Ghost Memory (5 page)

Gary glared at Thulu, but no way
was he going to be able to move until Thulu decided to let him. The
blood drained from his face, leaving it pale. He gave one short
nod. His expression of hate was so over the top it was almost
comical, but I didn’t laugh.

“Now, Gary, you’re a very lucky
guy. You see, we aren’t turning you over to the cops, which is what
you deserve. You should be very grateful for that because you would
be convicted, and I don’t think you’d much care for prison.”

I noticed the back of Gary’s hands
as he clenched his fists. They had obvious prison tattoos.

“Thulu, I think your new friend is
already acquainted with the finer points of prison.”

Thulu looked up at me, before
glancing at the tats, “So, I see. Well now Gary, this puts a new
light on things doesn’t it? Did you enjoy your first stay in
prison? I understand that the second time or third can be a longer
sentence. Repeat offender and all.”

Gary continued his glare of
hate.

Thulu’s tone became harsher, but
his volume remained quiet. “So, Gary, here’s the deal. You can use
this as a chance to change your life around, move away or even go
to hell. I really don’t care which one you pick. But if you come
near Mr. Quinn, if you have anyone else come near him or do
anything in any way that I don’t like, I’ll turn you over to the
cops. After you and I have another private little chat that is. Do
you understand me?”

Thulu’s tone left no room for doubt
that he was serious and quite capable of following through if he
needed to. I hoped Gary had sense enough to know that.

The hatred on his face warred with
anger and fear as he carefully watched Thulu.

Thulu’s voice was still quiet,
almost patient this time. “Hello? Gary? Do you understand what I’m
saying? Are you going to stay away?”

Gary continued to stare and just as
I thought he’d never answer, he gave another short nod. I saw the
moment when fear or maybe even common sense made him realize this
was a no-win situation for him.

“Excellent!” said Thulu, as he rose
and backed away. “I see no reason you need to hang around. And no
need to come back. And if you do, Gary…” Thulu raised his
eyebrows.

Gary continued to watch Thulu
warily.

“Well, you’ve already seen that
there are things other than me that you have to worry about. You’re
a smart guy and figured that out already, though.” Thulu gave
Gary’s chest a significant glance. “Okay, you can get up and leave
now.”

Gary stayed down for a few more
moments. He probably needed to let the blood flow again. Finally,
he got up, keeping his distance from Thulu. His hands were shaking,
either from anger or the result of having the pressure point in his
neck messed with.

We watched him as he walked to his
bike. He sat on it for a moment before putting his helmet on. I
could only hope he would take Thulu’s threats seriously and stay
away.

The churning in my stomach had
eased up, and I resolved to put any thoughts of Gary from my
mind.

Mr. Quinn opened the door. He
joined us as we watched the bike until it was out of sight.

“Well, young man, that was quite a
display. What was that exactly?” he asked. There was a slight
tremor in his hands from left-over nerves.

“That was Karate, Mr. Quinn.”

“Was it now? But what was that bit
before you got here?”

“Oh, that was Mr. Swanson.” I
explained how he had defended the door and how unusual his action
was in one of the dead.

“Well, seems you two have helped me
quite a bit today. How about you stay for dinner?” he motioned us
inside.

We countered with an offer to take
him to deposit the check before the bank closed and to take him out
to dinner to celebrate. He agreed with the bank part, but said that
dinner would be on him.

“Just let me get my coat,” he said
and took it off the coat rack in the foyer.

As he was putting it on, he asked
me if Peter was still there. I told him that he was.

“Can you ask him how long he has
before he has to go into the Light?”

I looked at Mr. Swanson. I knew
that it was entirely up to him, but I didn’t want to say something
in case he was ready to move on.

“Tell Don that I’m here as long as
he needs me. We can go into the Light together. But please tell him
not to rush. He still has his life to live.”

I relayed the message and Mr. Quinn
nodded thoughtfully.

“You’re a sweet girl, Fiona. And
your young fellow is a good man. You’ve done a tremendous service
for an old man. And I don’t mean the money. Knowing Peter is here
will be a relief. Even if I can’t see or hear him.”

We smiled at him.

“It was our pleasure, sir,” said
Thulu.

“It really was,” I added
sincerely.

“So,” he paused and gave me a
crafty smile, his eyes twinkling. “So, you really like our house,
do you?”

THE END

As with my other writing, I
received an enormous amount of support in creating this
novelette.

To Purgatory and the wonderful
writers who are such a grand source of support, inspiration and
friendship, especially Lisa Brackman, Rick Campbell, Kim Taylor, R.
M. Clark, LynDee Walker, Jennifer Nelson, Cindy Pon, Kell Andrews
and Jennifer Walkup.

A very special thank you to my
awesome beta readers: Derek Rost, Cheryl Rodgers, Danielle DeVor,
Zachary Matzke, Leslie Cholowsky, Robert Williford, Glen Nowling,
Cloyd Miller, Dr. Kim Farrell and Sharda Garrett. Their honesty and
support is appreciated more than words can say.

And to all the OTGers, my fabulous
guild and friends who listen when I ramble.

To Carla Clifton for her
friendship, unwavering support and willingness to always be there,
no matter what.

To Jen Ryan, my editor and friend,
my heartfelt thanks for going above and beyond with support,
advice, friendship and wine. Let’s not forget the wine.

And of course, to my family and
extended family who have cheered me on and been there for me every
step of way through this journey: my brother - Shawn Wilson, and
the rest of my extended family - Shawn Woodrich, Todd Meyers and
Andrew Dolle. Love you all.

After a successful career being
other people, and later teaching others the many tricks of that
trade, Maer Wilson has decided to be herself for a while. Turns out
she’s a writer. She’s always loved stories, especially fantasy,
mystery and sci fi. Maer was born in the Year of the Dragon and has
a dragon-themed room in her home, but sadly no dragons in the back
yard. When she’s not writing, Maer plays online video games,
teaches college and reads. Maer is a partner in Ellysian Press, a
small publishing house. She also co-hosts the literary podcast
MythBehaving
. Maer lives in the high desert of Southern
Nevada with her three dogs, a chihuahua and two poodles.

Maer’s books include
Relics
and
Portals,
Books 1 and 2 in the
Modern Magics
series. The third book in the series is the upcoming
Magics
.
There are also three novelettes in the series - “Ghost Memory,”
“Unwanted Ghost” and “Ghost Dancer.” A fourth story, “Wedding
Ghost” is also in the works.

For more info, you can visit Maer’s
website at
http://maerwilson.com/
. You can
also follow her at the social media links below:

Maer on Facebook

Maer on Twitter

Chapter 1

Under miles of mountain-cloud I have
wandered

Through ancient woods without a human
track

TOWARD THE TEMPLE OF HEAPED
FRAGRANCE

Wang Wei (A.D. 701 - 761)

When the dead are afraid, there’s a
big problem. The fear cut through the abandoned warehouse as sharp
as the dagger at my throat. The tall, powerful being easily held me
immobile. Breaking promises and lying to ancient creatures who can
make you very dead, very fast was not such a good idea.

Humans and non-humans, living and
dead, all of us were cautious not to make any sudden moves that
would send my captor over the edge.

I tried to take careful breaths. I
was terrified, more afraid than I’d ever been in my life and in
shock, too. Betrayal and death will do that to you, let me tell
you.

Like a car out of control on ice,
my thoughts careened all over the place. I could only hope someone
in the group was thinking clearer than me. I kept my eyes down to
hide the emotions I knew would upset the others. No sense letting
Thulu and the rest know just how freaked out I really was.

All I could tell myself was to
breathe easy and try not to swallow. There was nothing but silence
for long minutes, as both sides continued to wait. No one moved.
Even the dead were frozen with fear. Now there’s a scary
thought.

* * *

I’m not quite sure how old I was
when I first saw the dead. Maybe I’d been seeing them all my life
and never realized it. They didn’t approach me when I was a little
kid, so it’s hard to tell. Besides, I didn’t really pay attention
to people in the background. That all changed when I was ten years
old and found out that I could communicate with them.

There was a big storm in Phoenix
that early-spring day, and it was quite dark when I came out of my
after-school computer club meeting. The other kids ran through the
rain to waiting cars and SUVs, but my folks were late again.

I sat on the steps under an awning
and watched the pounding rain as I waited. My parents were usually
pretty good about being on time, but sometimes they got involved
with a client in their small accounting firm and time got away from
them. Usually they called my cell phone, but it had been silent
that day. A sure sign they’d be there any moment.

I pulled my well-used copy of
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
out of my bag and
started reading it for about the fifth time.

I loved the smell of rain in the
desert. There were a few gusts of wind and rain, but a light jacket
was all I needed over my jeans and t-shirt. At one point I heard a
loud crashing noise in the distance. I got up to check the sky for
lightning, but the cloud cover was a dome of uniform dark gray.

I was always fascinated by the
desert light shows of crackling lightning, but the show was dark
that night. That one crash of thunder was all there was, so I gave
up and went back to my perch on the steps. I got lost in my book,
and it must have been half an hour later when I heard voices.

“Oh, there she is. Fiona, I’m sorry
we’re late.”

I looked up and saw my parents in
the rain about twenty feet away, coming toward me. The lights from
the well-lit school entrance didn’t quite reach them for some
reason. Or rather, the light seemed to go through them. I put my
book in my bag, slipped a strap over one shoulder and looked up
just as they got to me.

That’s when I froze. I could see
through them – both of them, just a bit.

Fear tinged my voice, “Mom?
Dad?”

“I’m sorry we’re late.” Dad gave me
his crooked grin. “We were in a car accident, and we had to walk.
It took a while in the rain.”

I think my horror finally
registered with them.

“Fiona, what’s wrong?”

“What happened to you – both of
you?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. Suddenly, my
hands were ice cold and shaking. My bag slipped back to the
sidewalk.

They looked at each other in
surprise, but they too realized that the other wasn’t quite
substantial. I don’t know how long the three of us stood there, but
it seemed an eternity. I watched their facial expressions change
from concern to horror to resignation.

“I’m so sorry, my dear, sweet
Fiona.” Mom’s voice was gentle. “I don’t think we will be picking
you up after all.”

I felt the rain on my face as I
looked from one parent to the other. I was a bright kid. I knew
they were there to say goodbye. Whatever had happened, they were no
longer alive.

“Stay here, Fi,” my dad said. “Do
not leave here under any circumstances, until a trustworthy adult
shows up.”

“Make them show their ID. Under no
circumstances are you to leave with anyone who isn’t a police
officer or someone you know.” Mom turned to Dad. “My mother, we can
get to her and let her know.”

Dad asked me to repeat my
instructions, a precaution they always took.

“I’m going to wait here until
someone comes to get me. They must show me ID. They will get me to
Nana.” My voice was low, dull and leaden. My parents nodded, and
Mom reached out a hand, but stopped when she realized what she was
doing.

“I love you, my sweet girl. I’m so
sorry we won’t be here to watch you grow up, but no matter where I
am, I will always, always, always love you more than anything in
the world, times three.”

The rain was pouring harder down my
face. When I looked up, I saw I was nice and dry under the awning.
The streams of water on my face were tears.

“My lovely Fi, you take care of
yourself. You are smart and talented, and you can do anything you
want to.” Dad turned to my mom. “Will she be okay with Nana? How
can she stay sane in that place?”

Nana worked as a fortuneteller in a
traveling carnival. She was a bit eccentric, but I adored her.

“Maybe Nana will settle somewhere.
Hopefully, we can have a clear line of communication. See to it
that she gives Fiona a solid, normal home.”

I followed all of this with some
detachment, probably shock. Hearing my dead parents talk about
normal things, as if they were simply going on a long trip was –
well, bizarre. I had accepted that they were truly dead pretty
quickly. Something inside me recognized that. Even though it was my
first real communication with the dead, I knew it for what it was.
The grief would set in later.