The Crossover

The Crossover

Copyright © E. Clay 2014

New Paradigm Publishers-All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-9891548-1-9 (ebook)

ISBN 978-0-9891548-6-4 (paperback)

Typesetting by
wordzworth.com

Conversion to eBook by
www.wordzworth.com

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

This book is inspired by true paranormal events, but names and some events have been changed to protect the privacy of those portrayed both living and deceased.

T
he Crossover
is a book about secrets, dark ones. Clay, the lead character, lives in England and rekindles a relationship from 1991 with Monet. They have a secret, his name is Robert.

Clay visits his mother in Detroit, Michigan and finds his deceased father’s journal from 1959. The last entry in the journal reveals a family secret that involves a dead husband and wife. Their names were Gerald and Delcine.

Clay’s neighbor, Carl, a London-based detective has a secret that he’s keeping from the Press. A secret that’s killing single women looking for love online. Carl receives a lead from a star witness who is dying to help. Inspired by true paranormal events.

The Crossover
tells the story of a retired psychic entertainer who encounters a strange old woman who delivers a message from the dead. The retired entertainer, a non-believer of the paranormal, is disturbed by the message and searches for its meaning. His journey becomes an indoctrination into the real paranormal against the backdrop of a secret love from the past. The end culminates into a true murder mystery that will keep you guessing.

Do ghosts really exist?
This is his account.

M
y heart was racing a million beats per second as I sat in the back of a yellow cab. It was subzero temperatures that night and the wind was howling. I was so nervous just thinking about being reunited with a love that eluded me over twenty years ago. Vivid flashbacks of days and nights of endless passion were on constant loop in my mind. I thought I would never see Monet ever again after she just disappeared without a trace. I was still numb over the recent revelation that she was pregnant with my child when she decided to go back to her husband back in 1991. It remained a well-guarded secret all these years, even from me. I was on my way to meet them both at a restaurant nearby. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be introduced but I would leave that up to her. I wondered if he resembled me.

Every once in a blue moon, I deliberately took steps that I knew would ultimately change the course of my life forever. This would be one of those times; but nothing could make me turn back. I was convinced Monet was back in my life for a reason. Since we were now both single we had a genuine chance of having a life together. I knew exactly what I wanted but I was unsure about her perspective.

“That will be seven dollars please,” the cab driver stated as he stopped the meter.

As I reached into my wallet I spotted a woman inside the restaurant whom I believed to be Monet sitting down in a booth near the front entrance. I tipped the driver and watched his bright tail lights disappear into the madness of bumper-to-bumper traffic. I breathed into my cupped hands and I could smell
Jack Daniels
as steam jetted between my clasped fingers. I downed a couple of miniatures to chillax after hearing about our love child only hours before. I threw back a couple of mints to mask my breath. I didn’t want Monet to think I’d become an alky over the last twenty years.

Should I kiss her on the lips, the cheek or should I shake her hand? I was getting more and more nervous as I approached the main entrance.
Wow!
It was her, and she was just like I remembered but more alluring. My feelings were still very much intact after all these years. Monet was strikingly beautiful with light brown eyes, jet black, shoulder-length hair and a smile that could warm your heart. She was wearing a red lace top and a pair of jeans. No one wore jeans like Monet. She had a small waist that was accentuated by womanly hips, my weakness. Perhaps there were prettier women in the world, but not in my eyes. My hands began shaking and I placed them in my coat pockets to hide them. As soon as she noticed me she smiled and waved. That’s all it took to calm and settle me. I took a deep breath and walked over to her table where she sat opposite the son I’d never met, until now.

“Clay, over here, over here,” Monet called out as she stood.

“Monet? Wow, you look great. You look exactly the same as you did back in ninety-one,” I replied as I sat next to her and kissed her on the cheek.

Monet was vibrant and I could tell she was glad to see me by the excitement in her voice and the effervescence in her eyes.

“Robert, this is... Clay. We go way back to the Camp Pendleton days, before you were even born. He lives in the UK now and is here on business,” Monet said as she helped remove my coat and sat closer to me in the booth.

Robert smiled and shook my hand. I felt butterflies in my gut as our hands clasped. I kept looking for distinct traits and facial features that were common in my family. Robert was one hundred percent Monet. He was much more of a Dawson than a Thompson. I paid close attention to his smile and I noticed the slight gap in between his front two teeth, a trait that my dad and all his brothers had. I took this as confirmation he was my son. He was delightful and a joy to converse with. You could tell he was a Marine from a mile away. His upright carriage and mannerisms were telltale signs, not to mention his high fade haircut. Apparently he was leaving for Afghanistan in the morning. He seemed to be excited about his imminent deployment. I could tell Monet was not happy about it.

“Mr. Clay, so how did you meet my mom?” Robert asked with intrigue.

“Ah, um, ahhh,” I stammered.

Monet immediately turned to me and answered.

“Clay, how could you forget? You hypnotized me to overcome my insomnia. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right, you were my first client.”

Robert was fascinated.

“Wow, never met a hypnotist before. So when you did my mom did it work?”

Monet interjected.

“Yes, dear. I was a huge skeptic at first, but Clay made a believer out of me. I went to a few of his stage hypnosis shows and I think he converted a lot of non-believers,” Monet said as she reached for my hand underneath the table.

“Mr. Clay, do you think you could hypnotize my mom to get back with my dad?”

Monet shook her head and with her free hand placed it over Robert’s.

“Now, Robert, we’ve talked about this. I know you want your dad and I to get back together but that’s not possible. Not after what happened.”

I wanted to be nosey but I restrained myself.

Monet turned and faced me in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

“So, Clay, are you still doing magic shows? Robert, Mr. Clay is a trained fire-eater. If I remember correctly a stripper taught him, what was her name?”

Monet was starting to reminisce and I had to be careful to prevent Robert from knowing there was more to our relationship.

“I retired from magic a few years ago. And she was not a stripper, she was a retired stripper,” I said sarcastically, as I drew within inches of her face in jest.

I had to quickly look away as I found it increasingly more difficult to suppress my passion. Sustained eye contact with Monet was not possible if I were to stay in character.

“So, Mr. Clay, did you know my dad?”

“I’m afraid not, Robert. He was on ship when I met your mom, but I’ve seen pictures of your dad back in the day. We both proudly sported flat tops; that was the nineties.”

Within moments a waiter with a pen and notepad was ready to take our order.

We had a great meal. Throughout the night Monet and I traded quotes from our favorite
In Living Color
episodes. We laughed so hard. It was almost like time had stood still for us. I loved Monet’s and Robert’s company, we were more than just friends, we were family. A family with a secret.

“Mr. Thompson, you have a female guest, would you like to greet her or should I send her to your room?”

“Okay, I will be right there, just give me a few minutes.”

I was a fifty-two-year-old man scrambling around like high school freshman getting ready for my first date. But this wasn’t just any date, this was Monet. You only get one Monet per lifetime. I lost her once and this was my second chance.

My suite had a contemporary living room with a large, flat screen TV and fine furniture. The bed was a super king and really too big for just one person. I particularly liked the recessed dim lighting over the headboard, giving the room a desirable ambience. The bedroom had an amazing white granite adjoining bathroom with heated and illuminated mirrors. I had visited Woodbridge before on business and was hooked on radio station 105.9 for smooth jazz. The room was perfect but I was a wreck. I didn’t want to read too much into Monet’s acceptance of my offer for a nightcap. Before I dashed to greet Monet at the front desk I looked in the mirror one last time. I no longer had the sculpted and toned body of a 30-year-old, hard charging Marine. I wished I was in a little better shape. Oh well…

Sigh. Showtime.

Monet was standing right in front of me as I opened the door with a great big smile.
Wow!

“Monet. You always do that to me,” I said as I opened the door.

“Do what?” she said as she stood there with her arms crossed.

Monet sauntered into my room and marveled at the beautiful décor.

“You have this habit of just magically appearing out of nowhere,” I said as I stood behind her and removed her form-fitted coat.

Once again, the sight of her put my mind at ease and it felt just like old times again. I needed to be mindful that although I still felt a strong bond between us, twenty years had passed. For a split second I wondered, how would I have handled this situation if I were still engaged to April, my exfiancée, whom I just recently broke up with? But, if I were still engaged, Monet would not be standing right in the middle of the living room of my hotel suite.