Give Up the Ghost Page 23

  “Portia represents abused women,” I throw out there.

  “These men were eventually caught but how many people did they kill before they were?”

  The crowd titters again and Clayton holds up his hand. “That’s not going to happen here. Not on my watch.”

  Patrice huffs and several women cross their arms across their chests.

  “What about Maribelle?” Kelly asks. “What plan do you have for her?”

  Maribelle stands fearless like a sentinel off to the side.

  “We have a suspect in the murder of Jack Greene, but he’s been eluding us as well,” Clayton explains.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” a woman in the back yells.

  Clayton sends Maribelle an uneasy look. “These things take time, I’m afraid. You can’t force justice or it will backfire in your face. Unfortunately, what we have against Gunner Bronagh right now is mostly circumstantial.”

  This does not sit well with the crowd but Maribelle’s countenance never falters.

  “Let me get this straight,” Patrice says, standing. “The man terrorizing our community is still out there and you can’t catch him, and the man responsible for Maribelle’s husband’s death is running around town because you don’t have enough evidence on him.”

  This sets the crowd abuzz once more and Clayton runs a nervous hand through his hair, knows he’s losing both control and the trust of the group. If he ever had their trust.

  Maribelle holds up her hands. “Friends, you can’t rush into things or the courts will throw the case out. I’m sure Agent Clayton knows what he’s doing and likely I’m still a suspect until further notice.”

  I gaze at Maribelle who’s watching the action without emotion. I think of how different she appears now than when we first arrived, when she hardly gave me the time of day and distrusted our reasons for moving to the cove. And now, when she’s convinced the town has been infiltrated by an epidemic of paranoia, she appears calm and collected.

  I slip to her side.

  “What do you know that no one else does?” I whisper.

  She nods to the room that has dissolved into chaos, women arguing with each other, Kelly exclaiming that their homes are in danger, Clayton attempting to regain control.

  “Fear does this to people.”

  I think back to earlier tonight when TB and I had resolved to leave town, right after Dwayne set fire to Sebastian’s restaurant and threatened my life. Again.

  “We have a lot to be fearful of.”

  Maribelle shakes her head. “Then they win.”

  “But our lives are at risk.”

  When she finally looks my way, her eyes are filled with sadness, as if her months-long teachings have been for naught.

  “So, what do we do, Vi? Give up Emma’s Cove to development? Leave our homes in this idyllic place because some men are jealous of what we have?”

  “I think Dwayne is more about revenge.”

  “Whatever.” Now, her dander is up and I regret my impulsive comment. “It never stops. There’s always someone out there who means us harm, wants what we have, out to get revenge, especially toward women. We have to stand up to the onslaught or we will always be the ones burned at the stake.”

  In my peripheral vision, I catch a small slice of lightning over a distant mountain. I think of Caroline Montclair, standing up to the drunk men of Lightning Bug on that dark, horrible night, refusing to give in to their demands and that she return to an abusive husband. Emma Harrington re-imagined her in fabric, a courageous woman who stood her ground with love, not fear.

  I think of the hundreds of women who also perished in fire over the centuries, accused, like Caroline, of something sinister and evil.

  Suddenly, I’m ashamed of wanting to run from this place, this remarkable oasis where women thrived despite the violence that constantly threatened. How do I turn my back on their stories and struggles, especially when it’s been me who brought the enemy here?

  “Magic happens when we tap into that power.”

  Like that lightning bolt cascading down from the heavens, a strike of energy flows through me. And I realize, too, what changed about Maribelle over the past few months. I gaze at my husband standing quietly at the side of the action, with two black eyes and possibly a headache from hell, but watching his neighbors with concern. I touch my core and feel two innocent young lives moving within. My sister’s animatedly speaking with my journalism friends, assuring them the law will be on our side, while Sebastian sends Maribelle a loving smile.

  Can love give us strength, fight off the evils of the world?

  It happened once. I was hired to help rid a town of ghosts in central Louisiana and found more than I bargained for, mainly a company dumping toxic waste into a spring, polluting the town’s water system. I had read about Masaru Emoto, a Japanese scientist who studied water crystals and found that energy, either positive or negative, had a profound impact on the water’s makeup. Positive thoughts and words created beautiful water crystals while negative thoughts and words produced distorted ones. He believed that words and thoughts were vibrations called “Hado,” which means wave. If the energy of a place was negative, people would say that its Hado was low. If a place emitted good vibes, people believed it had a powerful Hado.

  “These vibrational waves of thought, words and consciousness can change things, even at the atomic level,” I had told the Louisiana townspeople before rallying them to action. “If all energy is vibrating, then we can change anything by shifting the vibration.”

  And we did. Together, with our hearts filled with love, we asked the departed roaming the town to return to their resting places. Then we blessed the waters, our hands connected, and what resulted was powerful.

  “I know what to do.”

  Without so much of a word between us, Maribelle smiles, nods her head. She’s with me. And the energy that suddenly appears between us flows outward, creating waves throughout the room like a pebble thrown into the cove. One by one people stop arguing and look our way, until the room becomes silent and all that’s heard is the sound of distant thunder.

  “Patrice,” Maribelle calls out to the diner’s owner, “get the salt. The rest of you follow us to the Village Green.”

  The crowd begins to murmur now that something concrete is called for, and some begin to question our actions.

  “We’ll explain when we get there,” I say, and we all head toward the door.

  Maribelle, however, pauses at the threshold, turns toward Clayton and Sheridan.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather the FBI stay out of this.”

  Sheridan looks insulted. “Don’t be silly, you can’t go down there alone.”

  “And like you’re going to keep us safe?” someone from the back shouts out.

  Clayton ponders this scenario and finally looks at Sheridan, nodding toward the door. Sheridan appears surprised to be dismissed but he follows orders and heads out to the parking lot where the Lightning Bug police are still milling about.

  Maribelle smiles smugly at Clayton. “Uh, that means you, too, Agent.”

  Clayton leans toward both of us. “I can help.”

  This makes Maribelle laugh. “I can’t speak for the rest of the group, but you’ve help me enough, thank you very much.”

  Clayton straightens, glances over to TB who’s been following me to the door. Clayton leans in to speak to Maribelle and me but he’s looking straight at my husband.

  “You need to trust me because we can help.”

  TB shoots me a worried look and I shake my head. I want to explain that Clayton knows of his predilection but I wasn’t the one who spilled the beans, but saying as much will only bring the secret out.

  “We?” Maribelle asks, following Clayton’s gaze, finally landing on mine.

  I suddenly realize everyone’s staring at me and I honestly don’t have the answer. I have no idea what Clayton is made of, nor what he’s capable of doing. But he’s been on my side since I met
him in Galveston, seems to understand the mysterious nature of life.

  I shrug and give in, hoping this “supe” of a man won’t kill us all.

  “We could use all the help we can get,” I say, hoping for the best.

  Maribelle sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I hope so, too, I think, as she heads out the door with Emma’s Cove residents, my family, and three journalists following behind. Stinky trots alongside.

  TB grabs my elbow and pulls me aside.

  “I never said a word,” I tell him.

  “But how does he know?”

  I raise my shoulders, then fall back in line, heading down to the brown patch in the center of the Village Green that skirts the shore of our cove. When we arrive to the place where nothing grows, enveloped by darkness due to the continuing storm and lack of moonlight, everyone pauses and looks to Maribelle for guidance.

  “Make a circle,” she commands. “Hold hands.”

  Most of the women move to encircle the brown patch while Patrice pours salt around the exterior and Maribelle begins chanting a protection mantra. I pull my six protection stones from my pocket, which I carry with me always, and place them in the circle’s center.

  Stinky never leaves my side, watches me carefully. Even though I know he hates oppressive affection, I pick him up and give him a tight squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of his head. Surprisingly, he lets me.

  “Love you, cat.”

  “What do I do?” Portia asks me, looking out of place, but Sebastian reaches over and leads her to the circle, grasping hands with the rest of the residents.

  Morgan and Nellie hang back, naturally acting as reporters and not participants, but Carol heads to the circle and joins in.

  “Y’all aren’t coming?” she asks them.

  I think to explain how reporters never participate — it’s their job to be on the outside of the action — but Clayton places his hands on their shoulders and pushes them forward and the two fall into place.

  Clayton, however, remains outside the activity, not taking a hand from one of the women when it’s offered. When I look for my husband, he’s lingering on the periphery as well, speaking quietly to Clayton. I’m not the only one noticing their odd behavior. Kelly drops her hands from the women on either side.

  “What’s going on?” she asks nervously.

  Maribelle pauses and all eyes turn toward the two men and a quietness descends upon the group. Off in the distance, I hear a peal of thunder so faint you’d think it was a truck on the northbound highway on the other side of the lake. Even the trees are quiet tonight, motionless as if they, too, are waiting for Clayton and TB to explain. TB looks at me with widened eyes, as if silently asking me what to do.

  “You have to trust us,” Clayton says softly.

  The crowd begins to murmur and Kelly crosses her arms across her chest. “Trust you? Are you kidding?”

  I feel a combination of paranoia, anger, and fear rise from this place, the same darkness I felt months ago when TB, Sebastian, and I paused here. The rancid energy snakes up from the ground, slithering around our legs to pull us under. My skin crawls with the sensation, my heart races.

  “No!” I shout, as much to stop the evil rising as to take back control of the group. “We have to stop this.”

  “But, not with him,” Kelly begins, pointing at Clayton.

  “He’s not the enemy.” I point to the dark ground that’s been lying in the heart of Emma’s Cove for decades. “We are. Poisoned by whatever past lingers here. It’s time we move on and we can’t do that fighting among ourselves and using that energy against each other.”

  “But, he’s not one of us,” a woman states.

  I turn toward the massive man, recall both the moment he entered my houseboat for the first time, being welcomed by my feline, and then earlier this evening, holding my precious cat like a baby. I look down at Stinky who winks.

  “Of course, he is,” I tell them softly.

  “I don’t know,” Kelly says, shaking her head.

  “I do,” I say with more confidence than I really have. “I say we do whatever Clayton asks of us.”

  Reluctantly, everyone resumes holding hands and we create a large circle that surrounds the dark patch of land. I let Stinky down and he enters the circle’s center where he joins Maribelle facing east toward my houseboat and her motel, her arms outstretched. She calls upon God and the Goddess for protection and a couple of the women release a hand to make the sign of the cross.

  “I consecrate this circle of power, asking for assistance from those with us here tonight and those who have passed before,” Maribelle begins. “To our Mother, who gives us life, may you purify your land of the trouble lingering here.”

  A breeze stirs the woods around us and the tree tops rustle. Maribelle turns clockwise to the south.

  “Give us the courage, oh sacred ones, to face the challenges before us, to meet evil head-on and defeat its wicked warriors who mean us harm.”

  Something tepid and ominous leaks up from the ground. I’m not the only one who senses this, for several women twitch in discomfort. Maribelle turns to the west.

  “I call upon the spirits of our ancestors, the sprites of the forest, to God and the Goddess. Help us rid this place of all evil. Let us forgive those who mean us harm. Help heal the horrors that have occurred here and leave only love in its place.”

  The darkness intensifies and there’s an angry energy swirling about, moving counterclockwise within the circle. I look at Maribelle who’s struggling to remain upright and unfaltering as she turns her attention to the north. Stinky has sunk his claws into the earth, his back fur standing straight up. He’s howling for all the world.

  “To our cove and the waters that sustain all life,” Maribelle yells over the noise toward the lake. “Keeper of dreams and love, please cleanse this sacred space and make it whole again so that whatever life bursts forth will be sustained.”

  Finally, Maribelle returns to facing east, but the energy is now at its apex. I can barely make out my neighbor in the darkness flowing around me.

  “As we return east, to the coming of the dawn, may fresh life spring forth from this troubled spot and may the sun rise on our blessed cove free of all evil that resided here.”

  She struggles to remain standing, shouting out, “May we be grateful for all healing established here tonight. We thank you. Blessed be.”

  We barely make out Maribelle in the commotion but most of us glimpse her arms waving for us to repeat her last words. Several women recant the final blessing, others cry out “Amen,” but the dark energy only intensifies and I know I’m not the only one thinking this may not have worked, that whatever festers on this lone piece of earth is stronger than we imagined.

  But I’m not ready to give up. I look at TB and he nods.

  “Close your eyes,” Clayton shouts out.

  “What?” says the woman to my right.

  “Close your eyes,” I tell her.

  “I don’t understand.” She’s scared and not trusting so I squeeze her hand and lean close so we can see eye to eye. “Please. We can do this.”

  She’s frightened to the core, but she nods. I yell to the others to do the same and one by one the women close their eyes.

  “Do not open them until I say so,” Clayton says. “Please, you must trust me.”

  The darkness swirls around me so hard now my head aches from the clamour. Stinky continues to howl and Maribelle’s still chanting in the center but the energy’s angry and mean, seeping into our pores as if to unravel us all. The woman to my left squeezes my hand so hard I feel my bones may break and my other neighbor whimpers quietly.

  “It’ll be okay,” I tell her, hoping I’m right.

  Suddenly, the storm arrives. The trees release a burst of activity, waving as though possessed as the wind hits our circle like a hurricane. Great, I think, now it’s going to pour on us, but the rain doesn’t come. I hear Clayton murmuring somet
hing incomprehensible behind me but I keep my eyes closed. The wind picks up speed and the trees respond and that angry vibration in the center of the circle cries out like a battered animal. Whatever Clayton’s doing is working its magic for the energy struggles to remain, rising up angry and aggressive, but falling back with less force. Each time, the vibration becomes weaker and weaker.

  Finally, the darkness rises one final time, pushing upward, emitting a sound that turns our blood cold. It’s stronger now than ever, feeling like it’s reaching into our souls and stealing pieces.

  “No,” shrieks a woman in the crowd.

  “This is too much,” yells another.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Maribelle warns them. “Don’t let it move you. Come from a place of love.”

  I think of my precious angelic husband, whose role in life is to rescue those in danger and make the world a better place. I remember my darling Lillye, whose smile and laughter could change the worst day to the finest, even when she was gasping for her last breaths. I savor the precious children inside me, my family, my friends, the circle of which I’m a part. I’m surrounded by love.

  And in that moment when I’m certain my ear drum will explode, I spot through my eyelids a white light encompassing the area. Its loving force warm and comforting wraps around us like a giant hug, slips beneath our feet and thrusts the evil force into oblivion. As quickly as the light appeared, the darkness resumes.

  In its place falls sudden silence.

  We all stagger from the impact, open our eyes and gaze at each other in amazement. Maribelle’s gasping in the circle’s center, looking from one person to the next to make sure we’re all right. Whatever darkness resided inside the circle has disappeared, the trees silent and unmoving, even the sky shows signs of stars.

  “What just happened?” the woman on my left utters.

  Does it matter? I think. The air turns cool and inviting, the frogs call out to one another along the shore — even the trees appear happier, as if the removal of evil makes their branches lighter. Patrice laughs and others join in.