The Awakening: A Sisterhood of Spirits Novel (7 page)

“Still residual,” Tiffany said.

“Asshole. Do you want me to call his ghost up?”

“Absolutely not. Poor Erleen is terrified enough. She’s been trapped here too long.”

Tiffany turned to Shade. “Are you sure he’s not still here?”

“I’ll go downstairs and check.” Shade chuckled. “Do you want to come to the basement with me, little girl?”

“Bite me, Shade.”

“All right, you two,” Sunny said. “Tiffany, will you come with me to talk to Erleen?”

“Of course.”

Sunny grabbed her bag before reentering the bedroom. She lit three white candles before settling on the floor across from Tiffany and holding her hands. Sunny imagined a tiny light and focused on it. Tiffany’s energy joined with her own, and the light grew until it was a bright sun.

“Erleen?” Sunny called. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Honey, it’s time to go home.”

The spirit looked longingly at the light through obvious tears, and Sunny felt the desire emanating from her even as she hesitated to go.

“It’s okay. Do you still see the people waving? They’re waiting for you. Go on. I promise you, it will be all right.”

Erleen looked over her shoulder and smiled. The older woman vanished, and in her place stood a much younger woman whose hair fell in soft waves around a lovely face.
Thank you.

She turned back to the light and took a step. Sunny briefly felt her intense joy before the light went out.

She loved her job.

Chapter Four

Jordan nearly spilled her beer when Steve jumped off the couch. “Where’s my flag?” he yelled. “What are you, blind?”

Jordan laughed and moved the potato chip bag to safety. “Ain’t no flag, son. The Niners are kicking your ass!”

Steve turned, horror clearly visible on his face. “Where’s your loyalty?”

Jordan held up her hand. “Hey, born in San Francisco, nineteen seventy-nine.”

“Oh,” he said. “Now, that’s just wrong. Go home.”

Jordan raised her eyebrows and tipped her bottle at him before setting it back down on the coffee table. At halftime, the 49ers were a touchdown ahead of the Seahawks, and Steve left to use the bathroom. Jordan looked around the mostly cleaned-up apartment from her perch on the couch. At least he had made an effort.

It was still a far cry from her obsessively clean rooms, but it was comfortable. She reached for her beer, and her hand stopped in midair as she watched the bottle slide four inches to the right. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she pulled back. It must be the condensation on the bottom of the bottle.
Of course
.

Steve returned. “What’s wrong with you, traitor?”

Jordan snagged her beer off the table. “Nothing, loser.”

They traded insults for a few minutes during the halftime show until Jordan had to use the bathroom herself. She was half-tempted to go across the hall to use her own. Who knew what strange creatures were growing in Steve’s?

Feeling a little stupid, she forced herself into his. It wasn’t too bad. He’d clearly put some effort in here as well. She liked Steve. He was a good guy. A little annoying, but friendly enough. Every time she tried to push him away, he reminded her he’d seen her underwear. Good thing it was in a little brother way or else she would have kicked his ass already. Jordan stood at the sink to wash her hands. Her right palm tingled and felt hot, but without burning. It had been doing that off and on since the night she met the granola girl and her merry band of flakes. Ghost hunters. Please. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that woman? And why did she feel as if she were missing something important? Irritated with herself, she dried her hands on the small towel in an attempt to wipe off the heat and the memory at the same time.

*

Sunny received information from her spirit guides early in the morning, and it turned the simple Singer investigation into something much more personal than just a house haunting. After discussing the message with Shade and Tiffany, she decided to bring the information to the Singers on her own. It was a touchy situation and sure to be emotional for the couple.

Hollywood and religious dogma had attached so much fear to the phenomenon of ghosts that the whole psychology of it had to be addressed, and each client brought a different set of beliefs that had to be addressed.

Sunny knew how fortunate she was that her parents were so open to universal energy. She’d never had to contend with any of the religious stigma attached to her psychic abilities. In fact, they were encouraged at all opportunities. Her father had his own gifts and had written several books on paranormal research years before it was fashionable or in vogue. He found a kindred soul in her mother. They were a pioneering force, way ahead of their time in the field, and her father’s books were still in print over twenty years later.

Sunny blew an imaginary kiss to her dad before she gathered up the file and her laptop. It was better to go to them on their own home turf, especially after they heard what she was going to say.

She pulled into their driveway, and after noticing that the husband’s vehicle was gone, Sunny felt relieved, since his whole demeanor had been one of skepticism, and he’d been angry with the whole investigation to begin with. Her job just got easier because she knew that Mrs. Singer would be much more relaxed and receptive. Her elbow stung as she remembered the tumble she took in the basement. The door opened before she could knock, and she was led to the dining room, where a pretty spread of cookies and coffee was already set up.

Sunny felt trepidation radiating from the woman, but she hoped the feeling would be gone this afternoon.

“I’m so nervous.”

Sunny smiled easily. “No need to be. Please sit down and relax.”

The woman held a hand to her stomach, and in an instant, Sunny knew she was absolutely doing the right thing.

“I’m sorry that it’s taken so long to get back to you and for the last cancellation. My husband…” She trailed off.

Sunny reached for her hand. “It’s fine, really. There was a reason for it, and that will become clear while we talk. First, I want to tell you that we did get an EVP.”

Mrs. Singer paled. “That’s electric voice phenomenon, right?”

“Yes, the recorder can pick up voices that the normal ear usually can’t.” Sunny made a decision on the spot not to tell her about the shadow movement caught on the video. She knew that it and the voice they caught on the recorder were the same energy. She didn’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. “Second, I want to ask if there has been any more activity since we did our investigation.”

“Honestly? No. That’s when my husband decided it was all in my imagination.”

“I’m just going to let you listen to this, and then we’ll get started, okay?” Sunny brought the recording up on her laptop and briefly explained the lines showing decibels and frequencies on the graph. “Pay attention to this area right here.” She pointed to the screen and highlighted a portion of the bar then pushed play.

“I’m okay here.”

With her eyes wide as saucers, Mrs. Singer leaned forward to listen to the small voice again. “It’s a child!”

Sunny felt the excitement radiate from her client; the feeling was eagerness and not fear. Good, that’s what she was hoping for. “Wait. It comes in again in thirty seconds.”

“I’ll be seeing you.”

“Does that say ‘I see you?’”

Sunny pulled the bar back with her mouse and played it again.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Now she did feel fear from Mrs. Singer, so she jumped in to put her at ease. To offer the psychic impression that she’d received just this morning. Reaching for her hand again, she talked in a soothing voice. “I want you to relax and listen to me, okay?”

Sunny took a deep breath. Mrs. Singer’s reaction could go one of two ways, and she hoped it would be the one that could lead to some comfort. “Mrs. Singer, did you lose a child?”

“Oh, God.” She pulled her hands away to cover her mouth. Her grief erupted into keening sobs. “How could you possibly know that?” She swung around in her chair to look at the pretty, but empty, kitchen. “Is he here? Is my baby here?”

Sunny felt her pain stab at her own heart. “No, ma’am.” This was the hard part. Sunny felt the loss of that child as if it were her own, and tears stung her eyes while she tried to center herself. Not mine, she reminded herself. This pain didn’t belong to her.

“Ma’am?”

Mrs. Singer had rested her head on her arms. It was several moments later when she began talking. “Five years ago, before I met my husband. We were living in Montana with my parents.” She steadied a bit and sat back up. “Keith was three years old. It was the middle of winter and he got a cold.” Her eyes pleaded with Sunny for understanding. “A stupid cold and we were snowed in, trapped by the blizzard that swept through the state. Oh, we weren’t worried, my mother and I; we just did the normal routine that you do when your babies get sick.” She looked to the left, as if to a faraway place and a different time. “His temperature started to climb in the middle of the night, and I woke up my father. We couldn’t get out, and the nearest hospital was forty miles away on impassable roads. While my parents frantically tried to dig out the truck, my son died in my arms.” Tears ran silently down her face. “I felt his little soul leave me.”

Fresh grief spilled over her, and then Mrs. Singer straightened. “No one here knows about Keith but me. It was before I met my husband. Oh, he knows about my son; he just wasn’t part of my life then, or any part of the pain that you go through when you lose a child.” Her eyes almost looked fierce. “You tell yourself that you’ll die too. After all, how could someone walk around feeling like a knife is living in your heart and not drop dead from the pain? You think you’ll die, pray for it even, but you don’t. You wake up, you eat when someone forces you to, and you go to bed. Eventually, you add chores and other activities to your day, but it’s never the same, not ever.” She stopped and her eyes snapped back to Sunny’s. “Oh my God. Was that actually Keith? ‘I’m okay here. I’ll be seeing you’?”

Sunny nodded and rubbed at the knot in her stomach. “I believe so.”

Mrs. Singer got up, pushing her chair back. “I need some water.”

Sunny stared at her back. “He has a message for you.”

“A message? From my baby boy?” The eagerness in her voice broke Sunny’s heart a little more.

Sunny nodded again. Here goes, she thought. “He appeared briefly and he was holding the hand of a small little girl wearing pigtails and indicated she was his sister. He walked forward with her.” She let that sink in for a moment. “He says he’s happy and showed me pink paint and rollers. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but then he showed me a crib.”

Mrs. Singer slapped the table in shock. “I just found out this morning! Not two hours before you got here. How could you? Never mind.” Her face paled.

Sunny watched the disbelief race across her features, and then finally, hope transformed Mrs. Singer’s face, and she relaxed a little. Then she went on. “He says he didn’t mean to scare you and he wants you to be happy. He flexed his little muscle when he brought the little girl forward, a sign for big brotherly love. He says he is always with you.”

“A little girl?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not much, but an older gentleman came up behind him and lifted him onto his shoulders. They were both laughing and then they disappeared.”

“My grandfather. He always did that to me, lifted me up like that.” Mrs. Singer smiled softly. “He always smelled of peppermint and tobacco.”

The air shifted in the kitchen and Sunny felt the heavy grief in the room recede. She knew that Mrs. Singer would shed more tears, but she hoped they would be more of a healing nature.

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Sometimes, Sunny didn’t know where to put all the emotion after a heavy session like this one. She felt overloaded and wrung out. But she did know that she helped this grieving woman, and that’s what her gift was all about. She closed the laptop and stowed it in the leather case. “Do you want the recording?”

Mrs. Singer considered the question for a moment. “No,” she said slowly and pointed to her heart. “It’s right here. Thank you again.”

They walked out to Sunny’s car. After she was buckled in, Mrs. Singer leaned in the open window and giggled. “Pink paint? I think I’ll go and buy a gallon to sit in the middle of the kitchen table with my husband’s favorite dinner.”

“That’s sounds wonderful. Good luck to you.” She let herself be embraced and poured as much positive energy as possible into the hug before heading home.

Sunny got caught up in the shipyard traffic in Gorst, but it didn’t bother her. She always figured she was right where she was supposed to be at any given moment. Today, however, her heart ached with emptiness. Was it remnants of Mrs. Singer’s loss or was it her own? Her arms ached to hold a baby. To smell a sweet infant’s soft skin and kiss the top of a tiny head.

She justified it as an emotional hangover from the session. It wasn’t as if she would be pregnant anytime soon herself. It would certainly never happen by accident since she’d never even been with a man. Sunny had known from a very young age she was lesbian. Because she was homeschooled by her parents, it kept peer pressure from her door. Normal school had been out of the question. It was excruciating for Sunny to be around that many people and the emotions that flew around them like small tornados. She’d loved her parents as teachers. Anything that she wanted to learn, her parents provided the means for her to do so. They took field trips and day trips to the library. Learning was easy for her, people were not.

Look out!

Sunny heard the voice in her ear and slammed on her brakes, narrowly missing the car in front of her that had stopped suddenly.

“Thanks, Dad.” She paid close attention on the rest of the drive and was still shaking when she pulled into her driveway. She’d always had a fear of car accidents. She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d been in one, just that she did and she couldn’t get a bead on it. She wanted a bath, a long soak in water that would cleanse her, inside and out. Maybe a glass of wine.