Never Forgotten (2 page)

The desk was empty. The chair was pushed up against it, neatly awaiting its usual occupant. No one was in the corner. No one was there to make the sound.
No one…alive.

A cold chill ran down his back. He really wanted to leave the room. Instead, he moved closer.

He walked to the window and looked outside. Snow fell softly on the rooftops in the city of Freeport. It was Christmas Eve, a night of peace and miracles.

“Go home.”

Bradley jumped around. The voice was just behind him.

Even before he turned, he knew no one would be there.

He rubbed the back of his neck, still cold from the breath that carried those words.

“Whoever you are,” he said aloud, “you won’t be here much longer. I promise.”

Mary O’Reilly stood in her darkened bedroom, staring out the window into the night sky. She was wrapped in her favorite terry bath robe and thick cotton socks. “I really can’t stay, but baby
it’s
cold outside,” she sang with a giggle. How could this day have been any better?

A lone star came out from behind the cloud cover and sparkled above the city. My very own Christmas star, Mary thought, hugging
herself
. My very own fairytale come true.

Suddenly she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise and knew she was no longer alone. She turned around to see a dimly illuminated figure standing on the other side of her bed. She reached slowly for the bedside lamp and turned it on.

The same ghost she’d seen in the hospital, in their hotel room, and finally, at the Rawleigh Building, stood before her.

“Thank you,” Mary said. “I really didn’t get a chance to say that earlier. You saved our lives.”

The ghost smiled sadly and nodded.

“I want to help you,” Mary said. “Would you like me to help you move on?”

The ghost nodded again.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Jeannine Alden, Bradley’s wife.”

Mary felt her stomach clench and her knees weaken. She staggered forward to brace herself against her bed.

“You’re…you’re Bradley’s wife?”

The ghost nodded, her eyes never leaving Mary’s.

Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “You died,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry you died.”

A shadow of a smile passed across Jeannine’s face. “I’ve been dead for a long time,” she said.

“And…,” Mary paused, clapped her hand over her mouth as she remembered what had occurred downstairs less than an hour ago.

She couldn’t meet Jeannine’s face. “How long have you been here?
In my house?”

Jeannine shrugged, “Several hours, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I am so sorry,” Mary apologized profusely. “Here you are, waiting for me to help you and I’m downstairs kissing your husband…”

She froze. “You did know that I was kissing him, right?” she asked, biting her lower lip.

Jeannine nodded.

“I didn’t mean to,” Mary said. “Well, no, that’s not true. I really did mean to. But, I didn’t know. Well, I did know that you were married to him. But, I didn’t know that you were dead. Okay, that makes it sound even worse.”

Mary threw her hands in the air and started pacing. “I mean, it’s been over eight years,” she explained. “And I figured that, you know, something had happened to you because no one in their right mind would leave Bradley. But, you know, I didn’t even think about that. I just thought about him…and me… and…”

“And you love him,” Jeannine said.

Mary stopped pacing, turned to Jeannine and nodded.

“Yes, I do,” she said, “But now…”

Jeannine glided across the room to hover in front of Mary. “Now, nothing changes.”

Mary shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When I tell him…”

“You can’t tell him,” Jeannine interrupted.

“What? Of course I’m going to tell him,” Mary said. “I couldn’t keep your death a secret from him, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, he will want to help you too.”

“Mary, I’m not here because I need help,” Jeannine interrupted. “I’m here because Bradley is in danger.”

“What?”

Instantly alert, Mary was across the room, her hand on the door before Jeannine’s words stopped her.

“Mary, stop. He’s safe right now,” she said. “But there is something out there that has Bradley on its radar.”

Mary turned back to Jeannine.
“On its radar?
What do you mean by that?”

Jeannine glided back in forth across the room. “I don’t really have specifics,” she said. “There’s quite a bit of unexplained activity here.
Confused spirits.
They are still here, but don’t know why.”

“Who are they?”

Jeannine shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge their information,” she said. “I wish I could. But they have to tell their own stories. It’s their right.”

“It has to be their choice,” Mary said, nodding with understanding. “It always has to be about choice.”

“Yes, but I’ve been warned that Bradley is in danger,” she said. “I need you to help him.”

“But…” Mary began.

Jeannine shook her head. “Agree that you will do this, and only then will I answer your questions.”

Mary sighed. “Yes, of course, you didn’t even have to ask. I don’t want anything to happen to Bradley.”

Jeannine smiled. “Yes I did have to ask,” she said. “Because now I am your client and as such, you can’t disclose any information about me, unless I give you permission. You may not tell Bradley that I’m dead.”

“Wait a minute,” Mary countered. “That’s not fair. He has a right to know.”

“In due time,” Jeannine agreed. “But not yet. He’s not ready to see me.”

“How can you just decide what he’s ready or not ready to do?” Mary asked.

“Because I’ve given him the chance to see me,” Jeannine replied. “And the only time he chose to see me is when I was signaling him from the top of the Rawleigh Building when you were in danger.”

“That was you?”

Jeannine nodded. “He saw the signal,” she said. “But even when he was holding you, he couldn’t see me. He’s not ready.”

Jeannine began to slowly fade away.

“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Mary asked. “I’m lying to him.”

“Protect him,” she said. “Keep him safe.”

Then Jeannine was gone.

Mary stared at the empty spot, trying to collect her thoughts. She knew she couldn’t tell Bradley, not after Jeannine had specifically forbidden her. But, when he eventually found out that she had known, would he ever be able to trust her again?

She sighed. Well, I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Right now, all that’s important is keeping him safe and finding out why he’s in danger.

The phone rang and Mary jumped.

She hurried over and answered. “Mary O’Reilly.”

“Bradley Alden.”

Relief.
He was safe. She could hear the smile in his voice. And for now, that was all that mattered.

“Hi,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied.

Mary glanced at the clock. 12:01. Christmas morning.

“Merry Christmas,” she answered, sitting on the side of the bed.

“So, when you suggested I come over for a second helping of mistletoe on Christmas morning, did you have any specific time in mind?”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Well, maybe we should wait until the sun comes up.”

“Spoil sport.”

This time the laughter was stronger. “Bradley, Santa hasn’t even come by yet.”

She couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face as she waited for Bradley’s response, picturing him trying to figure out what to say.

“Santa?” he asked cautiously.

“The Spirit of Christmas,” she responded pointedly.

“Mary.”

“Yes, Bradley.”

“Ask him to leave more mistletoe, okay?”

She felt her heart expand, filling with pure joy.

“I will make a point of it,” she replied sincerely, rubbing her hand over her heart.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m great. Maybe a little overwhelmed,” she said honestly.

“I’ve heard I’ve had that
affect
on people,” he teased.

She chuckled softly. “Yes, you do.”

I miss you,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.
Get some sleep.”

“I just finished brewing a cup of Christmas tea,” he said. “I’ll take it upstairs with me.”

“Christmas tea?”

“Well, I got it for Christmas,” he explained. “I stopped by the office on the way home and found this interesting tin filled with tea on my desk.”

“Are you sure it’s not evidence from a drug bust?” she teased.

He laughed. “It had a bow on it.”

“A festive drug bust?”

He paused. She could hear him sniff.

“So?”

“Doesn’t smell like pot,” he said.

“Do you know what steeped pot smells like?” she asked.

“Good point,” he replied. “So how do I tell?”

“Well, you could drink it and if you suddenly feel really hungry…” she began.

“Yeah, and then we get spot drug tests next week and they find THC in my urine,” he countered.

“Not a good plan,” she agreed.

“Okay, now you’ve made me nervous,” he said. “Maybe I’ll wait and taste the Christmas tea once I find out who left it for me. Besides, the sooner I go to bed, the sooner the morning comes.”

She smiled into the phone. “That’s nice.
Good-night Bradley, sweet dreams.”

“You too.
See you tomorrow.”

She heard him disconnect before she placed the phone back in the cradle. Sighing, she untied her robe and slipped into her bed. As she laid her head on the pillow she heard a noise down in the kitchen. She slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to the staircase.

“Cookies are on the countertop next to the stove,” she called down, “Oh, and if you have any, could you leave some extra mistletoe?”

The basement steps were covered with worn shag carpeting that used to be pumpkin orange, but was now faded to an ugly brown. Her Gucci black patent leather high heels seemed out of place, but she dashed down the steps with practiced ease, her glass of Pinot Noir resting easily in the palm of her hand.

Classical music followed her from the open door at the top of the stairs. She stepped from the last wooden stair onto the rough concrete floor, humming along with the symphony as she reached towards the wall. Manicured nails with bright red glossy polish flipped the light switch and a series of dim fluorescent work lights lit the dark interior.

The walls were limestone blocks, rough and uneven. Single pane windows with peeling window frames were cut roughly into the stone at ten foot intervals and foam insulation seeped between wood and stone. The plastic stapled over the windows kept out most of the winter cold, and, from the collection of bugs caught in spider webs on the plastic, it hadn’t been changed for quite a few years.

A large furnace in the corner of the room blew heated air out of an oversized vent creating a balmy tropical environment, even though snow was falling outside the house. The air was moist and held the musty scent of wet soil.

She moved into the center of the basement where a dozen narrow tables stood in three long rows. Above her, a network of PVC water lines ran along the ceiling and down to the edges of the tables. Green hoses were connected to the ends of the lines and disappeared into the dirt and mulch that covered the tables.

She moved closer and inhaled deeply. Laughing, she lifted her glass to her lips and took sip. The rich compost and moist, humid air enhanced the bouquet of the wine.

“And how is my magical garden doing tonight?” she whispered.

She lovingly brushed her fingers delicately over the tops of mushrooms sprouting from oak limbs and compost spread over the tops of the one of the tables. Walking slowly, she moved from table to table. Stopping to remove a weed or examine the moisture content of the compost. But, for the most part, she merely walked down the narrow aisle touching the different textures and sizes of the mushrooms and other plants, stroking them lovingly.

“So lovely and magical,” she whispered. “And this time you will bring to me my one true love.”

Strolling beyond the tables, she walked to a counter in the back of the room. Glass jars on a shelf above held dried herbs. In the center of the counter sat an electric dehydrator. She lifted the lid and poked a drying mushroom with a glossy, red nail.

“Not done yet,” she purred, replacing the lid.

Opening a tall plastic container, she measured out a small amount of diced, dried mushrooms and placed them in a ceramic mixing bowl. “Not too much,” she warned. “We just want him sick, not dead.”