The Bone Breaker
by
Brian Donovan
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Brian Donovan
Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Prologue
It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning danced over the not too distant mountains and the pounding of heavy raindrops against the car roof masked all other sounds and blurred vision. The car rocked gently with the wind gusts. A young girl huddled inside, dry and safe and angry.
“Why the hell didn’t you fix this damned car,” she muttered, the oath directed at her father, the caregiver for all things automotive in their family. “I told you I need a new one. Shara got a new one last Christmas. I should, too. I need one more than she does.”
Once again she checked the cell phone and once again the tiny dark bars on the right side told a sorry story of nearly depleted electrical power for the instrument. Even as her thumb moved to press a key, the lit screen faded. She tossed the phone aside with another curse. “Damned thing,” she muttered to no one in particular, “always having to charge it. Battery doesn’t last even a full day.”
With a terrible sigh of self-pity she looked out into the darkness. The distant lightning revealed only occasional glimpses of wet desert, black asphalt and power lines alongside the road. Summer did not bring much rain to Southern California but when it did, it often made up for the scarcity with intensity. Thunderstorms seemed to like wandering around the California deserts.
“There’s no way in hell that I’m going to walk all the way back to that town! Hell, that must be five or ten miles back there. I’ll just wait here. Someone will be along soon.”
As if to emphasis her hope, a tiny pair of lights appeared in the distance. The oncoming car slowed as it neared her vehicle. It was creeping as it passed within a few feet of her door but then drove on, the red taillights disappearing around the curve.
“Damn!” She pounded the steering wheel as if that would help. “Bastard won’t stop to help a stranded girl.”
For a long time she sat there, hopefully inspecting the horizon for more headlights and hoping that she would not have to get out of the car and into the pouring rain to flag the next one down. Almost immediately, as if in answer to her unspoken request, the rain began to taper off, and the lightning sought better targets on the other side of the mountains.
Suddenly there was a click and the door next to her swung open. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the car. There was only a moment before the other hand pressed a cloth hard against her face. She had not even had enough time for a tiny scream before the strong fumes began to fog her mind. A minute later she was lying on the wet ground, unconscious.
The man drove his car back from around the curve and put the young woman into the trunk. He locked a pair of handcuffs on her wrists but doubted they would be necessary. He would have her in a place of security long before she regained her senses.
* * *
Chapter I
Ghost with a Surprise
“Are you the one who sees ghosts?”
The question came from what appeared to be a society matron. She was closer to fifty than forty, dumpy beyond anything an expensive dress and even the panty girdle could fix, and tacky enough to wear half a dozen flashy rings on assorted fingers. Real pearls encircled her neck and hung down to rest on an ample bosom covered by the hideous purple and green dress. Her double chins quivered when she spoke.
“Well, are you?” she repeated in a voice used to ordering servants around.
“I don’t usual see them,” Melody replied coolly. “But I can sometimes talk to them.”
“Humph! Well, come on it. We’ll see about you talking to Henry.”
Melody stepped through the door and into a house that spoke of moderate wealth wasted by a total lack of good taste. The floor was marble while the walls were paneled oak half way up and a blue and gold striped wallpaper the rest of the way. An attempt had been made to decorate in French Provincial furnishings but the mixture of periods and styles would turn the stomach of any self-respecting interior decorator.
She was led into a formal living room awash in shades of soft blue and pink. Several landscapes occupied the walls, mostly apparently chosen for their large size rather than pleasing appearance. They seemed to shout, hey, look, I collect art!
The sofa she was waved to was covered in a pattern of robin egg blue which might have been okay had it not been for the pink lace arm covers. When Melody attempted to sit there, she found herself sinking into the plush material until she feared her bottom would be resting on the floor. With an effort she worked her way out of the sofa and chose instead a reasonably firm looking chair. Her hostess flopped into a chair on the other side of a coffee table.
“Would you like some tea?” she was asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, the heavy set woman clapped her hands loudly.
A maid appeared. Melody had to hold in her amusement because the maid was dressed in the classic French Maid costume, complete with high heels, fishnet stockings, a short skirt of silky black material, matching blouse and a white apron.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Tea. And be quick about it.”
Melody had the feeling that the maid was simply a part of what this woman thought should be the lifestyle of the rich if not so famous. She felt sorry for the young girl having to put up with being so treated, but then reminded herself that it was a job. And in these bad economic times, just having a job was something. She should know.
The tea came on a silver serving-tray in a china pot decorated with roses. The maid poured, first to the owner then to the guest. Then she did a quick curtsey and left.
“Henry talked me into having French maids,” the woman began. “One for serving and such, and one to take care of the upstairs. I’m sure it was so he could look at their legs,” she confided, “but I found that they add a touch of elegance to the house. Don’t you agree?”
“Mrs. Bonner,” Melody began, “perhaps if you simply told me what it is you want?”
“Call me Edwina. My dear Henry,” Edwina began but paused for a sniffle as if she were fighting back a tear of grief. “My Henry died three months ago. After twenty-three years of wonderful marriage. Most of the money I inherited from my Daddy but Henry was a good businessman and the estate grew nicely.” She paused for a sigh. Was it because she missed Henry, wondered Melody, or because she missed his moneymaking skills?
“We never had children, more’s the pity,” she went on. “I would have liked to have children but it wasn’t meant to be.” Then she leaned forward to confide, “I think he had a low sperm count.” Then she sat back. “Oh, well, they were wonderful years,” she continued. “Spring in Paris, summer at the cape, and wintering here in sunny California. Then Henry went and had a heart attack,” she accused as if he had done it just to spite her.
“You want to contact him?” Melody prompted.
“Oh, my, yes!” exclaimed Edwina. “You see, when I had an audit done of the estate – for tax purposes, you know – they found that some of the stocks and, ah, bearer bonds, I think they called them, were missing. They should have been there but weren’t. A sizeable chunk of money, too.” She paused to noisily sip at her tea. “Henry was too good a businessman to just lose them. I think maybe he put them someplace and I haven’t found them yet.”
“So you want me to ask him where they are?”
“Of course. I’ve got a lot of years left and I will need all the money I can get. Everything is so expensive, you know.”
Melody recalled hearing that the price of a Mercedes Benz had gone up again, but just nodded agreement.
“So I want you to get a hold of him and find out where that missing money is.”
“I can try.”
Edwina glared at Melody as if “try” was not what she expected to hear.
“Do you need a table? A dark room? Candles?” Edwina asked.
“We’re not doing a séance. What I need is a photo of the deceased. And to be in a place that he or she was associated with. Their home is best.”
The fat hands clapped once again and the high-trained maid appeared. She must have been waiting just behind that door, thought Melody.
“Go up to my bedroom and get that photo of Henry off my dresser,” she ordered. Another curtsey, and the maid was off on her errand.
The photo must have been taken early on in the marriage because he looked much younger than Edwina. The most prominent features were ears that stuck out at right angles to the head and a large nose that was slender, but just a little on the long side. He was smiling through horn-rimmed glasses.
Melody placed the glass-framed photo on the table before her.
“You have to understand,” she began with lecture number 1B, “that not all those who passed on can be contacted. Some simply are not available. Some are so traumatized by the death experience that they are confused and unable to focus. There are times when it is very hard to get anything intelligent from them.”
“Just ask him where the hell he put those papers! That seems simple enough.”
Melody sighed. “Please close your eyes and concentrate on your memory of Henry as he was just before passing on.”
When she had done that, Melody eased back in the chair and focused upon the photo, trying to get a feel for this man. She had always found it easier to call up a ghost if you had his image before you. She tried to relax her body, to let nothing distract her from focusing upon this man.
“Henry Bonner,” she spoke softly. “Henry Bonner, please talk to me. Come to me. Talk to me. I will listen.”
She continued for long minutes in the same vein. It had been her experience that ghosts normally found themselves unable to communicate with the living and this frustrated them. They normally welcomed someone willing and able to hear them. Those who had not yet moved on often stayed around places they had inhabited while alive, trying to communicate. Or trying to finish some unfinished business.
Others simply wandered around in a confused state, unable to communicate or even really understand what had happened to them. And, of course, there were those personalities that did not remain around to haunt or visit the living. They went to where ever it is the dead go. Which was man’s oldest unanswered question. Melody was sure that something of a person’s personality remained after the body died, but she had not the vaguest idea what was the eventual fate of these personalities.
But she did know that one had to have considerable patience when trying to contact ghosts. She could sense Mrs. Bonner fidgeting in her chair as time dragged on. She tried not to let it be a distraction.
As it sometimes happened, the contact was sudden. Henry’s glass framed photo quivered then tipped over to fall face down on the table. Needless to say, neither of them had touched it.
“Henry, please talk to me. Your wife is here and we wish to talk with you.”
For a moment Melody’s hearing seemed to dim. That was normal when someone was about to make contact. Then a voice faintly whispered in her ear: “Who the hell are you?”
The voice did not sound angry, just confused. “My name is Melody. I’m here with your wife. Can you see us?”
She knew from prior conversations with the departed that they could usually see the world of the living even though those still in it could not see them.
“I can see you. Say, you’re a cute one! Want to date a ghost?”
Melody smiled. Here was one who not only knew what had happened to him but had managed to maintain a sense of humor during the crossing over. She ignored the question. Instead she looked up to Mrs. Bonner. “Can you hear him?”
“No.” She was looking around the room as if she expected to see a sheet-covered figure drifting towards her. “Is he here?”
“Yes, he is here,” Melody replied. “Sometimes only I can hear them. Sometimes anyone can.” She did not add that it was not uncommon for ghosts not to be able to communicate in words. It was very tiring to try to make intelligent conversation when one side is limited to knocks on a table. “You can talk to him. They usually can hear anyone.”
Mrs. Bonner looked uneasily around. “Henry…” she began then paused. “Did you knock over your picture?”
The reply was a small figurine on a side table slid to the edge and fell to the floor. Edwina jerked in her seat. “No need to break things,” she automatically admonished. “Ah… Henry there is something I need to know…”
“The old hag never knew very much to begin with,” the voice in Melody’s ear replied. He was louder this time. Communications usually came a little hard at first but grew easier. “You sure she can’t hear me?”
“No, Henry, your wife unfortunately cannot hear you,” she told him. “But she has something she wants to ask you.”
There came a ghostly chuckle. “I’ll bet I know what it is, too. The only thing that ever mattered to the bitch was money. Oh, and spending it. I’ll bet she wants to know what happened to a bunch of the stocks.”
“Yes, Henry. She would like to know where you put some stocks and… What did you call them?”
“Bearer bonds,” Edwina replied. “Where the hell did you hide them, Henry?”
The ghostly laughter was louder. “Told you so! The only reason she married me was because she was losing money hand over fist. She knew I was a good businessman. Well, she was right! Using what was left of her money as capital, I managed to build the holdings back up until there was a lot more than she originally got from her dad.”
Melody waited for him to continue but there was nothing more. “He says he knows what you are talking about,” she told Edwina. “Henry, where are they?”
There was silence for a moment before Henry continued in a more serious voice.
“You tell the old bag that the money, about two and a half mil, if I remember correctly, is gone. I spent it!” He chuckled again. “And make sure you tell her what I spent it on. I had a cute little piece on the side. One of the secretaries from the office. Sally was her name.”
“The money was spent,” Melody ventured. She grimaced at the dark scowl that crossed Edwina’s face. “Are you sure,” she whispered, hoping only Henry would hear, “that you want me to tell her where it went?”
“Damn right I do! Tell her I set up Sally in a damned nice apartment over on the west side. Gave her a new Jaguar. Lots of jewelry and other presents. I took her to Europe on business trips. In return she gave me the damned best sex any man ever had. Gawd but she was a wild piece! And had an imagination like you wouldn’t believe. Why one time…”
“Henry says,” Melody quickly offer to cut off what would undoubtedly be an interesting description but one she could not repeat to her client, “that he spent the money on a… ah…”
“Go on! Tell her!” Henry urged. She could hear his enjoyment at the coming revelation. Probably he had wanted to tell his wife off for a long time. Also, probably, that was the reason he was still around as a ghost.
“He says that he had a mistress,” Melody said as matter-of-factly as she could make it.
“What!” came a startled cry. “A mistress! That bastard!” The surprise rapidly turned to anger. “I gave him the best years of my life. I was a loving wife! What would he want to waste all that money on a whore?!”
The angered wife would have leapt out of the chair had it not been for too many pounds to make leaping possible. Instead she pushed herself to her feet and yelled, “I don’t believe you!” She looked around angrily as if looking for something to throw. “Lies! Henry wouldn’t do that! What the hell are you trying to pull?”
Melody rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bonner. I can only tell you what he says.”
“BULLSHIT!” The woman was turning a delightful shade of red in the face. “Lies! Get the hell out of my house!”
Melody retreated and was followed by Edwina. She was not really worried about physical violence because her training could easily handle this outraged woman. But she did not want it to come to that. She did, however, bring up one additional subject as she backed towards the front door.
“About my fee…”
“WHAT! You come in here and tell me dirty lies about my beloved Henry and expect me to pay you! Get out!”
Melody knew that calm, rational discussion was not too likely so she turned and hurried towards the door. As she left the room a picture fell from one wall with a rather loud crash.
Melody did not want for anyone to let her out. And once outside, she hurried to her car. Since no pursuit seemed evident, she paused behind the steering wheel to catch her breath.
“Henry?” she voiced. “Henry…”
“Yes, sweetie?” came his voice.
“That was not nice, Henry” she admonished, but with a smile on her face.
“But very satisfying. The old bag had it coming. Oh, that was sweet! Almost makes dying worth it. Thank you very much for coming.”
“You do know that she won’t pay me now, don’t you? I make a living trying to help people with their ‘ghostly’ problems.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He did sound sorry. “Wait a week or so and send her a bill. Maybe she’ll pay it.”
“I doubt it. She doesn’t want to believe what she heard.”
“Oh, she’ll believe in ghosts before I’m through with her. Wish I could talk to her. I’d give her a piece of my mind!”
“Henry, you’re not planning to do anything too violent, are you?”
“Well…”
“Henry!”
“Okay, I won’t push her down the stairs. Or put rat poison in her orange juice.”
“Good.” Melody started the engine. “I’ll be going now. I wish you a good journey.”
“Journey?”
“To wherever you’ll be going. I honestly don’t know what happens to ghosts when they’ve completed their business on earth.”
“Too bad,” he told her. “I don’t know either. After that damned heart attack no one gave me an instruction book on being dead.”
“Well,” she offered again, “have a nice journey wherever.”
“Actually, I think I’ll stick around here a while. Haunting the old bag is fun!”
* * *
Chapter II
The First Victim
The young woman was tied down, there was no mistaking that. She had been set on her back on a wooden table with regular pattern of numerous small rounded slots cut in it. Leather straps had been fed through the slots over her arms and legs, and buckled under the table. These straps encircled her wrists, ankles and other parts of her body, and held them down tightly to the wooden surface. Smaller straps had been used to spread then lock down the fingers of each hand. Little larger ones held down her elbows and below her knees. The widest leather strap cut into her narrow waist to force her back flat on the wood. Another strap around her neck held her head in place.
Yes, she was tied down, unable to even wiggle her fingers. All she could do was turn her head a bit to either side. Under the cover of a silky blue blouse, her youthful breasts rose and fell with each breath, unhindered by a bra. Her shorts left all of her slender legs uncovered. The shoes had been removed and cast aside before she was secured down. Very light brown hair lay on the table around her face, almost as if artfully arranged in place. It was her eyes that revealed much about her inner feelings. They were wide with fear.
Securing her to the table had been done while she was unconscious. For a long time she lay flat and motionless in the dark before her eyes fluttered then crept open. She was confused at first, having remembered nothing of her abduction, and having no idea where she was. There was a foul metallic taste in her mouth. The darkness told her little but the immobility of her body, enforced by the straps, loudly proclaimed that something was seriously wrong.
She was not gagged, so her first attempt at independent action was to call out for help. “Is anyone there? Please help me!” The pleas brought no response. “I can’t move! Help!”
For a long time she lay in total darkness, all sorts of fearful thoughts racing through her mind, alternating between anger and a fear deeper than anything she had ever felt in her young life. She struggled, but the grip of her leather restraints was relentless in their hold of her. Finally she lay there and cried with frustration and fear.
The light bulb coming on over her head was a blinding flash leaving her blinking and as unseeing as she had been before. Slowly forms began to take shape around her, foremost being the man standing beside her. As vision return, she could make out a middle-aged man, overweight and balding, vaguely resembling an uncle she hardly new. He wore a gray business suit with a pastel green tie.
“Please help me,” she begged. “Let me up.”
“Why should I let you up when it was I who secured you down to this table in the first place?”
Wild thoughts raced through her mind. What did he want? Rape? Most likely. She desperately hoped that it was nothing more than that. Would he let her go when he was finished? At eighteen years of age, she was no virgin but the idea of a strange man forcing sex upon her body her filled her with horror. But what scared her more was the nagging doubt nibbling at the back of her thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he intended something more. Something worse.
“What do you want,” she finally managed to force out.
“Oh, not much,” he replied off-handedly. “Just your life.”
An icy chill raced down her spine and her stomach knotted up. “No,” was all she could whisper.
“Allow me to explain,” he told her as he took off his coat. “I kidnapped you and brought you to this place for the express purpose of killing you.” He smiled. “Ah, I can see such fear in your eyes! Delicious!” He slowly unknotted his tie then hung it on the same peg as the coat.
“No, no,” she begged. “Don’t hurt me!”
“Hurt you? Oh, sweetie, I’m going to do much more than just hurt you. I’m going to make you feel such pain as few people have ever felt in their lives. It will be a slow death, a very, very slow death. And as the pain builds there will reach a point where you will begin to want death, that final release. You will probably even plead with me to finish you off and end your suffering. Of course, I won’t.”
The only word for his smile was evil. Pure evil painted on a human face. The eyes glowed with an inner lust to see this young woman suffering.
“No, no, no,” she said. “No, you can’t.”
“Oh, my sweet, I certainly can.” He patted her knee affectionately. “And I will.”
“No, my God, no!”
“Okay,” he began again, his calmness in stark contrast to her panic and fear, “a few ground rules. One, you may scream all you want. In fact, I encourage it. It will help you cope with the pain and I love the sound of a woman screaming in agony. Of course, I have made sure that no one will hear you. Number two, you may try all you want to free yourself from these restraints. Struggle with all your strength. Fight with every ounce of will in you! I enjoy watching that, too. And number three, no passing out. Faint, and I’ll find a way to revive you. It will only make the ordeal that much longer.”
He leaned against the table so his face was closer to hers. “I know it’s almost too much of me to expect you not to faint when the pain becomes intense as the hours go by. But please try not to.”
He reached over to a table behind him that was out of her sight. When his hand came back into view, it held a pair of scissors. “Time to get you ready, sweet. Oh, by the way, what is your name?”
“You can’t be serious!” she cried out. “Let me go! Let me go!” The last ended in a near-scream.
The slap was sudden and surprising. But it stopped her outburst.
“I asked you your name,” he said reasonably. “Please tell me what it is.”
“Kathy,” came the reply between sobs.
“Good, Kathy. Now I’m going to cut away these clothes because they’ll only get in the way.” He began to snip at the blouse. “I suppose I could start with these still on you, but I’ll have to take them off eventually, so I might as well do it now.”
It took a little effort to pull the blouse and shorts out from under her body because she was so firmly attached to the table. He saved the slender red panties to last, but soon they joined her other shredded clothing on the floor.
“You can have sex with me,” she stuttered. “I won’t fight you.”
“Silly Kathy! Of course you won’t fight me. How could you? Look how you’re locked down to that table.”
“I’ll be nice to you,” she countered. “I’ll do whatever you want. I know how to use my mouth on a boy.” It was a woman’s last ploy; her body, sexual favors. A little thought would have shown her that she really had nothing to offer, nothing to barter. He had her body and could do anything to it. And that included forcing her to do those “nice things” she was promising.
“You do have a nice body. So young and firm. Even lying down, those breasts are very nice. And that slender waist. And that cute little patch. Screwing you would be fun. And maybe I’ll get to it. But later. There is so much more I’m going to do to you first. Things that most men would love to do to a girl but haven’t the courage to try.”
He put the scissors away and picked up a book that he set down on the table next to her naked hip. She could not see the title and did not care anyway. Kathy was crying softly as she frantically tried to think of something to say to avert a terrible fate at the hands of this monster.
“Now here is how this will work,” he began. “This is a book called ‘Gray’s Anatomy.’ You probably don’t know about it, but it is a very useful book. Contained within are all the parts of the human body. Every organ, every muscle and…” He paused for dramatic effect, “every bone!”
Kathy muttered something he could not hear. Maybe she was not even aware of what she was saying, so overwhelmed by fear was she.
“There is an old expression you’ve probably heard. ‘To break every bone in his body.’ Have you heard that? I’m sure you have. Well, that is what I’m going to do.” He learned closer and spoke slowly as if to assure that she heard and understood every word: “I am going to break every bone in your body.”
He grinned as if expecting approval of his announcement. Kathy sobbed and shut her eyes tightly.
“Well, I think you’ll come to appreciate what a wonderfully artistic way it is to cause pain and eventually death.” He leaned over to place his face very close to hers. “You know, I’ve always been fascinated by the human skeleton. All those bones holding us up. Did you know that there are 208 bones in the human body? No? Well, there are. And I’m going to break every one of them. And the exciting part is that you’ll be alive all the while! Ah, you think one broken bone hurts, wait until you have broken bones all over your body.” He sighed.
Kathy sobbed loudly and began repeating “No!” over and over.
He let her go on for a while, smiling pleasantly at her anguish. But eventually he picked up a pair of steel pliers and held them in front of her face. “Time to begin,” he announced happily. “Now, in your little finger there are several bones.” He consulted to the book. “Right here there is the Fifth Distal Phalanges. That’s the end bone of the little finger. See how I’m putting the pliers around it? I’ll clamp down and twist and then…”
He demonstrated. There was a dull snapping sound followed immediately by a scream.
“Lot of nerves in the fingers, you know. I’m sure that really hurts. But we’re only beginning. Now this next one is the Fifth Intermediate Phalanges…”
Kathy sobbed and moaned, and was more afraid than any young woman should ever be.
* * *
Chapter III
Fear and Dread
Melody Lane dropped her purse on the kitchen table and immediately made for the bathroom where she ran cold water in her cupped hands and splashed it on her face. A couple repeats managed to refresh her from the long drive back home. She was tired of the hum of the freeway and eager for the quiet of her cabin.
Patting her face dry, she studied at herself in the mirror. The woman looking back was in her early twenties, long blonde hair hanging straight down to mid-back, and with very soft blue eyes. Most would consider her good looking, but certainly not drop-dead gorgeous. Just a shade on the side of plainness to be called beautiful. As she changed her clothes into a casual jumpsuit of velvet, she could have examined her figure in the mirror but she had no need to. She knew her body was firm, shapely enough to attract most men, and, except for the scars on her right knee, without blemish. Her best feature was a very narrow waist that gave her figure a sensual curve that used to be called an “Hourglass Figure.”
The cabin was not large but just right for her. Having no husband or children meant she did not have need of a large domicile; a cabin nestled among pine trees suited her very well. Instead of missing the conveniences and excitement of the big city, she sought out peace and quiet. Mostly, though, she preferred living in the small town of Morris Lake because there were few ghosts around, unlike in the crowded cities.
Walking to the modest kitchen, the ache in her knee encouraged her to promise herself a soak in the hot tub before bedtime. After a simple meal of warmed up spaghetti and microwaved garlic bread, she placed herself before her computer and prodded it into life. Answering email was a daily chore very necessary when your income depends upon soliciting public response. She ran small ads on various websites and lists, offering her services to those who had need of it.
When the computer announced that eleven messages were downloaded and ready for her inspection, she sighed and began the process of weeding out the chaff from the wheat.
“Can you tell me if Uncle Tomas is in Heaven or Hell?” read the first. She deleted it with a tap of her index finger over the DEL key.
“We’re going to have a Halloween party in October and wondered if you could bring a few real, live ghosts.” That one also got deleted. But she did get smile at the idea of “real, live” ghosts.
“I need your help. It is important. Please help me.”
Melody saved that one and continued. Most were assigned to the trash folder. Only the plea for help warranted a reply.
“What is your problem,” she typed. “Maybe I can help.” There was not really much else to say until she knew what this Shara McCain wanted, so she signed it and sent the missive off on electronic wings.
After a long soak in the wonderfully hot water of the hot tub, Melody read for half an hour then turned off the light. Her last thought before drifting off was to hope Henry was having fun with his former wife.
The next morning she was awakened by the usual sound of birds outside her window. For a while she sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the shafts of misty early morning sunlight darting down between the pine trees. The sight never failed to push troubles out of her mind and replace them with contentment.
After breakfast she again checked her computer, as it was her habit to do so several times a day. A message was already waiting to her email of the prior night.
“Thank you for replying. Your posting on Craig’s List said that you can sometimes communicate with ghosts. If you can really do that then I need your help.
“It is hard to put into words. My sister has been missing for days now. I am certain something terrible has happened to her. I can feel it. If you really can contact ghosts you must help me.”
There was a phone number for this Shara McCain. Melody recognized it as being for San Diego, not far away. She dialed.
When she was sure she was talking with the right person, she came directly to the point. “How can you be sure your sister is dead? Not everyone who goes missing is dead.”
“I can feel it,” was Shara’s reply. “My sister and I have always been able to sense things happening to each other. When she disappeared I could feel that something terrible was happening to her and that she was in pain. Then, after two days, I knew she was dead.”
The girl on the other end of the line did not sound like a kook. And Melody was inclined to believe in such feelings, especially between siblings. There was no doubting the sincerity and desperation in the girl’s voice.
“If you can help us it would mean a great deal to the family,” she continued. “We have to know for sure. You understand?”
Melody did understand. She made arrangement to meet the distraught girl later that day.
Del Mar is an up-scale community a little ways north of San Diego. It is located just south of the Del Mar Race Track and Fair Grounds, and perched overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Their home was in the older section of the town, but one where the prices still began at a million dollars and went up. Melody parked on the narrow street and knocked on the wooden gate. Almost immediately it opened and she was greeted by a woman in her mid-twenties. Melody offered her card by way of introduction.
“I’m Shara,” the girl said. “Please come in.”
She was escorted through a pleasant house to a wooden deck at the rear. Since they were on a hillside, the view was of a few rooftops, lots of trees and then the blue Pacific a quarter of a mile off. The sun was bright but it was a bit muggy because of tropic air coming northward from Mexico. There was a table with an umbrella and chairs. They sat.
“May I offer some ice tea?”
“That would be nice.”
When the girl returned with a tray of tall glasses of ice and tea, she sat down but did not touch her glass. Melody sipped at hers and found the mint flavor to her liking.
“Mom’s in the bedroom,” Shara began. “She’s taking this very hard. The doctor gave her some sedative. It keeps her from crying so much. Dad is at his office, but I know he would rather be trying to find Kathy. It’s just that we don’t know what to do.”
“Has Kathy every gone off without telling anyone before,” Melody began, her police training kicking in automatically.
“No. And I took a call just a few minutes ago from the Highway Patrol. They found her car abandoned out in the desert. They said the battery was dead, probably because of an alternator going bad. I’m not sure that that means but they said it meant the car would stop and not drive.”
“Was there anything in the car? A note? Any signs of… Well, signs that she might have been taken against her will?”
“They said there was nothing. Just her suitcase in the trunk. She was returning from visiting a friend in Arizona. And her cell phone. Its battery was dead.”
Melody paused. This was not looking too good. A young girl has car trouble in the middle of nowhere. She either tries to walk to a phone or someone picks her up.
“When was she returning from Arizona?”
“On Wednesday night. I know because she called me before she left.”
“Four days ago,” Melody said mostly to herself. That pretty much removed the possibility that the girl was still trying to find her way to a phone.
“That same night,” Shara continued, “was when I felt something was very wrong with Kathy. We’ve always been close. And we could always sense each other’s emotions. Well, not always, but sometimes. Especially if the emotions were strong.”
This was a story Melody had heard before, and often enough to believe it. Call it a psychic sense or telepathy or whatever, family members could sometimes feel things happening to close relatives.
“And?” Melody prompted although she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.
“Yesterday I felt terrible. There were pains all over my body. And then a terrible pain in my head. About six o’clock they faded away leaving me terribly depressed. That’s when I knew that Kathy was dead.”
“And you would like me to contact her to confirm?” Melody could see the answer in Shara’s eyes. “You have to realize that just because someone is dead, that doesn’t mean I can contact them. Besides,” she offered hope, “we don’t know for sure she is dead.”
‘She is,” was all Shara said.
“First I’ll need a photograph her, Shara.”
“I’ll get one.”
While the girl had left, Melody sighed. This was the kind of assignment she hated. Not nice and clean, like finding out where Henry hid some stocks. If this girl was dead, and Melody was inclined to feel she was, then she had probably been murdered. Someone who was killed, she had found out in her line of work, was usually easier to contact than someone who died of natural causes. But always messier. Much, much messier. The emotions of the ghost were often terrible to feel. And Melody knew this from experience.
The photo showed a woman in her late teens, mousy brown hair but pretty. Very pretty. Just the kind, Melody thought, a sexual predator would love to get his hands on. That was what they had taught her at the academy. Sexual predators sought out the young and pretty ones.
She set the photo on the table and adjusted her chair.
“You’re going to try now?” Shara asked. “Here?”
“Kathy lived here, didn’t she? Then this is the best place. The other place to try would be where her car was found. But we’ll try here.”
Ghosts often returned to where they lived, no matter where the death had occurred. But not always. Sometimes they hung around where they had died as if not sure what to do or where to go.
“Concentrate on Kathy the way you last knew her. Try to remember her personality rather than just her image. Remember who she was. And try to call to her. Ask her to come.”
“Should I close my eyes?”
“Yes. That might help.”
“Okay. Please help.”
“We will try. And be patient. This may take a while. And it may not be possible at all. This isn’t a science.”
Melody gazed at the photo, trying to imagine the girl as she was when alive. Very quietly she began to call. “Kathy. Kathy. Please hear us. We want to talk to you. We will listen. Let us know if you’re here.”
Long minutes passed in the same vein. The ice cubes had melted in the glasses when Melody felt a sense of depression creep over her mind. No words, just a sense of dread and fear and total depression. She continued to call for Kathy to talk to her, reminding that her sister was here and very much wanted to talk to her.
The depression varied both in strength and content. Fear shaded into dread then into an almost overwhelming feeling of emptiness. And mingled in was a constant feeling of pain. Not the actual pain itself, but a sense that a great deal of pain had happened to someone.