Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) (2 page)

   
"Two days. Forty-eight hours starting right now?" he offered to the Bryants.

  
"Deal."

CHAPTER THREE

The drive from Perkins Cove, which sat at one end of the Marginal Way and where Derek had parked his rental car, to the home of the Bryants took less than ten minutes. Derek had visited the beaches of the Maine coast five years ago with his wife, Lucy. As he was driving, he remembered how driving just a mile or two would have taken as long as twenty minutes during the summer months. But in January, the deserted roads made travel simple, while at the same time casting a lonely feeling on all those who visited the area during the winter months.
 

The Bryant's house was positioned on a quiet street of homes, many of which were vacation homes used only during the summer months. The street was far enough off the main road that the summer traffic sounds were diminished and muted. Derek pulled his car into the driveway of a large, pristinely kept, two-story Cape Cod, completing its East Coast shoreline appearance with weathered cedar shingles.
 

Margaret Bryant was standing in the driveway when Derek pulled in. Her arms crossed against her stomach, her hands gripping their opposing elbows. As Derek exited his car and approached, her desire to tell him something was etched across her face.

  
"I don't want you," she said in even tones, "to say anything that might make my son feel embarrassed about what he believes is happening. No judging, and do not tell him that you think he is making everything up to get attention." Her face softened. "Okay?"
  
"Fine," Derek said. "I'm not here to make fun of your son. I'm here to see if there's anything I can do to help. Again, I want to remind you . . ."

  
"We know your feelings, Mr. Cole. But you told us that you will give us two days," she said.

  
"Margaret," Derek said, "I will do everything and anything I can to help you. And please, call me Derek."

  
"Thank you, Derek. Please call me Maggie."

There was something about Maggie that stirred Derek. The way she held herself – braced against outside worries – told Derek that she had a strength within her that provided an abundant supply of courage. Derek sensed that if he had refused to give her and her husband two days of his investigative time, that she would have found the words or resources needed to convince him otherwise. Though he felt that this case was not one for which he could provide an expected and desired resolution, he believed that he was powerless in refusing to try.

Maggie Bryant was no older than 35, making her the same age as Derek. Her thin, athletic frame, shoulder-length blond hair, and stunning green eyes gave her the advantage of attraction that Derek was sure had forced others to drop whatever resistance they put up as quickly as he had dropped his.

Derek's clients ranged from high-powered business owners with unending supplies of cash, to people, desperate for professional assistance, who oftentimes needed to sell some of their personal belongings to pay Derek's fee. His clients were, most often, a team of stakeholders, each sharing a desired outcome. Some of his clients, however, were parents trying to locate their missing child or to find evidence that would prove their child innocent of a crime they were accused of. While Derek never liked trying to read the chemistry between his clients who happened to be married, he sensed something disturbing between Maggie and Jack. A distance. An air of accusation without the possibility of forgiveness.

Judging solely on the house that stood before him, Derek could tell that whatever the Bryants did to earn a living, they did it rather well. While their home certainly lacked the multi-million dollar views of the homes he had passed along the Marginal Way, its size, appearance, and appointments wanted for nothing when compared to those homes.

"You have a very nice home," Derek said to Maggie and Jack as they walked up the moderately sloped driveway towards the front door. The driveway was completely bare of any traces of ice, and not a single snowflake could be seen on its surface, making Derek wonder if the Bryants had gone through the considerable expense to put in a heating system beneath the driveway.

"If you're wondering about my ability to pay for your services, you don't have to worry," Jack said.

"Actually, I was just complimenting you for your home."

"Jack's very good at what he does," Maggie said, darting a glance at her husband. "He's one of the most respected contractors on the Maine coast. Keeps him busy, and keeps us in this house."

The front door opened into a large living room. Maggie led Derek to an overstuffed leather couch and invited him to sit. Beside the couch was an expertly crafted stone fireplace, prepared with kindling and two logs, ready at a moment's notice to accept a spark and burst into warming flames.

"I'll go get Robby," Jack said, and then disappeared down a hallway toward, what Derek assumed led to Robby's room.

Maggie sat across from Derek, arms straight, hands clasped between her knees. She had the look of someone with a story to tell etched across her face. Something that she was battling with herself to share.

"So, Maggie," Derek said. "Do you work outside of your home?"

"I am a photographer, but haven't done much in the last few years," she replied, thankful that her thoughts were interrupted. "Too busy to take portraits of other people's kids."

"Photography is a skill that I wished I shared."

"It really just takes a good eye and the right equipment," she said.

Derek gazed at her brilliant green eyes and felt a stirring in his stomach that reminded him of other days.

"All I have is my iPhone for equipment," he stammered.

"Well," she said, "if things go well, and you have time after these two days, I could give you some pointers. That is, if you want."

Though he considered himself to be a freelance detective, Derek did follow several rules when it came to how he conducted business. In addition to giving 100% of his attention to resolving his client's issues, he also never allowed himself to get close to his clients. No matter how attractive they might be.

"Let's see how these next couple of days turn out. But I do appreciate the offer."

Moments later, Jack returned to the living room, both his hands on the shoulders of a small boy.

  
"This is our son, Robby. Robby," Jack said to his son, "this is Mr. Cole. He's here to help us."

Robby walked to Derek, who had stood up, and extended his hand.

  
"Hello, Mr. Cole," Robby said, his voice flat.

  
"Hello, Robby. You can call me Derek if it's okay with your parents."

Jack and Maggie smiled their permission.

  
"Your mom tells me that you're going to turn thirteen pretty soon," Derek said.

  
"Next month. February 15."

Robby's size defied his age. He stood no taller than an average eight-year-old. His frame was slight, his shoulders were too narrow, and his head still looked a size or two too large for the body it commanded. His soft-red hair framed his childish face. Its color contrasted against Robby's bright green eyes.

"You have your mom's eyes." Derek said.

"Nope. They're mine," Robby answered, causing his mom to laugh more loudly than what the tired joke deserved.

"You're a good-looking young man," Derek said. "I bet you have to beat the girls away from you in school, huh?"

"I dunno," Robby said, his face instantly flushed.
 

"Well, Robby, I only have a couple of days to spend with you, so why don't we sit down for a few minutes, and you tell me why you think your parents asked me to visit with you."

"It's because of him," Robby said.
 

"Because of who?" Derek asked. "Do you see someone in the room with us?"

"He's not here, but I know you are here because of him."

"How do you know that?" Derek asked.

"He told me that you were coming to talk with me."

"Who told you?" Derek questioned.

"He doesn't want me to tell," Robby asked.

"Robby," Derek said as he shifted his stance, "please understand that I am not here to do anything but help you. I won't tell anyone what you tell me, and I promise that I won't tell you that you're making everything up."

Robby sheepishly matched his eyes with Derek's, nodded, then lowered his head.

"Can you tell me what he looks like? Is he old, young? Black, white?"

"You don't believe me, do you?" Robby asked Derek.

"I believe that you think you see someone that no one else can see."

"That means you don't believe me. Everyone says the same thing."

"Robby," Derek said as he sat back down on the couch, hoping Robby would follow his lead, "it's very hard for me to believe in something that I can't see. But I will tell you that I saw my wife not too long ago, and she died over three years ago. I saw her after I got hurt really bad, and she helped me get better. So, I don't know what you believe you have been seeing, and I'm not going to tell you that I believe that what you have been seeing is real, but I'm also not going to tell you that you're not seeing anything. Make sense?"

Robby slowly sat down next to Derek. His face had changed from flat and emotionless to one displaying hope and promise.

  
"He's not here to hurt me," Robby said.

  
"What's his name? Did he tell you his name?"

  
"Phillip. And other people see him, too."

CHAPTER FOUR

Derek and Robby spoke for an hour. They spoke about Phillip, about why Robby thought that Phillip visited him, about what his parents thought, and about why Robby thought his parents were so concerned. They spoke about Robby's friends and whether or not Robby told any of them about Phillip.

"I didn't tell anyone except my parents, the doctors, and you."
 

"Does Phillip not want you to tell anyone?"
   

"He asked me not to tell anyone about him. He knows that my parents know and said that my parents told you about him, too. But I don't tell anyone else about him. I know that people won't believe me. If I told anyone, they would think I'm nuts."
 

"You're probably right about that," Derek said, smiling. "People would think I'm nuts if I told them about seeing my dead wife. Or they'd say that my mind was playing tricks on me."
 

"Do you still see her?" Robby asked.
 

"No," Derek answered. "Sometimes I wish I could, but I don't think things work that way."
   

"But she was real, right?"
 

"What do you mean, 'real?'"
 

"Your wife. She was a real person, right?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask that?"
   

"Because I think Phillip was a real person, too."

Something about Robby's last comment caused a stir in Derek's gut. Though never a true believer in ghosts, Derek often wondered if the thousands of reports of ghostly encounters all contained an element of truth. He wondered if it was possible that a spirit was actually haunting Robby.

Derek knew that ghost hunting was not one of the many services he offered his clients and that, regardless of his feelings about ghosts, he needed to proceed with the case with under the premise that someone had convinced Robby that a ghost was haunting him.

"Who told you about Phillip?" Derek asked.

Robby dropped his head, his gaze fixed on his hands, folded across his lap. He sat, not saying a word for a full minute before his mom spoke.

"Robby? Mr. Cole asked you a question. Remember your manners."

The mood in the room had changed. Robby sat, head down, in absolute stillness. His parents, who were both sitting on chairs across from the couch, perched themselves at the end of their seat's cushion. Derek sensed a tension, something uneasy that was keeping Robby still and quiet.
   

"Robby?" Jack said, his tone stern and targeted.
 

"It's okay, Robby," Derek said, more to Jack and Maggie than to Robby. "You don't have to tell me anything more about Phillip. Maybe Phillip doesn't like being talked about."

Robby lifted his head and locked his eyes on Derek's. His face had softened, as if an immense concern had been removed. The corners of his mouth pulled slightly upwards.
   

"Yeah," Robby said. "I think he would get mad if I said too much."
 

"Has he gotten mad at you before?" Derek asked.

"A couple of times. Nothing too bad."

"What does Phillip do when he gets angry?"

Robby's head dropped again.

"Can you ask him the next time you see him why he gets angry when you talk about him?" Derek asked.

"Okay," Robby said.

"If he's not here now, it's probably okay to talk about him. Don't you think?"

"I don't think so. He told me that if people knew too much about him that he would have to go away."

"And you don't want him to go away?" Derek asked.

"I don't know."

Derek sensed that continuing the conversation with Robby while Jack and Maggie were in the same room would yield few results and create plenty of tension for the family.
 

"Listen, Robby," Derek said. "Why don't you let your parents and me talk for a bit? You and I can get together later on. Sound like a plan?"

"Okay," Robby said.

Robby stood up, shook Derek's hand, thanked him for trying to help, and then moved quickly down the hallway. Moments later, Derek heard the soft closing of a door.

Derek remained quiet, waiting for Maggie or Jack to start with the expected barrage of questions. Instead, all three sat in silence, each making sure not to make eye contact. After a few minutes, Derek broke the silence, cutting the tension in the air.
 

"I think that your son is a hell of a kid. Seems smart, pretty focused, and to me, pretty damn normal. Again, I really don't know what I can do to help, but I will do what I can."