Darkness Exposed (3 page)
He nodded. “Ah, yes, I see it there,” he said, looking over to the slight rise in the ice. “Truly ‘tis a hazard. Someone should place a warning light near it.”
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” she asked.
He grinned. “Oh, no, not I? I wouldna dare.”
She shook her head. “Keep it up and I’ll make haggis for dinner tonight.”
“Mary! Mary! I mean Miss O’Reilly,” Andy Brennan, Mary’s ten-year old neighbor called as he skated up to her. “I saw you skate. That was awesome.”
Mary smirked at Ian. “Thank you, Andy.”
“You did that on purpose, right?” he asked.
Ian coughed loudly into his glove and Mary glared at him.
“Well,” she began and then sighed, knowing she had to be honest with him. “No, I didn’t, I tripped on the bump in the ice.”
“What bump?” Andy demanded, looking around the area.
“That one, over there,” Mary pointed out the offending ridge.
“Gosh, Miss O’Reilly, that’s really not much of a…,” Andy stopped once Ian had sent him a meaningful look. “I mean, that would have made me fall too, for sure.”
Mary shook her head. “Andy, what has your mother told you about lying?”
“Well, if it’s for a good cause, like telling someone they look good even if they look like a jerk, it’s okay. So, good skating Miss O’Reilly.”
This time Ian didn’t even bother to cover the laughter.
“Thanks, Andy. Thanks a lot!”
“Sure, anytime,” he grinned. “So, want to play crack the whip with us?”
“Crack the whip?” Mary asked, “Only if I get to be on the end.”
“Oh, no,” Ian said. “You’ve just recently come from the hospital. You’ll be doing harm to yourself.”
“I’ve played crack the whip since I was a baby,” she said. “I have never once slipped off the end of the line.”
“I really don’t like this idea,” Ian said.
“Come on,” Mary laughed. “It’ll be fun.”
They joined a group of eight other skaters, Ian in the front and Mary at the end. They began to circle the rink, slowly gaining speed and momentum. Mary felt the wind brush against her face and breathed in the cold, crisp pine-scented air. She was holding hands with Maggie, who was chuckling delightedly as they spun in a giant round. Mary laughed at sheer joy of the sound.
Suddenly, Colin started to move past Ian and change directions of the line. Mary could feel the whole line react with a sharp jerk. Ian sped up, trying to regain the head, but Colin took it as a challenge and jerked the line in the opposite direction.
Mary looked down at Maggie whose face had changed from delight to trepidation. Her little gloved hand was beginning to slip out of her brother’s hand on the other side. Mary knew she only had one choice.
“Maggie, I’m going to let go,” she said. “Then you grab Andy’s arm with both of your hands to be safe. Okay?”
Maggie nodded slowly. Mary took a deep breath and let go just as the line cracked again. Her first thought was amazement at the sheer speed she was traveling towards the large drifts of snow on the other side of the rink. Her second thought, before she headed toward the inevitable crash once again was, “Well crap!”
Freeport Police Chief Bradley Alden popped open the can of Diet Pepsi and drank deeply, hoping the caffeine would kick start his system. He hadn’t slept well the night before. During the early part of the evening he had dreamt about Mary O’Reilly and had finally realized through the dream she hadn’t lied to him about his wife, Jeannine.
Jeannine had been missing for over eight years, after a breakin at their home in Sycamore, Illinois. Bradley had spent the better part of that time searching across the United States for any clue that would lead him to his wife. He didn’t know if she was dead or alive, or if she had been taken or had chosen to run away from him and his job as a police officer. Finally, when he had run out of money and realized he was no closer to the truth than he had been eight years ago, he applied for the job in Freeport and tried to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.
And that’s when he met Mary O’Reilly.
Tossing the now empty can into the trash can, he pulled a second from the fridge. Mary O’Reilly, he thought, he should have run away when he first met her.
He had actually met Mary before he knew who she was. They both had a habit of running at the park early in the morning. They ended up with an unspoken competition, racing each other through the park and then separating at the conclusion, neither uttering a sound. He had heard rumors at the office about the crazy psychic who thought she could see and hear ghosts. He already had the woman pictured in his mind; a middle-aged, caftan-wearing, earth mother with a copious number of pendants and crystals resting on her ample bosom. But when Stanley, the owner of Wagner’s Office Products, had introduced him to Mary and he realized she was the mystery woman from the park, he was stunned.
In the next few months, as she proved not only her competence and courage, but also the truth about her ability to communicate with ghosts, Bradley found himself admiring the professional and falling in love with the woman.
He looked at the toppled chair on the kitchen floor. He remembered whipping his jacket at it when he got home from his middle-of-the-night drive to Mary’s. He walked over, picked up his jacket, set the chair aright and sat in it, cradling his head in his hands. “What the hell was I thinking?” he muttered.
When he had woken from the first dream and realized that he had unfairly judged Mary, he donned jeans, his jacket and a pair of house slippers and had driven over to her house. If his car had not been parked in the garage, he might have remembered the snow and ice storm. Once there he was definitely reminded about it as he slid and scrambled his way up and across Mary’s porch. He finally made it to Mary’s door only to have it opened by a strange man with a Scottish accent, looking quite at home. He could recall the conversation perfectly.
“Where’s Mary?” he had asked.
The stranger paused for a moment and then met his eyes. “She’s upstairs, getting ready for bed,” he said.
Bradley felt a hit to his solar plexus.
“Getting ready for bed,” he repeated, “with you here?”
Smiling widely, the man nodded, “Aye, I was just on my way upstairs when I heard you on the porch.”
“But, she’s getting ready for bed,” he repeated, trying to make sense out of the statement.
“Aye, it’s been a long day. I dinnae think she was expecting you, we were both looking forward to bed.”
“You were both,” he choked on his words, “both looking forward to bed?”
“Aye. Would you bide a moment whilst I fetch her?” he had asked, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs.
Bradley had shaken his head. “No,” he said. “It seems that it was later than I thought. Much, much later.”
He had turned and slowly slid across the deck to the post.
“Could I tell her who called?” the man had called after him.
“No one,” Bradley had replied, grasping the banister and climbing slowly down the stairs. “No one at all.”
Bradley lifted his head slowly and his eye caught sight of one of his slippers lying on the top of the fireplace mantle. He remembered throwing them across the room too. He walked across the room. There, next to the errant slipper, was a dried and brittle piece of mistletoe. Picking it up, he twirled it in his fingers, one lone white berry still attached to the stem. It had been a gift to him from the ghost of a young boy he and Mary had helped during the holidays. Hanging above them in Mary’s kitchen, it had given him the motivation he needed to pull Mary into his arms and finally tell her how he felt. He could still see her looking up at him, her eyes filled with love and wonder.
Another vision flashed across his mind, a vision that had haunted his dreams for the remainder of the night and had left him frustrated and angry. Mary in someone else’s arms, laughing, smiling and looking up at someone else with those same eyes filled with love. His Mary. Lost. And he had no one to blame but himself.
He started to tighten his hand into a fist, but felt the delicate leaves begin to crumble and carefully placed the mistletoe back on the mantle. The final white berry dislodged and rolled across the slick surface. Catching it before it fell to the floor, he held it in his hand for a moment and finally dropped it into the shirt pocket of his uniform, next to his heart. No matter what, he would always cherish the time they spent together.
He looked at the other object on the mantle; a silver framed photo of Jeannine and him on their wedding day. He picked up the photo and looked into her eyes.
She was happy, he thought, and we loved each other.
Breathing a heavy sigh of remorse, he shook his head and whispered, “Jeannine, I’m so sorry I failed you. And now I’ve failed Mary too.”
“You weren’t always such an idiot.”
Bradley spun around to see Jeannine’s translucent form hovering across the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face was set with determination.
“I need your help right now,” she said. “And, really, standing around feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to solve my murder. So pull yourself together, okay?”
Bradley was speechless for a moment.
“What do you mean, feeling sorry for myself?” he finally blurted out. “My heart is broken here.”
“Oh, well, maybe if you hadn’t treated Mary like she was a liar, hadn’t acted like a jerk while you asked for her help and basically threw her love back in her face, you wouldn’t be in the situation you are in right now,” she said.
“But, but, but,” he sputtered. “I told her I loved her.”
Jeannine sighed loudly. “Bradley, love is more than just words. Love is action. Words are easy, backing them up every day with what you do and what you say is when you really prove what you feel.”
“I loved you,” he said.
She smiled sadly. “Yes, you did,” she said. “And I knew it because you were willing to change to save our marriage. You fought for me, Bradley. Fight for Mary.”
He shook his head. “She’s got a new guy,” he said. “And he’s got an accent.”
Jeannine grinned and she shook her head slightly. “So what, you’ve got a sexy uniform,” she countered. “Uniforms always ace out accents. Besides, she loves you and that trumps all.”
“Really?” he asked. “Still? Even after all I’ve done?”
“Go find out,” she said.
Chapter Four
When Bradley left a few minutes later he absently switched off the lights and closed the door firmly behind him. Jeannine, alone in the living room, was left standing in the dark. The sound of the door closing and the darkness triggered a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She started to fade away, then stopped.
What if the panic has something to do with my murder, she thought.
Although she couldn’t remember much about her death, she realized she hadn’t even thought about it until she found Bradley in Chicago a few months ago. Before then she had been floating helplessly between this life and the next trying to find resolution.
Forcing herself to remain calm, she tried to think back and remember why she would be afraid of the dark. She closed her eyes and searched her memory.
“Darling, I’m home.”
The voice seemed to echo in the small chamber. Jeannine breathed in the gust of fresh air, then the door closed and once again the stale, damp air of the room surrounded her.
“Have you been a good girl today? I brought you a present. But first, your medicine.”
She shook her head, “No. No drugs,” her voice came out hoarse and dry.
She felt the hand on her jaw and the metal cup pressed against her lips. She tried to shake her head, but she was never strong enough. She gagged as the liquid was forced down her throat. “There, there, my dear, it’s not all that bad.”
She tried to fight it, tried to fight the drug and the power it had over her mind and her will. “I hate you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She felt lips press against her temple. “Ah, yes, my dear, but in a few moments, you will love me once again.”
She shook her head. “No, never.”
“But, darling, you don’t remember do you? You don’t remember what you do when your medicine takes control.”
She felt the hand move past her shirt and stroke her bare skin. “I make you very happy, Jeannine. You cry out to me in ecstasy.”
“No!” she cried, her voice slurring, “No, I don’t want you.”
“Oh, darling, you want me. You’ve always wanted me. You just needed me to free you from the clutches of your husband. It was always me. And this baby has always been ours.”
She shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her brain. “No, this is my baby. This is Bradley’s baby.”
The fog was thicker. She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. She felt the hands again, stroking, moving over her body.
“You like this, don’t you darling?”
“Please,” she whispered, a final tear threading its way down her cheek.
“Oh, yes, darling, you please me very much indeed.”
