Chapter 6
Gail lay in bed listening to the soft creaks and pops of an old house while thinking and trying to sort through what was happening. She was three hundred miles from home, sleeping under the same roof with a man she barely knew and wide-awake at two in the morning trying to figure it all out. What had brought her here to this moment?
It started with a nickel she bumped while paying for a pizza delivery. The sensations and images she’d received from the coin were confusing until she realized they involved Chuck and his home in Georgia. So how had fate put something together so nicely, something that brought her to the edge of Whispering Pines, something that had shoved her closer to Chuck in a way that felt odd and out of place in her life? Was she falling in love? No matter, the nickel had been the start of everything but where was it taking her and how much further did she have to go?
“Aunt Claudia? Are we there yet? How much further is it to the ocean?” the child asked from the back seat of the 1951 Chevy.”
Gail sat up in bed, startled by the sound of the voice so strong in her mind. It was coming from another place. It was coming from another time and era. She was sitting in bed yet feeling the motion of the car as it moved along the highway. She could smell the salty air and hear the wind blowing through the open car windows. Then something shifted, the emotions and sensations grew stronger and called out, beckoning her to come along. It wasn’t demanding or forceful, it was playful, like a child, and wanted Gail to join in and have fun. It was asking permission to take her along, deeper inside the vision.
Gail felt no fear only comfort from the sensations. She felt childish joy that Aunt Claudia was taking her to the seashore, to Tybee Island, for a day of swimming and fun.
Gail moved closer to the images and suddenly she stood on the beach of Georgia, facing the blue green waters of the Atlantic Ocean. She could feel the water on her feet and the wet sand between her toes. It was foamy water about ankle deep, lapping at her feet. The sand between her toes and under her feet was oozing in and out with the motion of the water. It tickled, felt good, so she wiggled her toes in it. When she looked up at the towering horizon before her, she could see white capped waves and seagulls flying above them. Then she saw something floating toward her, a small raft or piece of boat, and lying on top there was a body, a man, fully dressed, arms and feet tied with rope. It was Matt Veal. She recognized him from pictures around the house.
“He’s okay,” the voice cried from behind her. “ Now come and play with us, Gail. Let’s build a lake and drown the trees.”“
Gail gasped aloud and the images faded. None of her visions before had called her name and never before had she sensed an effort from someone from the past, to reach her in the present. She was startled but determined to go back and understand all she was seeing. The images were confusing but not threatening. “…Come play with us, Gail.”
“Okay,” she thought. “Take me with you” and just that quickly, she was back at the beach, watching that which had already passed warning her about that which was moving toward her from the future. She spent the rest of that night playing in the warm sunshine and sand of the coastal beach of Georgia. She and the two boys, building sand castles until the rising tides to washed them away. Then she realized how much, how deeply she loved one of the boys, and it was right somehow, safe, to do so.
When the sun was all but gone for the day, the children cried to Aunt Claudia, “Do we have to go right now? Can’t we stay just a little longer?”
In the blink of an eye, Gail was back in bed, fully awake and anxious to get the day started. Her watch read six-fifteen. A hint of daylight shone outside the bedroom window, which meant her vision of the night, the longest she had ever experienced, had lasted for over three hours. The bathroom shower running replaced the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and she sat up in bed. Chuck was already awake and taking a shower.
Tossing the bed sheets aside, she looked down at her bare feet and there was wet beach sand around her toes and ankles.
Chuck stood in the shower thinking about the day ahead. He had awakened just before six with a dull throb in the back of his neck. The armrest on the couch made a lousy pillow. The night before Gail had asked, “Don’t you want a pillow?”
"No. This is fine. I’ll sleep like a baby right here.”
The hot water felt good on his face and body. There was no chlorine odor coming from it because the source was a deep well behind the house, pure and unspoiled. He seldom noticed such things until he got use to the treated water coming from the pipes of Gastonia.
He cut the water and climbed out, dried off, shaved, brushed his teeth, and then got dressed.
A short time later he was at the kitchen table sipping coffee when Gail appeared looking politely sleep ruffled but still extraordinary. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”
“Gail smiled. “ It wasn’t bad I just need more of it. What about you?”
“I slept like a baby,” he pointed at the coffee pot. “Like a baby with colic and a dirty diaper. There’s coffee over there and it’s hot, black, and mean.”
Gail filled her cup, held the pot up to see if Chuck wanted a refill, then whimpered, “God, is it six-thirty in the morning? I need to run outside and shake the trees.”
“Why? Is it good exercise?”
“I don’t know but if I have to be awake at this ungodly hour, then I’m not going to let the birds sleep.”
There was something different about her this morning, something more relaxed, more positive. “Well, Gail, six in the morning isn’t considered uncivilized for this neck of the woods.”
“I know. My Uncle with the Dairy farm got up every morning at four but I was never able to get into that rhythm, let alone get used to the crowing rooster at sunrise. If I owned a farm like that today I’d get the rooster to send emails or something.”
Chuck smiled then shifted gears. “Listen. Blake and I are going to Matt’s office first thing today, why don’t you wait here? Will you be okay for an hour or so?”
Gail blinked in surprise. “You don’t want me to go too? I didn’t trudge all the way down here to be left alone, barefoot and pregnant, in the kitchen.”
Her emotions had exploded for no apparent reason. In her vision the night before she had deeply loved one of the little boys on the beach and now, looking at Chuck, she knew which boy it was. The dream had taken her into her own future and there was no looking back. The dream opened her heart and she admitted she was in love with Chuck Veal.
Gail felt a growing fear that she had just hurt him, insulted him, so to cover the flub, she added with a sarcastic smile, “Isn’t that what rednecks do to their women?”
Chuck finally grinned but she could tell he was upset or at least baffled. When he finally spoke, his tone was apologetic. “What you’re doing here with Matt’s writing is important too, Gail. I wanted you to keep going over the files on the computer and see what’s there.”
“Yea, you’re right,” She said with some relief that the flub had passed. “I’ll work on that while you two get Blake’s papers from the safe.”
“I want to check on something else first, or someplace I guess I should say. I think I have time before we go to the mill, but just in case, if Blake gets here early, tell him I’m at the old cemetery. I thought of something during the night. I need to check out.”
Gail sipped her coffee and asked, “What cemetery is that?”
“The Veal cemetery, the one Matt got into a brawl about with the Pary family.”
“Do you always think about cemeteries in the middle of the night?”
“Only this one, besides, I don’t believe it has anything to do with Matt’s disappearance but just in case, we don’t want to overlook anything no matter how insignificant it might seem.”
“That’s true but what is there to see at the cemetery this morning?”
“Well, the brawl with the Pary family is mainly over timber rights along the creek, but if they
know that Matt is not around anymore to interfere with that issue, then Miss Abatha might go after the cemetery. I want to ride over there and check to see if it’s been destroyed. That would indicate the Pary family is behind Matt’s disappearance, so, does it make sense?"
“Not entirely. What do you mean go after the cemetery? Who would want to destroy it?”
“About six months ago, old lady Pary tried to put a bulldozer in the cemetery and plow it under.”
“What? That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
"Miss Pary didn’t think so. Our grandfather was the last person buried there and ever since, the cemetery fell apart, ran down. Last time I saw it, it was covered in weeds and briars.”
“Have you and Matt ever tried to restore the cemetery?”
“A few years ago, Matt tried to round up enough people to restore the place but Miss Pary caught wind of it and the entire County dropped the idea. When she tried to put a bulldozer in there, somebody let Matt know ahead of time. We never could figure out why the old lady would fight trying to fix the place and take care of her husband’s grave.”
“How did he stop her from razing it?”
“The law in Georgia says the land of a cemetery can be reclaimed when the youngest grave is one hundred years old or more. Our Grandfather died in 1944, which nukes that law for another few decades. Still, Matt hired a Macon lawyer to get the old gal stopped and that was that.”
Curiosity perked, Gail asked, “Who gets the property after the hundred years is past?”
“Usually it’s the land owner around it which in this case is Miss Abatha Pary.”
“Imagine that” Gail said sarcastically.
“She went ballistic when Matt tried to restore the place and a short time later our Grandfather’s headstone vanished and it had the date of death inscribed into the marble. The next youngest grave marker dates to 1890. Miss Pary bases her claim to retake the land on that grave and filed for possession.”
“That’s horrible. Why is she so intent on destroying it?”
“Nobody knows but in order for Matt to stop her, he needed proof of when our Grandfather died and where he was buried. He started researching and plundering the county records office and the newspaper’s dead files but before he could find proof, they cut him off.”
“Cut him off? You can’t cut a citizen off from viewing public records.”
“By cut him off I meant, the relevant records disappeared and around here you can be cut off like that. Matt’s lawyer called and warned them but it didn’t do any good and that is where it was left it hanging. There’s a court hearing scheduled for August I think but that’s the last I heard.”
“Now I understand. Matt disappears and if the cemetery is being razed right now, then the Pary family already knows he’s missing and why.”
“Right, Gail. There might be a connection and there might not. Do you see where I’m heading?”
“Yes, I follow you. The cemetery doesn’t involve money or property, does it?”
“No. There’s little value in the property but I still get this nagging feeling that the property plays a side role or at least an indicator, in the big picture. So I’m going to ride over there and take a look, see if the land has been plowed under recently or something.”
“That means if someone has ripped the place apart, they did so knowing Matt would not be going to be in court in August. That’s scary, Chuck.”
“That's what I'm thinking too,” he said.
“That’s a pretty good deduction, my dear Sherlock.”
“I shouldn’t be gone too long. Why don’t you go back to bed and grab some more sleep?”
“No. I’m awake and I want to get back to the computer. Just be careful. I’m starting to not like some of the feelings I'm getting about this whole situation.”
“Any of those feelings you care to tell me about?”
“Not yet, but I will if anything starts.”
“Okay, just don’t forget to tell Blake that I’ve gone to the old Veal Cemetery. He should know where it is but if not, call me on the cell.”
When Chuck opened the door, the burglar alarm issued an angry beep from the living room. Gail laughed and said, “Go ahead. I’ll turn it off. I remember the code from last night. That’s also my grandmother’s birthday except for the 1944.”
Chuck waved again, smiled, and walked out.
Gail walked to the living room and over to the alarm keypad, but instead of resetting it, she turned it off, then returned to the kitchen and sat back down to finish her coffee. She was stalling; waiting to be sure Chuck wouldn’t be running back saying, “Sorry, I forgot my sunglasses. Oh what are you doing out here?”
She listened as he drove away, waiting another two minutes to be sure. Putting her cup in the kitchen sink, she went to find her shoes and get dressed. When she stepped out the back door of the house, a feeling of guilt washed over her mind. Why did she need to be so sneaky? Why couldn’t she have told Chuck earlier about the dream and the images from the car? She could have shown him the sand on her feet but that was an issue her own mind had yet to resolve. Never before had anything like that happened to her.
She shrugged off the feelings, looked around slowly and then took a deep breath of morning air. The sun, barely above the distant tree line, was a pale yellow ball and climbing. From behind the barn, off in the woods, she saw a glittering reflection of sunlight on water. It was coming from the water of the pond. She gave her mind one last chance to turn around and go back inside but she couldn’t do it, “Okay, let’s go see what you were trying to hide from me last night” and started down the steps toward the barn.
She felt better for telling Chuck what little she did about her psychic ability but in the same breath, she was glad she hadn’t told him too much. She got her cake and ate it too.
Chuck had said his Aunt, the owner of the Chevy in the barn, had ESP or psychic ability too. Was she now linked to such a person from the other side and if so, why? She had never met anyone with the same ability in this life, let alone the other one.
In the early morning sunshine, the barn looked tame and innocent compared to the dark and eerie of the night before. The huge double doors looked majestic and full of character. When she arrived before them, she lifted the wooden catch off its cradle and pulled on the right side door. The hinges creaked loudly and the darkness inside receded.
The first thing she noticed was two glass eyes about eight feet apart, glaring at her from inside. It took a few seconds to realize these were the headlamps of the 1951 Chevy. She stood in the doorway reaching outward with her mind, expecting and waiting for something to return as it had the night before. Then she felt it, it was still there, and it was again itching to get into her head. “Too weak” Gail thought, and she stepped into the barn.
The inside smelled musty, old, and gas and oil vapors from the car were strong but clearing as the doorway opening allowed. She moved forward to the car placing her hand, palm downward on the cool metal of the hood. She opened her spirit to the energies and memories and waited. The wait was extremely short.
Memories flooded her, good memories of happy times. The car’s owner, Aunt Cindy, was buying the car from a local dealer. She had ordered it special, black, solid black, with bright chrome bumpers, fender skirts, and sunshades over each side of the windshield. She paid for it in twenty-dollar bills.
Gail knew this car wouldn’t become the proverbial vehicle owned by a sweet little old woman who only drove it to church on Sunday. Aunt Cindy was going places and she was taking her two nephews with her in this car. She wanted to tell them something; she wanted them to know the truth and try to understand her reasons for hiding this dark secret from them for most of her life. She wanted to tell them, to explain to them, but had to find the best way and time.
When the pain in her chest struck that day while outside gardening, her first thoughts had gone to the boys and why she hadn’t already told them. She knew the heart attack going on in her ch
est would not relinquish. She was going to die in the next few seconds and it was now too late, too late to tell the boys the truth, the secret that had haunted her life, the secret that would now leave her restless in death because she had waited too late to tell the boys.
Gail removed her hand from the car and gasped. The flood of visions and memories was stronger than any others she had experienced. But there was more she needed to see and she knew it. Slowly, she returned her hand to the car and immediately saw Aunt Cindy driving down the road and the two children with her. She took them everywhere, the drive in movies, swimming at the creek, and of course, that trip to the beach at Tybee Island. All this flashed before Gail’s eyes.
The kids loved her back too. She was their favorite Aunt, but again Gail sensed something dark and ashamed in her spirit. She knew the woman had something deep and dangerous hiding inside but from her own far and distant past. Something negative, frightening, something that had haunted her until the day she died of the heart attack. Then she spoke, not about, but directly to Gail.
“Tell the children please, they need to know the truth.”
The sound of her voice so real, so clear, so close, scared Gail, and she quickly removed her hand from the car again. “The truth about what, can you show me this truth?”
“Pick up the Nickel…pick up the nickel… it has much to show you.”
She needed to go back inside the vision again. There was no other choice now. She slowly put her hand back on the hood and again, sensed the children, Matt and Chuck, riding in the back seat. They were happy, standing on the floorboard with their arms clasping the top of the front seat before them. Then she saw them at the seashore putting seashells and starfish in the trunk, and then she saw Matt Veal lying on the beach hurt, bleeding, but alive.”
“Tell the children please, they need to know the truth. He’s alive and needs to know the truth.” Then she saw Chuck in the red Jeep driving down a dirt road and the voice said, “Tell him the truth. He must know the truth.”
This, Gail realized, was the message. The negative feelings of the night before had come from Aunt Cindy and for her entire life, she had kept something hidden from the children and now she wanted them to know. But what was the secret?
The visions faded, leaving her with nothing but the sensation of the cool black metal hood on a car that was once the pride of 1951 Detroit.
“Touch the nickel…touch the nickel... there’s much to see.”
Gail was startled back to full reality when a truck horn sounded from the front yard of Matt’s house. “It must be Blake and he’ll be wondering what I’m doing out here in the barn.”
She stepped outside, closed the door and dropped the heavy latch in place. She was turning the corner of the side yard and met Blake coming from the opposite direction. They almost ran into one another. “Oh…” she gasped.
“There you are, Gail. Sorry, but you didn’t answer the door so I thought you might be out back, taking out the trash or something.”
Gail regained her composure and smiled. “I was out back, yes. Sorry.”
“Where’s Chuck? He in the shower and didn’t hear the door?”
“No, Blake. He had something he wanted to check before going to the mill. He will be back soon. Come on; let’s go sit on the front porch and I’ll explain it. I’m dying to test that old swing out there.”
The Beginning (Whispering Pines Book 1) Page 12