Jamis Bachman, Ghost Hunter

by Jen Jensen

  * * *

  Jamis put her hand on her stomach as it growled. Sapphire looked up from a spiral bound notebook, eyebrow raised. “They’re progressing in intensity.” Jamis tossed the notebook into a pile with others. “So far we’ve opened every box here and uncovered nothing of importance. Secretly, I was hoping to find an old phone bill or something, but nada. Nothing.” She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. Something cracked and Jamis grimaced as she tossed her notepad into the pile.

  “We’ve been up here for hours. What time is it anyway?” Jamis shimmied on the floor to pull out her phone. “It’s after nine,” she said. “Do you want to go get something to eat and close up for the night?”

  “God, yes, please.” Sapphire said, wiping her hands on her pants. “I feel filthy.”

  “Twenty-five years of dust will do that,” Jamis said.

  “Do you think we should put all this back?”

  “No. I’ll call the property management company tomorrow and tell them about the tree. Then I’ll get movers to come move this into a storage shed until everything is sorted out.” She moved toward the stairs and pulled the blanket off the opening. A gush of cold air struck her, and she shivered. Sapphire whined. Jamis turned to pull the string on the light in the middle of the attic but then stopped, thinking about the clown head and carousel.

  She picked up a small empty box and a few old T-shirts and wrapped the clown head and carousel in them. Sapphire appeared with two pillowcases and helped Jamis without question. Jamis tucked the edges of the box together and picked it up. “She made these. I just feel like they shouldn’t be left.”

  “You are not a rent seeker,” she said.

  “I am very wealthy, though,” Jamis said. “But I don’t do much with it. I will though. When I’m done. For Stephanie and women like her.” Sapphire put her hand on her shoulder, and they moved slowly down the stairs. The evening air pressed against them, cold and unforgiving.

  Once downstairs, Jamis checked the cameras and feed, but she didn’t expect to get anything from them. Sapphire checked her sensor and showed Jamis how to connect to the program online. She finished setting the parameters to capture movement and changes in heat and gathered her things to go.

  There was crying.

  “Do you hear that? That’s what I heard the first day.” Sapphire held the sensor in her hand and scanned the room.

  “Yeah, it’s real,” Sapphire said.

  Jamis accessed the video feed and waited impatiently for it to load. When the room finally emerged, through night vision and sensors, Jamis waved her arms at Sapphire. “Stop. The middle of the room. Go back.”

  There was an indistinct blob. Sapphire moved closer to it. Jamis turned off the lights.

  “Step carefully,” she said. Sapphire stopped at the edge of the room.

  “You getting this? You can screen shot it. Look for the little button on the tablet there.” Jamis snapped a picture before whatever it was shifted away.

  “Where did it go?”

  Jamis sighed, disappointed. “I will chase ghosts my whole life and never find proof. It is my sad destiny.”

  “Did you get a picture of that?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  Sapphire stopped her. “Are you serious? You don’t think you have proof? Look upstairs. Look at what you’ve seen. Look who you’ve met. There is something at work here that is not coincidental. It’s why I’m here.”

  “I didn’t think about it like that. Why not?”

  Sapphire opened the door. “Because you’re too close to it. Because it’s not objective proof in objective reality. It’s relational, psychological, and full of synchronicity. Our methods of collecting proof are not sophisticated enough to capture it.”

  * * *

  Jamis unpacked the clown and carousel and set it on the small table in the corner. She’d eaten voraciously at Denny’s with Sapphire and texted Johnna, wanting to see her but too tired to make it happen. A hot shower, pajamas, and bed were the only things in her immediate future. She slipped into sleep easily, satiated and warm, her eyes on the carousel.

  Sleep took her to the field. She touched the grass under her and began to move, shocked when no resistance met her. A bird soared above her, swooping and graceful. It landed on a pine tree, on the east edge of the field. Then the woman in yellow was at the edge of the field. Resistance began to build as Jamis moved toward her. “Please,” she begged. “Please talk to me. Tell me who you are. Tell me where this is. Tell me why I keep seeing you.”

  The woman came toward her. She heard her voice, but her facial features were out of phase. She moved her hands when she spoke, but those were blurred as well. “This is the in-between, the place of remaining attachment.”

  “The bardo of hungry ghosts,” Jamis said, suddenly alarmed.

  “Not all hungry ghosts are angry. Some of us just can’t let go. Love binds us, just as much as fear and hatred. It just feels different. Looks different. Is nice to dwell in. But you’re not meant to stay in it. Even if you want to. All life wants to change and grow. We’re meant to let go. We’re meant to evolve.” She blinked in and out of phase. “This place shifts quickly. I made this for you, but we can only stay a while. I bring you here to me.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” Jamis tried to move closer.

  “I saw you. I called you. I knew you’d come.” Her image shimmered in front of her. Jamis saw her like a buffering Netflix feed. “I’ve known you before. In other lives. But it all leaves when we manifest. I don’t know why that happens.”

  “But I don’t know who you are,” Jamis said. “Can you tell me who you are?”

  “I’ve forgotten. I know sometimes, but then I forget. When I’m not here, I remember, but when I bring you here, I forget. We all do that, no matter where we are. We all know everything we need to know, but then when we manifest, we forget. It’s because we search for words to communicate here and on Earth. It takes so much energy we can’t remember. But I know that I can’t let go. There is so much undone. I feel so much here,” she said and put her hand on her chest. “I was just alive, like I was just born, and then I died. I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t supposed to go.”

  “Can you touch me?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Jamis took her hand. She steadied in front of Jamis, and for a split second, Jamis saw her. “I concentrated so hard to see you tonight. I am watching you, but it’s like I’m far away and the voices are muted. But I saw something I had to tell you. I don’t know what it is.”

  “I don’t know you,” Jamis said. “I know Stephanie, but not you. How can I help you if I don’t know you?”

  “You are helping me. I just can’t remember my name here. But you do know me. You do.” Her voice became weaker. “It takes a lot to bring you here.” Her image blurred again, and Jamis held on to her hand. “Somehow, we’re getting closer to each other. I don’t know how, but we are.”

  “How? Why did you do this tonight? Why can we talk?”

  “Because I have to tell you something important. I remembered it, but it’s gone now. I really concentrated so I could talk to you.” Jamis felt growing alarm. She was warning her. “You have to watch who you don’t expect. Someone is coming for you.”

  “Are you okay? Don’t be scared. I can help.” Jamis held her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Try to concentrate.”

  “I’m running out of energy. I’m so sorry.” She started to fade, and Jamis pulled her close, felt her in her arms, heard her whisper, even as she faded from view. “Someone is coming for you and you must watch. Tell Carmen.” Jamis grasped at her, desperate, but she faded from her arms. “Tell Carmen.”

  The field disappeared and Jamis sank into darkness. She floated in emptiness and fought to climb back to the field, but then she sank, landing with a thud on cold dirt. The smell of mildew choked her. The air was sticky, like Alabama in summer. She scrambled to her knees and wiped dirt from her hands. There was a blinding light to t
he left. She stumbled back as Stephanie screamed at her from inside it.

  “Stop,” Jamis yelled back. “Stop screaming. I’m trying to help you.” Stephanie came toward Jamis, arms swinging at her sides, skin gray, hair matted with blood. She made eye contact before disappearing into the light. Jamis moved slowly around the darkened space, hands out, feeling for walls and doors, finding nothing.

  There was a phone ringing. It was her phone. She was dreaming and needed to wake up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamis grabbed her phone. “Hello,” she mumbled, not quite coherent.

  “Jamis? It’s Maggie. Is it too early?”

  Jamis looked at the clock. It was after ten. “No, Maggie. It’s fine.”

  “You sound like you were sleeping.”

  “I was. I was up late and slept in.”

  “I got your stuff and took a look at it last night. Stayed up half the night. Gruesome and horrible.” Jamis nodded, though Maggie couldn’t see her. “Anyway, I don’t think Richard Crespin did this. He used to bash the heads of his victims in with a hammer. It leaves a very distinct pattern behind. These wounds to Stephanie’s head looked like they were inflicted with something curved and circular. Then there’s another wound that looks like someone inserted a rod into her brain, probably caused her death.”

  Jamis grimaced. Maggie heard it. “I know. Good morning to you. But the thing is, when I look at all the photos, it looks like she was strangled, too. I can make out faint marks on her neck, even though the images are not the best. We did some enhancement work and I think they’re finger marks.”

  While she spoke, Jamis pulled a bottle of water from the mini fridge. She fumbled to begin a pot of coffee. “You’re saying that someone hit her with something curved and circular and then killed her with a rod to the brain? But before that, they strangled her?”

  “Yes. Based on the reports, I would think there was sexual assault before her death, too. The hits on her skull look erratic, crazed. There’s no methodical pattern to it. I’m guessing whoever did this used something close by, and when he realized it wasn’t enough to kill her, he improvised further. It’s not Richard Crespin. This is disorganized. Chaotic. Personal.”

  Jamis imagined Maggie standing at her kitchen counter, sipping coffee. She’d hurt her, but she’d moved on. Jamis could beat the regret into endless submission, only to watch it come back again. Dr. Frank insisted their breakup was a result of not being able to meet each other’s mutual needs, but Jamis internalized it as her fault for years. She did that with many things.

  “If you can get enough of this evidence together, with some reliable witnesses, and take it to the police to reopen the case, I’ll assist with an autopsy. We need to exhume her body and see if we can collect any DNA or additional information.”

  “Would you fly up here?”

  “Yes. The poor woman deserves justice.” Maggie paused. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Jamis took a sip of coffee and it burned her tongue. “But I appreciate it.”

  “Yes, well, enough of that. Stephanie Gardner was not murdered by Richard Crespin. Of that I am sure. I’m going to type up my analysis and send it over to you today. In the meantime, what are your next steps?”

  Jamis filled her in on the details. “I’m going to talk to Barbara Reynolds and Mitch Sr. today. I’ll wait for your report and go to the police tomorrow.”

  The clown and carousel on the table looked solemn and sad in the dim light of morning. “Maggie, how heavy would something have to be to crack someone’s skull like that?”

  “Pounds don’t really matter. It’s all about force, angle. With the right amount of both, I could puncture someone’s head with a penny. I’ve seen it happen. Why?”

  “I have a crazy hunch. I’m going to send you a picture of something. Hold on.” Jamis snapped a picture of the carousel and texted it to Maggie. “It’s coming now.”

  On the other end of the line, Maggie transferred her to speaker. “Am I looking at a carousel?”

  “Could that do it?” Jamis’s heart pounded like she’d just read Edgar Allen Poe. Maggie was silent for a few moments.

  “Yes. I think so. Where? How?” Maggie stammered. “Where is that from?”

  “A hidden attic in the house.”

  “Send that to me. If there is even one cell left on that, I can get it with our OneTouch equipment.”

  “I will.” Jamis was more tired than when she went to bed. “Maggie, I’ve had a lot of weird stuff happening to me—”

  Maggie interrupted her. “Jamis, you lost the privilege to share your burdens with me when you left me for your television show. Do you remember that? I’ll help you put people to rest and solve mysteries, but don’t confuse it.”

  “I didn’t leave you for my television show. I left you to be me. I couldn’t be who you wanted.”

  “I don’t want to get into this, Jamis,” Maggie said.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was habit. I’ll let you go.” She hung up the phone and dropped her head, face in her hands. Perhaps Stephanie and the woman in yellow found her because, like them, she was a hungry ghost.

  * * *

  Jamis stopped at the UPS store as her first priority. She helped the clerk wrap the carousel and its pieces. It was hundreds to send it same day air and worth it. If that proved to be the murder weapon, after all this time, then there was another mystery to solve. Who kept it and the rest of Stephanie’s stuff and moved it upstairs, only to seal it up? It was a textbook guilty move. Someone regretted her murder and couldn’t part with her belongings. If she answered who kept her stuff, she’d know who killed her.

  Next, she called a local moving company owned by Tess’s nephew. They committed to moving the stuff out of the attic that afternoon and into one of their storage pods. Fortunately, moving companies were desperate for work at the end of winter in the Mountain West. She was uncertain of the legalities about who owned the stuff, but wouldn’t lose time figuring it out. She’d act and face consequences later.

  Jamis bought a cup of coffee at Starbucks for Johnna and stopped by her clinic. The bell on the door sounded when she stepped into the lobby. An elderly woman greeted her.

  “Hi there. Did you have an appointment? Johnna’s in surgery.”

  Jamis’s hopes fell. “No, I just got her some coffee and wanted to say hi. You’re Gloria?”

  “I am. You must be Jamis. Sam told me about you. He’s here. Got a full house for grooming today.” Gloria scrutinized Jamis, toe to head.

  “I didn’t realize or I’d get him coffee too,” Jamis said.

  “Sure,” Gloria said.

  “Well, I’ll leave this here. Tell her I stopped by?”

  “I will,” Gloria said, taking the coffee from the counter. Jamis turned to leave.

  “Your intentions had better be honorable.”

  Jamis spun around. “It’s just coffee.”

  “It’s never just coffee,” Gloria said. “But I’ll tell her it’s here.”

  In the parking lot, she felt like a teacher had just scolded her for using too much Play-Doh. She dug around her coat pockets for the car keys. She climbed into the front seat when a voice called out. Johnna jogged across the parking lot to her, wearing scrubs, hair pulled back.

  “Hey,” Jamis said, twisting to get out of the car. Johnna came up to the open door, and Jamis remained perched on the seat.

  “I saw you on the security camera,” Johnna said, cheeks red from the cold.

  “You don’t have a coat on.” Jamis rubbed Johnna’s arms. Johnna watched and then looked up at Jamis. Jamis yearned to pull her close. She dropped her hands.

  Johnna eyes were still downcast, but Jamis saw her struggle for composure. “Gloria gave me the business,” Jamis said, breaking the tension.

  “She’s formidable,” Johnna said, looking back up at Jamis. “I just wanted…” Johnna pulled her bare arms close. “I just saw you and didn’t want you to leave withou
t saying hi.”

  “I’m glad you did.” The door to the clinic opened. It was Gloria.

  “Johnna, you have a call.”

  “Okay,” Johnna said over her shoulder, still standing close to Jamis. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah,” Jamis said, grinning. Johnna waved to her, stepping into the door. Sprouts of new love opened inside her, in places long barren. Shy glances, anticipatory emotion, longing, and giddy smiles. Who knew it was possible this close to forty?

  * * *

  Jamis still felt uncertain about talking to Barbara Reynolds, so chose Mitch Sr. She called the retirement community ahead to be certain of visiting hours. Upon arrival, a woman in a white uniform, behind glass, greeted her at the reception desk. She pushed a button to talk to Jamis through a speaker. “Can I help you?”

  Jamis smiled and introduced herself. “I’d like to talk to Mitch Reynolds, if he’s available. Please tell him it’s in regard to an investigation. I think he’ll be interested in it.”

  The woman picked up the phone on the desk, dialing. She set the phone down after a few minutes and hit the speaker again. “He says he’ll see you. Room 234. Down the hall, to your right, then left.” She buzzed open the door for Jamis.

  Jamis moved quickly, hopeful neither she nor Mitch changed their minds. Room 234 was ajar. Mitch sat in front of a television. “Mr. Reynolds, thank you for seeing me.”

  He didn’t stand, but he waved her to him. It was one room with a small studio kitchen, two chairs, and a small bed. She took the seat next to him. The television was on Fox News. He picked up the remote, hit mute, and turned to her. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you about Stephanie Gardner,” Jamis said. It felt like the temperature dropped by twenty degrees in seconds. There were goose bumps on her arms. She thought about Sampson and his corruption file.