36
The clock on the nightstand quietly revolved from 11:59 to midnight when Jon’s side of the bed compressed slightly. Turning over onto his side, he unconsciously slid his hand across the mattress to where he had felt the movement. His hand stopped against something soft yet surprisingly solid, bringing him fully awake. Opening his eyes, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.
The dark silhouette shifted slightly into the ambient light shining through the window, making recognition easier for him. Jon didn’t have to see her face to know exactly who it was—it was Edith, or at least the woman he believed to be Edith McPherson.
It had been months since he had last seen her; he had almost forgotten how young and innocent she looked. Even after what he had read in her journals, his heart still went out to her. She was such a deeply troubled soul—he wished he could help her. But deep down inside, he knew that the traumas she had carried over from her life into death were at least in part of her own making.
He could hear Carlie breathing softly in the silent room. He knew she wouldn’t wake up tonight.
Edith’s mouth never moved, and her eyes never left his, but he could hear her voice as clearly as if she were speaking aloud. This was the first time he had actually heard her voice in its normal speaking range—no whispers and no false or echoed modulation, but just her sweet lilting voice wrapped in a heavy Irish brogue.
He could see, in the subtle changes in her body language, that she understood completely what he thought and when he thought it.
He was just about to ask her what she wanted when she reached out and touched his lips to silence him. He hadn’t even realized he was about to speak aloud.
“Just listen,” she said. “Not everything is as you understand it to be.”
Jon merely thought a response. “I can only go by what I’ve seen with my own eyes and what you’ve written in your journals.”
“Help us!!! You are the only one who can.”
Again, the question entered his mind, “Whom are you referring to when say us?”
He had no sooner thought it than the room filled with fleeting shadows and brilliant blue lights; some were as large as softballs and others as small as pinpricks. He instinctively knew that each was a representation—actual or otherwise—of a soul trapped within the walls of Grace Baxter’s home. There were hundreds of them—maybe more.
The sheer number of trapped souls was intimidating, but the thought that he was the only person who could set them free was mind-numbing. “I don’t know what to do to help. I’m not even positive that I believe in you, at least not in the sense that you’re requiring of me.”
“You have let him into your life. You are the only one who can stop him. Shut him out. Allow him no access to your family or friends before it is too late for you and for all of us.”
Carlie moaned softly as she stirred, rolled over, and laid her arm across Jon’s waist. Carlie’s movements broke his mental connection with Edith. When he looked back to where she had been, the room was empty. Only the fresh scent of wild honeysuckle lingered behind.
Jon lay staring at the ceiling. How on earth am I expected to stop Ian? he wondered.