End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) Page 22

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Any more unscheduled news appearances like that and you could get suspended…or fired. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Fine…whatever,” I said and started walking up the steps to my apartment on the second floor. Eric bent over and picked up the newspaper on my welcome mat while I unlocked the three locks on my door. Being a police officer and being on more crime scenes than I cared to count, I was all about personal safety. I paid extra to have the locks installed; the peace of mind was worth it.

  We stepped into the quiet cool sanctuary of my small apartment. I had only been away for one night, but coming home this time felt different…I was different. Not only did I survive a wildfire, but the existence of spirits had become a confirmed reality. Were we ever really alone?

  I set my purse and the plastic bag with my smoky uniform on the coffee table. Eric stayed by the door.

  “Are you going to stay there and guard the door?” I asked him, with my arms crossed over my chest.

  “No.”

  “Well, make yourself comfortable,” I gestured towards the sofa. “I’m going to go take a shower.” I walked across the living room to the entertainment center and picked up the television remote then tossed it to Eric. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”

  Eric sat down and leaned back. He put his feet up on the coffee table, with his boots on. I didn’t say anything, just gave him a look before leaving the room. I walked down the hallway to my bedroom and shut the door. Muffled voices from the television filtered through the hollow fake wood panels. I exhaled in a whoosh and inhaled deeply through my nose. I smelled traces of my perfume, a light gardenia, mixed with other scents like hairspray and the deodorizer I use on the carpets right before vacuuming.

  I quickly slipped off my clothes and stepped under the stream of hot water. I lathered up my hair with shampoo then rinsed and did it all over again. After the shower I wrapped up in my oversized cotton robe, sat on the edge of the bed and combed my hair, taking my time to work through the tangles, letting the slow methodical movement practically lull me into a trance. I yawned and stretched out on my side. Wrapping the floral print comforter around me, I fell asleep. I didn’t hear Eric when he came into the room and didn’t feel the mattress dip when he joined me in bed.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  FRANK

  Elena wanted to help us. I could see it in her face and how she leaned closer to me out of the window. Unfortunately her friends didn’t like the situation and I was left in a cloud of dust. I tried to follow, but hit my boundary and couldn’t go any further.

  Instead of instantly traveling back to the others, or “beaming up” as Bob called it, I chose to move through the crowd at a normal pace. Bystanders had started to leave. I picked up pieces of conversation where people said it was too hot, too boring or getting late. Even the news crew who had been filming around Juanita’s tree was packing up their van. The reporters black skirt was specked with dirt and her hair had fallen flat. Deflated, much like how the psychic looked. I smiled with satisfaction seeing both of them like this. The reporter’s behavior was obnoxious and the psychic lied. Elena had been scared off and I hoped she came back. If she did and was willing to help us, tracking down Faye would be my request. This was something a police officer could do more easily than an ordinary person. Faye could still be alive. She’d be in her seventies and our child…the very thought unexpectedly sent a surge of energy pulsing through me. At the very same moment someone gasped. I spun around to see if anybody noticed my flare. A few people were staring in my direction, but not with any interest. In fact, I think they were looking past me.

  Once again my thoughts drifted to Faye and our child. Did we have a boy or a girl? If we had a girl, I wanted her to have Faye’s green eyes. Did she become a doctor like Juanita’s daughter? If we had a son, I hoped he was successful. If he was tall like me, did he play basketball in high school and best his old man’s record? Thinking like this made me feel a mixture of excitement at the possibilities and sadness from not knowing. I stopped, not even aware I had been moving aimlessly, that’s how preoccupied I was.

  I surveyed the dispersing crowd one more time before continuing on. Georgia was standing by the barricades. I said hello, but she ignored me. Then I noticed she was intently focused, watching a young couple sitting on a rock.

  ***

  GEORGIA

  When I first saw them I did a double take and if I had any breath, I surely would have held it, remaining breathless for minutes until my head started to spin. The boy, with his brown hair hanging in his eyes, flicked a cigarette onto the freshly scorched ground and the girl leaned against him, gazing at his face with total adoration. He whispered something and she laughed, her cheeks flushing. Her long blonde hair fluttered in the light breeze, a few strands blew out like they were influenced by static electricity.

  For a moment I thought it was me and Johnny. Before everything fell apart between us in Las Vegas we spent hours sitting on a park bench watching tourists on the strip and Fremont Street. We were almost invisible in the shade cast by palm and cottonwood trees that we went unnoticed as we shared cigarettes and talked about how the next day our luck was going to change. Johnny whispered what he wanted to do to me at night. Dirty things my mother would never approve of, things that would cause my father to load his shotgun, and things that made me tingle in the most private of places.

  As if in a trance I watched this couple and the longer I stared, the differences became apparent; bleeding through and replacing my illusion of the past. This modern day Johnny had tattoos that emerged from underneath the short sleeves of his white t-shirt, running the length of both arms and ending at his wrists. The girl had a hoop in her eyebrow, the silver blinking in the sunlight whenever she flipped her head back in an attempt to control her blowing hair. I caught a glimpse of a butterfly tattoo on her neck, something I never would have gotten.

  I remembered how being around Johnny felt like nothing else and the way he looked at me on the bus to Las Vegas, proud to have me by his side for our adventure. I imagined we were Romeo and Juliet, taking our forbidden love away to protect it from our families (well, my family) who seemed determined to keep us apart. If we didn’t give up so easily on the idea of us, and I didn’t end up alone in Vegas dancing for dollars, would we have stayed together and gotten married? Had that happened, I wouldn’t have been raped and murdered on the side of this highway. Regret seeped in and I had to turn away from the reminder of my past and what could have been. That’s when I noticed Frank standing next to me.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said and laughed. He and Bob never did grow tired of their ghost jokes. I rolled my eyes at him, but started to laugh despite the lingering sadness.

  “I thought I did. Having all of these people here is stirring up more than dust.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “How did it go with the police woman?” I asked.

  “Not great. She left before I could really speak with her. I’m not sure if she will ever return.”

  “Oh.” I tried not to sound disappointed, but I think we were all hoping that with her seeing us, something would happen.

  “Maybe we’re supposed to be here,” Frank said thoughtfully and started to move away. We went back to the remains of the mesquite tree where the other were still in defensive positions around Juanita’s memorial - funny how the dead were more respectful of the dead than the living.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  ELENA

  My throat was incredibly dry. I smacked my chapped lips together and opened my eyes. My bedroom was dark, but I could see slivers of sunlight through the slats of the blinds. I groaned and sat up. This is when I became aware that I wasn’t alone in bed.

  Eric slept on his side facing me. He mouth hung open slightly and every time he exhaled it came out as a soft snore. A very faint layer of blond stubble had sprouted up overnight. I was tempted to b
rush my fingers along the coarseness, but held back. His eyelids fluttered slightly and he mumbled something before settling back into his snore. It was nice having him asleep and oblivious to my blatant observations. I noted that he had taken his uniform off and slept in his briefs, but he had left a tee shirt on, removing the temptation of his bare chest. With a sigh I rolled and swung my legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t stir when I stood up. When we were married, he used to mutter in his sleep and reach towards me if I got out of bed in the middle of the night. I walked down the hallway and into the kitchen where I pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. This was gone in seconds and I reached in for another one. After taking a few sips, I screwed the cap on and put the bottle back in the fridge. I glanced at the clock on the microwave and couldn’t believe I had slept for over thirteen hours. It had been a little after seven o’clock when we got home last night and now it was almost 9:30 in the morning.

  Eric’s wallet and cell phone were on the coffee table. I started to go through his cell to see if he had any texts from a girlfriend, but I thought I heard him behind me and quickly snapped the phone closed. If Eric was dating someone, I would have overhead at least a whisper of it at work. Especially from O’Reilly who couldn’t keep his mouth shut most of the time.

  I peered down the hallway into my bedroom and could make out the shape of Eric still in bed. I bent over to pick up his phone again, but stopped myself. Why did I care if he was seeing somebody? I didn’t have any claim on him and he was single, gorgeous and employed – a real catch. He deserved happiness because obviously it didn’t last with me. I stepped away from the temptation and busied myself with finding my own phone. It was at the bottom of my purse with a dead battery.

  After plugging it into the charger, which was in the kitchen, I made a pot of coffee. As the phone charged, it started beeping and vibrating with voicemail, email and text message alerts. So much so, it wasn’t long before Eric joined me in the kitchen. I nodded at him as I listened to the fifteen voicemails. He went to the cabinet next to the refrigerator and pulled out two mugs. He poured milk in one before filling them with coffee. He kept the black and handed me the coffee with milk.

  I finished listening to the messages, most of which were from concerned friends and family members, before taking a sip. It was just how I like it. “How did you know where I keep the mugs?” I asked him, since this was his first time in my apartment.

  “That’s where you kept them before,” he answered, referring to when we were married.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you are.”

  Despite my impulsive streak I know I’m a creature of habit, but it did surprise me that he remembered where I kept the mugs.

  Eric grabbed his phone from the coffee table and I tensed. Is he going to know I picked it up and almost invaded his privacy? I stood still and watched him with my hands securely wrapped around the mug.

  He frowned and snapped his phone shut. “Well, this isn’t good. The Sheriff wants to see us a.s.a.p.”

  “I know. He left me a message too. I just wanted to get some coffee in me before I face his wrath.” I had managed to attract the attention of the big boss. I’d met him only briefly, once, not long enough to get a read on him except his Marine background was evident from the stiffness of his posture to his high and tight haircut.

  I drained my cup, rinsed it out and set in the dishwasher. “I’ll go get dressed,” I said and left Eric to finish his coffee, grabbing my cell phone on the way just in case he got curious – not that I had anything to hide.

  In a matter of minutes we were ready, Eric wearing the same clothes from yesterday and I in a fresh uniform. “Are you ready to get your ass chewed?” Eric asked.

  “As ready as I can be.” I said, trying to appear confident on the outside while secretly praying I still had my job at the end of the day.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  ELENA

  We entered the county building and walked to the elevators. I ignored the glances cast in our direction. Once we were on the administrative floor, the stares were a little more obvious because there was less activity to disguise the silence which preceded our walk down the long, carpeted hallway to the Sheriff’s office.

  His door was open and he was behind his desk. A tall woman with short blond hair, who wore a pale blue business suit, stood when we entered and she stepped aside so we could have the seats directly in front of the Sheriff’s desk, which aside from him, was the most imposing thing in his office. It was made of a dark wood and looked like it weighed close to a ton. With the exception of some framed awards and diplomas, the gray walls were bare. Whoever designed the office to match Sheriff Crawley’s austere personality nailed it.

  Eric and I sat down and up until this point, Crawley only stared at us. He continued to do so for what had to be five minutes. Occasionally his nostrils flared and he’d clench his jaw. Each time it did, the knot in my stomach tightened.

  “How are you feeling?” he finally asked me in a clipped tone as if being civil took all of his restraint.

  “Much better, Sir. Thanks for asking.”

  He nodded, but his stony expression didn’t change. “This here is Barbara Chamberlain. She’s the Director of Communications for the county and she is going to attempt to repair any kind of damage your little scene yesterday caused.” Crawley gestured to the blonde woman and then leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest, letting her take the floor.

  Barbara moved to the side closest to me and I turned to face her. She didn’t waste any time getting down to business.

  “This is the plan that I have come up with and you will agree to it,” she looked down at me and I opened my mouth to protest. I wasn’t agreeing to something I haven’t even heard, but she continued, “If you want to keep your job.” My mouth snapped shut with a click and she smiled.

  “I can’t explain away the unusual circumstances of your rescue, but your erratic behavior from yesterday is to be blamed on medication. I’ve already drafted a press release and will issue it to the media this afternoon. We’re acknowledging that medicine caused you to hallucinate. Mr. Wilcox already attributed it to that yesterday, which was brilliant.” She gave Eric a different smile, more like a flirty cheerleader’s than the triumphant shark grin I saw moments earlier.

  “I wasn’t medicated,” I grumbled. Irritated at the flare of jealousy her obvious interest in Eric triggered.

  “Either way,” she dismissed me. “Aside from the statement, I ask you to appear weak and frail when you’re out in public– for sympathy at least for a few days.”

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” I said. “Was what I did that bad?”

  “Yes, it was. The public wants to know their law enforcement is stable and capable of doing their job. The media doesn’t know whether you’re crazy, on drugs or a medium. We can’t have them thinking any of these things.”

  “So you’re going to tell them I was on drugs?”

  Eric reached over and squeezed my arm, his signal for me to shut up.

  “Hernandez, you will do as instructed. That is an order!” Crawley slammed his hand down on the desk, sending a flurry of yellow Post-it Notes into the air. I jumped and sat up straighter.

  “I understand,” I said and that was the end of my “being difficult”. Barbara gave me another predatory smile and handed me a copy of the press release.

  “You won’t field any questions from the press. That’s my job,” she added.

  “Fine with me,” I muttered and folded the paper, placing it in my shirt pocket.

  “Wilcox, that was quick thinking trying to diffuse the situation yesterday, thank you,” Crawley said. “Hernandez, I don’t want you pursuing this. No more antics. Got it?”

  “Understood,” I said and then we were dismissed.

  We didn’t say anything until we were on the elevator. “Well that wasn’t so bad,” Eric said.

  “Yeah,
easy for you. I’m pretty sure Babs was picturing you naked and I think the Sheriff wanted to give you a medal.”

  “Hey, at least you still have your job.” He didn’t comment on Barbara and I was relieved. I didn’t want to continue that conversation. He was right, even though I didn’t have a say in what was being told to the media, I was still a deputy. Also, what I did off the clock was my business. I already planned on helping Frank. I just needed to keep a low profile for a while.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Over the next few weeks Lieutenant Adams kept me assigned to desk duty and gradually people got used to me grumbling around the station. Reporters stopped calling and even though my parents had to change their phone number, nobody showed up at their front door. The marked car in front of my apartment kept them away from me. Thank God a murder suicide and a meth lab explosion took the media focus off of me and things returned to almost normal after that.

  I didn’t like being confined to a desk, but I took advantage of the access to old files and the database. I started with Frank Murphy, the one name I did know. I got three hits in the system and on the last one, I found a match. My heart raced when I clicked on the only granulated black and white image. Frank Murphy smiled at me from the screen, faint lines ran out from the corners of his eyes and his hair was greased back from his forehead except for two thick strands which hung down over his eyes.

  I scanned the report. He wasn’t murdered, but died in a car accident in 1955 at the age of 29. I frowned when I read the details; about the crushed chassis and how empty beer cans were found at the scene, strewn about inside his car. His wife, Faye, who was pregnant, didn’t have the funds to pay for the car to be towed out of the canyon. Only the body was retrieved and delivered to Morrison’s Funeral Home in Phoenix. I printed out the brief report and stuck it in an empty manila folder.