Stolen Dreams - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery - Book Fourteen
Stolen Dreams
A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY
(Book Fourteen)
by
Terri Reid
“Perhaps you don’t understand the connection mothers have with their children,” she replied.
“It’s a bond that doesn’t lessen with age or distance.” She placed her hands on her belly. “And it’s a bond that something as inconsequential as death will never overcome.”
Stolen Dreams – A Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery
I feel the same way about friendship!
Terri Reid
This book is dedicated to my dear friend, Barbara Carlisle.
She has exemplified grace, courage, selflessness, friendship and love in ways that I will never forget.
Thank you for being my friend, my mentor and my sister. I will remember you always!
STOLEN DREAMS – A MARY O’REILLY PARANORMAL MYSTERY
by
Terri Reid
Copyright © 2015 by Terri Reid
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Powers, Virginia Onines, Denise Carpenter, Juliette Wilson, Maureen Marella, Jennifer Bates and Hillary Gadd.
She would also like to thank all of the wonderful readers who walk with her through Mary and Bradley’s adventures and encourage her along the way. I hope we continue on this wonderful journey for a long time.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Prologue
The huge, old mansion used to be on the outskirts of town, but throughout the years, the town crept up to it and finally surrounded it. A tall, wrought iron, black fence encased with ivy was the first barrier between the thriving town and the ancient mansion with its dark windows, slightly overgrown foliage, and ominous, oversized, black shutters lying against the gray slate façade. The second barrier to most of the people in the community was the rumors that the old house was haunted.
The sleek, black, Mercedes sedan slid to the curb in front of the house and two men got out of the car and walked to the ornamental, wrought iron gate. Sol Atkinson’s gait was smooth and easy, like his smile. His blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and his suntan was mechanically applied on a regular basis. His face was lean, with his cheekbones set high and his chin square, giving you the impression of a skull with a thin veneer of humanity stretched over it.
He reached into the pocket of his loosely fitted, expensive, business suit and pulled out the key to the gate’s padlock. Smoothly fitting it into the lock, he turned it, and the lock easily slid open. “Hurry, Marty,” he urged his companion. “There’s nothing less scary than a couple of suits.”
Marty Cannon nervously looked up and down the street, his wispy thin moustache dancing above his lip and standing out boldly against his pale, flaccid skin. He ran a nervous hand along his brow, smoothing the thinning strands of his comb-over with the sweat beading up on his forehead. An entire head shorter than Sol, he took a quick breath and tried to summon a smile. “Unless the suits are from the government,” he joked lamely, wheezing with mirth at his own joke.
Sol shook his head and pushed open the gate. “Given the circumstances, that was not funny, Marty.”
Once they entered the front yard of the mansion, Sol turned and closed the gate behind them with a solid clang. Then he replaced the lock and clicked it firmly in place. As Sol strode up towards the front porch, Marty hung back. His foot on the first step, Sol turned back to his partner. “You still scared of this place, Marty?” he asked with a sneer.
Embarrassed, Marty shrugged. “It’s just creepy, that’s all,” he replied. “I never liked this place. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Disgusted, Sol jogged up the remaining steps and unlocked the front door. “Well, you of all people should know there aren’t any ghosts haunting the property,” he complained. “Which isn’t doing any of us a lot of good.”
Marty slowly followed him, his gaze scanning the area cautiously. “We should just sell this place,” he remarked. “Just get our investment out of it. I never liked this town anyway.”
Sol waited until Marty had entered the house and stood in the front lobby next to him before he replied. “Are you freaking kidding me, Marty?” he exploded. “Let go of the house? You do realize that we don’t have any money to get out of this place, and if we sell it, we will end up owing the banks.”
“But Sol, it ain’t haunted like you thought,” Marty argued cautiously. It wasn’t a good idea to get Sol too angry. “We’ve tried everything, séances, Ouija boards, mediums—everything. Thi
s place is just an old, empty house. A creepy, old house.”
Sol shook his head, disregarding Marty’s words, and started up the tall staircase to the second floor. “It just has to seem like a haunted house,” he said. “We’ll keep the crowds coming if it seems like a haunted house. People pay good money to spend the night in a haunted mansion.”
Marty followed him, shaking his head. “After that last paranormal research group came through and found nothing, we ain’t been getting the crowds like we used to,” he pointed out. “People look on the internet for everything. All they have to do is research the house and they’ll see we’ve been investigated by three different groups. They ain’t gonna pay top dollar to stay in the state’s most haunted house if it ain’t got no ghosts.”
Sol stopped at the top of the stairs and waited for Marty. “Then all we need is a ghost,” he said.
“We’ve tried that,” Marty sighed. “We tried getting a ghost to come here and, I’ve got to say, that was creepier than anything else we’ve done. ‘Sides, those paranormal research folks told us that we shouldn’t be inviting spirits into this house because we don’t know what kind of entity we’d get. What if we get a demon, Sol?”
“So? A spirit’s a spirit in my opinion,” he retorted. “As long as it makes noise and scares the guests, I don’t give a damn where it came from. I just want something to bring us some publicity and some cash.”
Marty shook his head and put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Sol, we’ve been at this for three years,” he replied. “The balloon payment is coming up in three months. We ain’t got the capital. We gotta let go of this place before we lose everything.”
Shoving Marty’s arm off his shoulder, Sol paced angrily down the hallway. “Don’t you get it, Marty?” he growled, his teeth clenched. “I’m going to lose everything if this place doesn’t pan out. I sunk everything I owned into this place. I don’t have any reserves. I don’t have anything to turn to. This place has to work out.”
Marty leaned one hand on the balustrade at the top of the staircase and sadly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sol. I’d do anything to help you,” he said sadly. “But this place just ain’t got a ghost.”
Sol sighed deeply and turned back to his friend, nodding his head slowly. “Thank you, Marty,” he replied, slowly coming back down the hall to where Marty was standing. “I thought you might say that.”
Shaking his head with confusion, Marty replied, “What did I say?”
“That you’d do anything to help,” Sol replied, his eyes meeting his companion’s.
A icy tremor of fear swept through Marty’s body as he saw the cold, calculating look in Sol’s eyes. He lifted his hands defensively. “No, Sol, no,” he cried even as he felt the power of Sol’s body knock him backwards and down the stairs.
A few moments later, Sol stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the broken, lifeless body of his business partner sprawled unnaturally on the black and white, ceramic tiled, lobby floor. He leaned against the same balustrade that only moments before had been held by Marty and nodded. “And now we have a ghost.”
Chapter One
“Mary, what are you going to be for Halloween?” Clarissa asked as Mary slowly climbed down the stairs.
Pushing her hair away from her sleepy face, Mary yawned and sighed. “Just put me in orange sweat pants and a sweatshirt and I can go as a walking pumpkin,” she muttered.
“What?” Clarissa asked.
Chuckling, Bradley met Mary at the bottom of the stairs and handed her a cup of herbal tea. “You are extremely beautiful and sexy,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. Then he turned to Clarissa. “I think she should go as a princess. What do you think?”
Clarissa studied her stepmother for a moment, cocking her head to the side and contemplating her father’s comment. “If Mary goes as Snow White, then maybe baby Mikey can be one of the dwarves.”
Nearly spitting out the sip of tea she’d just taken, Mary swallowed quickly and laughed. “I think that would be perfect,” she said, picturing a dwarf costume on her protruding belly. “Or I could be a snowman and baby Mikey can be the middle layer.”
“That would be cool, too,” Clarissa said, excited about the whole new classification of costumes. “Or you could be a haunted house and Mikey could be a ghost coming out of the door.”
“A house,” Mary muttered. “Yes, that’s about how big I feel.”
“I think we should stop thinking about costumes,” Bradley suggested, worrying that this conversation could take an ugly turn at any moment.
“Or you could be a Heffalump from Winnie-the-Pooh!” Clarissa exclaimed.
Ugly turn reached, Bradley thought, closing his eyes for a moment, then peeking at Mary.
Her lips were turned down in a pout and she was staring at her belly where she was resting her tea cup. She slowly lifted her head and, with a glimmer of tears in her eyes, sniffed audibly. “I look like a Heffalump?” she asked.
Wrapping his arms around her, Bradley brought her into his embrace. “No, sweetheart,” he said. “You look perfect. Beautiful. And, actually, more like Winnie-the-Pooh than a Heffalump.”
She softly punched his arm. “Shut up,” she said, laughing softly. “You’re not helping.”
Suddenly baby Mikey made his presence known by kicking Bradley and causing him to jump back. “Whoa,” Bradley said. “He’s got quite a kick there.”
“Oh, really?” Mary asked sarcastically. “I hadn’t really noticed.”
She put the teacup down and placed her hands over her belly. “Yes, Mikey, you know what you would like to be for Halloween?” she asked, bending her head forward and pretending to listen. After a moment, she looked up and smiled at Bradley and Clarissa. “Well, of course, that makes perfect sense. Mikey wants to be a Ninja.”
Clarissa hopped off her chair, grabbing her backpack as she walked towards the front door, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “That would be great,” she agreed. “And, know what? You could go as a Teenaged—”
Bradley placed his hand strategically over Clarissa’s mouth and shook his head. “No, sweetie, we don’t even want to go there,” he said with a grin.
Clarissa giggled and then walked over to Mary to give her a hug. “Mrs. Shepard, Macy’s mom, says she hates you because from the back you don’t even look pregnant,” Clarissa said. Then she bent and pressed a kiss on Mary’s belly. “Bye, Mikey, see you after school.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, bending over and kissing Clarissa. “That was just what I needed to hear. Have a wonderful day.”
“You, too,” Clarissa called, hurrying to the door. “Bye, Dad.”
“Bye, sweetie,” he called back and then he turned to Mary. “So, which one is Mrs. Shepard?”
“The bleached blonde who always looks like she’s just come from the gym when she picks up her kids,” Mary replied with a sweet smile.
“Ah, the spandex queen.”
An eyebrow rose over Mary’s right eye. “So, you noticed,” she said.
Bradley shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t notice at all. That’s what other people call her,” he replied with a smile and then, changing the subject, asked, “So, what do you want for breakfast?”
“What are my choices?” she asked.
“Eggs, bacon, pancakes, frozen waffles, oatmeal, toast, yogurt, cereal and fruit,” he replied.
“Okay, sounds good,” she replied walking past him towards the kitchen so she could hide her smile.
“All of it?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his surprise.
Slipping onto a stool next to the counter, she turned and grinned at him. “No, although I feel hungry enough to eat it all,” she admitted. “I’ll just have a protein shake with yogurt, and maybe some whole grain toast.”
“That’s all?” he replied, coming up beside her. “Is that enough?”
Feeling grateful for his concern, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Yes, it’s enough,”
she said. “But thanks for worrying.”
He placed his head down on the top of hers and held her, loving the way she still fit in his embrace.
“Good morning you two lovebirds,” Mike said, appearing next to them, his translucent body lingering in the doorway. “How did you sleep?”
“I had some crazy dreams,” she replied.
“You could say that again,” Mike said.
Bradley, still holding Mary in his arms, nodded, “Yeah, I woke up once when you were thrashing around,” he said. “Then you got out of bed.”
She pulled back. “I got out of bed?” she asked. “To go to the bathroom?”
Mike shook his head. “No, you had some other things on your mind.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Do you want to show her, or shall I?” Bradley asked.
“Show me what?”
“Instead of going to the bathroom, you wandered into the hallway and headed downstairs,” Mike said. “So we both decided to follow you.”
“Downstairs?” Mary asked, shocked. “I don’t remember going downstairs.”
“I think you were sleep walking,” Bradley said. “You kept murmuring something about someone taking your baby and how you had to find it.”
“Where was I looking?” she asked.
“Follow me,” Mike replied, floating into the living room.
Bradley took Mary’s hand, helped her off the stool and guided her back to the living room. Then Mike pushed aside a rug near the fireplace. There were several deep gouges in the wood floor.
“I did that?” she asked, astonished.
Nodding, Bradley picked up the poker from the fireplace set. “You were using this as a shovel,” he said. “You were pretty determined to get through the floor.”
“Wow,” she said, leaning against the fireplace, her fingers to her temples. “I seem to remember having that dream again, when I’m walking down those long corridors, searching for my baby. And I remember the door that always shrinks was on the floor this time.” She paused and looked over at the scarred floor and shook her head. “And I remember picking up a fire ax and heaving it at the floor to break the door down.”