Clay Bowman, the man who had, on several occasions, attempted to murder Heather and who had plotted to kidnap the twins and murder their parents, stood less than five feet from Heather. After her initial scream and blurting Clay’s name, Heather threw the towel at him. It flew through his head before landing on the floor.
Clay flinched. “Why did you do that?”
Heather immediately resumed her calm, no longer looking like a frightened child who had just turned the crank of her first jack-in-the-box and experienced both fear and surprise after releasing its occupant. Instead, she glared at Clay with contempt. “I wanted to make sure you were dead. Although the first clue should have been you appeared out of nowhere. Plus, I was told you were dead. Of course, one can’t always be sure.”
“Wow, you really are a medium.”
Heather rolled her eyes and then walked around Clay and picked up the towel while saying, “And you’re dead.” She continued to her bathroom with the towel, leaving Clay standing in her bedroom.
“Hey, wait!” Clay called out before rushing after her.
Now in the bathroom, hanging her towel on a rack, she tried to ignore Clay.
“You aren’t afraid?” Clay asked from the open doorway.
Heather turned to the ghost, looking him up and down before saying, “What is there to be afraid of? You’re a ghost. You can’t hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Clay insisted.
Heather rolled her eyes and started for the door. “Move, or else I’m walking through you, and I understand that’s an unpleasant experience for a ghost.”
Clay quickly moved from the doorway and then followed Heather from the room.
“So mediums aren’t afraid of ghosts?” Clay trailed behind Heather.
She stopped in the hallway and turned to face him. “I can’t speak for all mediums. But I understand I have nothing to fear from a ghost. Although, like you, they can be annoying. What do you want? Why are you here?”
One thing Heather had learned about ghosts—which she didn’t plan to share with Clay—was that new ghosts, or ghosts who only stayed around on this plane for a short time, typically never learned to harness their energy. A ghost at Clay’s stage probably didn’t even realize that was a possibility. And while Eva had assured them a ghost could never physically harm a living person who wasn’t evil, it didn’t mean a ghost with harnessed energy couldn’t torment said living person. The ghost of Presley House had proved that when he locked Danielle in his basement. But Heather didn’t want to think about those possibilities. Instead, she would present a brave front and give Clay no reason to stick around.
“I came because I heard you were a medium. Why else would I be here? If you couldn’t see me, what would be the point?”
“It would be a typical voyeury thing for a psychopath to do.” Heather paused for a moment and then balled her hands into fists, placing them on her hips as she leaned toward Clay. “Hey, were you just at Marlow House? Scaring a little kid? That’s a stupid thing for you to do. As it is, you don’t need more marks against you.”
Clay shook his head. “No. Why would I go to Marlow House? Yes, I know they’re also mediums, but I didn’t think they would help me. After all, I tried to kidnap their kids. As a parent, I wouldn’t forgive someone for trying to mess with my kids.”
“Are you saying you weren’t over there tonight? Talking to a little boy? He’s about two?”
Again, Clay shook his head. “No. I promise. I didn’t go over to Marlow House. There would be no reason to.”
Dropping her fists from her hips, Heather straightened her posture and looked Clay up and down. “Who told you I was a medium?”
“After I was…you know…”
Heather crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed. “Murdered.”
“Yes. After I was murdered, it took me a while to realize I was dead.”
“Didn’t you see your body? That would be a big clue for me, seeing my bloody body just lying there, all dead like. I heard a prisoner murdered you; someone you pissed off more than me. You were great at making friends. Not.”
“Wow. You’re cold.”
Heather laughed. “You tried to kill me. Multiple times. Heck, you tried to frame me for the murder you committed. Did you expect me to feel sorry for you? Frankly, I was relieved when I heard you were dead. It meant you couldn’t come back.”
“But here I am.” His voice was not taunting, more matter-of-fact.
“Yes. Here you are. Okay, you were telling me who told you I was a medium.”
“At first, I thought people were ignoring me. But then I eventually realized I was dead, and people couldn’t see or hear me. Somehow, I found where they had taken my body. Long story short, there was another one like me there, and she moved on, I guess. She called out to me, telling me how beautiful it was. But I wasn’t able to go. I tried. But couldn’t. So I figured I was doomed to travel the earth for eternity, not being seen or heard as the punishment for my crimes.”
Heather frowned and tapped the side of her face with a forefinger, considering his words. After a moment, she said, “I don’t think that’s how it works. All spirits eventually move on. Although, some choose to stick around, yet I’ve never heard they have to stick around.”
“I don’t know how any of that works. But I came back to Frederickport and stopped at the cemetery. I met several like me over there.”
“Ghosts. Just say it. They’re ghosts. You are a ghost.”
Clay shrugged. “Ghosts. They told me about the mediums on Beach Drive.”
“So, what, you just wanted a live person to talk to? You thought to stop by so we could chat? You want to be buddies now, since no one else can see or hear you?”
“I know you don’t like me.”
“That is an understatement.” Still standing in the hallway, Heather glanced to her bedroom door and then to the staircase, as if trying to make a decision. After a moment, she looked back at Clay. “I’m hungry. I never got popcorn at the show. You can tell me what this is all about downstairs.”
Heather sat on a recliner in her living room with a big bowl of popcorn on her lap, and her feet propped up on the chair’s footrest. She had pulled her long black hair into a messy bun atop her head, with her bangs cut straight, just above her dark eyebrows. Her black eyeliner had washed off during her shower, and only a trace of her dark burgundy lipstick remained.
Bella, Heather’s calico cat, sat on one of the recliner’s arms next to Heather, its tail swishing as the feline stared at Clay, who sat across the room on a sofa. Bella had been sleeping behind the sofa when Clay had first arrived upstairs. She had continued to nap when Heather came downstairs to make the popcorn, Clay trailing behind her.
It wasn’t until Heather came into the living room with her popcorn that Bella woke from her nap and found her human was not alone. The cat recognized Clay, gave him a hiss, and then retreated to Heather’s side, where she now hunched down, her gaze never leaving him.
Clay looked uneasily at the cat. “Is she talking to me?”
Heather took a bite of popcorn, smiled, and then glanced down to Bella before looking back at Clay. “What is she saying?”
Clay frowned. “It isn’t very nice.”
“Well, you did try to kill her human, and you shot her friend.”
Clay looked from the cat to Heather. “What friend?”
“Hunny, Chris’s dog.”
“Is this normal for cats to see and talk to people like me?”
“Not sure you’re a people anymore. Just say it. Embrace it. Ghost.”
“Okay, is it normal for cats to see and talk to ghosts?”
Heather shrugged and took another bite of popcorn before answering, “It’s been my experience that dogs and cats can see ghosts and communicate with them. Other animals too, like mountain lions. But I’m not sure if it’s all animals.” Heather took another bite and then said, “So why don’t you tell me why you’re here so you can leave? By the time I finish this popcorn, I expect you to be gone, and I’m going to bed.”
“Funny, I never believed in ghosts.”
“What did you think happened when you died?”
Clay shrugged. “I figured it was like going to sleep.”
“You never believed in heaven or hell?”
Clay shook his head. “No. But after talking to the ghost at the cemetery, it sounds like there might be something of a hell waiting for me.”
“That’s my understanding. Which is why I was saying it would have been a stupid thing for you to try scaring Connor.”
“Who’s Connor?”
“The little boy at Marlow House I thought you talked to tonight. You see, very young children, like dogs and cats, can often see ghosts. And if you decide to scare the kids, well, that’s demerits against you when you finally move on and have to settle your tab.”
“I didn’t go to Marlow House tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” Heather glanced upwards for a moment. “And about that ghost thing, technically, you’re also a spirit. When in this realm, you’re a ghost, but also a spirit. But when you move on, you’re no longer a ghost. Just a spirit. Anyway, why did you want to talk to a medium?”
“I need someone who can help me communicate with other living people.”
About to take another bite of popcorn, Heather paused and let the popcorn in her hand fall back into the bowl. “You want me to give someone a message for you?”
Clay nodded. “Yes.”
Heather set the bowl of popcorn on the side table, reached over, and lowered her footrest and stood up while saying, “No. I’m not doing you any favors. I’m not Whoopi Goldberg, and you are definitely not Patrick Swayze.”
“Please, please hear me out,” Clay begged.
Begrudgingly, Heather sat back down on the chair, but didn’t raise the footrest. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“I never imagined I could seriously experience judgment after I died.”
“A good person doesn’t need to be threatened with hell to treat people right.”
Clay stared at Heather. “Have you always believed in hell?”
Heather grabbed the bowl of popcorn sitting on the end table and moved it back to her lap. Bella, who had been sitting on the arm of the chair, was now curled up on the floor near the recliner. “I don’t necessarily believe in hell now. At least, not some fiery brimstone sort of place. I just know that after we move on, there are consequences for crappy behavior. But did I always believe this? No. I wasn’t always a medium. When I was a child, growing up, my parents were basically atheists. So hell wasn’t a thing.”
“When did you start believing in something more?”
Heather shrugged and took a bite of popcorn. “It’s a long story. But let’s just say, when I started connecting with the past—learning more about my family, sins of the past, that I began believing that I not only need to worry about my sins, but the sins from my bloodline.”
Clay leaned back on the sofa. “Wow. What type of sinners did you have in your family tree?”
“A serial killer or two.” Heather ate some more popcorn. Technically speaking, her grandfather and his twin weren’t serial killers, yet they had silently sat by while their father—a serial killer—killed one of their friends.
Clay stared at her for a moment and then finally stammered, “Oh…Well, then maybe you’ll understand.”
Heather frowned. “Understand what?”
“My sons. I might have been a horrible husband and a bad cop, but I love my boys. I don’t want them to end up like me. When they die, I want them to experience what Amy experienced.”
“Who’s Amy?”
Before Clay could answer her question, a man appeared in the middle of the living room. Clay had met him before. He was the short, chubby, balding man from the cemetery.