The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) (23 page)

“Oh no, I believe you. It’s all so bizarre, but I guess I shouldn’t feel that way, not after cutting my teeth on grandmother’s stories. You said you needed my help?”

“You’ve lived here all your life, so you must know people. I need a psychic. Or a medium.”

“A medium? Seems like you can talk to your ghost without anyone’s help.”

“You don’t understand. When my husband and I divorce, I’ll probably have to leave this house, and I don’t know if Galen will be able to follow me.
He
doesn’t know. I have to find out what to do so we can be together.”

“You really want to live the rest of your life with a
ghost
?”

“I can’t lose him again,” Lindsay whispered fervently. “I just can’t. I need someone who has a knowledge of these things, someone who can see into the spiritual realm and can guide me.”

Shirely said nothing.

“I know how this sounds,” Lindsay said. “That’s why I can’t ask just anyone, and I don’t want to check the Yellow Pages. Do you know anyone?”

Before Shirley could answer, Lindsay’s cell rang. It was Eric. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and walked to the dining room window.

“What in God’s name is going on there?” he said as soon as she answered. “I’ve been worried sick. I’m on my way home and should land in Brainerd at nine tonight. Will you pick me up?”

Even though Lindsay had been expecting it, a sense of dread tightened around her as she hung up, suffocating her with doom. This was way too soon; she hadn’t had a chance to settle everything—and, she’d only had one night with Galen.

Tears forming, she sought and found the ash tree. Would her time with Galen be cut short again?

“Shirley,” she said, walking back into the kitchen, trying to control her urgency, “I need someone
now.
Today. And since I’m not well, I need them to come to the house. I know that’s a lot to ask, but can you help me?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

By three that afternoon, Lindsay had taken her shower and was just finishing an egg and toast for strength when the doorbell rang. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but not the woman who waited on the porch.

Linda Monson Powell could be any middle-aged woman in her jeans, deep purple tunic, and silver-strapped sandals. No bandanas, no rows of beads around her neck or covering her wrists. She stood nearly as tall as Lindsay, and natural silver strands sparkled through her shoulder-length chestnut hair.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” In spite of Shirley’s assurances, Lindsay had felt some apprehension, but was desperate enough to take her chances.

The warmth in the medium’s brown eyes put her at ease.

“After Shirley explained the situation,” Linda said, “I knew I had to be here. I just hope I can help.”

Thank God for Shirley. Lindsay led the way into the parlor. She’d treat the waitress to dinner at a resort on the lake, but that couldn’t begin to demonstrate how grateful she felt.

Linda followed her hostess from the foyer, but hesitated just past the parlor’s entrance.

“This room holds much sadness,” she said. “Shock, agonizing grief. A spirit’s departing. More sorrow.”

Lindsay stared at the woman, much like Shirley had gaped at her. “Yes,” she acknowledged, reluctant to say more. She needed to confirm the woman was authentic. Oh please, she silently begged, let her be the real thing. She needed help that only a true clairvoyant could offer.

“Would you rather be seated in a different room?” Lindsay asked. “We could go across the hall to the family room.”

“This will do fine.” Linda strode to the parlor chair opposite the sofa. “We’ll work
in the middle of the action
, as they say.”

“Shirely referred to you as a medium. What’s the difference between what you do and a psychic?”

“A psychic reads for the living, such as the client’s love life, career, or health issues, but a medium makes a connection with the deceased. Usually in the form of messages from loved ones who have crossed over, or images from spirits.”

“You’re what I need, then. I don’t know how much Shirley told you—”

“I never want to know details,” Linda interrupted. “It inhibits my ability to remain open and receptive. I have to admit, though, everyone in the area has heard stories about the restless spirit inhabiting this house.”

Lindsay’s breath caught. “Will you still be able to be receptive? I so desperately need your help.”

“Don’t be concerned on that level, dear. I purposely avoided learning details—in case Miss Peterson called upon me. However,” she added with a sigh, “that never happened. That’s all right, though. My guide will help me learn what I must to help you—if the spirits are willing.”

If the spirits are willing?
Oh no, Lindsay thought. Another obstacle? “You mean they might not want to help?”

“That’s always a possibility, so we must be prepared. Don’t be alarmed, though. If Spirit doesn’t come through, my guide, Nakhmet, will provide the information I need. As a high priest to the first dynasty pharaoh, his wisdom and knowledge was bequeathed from the ancients before him.”

That sounded like something from a ‘B’ movie, but Lindsay went along. She didn’t care where or from whom Linda got the information—as long as she got it.

Linda breathed deeply. “Let’s begin.”

Fascinated, Lindsay watched as Linda gathered incense sticks from her tote, set them in a holder and lit them, all the while chanting something about surrounding her client and herself with a white light of protection. Satisfied, the medium sat back in her chair and called upon Nakhmet to assist her, then she cocked her head as if listening to someone speak. Then she thanked him.

When she began to speak, Lindsay took a deep breath, preparing herself for a movie version of a heavily-accented guide speaking through the medium; instead, Linda opened her eyes and spoke to Lindsay in a normal conversational tone.

“This house has seen its share of tragedy and sorrow,” she said. “But today, it’s a happier place. The spirit who resides here is no longer in distress. He’s content, although deeply concerned about you.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I see no other spirits stepping forward. If you’ve been frightened of this entity, be assured he means no harm, and—” she stopped speaking and shut her eyes again before continuing— “he is grateful to be reunited with you. Through him, I’m shown great love such as comes along very rarely. You may live in peace and harmony.”

Lindsay waited, but the medium said no more.

“Thank you,” Lindsay said, “but that’s only part of why I need your help.”

Linda studied her client a moment, then nodded. “I know by your aura you’re deeply troubled. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”

“You may find what I’m about to tell you hard to believe—”

“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—’” she quoted, “‘—than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Shakespeare’s famous words from
Hamlet
,” she said with a smile. “I know them to be true, so don’t worry about what I’ll believe. Just tell me what I need to know.”

Lindsay related the entire story, summarizing when she could, winding up with Galen’s concern over her health.

“Incredible,” Linda murmured, staring at her client in awe. “I’ve never met anyone who had experienced such vivid memories of a past life.”

“But I don’t. I only remember certain things, mainly in dreams, and then only in small amounts.”

“It’s not necessary for you to remember everything about your incarnation as Berina. Only what is necessary for your life’s purpose as Lindsay.”

“Life purpose? If you know the reason for all this, please explain it to me. My husband’s on his way home because he doesn’t believe any of this. He thinks it’s ridiculous, that I’m having a breakdown. I have some decisions to make, and without understanding what has happened and why, I’ll be making them blindly. I’m terrified.”

“Of what, my dear?”

“Too many things could go wrong and I could lose everything that matters to me—mainly a life with Galen, the spirit in this house. Help me understand.”

“I’ll try to help you, but first I must warn you about your health.”

“My health? My health has never been an issue.”

“It is now. The spirit in this house is correct. Contact with him drains your life essence. You must cease immediately.”

That wasn’t what Lindsay had expected. “What?” Her mouth tightened and she stood. “Absolutely not. That’s not the advice I need. I need—”

“I’ve been made aware of the deep love the spirit and you have for each other, and I can’t force you to do anything. But please, give me a few moments to explain. Have you heard of auras?”

“Why are you talking about auras?”

“Bear with me a moment longer, please.”

Something in her tone struck Lindsay as true. She sat again, still wary, but ready to listen.

“An aura is an electromagnetic field emanating from all living organisms,” Linda said, “and they reflect many things about that life form. We humans have them and they can be read by those of us sensitive to them. For decades, the very idea was mocked, viewed with disdain, but today, with our sophisticated technology, they can be photographed.”

“Yes, okay. We all have them and they can be photographed. So?”

“I only offer that as proof of their existence, Lindsay. An aura has layers, and they’re interrelated, reflecting the person’s feelings, moods, and health. Your aura reveals the peril you’re in.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Linda smiled. “How interesting that you used the very word you found offensive when your husband said it to you.”

That made Lindsay pause.

“Let me be blunt, Lindsay. You’re in grave danger. When I first saw you, I read your aura. The violets are your colors—deep purple, the lavenders, the indigos—all colors of the sensitive. I even see splashes of gold, which suggests enlightenment, guidance for the uppermost good.

“However,” she continued, “a different color is growing, swallowing the others. A muddy grayish black, the sign of ill health, of eminent physical danger. If contacts with the spirit continue, you will die. I can’t be more blunt than that. If that happens, you will not have followed your own path—and you will not have helped the spirit who resides here.”

“I don’t understand any of this, and if it takes me away from Galen, I don’t want to understand.”

“Lindsay, please hear me out. I know your inner spirit will understand. I just need a few more moments of your time.”

Lindsay glanced through the windows to outside. It was still light, but the sun was fading. How long had they been talking?

Linda sat back and closed her eyes. The seconds, minutes dragged by and the medium said nothing. Lindsay waited, squirming on the sofa. She glanced out the side window. How long before Eric arrived? During the agonizing wait, she heard the silence—no birds chirping, no seagulls, everything was in stillness as though a cloud of foreboding surrounded the house.

Finally Linda spoke. “Thank you,” she said and opened her eyes.

“My dear,” she turned to Lindsay, “each of us must follow our universal path in order to enter
Nirvana
,
or
Heaven.
It’s been revealed that your life purpose in this incarnation is to help this spirit continue on his own path. To do that, he must leave this plane and go through the light. He has been fearful, so you must help him.”

“My life purpose is to help Galen leave? No, I won’t do that, not when I’ve finally found him. You can’t ask that of me.”

“I know of your love for him. That’s exactly why you must help him to continue his journey.”

“It’s too much to ask.”

Linda gently took her hand. “Many things are spiraling toward their conclusion, including your husband’s life purpose. What you decide now will determine the outcome of several lives—Galen’s, yours, and your husband’s.”

“Eric is involved in this, this plan?”

“His purpose was to bring you here to help you achieve yours. You see, it was destined that you two meet. You both felt an instant attraction that brought you together, but the physical waned, first with him, then with you. His spirit recognized you.”

“That sounds as if everything is predestined, as if we have no choice in anything.”

“All the fates can do is favorably guide the circumstances, but we, as a people, are endowed with free will. The choices we make, the paths in life we choose, determine our fate.”

As much as Lindsay didn’t want to lose Galen, Linda’s words sounded so true that she felt taken aback. She
had
felt an instant attraction to Eric, something so rare she couldn’t explain it, and he
had
brought her to this house.

“Galen didn’t want to go through the light,” she whispered. “He feels he wronged Frida, you see, and he’s afraid to face what comes next. I can’t push him into doing what he doesn’t want. Who knows? He could be right about what’s waiting for him.”

“Oh my dear, Infinite Spirit doesn’t judge—or punish. All that’s waiting for him is what awaits us all—patience, love, and guidance on our soul’s journey to perfection. Galen’s spirit will find yours again—when it’s time. You are destined to be together, so you’ll never lose him.”

“But if I let him go now, help him cross over, what will I do? I only just found him. It doesn’t seem fair to lose him this quickly.”

“Ah, but you must. If you continue to see him, to be with him, your body will quickly weaken of its life force and expire. You will have lost him nonetheless, and his journey will stall again.”

“But if I died, he and I could be together as spirits.”

“Ask yourself why Berina didn’t meet Galen’s spirit when she passed. It’s because her spirit crossed to a different plane, and as Lindsay, yours would do the same. Galen would still be here, condemned to waiting again, hoping you would eventually return. Is that what you want for him? An eternity of waiting? Only you can make that decision.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lindsay had planned to be at her best when Eric arrived, but when his car pulled in two hours later, she was still sitting in the parlor, so deep in thought she didn’t hear his car. She didn’t even notice the sun had set and the house sat in darkness.