Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven (3 page)

“It’s
nothing like that!” Jack guffawed.

“Then
you come up with a better analogy,” Mel huffed.

“I
can think of dozens.”

I
tried again, and again, and could
almost
feel where the aura ended, but when
I got there the stupid invisible thing slipped through my grasp.

Royal
spoke in a low voice. “I must leave in a moment. I am harassing Mike Warren and
he is due for another visit.”

His
voice turned hard on the last few words, but I didn’t waste my pity on Mike, the
captain can hold his own.

He
stood, and leaned over to put his lips to my brow below the wad of bandages.

“Quickly,”
Jack said with agitation. “Get him before he leaves!”

I
tried. The aura curled over my fingers, threaded through them, and when I felt
it on my fingertips but not my palm, I closed my hand.

Royal
stuffed the necklace in his jacket pocket, stepped around the chair and walked
from the room.

“Damn
it to hell!” I screamed, vexed beyond measure.

“Well,
that’s it for now.” Mel flounced to the sofa and sank down. “We can try to
catch the next medic who comes in.”

“But
I wanted to go with
him
, hear what Mike has to say,” I grizzled. I
swiped at my nose. “Anyway, unless you have a destination in mind, he’s our
best bet. If he knows I’m alive, albeit not in my body, he can help us discover
how to get me out of this fix.”

“Then
we have the whole night before us.” Mel gave Jack a significant look. “This is
going to be awful.”

¹
The
Midnight Choir: a Whisperings Paranormal Mystery Short Story.

²
Road Trip: a Whisperings Paranormal Mystery Short Story.

My
thoughts turned to Mac in the depths of the night.
If I pass over, will we
meet again in an afterlife, my little boy?

Don’t
go there, Tiff.

The
night went slowly. If sleep is good for one thing, it is breaking up the day. The
night becomes tedious when you can’t zonk out for a few hours, and now I couldn’t
turn on the television, enjoy a snack, or read.

A
good time to think? I surely had a lot to think about. What happened to me? I’d
been kicked out of my body but it still functioned, although the doctors must
think it was as good as dead if they talked to Royal about turning off support.

Royal
would not do that, would he? Not while I had life in me. But if day after day
passed, week after week, month after month. As he said, how long could he bear
to see me like that?

I
thought I knew everything about shades but learned there is far more to the
life/afterlife business; it isn’t all cut and dried, there are layers, aspects,
affecting what happens to a person after death. What of me? I was not dead yet
functioned
like
a shade. Which rules applied to me?

Do
all patients with brain damage stand by their hospital beds, wishing their
loved ones would release them from a living death, or wishing they never will?

Well,
this gal would not sit on her heinie while someone else made the decision. First
on the agenda: let Royal know I’m still around. Easy peasy.

I
sighed. With Royal’s attitude toward shades, could I make him understand I kind
of was one?

“How
do I tell Royal what’s happened to me
?
” I didn’t feel cold, but hugged
my shoulders. “Radio from the dead?”

Jack
nibbled the end of a fingernail. He removed it to say, “You need a psychic.”

I’d
told Royal about dead people, he witnessed firsthand how they helped me and the
information they gave me led to arrests. Would he believe a person who told him
I got stuck in a kind of limbo and he must
not
let me go?

“Are
there any local?”

“Yeah,
her name’s Tiff Banks, but she’s dead.”

I
cocked my thumb. “Woman? On bed? Name’s Tiff Banks? She ain’t dead. For the
last and final time, I am not a shade.”

My
roommates exchanged smug looks.

The
only psychic I knew couldn’t help me. Bound to the place where she died, Lynn
lingered on a vast expanse of white sand east of Wendover. I never found her
killer; a Gelpha, he might not be in my world. And with the Gates to Bel-Athaer
closed, I couldn’t go there and try to find him.

My
thoughts returned to the day I found her, her happiness and relief at no longer
being alone. I went to Lynn as often as I could and knew the meetings brought
both pleasure and pain. She was next on the list of shades Jack, Mel and I
meant to teach how to leave their place of death.

And
now I couldn’t. If I didn’t get in my body, she’d think I abandoned her.

Mel
piped up. “There
is
that clairvoyant, Madam Magenta?”

I
made one of my infamous snap decisions. “She’ll do!” Infamous because they are
usually wrong.

“What
is
a clairvoyant?” she asked.

“They
pass messages from the dead to the living, don’t they?”

“But
you insist you’re not dead.”

I
flicked my fingers dismissively. “A technicality. We’ll make it work.”

“Lord
help us.” Jack sighed deeply. “She’s probably a quack.”

“A
name like that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Mel agreed.

Madam
Magenta.
“It’s worth a try.” I took in their dubious
expressions. “Guys, I’m desperate!”

“If
you want to find the clairvoyant, we have to get out of here,” Jack said.

I
practiced when nurses periodically entered the room. Jack and Mel alternatively
urged, chortled, made snide remarks and some which approached helpful. I
couldn’t catch an aura any more than I could snag the door.

“One
thing you’ll learn fast is patience,” Jack told me in his mentoring voice.

He
jerked upright and slapped both palms to his cheeks. “Tiff? Patience? What am I
talking about?”

Jack’s
and Mel’s idea of entertainment didn’t help my concentration. They theorized about
the hospital staff,
not
politely, and ignored me when I tried to read
them the riot act.

“Your
turn,” Jack said as a nurse or aide came in to check my vitals. She walked with
a kind of skipping gait, her hospital sneakers squeaked and her red hair
bounced.

“Married,”
Mel said and made a humming noise. She went on, “But she has a boyfriend at the
hospital. They sneak in an empty cubicle and go at it like rabbits.”

Good
grief.
“Mel! You have no—”

Jack
butted in. “Nah, she’s too heavy. Hospital beds tend to creak when you bounce
on them
You know how creaky hospital beds are
.”

“Jack,
that is so insulting! You should—”

“A
supply closet?” from Mel.

“Agh!
You two will drive me nuts!”

The
redhead gently placed her hand on mine. “Poor dear,” she said softly. “Don’t
give up on us, hon. We’ll get you through this.”

“Oh,”
from Mel. She sniffled through her nose before saying, “She’s kind.”

“Not
an adulterer.” Jack tightened his lips.

“She
has two kids and a lovely husband. She takes in stray kittens. Her husband dislikes
furry critters all over the house but puts up with them because he loves her so
much.”

“And
they moved across town to be near her folks, so she can care for them now
they’re elderly and the dad has . . . has . . . .”

“What?
What’s wrong with him?”

“Something
old people get.”

With
elbows on knees, I dropped my face in my hands and groaned. “For crying out
loud.”

The
nurse left. I prayed another one didn’t come in anytime soon. “Is this what you
do with your time?”

“Nothing
wrong with people-watching,” Jack said. “Everyone does it.”

“They
don’t make a game of it, concocting offensive stories.”

“Sometimes
we hang on and follow them to see how wrong we are,” said Mel.

“Bet
you’re always wrong.”

“Always,”
she agreed.

“Oh,
lighten up, Tiff.” Jack rolled his eyes. “It’s a way to pass the night.”

When
the next aide came in an hour later, I eyed her critically. “She lives with her
boyfriend in an apartment on Fuller. It’s one of those month-to-month rentals.
They bought a house in South Clarion and are renovating it. They’ll be moving
soon. Their apartment lease specifies one animal less than thirty pounds, but
they have a Saint Bernard named Wilbur. They smuggle him in and out.”

“Good
one, Tiff, but
boring,”
Jack said.

I
grinned. “Her name’s Jean. I saw her at Janie’s. Wilbur goes to doggy day-care
six days a week.”

“You
cheated,” Mel accused.

“How?”

Her
lower lip stuck out in a pout. Seeing expressions on their faces gave me a
weird kind of vibe, for they had them all along and I never knew. And their
voices were clearer, the timbres more pronounced. Mel’s voice rang out light
and high, she sang the words. Jack spoke with a slight nasal twang.

“You’re
doing well with the dead thing,” Mel suddenly said as she sat on a chair.

I
looked up. “Actually, I feel kind of numb.”

“You
can’t!”

“Not
physically, mentally. Anyway, what do you mean, I’m doing well?”

“Sitting
on the sofa as natural as can be. It took me days to master sitting and lying
down.”

My
jaw dropped. I sat down when I first found myself here and several times since,
and didn’t think anything of it. But now Mel reminded me, I didn’t feel the
sofa.

I
laid my palms on my thighs. “It’s weird, isn’t it? It’s not as if I can feel
the furniture. Why don’t we sink through it? I went through the cupboard so why
not now?”

Jack
said, “For goodness’ sake, Tiff, it’s not as if there’s a life-after-death for
dummies book.”

“Should
be.”

I
stood and moved to a chair and kept my eyes ahead as I lowered my behind. Sitting
was strange, as if once my body realized where it should be, there it stuck. I
didn’t feel a surface beneath me, but neither did my muscles strain to hold me
in place with no physical support.

“Why
do we do this, anyway?” I said after I conquered the chairs, couch, and
perching on the coffee table’s edge.

“It
breaks up the monotony,” Mel offered.

“What
happens when we fall asleep?”

Mel
exaggerated a jaw drop, as if my words floored her.

Jack
said, “Duh. We don’t.”

I
took in their expressions and snorted. “Gotcha.” My bizarre situation made me
forget what I already knew about shades. Either I concentrated or added fuel to
Jack’s habitual sarcasm.

Which
didn’t mean
I
couldn’t sleep. If I got tired, I’d try. But as the long
night wore on, I felt wide awake.

Having
Jack and Mel here cheered me. Their familiarity grounded me. I fell silent as they
chatted with each other. They went on, and on, about everything under the sun. After
ten minutes of their jabbering, I wanted to join in. The notion astounded me as
their endless babble usually irritated me. I thought I understood why they
always talked so much, why they invented silly games to give them a reason to bicker.

I
wanted to hear my voice so I could say,
you sound the same, Tiff. You
haven’t changed. You’re still you.

A
male nurse came in the room.

“Ooh,”
Jack oohed and puckered his lips.

A
face mask and scrub cap didn’t hide the nurse’s good looks and Jack acted
enthralled, walking a half circle around the lad as he stood at the bedside. “You
can check my vitals any day of the week,” he crooned.

“Jack,”
I chided, “what would Dale think if he heard you?”

Wrong
thing to say. Jack turned on me with a horrified expression.

“Dale!”
he agonized, squeezing his cheeks with both palms. “I can’t talk to Dale with
you in this state!” He zipped to me. “You have to
do
something!”

“Tell
me what and I’ll gladly do it.”

“You’re
a detective. Figure it out,” he snapped.

I
nearly said Dale was the least of my worries, but didn’t want to sound callous
so bit my lip. Jack had been in love with him for more than thirty years.

“Oh
dear,” Mel said.

Jack
dropped his hands and stiffened his spine. His mouth crunched. Shaking his
finger at me, he declared, “I will get you in your body if it’s the last thing
I do.”

I
couldn’t believe we spent an hour playing
I Spy With My Little Eye.

I
clasped my wrist with the other hand. “I don’t understand any of this shade
business. I can’t feel anything solid but myself.”

“For
sure you feel yourself, silly woman,” Jack said, his usual condescending self.
He brushed his hair from his forehead.

It
should not have surprised me. I’d seen Jack and Mel patting their hair,
brushing their hands over their clothes, all those familiar gestures made by
the living.

“I
didn’t realize you . . . I mean we . . . get physical sensations.”

Jack
asked, “What do you mean?”

“Inside.
When what’s happened to me sank in, I felt sick, I wanted to vomit my last
meal.”

“You
can’t throw up what’s not there, honey,” said Mel.

“Like
we told you, you’re imagining it,” Jack said with a frown.

“I
am
not!
” I protested. “I get a sinking in the pit of my stomach when I
see Royal and can’t speak to him.”

“Your
mind is playing tricks on you,” Mel said.

“No.”
I shook my head violently. How could I explain to them? The tears which didn’t
leave my eyes. My lungs filling although I didn’t breathe. And everything I
felt inside. I glanced at the motionless patient on the bed. “We know I can’t
be the shade of a dead person. I think I’m everything which should be in my
body. And because I’m out here, in this shape, it’s as if I’m trapped in a
shell to keep me together.”

“Then
what
are
you?” from Mel.

I
said in a small voice, “Wish I knew.” I looked from one to the other. “How long
have I been here?”

“Three
days,” Mel said.

Three
days?
Why did waking take this long? The shades I’d
spoken to during the years since my ability came to me woke within hours of
their death.