To give a person with magical abilities or a spirit my full given name gave them power over me, and I wasn’t about to let just anyone contact me from the spirit world. This is also the reason I’d never been possessed; at least, that’s my theory. If another being knew my name, it was possible they could control me.
The only times I used a spirit’s full name were when he or she refused to believe they were dead and there were other lives at stake. Granted, this occurred only on rare occasions, but it would stop a ghost dead in his tracks and force him to pay attention to me, if he was still cognizant. At times, Bud hired me to speak to the newly dead who refused to leave their already embalmed bodies. Calling the deceased person’s name forced them to come to me to answer questions for the sheriff.
It wasn’t always that neat and clean. The worst was when they were six feet under, and it looked as if I were talking to the ground. Bud simply appeared to be guarding the grave from the crazy spook-kook—me—and people always appreciated police presence.
I could also use the spirit’s name to force them to be truthful with me. It wasn’t an issue I took lightly, and I never abused my ability—it was a matter of good ethics. If Colby, for example, had refused to answer my questions, I could have imposed my magic on him to make him answer honestly. Thankfully, he’d been eager once I’d begun questioning him.
The wires swung open again, and I was happy Colby was so excited to talk with me.
“Can you practice saying my name?”
A sudden wind blew leaves three feet upward, and the previously still, long grass waved back and forth. “Eeeevieeee,” whispered across the breeze, and I smiled.
“Perfect, Colby. See you soon, sweetie.”
As I turned around, Detective Stone, who had been rubbing his arms, straightened and pretended to scratch an itch on his forearm. “Damn bugs,” he muttered.
Most people had little choice as to whether they were sensitive to spirits. Whether they would admit it or not was definitely a choice. I suspected Detective Stone might have a little bit of psychic ability, because he was rubbing his arms as though trying to get rid of goose bumps. If it had been cold, I might have understood, but it was ninety degrees and the August sun was beating down on us, making everyone sweaty, not chilled.
Still smiling from my talk with Colby, I walked toward the policemen. “Does this help the case?” I asked both officers.
Bud immediately replied, “Yes,” while Detective Stone shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
Man, I was tired of Detective Stone’s attitude, and I couldn’t resist giving him a piece of my mind. “I see. Well, when you get it figured out, let me know. I’d be interested to know if my mumbo-jumbo,” I pointedly looked at Detective Stone as I said this, “helped to solve a ten-year-old cold case.”
That wasn’t very nice of me, but I was irritated with the detective’s rudeness. See? I can be forward. Point for me.
People don’t have to be rude when they disagree. One can allow someone else to have her opinion while you think she’s a lunatic, without outwardly conveying that particular thought.
Detective Stone looked at the ground and said, “Sorry you heard that.”
I put my hands on my hips and said, “Sorry I heard it or sorry you said it in the first place?” My, I was being snarky today!
Bud stood slightly behind the older man and motioned with both of his hands for me to back off with my comments, but I ignored him, instead giving him the glare he deserved for taking a side in the matter.
Another burst of uncharacteristically hot anger raced along my skin, and I knew the boy’s spirit was up to something. A sudden breeze made the branches above our heads sway and rock back and forth. A loud cracking noise sounded above our small group, and a branch began to fall directly above Detective Stone, who jumped back about three feet. It landed on the exact spot where he’d been standing.
He wagged his finger at me. “You did that on purpose!”
Now, where would he get that idea? I should have stopped myself, but a laugh burst out of my mouth as I stared at the man. “Ha! If I didn’t have abilities, how could I possibly make a branch fall off a tree, Detective?”
“Well, I…uh.” He screwed up his face for a moment, thinking hard. He smiled smugly and pointed directly at me. “You got the boy to do it for you.”
“So you
do
admit I’m a Sensitive, Detective? Is that what you’re saying?” I crossed my arms. “Sure sounds like it to me.”
He harrumphed at me then stalked away angrily, got into the squad car and slammed the door loudly.
Bud looked at me with chagrin and sighed heavily. “You didn’t have to do that, Eve.” He scratched his head anxiously. “Challenging him isn’t the greatest idea. He’s never going to admit he believes in what you do.”
“Yeah, I know, but
you
shouldn’t take sides, especially when I’m doing you a favor by being here.”
He nodded quickly. “You’re right. I apologize.” He paused for a moment then said, “But I do work with the man.”
“A little appreciation would be nice, here,” I said as I fished for my keys.
He held up his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.”
I smiled and thanked him then walked behind the squad car toward my SUV.
“Um, Eve,” Bud called out behind me just before he opened his car door. “Did you make the branch fall?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “I don’t have that kind of ability, though it would come in handy when trying to prove a point.”
He shook his head and smiled before turning back to the squad car. To preserve the “man code,” he had to appear annoyed when he got into the car next to the detective. He demonstrated that admirably by forcefully opening the door and heavily sitting down on the car seat.
I got into my SUV and drove back onto Route 100 outside of Bluff Springs, heading home. No one really needed to know Colby had made the branch crack and fall without my saying one word. I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone and neither would he. It would be our little secret.
* * * *
The drive home was quiet, which helped calm my nerves. I always became emotionally wired when I spent time talking with a ghost. It was similar to a runner’s high. Like a marathon runner, after the adrenaline faded, I’d feel exhausted and drained.
My cell phone rang, and I considered letting the call go to voicemail until I read the name on caller ID. Karisma Monroe was one of my few good friends, and I always answered the phone if she rang.
“Hey, Kar, what’s up?”
I practically heard her smile through the phone and immediately knew something big was up. Karisma was a reporter for the Greene County Telegraph and was always on the lookout for her next story.
“You won’t believe this!” She practically yelled in excitement. Before I could utter a word, she blurted, “There’s been another cougar sighting!”
“Really? Isn’t this the…let’s see,” I silently ticked off the number of reported cougars in the last three months, “fourth one this summer?”
“Yep. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” She paused, then continued, “I take it you haven’t seen anything recently?” Karisma was really asking if I had heard anything “official” from the sheriff, since Bud and I talked so frequently.
“No, but I’ll let you know if I hear any updates.”
“Sounds good,” she said. “Let me know when you’re free for a pizza-movie night, will you? I’d love to get you out of that quiet house of yours,” she teased.
Karisma knew I guarded my privacy almost to the point of being obsessive and definitely to the annoyance to those who wanted to get to know me. She also knew she was one of the few who could drag me out into the world for a little socializing.
“I will, I promise.” I laughed. “Talk to you later, Kar.”
We hung up as I parked the SUV in the garage. I closed the automatic door then headed into my house. The door from the garage led into the living room, where I had my television, a cushy light-blue couch, a coffee table and a couple chairs for lounging. The front door was off to the left and opened directly to the outdoors. Past the living room was a small kitchen and breakfast nook with a table and four chairs.
My residence was small, but it was perfect for me. The ranch-style log cabin was decorated in southwestern pastels. I loved my home even with its glitches—the front door only stayed closed if it was dead bolted; the latch on the storm door refused to clasp, although I’d fixed it by looping a rubber band around the handle and through the door catch; the light switch by the front door turned on the bathroom light as well as the porch light; and the motion-sensor floodlight above my garage always turned on at the oddest times. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t too fond of the section of the roof that leaked water onto my kitchen floor, but I managed by grabbing a bucket, and voila, problem solved—at least until I could afford to pay a professional to repair it.
A partition separated the living room from a hallway that led to three rooms. The first room from the left was a spare bedroom; the second room was a half bath; the third and the largest of the three and was my bedroom, which had a full bath.
My bedroom was covered in hues of lilac and white, with silver accents. The vaulted ceiling had two fans and a couple of skylights with automatic shades. I’d added a small deck with sliding glass doors onto my bedroom several years ago so I could look outside at the bluffs.
The reason I loved my house was largely due to its location—in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by the bluffs, making it incredibly clandestine. Since I was such a private person, seclusion was very important to me.
It’s not that I didn’t like people. I did, if they were decent to me. In fact, I worked with them all of the time. I simply treasured my privacy and the quietness of my home.
After putting together a light lunch of cold cuts and fruit, I kicked off my shoes. I was just about to sit down to relax when I realized I’d forgotten to get the mail. Usually, I remembered to pick it up when I opened the gate to my driveway, but it had slipped my mind while I’d been talking to Karisma.
The phone rang, but I let it go to voicemail while I laced up my shoes. My grandfather’s voice carried into the next room, and I raced to answer the phone. “I’m here, Grandpa. How are you?”
“I’m good, princess. How was work today?”
“It went really well.” I smiled. “I think I was able to help them with the case.”
“That’s my girl,” he praised. “Any problems shaking off the spirits?”
“Nope, he was just a little boy and scared. He’s so lonely. I feel terrible for him.”
“Make sure to keep yourself shielded just in case. You never really know a ghost’s true intentions until it’s too late,” he reminded me.
He had a good point. It was usually safe to talk with most ghosts, but occasionally, there was a bad apple who wouldn’t leave the Sensitive alone, though it was rare. Thankfully, I hadn’t run into any evil or bad spirits yet.
“Got it. I’ll be careful.”
“Has Karisma called you yet?”
“Yep, news travels fast, especially cougar sightings,” I answered.
“That it does. As a precaution, I want you to take that little pea-shooter of a gun with you when you go walking.”
“Grandpa, I’m twenty-nine years—”
“Age doesn’t matter to a cougar, honey. I know the chances of running into one are slim, but do it for me.” When I didn’t say anything, he prompted, “Okay, angel?”
I smiled at my grandfather’s protective nature. “Okay. But I’m keeping it in the backpack, not out in the open.” Knowing he would protest, I continued, “That’s the deal.”
He exhaled loudly but gave in. “Stubborn girl,” he teased.
“Yep, runs in the family!”
“All right, honey, don’t push it,” he chuckled. “Oh, before I forget to tell you, I called a handyman to fix your leaky roof. Someone should be out this afternoon.”
Mildly irritated because I didn’t want to be invaded by a construction crew, I responded, “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, honey, but you really should get it repaired before it turns into a huge project. It seems small now, but mold could set in and the structure will continue to weaken. You might even end up having to replace more than a small section of the roof if you wait too long.”
I adored my grandfather, but he was such a worrier! Knowing I couldn’t talk him out of something when he set his mind to it, I had to smile. “All right. Thank you.”
Pleased with my acceptance, he changed the subject. “You still coming over for dinner tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Love you, Grandpa.”
“Great, see you then. Love you,” he said then hung up the phone.
I shook my head, thinking he was overly concerned as usual, but I loved him for it anyway. Smiling, I tied the final knot in my shoe and opened my front door. Little did I know, I was being closely watched. With precise timing, Murrlin, my pet cat—the only exception to my rule of privacy—ran out the front door and bounded off into the woods.
I tsked and mumbled under my breath, “Sneaky kitty!”
I adored Murrlin, but this habit of his was annoying. Most of the time, I was able to catch him, thanks to my good reflexes, but this time, he had read my tiredness too well.
He and I both knew he loved this game; I swore he was amused every time I chased after him. He had to be thinking,
Woo-hoo!
Watch the silly human chase after me! See, I’m here…now I’m over here! Not so fast, lady, now I’m running up the tree, ha!
I knew I wouldn’t catch Murrlin until he wanted to be caught, however, I was always uncomfortable when he ventured outside due to possible run-ins with coyotes, stray dogs or most offensively, a skunk. If I let him think he had gotten away as opposed to chasing right after him, his readiness to return tended to be a bit more expedient. I shook my head at the thought of playing mind games with my pet as I took my time grabbing a couple of items.
Having promised my grandpa I’d take my little gun with me, I went to my bedroom to unlock it from the safe. After loading it, filling a water bottle and grabbing an apple, I shoved the items into my backpack. It looked like a relaxing lunch, as well as the mail, would have to wait a little longer.