Messenger Between Worlds

by Kristy Robinett

  Sparks flew, even though it was a peck.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him that night, and before bed I received an email from him that spelled out exactly how I was also feeling. It was love at first sight and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  The next weekend he asked if he could take me out on another date since the kids were with their dad, and I agreed. Though I was humiliated with where I was living, I offered my address.

  “Ackley?” he said with a stunned tone to his voice.

  Great, he thinks that I am living in the hood and will retract the date.

  “I lived on Ackley about fifteen years ago. Wow, I can’t believe you live on Ackley!”

  The coincidences, or synchronicities as I would much rather consider them, didn’t end there. That weekend he went to the basement with me to feed my rabbit, Ginger. I had most of my prized possessions in storage there and one such love was a painting that depicted a little girl standing in the corner, a dog next to her side. Once again he blanched.

  “My entire family has that print. My mom has hers hanging in her living room.”

  Concerts, music, friends, past vacation places, and even our kids’ first-name initials were in sync. I had a Micaela and Connor; he had a Molly and Cora. Micaela was born in August, as was Molly. My first marriage and his past marriage ended similarly. We shared the same hurt, the same concerns, and the same dreams. We instantly fell into a comfortable and loving relationship. Although I was incredibly happy and the kids loved Chuck and his girls, many people were unhappy with the situation, including my coworkers, my parents, and my brother. It was just too soon, they would tell me. Or, they would joke about me being Elizabeth Taylor and wondered how many last names I might end up with. I became worried that perhaps I was as blinded as I was with Jason, but this felt better than any other relationship had, and they weren’t living it—I was!

  We celebrated our first Christmas together and I was absolutely giddy. My mom commented that she had never heard me laugh so much, that even though she couldn’t see, she could feel me glowing. But her antennaes were up, and she was worried. Plus, my brother was feeding her all kinds of concerns like Chuck was too old for me or he didn’t make enough money. “Chuck Chuck,” he would joke whenever he could. I just smirked and bit my tongue.

  Our relationship continued to flourish. I purchased a small ranch home, and without me even recognizing it, he slowly began to move in. I was balancing opening night of the play, doing readings at the center, working forty hours at my real job, and being a mom. And then I received the call.

  My mom had a heart attack and was placed in the intensive care unit. My brother pulled me aside and again started with the “Chuck Chuck.” I burst into tears.

  “How dare you prejudge,” I yelled and ran out of my mom’s room and out of the hospital. I was so exhausted at everybody telling me what to do that my spine was slowly beginning to strengthen. The fight between my brother and me lasted just a day, because that night I received the call that my dad had a heart attack. Rushing to the hospital, I was filled with so much emotion and fear that I might lose both parents. The doctor told us that Dad needed a new stent put in, and he was placed just a few rooms from Mom. She rolled her eyes and said that it was just like him to try to steal her thunder. Although Dad’s prognosis was good, Mom’s was not. They sent her home anyhow—to await death.

  [contents]

  twenty

  Messenger of Death

  The attempted kidnapping back when I was seven years of age had haunted me for more than twenty years, and I had stayed up to date on all the news stories about “The Oakland County killer,” who has to this date never been caught.

  I was working my dream job (at the time) in the human resources department of a prestigious school district and was sent out to a weeklong conference on safety at Michigan State University in Lansing, Michigan, about an hour away from my home. The long hours and group participation lent to bonding with the other attendees, and we would go out for dinner and just hang out and talk in one another’s rooms, studying for the test at the end of the week. One of the participants was a police officer and somehow, I shared with him my story about the spoiled kidnapping attempt, along with my gift of being an intuitive. He worked for a department that was investigating the two-decade-old case, although he was not personally involved. After saying our goodbyes at the end of the week, he took my business card, and we stayed in contact. When he was stuck on a case that involved corporate espionage, he called me. I asked if I could take a crack at it and offer him information. He took me up on it and I gave him all the messages that I received. It turned out that everything I told him was correct and the information that the spirit world offered me helped to lead them in a different direction, which led to an arrest. It didn’t take long for word to spread that I was the new medium in town, which also meant that I was being inundated with police cases—with many requests coming directly from the victims’ families, not from law enforcement. I, however, decided that I would only work with law enforcement or with police approval. That was until I began to receive phone calls from random police departments all over the United States asking for my assistance with psychic detective work. I never really knew how it started, but I knew who, and although I don’t believe in coincidences, the randomness of the contact was welcome and fed into my passion for helping others. I thought perhaps I’d been put into that situation when I was seven so that I could help law enforcement, and possibly even prevent a tragedy. There were several that came and went. Some police agencies helped me with feedback and validations, others simply took down my psychic profile of the situation and thanked me for my time, never calling to mention the outcome. Each case pulled at my heart strings, and still does. I even had to turn down some cases just because I was already pulled in so many directions, and I wasn’t receiving a paycheck from any of the departments. Honestly, how do you explain to the taxpayers that there is a psychic on the payroll? I almost became obsessed with the cases to the point that it was interfering with my real job. And the case of Jessi was no different.

  The cell phone chimed as I sat at my desk. The glares from my coworkers were obvious. Cell phones were a no-no in my office. I quickly glanced down at the screen and answered it.

  “Kristy, I need your help,” Paul begged.

  Paul was a no-nonsense detective. He was a devoted Catholic, a father of several children, and a guy who hated to have cold cases. I had worked with him on a couple cases for the past couple months, but there was one that had gone cold and it was haunting him.

  “Hold on a second,” I answered back. “I’m going to take a break right now,” I told the receptionist. “I’ll be right back.”

  I snuck into the break room, plopped on the couch, and unmuted the caller.

  “Paul, what’s up?” I asked. I felt like one of Charlie’s Angels every time I heard his voice, my heart beating quickly.

  “We arrested someone and I need you to take a look at his photo to tell me what you get. You call that a vibe, right?”

  “Uh, sort of. I would call it a feeling or an intuitive hit,” I answered, feeling a bit uneasy. I never had an easy time explaining exactly how I received the messages. “I’m at work right now, but you can send it to my email. Can I call you when I get off of work?”

  “That will be fine. You know you can call me anytime.”

  The phone clicked dead. Paul never said goodbye.

  I was excited as I went back to my desk. This wasn’t my first rodeo. But that happy feeling soon left as soon as I sat down in my gray computer chair.

  “The boss wants to see you in his office.”

  My boss had been a principal and talking to him always made me feel as if I was a kid. It was never good to be called into his office. I closed my eyes, said a quick prayer, and knocked on his door.

  “Come in. And close the door behi
nd you.”

  I did as instructed and stood in front of his desk. Never good with eye contact, he continued plucking at the keyboard as he lectured.

  “Your cell phone rang again.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” I started to explain, but was immediately cut off.

  “You know the rules.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, bowing my head.

  “Sit down, Kristy.”

  I did so on command, knowing that I was in trouble.

  “I did a search of your computer, and I don’t know what you’re involved in, Kristy, but I want it to stop. Now.”

  I was stunned. I felt exposed. I felt violated. I never improperly used the work computer. I was a rules girl, after all. I only used my computer during breaks or at lunchtime, so I was sick that he ran a scan of my computer. So did he know? Or was he making assumptions? What exactly did he know?

  “You can go now, Kristy.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes as I sat down at my desk to finish my day. The adrenaline that I felt from the call from Paul was all but forgotten, and I felt exposed and raw. I had a workers’ compensation report to prepare for the board of education.

  Five o’clock finally came, and I wasn’t even in my car before the cell phone rang. The persistent detective again.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “The boss chewed me out and I wasn’t able to look. I’m sorry, Paul. I’m on my way home and will take a look-see. Call you tomorrow?”

  “No, call me anytime tonight. Even if it’s midnight. You can always call me, Kristy.”

  Click.

  The crappy day faded, and I was on a mission once more.

  After feeding the family and pets, watering the plants, and changing into some comfortable sweats, I sat down at the laptop and opened my email box. Junk, more junk, spam mail, an overdue bill, and finally Paul’s email. Again, there were no frills—only a picture and the police record of a potential killer.

  As I reviewed the information, I realized that this was what I loved doing. It wasn’t data entry, or state reports, or payroll. The meeting in my boss’s office had made me realize that, although the job served its purpose at the time, it was also time to serve a purpose. I had to make a change, but how and when I wasn’t sure.

  “Can you meet with me this weekend, Kristy? We need to find this girl.”

  “I don’t know.” I hesitated. “My mom’s pretty sick, Paul.”

  “For just one day. Please.”

  I knew that if Paul was asking politely, he truly needed my assistance. He had been with the department for over twenty years and, although on the outside he looked just as tough as he sounded, his soul was soft and loving.

  “Yep, see you Saturday.”

  A photograph of a pretty twenty-something girl with long brown hair and brown eyes sat in front of me on the gray conference table. Although the photograph was taken in happier times, noted by her smile and her sparkling eyes, it lacked life. She had gotten herself into some trouble, into a bad crowd, and it had become her demise. I tried to see if my spirit guides could find her on the Other Side, but they shook their heads. She hadn’t crossed over. Her physical body still needed to be found in order for her to have closure. I put my head in my hands and shook my head, tears streaming down my face. I was afraid to look at anybody. Being the bearer of bad news was just one of the crappy parts of my job, a job that I wasn’t even getting paid to do. But Jessi’s family was just outside Paul’s office door, and I was going to have to face them.

  “So you think she’s dead?” Paul asked, looking down at his cell phone. His office was in the basement of an old building, in an old town. His office light flickered. “Just a train going by,” he explained without emotion.

  “She’s definitely not living, Paul.”

  “Kristy, can you start from the beginning? This time, I’ll tape it.”

  I nodded as Paul grabbed his tape recorder, popping in a tape and hitting record. “Just take it slowly,” he said softly.

  “It was Tuesday night and I had just gotten the kids to bed and laid down myself. I have been having problems at work and was overly stressed out, so I thought that I would flip channels … ”

  “Kristy, do you do drugs, take medication, or drink?” the detective interrupted, scribbling on his yellow legal pad.

  I grinned. This was the typical cop question, and I didn’t blame them. I was cleaner than a whistle and politely answered his questions. I didn’t like to drink and it was rare for me to even take a sip of wine. Drugs? I had never even smoked a cigarette and taking drugs was unthinkable. I joked that I didn’t need spirits to see spirits, and I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I took drugs.

  “I just had to check,” the detective solemnly replied. “Keep going.”

  I nodded and continued. “After turning on the television, it was mere minutes before I fell asleep, but was quickly awakened by someone shaking my right shoulder. I assumed that it was one of the kids, so I peeked. Instead of my kids, there was a girl in her early twenties standing over my bedside, looking frightened.”

  “How did you know that it was a ghost and not really her?”

  “To me, spirits look different than the living. They look … grayer. And depending upon the way they died, they take on a different shade of gray or white,” I tried to explain, but felt as if I was rambling.

  Paul nodded, although I could tell he was still confused. I took a cleansing breath, in through my nose and out from my mouth, and continued. “Even though I’ve seen spirits since I was a little girl, I still get startled. I pushed myself up in the bed and grabbed my notebook and pen that I always keep on the nightstand. I went through my usual questioning, asking her name, who she was, what she wanted, how I could help her, etc. She told me that her name was Jessi and … ” I began to choke up. I looked at Paul, who could tell that I was having a hard time. Death, no matter whose it is, isn’t an easy topic, and feeling like the messenger of death … well, sometimes it was too much to handle.

  “Kristy, why don’t you instead write out a statement?”

  “Absolutely,” I answered, relieved. “I would also like to draw you a map to the location where I believe she is, but I must forewarn you—I’m not a great artist and it will be quite rough.”

  After forty-five minutes, I had completed my assignments and was placed in the passenger seat of the undercover

  police car on my way to a location that resembled my chicken scratch. I had seen gory ghosts, individuals who had died in a way that no human being should. They’ve stood over my bed looking like something out of a horror film. Arm missing, blood everywhere, eye gouged. I had also seen horrible pictures from the coroner and dead bodies, but it still didn’t get any easier, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle standing graveside as an innocent person was dug up from the earth.

  As we rounded the entrance to the park, Paul’s cell phone rang. I didn’t even have to hear the words he spoke; his eyes told it all. Jessi’s body was found lying in a field next to an old metal garage. He snapped his phone shut, quietly nodded, and turned the car around, driving me back to his office.

  “Now,” Paul said, “we find the killer.”

  All I could do was nod and pray that Jessi could finally cross over to the Other Side and find some sort of peace.

  Monday morning I came back to work, happy that I helped put Jessi to rest, but sad that there are so many monsters that have no consideration for human life. My coworkers could never figure out why I got so exhausted on weekends. Working police cases became an exhilarating part of my life. My vacation time from work was spent looking for dead bodies and touring the United States trying to be the crime solver, only I am well aware of who the heroes actually are—the detectives. Nope, psychics or mediums don’t solve cases, the police do. In my stack of papers on my desk was a probation notice from m
y boss that I needed to sign. I was going to have to figure out soon what I wanted to do, and figure it out fast.

  Jessi still visits me from time to time, deep in the night, and I continue to stay in contact with her family, as I do with most all of my clients from police cases.

  There are some jobs that you can leave at the office. This is one job that follows me through my nightmares.

  [contents]

  twenty-one

  Voices

  Dating someone with kids and having to explain what I did was interesting. Thankfully, the kids were intrigued, not appalled. Chuck and I often spent our Friday evenings ghost hunting and researching haunted locations. When he and his girls invited Connor, Micaela, and me to Minnesota for a week on their family’s farm to visit, we were excited. We all needed a break and thought it would be interesting to see how our families handled a twelve-hour trip to Minnesota. And I’d get a chance to meet Uncle Bob and Aunt Kathy. The girls were most excited to show me the haunted home that the family owned.

  “But I heard them with my own ears!! There were children upstairs in the bedroom. I heard them calling to me, Bob! They must have jumped out the window because I couldn’t find them when I went to look for them. Are they here?” The agitated elderly lady looked up at her middle-aged son, anxiously wringing her hands in worry.

  “No, Mom, they’re not here,” Bob said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “There are no children. Let me drive you back home so that we can all get some sleep. It’s late. We’ll discuss this more in the morning over coffee.”

  Slipping his brown loafers on his feet and tying his robe tighter around his robust belly, he gently took his mother’s elbow and guided her out the door toward the car.

  The almost full moon hovered in the velvet canvas of stars, cascading light upon the Minnesota farmland. To the south, soft waves crashed upon the shore of Lobster Lake.

  “I’m telling you that I heard them. I was not dreaming. I was wide awake. They were giggling and whispering. Oh my, what if they’re by the lake or lost in the cornfields? Bob, we have to go look for them!”