Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller)

Beckoning Souls

By J.R. Tate

Nathan Gallagher doesn’t believe in ghosts. As a fireman, he’s seen his share of dead people, but they never spoke to him before—until now. His marriage is great, and his relationship with his son is strong, but Nathan is sure that if he tells them that he’s seeing ghosts, it is a quick ticket to a padded room and a straightjacket.

When the ghosts become violent and attack Nathan, his secret is revealed—except his wife doesn’t believe his claim about the supernatural. She demands he seek professional help. He knows he’s not crazy, but with no proof that the ghosts are real, he’s committed to a mental hospital against his will. The ghosts follow him, pushing him farther into a terrifying world he can’t find his way out of.

With his marriage, his sanity, and even his very life at stake, Nathan needs to find out why the ghosts are haunting him before it’s too late.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to another person.

Copyright
© 2014 by J.R. Tate

Cover art by J.R. Tate

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank my mother, Patti, for sticking by my side, listening to my antics, and having to deal with being around a writer. Sometimes I talk a mile a minute, toss around ideas, and outside of my day job, am constantly on the computer, working on manuscripts and various ideas I hope that I can eventually turn into something coherent to share with everyone. From the outside looking in, I don’t think I could handle someone like me, so for that, I’m forever grateful for her patience and love. Secondly, I’d like to thank all of you readers out there. Without you, all of this would be pointless. It excites me to share my ideas and books. Thank you for making this fun for me. Also, to my father, Tim, who has passed from this world. Despite the fact that he is no longer here, I still strive to do my best for him. He is my inspiration to work hard. I miss him everyday, but he was the best role model I could’ve ever asked to have. …And last but not least – a big thank you to M.P. McDonald, an amazing writer, or as I refer to her as my “writing friend.” Without our writing sessions, I don’t think I’d ever finish a book. Her instant feedback keeps me going.

Chapter One

Nathan

psy·cho·sis -

A severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality.

I stare at the computer screen, eyeing the definition I searched for. Dictionary.com pulls up the haunting words flashing back at me. Sweat gathers on my brow and I blink back the stinging sensation as some of it drips through my eyelashes. Swallowing, I feel the thick bile in the back of my throat and sip on the tumbler full of whiskey next to me on the nightstand.
Psychosis.
The word alone sends a chill through me. A word used in psychological thrillers and scary movies, not something I should be reading about on my laptop at three in the morning. Never in a million years would I have ever thought to associate myself with this possibility. A loss of external reality? In my job as a firefighter, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Taking a drink of whiskey, I burrow under the covers, I close my eyes, but the definition flashes back at me as if it is burned into my retinas.
Mental disorder. Impaired.
No. That's not me. I am a perfectly sane, forty-three year old man with a wife and a son.

I feel Rose’s body lean into mine. Her warmth is comforting and I fight hard to push the fleeting thoughts of being crazier than a shit-house rat aside. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow will be normal, whatever normal means.

***One Week Earlier***

"Cutting it close, Lieutenant Gallagher." My chief taps his watch and glares at me. "What's gotten into you? You understand we have a new probie you're setting an example for, yeah?"

"It's still before eight, Chief. I'm not late." He's right to be pissed. As an officer in the department, the expectations for me are higher than that of the men I supervise. Truth be told, me being late is something very unusual, and for the first time in a long time, I really don’t have a legitimate reason, other than the fact that I am experiencing insomnia like crazy and my son is getting harder to handle in the morning before school.

"For a lieutenant you are." He pulls me to the side of the garage, out of earshot from where some of the guys are washing the rig, his brow creased as he clutches my arm. "You sure you're okay? Things okay at home? You know you can talk to me."

Shrugging, I take a few steps back from him. "Everything is fine. Thanks for your concern, but we have our days. Today is mine." I start to walk off, but his hand grips my shoulder, stopping me.

"Try this week. Like I said, Lieu, if you need to talk I'm here."

I'm not sure what to say. Nothing really is wrong. Crazy dreams causing odd sleep patterns, a rebellious fourteen-year-old son, and the usual household issues are the only things that come to mind. Not exactly things I need, or for that matter, want to speak of. Nodding, I finally push past my boss and into the kitchen where my drug of choice is waiting - a hot pot of coffee and a newspaper. The main two ingredients I need to officially start my day.

The new probie the chief spoke of walks in, a towel draped over his shoulder. He looks frazzled, but I don't know of many probationary firefighters who aren't. Forcing a smile, he sits across from me at the table.

"Lieutenant Gallagher, is it normal to go this long without an actual call to a fire?"

Looking up from the paper, I heave a deep sigh. It's apparent that the other guys haven't told him to leave me alone when I read the news. "How long have you been a probie in this house?"

He contemplates the question. "A couple of weeks."

Crinkling the paper, I smirk. One of the best jobs about being on the crew is razzing the new guy. We all went through it and the year torture is worth all of the time followed to give the next guy hell.

"I've been on the job for almost twenty years, Smith, and not once has this house gone this long without an actual fire." I'm lying to the kid, but the way his eyes widen makes it so easy. It was definitely rare to go that long, but not unheard of. "You're getting labeled as bad luck here. You might wanna put in for a new house. If you start seeing ghosts and weird shit around, you need to really think about leaving the department. We used to have a black cat come around too."

"Wouldn't it be considered good luck if we're not getting put in danger?"

I close the newspaper and lean forward. "I get paid to fight fire, not sit around here staring at probies mopping floors." Pausing, I sip the rest of my now luke-warm coffee. "And just for the record, Smith, you see me reading the paper, you don't speak to me."

Just as I say that, Firefighter Ray walks through the door and pats me on the shoulder. "He's right, Smith. I'd tread lightly."

"You guys are just giving me hell." Smith stands up and leaves and I can't help but laugh. Too easy.

***

As predicted, the tour ends with no fires and only two calls that ended in false alarms. Walking to my truck, I nod toward some of the other guys, all of us thankful that we get to go home another night. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I see that it is Rose. She usually calls me around the time the shift is over.

"Hey babe," I answer, always glad to hear her voice.

"You off work yet, Nathan?"

Switching the phone to my other ear, I unlock my truck and toss my duffel bag across to the passenger seat. "Yeah, about to head home, what's up?"

"I just wanted to give you a head's up. Rusty got in a fight at school and is suspended tomorrow. I was gonna wait until you got home but he's barricaded himself in his bedroom and I can't get him out. I'm even making burgers for dinner and you know how much he usually devours like five of them on his own."

Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. I love how concerned Rose gets about our son. It's obvious that she grew up with sisters. Every day is something new with Rusty, and something I endured growing up myself. "I'll talk to him when I get home. You need me to pick anything up?"

"No. Just get him out of his room and find out what the hell is going on." She hangs the phone up and I merge into traffic. Sometimes the everyday, mundane life gets to me. Sometimes I wonder how it'd be if I never met Rose and was still single. I'd like to think I'd have beautiful women on my arm, the finest whiskey in my possession, and a beautiful apartment uptown with a magnificent view. Any time my imagination runs astray, I think about how beautiful Rose is, how I felt the first time I met her, how amazing the first time we made love was, and how she gave me the best thing I've ever done - she gave me a son. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost them and I try not to think about it. Right now was a chance to bond with my teenaged, hormonal, confused son, and if I came through, it would be mega brownie points with Rose.

The house smells amazing as I walk through the living room. Rose is at the stove, her back turned to me as she works on the hamburgers. Slipping my hand around her waist, I gently kiss her neck, enjoying her shiver under my embrace. Glancing at me from the corner of her eye, a small smile parts her lips.

"Any fun calls today?" It is a question she usually asks.

"Nope. Damn probie is jinxing us." I push aside her auburn hair and nibble on her ear.

"Ah, right. Those probie curses that seem to grasp random firehouses across the country. I think Dr. Oz talked about that this afternoon."

My hand runs up the side of her breast and before things get too carried away, I back up and pop a warm and crunchy French fry in my mouth. "He still upstairs?"

Rose nods, her playful smile quickly transitioning to a frown. "Yeah. He always listens to you. Maybe you can figure it out."

"It's not rocket science, hon. He's fourteen. It's what us boys do."

She flips the juicy burgers in the skillet and I feel my stomach growl. "You mean to tell me you were fist fighting and acting out of control at his age?"

Arching my eyebrow, I grab one more fry before she slaps my hand with the spatula. "Believe me, babe, you don't wanna know what I was doing at his age. He's a saint compared to how good ol' Nathan Gallagher was."

I hurry up the stairs before she can ask anything else, my stomach suddenly in knots as I near Rusty's door. Balling my fist, I hesitate before finally wrapping it a few times on the wood. Rock music is muffled behind it and he yells something over the noise.

"What?"

"Hey Rusty, it's Dad. Can I come in?"

The music goes lower but the door remains closed. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Who says I wanted to talk to you about anything?" Even though my father was, for the most part, a complete asshole to me growing up, I try to channel what he'd do. I always swore I'd never be like him.

"Then why do you want in here?"

To my surprise, the door swings open, revealing my son, his posture slumped. "Everything okay?" What a stupid question to ask him.

He steps back, inviting me to cross over the threshold into his world. Sometimes I feel like I'm looking in the mirror with him. He's the spitting image of me, from his dark and crazy hair, down to his green eyes - even his attitude. At times he is just like his mother, but we can't go anywhere without hearing about our resemblance to each other.

"Fine."

I shut the door and lean on the edge of the bed. "Your mom wanted me to come talk to you. I'm not gonna go into dad lecture mode, just agree that you'll try hard to not fight at school again, okay?"

Rusty rakes his hand through his hair, another hitch he has picked up from me. "I was defending myself like you always told me to do."

Nodding, I pick up one of his baseball trophies and dust it off with my sleeve. "I'm glad you do that. Schools nowadays don't agree, so just be a bit more discreet." I put the trophy down and nudge him. "I'm on your side, kid."

As I step to leave, his voice stops me. "You sure you're okay, Dad?" The look on his face is full of pure concern, like he doesn't want me to leave the room. What was with people asking me that question today? Did they know something I didn't?

"I'm good. Why?"

Rusty licks his lips and takes a second to answer me. "It's just... I got up to go to the bathroom last night and you were standing out on the landing at the top of the stairs. You were just sort of staring off at something, but there wasn't anything there."

"No way." I shake my head. I don't remember it. "You sure you weren't dreaming?"

"I'm positive. I called out to you but you didn't respond. After a few minutes you finally walked back to your room and went to bed."

I can’t help but laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it makes me nervous. "Sleep walking. I guess we all do it sometimes." Though no one has ever witnessed or told me I have done it until now.

Rusty shrugs and Rose calls up to us that dinner is ready. "Yeah, I guess so, Dad. It was just creepy, that's all."

After dinner, I find myself dozing on the couch as Rose watches one of those obnoxious singing shows that seem to be overtaking the TV. She pats me on the knee, pulling me from my half-conscious state, a small smile parting her lips as she glances at me from the corner of her eye.

"How'd Rusty take your talk?"

Looking toward the stairs, I hear his thumping rock music enough for it to be annoying. It's official - I've turned into my father, not even willing to give new music a chance. "He's gonna be fine. Said he was defending himself."

Her hand trails up my thigh, sending a chill down my spine. "He's suspended so he'll be home tomorrow. You're off, right?"

Nodding, I sip on the glass of wine she poured me, savoring the dry flavor on my tongue. It's adding to my exhaustion, but at least I'm able to relax. I've been tense lately, and I'm still not sure why. "Yeah, I'm off. With the way he's been staying in his room, I doubt I'll see much of him anyway. He'll sleep until noon or a little after and only come out to eat."

"You know him too well."

I kiss Rose on the cheek and wink. "He's me. It's like looking back at me all those years ago." We go back to watching the show and my eyelids are heavy. My body relaxes into couch, but Rusty's comment about seeing me sleep walk jolts me back awake and my body jerks.

"Easy there, Nathan. You okay?" Rose grabs my hand, a playful smile on her face.

"Rusty mentioned that he saw me standing at the landing last night, just staring off. Said I did it for a little bit and then went back to bed. You ever see me sleep walk?"

Rose thinks about the question for a second. "I did wake up at one point and you weren't in bed, but I figured you just went downstairs for a snack or something. You don't remember doing it?"

Shaking my head, my memory fails me. I can’t recollect a single second of what my son is claiming I did. "No. No one has ever said I sleep walk. That might explain why I'm so tired now, though."

"You talk in your sleep sometimes, but sleep walk? Guess that's something new. You sure Rusty wasn't kidding?"

"He looked serious. Hell, even freaked out. I don't think he was making it up."

A few seconds later, Rusty comes out of his room and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Following him in, I top off Rose’s and my wine glasses. "Hey, since you aren't going to school tomorrow, you wanna do something? I'm off."