tilwemeetagain (3 page)

* * *

Cassie spent the morning on the web searching for anyone to assist her with her current predicament. Yes, insane, and at first she
’
d wondered if it had all been a dream. However, she couldn
’
t discount what had happened. The ghost had interacted with her and asked for help.

It shocked her to discover Savannah, Georgia was well known for ghost sightings. Maybe she wasn
’
t crazy after all.

After hours of scanning the internet, she
’
d narrowed down the list to one person. A medium who lived in town. Christine Cox even had a website,
Ghosts Are Friends
. Strange, but true.

Cassie placed a quick telephone call and Christine agreed to come to the house later to see what she could uncover. After the call, Cassie buried herself in her work to make it through the day.

Two more rooms done, dinner made, and Cassie
’
s muscles ached as she settled down to eat. Onto her last bite of lasagna, a soft knock at the door mirrored the chime of the grandfather clock as it struck nine p. m. Cassie threw her plate and silverware into the sink and ran toward the door. Once she opened it, her breath faltered.

She expected an aged woman with long silver hair¯ a witch or something? The woman in front of her, however, could
’
ve been her best friend. Light brown pixie hair surrounded a round face with blue eyes that were pretty behind the dark eyeliner.

“Are you Christine?”

“Yes.” Christine offered a kind smile. “You must be Cassie.”

Cassie attempted to return the smile, although, found it difficult. She doubted Christine held the ability to converse with ghosts. How could she with so few years behind her? Realizing she stood there saying nothing, Cassie widened the door and found her voice. “Please come in.”

What could she do, turn her away? Christine
’
s visit had cost her three hundred dollars, and Cassie recognized she had made a terrible mistake.

Christine stepped through the threshold and looked around. “Normal procedure is I take a tour of the house—”

“Oh, go ahead,” Cassie interjected, closing the door with a slam.

“Actually, I don
’
t have to. I feel him already.” Christine smiled.

Cassie
’
s mouth dropped open. “You do?”

“His essence is strong.” Christine strode toward the living room. “In here—yes—” Her words trailed off as she left a flabbergasted Cassie at the door.

Recovering from her shock, Cassie forced her feet to move and joined Christine in the living room to find Christine sitting on the chaise.

“It
’
s here.” Christine rubbed her hands along the soft crimson fabric.

Cassie glanced around, looking for the
‘
it
’
, but found nothing. “Sorry, what
’
s here?”

“The ghost,” Christine replied. “It isn
’
t attached to the house.” She patted the seat
’
s cushion. “It
’
s attached to the chaise.”

To most people, her words might sound insane. To Cassie, it made a whole lot of sense. Nothing supernatural had happened until the antiques had been delivered to the home. Plus, the connection she
’
d felt to the chaise at the store. Could it be the ghost himself which captivated her?

“Do you want to know about him?” Christine asked.

Cassie sat with a heavy thud on the couch across from Christine in disbelief. Cassie had suspected the ghost existed. Now, though, it hit her. Something she never believed in just became all too real. “You can do that?”

Christine nodded and closed her eyes. “Let
’
s see. . . .”

A few minutes passed while Cassie stared at her. Did Christine talk to him in her mind? Put out some kind of mental feelers? The minutes drew on and Cassie
’
s curiosity built. She couldn
’
t take the suspense any longer.

“What
’
s he saying?”

“He doesn
’
t speak to me like you
’
re thinking.” Christine opened her eyes. “It
’
s a message he sends, a word I
’
ll hear.”

“Oh…” Cassie couldn
’
t wrap her head around the concept. What would he be saying? His name? The date he died? What in the world would a ghost need to get off his chest? She gave up trying to figure it out and moved along. “What message did you get from him?”

Christine cocked her head to the side, her expression indecisive. “His name starts with an
E
. Edward. . . Evan. . . no…no…Ethan.” Her head tilted the opposite way, focused. “Ethan Thomas. He
’
s quite an old spirit, I
’
m guessing a few hundred years old, and he died during the Civil War.”

Cassie couldn
’
t help the laugh that spilled from her lips. “You
’
re kidding, right?” How could he be so old and still exist? Freaked her out a little, yet saddened her to know he had been in such a state for so long.

“It can be shocking to hear, but no, I
’
m quite serious. I
’
m not sure what has happened to him or why he
’
s attached to the chaise. I do get the sense he
’
s desolate.”

Cassie
’
s heart clenched, hearing of his pain upset her more than it ought to. To know he
’
d spent all those years alone, and would do so for all of eternity, cut her deep. She needed a resolution.

“Can we help him?”

“By help him, you mean, send him to the other side?”

Cassie considered her words. She should want him to cross over, however, why didn
’
t she? “I
’
m—well—”

“I sense that too.” Christine gave a knowing look while she cut Cassie
’
s stumbling off. ”The connection you two have.”

Cassie tried to make sense out of how Christine figured it out, and wasn
’
t thrilled she knew. Being connected to a ghost issued her a one way ticket to the mental hospital. She took safe haven in knowing if she could be claimed as mentally instable, so could Christine. “You can sense a connection from him?”

“Yeah, he
’
s quite attached to you. I keep hearing him say your name. Maybe you
’
re the one who needs to help him move on?”

Easier said than done.

“And just how do I do that?”

Christine shrugged. “There are lots of things you can do, but I
’
d suggest you try and talk to him.”

“Yeah, been there, which brought you. You
’
re the one who
’
s supposed to talk with him.”

“Apparently not,” Christine retorted. “He doesn
’
t want me. He wants you.”

Leaving Cassie up Shit
’
s Creek.

“So, what do I do?”

“I would summon him back so you can speak face-to-face.”

“Did I hear you right?” Cassie laughed

Christine nodded.

“Okay, I
’
m sorry, I
’
ve never believed in ghosts, and now you
’
re telling me I can
summon
him up and make him real again?”

“No, not just you, Ethan has to want it too. I
’
ve never seen a ghost so attached to a living person before. Together, you can make it happen. It
’
s quite simple. You do a summoning spell at his grave. You
’
ll lend him some of your energy and the boost will bring him back into physical form. It
’
s important to find out what he needs from you before the energy fades away, or he
’
ll get stuck here again, and you won
’
t be able to bring him back.”

A comment straight out of the encyclopedia of nut jobs. Without a doubt, Christine had more going on here than physic abilities.

“What are you, a witch or something?”

“Some might say so, I suppose,” Christine replied in a shy tone. “I just have connections to the ghost world. These spells have been passed down through generations of women like me.”

Cassie couldn
’
t help but be intrigued. Was it possible? Would she meet Ethan? Did she want to? Yes, she did.

“Tell me what I have to do?”

At Bonaventure cemetery
,
Cassie kept her flashlight out in front of her. Her last words at the house were, “Help is coming.
”
She hoped Ethan heard her and understood she wanted to free him. Maybe some of her reasons were selfish. She
’
d become consumed with the need to meet him face-to-face and understand why she seemed so connected to him. The other reason, no one deserved to exist as he had.

Christine stayed next to her as they walked the cemetery reading each headstone as they passed. An extraordinary cemetery, willow trees decorated the landscape between gothic tombstones. It looked old, pretty though, maybe even a little bit spooky.

Cassie tried her best not to focus on the scary bit and kept her gaze on the headstones. They
’
d been here an hour now searching and had come up with nothing resembling Ethan
’
s name.

“Are you sure we
’
re in the right place?”

Christine shrugged. “There are other cemeteries here in Savannah, however, this one is the oldest and is known to have Civil War soldiers laid to rest here.”

With the question resolved, she came up with the next possible reason they hadn
’
t found anything yet.

“Maybe you have his name wrong?”

“No.” Christine shook her head. “He was quite persistent I get his name right.”

Cassie shook her head and looked back out toward the gravesites. A bit hard to wrap her head around the idea, but her old views had changed the day she brought the
chaise back to the house. Normal just didn
’
t register in her mind anymore.

One by one, Cassie continued to scan the headstones. Twenty minutes later, defeat sank in. They
’
d worked their way through the entire cemetery and came to the last row of graves.

She passed by one and a tall monument came into view. The moment her flashlight illuminated its inscription, she froze in her tracks. Somehow she found words to escape her tight throat. “
Ethan Thomas, Major 66th Regiment, Georgia Volunteers, Confederate States Army. Killed in battle near Atlanta, Georgia, July 22, 1864. Aged 25 years.
”
Her heart thumped in her chest and she turned back to Christine.

“Oh my God, we found him.”

Christine smiled. “We did.”

Cassie dropped to her knees and rested over the top of his grave. She reached out and touched the old headstone. Her hand trailed across a sword etched into the stone with ribbon wrapping around it and a Southern Cross of Honor at the bottom. The granite was cold beneath her fingertips, but being there sent a warm energy blasting through her body.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“It
’
s a two-step process.” Christine took a seat beside Cassie on the ground. “First, lay back on the grave.”

Cassie did so and awaited further instruction.

“Now, close your eyes and begin to breathe in and out through your nose. Let yourself relax.”

“Easy for you to say.”

When Christine didn
’
t respond to her banter, Cassie figured she better get on with it and closed her eyes. After a few long, steady breaths, her body released some of its nervous tension and her heartbeat slowed.

“Okay, now count backwards from your current age, out loud,” Christine went on. “As you count, breathe in for every three numbers, and let out one breath for every three numbers. Remember to hold the image of Ethan in your mind.”

Cassie concentrated on Ethan. Not a physical image of him, since she had no idea what he looked like. More so, the connection she felt to him and the experience she had when she first touched the chaise. Keeping her focus on the sensation, she counted back from twenty-five.

She couldn
’
t even tell how much time had passed, nor how many times she repeated the numbers when Christine whispered, “You
’
re in what
’
s called suspended state.”

Or maybe she didn
’
t whisper. To Cassie
’
s ears, it sounded slow and far away.

“Now, talk to him. Tell Ethan you want him to come forward, and need him to step out of the ghost world and into ours.”

Cassie stopped counting back, kept up the rhythm of her breath and thought in her mind.
“Ethan, I welcome you here. Please come forward and join me.”
She opened her eyes as a cold breeze swept across her.

Expecting to see him, she shot straight up and glanced around. He wasn
’
t there. After a lingering look, her gaze came back to Christine. “Did you feel how the air got cold?”

Christine nodded. “He
’
s responding.”

“But he
’
s not here.” Cassie looked around again for good measure, disappointed at the dark sky around her. “Why isn
’
t he here?”

“Because we
’
re not done with the summoning yet.” Christine reached over to grab the bag she had brought with her, pulling out two bottles of rum and some spiritweed, as she called it. “You can only do the spell at midnight,” she continued as she took the stick and wrapped the spiritweed around it. Once completed, she stood and looked down to Cassie. “Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

Christine nodded, firm in her stance. “You have to do the spell naked.”

“Why do I need to be naked?” Cassie squeaked.

“It
’
s believed clothing inhibits the energy to be received from the spell. Being naked opens the body to the elements and the magic,” Christine replied.

Cassie considered getting the hell out of the cemetery and away from the Witch—or whatever she claimed to be. However, Cassie felt the cold breeze against her skin as if something had happened. She couldn
’
t stop now. Putting her reservations aside, she stepped out of her clothes. As she dropped her panties, she chuckled at the insanity of her current situation.

“Do you do this often?”

Christine laughed. “No, but don
’
t worry, I
’
m going to pretend you aren
’
t naked and I
’
ll keep my eyes on your face.”

“Thank God,” Cassie exhaled, and stood, stark naked while the wind tickled her skin. She glanced up at Christine and was happy to note she made good on her promise to keep her eyes focused dead center on hers.

“Now what?”

Christine reached down for one of the bottles of rum, and as she stood back up she handed it to her.

“Place the bottle at the head of the tombstone.”

More than absurd, Cassie took the bottle from her, approached the headstone and squatted down. After Cassie placed the bottles at the head of the grave, Christine continued, “I
’
m not going to be able to talk anymore so you have to follow my instructions okay? There needs to be only you and the spirit, so I will have to keep my presence limited.”

Cassie nodded.

“Take the spiritweed stick and strike the tombstone three times, then call to Ethan and repeat what
’
s on the gravestone and add,
Come to me.
Once you
’
re done, place the second bottle of rum at the foot of the grave, strike the ground beside it three times and repeat the words. After you open both bottles of rum, leave the grave.” She gestured behind her. “I
’
ll gather up your clothes and take them with me. Remember though, as you walk away after the summoning, keep your back to the grave and whatever you do, don
’
t look back.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It just does.” Christine shrugged. “It
’
s how the spell needs to be done if you want it to work. Got it?”

Did she get it? Oh yeah, she understood she
’
d up and lost her mind. Standing nude in the middle of a cemetery with a woman who could be a witch, even if she wouldn
’
t admit it. Could the situation get anymore insane? Instead of making herself more of an idiot, she answered her. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay.” Christine reached down and grabbed all of Cassie
’
s clothes from the ground. She smiled over her shoulder and walked away. “Good luck.”

Cassie returned the smile before turning back to the tombstone. She hoped no one came into
the area. If anyone caught sight of a naked woman standing at a tombstone, she couldn
’
t imagine what they
’
d think of her. Off to jail she
’
d go! She held no interest in being the crazy pervert from New York City who enjoyed getting naked with dead people. More so, if Stephanie could see her now—oh, she
’
d be laughing her ass off.

To get the show on the road, Cassie held the stick tight in her hand and hit the tombstone three times, then repeated what Christine had told her.

The graveyard sat all too quiet—eerie. Ignoring the flickers of fear, she grabbed the other bottle of rum and placed it where she thought the foot of the grave would be. With the stick still in her hand, she hit the ground three times and said again, “Ethan Thomas, Major 66th Regiment, Georgia Volunteers, Confederate States Army. Killed in battle near Atlanta, Georgia, July 22, 1864. Aged 25 years
.
Come to me.”

Nothing happened, which didn
’
t surprise her. Christine said she had to follow her instructions exactly. Continuing on, she reached down and opened the first bottle of rum and held the cap in her hand. Crap, she hadn
’
t thought to ask if she should take the cap with her or leave it behind.

After mulling it over, she decided to leave it. It seemed like the right choice. Everything else stayed, it should too. She placed it on the ground next to the bottle and approached the first bottle. There, she opened it and again left the cap, leaving the stick of spiritweed beside it. Without a word, she turned around, said a little prayer to herself and walked toward Christine who waited on the other side of the cemetery.

She never looked back, but wanted too. Would Ethan be standing there? Would he be waiting for her? How she wanted him to be there.

Christine held out her clothes, and Cassie re-dressed in haste. After she put her shoes back on, she asked, “Is he there?”

“No.” Christine
’
s gaze stayed trained on the graved behind Cassie.

“What do you mean?” How could he not be there? She
’
d followed Christine
’
s instructions by the book. He had to be there.

“I
’
m not sure.” Christine looked away from the grave and met her gaze again. “I
’
ve seen the spell done before and it worked.” A soft expression crossed her face as she raised her hand to Cassie
’
s shoulder. “I
’
m sorry.”

Cassie
’
s heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Her throat tightened as a lump formed there. “How can that be though? I did it all like you said.”

“You did.” Christine offered with sad eyes. “But it doesn
’
t always work. Ethan held the choice to come forward. If he didn
’
t take it, there
’
s nothing you can do.”

Thoughts crowded Cassie
’
s mind. Why wouldn
’
t he take it? He said he wanted help and now she held no power. Forever gone. Her heart crumpled to pieces.