Stolen Dreams (11 page)

“Well, that went well I think,” Mary said once Marty had
disappeared.

“The poor bloke,” Ian said. “He had no idea what Sol had
done. But I think his anger is going to work to our benefit.”

“So, what’s your plan?” Mary asked.

Ian moved up to the edge of his chair and leaned forward,
drawing closer to the other three. “First step is we put my equipment all
around the house,” Ian explained. “And we make it obvious to Sol where the
equipment is located.”

He paused for a moment as he weighed his idea in his own
mind. “Then we do some readings in the house, for Sol’s benefit,” he said. “And
we play up whatever we find.”

“Okay, I’m not seeing how this is going to work yet,” Mary
admitted.

Ian grinned at her. “Not so fast, darling,” he said. “This
is just the set up.
 
Then, with the help
of either Marty or Mike, we let him ‘discover’ activity outside the house.”

“Like his ghost is haunting the wrong residence?” Bradley
asked.

“Exactly,” Ian replied. “I have the feeling, from meeting
Marty, that he was never the senior partner in the deal.
 
If Sol thinks that Marty is haunting the
wrong place, he’s going to have that conversation with Marty that we need to
record and offer to the police.”

“But is that conversation going to be enough to convict
him?” Mary asked. “Not just convince the judge the guy’s nuts?”

“Well, somehow we have to convince him to check the
gravesite,” Ian said. “And record him digging up the body or something equally
incriminating.”

“But isn’t that entrapment because he doesn’t know he’s
being videotaped?” Mike asked.

“Aye, unless he signs a waiver stating that he knows that
the house is wired and there are video machines throughout the residence,” Ian
said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. “Then he
has no legal redress.”

“How are you going to find out where to put the camera in
order to videotape the gravesite?” Bradley asked. “Marty doesn’t remember being
buried.”

“There’s been some recent research about residual energy and
ghosts,” Ian said. “Researchers are finding that often in cases where a person
was murdered and their body dumped in a location, even though the ghost might
travel a little, there is a residual energy that is connected with that
location.
 
We should be able to pick up
the energy with some of my meters.
 
At
least it will give us a general idea of where the body might be hidden.”

“But won’t Sol notice you walking around the house with a
meter?” Bradley asked.

“Well, actually, no,” Ian said. “One of the newest
applications can actually be downloaded to a smart phone. All I have to do is
mention that the equipment calibration is on an app on my phone, and then I’ll
plug in the ear plugs and switch apps.”

“But won’t Sol be hesitant to do anything or say anything if
he sees recording equipment?” Mary asked.

“Yes, I think he will be,” Ian confessed. “But, I think that
if we make all of the recording equipment very obvious, wires and cables in
clear sight, he’ll think he knows where his actions could be recorded.
 
Then we’ll use a tiny, hidden camera near the
gravesite, so he won’t think we are recording in that area.”

“Won’t he be suspicious?” Bradley asked.

“Well, there’s really no reason for him to be suspicious of
us,” Mary said. “He has no idea we know about Marty.
 
And he wants us to find paranormal entities.”

Ian shook his head. “From what I perceive, Sol has no idea
how this all works,” he said. “He just wanted a haunted house so it would pay
off for him. He doesn’t understand that he’s really dealing with ghosts and that
they are real entities.
 
He thinks he’s
offering a ride at a theme park.”

Mary nodded. “And he thinks the rest of us are as phony as
he and his house are,” she agreed. “I think a glimpse into the unseen world is
going to shake him up more than a little.”

Mike hovered across the room, pacing back and forth for a
few moments, and then he turned to the group. “I haven’t said much about this
whole scheme,” he said. “Because I really think it’s got merit and could
possible free Marty. But I feel like I have to bring up the risks you are both
taking.”

“What risks?” Bradley asked immediately.

“Well, when you have negative energies you attract negative
entities,” Mike said. “So between the Ouija board, the séances, the anger and
frustration over the house not working out for them, and, finally, the murder, there
is a lot of negative energy coming from that house.
 
When you guys step in there, you might be
stepping into a lot more than you bargained for.”

 
Mary slowly climbed
the stairs up to her bedroom.
 
Bradley,
Ian and Mike were still discussing the potential pitfalls of Ian’s plan, but
she was just too exhausted to listen any longer.
 
She needed to get some sleep or she knew she
would pay for it the next day.
 
She
slipped out of her clothes, pulled on her pajamas and padded into the bathroom
to wash up.

Turning on the dim, overhead light over the sink, she turned
on the water and waited until it reached the right temperature.
 
Then she splashed warm water on her face,
poured a small amount of facial cleanser on her hands and then spread it over
her face.
 
She closed her eyes as she
gently massaged her skin, cleaning the makeup off her face and around her eyes.
“Ouch,” she exclaimed as she felt her right eye sting as some of the suds
slipped beneath her eyelid.
 
Reaching under
the running faucet, she cupped her hands and splashed water onto her face until
the stinging subsided.
 
“Well, that’s
better,” she said with her eyes still shut just in case another bit of soap was
in the vicinity.
 

Still working blind, she stretched her hands, turned off the
faucet and felt around for the face towel. Finally, after a lot of patting
around, she felt the texture of the soft, cotton, terry cloth and brought the
towel to her face, taking the time to make sure she blotted all the excess
moisture from around her eyes.
 

She finally straightened up and looked into the mirror. A
frightened gasp escaped her when she saw the hooded figure standing in a shadowed
corner directly behind her in the bathroom.
 
She dropped the towel as she spun around to face the phantom.
 
The dark apparition, in a move reminiscent of
Scrooge’s Ghost of Christmas Yet to
Come
, lifted its
arm slowly and then pointed down at the floor.
 
Mary swallowed audibly, waiting for its next words.

“Cleanliness is next to godliness. Pick up the towel please!”
the hooded figure demanded, pointing a finger at the towel.

The ghost stepped forward into the dim pool of light around
the sink, and Mary took a deep, shuddering breath of relief before she spoke.
“Yes, Sister,” she breathed, bending down to pick it up. “I’ll be happy to pick
it up.”

Stuffing the towel around the metal rack, Mary then turned
her attention to the ghost of the Sister Bernadette she had met earlier in the
day. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“You were searching for a baby today,” Sister Bernadette replied.
“Was it your child?”

Shaking her head, she met the old, translucent eyes. “No, it
was the child of a woman who, like you, is trapped between this life and the
next because she needs to discover what happened to her little girl,” Mary
explained. “She can’t rest until she knows she was well cared for.”

“What good will it do her now?” the nun spat. “She’s dead.
She should just move on and leave what’s in the past in the past.”

Leaning against the sink, Mary slowly shook her head.
“Perhaps you don’t understand the connection mothers have with their children,”
she replied. “It’s a bond that doesn’t lessen with age or distance.” She placed
her hands on her belly. “And it’s a bond that something as inconsequential as
death will never overcome.”

Sister Bernadette’s face contorted in anger. “And do you
believe that because I chose another way, I don’t understand the sensibilities
of motherhood?” she demanded.

Mary studied the woman before her for a moment, noting the
pain in her expression and the sorrow in her eyes.
 
Her eyes widened a little in understanding.
“You were one of them,” she said softly. “You lost your own child.”

The quick shake of denial didn’t convince Mary. “There was
something there,” Mary insisted, meeting the nun’s eyes.

A nearly indiscernible nod confirmed Mary’s feelings. “My
sister,” Sister Bernadette admitted. “My younger sister was one.”

“And how did she do when they took away her child?” Mary
asked.

Sister Bernadette stepped back into the shadows, hiding her face
in the darkness. “They didn’t take away her child,” she whispered sadly. “They
both died in childbirth.”

The darkness and the ghost melded into shadow, and the old
nun was no longer there.

“I still need your help,” Mary called after her. “I still
need to find the daughter of Alison Robinson Grandee. And your sister would
want you to help me.”

She waited a moment, but there was no response. The old nun
was not coming back that night.

“You really do need to help me!” she called out in
frustration. “Dammit, someone needs to help me on this one.”

“Well, good morning, darling,” Ian said to Clarissa when she
came down the stairs the next morning. “And how did you sleep?”

Clarissa hurried into the kitchen, hung her backpack over
the back of the chair and climbed up onto a stool next to the counter. “I slept
like a log,” she announced, leaning over the counter. “What are you doing?”

“I’m letting your parents sleep in a bit,” Ian said as he
mixed a large bowl of batter. “And I’m making waffles for the two of us.
 
How does that sound?”

“That sounds amazing,” Clarissa replied enthusiastically.

Ian smiled at her and nodded. “Well, then, we have a plan.”

He studied the smiling child with a critical eye.
 
It was because of his training in psychology
that Mary had asked him the day before to have a private conversation with
Clarissa just to see if any of the backlash from the article had affected her.

“So, how is school?” he asked as he poured batter into the
hot, waffle iron.

“It’s great,” she said. “
Me
and
Maggie are in the same class again.
 
Our
teacher is really cool. She lets us have snacks in class and everything.”

“And how about Andy Brennan, eh?” he asked, wiggling his
eyebrows at her. “A bit of a ladies man I’d say.
 
Are you a little sweet on him?”

Blushing brightly, Clarissa ducked her head and giggled. “A
little,” she admitted. “He’s cute.”

Ian sighed. “And here I thought you were saving yourself for
me,” he teased.

“You’re way too old,” she replied.

“Ach, you’ve just bruised not only me heart, but me ego as
well,” he chuckled. “So, I heard young Andy got himself in a bit of a fight the
other day.”

Leaning across the counter, Clarissa picked up a piece of
crunchy bacon from a warming plate and took a healthy bite before she answered.
“Um-hmmm,” she said, her mouth filled. “He was fighting Jack Wilson because
Jack called Mary some names.”

“Oh? What did Jack say?” he asked, trying to keep his voice
disinterested.

“Jack said that Mary was a faker and was just trying to
cheat people out of their money,” Clarissa repeated evenly. “Jack’s an idiot.”

Ian bit back a smile at Clarissa’s assessment of the young
man. “Some children might be upset with their parents when things like this
happen,” Ian said, pulling the cooked waffle from the iron and pouring in more
batter. “Some children might be embarrassed when their classmates talk about
their parents.”

Clarissa nodded. “Yeah, maybe,” she said. “But I know that
Mary’s not a faker and I know she doesn’t even take money for what she
does.
 
And I’ve known about seeing ghosts
since I was little, and Maggie and I would talk about the sad lady.
 
So, really, Jack is just stupid.”

“So, having Mary for a mom doesn’t embarrass you?” he asked.

Blinking in surprise, she shook her head.
 
“No,” she said. “Why? Are you embarrassed by
her?”

Ian chuckled and shook his head. “No, darling, I think your
mother is the one of the bravest, kindest and noblest women I know,” he said.
“And I have never been embarrassed by her.”

 
Bending her head for
a moment, she looked down at the ground and softly cleared her throat. “Can I
tell you a secret?” she asked quietly.

Ian leaned over towards her. “Of course, darling,” he said.
“You can tell me anything.”

She lowered her voice even more. “Sometimes,” she said.

“Yes?” Ian prompted.

“Sometimes when we are at the grocery store,” Clarissa added
and then stopped.

“Yes, darling,” Ian said. “What about that?”

“Sometimes when she’s in the grocery store with me she
sings,” she whispered, quickly looking around the room to ensure no one else
was around. “She sings to the store music.”

Ian grinned. “Ah, well, that can be embarrassing,” he
agreed.

“And sometimes she dances,” Clarissa continued. “Not big
dances, just little steps and sometimes she moves her shoulders and arms.”

“Oh my,” Ian replied, biting back his laughter. “Have you
spoken to her about it?”

Clarissa sighed and shook her head. “No,” she confessed.
“She looks like she’s having so much fun when she does it. I don’t want to
spoil things for her.”

“Ah, well, if it helps,
me
mum at
home does the very same thing,” he said. “I do believe it’s a mum thing.”

Clarissa nodded wisely. “Yeah, I’ve seen some of the other
moms do it, too,” she admitted. “It’s like
it’s
part
of their Mom club.”

Pulling another waffle from the iron, Ian chuckled and nodded.
“Aye, that’s it exactly,” he said. “It must be part of the Mom club.”