"Have you two been fishing lately?" Sara asked.
"Fishing? Didn't Dad tell us we couldn’t go back to the canal?" Mira answered plainly.
Sara stood on the opposite side of the counter looking at her children suspiciously.
"Mom, are you sure you're smelling right?" Wade asked. "You had meat in that cooler that you took over to your friend's house just last week."
"Not fish… but I guess I might not have killed the scent properly while washing it. You sure you kids haven't been to that canal lately though? You know if your dad found out you did, you'd get a good butt whipping this time. It's really dangerous out there," Sara said with a hand on her side.
"We know, Mom," Mira replied. "We won't take a chance getting on Dad's wrong side."
While Sara took the cooler over to the sink to wash, Mira nudged Wade to follow her outside.
"Just going in the yard, Mom," Mira said on their way out.
"Okay, kids. Just come back soon to wash up for dinner."
"Okay, Mom," Wade replied.
"You idiot! You didn't wash out the cooler?" Mira charged as they walked around the side of the house.
"I gave it a little rinse. I didn't know she'd smell fish whenever she went to use it," Wade returned.
Mira shook her head hopelessly. She was beginning to really wonder if her brother had a functioning brain upstairs or if it happened to be positioned in the wrong place—short-circuiting whenever he sat down. "You know you should use bleach to kill the scent, Wade. I don't know what's wrong with you! You could've gotten us into trouble!"
"Well, you could have cleaned it, Einstein. I cleaned, seasoned and fried the fish without your help yesterday and you have the nerve to complain about me not washing the cooler too? You're just a selfish moron who like to whine all the time and not help out like you should. I'm going back inside. Stay out here by yourself!"
Wade stormed off and left Mira standing several feet away from where they had fried the fish. She was suddenly feeling that, in a way, Wade might be right. She really wasn't much help the other day. He had done everything—even happened to catch the fish."
"Wade…" Mira called out to him just before he turned the bend towards the kitchen door, "…I'm sorry."
At dinner that evening, it was the usual routine between Mira and Wade's parents. Michael, detached as usual, focused on eating his meal—managing to get in a few 'uh… huhs'—while Sara constantly talked. At one point, Mira rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust.
"We're all done. The food was great, Mom. Can we go now?" Mira asked anxiously.
"You two can leave…" Michael responded evenly.
"You coming?" Mira looked at Wade.
He got up and they both retreated to Mira's room and closed the door behind them.
For a few moments, Sara tapped lightly on the table.
"Do you mind not doing that?" Michael asked sharply.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't realize it was bothering you." She placed her elbow on the table and hand against her cheek. "Are we in trouble, Mike?"
The question startled her husband, but he continued to eat. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Marital trouble… relationship trouble," Sara replied.
"Why do you ask that?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "I guess I felt it for a long time, but just didn’t bother to say anything. You seem so disconnected from all of us and for quite a while now. You weren't always like this Michael. You're not happy being with me anymore?"
Michael paused for a moment and looked at her. "For me, marriage isn't about being happy."
"It's not?" Sara was surprised by his answer.
"It's not." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "It's about honoring the commitment I made to you by providing a good home for you and my children, a good education for them, and everything else you all would possibly need. As a man, I'd like to think I've done that."
"You have done that, honey… and still doing it. You're a wonderful husband and father and I would never want to be with anyone else."
"So, it's not about being happy," Michael continued. "It's about being responsible—about each of us doing our part to keep this family going in the right direction."
"Do you think I've been doing my part?" Sara asked, still madly in love with the man after so many years.
"I can't complain," Michael answered apathetically.
"I just think that we're not where we used to be as a couple, Mike. We used to sit and talk for hours and really plug in to each other. Now it's different. You barely speak to me and I keep trying so hard to reconnect with you, but it seems like nothing I'm doing is working."
"You talk enough for both of us," Michael cracked a smile.
"I'm not joking, Michael. Did you ever think that maybe the reason I talk so much is because I'm trying desperately to get you to engage in conversation with me?"
"You were always a talker, Sara. I met you like that. Besides, how do you expect me to engage if you're always running your mouth?!"
The sarcastic nature of his reply in the face of the out-pouring of her heart to him stung Sara like a bee. She got up, picked up their plates and went into the kitchen. Standing at the sink, she struggled to fight back the tears. A few, however, managed to escape down her chin as she still felt the coldness in Michael's words and the feeling that deep inside, he knew he was no longer in love with her. She listened as he backed out his chair, got up and walked toward their bedroom. Seconds later, she heard the door close and at that moment, she could no longer restrain the tears. She stood alone with an overwhelming sadness and a sense that she was slowly losing control of her life by no longer feeling or sensing Michael's love.
That night, after crawling into bed, Mira switched off the stubby, pink lamp on her nightstand. She and Wade had been watching television together for hours before she got sleepy and chased him out of her room. Their parents had retired to bed already and the house was quiet and still.
Lying in darkness as she started to drift off to sleep, Mira heard a loud whisper nearby: "Have… you… seen… him?"
Startled, she quickly reached over and switched on the lamp.
"Have… you… seen… him?" repeated the ghastly entity that was standing at the side of her bed.
Mira screamed at the top of her lungs and ran out of the room.
"Mom! Dad!" She barged into her parents' bedroom switching on the light. "Someone's in my room!"
"What?!" Michael got up quickly, retrieving the bat he had always kept next to his bed. "You two stay here."
Sara held Mira firmly as Michael left the room.
He carefully advanced towards Mira's bedroom. At the entrance, he felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Walking inside with his wooden weapon held ready to strike, Michael proceeded over to the closet area. Using the bat to sift through the clothing, he saw - no one. Bending down at the foot of the bed and looking under, he saw - nothing. He checked the window; it was locked. Immediately thinking of Wade, he hurried across the hallway to the boy's room, did a thorough check, and again, no one was anywhere in sight.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Wade asked sleepily.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep," Michael replied, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.
He went to check the remainder of the house, including the doors which he discovered were all still locked from the inside. By the time he headed back to his bedroom, Mira and Sara were waiting in the doorway.
"No one's out there," Michael said.
"But I saw a woman!" Mira insisted. "She was standing right next to my bed!"
"A woman?" Sara's expression was one of shock.
"Yes—a black woman wearing a long, white dress. It was all covered in blood. I saw her yesterday… at the Ferguson house."
"Where?" Michael asked.
"The Ferguson house. Wade and I went over there to pick dillies and we walked a little further up the trail and saw the house."
"You mean Cornelius'
s house?" Michael probed.
"Cornelius? Who's Cornelius?" Mira was puzzled.
"Come," Michael took her hand with a slight sense of urgency. They sat down together on the bed while Sara remained near the doorway.
"I don't want you or your brother going back to that house," Michael's expression left no doubt about the gravity of the matter.
"Okay," Mira answered sheepishly.
"Why not, Dad?" Wade walked inside the room rubbing his eyes.
"Because I said so!"
"Don't you think you should explain to them why?" Sara asked, moving in closer as Wade sat down on the bed.
Michael was silent for a few moments, then releasing a heavy sigh he said: "Cornelius Ferguson was the owner of that house. He passed away many, many years ago—long before your mother and I were even born." He glanced at Sara, then shifted back between the children. "It's been rumored that since his death, over the years several families lived inside that house and every one of them experienced something out of the ordinary that caused them to abruptly pack up and leave. They say that none of the families that moved in since Cornelius died remained there for more than just a couple of months. The house has now been vacant for many years because of all the stories; no one has since been brave enough to buy the place."
"Have you ever been there, Dad?" Wade asked curiously.
"One time ago, when your mom and I first moved into the neighborhood, after hearing the stories, I decided to take a little stroll through the property. I guess I'd say I walked a good distance in before I spotted the house due to the land being so large and overgrown with all those tall trees and bushes, but I never went inside."
"Why not?" Mira asked.
"I don't know." Michael shrugged. "I just didn't have a good feeling about it."
Wade and Mira were completely engrossed in the tale their father was sharing.
"So, that's why I don’t want you two going anywhere near that house anymore," Michael continued.
"We can't pick anymore dillies and stuff?" Wade asked, disappointed. "The ones we get are right near the edge of the property."
Michael thought for a moment. "Okay… but don't go any further."
"Yes Dad," Wade replied.
"So, you're okay now, honey?" Sara asked Mira.
"I guess. But can I sleep in here with you tonight?" Mira was hopeful.
"You can sleep in my room," Wade said. "Let's go."
Mira got up, kissed her father and mother, then followed Wade to his room.
4
_________________
"How are we this morning, Mister Sherlong?" Sara Cullen asked cheerfully, as she entered the patient's private room.
"We are doing just fine, Freedom Queen," the sixty-five-year-old heart attack survivor affectionately responded. It was a nick-name he had pasted upon Sara the first time she walked in to check on him. Johnny Sherlong was a short man with a large, round belly. He stood at five feet, three inches tall, had balding white hair, an out-of-control moustache and prickly beard. He always wore a white, sleeveless shirt and couldn't seem to feel cold air no matter how cold the temperature got.
"I see you haven't eaten much of your breakfast," Sara said, eyeing the items on the gray tray next to his bed.
"I don't like hospital food. The taste'll kill ya before your heart does," Sherlong replied.
Sara started laughing, simultaneously checking his file she had brought with her. "You must eat, Mister Sherlong. Think of it as fuel to keep up your strength. You do want to get better soon… don't you?"
"Yeah. You're right. How about you come a little closer so I can gather my strength?" He devilishly proposed.
"Oh, Mister Sherlong… Mrs. Sherlong needs to keep a tight leash on you." Sara tucked his pillow. "I bet no heart attack is going to keep you in line after you get out of here."
"How do you know so good, queen? This old stud ain't slowin' down for nobody. When I kick the bucket, I'm gonna go out punchin'… if you know what I mean," he winked.
Sara shook her head and picked up the tray. "I'm coming back to check on you later, okay?"
"Why can't you be my regular nurse?" Sherlong asked, rather peeved.
"Because Jennifer and the others are doing just fine taking care of your every need throughout the day. That's why."
"Not every need," the old man returned, slyly.
"You're right… just the ones that apply to why you're here," Sara said before leaving.
"Sherlong still cutting up with you?" Beverley started walking alongside Sara in the corridor.
"He wouldn't give it a rest," Sara replied.
"His wife's got a real player on her hands there. No wonder the guy had a heart attack; he's trying to keep up with all you young things."
Sara was a few months shy of forty and Beverley was twelve years older than she was. Beverley was tall, lanky, and always wore a shoulder-length, brown wig at work. The reason she gave Sara was that it was easier to throw on than trying to tame her own hair.
"Will you need a lift after work today?" Sara asked.
"Car's not fixed yet, so yeah. Thanks, girl. Good thing I'm working your shift this week. Yours is the only one around here that doesn't change. You're so lucky."
"See you at four," Sara smiled before they parted ways.
"Hey Gwen…" Sara stopped outside the open door of the administrator's office. Gwen Dames appeared to be buried in paperwork before she looked up at her friend.
"Hey There! Come in. What's going on?" She was always delighted to see her favorite nurse.
Sara advanced a few feet inside the room. "I was wondering if I can take about two hours lunch today. Have somewhere I need to go. I can get in here an hour earlier in the morning to make up the time."
"Oh, sure. No problem, Sara," Gwen waved a hand. "How's everything going, by the way?"
"Great. Everything's great," Sara answered.
"How are the kids… and Michael?"
"They're all fine. The kids, of course, are glad to be home doing—God knows what—during their summer break, and Michael… he's fine," Sara said, unsure of what else to say.
"Okay. Well, that's nice," Gwen started fixing the papers on her desk. "Cora Brooks can handle things until you get back."
"Thanks, Gwen. I really appreciate it," Sara smiled.
Gwen Dames knew Sara well enough to know that she was probably lying about how things really were at home, particularly between her and Michael. She could never forget the day she found Sara in the restroom sobbing her eyes out and only admitting—after breaking down even further—that Michael had mistreated her in some way. From that day on, Gwen never liked Michael, but respected the couple's privacy and never brought up the matter to Sara again.
* * * *
At 1:15pm, Sara pulled into the parking lot of the Gaming Board. In her white nurse's uniform, her purse tossed across a shoulder and keys dangling in her hand, she walked inside the building.
"Hi. I'm wondering if my husband, Michael Cullen is here," she said to the young, slender brunette who was primly seated at the reception desk. Sara knew that Michael rarely ever left the premises for lunch.
"Hello, Mrs. Cullen. Just give me a moment to find out for you." She picked up the telephone and moments later, inquired of the person on the other line of Michael's whereabouts.
"He's in the cafeteria having lunch," the lady said to Sara while hanging up the receiver. "It's on the…"
"Fourth floor. I know. Thanks," Sara smiled.
She took the elevator and did a final fixing of her hair before stepping out onto the fourth floor.
The cafeteria was a large open area that practically took up the entire floor. People were either in line waiting for food or sitting at tables having lunch. In the far left corner of the room, she spotted Michael. He was sitting with a young lady.
Sara walked up to them as Michael was speaking with his companion. "Hi," she said, looking at both of them.
Michael looked up, visibly shocked to
see Sara standing there. "Oh, hi," he said. "Ah… Sara, this is Hollie. Hollie, this is my wife, Sara."
"Nice to meet you," Hollie said to Sara in a pleasant tone."
"Hi."
"Well, come join us," Michael said to his wife, who for a brief moment was feeling a bit awkward.
"What brings you here?" He asked after Sara sat down; Hollie listening intently for her reply.
"I just thought I'd pop by so that we can have lunch together," Sara said softly. "I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, what a pleasant surprise." Michael tried his best to sound like he meant it.
"I'll go to another table and leave you two to it," Hollie started to get up with her tray.
"No…you don't have to go. I met you here," Sara said.
"You really don't have to," Michael reiterated.
"Are you sure?" Hollie asked, looking at both of them.
"Sure. We're sure," Michael responded, Sara observing.
Hollie sat down again.
"Would you like for me to get you something to eat, honey?" Michael asked his wife.
Honey? Sara was surprised. He never called her that. "What do they have?" She asked.
"They've got great pasta, baked chicken, cabbage slaw - the works," Hollie interjected. "Why don't you and I go up there and you can see for yourself."
"Oh, okay," Sara was grateful for Hollie's kind gesture and the ladies got up and headed to the short line several feet away.
As they engaged in conversation at the lunch counter, Michael sat at the table alone, quietly fuming. How dare she just pop up on me like that? He thought. How stupid! I could've been off the premises attending a meeting or conference, and she would've wasted time and fuel coming all the way over here instead of calling me in advance. Nevertheless, in spite of how he really felt, Michael knew that he had to keep his feelings in check. He wasn't going to risk coming off as a jerk, especially in front of Hollie.
"So, how long have you been working here at the Board?" Sara asked Hollie as she placed a bowl of salad on her tray.
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 3