Far and Away Read online

  “Can you make it? Phil is welcome and, of course, Ida and Daniel, too.” Daniel was Bernice’s long-lost son, who’d returned to Charleston last year as a well-to-do practicing attorney. He and Ida had been an item ever since. “And Mavis and Wade. I always feel better when I know they’re willing to attend. They kind of see dead people like I do, so it’s nice that we have that in common.” Mavis and Wade were business partners and lovers who now jointly owned and operated a funeral parlor with plans to franchise.

  “Yes, they’re both here. Well, Mavis is at Wade’s. Robert has practically moved in with Bernice since she bought that new condo, so they’re usually there for a while during the day doing their afternoon delight. Of course, Robert still lives with Wade, but more often than not, when Robert and Bernice are preparing for their afternoon of delight, that’s about the time Wade and Mavis return to his house after a long day of dealing with death. Bernice and Robert usually stop over so Wade and Mavis can indulge themselves.”

  “Toots, I do not give a good rat’s ass about the sex lives of Bernice or Mavis. Actually, I think it’s a good thing, but please don’t tell either of them I said that, or I will personally slice your tits off. Now, the reason I called. Can all of you come over tonight?”

  She could hear Toots’s intake of breath over the phone. “I think we can manage. I’ll tell the others that it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Don’t lie, for crying out loud!”

  “So, it’s not?” Toots asked.

  Sophie thought about it for a few seconds. It could be. “Yes, you can go ahead and tell them that, but don’t scare any of them. They already think I’m off my rocker.”

  “You are, and we all know it and love you in spite of the fact,” Toots teased.

  “So I can count on the gang to be here around nine o’clock?” Sophie asked.

  “With bells on,” Toots said before hanging up.

  With that behind her, Sophie headed upstairs; she wanted to do a quick search in the attic. She needed to have a look inside those trunks to see what, if anything, captured her attention, called out to her.

  The steps leading to the attic were located on the third floor. Sophie opened the door to the small, narrow staircase. After brushing several spiderwebs off the stair rails, Sophie felt her way to the center of the attic, where she located the single low-wattage lightbulb in a fixture hanging from the ceiling. She pulled a leather string, and the immediate area filled with a bit of light but not enough to allow her to roam about freely. “Why in the heck didn’t I think to bring a flashlight?” she asked herself, disgusted with her lack of forethought. She stood in the center of the space, turning until she spied the trunks stacked in the corner. From where she stood, there appeared to be at least four of them, but there could be more behind them. Carefully, she walked across the area, then paused when she felt a board beneath her start to break. Someone had started renovations up here, Sophie could see, but whoever it was had never completed them. The electrical was rudimentary at best, the floors too weak to risk walking across. Taking a mental inventory, she knew she wouldn’t venture up here again until some basic safety measures were put in place. The trunks would have to wait for now. Later, she thought as she made her way down the narrow staircase. Goebel could add this to his ever-growing list of projects.

  When she reached the set of stairs on the second-floor landing, Sophie felt a blast of air so cold she actually shivered. She raised her head to see if one of the new air-conditioning vents was above her.

  But there was nothing.

  Wanting to spend some time by herself in the room, she’d insisted they leave it alone. Since she wanted the room for her séances, she felt compelled to enter it now in order to get the feel of whatever it was she was supposed to be feeling. Or seeing.

  But again, nothing. Chilled, and unsure why, Sophie remained in the room, and the temperature soon returned to normal. She planned to use the old dining-room table, which could seat as many as twelve, for her séances. Toots had found the table on one of her many antiquing excursions, buying it and telling Sophie it was perfect as it was solid oak and round. Since wood was sometimes a conduit to the spirit world, plus the fact that the table was old, as in hundreds of years old, Sophie had gratefully accepted Toots’s gift.

  She walked over to the table and reached down to touch the wood. It was warm. She traced the nicks and gouges, knowing there was a story for each mark. Walking around the table, she let her fingers continue to trail across the wood while she focused on the vision that had come to her in her dream, and what it meant. She left her mind open, a clean slate, in order to receive a message from the woman who’d earlier taken possession of it. Sophie had thoughts that were so dark, and filled with such intense feelings of doom, that she knew that if she pursued them, they would lead her down a path where evil unlike any she’d ever known would suck the life right out of her.

  No, don’t think that way! We were not talking about demonic possession here. Unsettled that her thoughts were leading her down this path, a path she knew not to enter, she quickly left the room in search of Goebel.

  “There you are,” he said from the bottom of the staircase, smiling up at her. “I’ve been searching all over for you.”

  She returned a wan smile. “Big house to search,” she said as she went downstairs, stopping when she was halfway down. Another burst of cold air rushed at her with such force, she thought it might knock her down. Again, she looked above her. This time she saw a giant opening where the air-conditioning vent had yet to be covered.

  “I’m still searching for a cover for that. I don’t want to use just any old plate, you know. I’m looking for something old, something that will allow the air to come through, yet when people see it, they won’t know what it is,” Goebel said.

  Relieved, Sophie continued the journey to the bottom of the staircase.

  “I’m sure between you and Toots, you’ll find what you’re looking for. And speaking of finding things, did you find anything in your search?”

  “That’s why I came looking for you. The great-great nephew”—Goebel skimmed through the papers he held in his hand—“went by the name of Ted, though, of course, his given name was Theodore. Theodore Dabney.”

  Theodore! That was the name the woman shouted out as she fell down the stairs!

  “What?” Goebel asked.

  “In the dream I had, or rather the vision, that’s the name the woman called out when she fell. Theodore.” Once again, a frigid blast of icy air occupied the space surrounding her. “Can you feel that?” she asked in a whisper.

  Goebel shook his head. “Feel what?”

  As quickly as the gush of coldness had overtaken the space around her, it was gone. Confused, Sophie said, “The cold air. You couldn’t feel it?”

  Goebel placed the papers he held on the bottom step before wrapping his arms around Sophie. “You’re shivering,” he said, shocked.

  “I’ve never felt so cold,” was all she could manage to say, as Goebel guided her through the many rooms downstairs leading to the back door.

  Stepping outside, Sophie saw that the sun was now up, and its warmth permeated her. She folded her hands across her chest and rubbed her upper arms. “I . . . I’ve felt cool air before. During a séance, you know how the temperature always seems to lower a few degrees?” Sophie paused, waiting for Goebel to acknowledge her words.

  “Yes, I’ve felt it myself on more than one occasion.”

  Sophie walked over to the chaise lounge and sat down. She motioned for Goebel to sit beside her. “This was very different. It was almost like stepping inside one of those giant freezers restaurants use. Instant, bone-killing cold.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “The kind of cold that hurts. Have you ever felt that kind of cold?”

  Goebel took a deep breath. “I’m not sure that I have, actually. Have I frozen my ass off? You’re damned right I have. New York winters can be treacherous. The cold winds that come off the ocean ca
n be killers. But what you felt in there”—he nodded toward the house—“I can’t say that I know the kind of cold you’re referring to.” He paused as if in deep thought, then asked, “Are you frightened?”

  Sophie thought for a minute before answering. “No. I’m not. Maybe I should be. I’m more . . . perplexed, I guess. This damned dream, vision, whatever the hell it is, means something. I don’t know what it is, but the cold and that room upstairs, it all fits. It’s up to me to figure out how all the pieces fit, and if they even go together. Does that make any sense to you at all?” She didn’t even want to think about what she had felt in the attic. Voicing her thoughts would only make them more real, which she knew was just exactly what this . . . this malevolent, preternatural being, whatever it was, thrived on. She cleared all further thoughts from her mind.

  “Sure. Happened to me a lot when I was a cop. Gut instinct, that feeling that something is staring you directly in the face, and, for the life of you, you can’t seem to figure out what the hell it is. In my case, it was usually the most obvious. Simple, right there in front of you. For me, it was simply a matter of allowing myself to relax, rid my mind of all the unnecessary details. A mental walk is what I always thought of it as. Most of the time, it worked. Possibly this is what you need to do, Soph? Forget about it for a while.”

  Of course, as usual, Goebel was right. What he said made perfect sense. But still, the feelings were there, and she just didn’t know how to sort them out, how to put them into the proper perspective. What was bothering her mostly was the fact that she couldn’t figure out why she was unable to pinpoint the exact reason she felt this way. Sophie was used to having answers, and more often than not, they came to her swiftly, decisively. Not this time. If anything, she was more confused than ever. “Let’s do something,” Sophie said. “Anything that takes me out of this house for a while.”

  Goebel laughed. “Well, I was thinking we could go upstairs and fool around, but it requires both of us to go inside, and since that’s out of the question now, why don’t we go for a walk? It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Great idea. Let me grab my smokes, and I’ll be right back.”

  Sophie raced inside to the kitchen, where she found her cigarettes on the floor, the package crushed, as though someone had stomped on them. Goebel, you shit. I told you I am not ready to quit smoking! she thought to herself. You should be ashamed. But I have more.

  Before bending down to pick up the crushed pack of cigarettes and toss it into the garbage can, she walked over to the freezer and removed a fresh pack. Something she’d learned from Toots. Kept them fresh.

  Before she could turn around and pick up the cigarette pack from the floor, Sophie heard Goebel say, “Stay where you are, Sophie. Don’t move.” His tone of voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

  She closed the freezer door, turning to face him. He held his finger to his lips, indicating that she should remain quiet. She nodded, remaining glued to the spot.

  Accelerating like he had an internal engine, Goebel’s instincts had kicked in the second he saw the crumbled pack of cigarettes on the floor. He raced through the house, stopping before entering each room, his cop instincts on full alert as he scanned the rooms for anything or anyone that wasn’t supposed to be there. When he reached the foyer, he quickly removed his 9mm Glock from the top of the antique armoire. Maybe not the safest place, he thought as he swiftly checked the clip. Seeing that it was fully loaded with seventeen shots, plus one extra if seventeen weren’t enough, he rapidly made his way up the stairs, holding the gun out in front of him in a two-handed grip as he’d been trained to do all those years ago in the police academy. At the top of the stairs, he felt a stir in the air, something or someone whose scent was left behind, an unfamiliar smell that shouldn’t be there. Carefully, he entered the master bedroom, checking the closets, the master bath, and, lastly, beneath the bed. When he was satisfied that the room was safe he gave a mental “all clear” and headed to the next room, another bedroom still in the midst of being redecorated. Swatches of material lay on the bed. He scanned the room, corner to corner, top to bottom, then again looked under the bed. Nothing. Clear here, too, he thought as he darted out of the room and entered the broad expanse of the hall that wrapped around, leading to the three other bedrooms and a bath. Efficiently, methodically, he cleared all the rooms, then relaxed his grip on his weapon. “Sophie!” he called out as he made his way back to the kitchen.

  “Goebel!” Sophie eyed the gun, now held tightly against his right leg, as if he were trying to hide it from her. “What in the hell is that?” she asked, as her eyes went from the gun to his face.

  He hadn’t told her he kept a gun in the house, and now Goebel knew he should have. He didn’t want there to be any lies between them. “I should have told you, Soph. I’m sorry.”

  Sophie remained in front of the freezer. “You didn’t stomp on that pack of smokes, did you?” was all she could say.

  “No,” he replied.

  “So?”

  “I thought there was an intruder. The cop in me kicked in, Soph. This”—he held the gun in front of him, released the clip containing the bullets and stuffed it in his pocket—“I should have told you I was keeping a gun in the house. I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m sorry for not telling you.”

  Sophie shook her head, jammed the pack of cold cigarettes in her pocket, then went to where Goebel stood. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. “Oh, Goebel, I don’t care about the gun. I suspect that all retired cops have a gun lying around somewhere, hopefully in a safe place.”

  He crammed the gun in his other pocket, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “This isn’t what I expected,” he said as he kissed the top of her head.

  Sophie leaned back so she could look at him. “There isn’t anyone here besides us, right?” she asked.

  “No, at least if they were, they’re gone now. Though I did smell something unfamiliar. We were always trained to use all of our senses, and smell being one of them, I picked up a scent of something... floral, I guess. Not your perfume, I would recognize that anywhere. It smelled like old flowers, and a bit musty.”

  Sophie stepped out of his embrace. “Let’s go for that walk, and we can talk then,” she said and practically ran out the back door, with Goebel close on her heels.

  Once they were off their property, walking alongside one another, Sophie finally lit the cigarette she’d tried to light half an hour ago. “So, what say you? You’re too quiet.” She took a long pull from her cigarette, then turned her head to the side so as not to blow the smoke in Goebel’s face.

  “I don’t like the idea of someone sneaking into our house, that’s all,” Goebel replied.

  “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in the house, other than us.”

  Sprawling oak trees canopied them as they continued their walk down the side road. Goebel reached for her hand. “What do you mean?”

  Sophie gave a half laugh. “What do you think I mean?”

  He squeezed her hand. “I would guess you’re thinking something, some otherworldly being, is residing in our home, and I would also say that you’re going to tell me the floral scent I smelled was evidence of their—her, I suppose—recent visit.”

  “Damn, Goebel, you keep this shit up, and you’ll have me one-upped. Pretty close to what I was thinking. You’re not going all psychic and weird on me now, are you?”

  He chuckled. “No need to worry about that. One of you is more than enough for me.”

  Sophie playfully elbowed him. “I’d better be.”

  “You are, and you know it. Now, can we get serious for a minute?” Goebel stopped, pulling her close to him by her hand, which he was still holding.

  “Okay. I’m serious. What?”

  “You tell me. The crushed smokes in the kitchen. You don’t think we had an intruder, do you?”

  Sophie linked her arm through his, gently urging him to continue walking with her. Walk
ing and talking was a good thing, she thought, as she contemplated her answer. She needed to do this more often, the way she had in California. She and Toots had spent many evenings walking along the beach in Malibu. Walking always seemed to clear her mind. Whether it was simply the physicality of the act or just taking her mind away from her troubles because she forced them away, she didn’t know. Didn’t matter because whatever the reason, the desired effect was as calming as a soft caress.

  “No, I don’t believe our ‘intruder’ is of this world. At one time, yes. A very long time ago. What I’m not sure about is why smash a pack of cigarettes?”

  “Maybe our otherworldly intruder died of lung cancer, and they’re trying to give you a message.”

  “No, it’s not that. Don’t ask me how I can be so sure of that yet have no clue about all the other happenings, but I know we didn’t have a break-in this morning. We weren’t even outside that long.” Sophie dropped her cigarette on the ground, crushed it out with her foot, then put the butt inside the cellophane part of the pack. She might be a smoker, but she wasn’t a nasty one. Well, except to Ida. The thought of blowing smoke in Ida’s face made her smile.

  “What’s so funny?” Goebel asked, seeing the smile on her face.

  “I was thinking of Ida and how much she hates smoking.”

  “Well, I, for one, agree with her,” Goebel said.

  “Yep, you do tend to remind me every chance you get,” Sophie said, her tone light, teasing.

  They’d reached the end of the road when Sophie saw how far they’d walked. “You want to continue on to Toots’s place? Maybe Jamie dropped off some baked goodies this morning.”

  Jamie was constantly trying out her newest recipes on Toots, knowing how Sophie’s dearest friend and partner in crime had an unquenchable sweet tooth. It was highly probable that today, a Sunday, she’d made a batch of something absolutely delectable.

  “Whatever you want, Sophie. I just want to be with you, and it doesn’t matter where we’re going.”

  She stopped and turned to him. “You really are a prize, you know that? I cannot believe some woman didn’t snatch you up and have a houseful of kids, a house with the white picket fence, a station wagon, and two weeks spent camping in the summers.” She often wondered what her life would have been like had she and Walter, the ass, had children, and even now, as old as she was, she still sometimes wondered what it would be like if she and Goebel had met when they were young enough to have a family of their own. Sometimes, these thoughts made her sad, knowing motherhood was one of the greatest joys ever, as she’d seen this firsthand, watching Abby grow from a sweet baby to a headstrong, independent woman. She knew this kind of thinking was pointless, so she took a deep breath and shot her husband her best knock-’em-dead killer smile.