With Todd and Marlin’s hasty departure the morning before, the gate hung open and no one had returned to lock it. Chris walked unhindered onto the lot. He concentrated on all that needed to be done. He couldn’t relax or rest until the vortex was stable and the spirits, who arrived with the increase of Earth energy, passed to the spirit world.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he steeled his resolve before responding.
“I am not here. Pretend you do not see me.”
“Fat chance,” the hefty male spirit said. He stood with fists resting against pudgy hips.
“Excuse me.” Chris stepped to the side to make his way around the rotund man and immediately received a poke in the chest.
“I expect you’re not walking away without assistance, so why don’t you let me help you?”
The ghost grabbed the edge of Chris’s vest near the shoulder — an unfortunate move.
Chris expected a protest from the ghosts at the construction site. He didn’t know how powerful and belligerent they would be after figuratively sucking off the tit of Mother Nature for the past twenty-four hours. The negative vortex at Jack’s attracted the worst of the worst, regarding damaged souls, but the ones on Hermosa Ave. were of a different ilk. These ghosts chose to remain in spirit form for their own reasons, but not because they were fiendish or banished. The ghosts on Hermosa Ave. were the type to mourn the loss of a loved one or brood in a battlefield for all eternity — not create chaos and evil like the ghosts flocking to the pool hall. These lost spirits were mostly harmless, that is until something set them off. Such as feeding them a pure stream of Earth energy and then trying to take it away.
A crowd gathered around him and the bully. He watched their second line of defense move into place in an attempt to surround the core of the vortex. Chris didn’t want a fight, and he certainly didn’t want to make an example of this man, but with the physical contact, it couldn’t be avoided.
Before the stout man had a chance to blink, let alone cast Chris off the property, the shaman concentrated the life force energy running through him into his palms. He slapped his hands over the man’s ears and squeezed. The ghost yowled as Chris turned him into a shriveled specter, wretched, withered and unrecognizable. The group of spirits took a collective step back, but Chris felt them rallying almost instantly for another go at him. It wouldn’t take long for an impudent spirit to try again. Feeding off the vortex was like no other fountain of youth on the planet. If he had to guess, they wouldn’t give up, and he was outnumbered fifty-to-one.
“I call upon the warriors. I call to my elders. Assist me as I am your humble brother. I ask for your help!”
Chris’s voice carried all the way to the spirit world. He held what was left of the insolent spirit in one fist and knelt to open the flap on his bearskin medicine bundle. He removed a stone bottle and pulled the cork out with his teeth. He poured the mixture of corn pollen, tobacco, and crushed copal over the diminutive specter. The ghost dissolved and turned to ashes, scattering over the dirt like dust. The wayward ghost would not return to the spirit world and would forever be less than even what the worms fed on.
He sprinkled the medicinal mixture over his open palms to cleanse them of any etheric residue. Satisfied with the results, he stuffed the cork in the bottle and glanced up. Chris’s call for help had been answered.
The desire to step back and observe the battle from a spectator’s point of view ached in his nostalgic bones. Dozens of warriors from the past arrived along with many medicine men. They attacked the rebellious horde of ghosts in full regalia — and every brave looked as if he thirsted for battle. Only in his mind and imagination had he ever conjured a sight like the one before him. Painted warriors, brandishing their weapons captured and took down one lost spirit after another. Valor and fearlessness surged through his chest and drove him forward. Chris could not stand aside and watch. He pounced on the nearest ghost, wrapped an arm around his neck, and squeezed. The battle cry whooped out of him, devastating and victorious.
The fight didn’t last long. By the time Chris sent his ghost to the spirit world, each of his otherworldly helpers had captured a lost soul and dragged them off to a higher dimension where souls renew and rest in peace. The warriors did not return. His four main spirit guides came back to the lot, smiling, and congratulating each other on a successful battle. The four were a wise group of ancient medicine men who often stood by Chris’s side when he performed ceremonies.
“The young one is always bringing us much excitement,” Yellow Hawk said.
“He is the new generation. His medicine is strong,” Two Suns remarked.
Chris waited patiently for his guides to finish talking before moving on to the real reason they were there.
“That was the largest group of unsettled souls I have ever seen,” Black Horns said.
“An impressive group,” Bill agreed. “Quite lively for the displaced. How is it you have gathered a large number of them together, Chris?”
“It was not my doing,” he said. “Take a look over there. Do you not feel it in the air and below your moccasins?” he asked Bill.
Bill would be considered the most modern of his four medicine men guides. And by modern, he estimated Bill’s last incarnation was about one hundred and fifty years ago, give or take a couple of decades. The medicine man preferred to be called Bill and never gave anyone a more traditional name. Bill’s broad face matched his broad chest. He had a wide flat nose above a mouth that was perpetually turned down. As he looked around the construction site, his lips compressed into an even deeper frown.
“An anomaly. Is that what you would call it?” Bill asked.
“That’s a word for it,” Chris said. “An energy vortex made by unearthing and rerouting the sacred waters. With your guidance, we will help our Great Mother this morning so she may heal. The vortex will remain, but it will not be wide open.”
“You helped many suffering souls cross over this day. Great Spirit smiles on you. It is a mighty deed,” Black Horns said solemnly.
Black Horn’s acknowledgment received agreeable nods from the others.
Chris said, “I have done little. The warriors fought bravely. I do what I can, but it is nothing.”
Their eyes crinkled and softened toward Chris. Remaining humble was a path they all aspired to stay on.
The five medicine men moved closer to the open trench and surveyed the damages and the haphazard repairs started by Marlin and Todd. Surprisingly, Todd or Marlin managed to fix the broken pipeline before being scared off by the ghosts. The repair tamped down some of the energy flowing from the vortex and eased the external pressure on his spirit guides. Chris made a vital adjustment to an overflow valve by shutting off the flow of water completely so none of the hot spring water ran into the tributary stream. Keeping the two sources of water separated brought the land back to the way it was supposed to be, and harmony was restored. Chris climbed into the skid steer, and moved a small mountain of dirt, covering up the final section of open trench. Todd made a horrible mistake when they hit the piped hot spring. If he bothered to check the building plans, he could have avoided the disaster. Instead, he and Marlin learned the hard way. Chris didn’t want anyone else to make the same mistake. He spent the next hour moving boulders from the creek bank and built a stone barricade over the vortex. When he could do no more, he parked the skid steer and retrieved his medicine bundle.
Each of the medicine men smoked from Chris’s ceremonial pipe and said a prayer. Two Suns addressed the four directions. Yellow Hawk prayed to the gods above and below. Bill danced and sang a song to bring everlasting harmony. Black Horns created an impenetrable circle of protection, and Chris sealed the ceremony with a prayer and his sacred corn pollen, tobacco, and sage.
With the vortex hampered, the Earth energy in and around the empty lot settled to a reasonable level, and Chris began decompressing. His guides returned to the spirit world as he packed up his medicine bundle.
The s
un rose and morning commuters could be heard driving down the main avenue through town. Chris sat in the cab of his truck and forced himself to stay awake. He had one final thing to take care of before he could go to sleep — the meeting with the city planner, the building department, Officer Howe, and the owner of the property, Mr. Schlitz, a.k.a. Todd’s father and a known land developer.
The dread of the upcoming meeting — with actual living people — weighed heavy on his mind. The anxiety it created was a hundred times worse than any battle with parasitic energy-sucking ghosts. Chris drank some of the medicinal tea his father handed him hours earlier. The tea didn’t quite provide the kick in the ass he needed for dealing with people — who would be arriving any second now — but it was all he had.
To his minor relief, Officer Howe arrived first. The others showed up minutes later. Chris drug himself from the truck and spent the next thirty minutes explaining and describing something most people thought of as intangible or make believe. Officer Howe believed in Chris, and his work as a shaman and ghost hunter, and affirmed Chris’s statements and backed him up where he could.
Since Todd botched the excavating job from the very beginning, there wasn’t much or any argument from his father, Mr. Schlitz. That is until Chris pointed out the environmental concerns for the underground hot spring. The city planner jumped in and put an immediate halt to the project until an environmental impact study could be conducted on the empty lot and the adjoining tributary stream. Then Officer Howe asked the building inspector why the lot appeared to be heaved upward in the center and pointed out how the empty building next door looked affected by this unusual shift in the ground. The inspector deemed more inspections must be made on the entire block before any further construction. Mr. Schlitz promptly went ballistic. Chris felt his job was complete and stepped away from the others.
Somehow, he drove himself home, even though he didn’t remember doing so. A vague recollection of Talks to the Wind helping him out of the truck and up to his front door teased his memory. Would his guide actually drive the truck for him? He didn’t know and didn’t care. The only thing that held any importance was a mattress to stretch out on and the soft cushion of a pillow beneath his head.
Chapter Six
“THESE WILL KEEP you from exiting your body.” Chris held up two strings of multi-colored beads.
“Do I wear them? Eat them? What am I looking at?” Naomi asked, squinting up at him.
Chris stepped closer to the hospital bed and handed over the bracelets.
Naomi inspected the beads and then hid the bracelets underneath the sheet. She brought her knees up as she fidgeted beneath the covers. Uncomfortable, he waited for her to finish. He thought he would see the talisman bracelets on her wrists when she stopped fiddling with them. He should know better than to assume anything involving Naomi.
“What did you do? They are for your protection. I worked hard to ensure the stone beads, and the charms will keep your spirit secure within your body. If you decide to astral travel in the future, you will need to take them off.”
“I can feel your magic infused in them.”
“It is not magic,” he clarified.
“Whatever you want to call it,” she said dismissively, then smiled. “I can feel the power. And they’re on my ankles.”
The pleased expression on her face caused him to hesitate. He intended for the charms to be worn around the wrists. Intention is a major factor in the creation and usage of his medicines. Would it make a difference?
While he thought about it, she asked, “What’s with the sour face, mate?”
“Why did you put them on your ankles instead of your wrists?”
“They looked like anklets. They’re somewhat long. Besides, I assumed they have to stay on all the time — considering my issues with astral projection. If they’re on my ankles, I won’t think twice about them.”
“Very well,” he said, satisfied with her answer. “I don’t care to be called ‘mate.’”
“How about Bucko?”
“Not working for me either.”
“Silly-Billy?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wet blanket.”
He didn’t know if she still searched for an acceptable pet name or if she was calling him a “wet blanket.” Probably the latter. Given the opportunity, Chris could dampen just about anyone’s good mood.
“That one at least fits the bill.”
A tiny smirk hid behind her full lips. Naomi lifted Chris’s medicine pouch from around her neck. “I guess I don’t need this anymore.”
He reached for his medicine bag and put it back on where it belonged. He tucked the pouch beneath his shirt noticing the warmth of her skin on the leather. “Ready to get out of here?”
He returned to the hospital for more reasons than bringing Naomi the protective charm bracelets. Chris wanted to give her a ride and make her an offer.
She stared into her lap. “I don’t have anywhere to go. My car is totaled, and I don’t want to go back to the parking lot at work.”
“Jack’s Corner Pocket is no longer a problem. I took care of the vortices.”
“Already? How?”
“I had to seal and control the vortex over on Hermosa. Once I accomplished that, the negative repercussions balanced themselves out. I went back to Jack’s to make sure. I had some work to do. All is relatively normal now.”
“Except for the demolished building,” she added.
“Yes. Except that. Your boss told me this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to him.”
“What?” Naomi asked, confused.
“Jack told me he is very well insured. Only the back of the building was destroyed, and the pool tables were all spared. They are saying the cause is an unknown structural failure.”
“That sounds a lot like my diagnosis. I guess western medicine hasn’t quite figured out astral projection and spiritual distress. The doctors have no idea how my brain works.”
“They wouldn’t know. Western medicine is very narrow thinking. It is one reason I stay in business. They are good at looking after muscles and bones. How is your neck?” He noticed she was not wearing a neck brace.
“It’s a little sore but fine. I'll take it easy until I feel better.” Uncertainty shadowed her face and Naomi glanced away. Chris watched her aura shift, financial concerns mingling with instability in the energetic field around her body.
“Your camper trailer is no longer parked at the billiard hall.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Where’s my house? Was it impounded?” Her fingers ran over her scalp, and she gripped two handfuls of hair and squeezed.
“I towed your camper to my house. I didn’t want anyone to steal it or have it taken away with your car.”
“You what? Really?”
“If you want, you can camp next to my cabin until your car is repaired or replaced.”
“Are you kidding me right now, Mr. Medicine Man?”
“I am not kidding.”
“Oh my God. Yes!”
“It is settled then.”
“No, it isn’t. I want to thank you. For everything. How about I make you dinner? In my camper. Tonight. Are you busy later?”
Chris wanted to help Naomi out. He didn’t expect any form of payment. Letting her park the camper in his yard had been Talks to the Wind’s idea. Naomi lost her car and her job in a matter of minutes. He was only doing what any decent person would do.
“You helped by making me aware of the vortices in town. The whole town owes you. I do not need anything from you in return. There's a wooded lot and plenty of space at my place. If you haven’t figured it out, I am not a very social person. Dinner is not necessary.”
“Okay, first of all, duh. You are one of the most awkward people I have ever met, and second, I sort of like that about you. Third, I’m going to cook something tonight. I don’t know what, but you’re coming over to eat with me so I can thank you.”
Chris lowered hi
s gaze, breaking eye contact with Naomi as he considered the multiple repercussions of having dinner with this woman. He glanced back up and saw a hint of expectancy and a touch of uncertainty in her beguiling liquid brown eyes as she waited for his response.
“What time?” he asked.
* * *
“I don’t cook,” she confessed.
Naomi stood by the miniature sink in her ridiculously tiny camper smiling at Chris. He stood just outside the door, peering in and making no move to enter.
“But I can order food to be delivered like a ninja.”
“You don’t cook,” he reiterated.
“I can… I just don’t. I mean, look at my kitchen. It’s sort of small.”
Chris coughed.
“Your face would suggest you’re wondering why I asked you over for dinner?”
Chris ran a knuckle down the bridge of his nose. “You ordered take-out?”
Naomi laughed as she reached for a covered bowl on the counter. “Nope. I thought about it, but I didn’t — this time.”
The way she said “this time” hopefully implied there would be another dinner together in the future. Naomi wanted the chance to get to know Chris Abeyta better. He intrigued her, and that rarely happened. He gave off such mixed signals — something else that sparked her curiosity.
“Come on in, silly. It’s ready and waiting.”
Naomi placed the bowl on her converted bed/dining table, peeled the plastic lid off and spun around to grab the champagne. She hadn’t heard Chris move and had no idea he stood right behind her.
Startled enough to make her heart skip, she jumped, placed her hands against his chest to stop herself from running into him and yelped. This elicited an eyebrow raise from Chris as he looked down at her hands and then into her eyes.
“Your house is even smaller than mine.”
The Misplaced: An Angel Falls Novella - book #3.5 - Ghost Hunting with Chris Abeyta Page 6