Darkness Exposed - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book 5) Read online

  Smiling, Bradley adjusted the speaker on the bedroom’s camera, she deserved a little privacy. “I love you too, Mary O’Reilly,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twelve

  The house was dark, but she was used to walking through it with only the streetlights illuminating the rooms. She remembered all of those times when she woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep. She’d come downstairs, sit in the recliner and talk to her unborn child. Sharing her hopes and her fears. Whispering to the baby about her Bradley and the silly things he was already worrying about. Letting the baby know how special she was and how much she was wanted.

  Jeannine looked around the kitchen. She remembered finding the kitchen clock at a flea market. She could picture herself halfway up a ladder, painting the walls and working until midnight sewing the curtains. The refrigerator door was clean now, but it used to be filled with letters, take-out menus and photos. She strolled next to the counters, remembering the dishes lovingly created and the holiday feasts that were sometimes disasters, and smiled.

  Am I haunting my home? she wondered. Is this what a ghost does?

  Strolling into the living room she saw Ian sprawled on the couch, a myriad of computer screens and blinking consoles in front of him. His attention was drawn to one specific screen and as she approached to get a better look, he sat up and looked at her over the back of the couch.

  “Good, it’s you,” he said.

  Jeannine jumped back. “You startled me,” she confessed.

  “Oh, sorry,” he replied with a grin. “I’ve been following your magnetic impulses since you entered the kitchen. I was hoping it was you; not that it wouldn’t be brilliant if there was another ghost living here.”

  “I don’t know if I want a ghost living in my house,” Jeannine protested.

  Ian looked at her and raised one eyebrow.

  “Oh, yeah, I guess I am that ghost,” she said with a sigh. “Really, it’s hard to get used to.”

  “So, have you ever had any psychic phenomena in this house?” he asked.

  She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Do you really think Bradley would allow for something like that in his house?” she teased.

  “Ach, no, I forgot whose house I was speaking about,” he replied. “No ghost would be so daring.”

  She glided closer to him, and glanced over her shoulder. “Although, I have to admit there were a couple of times when I thought I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned no one was there.”

  “What time of the day?”

  “Usually during the night, when I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

  “Upstairs or downstairs,” he asked, grabbing a pad and pencil.

  “Upstairs,” she replied. “But it was probably nothing. Beverly Copper and her first husband had this house built for them, then they got divorced and she married Gary.”

  “Well, perhaps it was built on an old graveyard,” Ian suggested, referring to the scenario from an old horror show.

  Jeannine laughed. “Well, then I’d be sure not to turn the television on late at night.”

  Ian thought about the irony of his situation. Here he was, lying on a coach, speaking with the ghost of a lovely woman who was hovering several inches in the air and discussing a classic horror flick with him. Life was pretty damn brilliant!

  “What are you thinking?” Jeannine asked.

  “I was just thinking about the whole situation here,” he said. “It’s a little bit unusual.”

  She laughed. “To say the least.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded her assent.

  “How is it?” he asked. “Being a ghost. What does it feel like?”

  Glancing away from him, she caught sight of the window. Snow was falling and it could only be seen in the beams from the streetlights. Is that what eternity was like? She wondered. You’re only aware of the small part you’re living, but there is so much more beyond what you can see.

  “When you were a child were you ever sick with something that was contagious, like chicken pox or measles?” she finally asked, turning to look at him. “You really weren’t sick anymore, but because you were still contagious, you had to stay inside.”

  She walked over to the window and stared outside. “You sat next to the window, watching all of your friends playing together, and you wanted to be with them,” she said. “You could see them, hear them and even, if you were lucky, laugh with them. But you couldn’t be with them. You were always separated from them. “

  Pausing, she turned to look at him. “A thin piece of glass or the thin veil between life and death, the separation is the same.”

  Ian stood up and walked over next to her. “It sounds lonely,” he said.

  “It is. I’m not really here with the people I love, I’m just a shadow. I haven’t moved on to be with the family and friends who have gone before me. I’m stuck in the middle.”

  “Waiting for your business to be resolved,” he said. “It must be frustrating to have to wait.”

  “And some have to wait longer than others,” she said sadly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m just going to walk around a bit.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Pleasant dreams, Ian,” she said and faded away into the night.

  Although the room was still dark, the lights from the console helped to guide him back to the couch. Laying down, he propped his head on his arm and stared out the window into the sparkling snowflakes dancing in the light. A poem he had learned in his youth came to mind. The author was Emily Bronte, but he thought Jeannine could have written the lines.

  The night is darkening round me,

  The wild winds coldly blow;

  But a tyrant spell has bound me

  And I cannot, cannot go.

  “We’ll help you break the spell, Jeannine,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  Jeannine glided slowly up the stairs to the second floor. She entered the bedroom she used to use as a sewing room and looked around. Things were as they had been eight years ago. Her favorite books still line the shelves and some unfinished craft projects sat in a plastic tub in the corner of the room. Then she turned and saw the half-finished quilt lying on the cutting table. She glided over to it and was overcome with a fresh wave of grief. She had actually talked Bradley into entering a fabric store with her because she wanted him to help her pick out the perfect fabric for their baby girl.

  Bradley went immediately to the fleece section, pulling out bolts of fabrics that represented his favorite sports teams.

  “We are not going to wrap our delicate baby girl in a blanket the says ‘Da Bears,’” Jeannine had insisted.

  He pulled out another bolt. “How about the Cubs?” he asked hopefully.

  She had put her hands on her hips and just stared at him. Sighing, he put the bolts back in place. “Okay, where do you want me to look?” he asked.

  She took his hand and let him over to the soft cotton flannels. Before he could say a word, she lifted a piece of the material and stroked it against his cheek.

  “The fleece was soft too,” he grumbled, but he took the soft pink fabric and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “But this will definitely match the nursery better.”

  It took them nearly forty-five minutes to come up with the perfect combination of materials for the quilt, but Bradley was grinning at her as he carried an armload of fabric laden bolts to the cutting table. “It’s going to look great,” he said. “She’s going to love it.”

  Jeannine shook her head sadly and moved away from the cutting table. She would never get to hold her baby girl in that quilt. A soft cry escaped her lips and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to weep for her loss.

  She slowly glided out of the sewing room and down the dark hallway. She moved towards the master bedroom, but could hear Mary’s voice, so she continued on. The nursery was at the end of the hall. Could she bear to enter
it and see the cans of paint sitting unused, the crib still boxed and leaning against the wall, the boxes of baby paraphernalia she had already purchased once they knew they were having a girl?

  Yes! She had to see it. She had to look it over and make herself remember what happened. She had to know.

  She slipped into the room, looked around and burst into tears.

  Mary laid her laptop on the nightstand next to the bed and snuggled into the pillows. “I love you Bradley Alden,” she said and sighed with contentment.

  Then she heard it. She sat up in the bed and listened for a moment, to be sure it just wasn’t the sound of the wind against the house. No, it was definitely the sound of someone crying.

  She slipped from the bed and hurried out of the room. The hallway was dark, but there was enough light to find her way. The noise was coming from the room at the end of the hall. She hadn’t been in that room yet. Ian had placed the camera in that one, while she took the sewing room.

  She placed her hand on the knob and slowly opened the door. Light from the lampposts softly illuminated the room. Mary turned and saw Jeannine seated on a rocking chair in the corner of the room. She had her head bowed into her hands and her cries were heartbreaking.

  “Jeannine, what’s wrong?” Mary asked, moving forward and kneeling next to the chair.

  Jeannine looked up and for a moment didn’t speak. Her translucent face was covered in tears; her body was shaking with emotion. Finally she took a deep shuddering breath. “The room is pink,” she whispered. “He still painted it pink.”

  Mary looked around the room; it was painted a soft pink with white trim. A crib was set up in the corner of the room with a pink baby mobile hanging above it. A matching changing table was against another wall, a stuffed lamb propped in the corner. Shelves filled with other stuffed animals were attached to the wall across from the crib.

  “Bradley did this?” Mary asked, her voice filled with emotion.

  “The room was a mess,” Jeannine said. “Nothing was put together. Nothing was arranged. Why did he do this?”

  “So it would be ready when you and the baby came home,” Mary replied, her eyes filling with tears. “He loved you so much.”

  Jeannine nodded and met Mary’s eyes. “He’s a good man,” she said. “He might occasionally do something stupid, but he’s a good man.”

  Mary smiled and shook her head in agreement. “Yes, he is.”

  “I like you, Mary,” she continued. “I think you and I would have been friends if we met before I died.”

  “I’d like to think we are friends anyway,” Mary said.

  Jeannine smiled now. “Yes. Yes, we are,” she agreed. “So, friend, I want you to promise me two things. I want you to love him with all your heart.”

  Mary nodded her head in agreement. “I can do that.”

  “And I want you to take that baby quilt in the sewing room and finish it for me,” she said. “I don’t know why, but it’s important to me.”

  “I promise,” Mary agreed. “I’ll even have my mom help me.”

  Jeannine angled her head in confusion.

  “Well, if I do it by myself, I have no idea what it will look like when it’s done,” she said with a smile. “I usually injure myself when I’m anywhere near a thread and needle. It’s even more dangerous than police work”

  Jeannine laughed. “Bradley’s a lucky man to have found such a wonderful woman to love.”

  “Bradley is exceptionally lucky, because he found two wonderful women to love him,” Mary added.

  Jeannine smiled. “Thank you, Mary,” she whispered and then she faded away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day dawned bright and sunny. Mary was downstairs in the kitchen sipping a can of Diet Pepsi and putting on the kettle for Ian by 7 o’clock. Remembering Ian’s appetite, she opened the cabinet and pulled out the package of oatmeal and a large measuring cup. When she closed the door, Jeannine was standing on the other side of it.

  Mary jumped. “Do you ghosts do that on purpose” she asked.

  Jeannine grinned. “Do what Mary?”

  “I thought so,” Mary replied. “So, what shall we do today?”

  Just then she heard a rattle on the kitchen door and voices on the other side.

  “It’s too goldarned early for folks to be up,” Stanley growled. “I told you we didn’t have to leave at the butt-crack of dawn.”

  “Listen to me, Stanley Wagner, if you can’t get your body out of bed by five o’clock, then I’ll drive myself in the future,” Rosie said. “But then you won’t be able to eat half of the muffins on the way here.”

  “Well, I was hungry,” he muttered, “Getting up early does that to a man.”

  Jeannine turned to Mary. “Are they always like this?” she asked.

  Laughing, Mary nodded as she walked across the room. “Sometimes they’re even worse.”

  She opened the door and invited them in. “Well, thank goodness you finally made it,” she said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for hours and I hope you didn’t eat all of the muffins.”

  “That’s enough of that, Miss Sassy Pants,” Stanley said.

  Rosie smiled at Mary and placed the basket of muffins on the counter. She opened up the toweling covering the basket, picked up a muffin and handed it to Mary.

  “No, Mary, don’t eat it,” Jeannine screamed, gliding across the room towards her.

  Mary jumped back and dropped the muffin onto the counter.

  “What’s wrong, Mary?” Rosie asked. “Was the muffin too hot?”

  “You goose, we just drove an hour to get here,” Stanley said. “The muffin couldn’t be hot. There’s something else going on.”

  Mary turned to Jeannine, who was standing next to the counter staring at the muffin.

  “What happened, Jeannine?”

  “Who is she talking to, Stanley?” Rosie asked.

  “Shhhh, listen for a minute,” he replied.

  Jeannine looked up at Mary. “There was something about the muffin, a muffin,” she said. “I remember a muffin just before I was taken from the house.”

  “What else do you remember?”

  Jeannine closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on why the muffin seemed so dangerous. Finally, she opened them and shrugged. “Nothing, I can’t remember anything else.”

  “Mary, dear, you’re talking to the air,” Rosie said. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

  Mary turned back to Rosie and Stanley who stood frozen in the same positions they had been in when she dropped the muffin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Bradley’s wife, Jeannine, is here in the room with us.”

  Rosie gasped and turned to Stanley. “She’s imagining things,” she whispered.

  “No she’s not, she’s talking about a ghost,” he replied.

  Rosie turned back to Mary. “Really? Is there a ghost in the room with us? I’ve never been in a room with a ghost,” she said, then paused for a moment. “Or perhaps I should say I’ve never been aware that I was in a room with a ghost, because they are invisible after all. Oh, dear, I’ve been talking about her as if she weren’t here. How rude of me.”

  She walked over, stood next to Mary and then turned in the general direction of where Mary had been addressing Jeannine. “Hello,” she said loudly and slowly. “My name is Rosie and I’m a friend of Mary’s.”

  “She dead, not deaf,” Stanley growled.

  “I’m sure there have been deaf ghosts before,” Rosie countered. “Besides, I wanted to be sure she knew I was a friend.”

  “Well, the fact that Mary let us in her home at 7 a.m. in the morning must tell her that we ain’t strangers.”

  Jeannine chuckled. “You’re friends are quite a combination.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, they are.”

  “Did she hear me?” Rosie asked Mary.

  “Yes, she did and she thinks you are delightful.”

  Rosie beamed and turned to Stanley. “She thinks I’m delightful
.”

  “Well, you are delightful,” he agreed crossly. “But you’re also dingy.”

  Rosie’s cheeks turned pink. “Why thank you, Stanley.”

  “Thank you, Stanley, for what?” Ian asked, walking into the room still dressed in his pajamas.

  He spied the basket of muffins, pulled one out and took a big bite. “Oh, these are heavenly,” he moaned. “Rosie did you make these?”

  Rosie nodded. “Just baked them fresh this morning.”

  Ian went down on one knee in front of her. “Rosie, my darling, will you marry me?” he asked.

  “Dang Scottish Casanova,” Stanley said, moving over next to Rosie. “Ain’t you got enough on your hands being married to Mary and having a fiancée back home?”

  “I’d leave them all for baking like this,” he teased. “So, Rosie do you want to run away with me to Las Vegas? We could get married tomorrow.”

  Rosie tittered. “Well, Ian...”

  “She ain’t getting married to no one,” Stanley said, “Least of all, not some foreigner.”

  “Ah, I see I have a contender for the lady’s charms,” Ian said, raising one eyebrow in Stanley’s direction.

  “I ain’t saying you do and I ain’t saying you don’t,” he replied. “I’m just saying right now we got a murder to solve and standing around yacking ain’t solving nothing.”