The Ghosts Of New Orleans (A PARANORMAL RESEARCH AND CONTAINMENT DIVISION (PRCD) CASE FILE) (4 page)

“No, need to apologize, Sergeant,” Eloise said. “You two saved my life.”

“The new Major would have killed us if we let something happen to you,”
Sergeant Turner.

Sergeant Anderson turned sharply and elbowed Sergeant Turner.

“Oh! Sorry. I forgot,” Sergeant Turner mumbled.

“Well, please thank your Major for his concern,” Eloise said, before
laying her head back and resting.

Eloise rolled over and looked at her alarm clock. The digital numbers
showed eight o’clock.

“Crap, why didn’t my alarm go off?” she muttered, tossing the light
blanket aside. As she moved, she felt light-headed and unsteady.  

“What in the world?” she wondered and then remembered her encounter the
night before. 

She leaned on the dresser and closed her eyes for a moment. She was going
to have to figure out what was attacked her and how she was going to deal with
it if it happened again. But first she was going to go into the kitchen and
pull out her headache cure-all, a Diet Pepsi.

She left the bedroom wearing only her oversized t-shirt that skimmed the
tops of her thighs.  Her hair was loose and mussed, her feet bare.  She padded
down the hallway and stopped short when she saw the uniformed man dozing in the
computer chair, his feet propped up on the desk.

She slowly walked closer, her heart thudding.  Her mind couldn’t believe
what her eyes were insisting.

 Two steps away from her was Major Paul Grimes of the United States Marine
Corps.  Eloise could describe him with her eyes closed.  He stood about six
feet two inches tall, with thick brown wavy hair, and hazel eyes that changed
from gold to green depending on what he wore.  His smile could make a woman’s
heart accelerate and his touch could make her melt.  His uniform fit as if it
were made for him, emphasizing his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long
legs.   He was far more experienced in the ways of the world than she and he
was the one person in the United States Military she never wanted to see again
for the rest of her life.

Some sixth sense must have warned him that someone was watching because
his eyes snapped open and he was instantly alert.

His eyes skimmed her skimpy outfit as he slowly lowered his feet and
raised himself out of the chair.  Eloise felt the blush start at her neck and
spread through the rest of her body.  Then she got mad. She was not going to let
him get the upper hand, she decided. Who did he think he was anyway to just
drop back into her life unannounced?

“What gives you the right to invade PRCD quarters?” she asked him.

“Hi Eloise,” he responded, “It’s good to see you again too.”

He stepped closer and she stepped back.  He froze in his steps, his
friendly smile replaced by a shield of professionalism.

“I’ve been overseeing the operations of the PRCD for the past five months,”
he said, “I’m now over this project.”

Eloise felt like she had been hit with a truck.  “You’ve been
overseeing…” she began.

He nodded. “I know where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing and who
you’ve been working with,” he admitted, “I’ve been watching over you, Eloise.”

She shook her head angrily. “Who do you think you are?  I don’t need
anyone to watch over me.”

Paul stiffened and she could see the anger building. “What the hell did
you think you were doing last night?”

“Go away, Paul,” she stated and turned to walk away from him.

“Dammit Eloise, you could have died,” he yelled, grabbing her arm and
turning her to face him.

“What gives you the right to question my actions?” she yelled.

“What gives you the right to endanger yourself and my men?” he countered.

“Your men were never in danger. And you, of all people, should know
that,” she responded.

“You shouldn’t have gone out there alone.  It’s too dangerous…”

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “Who would you suggest I bring with me? 
Sally?  Look around, we seem to have a shortage of registered psychics in the
neighborhood.”

“You could have called…”

“Who?  You?  That would have been a great help.”

Paul grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to his chest. “If you were a
man…” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t be here,” she whispered angrily and pulled back, out of his
reach.

Paul stared at her for a moment and then turned and sat back down in the
chair. “I want you dressed and ready for debriefing in fifteen minutes,” he
stated.

“You don’t always get what you want,” she retorted.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with regret, and slowly nodded his
head. “You’ve already taught me that lesson,” he replied before leaning back in
the chair and closing his eyes.     

Eloise turned and ran back to her room.  She slammed the door, sat on the
bed and dropped her head into her hands. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.
She took a deep shaky breath and was amazed to find that she was trembling. She
placed her hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.    

“Damn!  I won’t let him do that to me again,” she whispered angrily. “I
won’t let him have that kind of power!”

A light breeze stirred the cotton curtain next to her bed. It wafted
across the room and gently stroked her cheek.  She closed her eyes and lifted
her hand to her cheek and then trailed it down across her lips. She shuddered
at the imagery the touch brought.  She remembered the last time she had worked
with Paul.

The air was so hot. 

Eloise opened the flap on her tent to catch any passing breeze.  Her
clothes were dusty and dirty.  Her hiking boots were covered in plaster and
sand.  She was tired, hot and miserable.  There were so many dead – so many
disoriented and confused spirits.  The earthquake had hit Turkey by complete surprise and the structures in the small towns had not been built to withstand
the shock.  Tens of thousands dead and so many of them needed her help.

 She lay back on the narrow cot and closed her eyes.  I just want to
rest for a moment, she had thought, only a moment.  She didn’t know how long
she slept, but the soft touch of a hand on her cheek woke her.

She looked up into those beautiful hazel eyes and smiled.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hi yourself,” he replied with a smile. “I found a genie in a bottle
in one of the ruins.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think they have genies in Turkey, they’re in Arabia.”

He grinned. “Well, Miss Know-It-All, I happen to have found a rare
Turkish genie.  What is your fondest wish?”

Eloise frowned, “All I get is one wish? Aladdin got three.”

Paul shrugged. “Different countries, different wish limits.”

She laughed aloud.  “Okay, I want a bath – a hot bath.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied.

Eloise sat up and shook her head.  “You can get me a bath?  Where? 
How?”

Paul sat next to her on the cot, leaned forward and cupped her chin in
his hand.  “You’ll have to pay the forfeit.”

Eloise unconsciously ran her tongue along her upper lip. Her breath
was shallow, her heartbeat accelerated, as she hesitantly asked, “What... would
the forfeit be?”

Paul lifted her head slightly and moved his head closer, his eyes
never leaving hers. His lips were only inches away.  “A kiss, all I want is a
kiss.”

Before she could reply, he covered her lips briefly with his own. It
was over before she could respond and left Eloise hungry for more.

Eloise snapped opened her eyes and shook her head to try to erase the
memory. Standing up, she stormed into the tiny adjoining bathroom.  She looked
into the mirror and saw a pale face with large unguarded eyes staring back at
her.  Eyes that were vulnerable instead of professional.  Eyes that allowed the
pain to show.  She took another deep breath, bent over the miniature sink and
splashed her face with cold water.

Thirteen minutes later she looked into the mirror again. She was dressed
in her regulation uniform, her hair pulled back in a neat and tidy bun, and her
face was devoid of all emotion.  She took a last deep breath, grabbed her hat
and purse and went forth to do battle.

Paul was seated on a stool at the kitchen counter sipping coffee and
flipping through paperwork when she entered. She walked to the small
kitchenette and opened the refrigerator and pulled out a protein shake.  She
shook the can a couple of times, pulled off the tab and took a few sips before
she turned to Paul.

“You still drink that crap?” he asked.

She looked pointedly at his coffee, “You still drinking that poison?”

He lifted his cup and saluted her with it and smiled, “Touché.”

She slid on the stool two seats away from him and pointedly placed her
purse and hat onto the one that separated them. He looked down at them and then
up at her.

“Setting boundaries?”

Eloise nodded. “I have always felt that setting boundaries is a good
practice.  It avoids
unpleasantries
later.”

His eyes remained cool and professional, but she could tell by his quick
indrawn breathe that she had scored another hit.

“Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” she asked politely.

Paul considered her for a moment and then nodded.  “Yes.  We should get
down to business immediately.”

He placed the papers that he had been studying on the breakfast bar.
“These are from General Thompson,” he explained. “The PRCD lost an operative.”

Eloise dropped her drink on the bar top.

“Who?  What happened?” she asked.

Paul paused for a moment, making contact with her eyes.

“Cindy Barton was found dead outside New Orleans.”

Eloise wanted to scream.  She wanted to cry.  She wanted to run away. 
But sitting there with Paul staring at her, she knew that first and foremost
she had to be professional.

She took a deep breath, and controlled the tremble in her voice. “How did
it happen?” she asked.

“According to the report, she was completing a routine assignment. She
was at a small hospital outside New Orleans, the people inside had not been
ready for the flooding,” he paused. “There were quite a few deaths.

“She had finished her assignment.  It had taken her a while to
complete...she didn’t have the strong abilities you have.  But she motioned to
the two Marines that she was done.”

“So, what happened?”

“The Marines said that she was right behind them, walking back to the transport
vehicle when suddenly she was down.  She was screaming for help.  They said she
had her hands cupped over her ears and had fallen to the ground.  In a matter
of moments the screaming had stopped and she was dead.”

Eloise nodded at Paul.

“Thank you for the update,” she said calmly, “If you will excuse me for a
moment?”

Eloise got up and walked back to her small room.  She closed the door and
walked into the adjoining bathroom.  She turned on the water in the small sink,
sank down to the tile covered floor, placed her head in her hands and began to
weep.

She pictured Cindy when they first met, although older than Eloise, Cindy
was the new recruit. In her small town in Northwest Illinois, Cindy had been
the town “psychic,” doing readings for people in the community from the front
parlor of her old Victorian home, under the reflection of a garish neon sign
that read, “Psychic Readings - $25.00.”

However, in that small conservative Christian town, Cindy found that she
was the outcast, always living on the edge of the group.  Unless, of course,
someone wanted to find a missing item, or learn if a husband was cheating, or
have the most interesting entertainment at a cocktail party.

Finally, when her children had grown and were out of the house, Cindy
decided she wanted something more.  And at PRCD she had not only found the
acceptance she craved, she could also use her unique talents to help.

From the start, the agency knew that Cindy’s gifts were limited and often
her intuition was stronger that any psychic ability.  But, in cut and dried
cases, Cindy was the perfect person for the assignment.

She remembered the emotion in Cindy’s face when she finished her first
assignment, a high school student who had died in the Oklahoma City bombing. 
The young man had been bound to the site, waiting for his mother to finally
pick him up as they had planned.  The bomb exploded and he was killed
instantly, although he hadn’t realized it.  Cindy and Eloise had been working
the site together and they came across him, sitting at the curb, looking
anxiously down the street for his mother’s car.  Cindy, who must have been
about the same age as his mother, approached him and sat with him on the curb. They
talked about school, music and movies.  Then she told him about the bombing. 

Eloise had watched from a distance as the young man looked at Cindy in
disbelief.  She had spoken softly, directly to him and soon he was looking for
his passage to the light.  When he had faded from sight, Cindy placed her head
in her hands and wept.  Passers-by assumed that the temporary memorial had
brought the tears and nodded in sympathy and understanding.

“Well, it seems we are both cry-babies.”

The voice, Cindy’s voice, startled Eloise as she looked up into the face
of her friend.         “Oh, Cindy, what…”

Cindy raised her hand to stave off any questions.  “Hush, now, I only
have a couple of moments before I have to go,” she said.

Eloise looked at Cindy – her too long straight brown hair was tied in a
ponytail that reached to her waist.  She was dressed in her PRCD uniform, but
instead of making her look professional, it always made her 4 foot 10 inch
chunky frame look like a child playing dress up.

Cindy smiled, “First, I hate you for being tall and skinny – that will
never change.”

Eloise chortled through her tears.

“That’s better,” Cindy said. “Now don’t feel sad for me.  There were so
many people waiting for me on the other side – I swear it’s the best party I’ve
ever attended.

“And you, of all folks, should know that death is a reason to celebrate a
life,” Cindy lectured. “Sitting on the floor of a john isn’t my idea of a
celebration.”

This time Eloise grinned.  “Cindy…”