Chapter Four

 

CHAPTER FOUR

Seaside, OR

October 6, 1:00 AM

           

I was starting to get used to the beautiful diaphanous light in the Madam’s attic suite.  The room was mesmerizing.   It could have been photographed for a magazine.  “Maybe Victorian Homes,” I thought.  The décor of the room went perfectly with her aristocratic clothing.  A little bit scary, but still beautiful.

Madam and the Detective were staring at me as though they were waiting for me to speak, but any thoughts worth verbalizing had drained from my mind.  I moved my hand just to let them know that I was still conscious and breathing.   Finally, Madam spoke.

“Let me explain what’s happened, Mrs. Edwards,” she began.  I half listened, still taking in my surroundings.  “You see, while I’m very much alive, I’m not exactly living in your realm.  There are parallel existences about which people in your world are largely unaware.  Only the most sensitive ever catch glimpses or thoughts or even a hint of the other world going on around them.  Your world is very young.  It’s the first life for most of you who are living in it.  My world, on the other hand, consists of souls who have lived at least once previously.  Some of them have lived several lives, always in an attempt to finish their soul’s work.  The luckiest people only have to live once.  When they die in your realm, they are immediately able to pass through the light to be with our Heavenly Creator.  Some call the Creator God.  Some call him Buddha.  Some call him Allah.  I, personally, call him Frank,” she said with a wry grin.  “He doesn’t seem to mind,” she chuckled. 

“Anyway, it really doesn’t matter what we call the Creator.  There’s only one of him – or her - depending on your viewpoint.  Actually, God is neither him nor her.  God is everything.  God may present himself as whatever you need in order for you to gain understanding.  In my life here on Earth, men were thought to be the dominant beings.  I’m not going to say that I agree with that contention, but it’s what I grew used to.  For that reason, I’m going to refer to God as ‘Him.’”

“Are you with me so far, Mrs. Edwards?” asked Madam.

I looked at Chuck, whom I referred to as such, given that this whole conversation was getting awfully strange and I needed something to seem familiar, if only the more familiar version of Charles’ name.  I whispered, “Is she drunk?  Stoned?  Tripping on LSD?”

He smiled.  “No.   She’s as straight as an arrow, that one.  This lady doesn’t normally joke about God.  She must like you. Just sit with what she said for a minute or two, and then we’ll discuss things further.”

I don’t have time to wait,” I grimaced.   “I want to find Megan before it’s too late.  You sounded as though you think she might be with her boyfriend.  You said that this guy, Nick, called Megan from Seaside tonight.  Was that true?”   And I stopped with a jolt.  Couldn’t move.  Couldn’t breathe.   The truth had just hit me.  I turned toward Madam and stared.  My eyes probably looked as though they were going to burst out of my head.  I put my hands out to keep a distance between us.

“Oh, my God!!!  Oh, Holy Hell!  You’re a ghost!  You’re a ghost, aren’t you?!?  That’s why the old clothes.  Oh, good God in Heaven.  Where’s my purse?  I have to get out of here!”

Chuck put up one finger and placed it on my arm.  “Now, Susan.”

I wanted to scream “Egad!  Don’t touch me you, you Ghost Lover!!!!”  Instead, I stood stone-like, unable to say anything.  The only thing that was able to make it through to my brain was the thought that I needed to find Megan.

“There you go,” he said in an annoyingly father-like voice.  “Let’s just stay calm for Megan’s sake.”  I couldn’t help myself.  Something about his voice and his touch made me calm down.

“Damn him,” I thought.  The last time I trusted a man, I was completely wrong.  He left me in the lurch with two children to raise.  Why, in God’s name, should I trust this retired detective who picked me up in a bar?

“I wouldn’t have brought you up here,” he continued, “if I had any concern for your safety while you’re with Madam.  I’ve known for many years that she’s not like most people.  There’s a lot to be said for having more than one chance at life, even if it’s a different life than what we’d hoped for.”

“Madam can help us find Megan,” he continued.  “That’s what she does.  She doesn’t have to pick through flimsy physical evidence to find out what’s happened.  She just knows, without effort.  The trick is to help her do something meaningful with what she knows.  That’s where you and I come in.  She can’t call the police to tell them that someone – not Megan – has died from a knife wound delivered, for example, by Joe Smith at 300 Acorn St. in Cannon Beach, OR at 9:38PM on April 21^st.  That the body can be found in Mr. Smith’s basement in the closet near the back of the laundry room.  They would think that either 1) she’s insane, 2) she’s drunk or 3) she’s the real murderer and is trying to slough the crime off on Mr. Smith.  Besides, Madam isn’t able to pick up the phone.  She doesn’t have the physical presence that we have.  These are the kind of things that we can do to help her solve this case.”

“Thank you, Charles,” smiled Madam.

“Wait a minute,” I said, proud of myself for being able to verbalize anything.  “Let’s say that this is real, and we’re all going to work together to find Megan.  I’m not going to say that we are, but let’s at least pretend.”  My mind was suddenly being opened to possibilities that I’d never considered.  I wasn’t even afraid anymore.  In the midst of all of this mayhem, I somehow realized that God would protect me.  Maybe it was his angels or a saint that he’d sent to help Megan.  Something outside of me was responsible for the sudden calm that I felt.  And, cutting to the chase, I asked, “Do I have to keep calling you Madam?  It’s getting irritating.  Nobody goes by that kind of name anymore. Don’t you have a proper name that I can call you?”

She smiled, knowing that she had broken through my barrier.  “No, Dear.  I’m sorry.  While I work, I simply go by the name of Madam.  Perhaps, when this case is finished, I’ll be able to tell you my given name.  For now, though, let’s talk about what I do.  This,” she said slowly waving her hand around the room “is home to The Seaside Agency.  It’s where I make my living, so to speak.  My job, as the proprietor of this agency, is to gather entities and spirits, unlike those you have in your realm, to help investigate crimes in the living world and dispense Spiritual Justice.  Spirits, ghosts, elementals – we’ve got them all.  I don’t however, deal with demons in my line of work. I dealt with enough of them in the living world.  They were useless then, and they’re even worse now.  Satan, be damned, I say!”  This actually caused her to laugh.  The serious Madam was becoming more of a living being as time went on.

All I could do was stare with what I’m certain was a deer in the headlights look.

“No,” she continued.  “I’ll never be living again, at least in your terms.  You’re just becoming less afraid, so you’re able to see the real me.  Everything is about perception.  You’ll see in the world, whatever you’re ready to see, and you’ll be in the world, whatever you’re ready to be.  It’s taken me an entire lifetime, plus some, to learn that.  I hope you’re a quicker study than I was.”

A quiet cough from the detective brought them back to the present.

“You’re being awfully quiet there, Chuck,” I muttered.

“Excuse me,” he replied.  “She was just getting started, and my cough stopped the momentum.  Madam, please continue.”

“No, Charles.  Your cough always seems to get worse as the night goes on.  I can tell you that Megan is in no immediate danger, and I believe that we’ll all be better off to postpone this meeting until you’ve had a few hours to rest.  Susan, I know that’s a lot to ask of you, but please be assured that we’ll meet Megan at the appointed time, and not before then.  Please let your daughter, Riley, know that the police have a solid lead.  That’ll help her sleep, and it’s not so far off the mark.  I am a type of policeman, after all.  And the detective is a real policeman, just retired.  That puts us still within the boundaries of honesty.  I’ll bid you both good night and will see you in the morning.”

And that was that.  Madam stayed upstairs.  Chuck went to his apartment, which was apparently in the basement of the tavern.  And I took my leave and started walking up Broadway Street toward the Promenade.  I went over and over everything that had happened.  Maybe Riley laced my Diet Pepsi with LSD.  That would explain a lot.  “No,” I thought.  “Who am I kidding?  Riley’s the good daughter.  She’d never do a thing like that.  Hell, even Megan wouldn’t have done that during her days as an active addict.  She didn’t try to hurt other people.  She just hurt herself.”

When I reached the Promenade, I turned right toward the Ebb Tide Inn.  A well-dressed, wealthy looking young man with black hair and dark eyes passed me.  A pretty young dark-haired girl about Megan’s age was with him.   She was wearing a cute little flouncy yellow dress.  As he passed he flashed a quick smile, showing his perfect white teeth. “What a catch,” I thought.  “Why couldn’t Megan have gone out with someone like that?”

I kept walking.  Past the other hotels, past the aquarium, past all of the lovers huddling around their beach fires.  After what felt like a hundred miles, I thought as my weary bones began complaining, I reached the hotel.  How was I going to tell Riley that I’d just had a meeting with a ghost wearing a Victorian gown in an attic that was either empty and completely dark or furnished in ornate, antique furniture with expensive rugs on the floor and a shining crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.  What was I supposed to say?

I walked into Room 204, threw my purse on the bed and gave the best explanation I could come up with: “The police have a solid lead.  We’ll get started again first thing in the morning.”