Unclean Spirit

UNCLEAN SPIRIT

Copyright ©2005 by Julieana Toth

Approximately 58,164 words.

CHAPTER ONE

July 1996

The First Night

              Starr had never been easily frightened. Having been raised by hippie parents in the late sixties, she had learned early on how to distinguish between what was and was not worthy of her concern. Communal living had taught Starr the value of sharing and the importance of listening to her inner voice. Not everything that Starr learned, however, had been positive. She had observed that many of those who espoused "free love," chemically-induced "mind expansion," and respect for all living creatures were actually very insecure, and sometimes mentally unstable, individuals who were just along for the ride. Starr had learned to be wary of such people and, as a result, had developed a knack for identifying, almost immediately, whom she could trust.

              Starr trusted her parents--then and now. Paul and Tamara Forsythe had long since left the commune but they were still very much "Flower Children," as was evidenced by their small ranch, just outside Van Horn, Texas, that was home to strays, both animal and human. Although Starr lived hundreds of miles away in Dallas, it was her parents for whom she was now experiencing a very uncharacteristic fear.

              The sensation of falling from a great height had awakened Starr. She grabbed the covers in an attempt to catch herself, but quickly realized that there was no need to do so because she wasn't really falling. She then experienced a brief episode of vertigo that was followed by pronounced sweating. What was that all about? Starr wondered. Just at that moment, Penelope, Starr's pristine white cat, let loose with a chilling howl. Starr jumped out of bed and called out for her friend, but Penelope did not respond.  

              "Pen? Penelope! Where are you baby? Its okay, Momma's here. Come on, baby girl." 

              Still no response.

              Starr knew all of the cat's favorite hiding places--under the bed, on top of the fridge, behind the upright piano--but her search of those areas was fruitless. Starr was on the verge of panic when her peripheral vision caught a brief swish of white beneath the hand-carved mahogany breakfront her father had made for her.             

              "Pen? It's okay, baby, you can come out."

              Starr had to lie prone on the floor in order to squeeze her arm under the massive piece of furniture; when she felt Penelope's warm fur, a tremendous sense of relief flooded through her.             

              "Penelope, how in the world did you get under there? Come on, baby. Come out and we'll have a snack."

              Starr couldn't possibly move the heavy breakfront, so she waited patiently while Penelope struggled her way out.  Once free, the cat jumped into Starr's lap and began washing herself. 

              "You silly girl! First you scare me half to death and now you behave as though nothing ever happened! Here, let me look you over."

              Penelope did not seem to be injured in any way so Starr was hard put to understand the reason for the howl. The best she could figure was that Penelope had reacted in terror after trapping herself under the breakfront. That must have been it, even though Pen had never before paid the slightest bit of attention to that particular piece of furniture.

              After a snack of sardines, Penelope was content and behaving normally so Starr headed back to bed. As she passed through the dining room, she glanced at the breakfront and decided it would be wise to stuff something under it to dissuade Penelope from further exploration. She gathered some sheets and barricaded the bottom of the piece. Starr braced herself on the highly buffed mahogany as she stood up and was assailed once again by a wave of vertigo. This time, however, the dizziness was the harbinger of a vision, a three-dimensional picture of Starr's father.              Starr blinked and both the light-headedness
and the vision disappeared. As she sank into a nearby chair, Starr attempted to quiet the trembling of her limbs. Something was very wrong, and it involved her dad. 

              When the phone rang, Starr literally leaped
from the chair. 

              "Starr? It's Mom, I need you."

CHAPTER TWO

              "Mom, what is it? Is Dad okay?"

              "Honey, your father has been badly hurt. Dr. Feener is with him now and doing everything he can until the helicopter gets here to take Dad to El Paso. Starr, he's unconscious and..."

              Tamara's sobs prevented her from finishing her sentence. Starr held tightly to the phone while her mother cried. Finally, Tamara spoke.  "Oh, baby, I'm sorry! I hate to burden you, but I'm so scared. Your dad isn't responding and Dr. Feener suspects that he's bleeding into his brain."

              "Mom, can you put Dr. Feener on the phone? I'd like to talk to him."             

              "Sure, honey, hold on. But don't keep him on the line too long, your father needs him."

              As Starr waited for Dr. Feener, she tried to compose herself so she would be able to truly hear what the doctor had to say. Penelope consoled her with a mournful "meow" as she rubbed against Starr's leg.

              "Ms Forsythe? Saul Feener here. Your father apparently experienced a very bad fall tonight. His pulse and blood pressure are fairly stable now, but he obviously sustained a head injury. I can attend to his most immediate needs, but we are going to get him to El Paso as soon as possible. I have already contacted a neurosurgeon to evaluate him as soon as he arrives in El Paso. Any questions?"

              Starr appreciated the doctor's direct approach and statement of the facts.

              "Dr. Feener, I realize that I'm putting you on the spot, but I need to know. Is my father going to be all right?"

              Starr was not encouraged by the pause that preceded Dr. Feener's reply. "Ms Forsythe, as much as I wish I could give you a definitive answer I simply can't at this time; there are too many intervening variables. I would suggest, however, that you get to El Paso as soon as you can. The next forty-eight hours will be critical."

              "Yes, of course, Doctor, I understand. And thank you so much for taking care of my father.

              "Just one more thing, how is my mom?"

              "She seems to be holding up quite well. She is understandably distressed but beyond that I haven't seen evidence of any problems. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to your father, so I'll put your mother back on the line. Take care, Ms Forsythe."

              While Starr waited for Tamara to pick up the phone, she found herself staring at the breakfront. Paul had inset the back of the piece with an antique beveled mirror, one that was flawless in all respects. Starr's mind had been wandering; even so, her eyes captured a change in the mirror. A thread of a crack traveled approximately three inches down the mirror's right side, and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

              "Starr? Starr! Are you there?"

              "Sorry, I'm here. I was just distracted for a moment. Mom, are you up to telling me what happened?"

              "Honey, I wish I could. Truth is, I simply don't know. It was a little after ten and I had just come in from checking on the animals and locking the barn up for the night. The light was on in the cellar, so I figured Dad was down there restoring the pulpit that Pastor Duncan found somewhere. I called to him and when he didn't answer I decided to go down; I found him crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the steps.

              "It was so awful, Starr. He was breathing, but he wasn't responding to me at all. I ran up and put a call in for Dr. Feener, who called back right away. He told me to stay with Dad, but not to move him. Dr. Feener was here within fifteen minutes but it felt more like hours."

              "Mom, is Dad still in the basement?"

              "Yes, he is. Dr. Feener said that even if we could carry him upstairs it might cause additional injury. The airlift medical team will have to get him out.

              "He must have tripped on something on the steps...I just don't know."

              "Listen, Mom, we'll figure that out later. For now though, will you go to El Paso in the helicopter?"

              "No, Dr. Feener said it's not permitted. I'll just drive myself."

              "Mom! You can't do that--you're upset, it's late, it's over a hundred miles to El Paso, it's..."

              "Starr, I'll be fine. In fact, the drive will actually give me an opportunity to settle down. Dr. Feener said that if he weren't the only doctor in this area he would take me himself."                           

              "Well, hell, Ma, he's Dad's doctor, he should take you!"                           

              "Starr, you know better than that. Dr. Feener was here for our emergency; what if someone else needs him? I'll be okay."             

              "What about Charlie?" Charlie was a wizened old cowboy whom the Forsythes had taken in years ago. He had a room in the main house and more than earned his keep by working the ranch. Starr's frequent visits home had allowed her to get to know Charlie fairly well and, despite his habit of going on a bender now and again, she really liked the old guy.

              "Charlie passed out hours ago. He doesn't even know what happened yet."

              "Mom, if you're determined to drive yourself to El Paso, be sure and leave Charlie a note so he'll know what's happened.

              "Listen, I'll be on the first plane out.

              "And, Mom, I love you; please tell Dad I love him."

              Starr and Tamara spoke for a few more minutes regarding the hospital arrangements for Paul and the motel arrangements for themselves. When Starr put the receiver back on its cradle, she felt as though her entire life had just changed course.

              Even though it was only a bit after one a.m., Starr knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, so she decided to spend the time productively by leaving a message on Maxie’s answering machine. No way would Maxie be home this early on a Saturday night. Maxie was Starr's business partner and, more importantly, her dear friend; she was very capable of handling things at the photography studio while Starr was gone. Maxie was well-liked by the wealthy Dallasites who didn't seem to mind straying from the high-rent districts they were accustomed to in order search out the rather well-hidden
POOFFS
where their children and pets could be innovatively immortalized on film. When Maxie and Starr had started out five years ago, they had agreed: No weddings, proms, or beauty queens--only kids and animals. The dogs, cats, horses, birds and boa constrictors responded well to both Starr and Maxie and the kids were, for the most part, both a challenge and a joy. It was the rich-bitch moms and social-climbing pet owners who drove Starr up the wall.  But, as Maxie often reminded Starr, their success hinged not only on their abilities but on their tolerance levels as well. So, whenever Starr was tempted to tell an emaciated, blond, Chanel-suited client to take her Louis Vuitton bag and shove it up her tight ass, she went out back and had a cigarette instead. Maxie, however, never needed to go out back.  Maxie Westbrook was the consummate businesswoman; she had a talent for coddling difficult clients as she cleverly guided them away from their asinine ideas about lighting, backdrops, et cetera. It was Maxie who had been successful in marketing their photographs to the Dallas elite. Yes, Maxie would be fine while Starr was out of town.             

              As Starr went into the bedroom to pack, she called out to Penelope. "Come on, Pen, let's get ready. We're going on a trip."

              Penelope waited a few moments before she padded out of the laundry room where she had been sitting patiently by her pet carrier.

CHAPTER THREE

              Starr made the six a.m. flight. Fortunately, the plane wasn't at all crowded so she and Penelope were able to spread out a bit. Pen was comfortable in her carrier and didn't mind flying; on the contrary, she seemed intrigued by it. Many animals had to be sedated when they traveled, but not Pen. In fact, take-offs and landings were Penelope's favorite parts of the trip, as was evidenced by her contented purring during those events.

              As Starr settled into the flight, she finally allowed herself to examine what had occurred in her home only hours ago--the sensation of falling, the vertigo, Pen's entrapment beneath the breakfront, the vision of her father, the crack in the mirror. Even a skeptic would be hard put not to recognize the parallels to be drawn between Starr's experiences and Paul's accident.

              Intuitive impressions weren't new to Starr. They had been a part of her life for as far back as she could remember and she had grown to accept the extrasensory incidents as normal. But there was something different this time, something that Starr couldn't quite identify, something that chilled her. It wasn't Penelope's role in last night's events that bothered her, she and the cat were usually on the same psychic wavelength; it wasn't even the vertigo or sweating, she was accustomed to the physiological responses that accompanied such episodes. What was it then? What had the hair on Starr's arms standing on end as she attempted to ascertain the unique element of her most recent paranormal experience? Maybe it had to do with her close personal involvement this time, vis-à-vis her father...maybe. 

              Starr was not a trained "psychic." She had never had her abilities tested in a controlled environment. Certainly, she had done her share of reading relative to clairvoyance, premonitory impressions, telepathy, and mysticism but nothing that Starr had ever read had convinced her that she was any more "gifted" than anyone else. In point of fact, she believed that all living creatures possessed the potential to connect with one another on more than just a corporeal level; they needed only to open themselves up to it. Starr herself was certainly receptive to the ethereal aspects of life since she had experienced them time and time again. However, the exact meanings of her encounters with the so-called unknown were seldom clear to her at the time of their occurrences. In fact, Maxie had jokingly labeled Starr a "clueless clairvoyant."  

              Starr had eventually drifted into sleep, only to be jolted awake by a low, but intense, growl from Penelope. She remembered placing Pen's carrier on the seat next to her after the plane had reached its cruising altitude, but it was now on her lap. Starr glanced to her left and discovered that the seat had a new occupant--a transparent, yet obviously recognizable and terrified, Paul Forsythe.

              "Miss? Excuse me, Miss, but are you all right?"

              Starr watched as the flight attendant leaned toward her and directly through the image of her father, an image that was slowly fading away. Starr's throat was incredibly dry and her skin felt clammy.

              "Miss?"

              "What? What did you say?"

              "I asked if anything is wrong. You look like you've just seen a ghost!"

              "God, I hope not!"

              "Excuse me?"

              "I'm sorry. It's nothing, I guess I was dreaming. Listen, I could sure use a scotch and water...scotch for me and water for my cat."

              "Jesus H. Christ," Starr whispered to Penelope, "what's going on?"

              Penelope responded with a sharp "meow, meow," and Starr noted that despite the light in the cabin Pen's pupils were fully dilated.

              Starr figured that a scotch would take the edge off--she was mistaken, it had taken two. A third would really have done the trick, but the plane was entering its descent. Despite the pleasant buzz provided by the alcohol, Starr's anxiety level began to rise; not for surrealistic reasons but because she was afraid of what she would find once she reached the hospital.