A Medium's Birthday Surprise

by Chariss K. Walker

  Bobby thought about Rings for several moments on the way to his kitchen. He lightly chuckled to himself. Yes, Rings was the best kind of pet for him to have for sure. The pup didn’t eat, poop, or need to be walked. Give him an old shoe to chew on and he was a happy camper. Plus, he was a joy to come home to each evening.

  Bobby cracked the top on the first beer as he considered his life. In spite of his material accomplishments, he didn’t like what he saw when he looked in the mirror or caught his reflection in any shiny surface. He was not happy with the way his life had turned out.

  Even though he didn’t want to, he relived his experiences in Iraq and felt ashamed of himself. He hadn’t helped a single ghost find closure while stationed there. Instead, he’d hidden from them like a scared little kid… he’d numbed himself with alcohol so he wouldn’t have to deal with spirits and their problems. The alcohol had turned their pleas into whimpers and a dull buzz making it easy to ignore them.

  With those thoughts racing through his mind, Bobby hit the case of cold beer in his refrigerator as hard and as fast as he had ever hit the alcohol relief before. He drank one can after the other trying to ease his spiritual discomfort. Sure, it numbed him to the point that he couldn’t hear a ghost’s pleas, but it didn’t make him feel any better about himself. It only made him feel worse.

  By the time Becky called, Bobby was passed out on his sofa with Rings sitting beside him. The pup gently whimpered concern for his new owner, but even his soft cries didn’t rouse Bobby from his stupor. When Becky’s call came through, he never even heard the phone ring or her voice leaving a message. He’d finally made it to oblivion and he wanted to stay there where he didn’t feel anything, especially regret.

  Although Bobby didn’t fully realize it at the time, he was disgusted by his own shallow life. He felt as if the ability he had discovered the night his parents died was wasted on him. He felt like a true coward for shirking his responsibilities as a medium. Comparing himself to Becky, he didn’t like what he’d become.

  He knew that Becky eagerly helped any ghost with a problem. She put herself out there even when doing so left her open to harm. Such was the situation involving this case with Josh, the long-lost boyfriend. Bobby knew that Josh was dangerous. He knew that his anger could hurt Becky, but she still kept at it, trying to help him. It not only worried Bobby, it made him angry that she would take such risks. It made him angry with himself that he was unwilling to do the same.

  He’d jokingly said that Asheville didn’t need two or three mediums, but he knew it was just an excuse for him to deny his true calling. He’d always depended on Becky to do the heavy lifting and she was the baby of the family. For that, he felt truly ashamed.

  He knew that each of them had equal abilities. He knew that his gift was the same as his sisters’ abilities, but he also knew that rather than develop his as Becky had done, he’d hidden his away. He was no better than Barbara who kept herself doped up to avoid her gift. Although she was in Raleigh, Barb didn’t get involved with any ghosts there or in Asheville. Both of them had run out on Becky and left her with the heaviest load of all.

  While he slept off his inebriated state, Bobby dreamed. He saw himself living in Greenville, South Carolina. There, he used his medium abilities to help recently departed sprits. There, he didn’t hide or reject his gifts. In Greenville, Bobby found true happiness and fulfillment. And, while he dreamed of such a full and rewarding life, he wondered if it was really possible.

  Could he relocate to Greenville and start over?

  Chapter 31

  When Becky didn’t hear from Bobby by nine-thirty that evening, she fretted a bit and paced the living room wondering why he didn’t at least return her call. But then, she considered that since Bobby was often in a relationship, even if it was brief, maybe he had a date. If that was the case, she might not hear from him for a couple of days. His dates tended to last a while.

  I am with you, dear one. This isn’t anything that you cannot handle, Zetmeh encouraged. Perhaps you should get started now rather than wait for your brother to respond.

  With Zetmeh’s encouragement, Becky called Josh to her once again, but he did not come. She waited for a while, went to the kitchen to make some popcorn, and returned to the living room to wait some more. She nibbled on the popcorn and had almost given up for the evening when Josh appeared.

  “I’m glad you came, Josh,” Becky said with a smile. “I want to talk to both you and Paul. Do you mind if I call him? I think that what I have discovered will help both of you.”

  Josh shrugged his thin shoulders, noncommittally, before replying, “I don’t know how it will help, but you can do whatever you like, Becky. You’re the expert, the medium.”

  “Thank you, Josh. You’ll see. It will give you closure about your death.”

  Becky closed her eyes and thought about Paul. He appeared almost immediately, but when he saw Josh, he began to fade.

  “No, Paul, please wait,” Becky called out. “Just give me a moment. I know that what I have recently discovered will help both of you find peace.”

  “All right,” Paul agreed, still eyeing Josh suspiciously. “I’ll stay as long as Josh doesn’t attack me again.”

  Josh nodded in agreement and confirmed, “I won’t.”

  “Paul, you were at the warehouse where Bradley Edwards worked the night Josh died. Do you remember? It was called the Phillips Company. Please, tell me what you can recall about that night.”

  “I met Bradley Edwards to discuss prices. He was already angry, but when Josh showed up, they argued. Bradley was very upset that his son had overheard our conversation about the illegal beer. He yelled at Josh about arriving early. If Josh had come on time, I would not have been there. We would’ve never met.”

  “Hold that thought for one minute, Paul,” Becky interrupted and turning to Josh she asked, “Where you supposed to be there at a specific time?”

  “Yes, I was supposed to go after your party was over, a little after midnight, but when he sent the text, I felt angry and it felt urgent that I go right then,” Josh admitted.

  “What happened next, Paul?” Becky asked.

  “Bradley was really upset. He argued with Josh. Then, it grew physical. He shoved and punched Josh. Josh had no choice but to defend himself from his father’s attack. I found it surreal that Bradley would treat his son that way and I wanted to leave. I tried to leave, but Bradley started yelling at me to stay, to give him a minute to deal with his son. While they tussled, Bradley finally got the upper hand. He was much larger. He put his arm around Josh’s neck and tried to make him calm down. I thought it was only a chokehold. You know, just a method to put Josh to sleep until Bradley could figure out what to say to him. Bradley was so frustrated. After Josh passed out, Bradley and I finished our conversation and then I left. The next day, I found out that Josh was dead. I guess that Bradley dumped his body in the place where it was found. Even though it was a callous thing to do, I have to say that I do not think that Bradley meant to kill his son. I think it was an accident, but it happened because he tried to force his will on Josh. He tried to make Josh see things his way.”

  “So you had nothing to do with Josh’s death, right?” Becky asked.

  “I only witnessed what Bradley did to him,” Paul agreed.

  “Josh, do you now understand that Paul is not your enemy?” Becky asked.

  “But he was there when my body was discovered,” Josh said. “I was sure he had something to do with it.”

  “Josh, you didn’t know you were dead. How could you think that Paul was there when your body was found?” Becky asked.

  “I don’t know, but I knew that he was connected in some way,” Josh said, looking very confused.

  “I think I can shed some light on that one,” Paul said.

  “That would be great, Paul. I think most of it can be answered if you tell me about your death,” Becky said next.

  “I found out very quickly that Josh was dead,�
�� Paul admitted. ”Being overly paranoid about my own activities, I used a police scanner to keep abreast of the local police department’s actions. I lived in fear that I would be caught and that my wife would find out what I had done. When I heard that a young teen’s body had been found out on I-26 with a broken neck, I knew instantly that Bradley had killed his son. It caught me off guard and I felt like I was having a heart attack. There was so much pain in my chest and abdomen. Then, it traveled up to my head. I thought my head would explode, like it was on fire. I guess those are the symptoms of a brain aneurysm. I was thinking about Josh when I died… and he was instantly there with me in my office. Our spirits were standing there facing each other as if our deaths were connected, but they weren’t. And, when he saw me, he grabbed hold of me, almost as if we were joined. He’s been tied to me in some way ever since.”

  “He experienced your death and the symptoms of your brain aneurysm,” Becky said. “Josh still experiences it because he is connected to you, Paul. We must figure out a way that allows each of you to move on.”

  “How do we do that?” Paul asked.

  “Usually being aware of the circumstances will solve the problem,” Becky admitted as she looked closely at Josh. “Josh, do you understand what has happened? Do you think you can let go of Paul now that you know he wasn’t actually involved in your death?”

  “My father killed me.” Josh said without affect. “I knew he was corrupt, but I never dreamed he would kill me to protect his hypocritical reputation. What kind of father would do such a thing?”

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” Becky sympathized. “I know this is very difficult for you. What can I do to help?”

  “I want everyone to know what he did,” Josh said. “I want him to pay for what he did.”

  “Josh, he didn’t mean to kill you,” Paul interjected. “It was an accident.”

  “Didn’t he put me in a chokehold? Didn’t he want to shut me up? Didn’t his actions cause my death?” Josh said as his anger grew. “I want him to pay the consequences of being a very bad father. I want him arrested for my murder.”

  “Josh, the law is tricky,” Becky admonished.” If he has a good attorney, he might very well get off, claiming it was an accident.”

  “Your vengeance won’t bring you back,” Paul added.

  “I tell you, I want him to pay!” Josh yelled. His angry voice shook the walls in Becky’s home knocking a family portrait off its hanger as he made a hasty exit.

  “Well, Paul, are you released from Josh now?” Becky asked after several moments of silence.

  “Yes, I believe I am, but that doesn’t solve your problem. Josh is still angry and volatile. He’s still dangerous. Even though I am free from his hold on me, I’m not sure that I am ready to leave. Perhaps I should keep an eye on him. Thank you, Becky. Thank you for helping my wife. I’m pretty sure that Josh won’t disturb her anymore, but I have to make sure.”

  “I understand,” Becky said to a now empty living room. She got up from the sofa and went to the picture that had fallen off the wall. It was taken several years ago, long before Justin and Joyce died.

  Becky studied the portrait carefully. She was about fifteen at the time and Bobby was seventeen. Barb, already away at college was nineteen. Justin was on one end, Joyce was on the other end, and their three children stood between them arranged in order of age. The family seemed happy and secure in each other’s love.

  Tears streamed down Becky’s face as she considered the life Josh had lived with his parents. He had never been accepted or loved, only controlled. He’d never had a chance. Her heart went out to him and all the others who had never known the kind of family acceptance she had known. It was just sad, terribly sad.

  Chapter 32

  Meanwhile, Sgt. Marty Smith called on Bradley Edwards at his place of work. It was a fishing expedition, but Marty couldn’t stay away. He didn’t have a single thing to go on other than intuition and his instincts told him something was off with the Josh Edwards case. Marty had suspected foul play ever since Becky Tibbs had met him for lunch. Now, he had to prove it.

  Edwards, currently the new supervisor at another distribution company in Asheville, bought locally made products from the glassblowers in the community for pennies and resold the artists’ work to shop owners all across the country at a three-hundred-percent markup, sometimes more. He also made a hefty fee for his distribution services.

  After all, a glassblower was hard at work making his bongs, pipes, spoons, and mushroom pendants. He didn’t have the time or financial means to travel to various cities and states to sell his wares too. The glassblower could only depend on his distributor. If the distributor was a thief, it didn’t matter in the slightest in this market because the glassblower still had no other options.

  When Marty Smith entered the store, he observed a sales transaction between Edwards and a local artist. He listened closely as the two men bartered, or tried to. Edwards wasn’t giving an inch.

  “I’m telling you, that pipe is only worth ten dollars to me. I can’t sell it for more than twenty to a store,” Edwards argued. As Marty entered the store, Edwards looked up and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “This is a Sherlock… A most unusual Sherlock. It’s made in one piece. No one is making them like this. It has to be worth fifty from a store because they’ll sell it for seventy-five to a hundred. That means you should pay at least twenty-five dollars to me.”

  “Oh, you’re forgetting about the distribution fee. Take another thirty percent off that and I’d owe you seventeen-fifty… if … and I repeat… if I thought I could get fifty from the store. I know I can’t. I can only get ten because they can only sell it for twenty. Take it or leave it. There are plenty of other glass blowers that are waiting to do business with me.”

  “So you’re saying that it’s only worth ten dollars?” the sad, dejected glassblower’s voice betrayed his utter frustration.

  “Minus my distribution fee that’ll be seven to you,” Edwards corrected.

  “You know you’re stripping the life’s essence out of the local glassblowing community, right? I mean you have to be aware that you’re starving us to death first and then putting us completely out of business.”

  “Look, I got other people waiting to see me. Take it or leave it,” Edwards said again.

  The glassblower nodded his head, but from the look on his face, he was disheartened and beaten by the greed of the man standing before him. Edwards reached into the cash register and pulled out two ones and a five. Without showing any respect for the colorful piece of art or the artist who buttered his bread, he slammed the cash on the counter as if disgusted that he had to pay even that amount.

  Marty Smith had always thought that glassblowers were an interesting breed. They worked diligently with extremely hot glass and blow tubes to shape and manipulate a glass tube into designs and products that could be sold in stores. Some made intricate sculptures often sold for hundreds of dollars while others made instruments used to smoke weed.

  Marty had never worried much about the Asheville residents who smoked herb… and there were plenty of them. He knew them to be mild-mannered who had never caused any trouble. Most were hippies and lived by their own rules which had always seemed honest and fair to the police officer. Now, he sympathized with the young man trying and failing to make a deal with Edwards.

  After the glassblower left, Edwards looked up and asked, “Can I see some I.D.?”

  Marty flashed his badge in response.

  “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions about your son’s death,” Marty replied.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t already tell ten years ago.”

  “Were you at work the night your son died?” Marty asked ignoring the man’s comment.

  “Yes, I think I was. It was a long time ago.”

  “If it had been my son, I would remember every detail, every second of
that night,” Marty said. He was beginning to dislike Edwards very much.

  “Well, it wasn’t your son. It was mine.”

  That settled it in Marty’s mind. Edwards wasn’t selectively an A-hole to glassblowers. He was an A-hole to everyone. Now he knew that he despised Bradley Edwards and his callous response.

  “So were you at work at the Phillips Company or not? You know, the place you worked that was only two miles from where your son’s body was discovered?”

  “Like I said, I can’t remember. Probably; I worked a lot.”

  “Did your son visit you that night?” Marty asked.

  “If I don’t remember if I was at work, how can you expect me to remember if my son visited me at work?”

  “Look, I know you sent your son a text with the address to the Phillips Company. I know you were expecting him. Did he come or not?”

  Bradley Edwards, his face a mask of barely concealed wrath, was about to deny it when glass products began to fly off their shelves behind him. Thick marble pendants rained down on him with such force that the glass counter where he stood cracked and shattered. The cash register slipped through the gaping hole and fell on the shelf below also shattering it. Edwards covered his head with his arms, hoping to protect himself from the flying debris, but a tiger-eye marble pendant hit him in the face. It cut a wide gash on Edwards’ cheek and blood began to flow.

  Marty had taken a few steps back as soon as the objects began to fly through the air. It was an effort to avoid the fine shards of glass that spewed in all directions, but he didn’t escape completely unscathed. Several pieces landed on his sleeves and shirtfront. He brushed off a few slivers that he could see while memories of the movie Poltergeist filled his mind. He was shocked that such a thing could actually happen in real life.

  Words like bizarre, otherworldly, and surreal came to mind and he wondered for a brief moment if he was hallucinating. Still, he had witnessed the strange behavior himself. He surely couldn’t deny that. A level headed man, Marty couldn’t refute what he’d just seen… Something invisible to the natural eye had been very angry with Bradley Edwards when he refused to admit that he’d been with his son on the night he died.