Dying For Redemption

by C. A. Freeburn

  "Don't worry about it, honey. You can finish cleaning tomorrow." Rob swatted his wife's behind, then gave it a pinch. "I'm not having anyone over tonight."

  Karen blinked back tears.

  "That's what he thinks," Willow whispered.

  I placed my index finger over her lush mouth.

  "Did you see Willow the other night?" Karen asked.

  Willow grabbed my hand and clutched it tightly against her breast.

  Rob dropped the TV remote from his hand. "Did you ask her to see me for some reason?" He pushed himself out of the chair and stalked toward Karen, fists clenched and pressed against his sides.

  I focused on the television. How hard would it be to rip that off the wall? Complicated removal. The small end table would work, though. In a flash, I could lift it and bash it over his head.

  Karen grabbed a pillow and held it out in front of her. "No, of course not. Willow didn't believe me about you approving my working all that overtime. She said she had to hear it directly from my man."

  He eyed her skeptically.

  Karen continued to ramble. "Willow felt my husband's approval was vital. She wanted to make sure it was from you and not me just saying you said it was okay."

  Rob grinned and pulled Karen against his body, the pillow a small barrier between them. "Smart woman. She knows how it is." He laid a big wet kiss on Karen's mouth, then released her with a shove and returned to his leather chair. "You working the overtime?"

  "Just regular office overtime."

  Rob frowned.

  "Things are in a bit of turmoil right now. Braswell and Pauline want to keep all jobs totally legal. Since Willow died, the police have looking around the place."

  Rob picked up the remote and flipped through the channels. "Heard at the bar some cops think she was offed."

  "I was told it's still officially being investigated as an automobile accident." Karen twisted the pillow. "Some of the girls don't agree."

  "Police know more than some prostitutes." Rob settled on a raunchy comedy movie. "Rich women always drive too fast in little cars they can't control. That's what she gets."

  A look of pure distaste crossed Karen's face. "I have to go."

  "Can you get me a beer first?"

  Karen shut the door with a thud. Rob cast a glance at the front door. "Damn woman could've asked me if I needed anything 'fore she took off." Rob pushed himself out of his chair and went into the kitchen.

  "Watch how professionals do it," I said to Willow.

  "When will they arrive?"

  I materialized in Rob's leather chair when he stepped from the kitchen into the living and dining room combo. "Maybe she would've got one…" I nodded at the open can of beer in his hand, "…if you asked nicely."

  His eyes slid from the top of the can to me. He glared and clenched one fist. "What the hell—"

  "Now, now, I'm not Hell."

  Rob rushed toward me, throwing the beer can to the ground as he muttered curses and threats of shoving his foot up my backside.

  I stood as Rob made a flying tackle at the chair. He struck the back of the recliner, and the chair tipped over.

  I laughed. Rob roared and scrambled to his feet. He threw a punch at me, and the momentum caused him to fall to the ground in a heap. He shook his head to clear it and jumped up to attack me again.

  I yawned. "You're not a very bright guy."

  "Hit him." Willow whispered, still keeping her form blended into the nothingness of the air.

  I shot her a look of silence.

  Rob swung again, his fist going through me.

  "Hit him already." Willow grabbed my arm and shook it. "Throw him across the room."

  "You can't hit me if I'm not solid." I moved to stand inside the recliner. My legs vanished, but my waist, chest, arms, and head popped out of the chair.

  Rob screamed and dropped to his knees. "Holy—"

  "I'm not holy, and I'm not hell." I levitated out of the chair.

  "Great. Parlor tricks." Willow whooshed around the room, the air growing hotter as her anger churned. "Just take care of him."

  Rob plopped onto his backside and stared at me, mouth open.

  "You're a damn ghost!"

  "Not damned, really. Just content in Limbo." I hoped the last sentence broke through to Willow. She needed to calm her spirit before she changed her final resting place. She remained in the air, almost touching the ceiling.

  Settle down, I mouthed. Her form wavered, tendrils of white swirled in the air around her.

  Rob looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. He sensed the change of the atmosphere. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the ceiling.

  "Good. An apology. Now you're open to having a little talk." I stood in front of Rob, my arms hanging by my side and feet splayed apart, the good old-fashioned drawdown stance.

  "You came here on purpose? To see me?"

  "Yes."

  "You ain't stuck in this house?" Rob crawled to his chair.

  "Now, have you ever seen me here before?"

  Rob shook his head, as he climbed into the safety of his leather recliner.

  "Is this about Karen?"

  I nodded.

  "Are you planning on hurting me?"

  I smiled. Evil-like.

  Rob made the sign of the cross. "I promise I'll be better to her. I won't hurt her no more."

  I leaned over to get in Rob's face. "You better not." I allowed a merciless grin to slowly spread across my face as I rose off the ground. "I'll haunt you to death."

  "You're her daddy! She told me you were real protective of her. She ain't never said you'd come back and get me."

  Okay, I'll go with that. Mike seemed like a better choice for my princess. "I don't want you near my little girl."

  "I'll do better by her."

  "No, he won't." Willow said. "Make him leave."

  I agreed with that assessment. I spread my arms and echoed my voice off the walls. "I want you gone!"

  Rob screeched and covered his head.

  "Gone! You do nothing for her. Nothing."

  Willow rolled her eyes. What? I thought I was giving a grand performance.

  "I'll get a job tomorrow."

  "That's a start." I started fading away.

  Rob's body turned into a limp noodle, and a sigh of relief passed his lips. I materialized again. Rob jerked upright and crossed his heart. "I promise."

  I pointed my ghostly finger at him. "My eyes are on you." I removed them from their sockets and shook them at Rob to add emphasis.

  With a terrified scream, Rob scrambled to his feet and started cleaning the living room.

  Before I left, I searched the house for Willow. Gone, off to her new and better existence. "I wish you well," I whispered.

  I drifted out into the night and admired the beauty of the dark sky lighted by stars. A heart-wrenching sob drifted from the front of the house. Willow's ghostly form clutched the mailbox, anguish twisting her beautiful features into a mask of torment.

  She sniffled and smiled wanly. "That wasn't it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Abby

  I opened my eyes and took in the familiar and welcoming site of Uncle Callous's office. I suffered from intense anxiety when I traveled the nothing with my eyes opened to the blackness, so I kept myself in my head while I moved from world to world. Back home. Before my sigh escaped my lips, an enraged Denver appeared before me.

  "Why don't you just go to Hell?" I moaned, trying to use the desk as a barrier between us.

  He grabbed my arm, keeping us connected. "I thought you wanted answers."

  I struggled to get away. "I have them."

  "No, you have what you believe are the answers. The answers that make me the bad guy, that brand me as Callous's murderer. The betrayer." Denver snagged my shoulder with his free hand. "I never betrayed him!"

  "You're a liar!" I broke free. "I don't know who you're protecting…" At those words, I saw a gate of secrecy lowered in his opaque eyes. He had decided t
o release his secret, but then changed his mind.

  He let go of my arm and turned to leave.

  "So now you're not going to tell me?" I grabbed his arm.

  "Now, you want to know?" He shook me off and headed toward the door. "Fickle woman."

  He wasn't going to get away with murder. Not this time. I threw myself at him and grabbed onto his waist. "I want to know."

  He growled in frustration, prying my hands from around his body. "Like you'd believe a murderous, back-shooter."

  "Tell me the truth, and I'll believe you."

  He twisted me around, capturing my arms behind my back, my body almost pressed to his. "But will you, Abby? Will you believe the truth? Will this truth set you free?" His gaze searched mine. "I didn't think so. You want to know why I'm not leaving here and going to Hell?"

  I shook my head. Again, I had changed my mind. A woman's prerogative.

  Releasing my arms, he settled one hand on the small of my back, and the other tipped up my chin. His eyes were no longer colorless, empty, and soulless, but a vivid blue, holding a raw, all-consuming pain that made my soul cry in sympathy. I cradled his cheek in my palm, my eyes asking him why because I couldn't speak in the midst of his suffering.

  He pressed my hand with his, ensuring my touch remained a moment longer before he removed it. A smile barely cracked his lips from the thin line they had become on his handsome, troubled face. "Because I am in Hell."

  "No, this isn't… it's not," I stammered. I couldn't be in Hell. Or Callous. Or Ann.

  He laughed. The vulnerable and lost look vanished, replaced by attitude, the anger I had come to know as Denver. "Any form of existence is Hell."

  "Only for those who have lived an immoral life."

  "Or for those that everyone presumes has." He raised one eyebrow, looking at me as if I were a small child who recited facts about life obtained from picture books.

  "You can't change the truth, Denver."

  He nodded in agreement. "You're right. But it is Hell to have a truth labeled onto you that was created by words, not deeds."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shot him my best annoyed, dubious look. "Are you trying to tell me you had nothing to do with Uncle Callous's murder?"

  He gave me a slight smile. "I straddle both of those truths, but don't fully fall into either one."

  I wanted to groan. Why were men so confusing? How come, even dead, a woman had to pry the meaning of words out of a man? "Just say it already. I've had enough of the hidden meanings, riddles, and twenty questions."

  "I don't know if you're ready to hear it."

  This time, I did groan. Why did people assume that a twenty-one-year-old woman didn't know her own mind enough to determine what she was ready for and what she wasn't? Why did this man—who I didn't really know, didn't really like, and who didn't even like me—have such concern about what I could and could not handle?

  Men! I glared at him. "I handled someone murdering me. I think that makes me well qualified to handle what you have to say."

  He laughed at me. "Good point." His smile turned into a frown. "But this will hurt more."

  I walked behind Uncle Callous's desk and pulled the chair around so that it was next to the client chair. I sat and waited for Denver to follow my lead. The man didn't take subtle direction clues. I motioned to the chair. "Please, sit down."

  He sat and leaned forward, using his arms resting on his thighs to prop up the top half of his body.

  I took a deep breath, nodded, and scooted my behind up a bit in the seat so my feet were planted on the floor without the need to slouch. "You have my attention, and I promise to stay quiet until you are finished."

  "All right. But if you need to break your word, I'll understand."

  "I won't," I promised.

  He smiled and rolled his eyes, appearing amused by my proclamation. "I did not betray your uncle."

  I swallowed hard to push the retort back down my throat.

  "I had no intention of killing him when I went into the office that night."

  "So, you did kill him!" I broke my word. I gripped the chair to keep myself from jumping up and attacking Denver.

  His facial expression told me he expected nothing less. "It turned out that I did." He inched forward and placed his hands on my thighs, circling his thumbs over the fabric of the jeans I'd wear for all of my Limbo eternity. "Abby, I did kill Callous, but I didn't go there to kill him."

  I pushed his hands away and stood, turning my back on him. "What happened? The both of you argued, Callous turned, and you shot him in the back."

  "No. I was expecting someone else. I thought I was beating that person to the punch. Killing him before he killed." A chair creaked and then his hands rested on my shoulders. "Turns out I shouldn't have decided to react so fast."

  A shiver wiggled up my spine. "So killing Callous was just a stupid accident?"

  "No. It was murder. I just wasn't quite the willing participant your great-uncle, your family… and you believe I am. Believed I was."

  I pulled out a book and shoved it back into the vacant space, then repeated the process with another book, and another. Could it be true? Had the jury let Denver off on his "self-defense" plea because it was the truth?

  No. "You lied!" I turned around to face him. I wasn't ready to show compassion to a man who had lied in court. "You placed your hand on the Bible and swore what you said would be the whole truth. You lied to the judge. You lied to the jury. You said that you were defending yourself. My uncle didn't try to hurt you."

  Denver took a step away from me. "Read it again. Pay attention. I never said I was defending myself from Callous."

  The room swirled as all the words clattered around in my brain, truths colliding with each other, warring, trying to become the victor over the other. "Then, who? Why hide it and play word games with the jury? Since it was an accident, you wouldn't have gone to jail anyway. Why make up the story of you and Callous having a fight? Why tarnish his name and reputation? Thank God, Grandma and Grandpa never believed you. They always remained true to who they knew Callous Demar to be."

  "He had them. I had no one to defend me when I died." Denver's voice filled with bitterness. "Everyone expected me to have a part in the conspiracy against him, concluded that the boyfriend or Stephanie had paid me money to kill Callous to keep him from revealing their whereabouts to her parents. I lived on the wrong side of the tracks. It made sense in the beginning that I'd kill my friend for money."

  "Who are you protecting, Denver?" I rested my hand on his arm, running it up and down in an attempt to deliver a small amount of comfort.

  "I don't want to hurt you, Abby." His voice sounded like the deep threat I had become accustomed to hearing from his throat. But was it a threat, or was it his torment?

  "Please, tell me. Even if I find out who killed me, I won't be able to leave Limbo knowing there's something you need to tell me. I need to know the truth about Uncle Callous's death."

  "She didn't mean to. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't understand." His eyes sought my compassion. "There was no way she could have known that answering all those simple questions on the telephone would lead to Callous's death."

  I removed my hand so he couldn't feel my trembling. He reached out and grabbed my hands, trying to contain my shaking with the grasp of his own.

  "Laura Smith, now Laura Harris."

  "No!" I wrenched my hands away and struck him. He stayed in place, accepting my blows. "No, she didn't. She couldn't have. She was—"

  "A little girl. Four years old. The cutest and sassiest little kid I'd ever seen." Denver smiled at the memories apparently playing in his head. "Callous always let her come and help out in the office, always had a soft spot for the dames, no matter their age. I was in the back room and heard the ring. It was answered, and I assumed Callous had returned from a meeting with the Johans. When he didn't come in, I went into the secretary area and saw Laura scribbling on paper with some crayons. I asked h
er if she had answered the phone. She said a man asked about Uncle Callous, where he was, where he would he, and how late would he be at work. She answered the questions."

  I didn't try to stop the tears that flowed down my face.

  "Laura had overheard us talking about the case and told the man our plans. I asked her who it was. She didn't know but, when I asked her about the voice, she crinkled up her nose and thought hard. It was a man, she said. He had cleared his throat often and sometimes he was loud, sometimes soft. I knew the voice. I knew why he wanted the information, and what he would use it for. I had to stop him. I had to act first."

  "But… but…" I stumbled over the words and scooted the chair away from him. The legs snagged on the worn carpet, tipping me over.

  Denver's hand shot out and grabbed the seat of the chair, pulling it back down, the whole time his blue eyes locked onto my brown eyes.

  "How do you know that this man was planning on killing Callous?"

  "Because earlier that day, he had offered me money to kill him."

  I felt the atmosphere in the room change. The pressure of intense anger filled the area. I looked to Denver for reassurance. I hoped he knew what had caused the sudden change. His facial expression told me he did and, in moving my gaze to where his rested, I knew the answer.

  Uncle Callous had returned.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  "Well, besides that."

  Thunder built in my soul.

  I stood in my office with Willow at my side. Her hand clenched mine and kept me from releasing my anger at Denver. "Get out!"

  Denver rose an inch at a time, gaze settled on my grandniece. Shock and grief twisted Abby's features. Denver's fault. He put that look on her face.

  "Now!" I grabbed his shoulders, whipped him around, shoving him toward the door.

  "Uncle Callous." Abby's soft, hesitant voice intruded into my anger. "It's all right."

  "No, it's not." I kept steering Denver out the door, or rather, into it.