Old Acquaintance Page 3

  “With your fist,” he said.

  “I was thirteen,” she said. “It was hormones.”

  “I heard it was an amazing right cross,” he replied.

  “My fist hurt for a week,” she said. “And it wasn’t broken, just bruised.”

  “Badly,” Bradley inserted. “But his pride was probably more injured than his nose.”

  “I never told anyone,” she said immediately.

  He glanced down at her. “Really? See, even at thirteen you were considerate and kind,” he replied, kissing the top of her head again.

  “Yep, and it only cost him half of his allowance for six weeks,” she added with a smile.

  Bradley choked back his laughter so he wouldn’t wake up Clarissa.

  “Shhhhhh,” she whispered, her eyes filled with mirth.

  He slid his arm from around her shoulders and cupped her face in his hands. “I am so glad you are on my side,” he said tenderly. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she murmured just before his lips covered hers in a tender tribute.

  “Do you guys ever stop smooching?” Mike teased as he appeared in Clarissa’s room.

  They slowly broke apart and turned to Mike. “Not if I can help it,” Bradley said. “How’d it go with Ian?”

  “He’s on his way,” Mike said. “He should be here in a couple of hours.”

  Bradley stood up and helped Mary to her feet. “I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch and wait for him,” he offered.

  “But I could…” Mary began.

  “You and Mikey need to get some sleep,” Bradley insisted. “Besides, I have very fond memories of sleeping on that couch. Go to bed.”

  He bent down and kissed her again. She smiled at him and then turned to Mike. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “We wouldn’t survive without you.”

  Mike smiled at her. “And don’t you forget that,” he teased. “Now, go to bed.”

  Shaking her head, she smiled. “So many bossy men in my life,” she muttered. “Good night.”

  Once the door to Clarissa’s bedroom closed, Bradley’s face sobered. “Okay, what’s really going on here?”

  Chapter Seven

  Rosie yawned widely as she made her way from her bedroom, with her pillow and an extra blanket, to the couch in the living room. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, midnight. She sighed, as much as she loved Stanley, sometimes his snoring had her beating a quick retreat to the couch before, in her sleep-deprived state, she decided to hit him over the head with her pillow. She put her pillow at one end of the couch and the shook the blanket out so it covered the rest of the couch.

  She was about to climb under the covers when she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She turned quickly and looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in place. The electric fireplace was glowing softly, and the Christmas tree was still lit, both casting soft light into the room.

  Shaking her head, she placed her hands on her hips and studied the room again. She was sure she saw a shadow. Then she smiled. Of course, she thought, there must be a smear on my glasses. She reached up and realized she had left her glasses on the nightstand next to the bed. Shrugging, she turned back to the couch and saw it again, a shadow along the wall next to the Christmas tree.

  Walking over to the tree, she moved the gifts she’d already placed under it. Nothing was back there. She checked the curtains on the same wall, but there was nothing there either. She studied the wall and wondered if a passing car could have reflected off something in the house and caused the shadow.

  “That’s probably it,” she said to herself. “Just a reflection from a car.” She shook her head. “I’ve just been spending too much time thinking about ghosts,” she decided with a firm nod. “Nothing paranormal about it at all.”

  She sat down on the couch and slipped under the covers, turning so her back was facing the room. In a few minutes, sounds of Rosie’s much softer snoring were harmonizing with Stanley’s deeper ones. The shadow slipped out from behind the tree and glided to look down on the sleeping woman.

  An eerie giggle whispered throughout the room, but Rosie continued to sleep.

  “I get my way,” the shadow whispered. “I always get my way, sooner or later.”

  He looked down at Rosie again. “But tonight, you’re too close. You’d smell the fire too quickly. It wouldn’t be as much fun.”

  He slowly glided away from her towards the tree. “But don’t worry,” he promised. “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What did she tell you?” Mike asked Bradley once he heard the door to the master bedroom open and close.

  “Nothing,” Bradley said. “I didn’t want to bring it up while we were watching Clarissa.”

  “Okay, let’s go out into the hall,” Mike suggested. “I’ll still be able to watch over Clarissa from there.”

  They quietly made their way into the hall. “Earlier tonight, when everyone was still here, Mary saw something in the kitchen when she was getting her glass of milk,” Mike explained. “Some kind of shadow in the corner of the room. I came in as she was checking things out, and she kind of brushed it off.”

  Mike sighed and floated away a few steps, then he turned to Bradley. “I have to admit that ever since our experience in the asylum, when Mary was lured away from us, I’ve been on edge,” he said.

  “Because something was able to get into her mind,” Bradley said, “and trick her into leaving the safety of the group.”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah, that’s powerful,” he said. “And when something can pull you along like that…” He paused for a moment and then met Bradley’s eyes.

  “Tonight, it said it wanted Mary,” he said, the concern evident in his face. “And in the asylum, it called out for her. How did she get on its radar? How did it even know Mary O’Reilly existed?”

  “We’ve never had a spirit know about Mary before she actually had an initial contact with them, right?” Bradley asked.

  “Yes,” Mike said, nodding. “Or they were guided or attracted to her because of what she could do. But, they didn’t know about her until they were in her actual presence.”

  “And somehow this spirit, whatever it is, was able to know about her from a distance,” Bradley said. “Like a psychic connection.”

  “Yeah, and how much power does it have?” Mike asked. “Could it get into her mind and make her think someone needs her?”

  “Could it get her to leave the house in the middle of the night?” Bradley asked, understanding Mike’s fear as his own grew. “Walk somewhere, drive somewhere…”

  “Exactly,” Mike said. “Could Clarissa be calling for her, instead of you?”

  Bradley ran his hand through his hair. “Okay, this is a lot riskier than I realized,” he said. “We can’t leave her alone.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good first step,” he said. “But how realistic is it?”

  “It’s going to be damn realistic until this thing is gone,” Bradley said.

  “And what if we never get rid of it?” Mike asked.

  “That’s not an option,” Bradley said. He paced up and down the hallway, then stopped and stared at Mike. “Why the hell is she not as freaked out as we are?”

  “Because she hasn’t thought about all of the implications yet,” Mike said. “Because when she was frightened and called, I was able to chase it away. She thinks we’re winning.”

  “And we’re not?” Bradley asked.

  Mike shook his head slowly. “I think we’re being played,” he said. “And until we know what and who we’re dealing with, we’re not in charge.”

  “Ian?” Bradley asked.

  “If anyone, Ian,” Mike said. “He can see it and can hear it, too. And he can research things we don’t have access to.”

  “Like what?” Bradley asked.

  “Like which one of the residents of the asylum fits with this spirit,” Mike said. “And what happened to him to put him in there?”

 
Bradley shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “If he was in the asylum, he was mentally disabled, so we should be able…” He paused, searching for the words.

  “Just because someone’s crazy does not mean they aren’t intelligent,” Mike said. “There’s a quote about how there’s a fine line between genius and madness. Intelligence and personality do not die with the body. They continue with the spirit.”

  Bradley glanced over to his closed bedroom door and then down at his watch. “How long until Ian gets here?” he asked.

  “Not soon enough,” Mike replied. “Not soon enough.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mary knew she was dreaming. Her movements were too light, too easy, and for once in a long while, she didn’t have the constant urge to go to the bathroom. She looked around her surroundings in a nice house, but definitely not her house. The carpet underneath her bare feet was lush and soft. The temperature inside the house was comfortable, and there was just enough light being shed by the nightlights positioned near floor level that she could easily see where she was going.

  I’m lucid dreaming, she thought easily as she walked down the hallway. That’s what Ian called it, a lucid dream. This is pretty cool. Usually in my dreams I’m—

  She froze, a startled look on her face as she looked down at her body. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she confirmed that she was, indeed, clothed.

  “Lucid dreaming or not,” she muttered. “I don’t want to be walking around naked in someone else’s home.”

  She continued past the closed doors of what she assumed were bedrooms and walked to the top of the stairs. The carpeted stairs emptied onto a front hall. She stepped down to the first step and was surprised to hear the front door open and the close. Peering over the rail, she saw that the hallway was empty. “Someone must have gone outside,” Mary reasoned.

  Continuing down the stairs, her nose was assaulted by the acrid scent of something burning. Hurrying down the next few steps, she gasped when she saw a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room on fire. The flames were rapidly spreading to the curtains and furniture. “The family!” she cried out, hurrying back up the stairs to the hallway.

  She ran to the first room, but the door was locked. She tried pounding on the door, but her hands went through the wood as if she were a ghost. She tried screaming, but her voice caught in her throat. She ran up the hall to the next door, but, once again, her hands went through to the other side of the door.

  Turning back, she saw the flames leaping across the hall to the staircase and black smoke billowing up towards her. She ran back to the first room and decided to try and ram the door. She turned her shoulder towards the door. She sprinted and nearly stumbled when she slipped through the door. Looking around the room, she realized it was a little girl’s room, all pink and flowery. Then she saw the bunk beds and a child asleep in each one. She tried to scream, but her voice wouldn’t work. She rushed over and began slapping and pulling on the mattresses and blankets, but her efforts did nothing. Her hands slipped through any solid material. All she could do was watch.

  She turned. The black smoke had now slipped underneath the door and was slowly filling the room, layer by layer. “No!” she screamed in her mind. “No, someone needs to save them!”

  “Mike,” she thought desperately. “Mike! Come help me! Come save them!”

  She ran to the window. The sun was just beginning to rise, reflecting pink on the snow-covered ground. She tried to break the window, but once again, she was just a shadow, her movements ineffectual.

  She tried to think clearly. Lucid dreaming, she thought suddenly. I can change my circumstances!

  Suddenly, I have an ax in my hands, she said in her mind, but no ax appeared.

  Suddenly, the window opened, she tried, but the window remained shut.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she screamed.

  Her eyes were drawn to a movement outside the house. She looked out the window to see a young boy looking up at her and smiling. Suddenly, she could hear his voice inside her mind. “Mary,” he called. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Call the fire department!” she silently screamed back as the smoke filled the room. “Save their lives.”

  His smiled widened, and he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “No, they really have to die.”

  “Who are you?” the thought came unbidden as she stared at the unrepentant child through the fog that now surrounded her.

  “Soon you’ll find out.”

  Mary opened her eyes, gasping for air and struggling to wake up. The boy’s voice was still echoing in her mind. Finally awake, she lay in the darkness looking up at her pristine ceiling and taking deep, calming breaths. “It was only a dream,” she whispered, gratified that she could hear her voice. “Only a really bad, incredibly scary, and horrifyingly disturbing dream.”

  Then she huffed in frustration. “And now I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Sliding out of the bed, she glanced at the clock. It was midnight. “The witching hour,” she said softly, grateful to hear her own voice. “Oh, wait, now the witching hour’s three, right?

  With a shrug, she padded across the room, pausing for a moment to look out the window to the snow-covered lawn just to be sure no one was standing in front of the house. “Really disturbing,” she whispered.

  Once she was finished in the bathroom, she opened her bedroom door and tiptoed to the staircase. She sniffed the air, testing for any sign of burning in the air. Not satisfied with only sniffing the second floor, she stealthily made her way down the steps, leaning heavily against the banister to keep the stairs from creaking. Once on the first floor, she quietly sniffed again and breathed a sigh of relief. No smoke.

  Glancing across the room, she saw Bradley laying on the couch, and her heart filled with gratitude. The couch was about six inches too short for his body, so his feet hung out over the end. The blanket he’d used was now halfway off him, and his arm was thrown over the back of the couch for balance.

  “Poor baby,” she whispered as she crept across the room, picked up the blanket and gently placed it back over him. She was tempted to place a kiss on his forehead, but she was sure that would wake him up.

  Stepping away from the couch, she watched him for another moment, love shining from her eyes, and then turned to go back upstairs.

  As she turned, she thought she caught a glimpse of something in the kitchen. Her heart jumped, and she froze in place, staring into the darkness, willing whatever it was to show itself again. She waited and watched for several minutes, but nothing else happened. Her heart was still hammering, and her body was tense.

  Strangely, she thought she smelled the scent of pine in the air. It was a comforting smell. She leaned forward and sniffed. Pine and something else…vanilla? She sniffed again and nodded. Vanilla.

  Instantly, a feeling of well-being washed over her, and she smiled as the tension left her body. She yawned widely, and her eyelids suddenly felt heavy. She took a deep breath. The scent filled her lungs, and relaxed her even further. Unbidden, she turned and made her way up the stairs to her bed.

  When she had reached the second floor, the shadowed figure stepped out of the kitchen and glided into the living room. He glanced over at Bradley and then raised his head to listen to the sound of the bedroom door closing. With a satisfied nod, he disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Ten

  When Mary awoke the next morning, the sun was shining through the window, and her bedroom was awash with bright light. She looked over to the clock on the nightstand and gasped. It was nearly nine o’clock. She rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe and started to hurry towards the door when she thought better of it and headed to the bathroom first.

  A few minutes later, as she came down the stairs, she could hear voices coming from the kitchen, and she hurried to join them.

  “Well, good morning, darling,” Ian said, standing up from his chair and giving Mary a hug and a kis
s on the cheek. “Don’t you look as bright as a sunbeam.”

  She hugged him back. “I’m so sorry I slept in so late,” she apologized, mortified. “I set my alarm for six, and I slept right through it.”

  “Aye, and it’s a great sluggard you are,” Ian teased. “Working a full-time job, preparing for the holidays, and eight months pregnant on top of that. I canna understand how Bradley puts up with you.”

  Bradley chuckled and walked around the table. “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “Ian knocked on the door last night, and I slept right through it.”

  “Are you serious?” Mary asked, astonished.

  “Aye,” Ian laughed. “Mike had to come down and open the door for me. All I got from the police chief here were snores loud enough to wake the dead.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe that we both slept so soundly, considering.”

  Ian pulled out a chair and guided Mary to it. “And it’s the considering that we need to speak about,” he said seriously. “But first, how about a wee bit of porridge to get your day going?”

  “Porridge?” she asked, her nose wrinkling slightly.

  Ian grinned. “Clarissa licked her bowl clean,” he said.

  “Oh! Clarissa!” Mary exclaimed, looking around the room. “Was she late for school?”

  “Are you kidding?” Mike asked. “With the greatest guardian angel on the planet taking care of her? Assisted by his lordship, the Earl of Oatmeal, we had her dressed, fed, laughing and out the door in plenty of time to catch the bus.”

  “You are both amazing,” she said and then turned to Ian. “I would love some porridge.”

  A few moments later, Ian placed a bowl down in front of her. She looked down and shook her head. “Wait, this is not porridge,” she said, scooping up a minuscule spoonful and trying it. Her eyes widened as she chewed. “This is so not porridge. What did you do to it?”