Never Forgotten - a Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery Read online

The phone rang and Mary jumped.

  She hurried over and answered. “Mary O’Reilly.”

  “Bradley Alden.”

  Relief. He was safe. She could hear the smile in his voice. And for now, that was all that mattered.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Merry Christmas,” he replied.

  Mary glanced at the clock. 12:01. Christmas morning.

  “Merry Christmas,” she answered, sitting on the side of the bed.

  “So, when you suggested I come over for a second helping of mistletoe on Christmas morning, did you have any specific time in mind?”

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “Well, maybe we should wait until the sun comes up.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  This time the laughter was stronger. “Bradley, Santa hasn’t even come by yet.”

  She couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face as she waited for Bradley’s response, picturing him trying to figure out what to say.

  “Santa?” he asked cautiously.

  “The Spirit of Christmas,” she responded pointedly.

  “Mary.”

  “Yes, Bradley.”

  “Ask him to leave more mistletoe, okay?”

  She felt her heart expand, filling with pure joy.

  “I will make a point of it,” she replied sincerely, rubbing her hand over her heart.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m great. Maybe a little overwhelmed,” she said honestly.

  “I’ve heard I’ve had that affect on people,” he teased.

  She chuckled softly. “Yes, you do.”

  I miss you,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too. Get some sleep.”

  “I just finished brewing a cup of Christmas tea,” he said. “I’ll take it upstairs with me.”

  “Christmas tea?”

  “Well, I got it for Christmas,” he explained. “I stopped by the office on the way home and found this interesting tin filled with tea on my desk.”

  “Are you sure it’s not evidence from a drug bust?” she teased.

  He laughed. “It had a bow on it.”

  “A festive drug bust?”

  He paused. She could hear him sniff.

  “So?”

  “Doesn’t smell like pot,” he said.

  “Do you know what steeped pot smells like?” she asked.

  “Good point,” he replied. “So how do I tell?”

  “Well, you could drink it and if you suddenly feel really hungry…” she began.

  “Yeah, and then we get spot drug tests next week and they find THC in my urine,” he countered.

  “Not a good plan,” she agreed.

  “Okay, now you’ve made me nervous,” he said. “Maybe I’ll wait and taste the Christmas tea once I find out who left it for me. Besides, the sooner I go to bed, the sooner the morning comes.”

  She smiled into the phone. “That’s nice. Good-night Bradley, sweet dreams.”

  “You too. See you tomorrow.”

  She heard him disconnect before she placed the phone back in the cradle. Sighing, she untied her robe and slipped into her bed. As she laid her head on the pillow she heard a noise down in the kitchen. She slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to the staircase.

  “Cookies are on the countertop next to the stove,” she called down, “Oh, and if you have any, could you leave some extra mistletoe?”

  Chapter 3

  The basement steps were covered with worn shag carpeting that used to be pumpkin orange, but was now faded to an ugly brown. Her Gucci black patent leather high heels seemed out of place, but she dashed down the steps with practiced ease, her glass of Pinot Noir resting easily in the palm of her hand.

  Classical music followed her from the open door at the top of the stairs. She stepped from the last wooden stair onto the rough concrete floor, humming along with the symphony as she reached towards the wall. Manicured nails with bright red glossy polish flipped the light switch and a series of dim fluorescent work lights lit the dark interior.

  The walls were limestone blocks, rough and uneven. Single pane windows with peeling window frames were cut roughly into the stone at ten foot intervals and foam insulation seeped between wood and stone. The plastic stapled over the windows kept out most of the winter cold, and, from the collection of bugs caught in spider webs on the plastic, it hadn’t been changed for quite a few years.

  A large furnace in the corner of the room blew heated air out of an oversized vent creating a balmy tropical environment, even though snow was falling outside the house. The air was moist and held the musty scent of wet soil.

  She moved into the center of the basement where a dozen narrow tables stood in three long rows. Above her, a network of PVC water lines ran along the ceiling and down to the edges of the tables. Green hoses were connected to the ends of the lines and disappeared into the dirt and mulch that covered the tables.

  She moved closer and inhaled deeply. Laughing, she lifted her glass to her lips and took sip. The rich compost and moist, humid air enhanced the bouquet of the wine.

  “And how is my magical garden doing tonight?” she whispered.

  She lovingly brushed her fingers delicately over the tops of mushrooms sprouting from oak limbs and compost spread over the tops of the one of the tables. Walking slowly, she moved from table to table. Stopping to remove a weed or examine the moisture content of the compost. But, for the most part, she merely walked down the narrow aisle touching the different textures and sizes of the mushrooms and other plants, stroking them lovingly.

  “So lovely and magical,” she whispered. “And this time you will bring to me my one true love.”

  Strolling beyond the tables, she walked to a counter in the back of the room. Glass jars on a shelf above held dried herbs. In the center of the counter sat an electric dehydrator. She lifted the lid and poked a drying mushroom with a glossy, red nail.

  “Not done yet,” she purred, replacing the lid.

  Opening a tall plastic container, she measured out a small amount of diced, dried mushrooms and placed them in a ceramic mixing bowl. “Not too much,” she warned. “We just want him sick, not dead.”

  She giggled and took another sip of wine.

  “Well, not dead yet.”

  She added scoops of herbs from the glass jars. “Rosemary, mint, chamomile and thyme,” she said, as she added a small scoop of each. “Love tea. I remember, Mama. Rosemary, mint, chamomile, thyme, will make your heart long for mine.”

  She gently mixed the herbs and mushrooms, poured them into a small linen bag and tied a ribbon around the end. “There, all done.”

  She gathered the bag and her nearly empty glass and strolled to the far corner of the basement. A roughly built storage closet jutted out from the walls. The ramshackle construction was a combination of plywood, used pallets and two by fours. An old wooden door was secured with six-inch gate hinges and a padlock hung from the front.

  On a wooden beam, next to the closet, a lone key dangled from a nail. Reaching up, she grasped the key, placed it in the lock and turned. The padlock fell away and she pushed the door open noiselessly. “Daddy? I’ve come to wish you Merry Christmas,” she said, entering the closet.

  A string hung from a bare light bulb in the middle of the closet, she pulled and the small area was flooded with harsh light. “Now, Daddy, don’t be angry,” she said, her voice rising to a childlike pitch. “You remember how much you liked to put me in dark places. It’s only fair you should have a turn.”

  She placed her wine glass on a small shelf just inside the room. “I made more tea,” she said, “The kind that Momma used to make. You used to say it was your favorite blend.”

  She giggled.

  “Well, before you figured out our secret.”

  Lifting the wine glass, she drained the rest of the contents and placed it back on the shelf.

  “Remember when you called Momma a witch?” she asked in a sing-song voice. “Remember that day?”

&n
bsp; Moving further into the room, she stood in front of a single wooden chair. “Course you remember,” she continued lightly. “You held Momma’s head under the water in the bath tub upstairs and called her a witch.”

  She tilted her head to the side for a moment. “Funny thing, if she really was a witch, you probably couldn’t have killed her.”

  She picked up the empty glass, lifted to her lips, found it empty and shrugged. “And if you hadn’t killed her, she could have given you the antidote for the poison we gave you.”

  She put the glass back down on the shelf and put her hands on her hips. “It’s just funny how these things work out, isn’t it Daddy?”

  She looked down at the mummified corpse tied to the wooden chair. His head was held in place by a bungee cord stretched from one side of the chair, across his forehead and hooked on the other. The exposed muscles caused his face to set in a macabre grin.

  Sitting down, Indian style, in front of the chair, she looked into his eyeless sockets. “Daddy, I’ve met the man of my dreams,” she said, leaning forward and smiling. “He’s tall and handsome and a Police Chief. Think of that, Daddy, I’m going to have me a Chief of Police.”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  “He’s not like the others, Daddy,” she said. “He smiles at me and he treats me real nice. The other day he opened a door for me. He’s a real gentleman, Daddy.”

  She leaned back, looked up at the ceiling of the structure for a moment and then turned back to her father.

  “Daddy, don’t be angry with me,” she pleaded. “I know I was your special girl. And I never told anyone about the games we used to play - just like you said. But, Daddy, I want someone else to do those same things to me again. Somebody like Bradley Alden.”

  Clapping her hands over her ears, she shook her head. “No, Daddy, stop yelling at me,” she cried. “You always yell at me.”

  She scrambled up. “I won’t come here anymore if you keep yelling.”

  Turning, she moved toward the door and then stopped. “What? Are you sorry?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

  With a petulant smile, she turned back to him, “Say you’re sorry out loud.”

  A wide smile spread across her face and she bent down and hugged the corpse. “I love you, Daddy.”

  She bent down, picked up a ragged blanket lying on the floor and placed it tenderly over the boney shoulders. “Here you go, Daddy,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to be cold. I’ll adjust the heater so it’s nice and warm in your room.”

  Polished nails adjusted the thermostat hanging on the wall, just behind the corpse’s head. “I know you like it hot and dry, Daddy,” she said. “Just like we had it back home when you died. All that hot air in the attic dried you up nicely. We don’t want you to get moist and moldy.”

  She bent over and placed a soft kiss on the leathery flesh. “Good night, Daddy. I’ll be sure to bring my new beau down to meet you sometime.”

  She pulled the string, plunged the closet into darkness and locked her father into his homemade crypt.

  “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

  Chapter 4

  “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

  Mary rose up on her toes and kissed her father on his cheek. Timothy O’Reilly, the brawny Irishman, captured her in a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, my Mary,” he said, emotion thick in his voice. “You be careful, now.”

  She stepped back in his arms and smiled up at him. “I will if you will,” she quipped.

  He laughed. “That’s a deal.”

  She slipped out of his arms and into her mother’s. “I love you, Mom,” she said, “Merry Christmas.”

  Her mother held her close and whispered into her ear, “Being in love looks good on you.”

  Mary pulled back, surprised. “How did you…”

  Her mother chuckled. “As if a mother wouldn’t know.”

  Mary shrugged. “Mom, my relationship with Bradley…it’s complicated,” she said.

  Maggie O’Reilly grinned. “Oh, my darling, love always is. And even though it sounds like a fairy tale, love has a way of surviving complications.”

  Mary sighed and nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Her mother laughed aloud. “No, you think I don’t know what I’m talking about. But, I do, believe me. Love survives, but it’s not always easy and sometimes it takes a stubborn, hardheaded Irishwoman to save the day.”

  “And where would I find one of those?” Mary asked with a grin.

  Maggie hugged her daughter tightly, looking over her shoulder at Bradley loading their things into the car. “He’s a lucky man.”

  “Actually, I think I’m the lucky one,” Mary replied.

  Bradley walked up the sidewalk to the house. “Everything’s loaded up,” he said. “Thank you for letting me spend Christmas with you. Everything was great.”

  Maggie reached up and gave him a hug. “You are always welcome at the O’Reilly home.”

  Timothy patted him on the back and then gave him a quick hug. “You take care of my girl,” he said.

  “Dad!” Mary protested.

  Bradley grinned. “I’ll do the best I can, sir.”

  Timothy nodded, “Good lad.”

  The Kennedy Expressway was nearly empty as they drove northwest toward home. “I really like your family,” Bradley said.

  “They like you too,” she replied.

  “Only because I am a really bad poker player,” he said. “Does your family play Texas Hold’em every Christmas?”

  “Only when we’ve got a brand new patsy,” she replied with a grin.

  “So, I was set up?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Of course, and before we go back, I’ll show you how we all cheat, so you can win some of your money back.”

  “It’s a good thing you all decided to go into law enforcement,” he chuckled, “you’d be dangerous on the other side of the law.”

  “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard that before,” Mary replied. “Good thing we all decided to occupy the halls of justice.”

  “Speaking of the halls of justice,” Bradley said, “something strange happened last night. I meant to tell you about it earlier.”

  “What?”

  Bradley recounted the events at City Hall the previous night.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t the heating system?” Mary asked. “Sometimes when there is air in the pipes, you can hear a thumping sound like that.”

  “No, it wasn’t the heating system.”

  “Well, could it have been a sound from outside? An icicle falling from the roof?”

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t from outside.”

  “Could it have been from the floor above?”

  “Mary, why are you asking me all of these questions? I thought you, of all people, would come to the same conclusion I have. There’s a ghost at City Hall.”

  Mary smiled. “Well, I always like to rule out any earthly possibilities before I move on to supernatural ones. But, I do agree, it sounds like there is a ghost there. Do you want me to check it out?”

  Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I do. The room has felt, I don’t know, creepy, ever since I took the job.”

  He turned and grinned at her. “I’ve only recently come to understand that feeling creepy usually connects with supernatural.”

  “See, you’re learning,” she laughed. “I’ll never forget the first time I told you I saw ghosts.”

  “I thought you were crazy.”

  “And now?”

  “I know you’re crazy,” he said with a smirk.

  “Thanks, Chief Alden,” she laughed. “Thanks a lot!”

  They rode in silence for a little while as Bradley navigated through the toll booth and back onto the road.

  “Do you still think about Jeannine?” Mary asked.

  Bradley turned to her for a moment and then looked back to the road. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, sometimes I do,” he said. “Holidays can be hard.”

  “Wa
s today hard?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “No, today was great.”

  Mary turned her head and looked out the window, watching the cascade of snowflakes in the beams of the streetlights.

  “Do you ever…did you ever…get one of those feelings and think it was Jeannine?”

  He shook his head. “No. Jeannine’s not dead,” he said. “My best guess is that something happened to her and she doesn’t remember anything.”

  Mary nodded. “That makes sense,” she agreed, feeling the pit in the center of her stomach.

  “Besides,” he added. “With all the time I’ve been spending with you, I would have been sure to see her if she were a ghost.”

  “You’d think,” she said, turning her head back from the window and smiling weakly.

  “Yeah,” he said emphatically, nodding his head. “I’d know if she were dead.”

  Chapter 5

  Standing on the porch, loaded with a pile of presents and containers of food from Mary’s parents’ home, Bradley waited patiently while Mary found her house key and opened the door. He struggled forward, hoping to reach the kitchen table before something slipped and the entire precarious stack fell to the ground.

  “I told you we could have made two trips,” Mary said.

  “Why waste time,” Bradley countered, trying to remember where the ottoman lay in the front room because he couldn’t see over the stack. “This is fine.”

  “Move to the left, two steps,” Mary called, trying to prevent Bradley from tripping.

  “Thanks,” he said, moving over.

  “Your other left,” Mary yelled, dashing across the room to save the packages.

  Just as she reached him and began to grasp for the packages, his foot caught on the corner of the coffee table and he started to fall. Mary grabbed for Bradley, but the packages exploded in every direction, Bradley and Mary fell forward onto the couch.

  Mary blew her hair out of her eyes and looked down at Bradley who had her wrapped tightly in his arms. “Did you plan this?”

  He chuckled softly, slid his hand up her back and onto the nape of her neck. With gentle pressure he brought her closer, “You have discovered my nefarious plan,” he whispered, kissing her lightly on either side of her mouth.