Broken Promises (15 page)

Stanley grumbled and grabbed both papers from him. “About fifteen years ago,” he admitted. “But there’s some important stuff in here. I might need the stuff in here. There’s articles from magazines I need to clip out and file.”

Ian walked over to the file cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. There were a number of hanging files with one or two thin manila files in each. “Stanley, when was the last time you actually opened this file cabinet?” he asked.

Stanley sighed deeply. “About fifteen years ago,” he admitted. “But I meant…”

Ian walked over and put his arm around Stanley’s shoulders. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But I think Rosie’s right, you’re going to find the clue to what’s bothering Verda here in this room. And you want to set things right with your first wife, before you go ahead and take on a second.”

“I suppose…,” Stanley stopped mid-sentence as a glow from the hallway caught their eye.

They hurried out of the room in time to see Verda float down the hall and into Stanley’s room.

“Bradley, can you see her too?” Ian asked.

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I see her,” he replied as they all walked slowly down the hall to Stanley’s bedroom.

They found her at his dresser pulling things out of his drawers again.

“Ask her what she’s looking for,” Ian whispered. “Ask her what you weren’t supposed to forget.”

Stanley took a tentative step forward. “Um, Verda, honey,” he began.

The ghost paused and turned her head to look at him.

“I know you want me to remember something or find something, and I’m cleaning my office, hoping it will help,” he explained. “But, I’m sorry, sweetheart; I can’t remember what you want me to remember.”

One small tear slid down from Verda’s eye and left a trail down her cheek. “Stanley,” she said slowly. “Don’t forget.”

And then she disappeared.

# # #

Mary pulled the Roadster into Rosie’s driveway and shifted into park. She turned to Rosie sitting next to her. “Are you sure you want to go in there?” she asked. “We could wait until Ian and Bradley are available.”

Shaking her head, Rosie looked at the house and clasped her hands together tightly. “I have a feeling it won’t appear if there are men in the house,” she said quietly. “I think we would just be wasting our time with Ian or Bradley or even Stanley here. I think we need to face it.”

She turned to Mary. “You don’t mind do you?” she asked. “I mean, it was quite terrifying, but I thought with you here, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Mary placed her hand over Rosie’s hands. “I don’t mind at all,” she said. “And I’ve faced terrifying ghosts before. Let’s go in and see if he’s man enough to stand up to two strong women.”

The night was still and the street was dark. All of Rosie’s neighbors seemed to have already turned in for the night. They crept forward to the front door, the key clutched in Rosie’s hand. She inserted it into the lock, and turned slowly. Her hand grasping the doorknob, she pushed it open carefully, gazing around the room before going inside.

Even shadowed in darkness, the house seemed peaceful. Cheerful and bright afghans were tossed over her couch and upholstered chairs, inviting someone to curl up and get comfortable. The scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted in the air. Porcelain figures of angels were perched throughout the house, inviting all visitors to relax under their watchful eye.

Rosie entered the house and Mary followed close behind. “Should I turn on the light?” Rosie asked Mary.

“Have you ever seen or heard anything in this room?” Mary responded.

“No. Only in the bedroom,” she replied.

“Then I think it’s safe for us to turn on the light in here,” Mary said. “But a dimmer light would probably be better.”

Rosie turned on a small lamp that rested next to her couch. The soft light made the home seem even more warm and welcoming.

“Well, it doesn’t feel like a scary place,” Mary said, shrugging off her coat. “I’ve always loved your home.”

A smile spread over Rosie’s face and she sighed contentedly as she looked around her room. “I needed to make it a warm and comforting place,” she explained. “I needed to make it a place where I felt safe and secure.”

She shook her head. “And it always has,” her voice cracked, “until now.”

Mary took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go and change that, okay?”

Rosie nodded and together they walked through the house to the bedroom. Rosie put her hand on the doorknob. “Do you think he just went away because I left last night?” she asked hopefully.

“No, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Mary replied. “Besides, you wouldn’t have resolution and you would always wonder if he was going to come back. You need to face him and find out who he is and why he’s haunting you.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, then she pushed the door open. The room was still, with the bed unmade, the chaise lounge pushed up against the closet door and the television still running. Rosie turned apologetically to Mary. “I haven’t been back since I ran out last night,” she said. “I still had some things at your place.”

Mary put her arm on the older woman’s shoulder. “That’s okay,” she said. “I wouldn’t have come back here alone either. I know you have the courage to face whatever this is, but you needed time to develop a plan.”

Rosie nodded. “So, what’s our plan?” she asked.

Mary smiled. “Well, I suppose we need to find out who your visitor is before we can decide what you need to say to him,” she suggested. “So, why don’t you get ready for bed, just like you did both of those other times? And I’ll sit quietly in the corner over there.”

Mary pointed to the far corner of the room, away from the bed and the closet, a place where she could watch the whole room from a clear vantage point.

Rosie nodded. “That sounds like a good plan,” she agreed.

Mary pulled a chair to the corner of the room and sat back while Rosie performed her nightly rituals. “Can I talk to you?” she called from the bathroom.

“I think you might want to act as if you’re alone,” Mary responded. “Especially as it gets closer to the time your visitor normally arrives.”

Rosie looked at the little clock on the bathroom counter. “Okay, we have about fifteen minutes,” she said. “I’ll get into bed now.”

Rosie walked across the room, dressed in a nightgown over her clothes. She looked over at Mary with a sheepish smile. “Just in case we have to leave in a hurry,” she whispered.

Climbing into bed, she allowed the television to stay on and illuminate the room, but turned off the rest of the lights. She pounded her pillow a couple of times and then laid her head down and feigned sleep.

Mary settled back in the chair and waited. The sound of the news reporter on the television was just loud enough for Mary to hear the report on today’s trial. Reporting on Bradley’s comment about two bodies found in the freezer and the judge disallowing the information to be shared with the jury, the reporter went on to speak about Bradley.

“We asked a number of Sycamore residents if they remembered Officer Alden when he served their community on the police force. Most who remembered him, described a hard-working, civic-minded individual who took protecting the citizens of the community seriously. There was one comment by a young man who Alden had arrested when he was teenager who considered Alden a troublemaker and a busybody. Overall, the people here are sympathetic to the young police officer and his quest to obtain justice in the death of his wife.”

Mary smiled and nodded.
Good! Even though public support won’t win the trial, it will be nice for Bradley to know he’s got backing.

The lighting in the room changed as the news program went to commercial. Suddenly the room was darker and the sound of the television muted. Mary quickly looked over to the closet door and her heart raced as she watched it slowly open.

Game time!

As the closet opening increased, the atmosphere in the room changed. Shadows grew and the room was encased in a fog-like gloom. The air seemed heavy and oppressive. The noise from the television and the street outside was muted. Mary was on high alert, waiting and watching to see what came out of the closet.

Like watching a shadow figure on a wall, at first she only saw a hand, gnarled and elongated, with fingernails that seemed more claw-like than human. The arm that followed was also long and narrow, encased in a black sleeve that hung loosely from the shoulder, as if the clothing was too large for the frame. Then the body floated out of its hiding place. Bent at the shoulders and waist, the figure could have been tall if it had been straight. Its head moved furtively, searching portions of the room, but it didn’t turn towards Mary. Instead it glided towards Rosie’s bed, silently and stealthily.

Mary stood, making no noise as she straightened from her chair. She moved quickly, wanting to protect Rosie before the specter frightened her again, yet waiting for the best moment to confront it.

The ghost, more shadow than substance, seemed to grow taller as it loomed over Rosie. Mary thought she could hear a slow, rhythmic breath being expelled from its mouth as it stood next to the bed and watched over the woman. Then it started to levitate and move towards the bed.

“Rosie,” Mary shouted.

Rosie slipped from the bed and faced the ghost.

Mary ran forward and shut the closet door, then rushed to Rosie’s side.

The shadow raced around the room, knocking pictures from the wall and knickknacks from shelves. Then it stopped in a shadow in the far corner of the room, facing them.

“Who are you?” Mary called, her arm protectively around Rosie. “What do you want?”

Lifting its arm, it pointed a narrow finger at Rosie.

“Sorry, you can’t have her,” Mary said. “She belongs to this world and you belong to the next. You have no power over her. Now, go away.”

Mary’s words seemed to enrage the ghost, whose shadow was growing larger and stretching up from the wall onto the ceiling.

Rosie gasped softly and hid her face in Mary’s shoulder until she heard the crackle of laughter coming from the ghost. She understood the laughter was directed at her. He thought he was winning. He thought she was weak. He liked to see her weak and cowering.

She took a deep breath and stepped away from Mary’s protective shelter. She moved forward into the room, towards the ghost. “You don’t belong here,” she said, her voice quavering at first, but becoming stronger. “This is my room, mine. I created it. It reflects me and no scary, mean and ugly thing belongs here.”

The shadow seemed to shrink slightly.

“You have no control over me,” she continued. “You are nothing, only a shadow.”

She continued to move forward. “I won’t let you scare me any longer,” she said.

She stepped over to the light switch next to the bedroom door, but before she could turn it on, the closet door flew open with a bang and the ghost flew inside, slamming it shut behind itself.

Rosie switched on the light, turned to Mary and exhaled deeply. “Well, if that wasn’t one of the scariest moments of my life, I don’t know what else is,” she said.

Mary moved forward quickly and embraced Rosie. “You were so brave,” she said. “I was so proud of you.”

Rosie beamed. “Really? You were proud of me?”

Nodding, Mary hugged her again. “It took a lot of courage to confront that thing,” she said. “To stand up for yourself. You were amazing.”

“So, do you think it’s gone?” Rosie asked.

Shaking her head, Mary met her friend’s eyes. “No, not yet,” she said. “But we’ve got him on the run. I don’t think he’s quite as sure about you as he was when he first came out of the closet. But, I think it’s going to take a couple more conversations with him.”

“Why is he doing this?” Rosie asked. “Who is he?”

“Those are the very things we need to find out in order to make him leave you alone,” she said. “But that can wait until tomorrow night. Let’s pack some things up for you and go back to my place for a good night’s sleep.”

“The court calls Mary O’Reilly to the witness stand,” the court clerk announced the next morning.

Mary stood and walked forward to the witness stand. She placed her hand on the Bible.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the clerk asked.

Mary nodded her head. “Yes, I do,” she agreed.

“You may be seated,” the clerk said.

Mary sat and watched Lydia walk forward. “Ms. O’Reilly, can you tell the jury what you do for a living?” she asked.

“I’m a private investigator,” she replied.

“And what makes you qualified to be a private investigator?” she asked.

“I’m a former Chicago police officer, a former member of the vice squad and I was up for promotion to detective status,” she replied. “I also graduated with honors in Criminal Justice from the University of Illinois.”

“Can you tell us why you were not promoted to detective status?” she asked.

Nodding, Mary sat a little taller in her chair. “I was shot in the line of duty,” she explained. “And I was given permanent disability status.”

“Ms. O’Reilly, isn’t it true that the reason you were shot was because you threw yourself in front of a drug dealer who was going to shoot another officer?” Lydia asked.

“I was only doing my job,” Mary replied, uncomfortable with the question.

“You received an accommodation for service above and beyond the call of duty,” Lydia said. “Didn’t you?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, I did,” she said.

“And isn’t it true that you died on the operating table because your injury was so severe?”

Mary glanced over to Sean and saw regret pass across his face. She took a deep breath and faced Lydia. “Yes, I flat lined on the table and technically I died. But as you can see,” she smiled at the jury. “I got better.”

“I know you are uncomfortable with this line of questioning, Ms. O’Reilly,” Lydia said. “But I want the jury to understand not only what kind of officer you were, but what kind of person you are.”