by Jen Jensen
At the hotel, she gathered her printed copies of Stephanie’s police report, redacted files, autopsy photos, and Maggie’s analysis, articulating her understandings in a document on her desktop. She posted a brief update without specifics across social media.
Something was wrong. Something was missing. Frustrated, she opened the curtain, hoping to be pulled into another dimension. It was just a parking lot full of cars under the orange glow of streetlights. She was putting together a puzzle without all the pieces and without a final picture to guide her. She should feel happy. Johnna kissed her cheek. Maybe she’d found someone, someplace, and her lifelong homelessness would end. She didn’t need a lot.
Instead, she felt hopeless and rummaged in her backpack for a Klonopin. She’d not taken the medicine since arriving in Sage Creek, but the panic welling up in her held the promise of pulling her under the tide. Anxiety was her constant foe, emboldened by the fresh emotions of the day. A wicked panic attack was the only way her body knew how to process intense emotions. Shock. Connection. Fear. Love. It didn’t matter. When it got like this, the only thing she needed was sleep. Jamis stretched out on the bed, felt the medicine as it flooded her limbs. Stephanie chose that moment to show up by the door.
“Don’t you dare scream,” Jamis said, eyes heavy. “I mean it. I’m trying to help you.” Stephanie was silent, watching Jamis. Her head wasn’t gouged open. She stayed while Jamis fell asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Jamis woke with her eyes crusted shut and dried spit on her lips, feeling like she’d been ripped through the fabric of time. The Klonopin did its job. She’d dreamed of Emma, off and on, throughout the night. The images were a blur, her dreams confused, but Emma was always there, standing to the right at the bowling lane with Maggie in Phoenix. Behind her, while waiting in the security line at the airport.
Jamis went directly to the shower, opened her mouth under the water, and scrubbed her face. “What are you trying to tell me, Emma?”
Jamis was in touch with people who died, legitimately communicating with Stephanie and Emma. Only the noise of her own dysfunctions kept her from this possibility before. Her mom, the person in the Jerome hotel, other beings over the years. It was absurd it took her so long to accept this aspect of herself. What else might have been possible if she’d allowed it?
While her body rested, Emma connected with her consciousness and had been doing so for months. Why she did, Jamis was uncertain. Their connection was undeniable, and she longed to tell Carmen, to make sense of it. Emma had told her to do so, after all, but hesitation stirred deep inside. She couldn’t tell Johnna. It felt like a violation, and while the thought felt irrational, Jamis didn’t want to push her away.
She dressed, gathered the files, pictures, notes, and Maggie’s report, tucking them in her bag. Emma had been in her dreams for months, and the realization left her jittery and tired. She drove in a daze, stopping at Starbucks, drinking two venti quad shot lattes, one after another. The caffeine stirred her body to life, and her heart pounded with the rush. It was only a little after eight, though it felt like she’d been up for days.
She queried the police station address. The station was a dark brick building, nondescript, just a few miles away. It didn’t take long to get there. Inside, there was a desk in the middle of the foyer, behind a counter with glass that closed off the police station from the outside world.
Jamis pressed the bell. A few moments later, the door behind the desk opened. “Yes?” A cop in uniform stared at her.
“I need to talk to a detective. I have evidence in a cold case.”
“You look familiar.”
“I’m Jamis Bachman.”
“I should know that name, but I don’t?”
“I used to have a television show,” Jamis said, shifting the bag on her shoulder.
“Ah, okay. What was it?”
“Ghastly Incidents,” Jamis said.
“Oh hell. No way,” she exclaimed. “My mom loves that show. She watches the reruns.” Another mother. Check. “You have evidence for a cold case?”
“I do, yeah.”
“Okay. Wait here. Let me get someone.”
Jamis watched the street through the lobby windows. Perhaps Stephanie would rest after today. Jamis knew pain and trauma were not human defaults. It’s not where anyone was meant to begin or end. And what moved people beyond it varied. For Stephanie, it was anger, which was always a mighty catalyst. Anger moved enough objects to get Jamis to Utah, but it wasn’t enough to free Stephanie. For that, she needed truth, justice, and love.
To the right, a door opened. It was a middle-aged man in a blue suit. “Detective Daniels.”
Jamis followed him through the door. The room was large and open. The detective led them into a small conference room. There was a Keurig on a table. He pointed to it, a question for her. “I’ve had enough,” Jamis said. He turned to fill his cup as the Keurig whirred to life and spit coffee. She unpacked her bag and formed piles with the papers.
He turned to her. She looked at him. In this light, she saw the gray at the edges of his hairline. He pushed his glasses up his nose. She handed him a photo of Stephanie on the autopsy table. He took it from her hand. “That’s Stephanie Gardner. Murdered in March, 1992.” He sipped his coffee. She handed him Maggie’s report. “That’s a report from Mayday Forensics in Phoenix that asks that Stephanie’s body be exhumed. Dr. Maggie Kirkpatrick, well known forensic scientist, took a look at all of this evidence and concluded Stephanie was not killed by Richard Crespin.”
He read the report.
“I’ve documented a series of conversations I’ve had over the past week, since arriving here. I’ve also documented evidence I found and sent to Maggie,” Jamis said.
“You sent evidence somewhere other than here?”
“In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best choice. I’ll concede that. But I’m new to this murder solving stuff.” Jamis paused, waiting for him. He said nothing else. “Anyway, I have reason to believe that Mitch Reynolds Jr. killed Stephanie because she was pregnant with his child and threatened to blackmail him. I’m told she wanted to leave town, start over. His father was the police chief, and I believe he covered up her murder.”
“I know who he is,” Detective Daniels said, motioning to the papers in front of Jamis. He opened the folder and scanned the paperwork in silence. Finally, he took off his glasses. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting here?”
“I do.”
“If this isn’t real, the chief will have my ass. Chief Reynolds is a legend. An old west type, well liked and respected.” He stared intently at Jamis.
“You’re either going to be brave enough to ask questions for Stephanie, or I’ll talk to someone else here. If no one is brave enough, I’ll take it to social media, the local paper, and national news.” He put his arms on the table. “I assume you know who I am.”
“I know who you are,” he said. “Does it occur to you that you shouldn’t threaten the person you’re asking to help you?”
“I’m not asking you to help me. I need you to help Stephanie.” And also Emma, she thought, but she wasn’t sure how. “It’s the right thing to do. There is enough there to open the case. Look at it for yourself. Maybe I’m wrong and I missed something. But at least look.”
“I plan to. Regardless of the consequences.” He looked at Jamis. “Just so you know, with or without your threats, it’s my responsibility to look into this.”
“Okay. Don’t jerk me around, then. Just listen to me and I won’t threaten you,” she said.
He sighed and put his hands up in defeat. “Why are you here? Why does this matter?”
“It’s long and complicated and not so complicated at all. And I’m pretty sure you won’t believe me.” He shrugged as if to offer no certainty about his reaction. “I received an email from a couple renting her house.” She motioned to the pictures. “They said it was haunted. Asked me to come. I did, and found all of that.”
“An email got you to this?” His eyes narrowed behind the lenses of his glasses.
“And Stephanie’s poltergeist.” He laughed incredulously, and she zipped up her bag. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. What matters is that you help her rest.”
He watched her for a few moments. “Don’t go anywhere. Let’s go through all of this in detail. Let me get my laptop.” He left and she relaxed into her chair. She closed her eyes for a moment, looked for Emma in the field. She didn’t find her.
Detective Daniels was back. “Okay. Start at the beginning. When did you get the email that brought you here?”
Jamis began talking.
* * *
Jamis had paused to use the restroom and respond to a handful of text messages, but other than that, she relayed, in exacting detail, everything she’d done and learned since arriving a week before. She omitted the dimensional hopping episodes and dreams, and completely avoided talking about Emma. Her focus was Stephanie, and it was her who Detective Daniels could help. Midway through the interview, he stopped and asked Jamis to call him John. He ordered in Chinese food, and Jamis ate fried rice while she talked about the tree falling in the house.
Once done, he shook her hand and assured her that he’d keep in touch as he was able and that he would officially reopen her murder case. Jamis left, exhausted and surprised she wasn’t happier. She felt aimless. The sun fell eerily into the back of the sky and the falling dusk unsettled her. Shadows of tree branches danced faintly on the asphalt. She drove slowly to her hotel room.
She’d expected to feel better after sharing information with the police. But instead, she felt heavy and burdened. Her hotel room felt hollow and empty. She texted Johnna, Sapphire, Sam, and Carmen, wanting anyone to respond to her. She texted her friend Rachel in Phoenix. She responded first but told her she was on surgical rotation at the hospital. Jamis wanted to go home and also never wanted to leave Sage Creek.
She turned on the television to a local channel and tried to watch the news. Johnna texted her back and told her that Sam and Sapphire were at dinner, and she was still at the clinic. She looked at the text, happy and uncertain what to say next when Johnna sent her a shorter reply, inviting her to stop by.
Jamis splashed cold water on her face before she left, focused on the sensations in her body, the overwhelming despondency still present. She hoped they’d dissipate some as she drove to Johnna’s clinic, but instead, anxiety joined them, and Jamis almost turned around to go back to the hotel room.
At the clinic, she stepped tentatively into the waiting room, hoping to avoid a run-in with Gloria, but found it empty.
“I’ll be right out,” Johnna said, calling from the back of the office.
Jamis crept to the swinging door and peeked in. Johnna was washing her hands at a large steel sink, in blue scrubs, her hair tied back under a cap.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Johnna said, seeing her. Her eyes were bright and smile big. “If you don’t mind the smell. It’s been a bad day here.”
“What happened?” Jamis moved to stand by the end of the metal table, just on the other side of Johnna.
“Someone found a box of puppies with parvo today. Three died. I have two in doggy ICU. Someone else brought me seven kittens. Thrown out with trash and found at the dump. Another client’s dog got out and was hit by a car. I had to amputate his leg. And that smell, well, my overnight guest there,” Johnna pointed at a kennel, “couldn’t hold it. We just got it cleaned up.”
“Oh my God,” Jamis said. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Johnna said, laughing. “How was your day?”
“I went to the police. They’re going to open Stephanie’s case,” Jamis said.
“I bet you’re relieved,” Johnna said, drying off her hands. She waved for Jamis to follow her. They sat down in a small office. Johnna poured coffee for them both.
“I don’t know. I just feel like it’s not done somehow,” Jamis said.
“Has this happened before?” Johnna set the coffee down and opened the fridge. “I’m going to snack. Do you want something?”
“No, I’m fine,” Jamis said. “And no, not like this.” Johnna ate a protein bar, sipped her coffee. “I’m not keeping you am I?”
“No,” Johnna said, reassuring her. “I need to wait for a couple of hours before I head out.”
“Is Virginia here?”
“Sam took her home,” Johnna said. She took another sip of her coffee.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Johnna said.
“Tell me about your mom. About Emma. I’d like to know more about her.” Johnna looked thoughtful, pensive. “Who was she?”
“Why do you want to know about my mom?”
“I’d just like to know.” She worried her thumb ring back and forth, then took her glasses off. She folded them and hung them on her shirt. “How did she come out?”
“With fireworks. She came out with fireworks.” Johnna smiled, her eyes shining. “Sometimes I think I’m so quiet about it because my mom did all the work for me.” She stared forward, lost in memory. “It was like she lit a bonfire, put illegal Fourth of July fireworks in it, and then dared anyone to say anything as they exploded. She set the town on fire. Scandalized my grandma and grandpa. They all pretend it didn’t happen, now, since she died. They’ve revised history.” She said this with distaste. “I think she lived for so long, so repressed, that when she finally found her voice, there was no slowing her down.”
Jamis listened as Johnna continued to talk, enjoying her voice as much as anything else. Jamis longed for the kinds of connections that powered these stories. People she loved so much their stories were as close as her own. When Johnna stopped talking, Jamis waited quietly, to be certain she was finished.
“Thank you,” she said, truly grateful. Johnna was across from her, not more than twenty inches, the table small. Johnna felt like home. Her energy beckoned her, called to her, and it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
“Johnna,” Jamis said, “I love the way you walk, talk, and hold your fork to eat. I even love the way you hold your coffee cup.” Johnna froze, unmoving, across the table. “When I see you again, after I’ve not seen you for an hour or a day, my heart pulls me forward and I’m flooded with emotion. Since I’ve met you, every day, I think, how can I see Johnna?”
“Jamis,” Johnna said, standing up, “I thought we talked about getting to know one another.”
“We did,” Jamis said, standing too. “Does my telling you this change that? I’m not trying to. I just want you to know.”
Johnna nodded, wiped her hands on her scrubs, and turned to leave the room. Jamis reached out, hand on her forearm, and Johnna paused, held still. Jamis stepped tentatively toward her, moving her hand to her back. Jamis turned her to face her, and Johnna put her hands on Jamis’s neck, pressed her forehead down, against her own. Jamis felt the warmth of her skin for the first time and responded by holding her wrists. It wasn’t simply desire she felt. She wanted to love her. Take walks in the evening. Adopt three more dogs. Bring her coffee every day. Wake every morning next to her. The impulse was absurd. She’d just met her, but she felt what she felt.
“Jamis,” Johnna said, pulling away. “You’re going to leave.”
“Who says?” Jamis dipped her head down, pressed her lips against Johnna’s, gentle, soft, and pulled back and away. Johnna pulled her back, arms around her neck, and kissed her, firmly, hands on her face now.
“We’ll see,” Johnna said, letting go. Jamis embraced her, arms around her waist.
“Yeah, we will,” Jamis said, another soft kiss on Johnna’s nose, chin, and cheek, before she said good-bye with a kiss on her lips. “I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you later.”
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday, August 24, 1991
Emma ran a brush through her hair. It fell in long strands around her face and tou
ched her shoulders. She didn’t typically look at herself in the mirror so long but could not look away. She applied lipstick with a shaking hand and grimaced as it slid across her cheek. She dropped the tube and scrubbed at her face with a washcloth. She breathed deep, steadied herself, and tried again. She set down the tube and picked up her mascara. She moved closer to the mirror, applied it gently, finished, and set the tube down. She ran her left index finger over the lines framing her eyes and fought back tears. With desperate want, she patted her face with powder to cover up the signs of her age. Hopelessness surged with her obsessive fixation on appearance, and she stopped and put the makeup away. She wanted to be who she was and not cover it up.
Travertine tiles lined the shower and the floor. Emma wiped down the new powder white cabinets with a washcloth. Stephen’s promotion the year before allowed them to upgrade aspects of the house they had neglected for years. Disgust rose in her at the thought of him. She pushed it down. He worked in Logan, and rather than commute, he rented a small apartment. He was only home every other weekend, and she was sure he was as relieved as she was. When he was home, she slept on the couch. Anger rose unbidden in her chest, and she clenched her jaw, furious.
Once again, Emma looked closely at herself. There were lines around her mouth that were not there the last time she saw herself so clearly, and the skin on her neck was weathered, but her hair was still reddish blond. She looked at her hands. They looked like her mother’s hands when she was young.
She pulled back from the mirror, picked up her makeup, and placed it heavily in the bag. She tossed it in the drawer and closed it with some force. She wanted to tear the bathroom apart with her bare hands, down to the studs, yank up the tile, take a crowbar to the cabinets. She walked into the bedroom. Johnna sat in the middle of the bed, a book in her lap. Her hair spilled out of her ponytail, and she looked up with simple regard and a smile. Emma smiled back involuntarily, so complete was her affection. The anger dispelled, swallowed by love, and she sighed as her chest relaxed. She wrapped Johnna in her arms. She kissed her head, smelled her freshly washed hair. “I love you to the moon and back.”