Authors: Kim Baccellia
I brushed away the offensive cobweb and almost missed the sign: ‘Caution Crime Scene Do Not Enter’.
Yellow and black tape wrapped, like a big morbid bow, around two oak trees.
So someone had found the dead woman.
I tiptoed toward the murder site. The body was gone. A sense of
déjà vu
came over me and an image of the woman on her knees pleading for her life flashed through my mind. What had she said?
Anjook
… something. Though I’d seen the murder in a vision, actually being at the site gave me the creeps.
I knew better then to mess with the crime scene. I laughed. Like shoving a wooden cross into the ground wasn’t disturbing.
I thrust the cross into the damp grass, outside of the tape. The earth rumbled underneath me. I lost my balance and fell backwards.
Brilliant light burst from the cross and poured into the grove of trees. This always happened right before the dead appeared. The cross became a sort of beacon, guiding spirits to me.
Sure enough, I saw the woman in my dream. She drifted toward me. She no longer wore a scarf; her dark hair fell below her shoulders. One side of her head was smashed in, with one eyeball pushed upward. It was totally gruesome. Her face reminded me of a bruised apple, the rotten part destroying the overall symmetry of the fruit. I held my breath and resisted the urge to barf.
She stared at me, confusion etched on what remained of her face.
“Who are you?” Her husky voice sounded just like in my dream.
“I-i-i-i-t doesn’t matter who I am. Just follow the light.”
“The what?”
“Just follow the light.” I nodded my head toward a stand of oak trees to my right. “C’mon you’re dead. You’ve got to know you have to follow the light.”
She glanced at the cross. Curvy lines ran up the beam. I had to admit my black marker did wonders for the otherwise boring wood.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Oh, this?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my hands shook. “Just something to help you pass to the other side. But really, you need to go before it’s too late.”
Brightness swamped the area, bathing the darkened woods with its own version of some kind of massive light show. I could have sworn I heard the trickle of a water fountain.
But the woman seemed oblivious to it all. She gazed at the cross in my hands.
“Why are you putting that here?” She seemed pissed off.
Jeez, you’d think that I killed her.
“It’s a cross,” I said. “You know, to help—”
“I can see what it is. That won’t help
me
.”
“Why not?”
“Leave me alone,” the woman snapped then knocked the cross over.
Early morning dew spattered on my cross. I watched the design I’d worked so hard on blur into a big blackened mess.
At the same time the vision of Heaven vanished. It seemed as if the other side didn’t agree with her harsh treatment of the cross.
“Why did you do that?” Confused, I stared at her. Or what remained of her. Her body grew more transparent. I saw the forest through her.
“I don’t need help from you.” Sobbing, she ran toward the deserted airbase until she faded into the darkness. Her chance to go to Heaven was vanishing with each passing minute.
But if I thought that was the worst part of the evening, I was mistaken.
“Stephanie, what’s going on?” Dylan rushed through a parting in the oak trees, barely missing the upset spirit. When he looked at me, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. I’m sure a bazillion questions went through his mind.
Crap.
And double crap.
How did Dylan know I would be here? And worse yet, how could I attempt to explain the reason I was here at two in the morning?
Where was Dr. Anthony when I needed him?
Chapter 12
Emotions flooded my body, and for a moment, I felt sick. How did Dylan know I’d be here? I thought he’d be in bed, after the dance. I couldn’t believe my dumb luck. First the spirit with the bad attitude, now this. I wanted to run, hide, or disappear. Anything would be preferable to explaining my current situation to Mr. Righteous.
Boy, talk about being royally screwed.
I scooted in front of my ruined cross. I didn’t want him to see it – well, not yet anyway. A soft crackle came from the wood. Then silence.
Dylan jogged over to where I sat.
“What are you doing?” He touched the crime scene tape. As he read the tape, his eyes widened. “At a crime scene?”
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, where would I even begin?
Well … I was waiting for this woman, who happens to be like, dead, so I could drive a cross in the ground and release her soul to Heaven.
The last person I wanted to think I was a nut case was Dylan.
“Whoa, Steph.” Dylan pushed away what remained of the tape. He whistled the
Twilight Zone
tune. “You’re in big trouble messing with this.”
Duh, like I didn’t know that.
“It’s not what you think. Really.” I continued to block the cross with my body.
“Uh, huh.” He squatted next to me. Close up I saw concern in his hazel eyes. “Why are you out in a deserted area so early in the morning? Not the brightest move, Steph.”
“If I told you, you’d never believe me.”
“Try me.” Horror crept on to his face. “Unless of course, you really did something…. You didn’t, did you?”
“No, I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You have to admit, this doesn’t look good.”
My heart missed a beat. I wanted to tell Dylan the truth, really I did. Memories of the only time I’d trusted someone with my secret held me back. I could still feel the humiliation of my visit to the loony bin and the ridicule of everyone, including my own family.
No, I refused to let that happen again.
“Help me up, will ya?”
Dylan extended his hand to me. With my other hand I grabbed my now-ruined cross.
Dylan’s eyes blinked in surprise. “Is that a cross?”
“Well, it was before....” I shook my head. “Forget it.”
“Boy this is getting weirder by the minute. I feel like I’m in the middle of an
X-File
episode.” He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”
I grew impatient with Dylan’s version of
Twenty Questions
. Each minute he drilled me meant less time to help that poor woman. I didn’t want to unload on Dylan about the real reason I’d come to the airbase. But I knew I had no choice. I had to fix my botched rescue.
So I decided to throw him a bone. I wouldn’t be giving out the whole scoop, just a little info. Enough – I hoped – to satisfy Dylan until I contacted the counselor. Maybe, he’d help me out of this mess.
“I really need to call Dr. Anthony.”
“Who?” Dylan asked.
Oh, just great. Now I had to confess I saw a counselor. But right now I didn’t really care.
“You know the other day, when I had an appointment? Well, my mother made me see this counselor. Shrink. Whatever. Anyway he told me things….”
“What are you talking about? What does a counselor have to do with you messing around with a crime scene early in the morning?”
“A lot, okay? Just let me call him.”
“Jeez, Steph. Now sure is a funny time to bother a shrink. Don’t you know it’s two in the morning?”
“Maybe he’s up doing something right now,” I reasoned. An image of the cross and bloody cloth in his room flashed through my mind. “It’s not like he’s a normal human being with a life or anything.”
Dylan threw his hands in the air. “I don’t get you, Steph. If you’re not gonna tell me, let’s just leave. Maybe you’ll come to your senses tomorrow.”
“You can go, but I need to make that call.”
I stormed ahead of him, struggling to carry my heavy cross without looking like a total idiot. My tennis shoes squeaked in the wet grass.
“Here, let me take that.” Dylan grabbed the cross. “Whoa, did you make this?”
“Yeah, some people knit. I make crosses. What’s so weird about that?”
“Oh, nothing, if you’re Catholic. Which last time I checked, we weren’t – unless of course you’re thinking of converting.”
“You sound just like my mom.” I rolled my eyes. “Just chill out, okay?”
With Dylan beside me, the old airbase didn’t seem so forbidding. The barbed wire fence emerged up ahead. I climbed through, Dylan followed.
We continued down the hill toward the cracked asphalt road. It seemed strange to see only two cars in the huge, deserted parking lot. Dylan had angled his old ’91 Chevy pick-up truck close to my Jetta.
I flung open the door to my car and grabbed my Dooney & Bourke handbag, hidden under the passenger’s seat. I fished inside for my cell phone and Dr. Anthony’s phone number. I prayed he was up preparing for whatever it was that guides of rescuers did.
“Are you serious? You’re really going to call him?” Dylan shook his head in amazement.
“Yeah, why not? I know he can help.” Then I couldn’t resist. “It’s not like you haven’t been caught in a similar situation.”
“What’s that have to do with anything?” Dylan said in disbelief. “The last time I looked, you were the one sitting by a crime scene. Not me.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I rummaged through my cluttered bag, cursing to myself for not cleaning it out sooner.
Then I found it.
I looked at the crumpled paper Mom had given me last week. I flipped open my phone and dialed the numbers.
He answered after the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Um….” I gulped. “Dr. Anthony?”
“Stephanie? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Something major came up. And....”
I turned and noticed Dylan’s face pressed against my car window, and I lowered my voice. I took a deep breath. “Can I just see you? Like – now?”
“Of course,” Dr. Anthony said. “I’ve been expecting your call. Why don’t you meet me at my office? I’m at home now, but I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Man, this is just unbelievable.” Dylan thumped the car window with his palm. He took a step away from my car and glared at me. “Unbelievable.”
“Stephanie?” Dr. Anthony broke through the awkward moment. “Is someone with you?”
“Um…a friend.” How could I lie? I was sure he’d heard Dylan’s tantrum. Even so, a shiver tiptoed up my spine. Or had he known Dylan would be here?
“Good, I’ll see both of you in a few minutes.” He hung up before I could say anything more.
“What was that all about?” Dylan asked.
“Nothing big. I mean—”
“Stephanie, I don’t feel good about this. We really need to talk.”
“Dylan, I can explain, really. But now is not the time.”
“You can’t just blow me off, Steph.” He pressed the cross close to the car window “Not with this and me finding you at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere.
“And what’s this with calling a counselor this early in the morning? Are you two hiding something? I think you at least owe me an explanation.”
I looked at my cross and back at him. I was sick of fighting. For a brief moment I seriously considered spilling my guts. Maybe he’d believe my predicament and help me with this rescue.
The only way Dylan might do this was if the counselor explained my gift.
“Oh, why don’t you follow me back to his office? Dr. Anthony can explain this to you.”
“Dr. Anthony?” Dylan shook his head. “This whole thing sounds strange.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “more than you know.”
Chapter 13
I couldn’t leave the airbase fast enough. I got back on the I-80. Thick fog swamped the freeway. I squinted, looking for the familiar Arden Way exit sign. All the while, adrenaline surged through my body.
Dylan’s familiar Chevy truck followed close behind. I imagined his stupid happy-face antenna ball bobbed up and down and his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel while he cursed me out.
Boy, the crap really hit the fan this time. I dreaded the conversation to come, inside the counselor’s office.
I’d take the pissed off spirit back at the airbase any time.
I finally got to the office. The dreariness of the fog wrapped a depressing blanket around me. How could I have been so stupid to let anyone – namely Dylan – know about my nocturnal activities?
Note to self: Next time try to be a little bit more observant when out on a rescue. Who knows who, or what, you’ll encounter.
My next rescue? Sickness rose in the back of my throat.
As if that’s going to happen any time soon.
I drove
into the deserted parking lot. No sooner did I stumble out of my car, than Dylan’s truck screeched to a stop. He flung his door open and jumped out.
“Okay, Steph.” He slammed his door shut. “We’re here.” He glanced around the darkened lot. “Enough of the games....”
At that moment the headlights of a car blinded me. Talk about perfect timing. A dark Honda Accord drove into the parking lot, stopping Dylan from further ranting.
Dr. Anthony opened the car door. His bad left leg stuck out at a weird angle. With a shove, he got out. His fogged-over glasses made it hard to make out his expression. I resisted the urge to laugh. He so looked like a doofus. His short, dark hair spiked out around his head like porcupine quills.
Dylan stared at Dr. Anthony, then at me.
“Hello.” Dr. Anthony stretched his hand out to Dylan. “My name is Dr. Anthony.”
Dylan glanced at the hand, but made no move to take it.
The counselor turned to me. “Stephanie. Dylan. Why don’t we all go inside?” Dr. Anthony rubbed his hands together. “I, for one, find the cold weather invigorating. “But—” he looked at me “—I think it would be better to have our discussion inside.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dylan threw his hands up. “I give up. Let’s get this over with.”
Wondering at the counselor’s calm reaction to Dylan’s presence, I didn’t make any smart-ass comments.
Dr. Anthony drew out a rectangular key from his jean pocket and opened the back entrance. I followed behind them.
Once inside, the pitch-dark interior felt like a tomb. I folded my arms, trying to get warm. I didn’t know which felt colder, the temperature inside or Dylan snubbing me.