Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) (6 page)

“We are in desperate need of some serious conversation.” She pulls up a chair and sits beside the bed. “Your son is here somewhere and I don’t want him to know all the details, but he’s worried sick about you.”

“I’ve already told you what is happening. What more do you want me to say? And why don’t you want him to know? You don’t want him to think his father is a psychopath like you think I am?”

Rose scowls and doesn’t respond right off. “You’re telling me a ghost…” She looks toward the door and lowers her voice. “You’re telling me a ghost did this to you?”

The question does seem far-fetched when she says it out loud. I understand why she has her doubts. “I don’t know if it’s a ghost, Rose. You seriously think that I did this to myself?”

She doesn’t answer me, which means she does. Instead, she stands up and begins to pace at the foot of the bed. She looks exhausted and defeated, and I hate that I’m putting her through this. Even with her not supporting me or believing me, I still love her.

“I didn’t ask for this, Rose. I didn’t ask for whatever the hell is happening back at the house to happen. I can’t believe you’d think that I’d have the guts to stab myself, or break my face in a mirror. You really think I’m that capable?”

She ducks her head and finally looks me in the eye. Smoothing her hands down her ponytail, she bites her bottom lip and steps closer to me again. “I think a mentally ill person is capable of things others could never imagine. And before you say it, yes, I think you’re mentally ill. Dr. Parsons is thinking along those lines too.”

I ignore my body’s warnings to not move and sit up, feeling the wound in my side tighten from the abrupt movement. It’s painful and I fear I’ve ripped a stitch, but my adrenaline pumps after her comment and I ignore it. “Dr. Parsons? You told him?”

“He wanted to know what happened. He thought the police needed to be involved. You know, maybe there was a break in or something? I told him your theory and I told him mine. As you could expect, he is leaning more toward schizophrenia or psychosis as well.”

I fight the urge to fling the food tray near my bed. My anger makes me forget the very reason I’m in the hospital. “It is no one’s business. It’s not even your business.” I clench my jaw. “You realize that he could lock me up for this, right? Is that what you want?”

Rose begins to cry. “No, of course not, Nathan. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Then what the fuck do you want?” I ask it loudly, regretting using that word with her, but I’m so pissed off that I can’t control it.

“I want you to talk to a professional. I don’t want this to happen again. I hate seeing you like this.”

I shake my head and it feels like my brain is sloshing around in my skull. “No. I’ve already told you I’m not going to.”

Her tears quickly stop and she is obviously angry. Leaning on the railing of the bed, she gets in my face. “Just a head’s up. Dr. Parsons will be ordering a psych evaluation on you before he lets you leave.” She smiles and pats me on the head. “It’s gonna happen whether you want it to or not.”

I quickly begin to scan the room for my personal belongings. There is a bag in the far corner and I waste no time getting out of the bed. I know I shouldn’t be leaving, but an evaluation like that is the last thing I want. It’s the quickest way to an asylum, especially if I tell them what is happening. They’ll never view it with an open mind. I pull the IV from the back of my hand – it’s painful, but another step toward freedom.

“What are you doing, Nathan?” She puts her hand on my chest, but I shrug away from her, pushing through the discomfort.

“I’m leaving. I don’t need a doctor to tell me when I can leave.” I dump the bag out and my shirt is missing. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You bled all over it. They threw it out.”

“Fine. I’ll just wear the gown over my jeans.”

“Nathan, think about this. Why not just talk to someone? They’re here to help you. You don’t need to leave. They need to make sure you’re okay.”

Looking up at her, I finish putting my pants and shoes on, wincing when the waistband rubs against the wound on my side. I’m not sure why I’m being so stubborn about it, but my instincts are shouting at me to get as far away from doctors as I can. “The last thing I need right now is to be put in a mental hospital, Rose. They can keep you against your say. They can tie you up and do all kinds of horrible shit to you.” I grab her hand and squeeze it harder than I probably should. “I don’t have anything they can help me with. And the more a person denies it, the longer they keep them. The more they can’t find out about them, the more they become some science project. I’m not doing it. I’m not gonna let you or any doctor take me away to study. I’m not mentally ill. This is really happening. I just hate that you won’t believe me.”

Rose doesn’t say anything. She jerks her hand from my grasp. Rusty enters the room, his eyes wide as saucers when he sees me out of bed and getting dressed. “Dad, they’re letting you go?”

“Not exactly. I’m just ready to get outta here.”

Rose’s stare is cold as ice. Her face is expressionless as she watches me finish gathering up my stuff. “Pack up your shit when you get home. I don’t want you at the house until you decide to get some help.”

“You don’t mean that, Rose.”

“I’ve never been more sure about something. I don’t want you bringing this home. I don’t want you hurting Rusty and blaming it on a ghost. If you don’t do it, I’ll do it for you and get the cops involved.”

I’m caught off guard by her request, and I look at Rusty and back to her, speechless. “You think I’d hurt my son?”

“I never thought you’d go so far to mutilate yourself, and here we stand. So yes, I think you could, especially if you don’t get any help.”

“I’m gonna say it for the last time, though I know you don’t believe me. I did not do this to myself.” I double-check the room, making sure I had all of my things. Standing at the door, I take another look at Rusty and Rose. Neither try to stop me, neither says anything, and it still gives me no clue as to what my own son thinks about me. How much does he know and does he think I’m a complete psychopath like his mother thinks?

“Sir, I don’t think you need to be leaving. I’ll call Dr. Parsons.”

The nurse enters the room and I ignore her. Instead, I walk past the nurse’s station, past the other doctors, knowing full well that I’m the center of attention in that wing of the hospital. How could I not be? I’m certain that word has spread that a man with possible schizophrenia who is violent toward himself is being housed near the ER. I look like I’ve been hit by a semi-truck, not to mention I’m wearing a hospital gown over my jeans. I’m straight out of a psychological thriller involving insane people who actually need lobotomies and electro-shock therapy. I usually enjoy movies like that, but now that I’m living the life, I hate myself for it.

Walking out onto the street, I feel the cool air hit me. The sun is almost up. Another day is about to start. I’m supposed to report for a tour in a few hours. I really could use Rose’s support right now. Maybe she’d be there for me if I did talk to someone. Maybe I’d have a home to go to if I just sat in an office for an hour and spill my guts to some suit and tie with a thousand diplomas on the wall.

If I told the truth, it was a quick ticket to lock up. If I fibbed, what good would that do me? If the doctor was any good at what he did, he’d see right through it and lock me up for that. I just can’t see any reason to go to someone. Instead, I have to find a way to resolve this all myself. If I get to the bottom of this, maybe I’ll be back with my family in no time.

I hurry down the street, fighting my aching body. I know where I can stay until things are smoothed out. The only question is if my pride will allow me to ask. 

Chapter
Six

I don’t even want to go home and get any of my stuff. I seem to keep forgetting that I’m in a hospital gown, and it finally occurs to me why so many people are looking at me as I walk past. Or maybe it’s my battered face. Or both. A part of me wants to run into Rose, but I also want to sneak in, grab a few things, and slink out without having another fight with her. I want to convince her to let me stay, but she’s a stubborn woman, and when she wants something, she gets set in her ways.

When I finally make it home, her car is in the driveway. I can’t believe that I was able to walk from the hospital, but my adrenaline is pumping and it pushes me through. She’s sitting on the bottom step in the living room, her head buried in her hands.

“Rose?”

Looking up, she quickly wipes away some tears. “You call a cab?”

“No, I walked.”

“You walked? In your condition?” She stares at me in disbelief and I ignore her question.

There is a suitcase beside her. Looking in it, I see some of my shirts and pants folded up. “I see you didn’t waste any time.”

She throws a pair of socks in and stands up. “Let’s just make this easy, okay Nathan? You’ve made it clear that you have no desire to get help, even for the sake of your family. I’ve made it clear I don’t want you here if you’re not going to. Let’s just leave it at that.”

I reach out to touch her hand, but she’s quick and moves away. “Rose, I wish you’d have just a shred of confidence in me.”

“And I wish you’d think about all of this. Ghosts? Voices? Do you seriously think that’s what is really happening?” She rubs her temples and puts her index finger up. “Here I was saying I don’t want to talk about it, so I’m not going to. I packed a toothbrush and some of your clothes. I’m assuming you’re gonna go to your Dad’s?”

The thought makes my stomach ache, but where else would I go? I can’t imagine asking one of the guys at the department. I’m already embarrassed enough. “I guess so, if he’ll have me. I’m on his shit list too. Guess I’m going for a record.” I change out of the robe and put one of my station’s t-shirts on. Maybe now I won’t catch so much attention from people.

“I can only imagine what he’ll think when he gets the whole story.” Rose won’t make eye contact with me as she walks by and so bad do I want to grab her and pull her in for a tight hug. Her perfume is intoxicating and I try to take as much as I can in. There’s no telling when I’ll be able to smell her again. “I’m not planning on telling him everything.”

“One night in his house and he’ll know. I don’t think you’re able to control it anymore.”

Even though I want to work it out with her, I don’t think I can take much more of her passive aggressiveness. Grabbing the suitcase, I stand as close to her as she’ll let me, staring down into her eyes. I’m inches away from her and I want to kiss her. Fighting the urge, I start to lean down, but she only allows me to peck her on the forehead before she opens the door for me.

“All I ask is you see someone about all of this. Until then, good luck with whatever the hell is happening to you.”

I step out onto the porch and the door slams behind me. I stand there for a second and take the view in. Horns honk in the distance, birds chirp, the wind rustles through the trees, and I’m alone on the steps of a house I used to come home to.

It finally occurs to me – what if my father says no? Our relationship is rocky and has been for as long as I can remember. I’m not even sure if I can take his snide remarks, but it’s my only option to have a roof over my head tonight. And I need to do something about my tour today. I’m sure my captain will have no problem with me calling in after what happened yesterday with the little girl. In fact, it’s doing him a favor.

I lug my clothes behind me, feeling the ache in my body. I forget to grab the keys to my truck, but when I knock on the door again, Rose doesn’t answer. Rather than have another unpleasant encounter with my wife, I decide to walk. What else do I have to do today? Maybe the fresh air will make me feel better. Maybe this will give me some time to think more about everything that is occurring.

My father doesn’t live far away, but my pace is slow as I walk. I make a quick stop at the firehouse since it’s on the way, though I think it is a mistake. I grab the probie’s attention as he’s washing the rig and pull him aside. His eyes are wide as he takes note to my appearance. I haven’t looked in a mirror, but I can surmise that I look like some of the scary images I’ve been seeing.

“Lieutenant Gallagher, are you okay? What happened?” His eyes shoot to the suitcase, and I feel my face heat up. He doesn’t ask why I have it, and I’m glad. I can’t even think up a quick fib to justify having it with me.

“I’m fine. Listen, can you go get the Captain? I need to talk to him, but I don’t wanna go inside. Can you do that for me?”

The young candidate nods. “Why don’t you wanna go in? Lieutenant, we’re all worried about you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just having some…” I snap my fingers as I try to think up something. “I’m having some health issues. I’ll be back before you know it. Can you get him, please? And don’t tell anyone else I’m here.” I know for certain that word will spread quickly at what is going on. I’ll have to make it quick with my superior. 

I lean against the building, out of view. I push my luggage behind a nearby bush, certain that if he sees it, he’ll give me the third degree. I’m shocked at how soon he comes out. His brow is creased and he’s either frustrated or worried – I can’t tell.

“Lieutenant Gallagher.” His voice is stern as he folds his arms over his chest. “I’d like to say you leaving your tour early yesterday did you a favor, but it doesn’t appear so. Care to explain?”

Shit, I haven’t even thought up an excuse as to what happened. I could tell him the truth, but a lot of good that has done me so far. “I had a rough night. I don’t think I’ll be able to work today.”

He nods and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “No kidding! You still didn’t answer me. What in the hell happened?”

“There was someone in my house last night.” It wasn’t a lie. There really was. “I ended up having to go to the ER. I’m fine now and I hate to not come in.”

“I wouldn’t let you. Go home and get some rest, Gallagher. I don’t think you’re scheduled to come back for a few more days. Take advantage of that. I need you back in action. I need you healthy. I need you here mentally.”

“I’m fine mentally, Sir.”

He moves closer to me, so close that I can smell his aftershave. “Talking to dead little girls says otherwise, Lieutenant. Make it right and get back on the truck. We’ll be fine until then.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks back to the garage.

Of course some of the other guys are there, attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. I nod toward them and head toward my father’s house. I’m still not sure how I’m going to handle that conversation, but I have a couple of blocks to contemplate how it’s going to go.

As I walk, I pull my light windbreaker around me. The breeze is cool and I can smell fall thick in the air. Leaves fall from the trees, giving a glimmer of the orange and yellow hue that blankets the city this time of year. I pass row house after row house. Some people are out on their stoops. Some people are taking walks down the sidewalk. And some aren’t very kind, making snide comments to or about me.

“You should be on that show,
The Walking Dead.”

“You sure you didn’t escape from the hospital?”

I ignore them and move on, but something catches my eye near the alley. Damn it. I’m almost to my dad’s house. Though it’s daytime, the alley is dark from the tall buildings around it. Stopping, I squint to try and see it better. Taking a few steps forward, the voice stops me in midstep, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Don’t go in there, Lieutenant.”

It’s a whisper, but loud enough to hurt my ears. I swipe the sweat from my brow. Why the hell am I sweating? It’s like forty degrees out here. Moving forward again, the voice repeats its warning.

I get a little closer to the dumpster. Is there a homeless person there? Are they screwing with me like the people back on the stoop? Blinking, I try to clear my vision. My heart is beating so hard that I’m certain you could see it thumping against my chest.

Is that the same woman who slammed me against the mirror? I backtrack and she reaches her pale hand out. “Where you going?”

“You’re not real,” I say back. “Why are you here?”

“You thought I’d stay at your house?” She cocks her head to the side. Her dark blue veins are visible against her white skin. Her hair is stringy and oily and she has a gaping wound near her hairline on her forehead. “You’re in for a rude awakening, Lieutenant.”

“What do you mean?” Maybe I
am
crazy. I’m standing in a dirty alley trying to reason with this creepy image that could very well be something from my imagination.

“I don’t give a damn about your house. It is
you
I give a damn about. We need to finish what we started in your bathroom last night.” Her black eyes stare daggers at me and she is somehow getting closer to me without even walking. The toes of her shoes scrape against the asphalt.

At first I am frozen. I watch as she miraculously moves forward. She’s not floating, but she’s also not walking. She is literally on her tiptoes, sliding across the ground. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, but after a few seconds, my adrenaline kicks in and I run in the opposite direction. I’m not going to allow her to take hold of me again. It’s obvious her intention is to hurt me.

Lungs burning, body aching, head pounding, I sprint back out onto the sidewalk, avoiding all of the suspicious glances people are sending my way. I slow to a quick walk and look over my shoulder a few times. Of course she’s not there.

What in the hell is going on? It’s true – I really thought that the ghosts I’ve been seeing wouldn’t follow me. That’s what happens in movies, right? It’s the house that’s haunted and when Rose kicked me out, I did fear that she would have to handle it, but in this case, it’s obviously not true. The creepy razor-toothed woman is following me. She was in the alley, plain as day. I’m never going to get rid of her. What is it going to take to get my life back?

I round the corner, finally making it to my dad’s street. The row houses are a little nicer this direction and there aren’t as many people out. I hesitate as I see his mailbox just a few feet away. I think about the night he started to hate me. The night that changed everything.

Memories flood me. I see my little brother on the stoop, covered in blood. Blinking, I try to fight it. I can’t think of this right now. I need to beg my father to let me in.

“Nathan, what are you doing here?”

His voice breaks my concentration and I see him standing on the top step, the screen door leaning on him. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years and he appears to have aged a great deal in that time.

Swallowing, I stay on the sidewalk. This is harder than I thought. “Dad, we need to talk.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me. It’s the same stare he gave me that night at the hospital. “Come in. I can only imagine what this is about.”

I follow him inside, and the step over the threshold gives me the same chills as I had in the alley. There are pictures of my brother on a shelf and none of me. I know that’s how it’s always been, but it still hurts to see. He sits at the kitchen table and pours himself a glass of tea but doesn’t offer me any.

“You look like shit, Nathan.”

I lick my lips and look around the room. He’s been alone in this house since my parents divorced, not long after my brother’s death. That was damn near almost thirty-five years ago.

“I need a place to stay.”

The room falls silent again and he takes a long drink. “You mean you’re not living a perfect life with Rose and that boy of yours? I can’t imagine what you’ve done now to fuck that up.” The sarcasm is thick and I fight hard not to get angry. One sarcastic remark back and I’m out on the street.

“We’ve hit a rough patch, but things will work out. We just need space.”

He points at my face. “She do that to you? She give you that black eye?”

“That’s another long story. Rose had nothing to do with it. I know you and I don’t have the best relationship. It’ll be like I’m not even here. I’ve been busy with work and things. I just…” I rake my hand through my hair. I hate asking for help, especially from someone who can’t stand breathing the same air as me. “I just need your help, Dad.”

He looks up at me, making eye contact for the first time. “Just like Sammy needed your help?”

Here it comes. It usually isn’t this quick to come up in conversation, but he’s straight and to the point. “I helped him, Dad. I called the ambulance. I held him in my arms. I was right there.”

“Where were you when he was in the street? Where were you when the car barreled right over him and kept on going? You should’ve been watching him!” He slams his hands down on the table, rattling the tea pitcher. It’s the same line of questioning he asks me every time I’m in his presence and I still am not used to it. I feel the tears well up in the corners of my eyes. It’s something I’ve never gotten over and something I rarely talk about with anyone, not even Rose.

I know my goal was to not fight with him. After all, I’m here in his kitchen because I need his help, but I can’t stand this. I can’t help but stand up for myself. “I was ten years old. He was eight. Where were
you?
Why would you and Ma leave us alone?” I’ve never asked him that, though I’ve always wanted to. “That’s a shit load of responsibility for a kid.” I glare at him and we both keep eye contact for several seconds before he breaks it.