Spirited 1 (18 page)

“I’m listening,” Jules said into the still alley.

“Go to him. It’s been so long since he’s had kindness. Please.”

Despite her uncertainty, Jules obeyed. She moved slowly until she kneeled beside the cowering man. She stretched out a tentative hand and rested it on his stiff, dirty sleeve as she spoke. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

His weathered skin was thin and wrinkly. His unkempt rust-colored hair hung past his shoulders. Still, he smiled, then gently patted her hand with his.

At his touch, a lifetime flashed through her mind like a rapid-fire slideshow. It moved so fast, she shouldn’t have been able to see it all, but she comprehended it just the same. It was his lifetime. Complete with a millennium’s worth of pain squeezed into forty-nine years.

A burning-hot desert on the other side of the world. A chaplain and his commander walking toward the mess tent. Unbearable news. His wife and only daughter died in an apartment fire, hours before he woke.

He crumpled to his knees. Hours and days blurred past in a haze of pain.

Two coffins: one large, one small. A funeral attended by hundreds but he stood apart.

Alone.

Years slipped by with no one to hate but himself. His single thought, he should have been there . . . to save them.

The slideshow changed. Now the bitter memories interwove themselves with his fondest. His wedding day. His daughter’s birth. A family trip to Disney World.

And each sacred moment fed the self-loathing.

When the heartbreaking moments of his life finished playing through her mind, Jules stretched out her arms and wrapped them around him in a gentle hug.

Then the melodic voice whispered,
“His name is Samuel.”

Jules glanced up to find a beautiful woman in a white summer dress.

Whole but transparent, the spirit shimmered in and out of sight, like sunlight shining between leaves on an elm tree. She hovered a few inches above the ground. An aura of silver white light surrounded her and made the ends of her chestnut hair sparkle.

A pervading sense of peace filled Jules and she couldn’t help smiling.

“Thank you for heeding my call.”

“He’s a wonderful person. I’m sorry for his pain. And yours.”
Jules sent out the mental push to the ghost, who smiled in return.

What was Jules doing talking to a ghost? She knew better than to engage the paranormal world. And yet, she couldn’t resist the need to help these two people. The ghost in front of her wasn’t the phantom who’d been haunting her.

No, this one was Samuel’s wife and she radiated peace. How could Jules deny this gentle spirit anything?

The wife moved her hand, as if caressing Samuel’s cheek. He froze, seeming to sense her presence. He cocked his head slightly and closed his eyes as if to heighten the sensation.

A pained expression crossed the ghost’s face, and she withdrew her hand then turned her attention to Jules.
“I’m sorry to send you so many visions at once but, I needed you to see my husband as we knew him. Before we died . . . and after. He wasn’t always like this. Samuel is a military hero. Our hero. He should be honored. Not ignored. And not forgotten. He has a higher purpose than this.”

The wife spread her arms wide, gesturing to the alleyway.

“Momma?”
called a sweet, childlike voice.

The ghost-wife’s form shimmered brighter, and for the first time, Jules noticed a second smaller form beside her. A child, no older than five, with straight blonde hair and piercing blue eyes—her father’s eyes—took her mother’s hand in hers. With a hopeful expression on her innocent face, she asked in a small voice,
“Will he come home now?”

“Not yet,”
the mother replied to her daughter, as if Jules couldn’t hear them.
“He has something very important to do. But we can take him home soon.”

“Then he’ll be free?”

“Yes, Penny, then he’ll be free.”
She turned a gimlet stare to Jules.
“My name is Moira. Can you please deliver my message? He needs to know . . .”

Jules listened carefully to Moira’s speech. She’d nearly memorized it when Samuel pulled away from her without warning.

What the heck?
Jules had barely hatched the thought when her physical senses burst through the haze of serenity with a deafening clamor.

Jules dropped her purse and clapped her hands to her ears at the cacophony of noises. Then her olfactory senses kicked in. Fetid air filled her lungs and she gagged.

Wow, how could she have forgotten about the rotting garbage in the alley?

A gentle hand touched her at the base of her spine. Jules turned to see Seth staring into her face with concern. Despite the sounds still beating a tattoo against her eardrums, she lowered her hands.

His touch seemed to lessen the aftershocks of her crift, as if by caressing her skin, Seth drove back the harsh return of her physical senses. The sounds around her dulled to normal. The stench of the alley no longer overwhelmed her sense of smell. Even her gag reflex settled instantly.

She didn’t have time to wonder how this was possible because he asked, “What are you doing out here with him?”

Turning around, Jules saw the homeless man no longer huddled near the discarded clothes. He watched them with a wary expression on his dirt-coated face.

Despite his grimy appearance, he exuded an air of defiance. And fear. His back ramrod straight and his arms crossed over his chest, he clutched both elbows. He hunched his shoulders, but his feet were spread wide as if he could spring into action at any moment. But it was the rapid shifting of his eyes that was the most telling.

He darted his gaze repeatedly between Jules, Seth, and the mouth of the alley.

Cautiously, Jules move closer to him, two steps at a time, until they stood three feet apart. She couldn’t miss the sound of his stomach rumbling. Her stomach ached in sympathy.

The bravado in his stance dissolved and he shuffled backward until his back pressed against the wall. Slowly, he sunk to a seated position, drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Juliana, did you hear me?” Seth caressed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Are you okay, precious?” he asked in a low tone. His breath feathered across her ear.

With a quick glance at Samuel, she nodded. “I’m fine. Just delivering an old message.”

Knowing he couldn’t possibly understand—heck, she barely comprehended it herself—she sidled out of Seth’s touch and headed toward Samuel.

Two days ago, she’d sworn off helping any ghost, and today she was a walking cell phone for the dead.

She took both of Samuel’s trembling hands into hers. He kept his gaze lowered to the worn hole in the top of the brown leather shoe on his right foot. Her chest tightened with sympathy. She pushed herself to speak Moira’s words in a way that wouldn’t necessarily make Seth or Samuel believe she was completely insane.

“Moira and Penny always knew you loved them. They wouldn’t want you to suffer any more. Samuel, I know it’s hard to hear, but it was their time to go. Not yours. You need to forgive yourself because you couldn’t have saved them. They don’t blame you—”

Samuel winced, releasing her hands.

The declaration was one the average person couldn’t make, so she amended, “I’m sure they don’t blame you. You’re a war hero. I bet they were very proud of you. Do you really think they would want you living in an alley with a black cat as your only friend? Don’t you know you’re destined for so much more?”

Samuel blinked and silent tears rolled clean tracks down his grimy cheeks. Wordlessly, he scrubbed his face, smudging the once-clean streaks. He nodded and turned away. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“Help him, please.”
Moira and Penny stared at her imploringly, but Jules was already moving back to Seth, who must have picked up the purse when she dropped it. She took it from him.

Digging into the clutch, she pulled out all the money she had. Fifty dollars wasn’t much, but it would get him a decent meal and maybe a room for the night.

“Samuel,” she called to him. When he turned, she pushed the cash into his hand. His fingers brushed hers as they wrapped around the money.

“Thank you, Miss . . . ?” His voice was gravelly, as if not used in years. The tender smile on his face gave him the appearance of a man decades younger.

“It’s Jules. And you’re welcome, Samuel. I just wish I could offer more. Is there anything else I can do?”

Seth stepped forward. “There’s a new shelter on Fifty-eighth Street. It’s clean with hot showers, good food, and friendly service. The doors opened at four. I can drive you. Drop you off at the front door?”

Samuel gave a wan smile and shook his head.

With a tight-lipped expression, Seth nodded his head sharply once, then pulled out his wallet. Aside from the cash he gave Samuel, he also handed him a small card. “It’s got my home number on the back. There’s been a rash of attacks lately on the homeless in the city. If you need me, call. I’ll come. Any hour.”

Without another word, Seth took Jules lightly by the elbow and steered her out of the alley. Just before turning the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder.

The ghostly wife and daughter smiled. They flanked Samuel as he settled back down to nap.

Keeping her eyes on them until she rounded the corner, awareness tingled at the base of Jules’s neck. She had the distinct impression this wouldn’t be the last she’d see of Samuel or his family.

CHAPTER 9

“S
O HOW DID
you know Sam’s wife?”

Jules’s mouth gaped and she stumbled to a halt at his unexpected words.

The cop continued on for several paces before he noticed she’d stopped moving.

“Jules?” He walked slowly back to her, concern etched in the lines of his face. “Are you all right?”

“You know Samuel?”

“Everyone in our building does.” Seth shrugged, then jerked a thumb to the brick structure to her left.

Retracing her steps to the alley, she recognized the back of her building.
Wait! That’s not what it looked like two minutes ago.

The ghosts had called her down her own alley and disguised it as another? It made no sense. What purpose did it serve to show her a scary-looking backstreet?

“I’m . . . home?” Jules stared in disbelief at the back of her building.

Instead of the decrepit piles of charred brick and mortar, she found multicolored pansies decorating window boxes. While the lump of clothing—which she now knew was Samuel—lay beside a Dumpster, the nauseating stench had disappeared. Gel caricatures of ghosts, pumpkins, and witches clung to pristine windows on the multifloor apartment building.

Breath punched from her body, she blinked several times to be certain her eyes weren’t betraying her again. A ceramic pumpkin glowed to life in a second-floor window, prompting Jules to hurry to the front of her building. Pots of orange and yellow mums dotted windowsills and the walkway.

“What is going on?”

“Jules, are you all right?” Seth caught her upper arm and held her still. Moving in front of her, he narrowed his eyes and searched her face, then felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re pale. Come sit down.”

He tugged her to the front steps of their complex and urged her to sit beside him.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look lost.”

“Well, I was.” Jules laughed in spite of herself. He smiled back and she explained. “I am what you might call
directionally challenged.
”

“Directionally challenged?” Seth rubbed the back of his neck then sat down on the third step. “You mean you get lost?”

Jules shifted her position on the concrete step, trying to leave as much space between them as possible.

“I mean I get lost
frequently
. Friday night, your window—that kind of stuff used to happen to me all the time.”

“What changed?”

“I got married and my husband moved me to Kemmerton, Virginia.” When he simply stared at her blank-faced, she added with a grin, “It’s pretty rural there. When I left there wasn’t even a Walmart in the county yet. But at the time it was great for me. Kind of hard to get lost much with only a few streets in and out of the county. Unfortunately, I still managed to do it for a while. It’s why I don’t drive. Even a GPS didn’t save me from getting lost in a very shady part of D.C. once. I’ve refused to drive ever since. I still get lost, but I notice it a lot sooner when on foot.”

“Your
husband
?”
Figures that would be the one word he’d hear.

“
Ex-
husband.” Jules squirmed. “The one who gave me the Prada.” She held the purse up briefly before dropping it back to the space between them. “It’s a knockoff, by the way. This is what I get for not taking it out of the box for two years. Turns out I’ve been preserving a Prad-o all this time.”

Seth picked up the purse. Jules showed him the carefully disguised lettering. He frowned, then set it back down again. “Cheap bastard.”