Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

  Courtney worked her way down the stairs and out into the late afternoon sunlight. She locked the lower door to her new apartment and tested the lock. A car passed in front of the house on Pence Street, and she lifted her head at the sound. Not far to the west, the low, constant hum of the highway reached her. All around her, sights and sounds of the modern world intruded. She had come back, but she was as far from Merril as she'd been in Texas. With that discouraging thought, she tucked the key in her purse and walked as swiftly as she could to the bus stop.

  I’ll need to hurry to be back by sunset.

  She bought a collapsible-wheeled cart at the store, large enough to drag her purchases home. It took some time to get the cart up the dark staircase. She hauled it up a step at a time, moving the flashlight rung by rung as she went. At the top, she looked down into the darkness, weary and weepy.

  I can’t stop yet. Get up, get moving.

  The easy setup for the inflatable bed defied her and left her exhausted. Successful at last, she threw the unzipped sleeping bag over the mattress and wrestled the pillow and comforter from their plastic wrap. She switched off the flashlight, shed her clothes in the dark, and collapsed on the bed.

  What a day. I can’t believe I’m here!

  She lay awake under the starchy new comforter, unable to fall asleep. Her thoughts were a jumble inside her exhausted mind, darting from one thing to another. Just as she drifted off to sleep, she heard his voice.

  He was in her dream and her head, calling softly, “Please don't go—stay with me, Nicki ...”

  Courtney opened her eyes in the darkness. A deep chill permeated the room. “Holy shit,” she whispered and listened for his voice. “Merril?” she called, but there was only silence. She waited in the dark a long time, listening.

  Merril slipped into her dream each night after she fell asleep and begged her not to leave him. At first, it was wonderful to hear his voice, even though it was only a dream. However, his refrain never changed and the endless reproach, along with her interrupted rest, played havoc with her emotions.

  * * *

  By the fourth day, she wanted more than fast food. She decided to make a morning trip to the grocery store. She caught the early bus at the corner stop and was back in the apartment in less than an hour. Daylight reflected on dust motes as she emptied her purchases onto the cracked but newly cleaned kitchen counter.

  “Nicki, where are you?” Merril’s desperate whisper sounded from the hallway.

  She froze in shock, turning her head from side to side to try and pinpoint the direction of his voice.

  Near the attic? In the bedroom?

  Her gaze followed the soft sound his boots made on the wooden floor.

  He passed the kitchen opening less than a foot from where she stood, but he wasn't there. The footfalls paused in the bedroom then echoed from where the old stairs would have been, falling silent somewhere beneath her.

  The apple she held trembled in her fist. Released from her hand, the fruit rolled away. She held the edge of the counter and lowered her head gasping for air. “I’m here, Merril.” Her world tilted. Emotion rippled across her chest, and her head spun. Overwhelmed, she sank to the floor, put her head on her knees, and cried.

  She waited several hours for Merril to return, but the house remained silent. Unable to sit still any longer, she went down to Dessa's apartment and knocked, but Dessa didn’t answer. She tried to peek through the filthy windows, but shadows hid the interior.

  After she returned to her apartment, she wandered through the rooms until she found herself in front of the locked attic door.

  “Merril?” Her voice quivered as she reached for the doorknob. “Merril!” Courtney shouted at the door and shook the handle, then whispered, “I can hear you, babe. Talk to me.” Silence answered her. She leaned her head against the wooden barrier in defeat. Perhaps Dr. Phelps was right, and she'd fed her obsession until she heard voices.

  With sudden clarity, it occurred to her that her father might have tried something else.

  She stepped back and released the knob. Her hand had stiffened into a claw and ached to the bone. Massaging her cramped palm and fingers, she stalked into the bedroom, turning off all her electronics. After her tingling fingers drew the curtains closed, she returned to the kitchen for the small scented candle she'd purchased at the store. She snatched it, along with a book of matches from the drawer and went back to her darkened bedroom.

  The silent house watched as she set her pillow on the floor and took a seat. She put her back to the inflatable bed and struck the match to the candlewick. The flicker of the fire illuminated the small room, empty except for her bed and a scattering of fast food bags along the wall.

  She shook out the match, closed her eyes and exhaled, long and slow. Her deep inhale filled her senses with the scent of the lavender candle. Willing herself to be calm, she opened her senses like her father described in his journal.

  She imagined the house she remembered, not the run-down apartments building it was now. Extending her senses beyond her body, she paced through the house with her mind.

  He is here.

  She could feel him in the shadow ahead of her. The heel-toe rap of his boot echoed behind her. Ever elusive. Unreachable. She pictured him, and her memory was so sharp and clear that she winced, but his presence eluded her.

  “Please Merril, come back. Talk to me,” she whispered. But as the afternoon became evening, he never answered. Defeated, she blew out the candle and crawled onto her inflatable bed.

  She stayed in her apartment for the next two days, waiting for his voice. Each time he called to Nicki she would answer, but he never responded. After each failed attempt, she became more convinced that Merril spoke only in her mind.

  She called Dr. Phelps late one night and left a message on his answering machine. She told him about the voice in her head and how it called to her. He hadn't returned her call.

  * * *

  Present-day – Denver, Colorado

  After the visual encounter with Merril's specter, discouragement overwhelmed her. He’d looked right at her and called her name, but never acknowledged her presence. She re-examined her father's journal and decided she was missing one crucial item—a possession of the deceased. She slammed the journal shut and set it on the floor by the bed, elbows on her knees, her head sunk into in her hands.

  An item from a man who’s been dead for a hundred years? No problem.

  In the morning, she opened her eyes, stared at the cracked and peeling plaster on the ceiling, and wondered why she stayed here. Tears seeped from the corner of her eyes, tickling down through her unwashed hair to dampen the pillowcase. She didn't care. She waited without hope for the sound of his voice.

  By slow increments, the room grew silent. Sounds from the street became muted and then disappeared altogether. Into the vacuum of silence, came the hushed tone of Merril's voice. He called to her, searched for her. Was he a voice inside her head, or a specter only she could hear? His boot heels echoed down the hallway and paused near her bed. His presence filled the small apartment, and Courtney choked in grief.

  “Nicki, don't leave me. Please, come back.”

  “You're killing me, Merril,” Courtney whispered as she listened to his voice with a broken heart. She shook her head and muttered, “No—this has to stop.”

  “Nicki... Please...”

  Frustrated, she crawled off the bed. “I'm not Nicki anymore, Merril, I'm Courtney now. Courtney Veau,” she yelled. “I don't know how to reach you. I'm sorry.” She stumbled against the wall as she gained her feet. He seemed so close, so insistent. If she shut her eyes, she could see him standing there, green eyes flashing with impatience. But, he'd been left behind, and she, confused and seeking answers, sat alone in an empty house.

  She'd come in search of a past that was not her own, and now she was trapped in a place she didn't belong. “This is crazy. What's the use?” Even as the words escaped her lips, the voice in her head move
d away and faded down the stairs into the apartments below.

  Courtney wiped the tears from her face. She couldn't think with his voice in her head; she could barely eat. She couldn't communicate with him, and it was torture to hear him call.

  She snatched her bag and key from the floor and fled the apartment. She slammed the warped landing door behind her and hurried down the stairs, desperate for sunlight and fresh air.

  Chapter 4

  Courtney Veau

  Courtney squinted as sunshine and fresh air caressed her face. She fumbled with the key until it slid into the lock. Door secured, she hurried toward the front of the house while tucking the key into her purse, and halted her urgent stride with a startled gasp.

  Dessa stood on the walkway, not a foot from Courtney, blocking her path. “Don't go tellin' me your gonna let some silly ghost scare ya now? That spook never hurt nobody, no sirree. Just raisin' a bit of a fuss today, for sure.” Dessa nodded once, then grinned at Courtney.

  Hand over her pounding heart, Courtney stared open-mouthed at Dessa. “Holy sh—. Dessa! You scared me to death. What? Wait...” She extended her hand and pointed a trembling finger at her apartment. “You... heard that? You can hear him?”

  “'Course I heard him. Think I'm deaf? Probably heard him in heaven itself with all that carryin' on.” Dessa shook her gray head then stepped over to a concrete bench in the weed-filled garden. “Girlie, you want to hear 'bout that ghost, or you just gonna stand there?”

  Courtney didn't respond. She stood rooted to the walkway as her gaze moved from Dessa to her door, and then rose to the darkened windows above.

  “Hey, now, are you all right? Why don't you have a seat before you fall down?” Dessa sat and patted the empty spot beside her.

  “What? I'm sorry. It's just I thought the voices were only in my head.” Courtney spared a glance at Dessa, but her attention drifted back to the upstairs windows.

  Dessa rose with a huff, grasped Courtney's arm with a firm grip and guided her to the bench. “Ain't no voices in your head, 'cept if you been hearin' more than one. Only one poor old soul walks in there.” Dessa waited while Courtney took a seat on the bench and then sat beside her. “That ghost been searchin' this old house for years. Keeps callin' that name, 'Nicki ... Nichole’, like his sad old heart was abreakin'.”

  Courtney felt the blood drain from her face. She cleared her throat then reached out and touched the woman's bone-thin arm. “Dessa, do you know who the ghost is? Do you know his name?”

  Dessa shook her head slowly back and forth and pressed her lips together. “No, I can't tell ya his name.” Her head stilled as her gaze rose to meet Courtney's. A smile creased her face. “But, I could show you his picture.”

  “You ... have a photograph?” Courtney's head spun, and her stomach flipped. She put her hand on the stone bench to stop the tilting sky.

  Dessa chuckled. “Now, don't you go lookin' all green, child. You're just shakin' like a leaf.”

  Courtney gave the old woman an unsteady smile. “I'm all right. I just ... this is ... unexpected.” She paused a moment, took a short breath and then asked, “Would you show me the photo, Dessa?”

  “I don't see why not. It'll take some diggin', mind ya. Last time I saw that old thing, it was packed in some rickety trunk upstairs.” Dessa rose to her feet and nodded her head. “I think it's time. I'll unlock the door and take ya in, but the diggin' part, that's up to you. You're gonna want to watch your step when we get in there. There's things in that attic been there better than a century. Oh, lordy, it's a mess up there.”

  Dessa chuckled and patted at her apron as Courtney followed her up the stairs to her apartment. When they entered the main room, Dessa pointed at Courtney's large flashlight. “Best bring that.” She continued down the hallway and waited at the attic entrance until Courtney joined her. Dessa withdrew the key ring from her apron and inserted one of the keys into the lock. Her gaze held Courtney's as she turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open with an eerie squeal.

  Courtney peered over Dessa’s shoulder into the shadows. Dust motes floated in a dim ray of light from a dirty window near the eaves. A musty smell emanated from the room and wafted past Dessa and into the corridor. Courtney wrinkled her nose and fought the urge to sneeze.

  The landlady paused before she entered and turned toward Courtney. “This picture was shown to me by the woman who lived here before me. Ada Cranz was her name. Never knew how she came across the picture, or how she knew the story behind it.” Dessa turned and mounted the five steps to the storage area. When she reached the top, she stopped and looked around. “Kinda spooky up here, ain't it? Ada thought a witch lived here and used this space for her black magic.” Dessa winked at Courtney before she shuffled forward.

  Courtney climbed the steps and cast a quick look around. The meager light was little better than darkness. Nothing was recognizable. Discarded items were stacked in rows and covered with tarps. The narrow aisles wove through a dust-covered maze in the small room. She took a step forward and kicked something with her foot. It clunked in the shadows and rolled away.

  Dessa spoke as though Courtney stood behind her.

  Courtney shuffled closer, one hand outstretched in the semi-darkness, to hear the rest of the tale.

  “... so, I asked Ada why she thought that ghost been hauntin' this house for such a spell. Well, Ada tells me it's because his lover left him real unexpected like. Caused this poor fella to go sort of insane. He swore up and down that he'd find her, even if he had to search the rest of time.” Dessa stopped and turned to Courtney. “Can't say as I believe Ada's story. She was always sayin' somethin' silly and romantic like that. Now me, I figure that ghost fella got hisself murdered. Maybe by that Nichole gal he keeps lookin' for. Revenge, that's a good hauntin' reason if I ever heard o' one.” Dessa paused and smiled up at Courtney in the half-light. “Ada's story got ya all choked up, ain’t it? Guess it was kind of touchin', at that.”

  Courtney no longer saw Dessa. Her sight had turned inward. “He'd search for the wind...” she murmured to herself. Dessa's story brought a flood of new memories. She and Merril had sought shelter in an Indian encampment. So many things were revealed that night, if only she had understood. Courtney gasped at the firm tug on her arm.

  “You okay, child? Off woolgathering, I guess. Well, Ada told the story better than I do, I s'pose.”

  “What? Oh, I'm sorry. He must have loved her very much to search for so long.” Courtney blinked, and a tear slid down her face.

  “Reckon so. Yep, reckon so. Well, if you're ready you can pick a pile and dig in. We'll see if we can find that picture for ya. Why don't you turn on your fancy light there?” Dessa suggested, then bobbed away around the end of a covered pile and proceeded to the far side of the room.

  Courtney raised her hand and brushed the tears from her face with her fingertips. Tears wouldn't change things, and she was weary of tears. She turned on the flashlight and waved it around the attic. Shadows danced back and forth, sending the room into motion. She directed the beam toward the dirty floor, reached down and lifted the edge of the tarp. She worked her way down the aisle but found nothing that looked like a trunk.

  Dessa stood at one end of the room and waited while Courtney pawed through cobwebs and skirted an old baby carriage, looking underneath tarps and sneezing. When Courtney stopped beside her, Dessa pointed at the trunks stacked along the wall beneath the eaves.

  “Here they are. Hope you're not afraid of gettin' a bit dusty. That picture's in one of these cases—I just can't recall which one. It's no matter. Pick one for yourself and dig in.” Dessa made an oval shape with her hands, about eight inches wide and six inches tall. “As I recall, the frame was about yea big.” She pointed to a trunk on the other side of the room. “You should start with the one on top, over there in the corner.”

  “This is a ton of luggage.” Courtney aimed the light down the wall. Baggage filled the length of the room, stacked four high in pl
aces.

  We could search for a month and never find a thing.

  She stiffened her resolve and strode to the trunk Dessa had indicated. Adjusting the flashlight beam, she set her light on a nearby box and turned her attention to a small travel trunk on top of the corner pile. Time and moisture had rusted the metal latch tightly, and the catch defied her efforts to open it.

  “I need something to pop this open.” Courtney cast a quick glance around, but nothing suiting her purpose was within easy reach.

  “Havin' trouble there, young’un?” Dessa pulled a handkerchief from her apron, waved it in the dusty air and caused more dust to swirl around their heads. In the half-light, Dessa's face appeared gray as she peered past Courtney's shoulder at the metal-banded trunk.

  “The latch is stuck.” Courtney hit the metal with the side of her fist. “Do you see anything we could use to pry it open?”

  “Whoa, there, child. This here's private property. We don't want to go smashin' up Mr. Hawthorn's fine trunk now, do we?” Dessa chuckled. “We'll just have to take a look-see. Could be that picture is in one of these other boxes. Might be no need to take apart that one you got there. I think we should just let that one be.”

  Courtney examined the nameplate above the latch. She could almost decipher the engraved initials where her hand had smudged away the dirt and grime.

  This is the one.

  She rubbed the heel of her hand against the tarnished metal several times. Excitement coursed through her as she looked closer at the nameplate.

  “What on earth are you doin' child?”

  “There are initials here. I want to see what they are.”

  “We gonna be here all day if you take a notion to clean this place up. We won't ever find that picture. Here.” Contrary to her words, Dessa handed Courtney her handkerchief.

  “Thanks.” Courtney took the cloth and rubbed at the initial plate above the clasp. Already certain what the letters were, she wanted to see it with her own eyes. She pulled her head back to let the light shine on the metal plate. Time had blackened the metal, but the letters were clear—N. H.