and brighter than ever.
From it poured a multitude of friendly, smiling spirits, filling the church sanctuary. Some I thought I recognized, but I couldn’t remember them.
Pauline’s eyes widened. “Looks like they brought the whole welcoming committee this time.”
I nodded nervously. I still hadn’t completely wrapped my head around the fact that I was leaving, nor had I entirely escaped the old fears and doubts.
Be strong, James. Be strong.
Eli came over and stood with Pauline, completely unaware that a portal to the heavens had opened above him. Jacob stayed behind on the step, staring wide-eyed at the outpouring of spiritual activity around him. I recalled the boy hiding in fear while Mrs. Randolph was shown the way to the tunnel. This time, Jacob did not run or hide.
There is strength in numbers.
I had learned that lesson from the red-eyed sentries. The boy had been alone before; now he was not.
Jacob looked at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Look at all the angels!” he said, clapping.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” I said.
“So beautiful!”
I turned to Pauline. Eli was still standing next to her. I could tell he knew something was going on, that a shift had occurred, that there was something in the air. Boy, was there something in the air.
I said to Pauline, “Tell Eli that I’m so very sorry for killing his brother.”
As she did so, Eli turned and looked directly into my eyes. “I’m sorry for killing you, James. I’m sorry for shooting you in your sleep. That was cowardly and wrong, and now I’m going to pay for it.”
I told him I forgave him. I told him that he needed to forgive himself, too—words I knew were easier said than done.
Pauline relayed all of this to Eli, who nodded solemnly. She then led him over to his brother, who was now playing catch with a beautiful raven-haired woman, using a glowing orb that looked remarkably like a little sun. I knew this woman. I knew her deeply and passionately and knew I had known her since the dawn of time. She was my soul mate, my passion, my love. I just couldn’t remember who the hell she was.
Soon, I thought. Soon.
She glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled so brightly that my entire countenance flared briefly, especially over my heart. She went back to playing with Jacob, and I looked up into the golden tunnel above.
So bright. So welcoming. So beautiful. So warm.
So very warm.
I hadn’t been warm in a long, long time.
And now I noticed for the first time that a crystal stairway led through the tunnel. I hadn’t noticed it before; then again, I hadn’t been this close to the tunnel before, either. I thought of my daughter. Would I see her again? I was sure I would, somehow. I thought of hell, and I glanced over at the wooden cross. The statue of Christ was as unmoving as ever, but I smiled at it anyway.
Jesus Christ had said everything was going to be okay, and I believed him.
Pauline was by my side again, and this time she was holding little Jacob’s hand. She passed it over to me. I took it firmly. Jacob looked up at me and smiled excitedly.
“Are we going home?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re going home.”
He bounced and smiled and waved at various spirits flitting about the sanctuary. One was an elderly woman, quite possibly his grandmother.
I looked at Pauline. “I’m a little nervous.”
“It’s going to be okay, James.”
I nodded. I knew it was going to be okay. I knew this in my heart, and I trusted my heart. I also knew it was time to move on. It was time for peace. It was time for rest. It was time for healing.
“Would you do me a favor?” I asked Pauline.
“Anything, James.”
I gave her my request, and she immediately nodded and dashed off. A moment later, she returned with the red scarf my daughter had given me.
“It was still there,” she said, “hidden in the cushions.”
“Please give it back to her, and please tell her that her daddy loves her very much,” I said.
“I will, James.”
“And please tell her good-bye for me.”
“I will, James.”
“You’re an angel, Pauline.”
“I know.”
I smiled and looked up into the tunnel again. Remarkably, it seemed even closer, hovering now just above my head. I could see through it almost all the way to the other side. All the way to God.
“So what do I do?” I asked Pauline nervously.
“Do you see the stairs?” she asked.
The crystal stairs had descended now all the way to the church’s raised, carpeted platform.
“Yes.”
“I’m being told that all you need to do is to start climbing, James, and you will be shown the way. But the first step is your choice. No one will do it for you.”
I understood. I gripped Jacob’s hand tightly. Pauline was crying softly now. The stairway was just a few feet away.
I’m really doing this, I thought.
“I want to go to heaven,” said Jacob excitedly, bouncing up and down next to me. “I want to see Grandma!”
I turned to Pauline. “I love you, you know.”
Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. “I love you, too, James. Now, get going.”
I turned back to the stairway. Yes, I’m really doing this.
Gripping Jacob’s hand, I lifted my bare foot and stepped up onto that first crystal step…And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt warm.
Gloriously warm.
The End
Also available on Amazon Kindle:
Moon Dance
Vampire for Hire Series, #1
by
J.R. Rain
(Read on for a sample)
I was folding laundry in the dark and watching Judge Judy rip this guy a new asshole when the doorbell rang.
I flipped down a pair of Oakley wraparound sunglasses and, still holding a pair of little Anthony’s cotton briefs in one hand, opened the front door.
The light, still painfully bright, poured in from outside. I squinted behind my shades and could just make out the image of a UPS deliveryman.
And, oh, what an image it was.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, a hunky guy with tan legs and beefy arms materialized through the screen door before me. He grinned at me easily, showing off a perfect row of white teeth. Spiky yellow hair protruded from under his brown cap. The guy should have been a model—or at least my new best friend.
“Mrs. Moon?” he asked. His eyes seemed particularly searching and hungry, and I wondered if I had stepped onto the set of a porno movie. Interestingly, a sort of warning bell sounded in my head. Warning bells are tricky to discern, and I automatically assumed this one was telling me to stay away from Mr. Beefy, or risk damaging my already rocky marriage.
“You got her,” I said easily, ignoring the warning bells.
“I’ve got a package here for you.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’ll need for you to sign the delivery log.” He held up an electronic gizmo-thingy that must have been the aforementioned delivery log.
“I’m sure you do,” I said, and opened the screen door and stuck a hand out. He looked at my very pale hand, paused, and then placed the electronic thingamajig in it. As I signed it, using a plastic-tipped pen, my signature appeared in the display box as an arthritic mess. The deliveryman watched me intently through the screen door. I don’t like to be watched intently. In fact, I prefer to be ignored and forgotten.
“Do you always wear sunglasses indoors?” he asked casually, but I sensed his hidden question: And what sort of freak are you?
“Only during the day. I find them redundant at night.” I opened the screen door again and exchanged the log doohickey for a small square package. “Thank you,” I said. “Have a good day.”
He nodded and left, and I watched his cute little buns for a moment longer, then shut the solid oak door completely. Sweet darkness returned to my home. I pulled up the sunglasses and sat down in a particularly worn dining room chair. Someday I was going to get these things reupholstered.
The package was heavily taped, but a few deft strokes of my painted red nail took care of all that. I opened the lid and peered inside. Shining inside was an ancient golden medallion. An intricate Celtic cross was engraved across the face of it, and embedded within the cross, formed by precisely cut rubies, were three red roses.
In the living room, Judge Judy was calmly explaining to the defendant what an idiot he was. Although I agreed, I turned the TV off, deciding that this medallion needed my full concentration.
After all, it was the same medallion worn by my attacker six years earlier.
Also available on Amazon Kindle:
Dark Horse
A Jim Knighthorse Novel
by
J.R. Rain
(Read on for a sample)
Charles Brown, the defense attorney, was a small man with a round head. He was wearing a brown-and-orange zigzagged power tie. I secretly wondered if he went by Charlie as a kid and had a dog named Snoopy and a crush on the little redheaded girl.
We were sitting in my office on a warm spring day. Charlie was here to give me a job if I wanted it, and I wanted it. I hadn’t worked in two weeks and was beginning to like it, which made me nervous.
“I think the kid’s innocent,” he was saying.
“Of course you do, Charlie. You’re a defense attorney. You would find cause to think Jack the Ripper was simply a misunderstood artist before his time.”
He looked at me with what was supposed to be a stern face.
“The name’s Charles,” he said.
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Glad that’s cleared up.”
“I heard you could be difficult,” he said. “Is this you being difficult? If so, then I’m disappointed.”
I smiled. “Maybe you have me confused with my father.”
Charlie sat back in my client chair and smiled. His domed head was perfectly buffed and polished, cleanly reflecting the halogen lighting above. His skin appeared wet and viscous, as if his sweat glands were ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“Your father has quite a reputation in LA. I gave his office a call before coming here. Of course, he’s quite busy and could not take on an extra case.”
“So you settled on the next best thing.”
“If you want to call it that,” he said. “I’ve heard that you’ve performed adequately with similar cases, so I’ve decided to give you a shot, although my expectations are not very high, and I have another PI waiting in the wings.”
“How reassuring,” I said.
“Yeah, well, he’s established. You’re not.”
“But can he pick up a b
lind-side blitz?”
Charlie smiled and splayed his stubby fingers flat on my desk and looked around my office, which was adorned with newspaper clippings and photographs of yours truly. Most of the photographs depict me in a Bruins uniform, sporting the number 45. In most, I’m carrying the football, and in others, I’m blowing open the hole for the tailback. Or at least I like to think I’m blowing open the hole. The newspapers are yellowing now, taped or tacked to the wood paneling. Maybe someday I’ll take them down. But not yet.
“You beat SC a few years back. I can never forgive you for that. Two touchdowns in the fourth quarter alone.”
“Three,” I said. “But who’s counting?”
He rubbed his chin. “Destroyed your leg, if I recall, in the last game of the season. Broken in seven different places.”
“Nine, but who’s counting?”
“Must have been hard to deal with. You were on your way to the pros. Would have made a hell of a fullback.”
That had been hard to deal with, and I didn’t feel like talking about it now to Charlie Brown. “Why do you believe in your client’s innocence?” I asked.
He looked at me. “I see. You don’t want to talk about it. Sorry I brought it up.” He crossed his legs. He didn’t seem sorry at all. He looked smugly down at his shoes, which had polish on the polish. “Because I believe Derrick’s story. I believe he loved his girlfriend and would never kill her.”
“People have been killed for love before. Nothing new.”
On my computer screen before me, I had brought up an article from the Orange County Register. The article showed a black teen being led away into a police car. He was looking down, his head partially covered by his jacket. He was being led away from a local high school. A very upscale high school, if I recalled. The story was dated three weeks ago, and I remembered reading it back then.
I tapped the computer monitor. “The police say there’s some indication that his girlfriend was seeing someone else and that jealousy might have been a factor.”