by Val Crowe
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know a lot about it, but from what I understand, people who are abused tend to try to conceal it.”
“Well, she knew I’d never stand for it if I knew, and she didn’t want me to interfere. She probably thought he’d change. But men like him don’t change. I’m glad he’s been arrested. I really am.”
“Are you?” I said. “Good.” Because during our last conversation, I hadn’t really gotten that impression.
“Well, I wish it didn’t all lie on Kadan’s little shoulders. He’ll have to testify in court. He’ll be subjected to cross examination. He’s going to suffer even more than the poor child has already suffered.”
I guessed that was true. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Terrell.”
“I guess you are,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “We can’t take it back now, anyway. It was what Kadan wanted to do.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“You still haven’t asked me any questions.”
“Yeah, I guess we keep getting a little off track,” I said. “I want to know what it was that Cheyenne might have hidden. Do you know that?”
“I… I have no idea. She didn’t tell me that she would need to hide things from Tex. She tried to make it out like they were happy.”
I sighed. “Right, I guess that is what she would have done.”
“But it was something he wanted?” she said.
“Yeah, I think it must have been something of value or something that could have hurt him. Did Cheyenne have any family heirlooms that were worth a lot of money or anything like that?”
“No, no nothing that I can think of.”
Too bad. This was a dead end. I was glad that Virginia had decided to call me back, but it wasn’t really helping anything. That was disappointing.
“You might want to talk to her best friend,” said Virginia.
“Who’s that?” I said.
“Her name is Rollins,” said Virginia. “She has a funny first name. I always forget it. Ariella or Avaria or… hold on. I have it in my phone.”
I waited.
A long pause, and then I heard Virginia’s voice, although it was distant. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I have you on speaker phone,” she said.
“Oh,” I said.
“Okay, her name is Aviana,” said Virginia. “Aviana Rollins.”
“If you have her name in your phone, does that mean you have a number for her as well?”
“Yes, I got it from Cheyenne at one point just in case I couldn’t get in touch with her, like if her cell wasn’t ringing. She said that she might be with Aviana, and to try with her.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Could I have the number?”
“Well…” Virginia sighed. “I don’t know if she’d like me giving it out.”
“Should you call her instead, ask her to call me?”
“No, that seems complicated,” said Virginia. “I’ll give you the number.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Virginia rattled it off and I copied it down.
“Cheyenne told Aviana everything,” said Virginia. “If she talked to anyone about what she hid, it would be Aviana.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks for this, Mrs. Terrell. I really appreciate it.”
* * *
I couldn’t call Aviana that night. It was way too late. I was going to have to figure out how to approach her anyway. I didn’t know if I wanted her to know that I was a ghost hunter right off. That might make her less likely to want to talk. I would have to think about that.
Since I was awake, I called for Mads. She hadn’t been back since our conversation before I went to sleep.
She didn’t show up, and I was disappointed, but not surprised. When she took off like that, it was generally for a while. I really felt sad for her. Maybe it was the natural order of things for her to be in a world with no sensation, but I hated it. I wanted her free from all that. Maybe I shouldn’t ask for something like that. I shouldn’t try to get things for myself that I couldn’t have. I should just accept the world as it was.
But fuck that.
I wanted Mads, and I had to figure out a way to get her. Not just for my own selfish desires, but because she was miserable.
Mads had done a lot for me. I should do something nice for her. I should help her find a way to experience the world. Or… well, even if I shouldn’t, I would.
I stayed up for hours after that, googling whatever I could online about the subject of possession, but pretty much everything that came up was fiction. Nothing seemed grounded in reality or my own experiences. I knew that possession was rare, but I knew that it did happen. Still, most cases seemed to be things that could be chalked up as mental illness or even abuse on the part of the parents of a supposed possessed person.
When I finally went to sleep, I only felt disturbed, not any better about the situation.
The next morning, I woke up and dithered about calling Aviana. I didn’t want to call her too early and wake her up. On the other hand, she was probably going to be going to work, and I wouldn’t be able to catch her.
When I finally did call her, it was around 10:00.
She didn’t pick up the phone. Maybe she was screening her phone calls or maybe she was busy.
I left her a voicemail. “Hi there, my name is Deacon Garrison. I’m a private detective, and I’m hoping you can help me out with a case I’ve been hired to solve that involves Cheyenne Sanford. I understand the two of you were friends. Please give me a call back at your earliest convenience.”
I had decided to be a private detective instead of a ghost hunter, because I figured it was more respectable. I was hoping she would call me back simply because she was curious, but I obviously couldn’t count on that. I resolved to call her back that evening if I hadn’t heard from her. If I called enough, hopefully she’d get back in touch with me.
With that done, I had the whole day ahead of myself and nothing to really do with myself.
I didn’t think that googling was going to help me figure out this possession thing. Possession would either work or it wouldn’t.
I thought that maybe what Mads and I should do instead was to attempt it ourselves. She could try to possess me, and that way she could see if it worked or not. And while inside me, she could feel things. Taste things. And… well, hell, it sounded kind of intimate. I liked the idea.
I also thought that maybe I should try to find a candidate. Were there people out there in vegetative comas who were kept alive while brain dead? I knew it was possible in theory, but I didn’t know if there were many actual people to choose from. Maybe loved ones pulled the plug on brain dead victims. I knew it must be hard, but if there was no hope, why hold on?
That was even harder to google than possession. It wasn’t as if there were handy lists on the internet of people in comas.
But I did find a few candidates.
One was a Facebook page dedicated to a girl named Marissa Oldage, who’d been in a coma for five years. She was twenty-six now, and she got people writing on her wall every day.
Another was a news article about a woman who’d been kept on life support for nearly three years. She was older, about thirty.
I had to admit that putting names to this made it creepier. I wanted Mads to steal a body—a person. It didn’t seem as cut and dry as I’d thought it might be. I started to wonder if it would be something I could do in good conscience after all.
Maybe there was some other option for Mads. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I would try to figure it out if I could.
* * *
But I didn’t have any brainwaves on Mads’s situation that evening. I hoped she’d show back up at some point. She didn’t, however.
So, I ended up drinking an entire six pack of beer alone in the Airstream while watching Netflix. I tried calling Aviana again, but she didn’t answer. I left another voicemail and hoped for the best. Maybe I coul
d use the internet to find her address if I had to. Then I could show up at her door and ask her questions.
What did private investigators wear? Did they wear suits?
I was going to have to buy a suit, wasn’t I? Man, I wasn’t looking forward to that.
I fell asleep with my laptop balanced on my chest.
When I woke up to my phone ringing, my laptop was still going, playing some episode far into the future of the series. That autoplay feature was nice and all, but now I didn’t know where I’d left off.
I snagged my phone. “Hello?” I said in a sleep-ravaged voice.
“Deacon?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I yawned, setting my laptop aside and pausing Netflix.
“This is Wren Bentley. You probably don’t want to hear from me.”
“Actually, I do,” I said, sitting up. “I thought you were done with me, though.”
“Well, the cleansing, it didn’t so much work,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. I wasn’t going to say, I told you so, but…
“Philip’s acting… weird,” she said.
“Weird how?”
“He woke up and he started asking me where I hid it,” she said. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I thought maybe he was sleepwalking or something.”
“He does that?”
“No, but I thought maybe the stress of the house being haunted and the baby and everything was triggering it,” she said. “Anyway, I tried to wake him up, but I can’t. And then he called me Cheyenne. And that was when I knew that… the cleansing didn’t work.”
“Crap,” I said.
“He’s being really aggressive,” she said.
“If he’s under the influence of the spirit of Tex Sanford, you could be in real trouble,” I said. “Tex was abusive. And not only that, he killed Cheyenne. If you’re being fixated on, as if you’re Cheyenne—”
“He would never kill me,” she said.
“No, Phil wouldn’t,” I said. “But Phil isn’t himself. Where is he right now?”
“Um…” Wren didn’t answer. Instead she let out a quiet little sob and breathed for a couple of moments. “He’s outside of the nursery. I locked myself in here. He keeps banging on the door and yelling to let him in.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Stay where you are. Do not let him in. I’m on my way.”
“What are you going to do?” said Wren. “You can’t hurt Phil.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise.” But to be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. When I had been under the influence of spirits in Point Oakes, my mother had been able to snap me out of it.
By all rights, the person who mattered most to Philip should be Wren. So, she should be able to get him to shake the influence of the ghost. But she couldn’t. I didn’t have any connection with Philip. What the hell did I think I was going to do exactly?
Damn it.
I got in the car and drove as fast as I could. I was speeding, which I knew wasn’t a great idea. I scanned the road for any sign of police as I drove, and I was as careful as I could be.
I wanted to call Wren back to make sure she was okay, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road. I was afraid that I would get to the house and find something awful. Philip would have hurt and killed Wren.
I took comfort in the fact that Cheyenne had been shot, and I knew that there was no gun in Philip’s and Wren’s house.
Well, did I know that? I hadn’t really asked that, had I?
Damn it.
Philip didn’t seem like a gun guy, but you couldn’t really tell from looking at a person. He might be one of those guys who keeps a gun for self-defense or who likes to shoot for sport.
I fumbled for my phone anyway, and I dialed Wren back.
I gripped the phone to one ear and the steering wheel with another. I shot down the road in the darkness, going as quickly as I could.
The phone rang.
And rang.
And rang.
She never picked up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I arrived at the house fifteen minutes later. I parked the car, flung open my door and ran for the front door.
It was unlocked, because people tend not to lock up when they’re at home, which maybe doesn’t make a lot of sense, but there it is. I sprinted up the steps.
At the top, I couldn’t see anyone.
I had expected to see Philip banging on the door to the nursery, but there was no Philip.
I rushed to the nursery door and tried the knob.
Locked.
“Wren?” I called.
“Deacon?” came her voice from inside.
“Oh, God,” I said. “You’re okay?” Please, be okay. Don’t be the ghost of Wren talking to me from behind a locked door. “Let me in.”
The door opened.
Wren was there in her nightgown. Her face was red with tears and her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair was mussed. She was clutching her swollen belly. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”
“We have to get you out of here,” I said.
“Not without Philip,” she said.
“Where is Philip?”
“I don’t know. He stopped banging on the door at some point,” she said. “I don’t know where he went.”
“Why didn’t you answer the phone when I called you?”
“I turned off the ringer,” she said. “It was making Phil mad. He was banging on the door so hard I thought he was going to make the door splinter.”
I grimaced. “That bad, huh?”
“We need to help him,” she said.
“We need to get you safe first,” I said. “How about the garage? You want to go there until I can find him?”
“O-okay,” she said, sniffling.
“You’re going to need a coat,” I said. “Shoes.”
She nodded.
We went down the hallway to her bedroom. I made her let me go into the room first. I turned on the light, and I didn’t see anyone, so we went in together. I had her stay back, and then I looked under the bed and in the closet.
No Philip.
Wren waddled over to the bed and then laboriously plopped down. “Mmph,” she muttered. She pointed. “Can you get my shoes over there?”
“Yeah,” I said. I brought them to her. “You need socks?”
“Top drawer,” she said.
I brought her socks.
Then I watched as she tried to bend over that huge belly of hers to put them on. I was torn. I wanted to offer to help, but I thought that might be overstepping my bounds. I was a guy that she didn’t know too well. Putting on someone’s socks seemed like the kind of thing that could be, well, weird. So, I just waited.
Eventually, she was done and was trying to push herself back into a standing position.
I did help her stand.
I helped her with the arms to her coat too.
Then we carefully left the bedroom and eased our way down the hall. We went down the steps. I went first, and she came right behind. At the bottom of the steps, I pulled her out behind me as quick as I could, not even bothering to look into the living room or the den.
Together, Wren and I went over to the garage. I left her there, after I had ascertained that she’d put the ringer back on her phone. She should be safe there. The garage wasn’t haunted. Well, near as I knew, anyway.
I went back into the house to look for Philip.
I stepped into the den, and turned on the lights. It was empty. Fireplace, desk, mantel… Nothing out of place.
“Philip?” I called. “Hey, Philip!”
I waited. No answer.
“Tex?” I called.
“Where is it?” snarled a distant voice.
Oh, holy shit, it was coming from beneath me. The basement.
Man, basements were creepy even when they weren’t haunted. This was shit. I didn’t want to go down there, but I figured I had do.
I remembered that the stairs to the basement were in the
kitchen, underneath the stairs to the upstairs. I headed there.
The door was ajar.
I could see a light from below, but it was a sickly sort of yellow light that seemed to pulse and glow. The minute I looked at it, my body broke out in goosebumps.
Now on high alert, I looked over my shoulder.
There was nothing there, but I felt on edge.
I eased forward and pushed on the door.
It swung open, letting out a loud creak as it did so.
Someone was on the other side of the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
But it wasn’t Philip.
It was someone who didn’t belong there. Kennely Farr, half naked, in only a blood spattered bra and her jeans. Kennely belonged back at the Sunny Day Campgrounds. That was where she’d been killed. There was a big stab wound in her stomach. It was rotted. Things inside it were moving, as if there were live things inside her. Her face was ashen and gray, her lips blue. She looked at me with cloudy, pupiless eyes. “Deacon,” she said, her voice scratchy.
I backed away, tripping over my own legs. “You’re dead,” I muttered.
“And whose fault is that?” said Kennely.
“I… I tried to warn you,” I said. “I told you all to leave. Hell, I tried to save you. I came to the cabin—”
“All you do is leave pain in your wake, Deacon,” she said, reaching for me. “It would be easier if you didn’t exist.”
I held up both hands to ward her off. “Please, Kennely, I’m sorry. Please.”
“Do you want me to help?” She cocked her head to one side. “It won’t hurt much, I swear. Just a pinch. And then… no more Deacon. And everyone’s happier.”
“Stop it,” I said. “I’m doing my best here. I’m trying to help people.”
“Like Philip down there?” she said. “Yeah, if you hadn’t come to his house, he wouldn’t be down there searching for a gun to kill his wife with.”
“What?” I said. “There’s a gun?”