Loose Ends (8 page)

Bradley shrugged. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Anna Paxton couldn’t go more than two hours without a smoke break – so I knew that she would head out to the dock sooner or later.”

“Why did you wait until one in the morning to speak with Ms. Paxton?”

“Well, hmmm, maybe because I didn’t want any of the reporters to see me talking to myself,” she answered.

“So, you admit you were talking to yourself,” he countered.

“No, I was talking to a ghost who cannot be seen or heard by most people,” she said, “So, when I talk to ghosts, it strongly resembles me talking to myself. Any other questions?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to meet with a client who lives out of town. I plan on being back in town by this evening,” she replied. “Now can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Who initiated the warrant for my arrest?”

Bradley was surprised and suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m working on a case that might have ramifications for some people in high places in this town,” she replied. “Knowing who did it might make my job easier.”

Bradley nodded, that seemed like a fairly straightforward request. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he promised.

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it,” she replied, opening her car door. “Any more questions?”

“Um, just one,” he said, “When did you discover you could talk with ghosts?”

Mary climbed in her car, closed the door, turned the key and then rolled down the window. She leaned out and called to Bradley, “Just after I died.”

Then she put the car in gear and drove away from the speechless Police Chief.

Driving down Highway 20, all Mary could think about was her encounter with Bradley. It left her feeling angry and a little vulnerable. Did everyone in town consider her a kook?

She thought about her small circle of friends in town. It boiled down to Stanley and Rosie. “How sad is that?” she murmured, “I’ve only got two friends.”

She started to feel a pity party coming on and shook herself out of it. There were lots of people who would have been her friend if she had just taken some time to get to know them. But being the only person in Illinois, and perhaps the Midwest, who could actually see ghosts and talk to them gave her very little time for socializing.

She didn’t know how it worked, but somehow ghosts in need were drawn to her. That was the main reason she left Chicago and moved to Freeport. There were too many ghosts for Mary to handle in Chicago, especially since she was just beginning to figure out the whole ghost thing. Freeport was the right size for a fledgling ghost hunter.

Mary realized she had passed through Stockton and was only twenty minutes away from Galena. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to clear her mind so she could concentrate on the case before her. The officers she worked with used to call it her “zone.” The zone was a state of mind where she was able to mentally slow everything down and take in all of the details. Inconsequential, random events would suddenly have logical patterns. Pieces of information would fit together. The case would open up to her and finally make sense.

She had used it a lot when she was a cop in Chicago. She always felt she was allowing her intuition take over. It was a way to let the things percolating in the back of her mind come forward.

Now when she used it her new abilities combined with her intuition and she received a better connection with the ghost she was trying to help.

Mary concentrated on Renee Peterson. How had Renee felt that day, discovering her pregnancy, wanting to tell her lover, but knowing her news had to take second place to the election?

Wondering if he would reject her, reject the baby? Wondering if she would keep the baby or get an abortion?

She must have had a lot on her mind that night and the world on her shoulders.

Mary slowed to 30 miles per hour as she entered Elizabeth. The road curved around a large bluff and went downhill into the town.

As she entered the town, she thought one of the houses looked familiar. After a moment, she realized it was the house from the photo in the paper. The story about the little girl, Jessica Whittaker, who had disappeared on the same night Renee had died. That was the house her parents stood in front of, holding her photo. She had lived there.

Suddenly Mary could see Jessica, riding her bike carefully down the street. The town was no longer the Elizabeth she had driven through earlier that week. Now the town appeared as it had been in 1984. Mary pulled her car to the curb, jumped out and ran down the sidewalk to follow the little girl on the bike.

Jessica wove slowly down the sidewalk and turned at the corner. Mary jogged behind her, keeping her in view. She wore her hair in two blonde ponytails and had pink Strawberry Shortcake ribbons streaming from it. She was dressed in pink pedal-pushers and a matching t-shirt.

The street was steep and Mary had to angle her movements to keep from falling, but Jessica seemed to know every bump and curve and directed her bike like a pro. Jessica drove off the sidewalk and onto a path that led into a wooded glen.

Mary paused for a moment, watching the girl maneuver down the dirt path. While she was still in view, Mary saw her stop her bike and look into the woods. Mary started forward, watching the little girl hold a hand to her ear, as if she was trying to hear something being said. Although she understood she was only watching a shadow of the past, Mary couldn’t stop herself from running and trying to stop her.

She could see Jessica looking up and talking with someone. Someone taller, certainly an adult, and then she climbed off the bike and walked into the woods.

“No! No!” Mary cried to herself, jogging as quickly as she could down the steep hill. Mary picked up speed when she saw Jessica being lifted up in the air. Jessica was screaming, pounding her little fists against her unknown captor.

“No,” Mary cried aloud breaking into a run. Pain exploded in Mary’s head and she fell backwards into darkness.

She could hear voices. She could smell grass. Her head was pounding. What the hell happened?

Mary slowly opened her eyes.

“I saw it, I saw it all,” said a drawling masculine voice. “She just ran right into the side of the fort. Darndest thing I’d ever seen – it was like she couldn’t see it.”

“I think she’s waking up,” a feminine voice uttered.

Then Mary remembered Jessica. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it, the whole world tilted to the side.

“Take it easy,” a deep masculine voice commanded. “You’ve got a pretty nasty bump on your head. You might have a concussion.”

“Ran right straight into the fort, darndest thing,” the voice from earlier repeated.

This time, Mary slowly turned her head and found herself looking at the paramedic who was kneeling at her side. “Can you remember anything?” he asked.

I suppose telling him that I was chasing a ghost isn’t going to work
, she thought.

“I was jogging down the hill and I must have tripped because suddenly I was hurtling down the hill out of control,” she lied, reminding herself silently that sometimes honesty wasn’t always the best policy. “I must have hit my head.”

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like someone hit me with a fort,” she answered with a small smile.

He chuckled as he shone his flashlight in each of her eyes. “Well, looks like you don’t have a concussion. But you aren’t going to look as pretty as usual tomorrow morning.”

“You can take some OTC pills for pain, so you can sleep tonight – but if you start having any headaches or blurry vision, I want you to get to your doctor right away. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Mary answered, trying to stop a groan as he helped her on her feet. “How’s the fort?”

This time he laughed aloud. “No permanent damage was done. If you had had a harder head, well, we’d be asking you for your insurance card.”

Mary chuckled. “That’s a relief.”

He helped her over to his truck. “How about if I give you a lift back to your car? That way you won’t have to try this hill again.”

“I would really appreciate it,” Mary replied earnestly, not sure she could make the climb up the hill and back down the street to the car.

“Cool fort,” she said to the paramedic. “Well, not so cool up close – but it looks like it’s been around for a long time.”

“Naw,” the paramedic responded. “It was just built in the early nineties. Some local guy got the idea that it should be reconstructed. They brought in an architect and everything. Then they built it with tools that they would have used back when the fort was initially built – to be historically correct.”

“Wow, that’s great,” she replied. “So what was there before the fort was built?”

“A meadow and some woods,” he said, “Oh, and an old shed that had been empty for decades. When I was a kid we would swear that it was haunted.”

“Really,” she said, knowing that children were often more perceptive to paranormal activity than they realized. “Who did you think haunted it?”

He laughed nervously. “I don’t know, it was just kid stuff,” he said, “You know, too much imagination and not enough sense.”

“I’ve had experiences like that too,” Mary said, “Sometimes it’s not just your imagination.”

The paramedic pulled his truck to the curb behind Mary’s Roadster. He turned in his seat, facing her. “Do you honestly think it could be real?”

“I know it can be real,” she said, “What did you see?”

He hesitated.

“It could be important,” she added.

“Well, when I was just a kid – maybe ten years old – we were playing ‘catch one - catch all’ one summer night,” he said, “They had just started the excavation on the fort and there were all kinds of cool hiding places down there.

“Even though all the kids thought it was a creepy place, I knew if I hid down there, no one would find me,” he said with a grin, “I love to win.”

Mary chuckled.

“So anyway, I’m down there hiding behind some of the big logs they had brought in when I hear someone crying,” he paused for a moment. “It sounded like my little sister and I think she’s in trouble, so I follow the sound. I see this little girl sitting on the ground and she’s crying her eyes out. I get maybe ten feet away from her and she looks up and sees me. I stop in my tracks because even though she’s there I can see right through her. I mean, she’s a ghost.”

The paramedic took a deep breath and then continued.

“Then she gets up and motions to me, like to follow her. I can’t believe that I had the balls to do it – but, you know, you’re kinda in the moment. So, I follow her and she leads me to the edge of the old woods. Then three other little girls come out of the woods – you know, just like her. She runs and joins them and then they all just fade away.”

“Damn,” he swore, rubbing his arms up and down, “Still gives me goose bumps.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Mary asked, “Any of them.”

“Yeah, I’ll never forget,” he said, “They were all about the same age – like eight – the age of my sister. Because it was getting dark, I couldn’t tell the exact color of their hair – but it was dark, you know, like brown or black.”

“None of them were blondes?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, none of them,” he replied. “Why?”

“Nothing, just seemed strange that none of them were blondes,” she answered.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“What you saw,” she said, “It was real. It was their way of asking for help. Now that you’ve told their story, someone can help them. Thank you.”

Once behind the wheel of her car, she made a quick call to the Ryersons explaining that she would have to meet with them the next day. She had been tempted to go back to the fort and see if she could find the girls herself, but since her head was pounding, the sun was setting and she wasn’t too sure she could walk in a straight line, she opted for home.

When Mary finally pulled the Roadster into her driveway, she was not pleased to see Bradley’s car parked in front of her house. “Great. Just what I need - another show down,” she muttered.

She grabbed her purse and her notebook and exited the car. The world tilted when she tried to stand up and she had to grab on to the car to keep from falling. Her head was pounding and her legs felt like rubber.

“Crap,” she whispered, sweat beading on her forehead.

Seconds later she heard a car door close behind her.

“Mary, I need to talk to you,” Bradley called.

She didn’t even try to turn around. Putting all of the strength she had in sounding normal, she answered, “Not tonight, Bradley, I have a headache.”

Unfortunately, he was not deterred. “Mary, this is important,” he persisted.

She turned quickly, stumbled and fell against the hood of the car. “Damn it, Bradley, either arrest me or just leave me the hell alone.”

“Mary! Look at your face! What happened to you? Were you mugged?”

Before she could react, Bradley was next to her, his arm around her waist, half-carrying her to his vehicle. “I’m taking you to the Emergency Room.”

“Bradley, leave me alone,” she said, pushing against his shoulders and his chest.

Suddenly the vision of little Jessica Whittaker pounding against the unknown attacker’s chest came to mind and Mary felt sick to her stomach. “Bradley,” she groaned, “Stop. Right now!”

Bradley looked down at Mary. The request this time was more of a plea. Her face was ashen and she looked like she was going to... Bradley quickly helped her down to the grass, next to the curb. She leaned over and emptied her stomach all over his white-walled tires.

He held her shoulders and, when she was done, helped her sit up. “Stay right there.”

I couldn’t move if I wanted to
, Mary thought.

Bradley reached into his car and pulled out a bottle of water and a couple of wet wipes. Her hands were shaking as she swallowed a little water, but they were steadier as she wiped her face and the back of her neck. She took a shuddering deep breath and laid her head in her hands.

“You, okay?” Bradley asked, kneeling by her side.