The Crossover (26 page)

I should have taken the day off. I was useless the entire day and accomplished little to nothing. On the way home, just before my exit, I realized I still had Nemo in a
Ziploc
baggie in my utility sink. I made a promise to Jo that if something happened to Nemo I would do the right thing.

I struggled to find a suitable send off for a fish and I found myself sitting in my driveway racking my brain over what I should do. I reversed out my drive and headed to
Homebase
just down the street.

As I walked through the aisles I was discouraged about finding a solution, until I passed checkout. There was a sale on garden solar lights. The lights had a dull black finish with brass trim and came in a set of four.

I could place one in each corner of my garden and avoid having a morbid constant reminder. I bought the lights.

In the far right corner of my garden I dug a hole deep enough for the
Ziploc
baggie containing Nemo. It affected me a lot more than I thought it would. I wept as I placed Nemo into the ground. I think subconsciously I equated burying Nemo to burying my friend Jo.

I filled the hole with dirt and patted the surface down with a gardening tool. I removed the four solar lights and placed them in the four corners of my garden. The far right corner was where Nemo was buried. I stood in front of my garden and was happy with my choice of remembrance.

“I miss you Jo, may your soul rest in peace.”

I went inside and closed the door.

I
t had been almost two weeks since I had last seen Monet. It wasn’t getting easier, in fact it was harder. Jo’s death coupled with my breakup with Monet was a miserable life that sometimes didn’t feel worth living. While laid-up in the hospital my only desire was to get back home. I realized just how much I took for granted. Life was great. I just didn’t know how great it really was. I soon would find a little clarity, by way of the
Royal Mail
service. It was an unexpected letter from Marc. The first thing I checked was the return address to make sure it wasn’t mailed locally. It wasn’t. I read the letter.

I found your address on your author website. I didn’t want to write this letter but after last night I know this is the right thing to do. I still love Monet and I never thought I would ever comfort her over the loss of another man, but that’s what’s happening. It’s only because I love her I am writing you. She never told you why she bailed me out of jail, so I will. After our daughter Michelle found out why I was in jail (the whole story) she ran away and cut off contact with her mother. Monet found Michelle hiding out in my house that Tuesday. They had a big fight. Michelle threatened never to speak with her mother unless she posted my bail. Michelle has decided to live with me and will not accompany her mom to England. Michelle will eventually come around, but in her own time.

Monet deserves happiness and I can’t give that to her. Spending a couple of nights in jail helped me realize that.

Marc

P.S. It seems we both were in Mogadishu at the same time, it’s probably a good thing we didn’t meet then. I will never be your friend but I won’t be your enemy either.

Give Monet a call.

Marc’s letter proved he was a bigger man than me. I wanted to thank him but I knew that would be out of order. My only regret was that Monet didn’t tell me why she posted Marc’s bail in the first place. She didn’t choose Marc over me, she chose her daughter over me. I would have done the same thing as a parent. Unfortunately, my hopes of reconnecting with Monet were dashed by the recording saying her phone was disconnected. If things were meant to be we would find a way back together.

After dinner I finally decided to go outside and view the pretty solar lights in my backyard. I stood in the center of my yard and noticed one of my lights didn’t illuminate. It was the one used to mark where Nemo was. The other three lights worked just fine. I took the defective light back to
Homebase
that night to complain.

“Sir, we just tested your light and it works fine.”

I felt I was being made a fool of. I knew the light was damaged. I protested.

“Follow me, sir.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t respond. I followed him to the outdoor Garden Center.

“Sir, that’s your light.”

It was shining bright. Maybe they switched the light with a good one. I looked at the sales clerk suspiciously as I repackaged it and took it home.

The light malfunctioned again when I repositioned it. I switched it with the other lights that I knew were functioning. It wasn’t the damn light. None of the lights worked in that spot in the far right corner. In the front yard they all worked beautifully. I put the lights back like they were before with the same result, three out of four illuminated. I even showed Carl and he couldn’t figure it out either. It was strange but not worth worrying about. In that far right corner was darkness. I left it that way.

Almost three weeks passed before my cellphone rang. When I finally got a call I was excited. I was thrilled because it was a
Skype
call and only one person knew my
Skype
number and that was Monet. I anxiously took the call in my study: it wasn’t Monet. It was a close friend from way back, Yolanda. I called her Yo Yo. She was like a sister to me over the years and she recently married another Marine named Richard. They called from Japan. I had never met Richard in person so Yolanda looked me up on
Skype
to virtually introduce us.

“Clay, you know I can’t go too long without talking to my brotha. How you doin’?” Yolanda asked.

“Yo Yo, I wish you were here. I’ll tell you ‘bout it later. So where’s your other half?”

“Richard’s on his way, he’s feeding the dogs.”

“Brrr. I feel a cold draft, I must have left a window open. I’ll be right back,” I said.

I propped the cellphone up against my PC and went into my bedroom to shut the window. It was only slightly ajar.

I returned and Missy started to purr around my feet.

“Clay, this is Richard my new husband,” Yolanda said excitedly.

Richard and Yolanda looked so happy together. As long as she was happy I was happy. Richard was easy to converse with and I was glad he accepted my fondness for Yolanda.

Yolanda continued.

“Clay, are you going to introduce us to your new lady friend?”

Yolanda didn’t know about Monet. I was confused.

“Lady friend?”I asked.

“Yeah, the woman who followed you into your bedroom.”

“Yo Yo, there’s no one here but me and my cat,” I said looking over my shoulder.

Yolanda looked at Richard and then they both gave me a funny look. Like I was hiding something.

The temperature in the study dropped fast. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Missy retreated behind the hard drive underneath the desk. Something spooked her. Her ears folded back and her tail got bushy. She was staring at something.

Yolanda knew something was wrong. Her next response evoked absolute fear within me.

“Clay, there she is. The woman in the doorway.”

Richard pointed to my left.

I cleared my throat. My voice cracked.

“Uhm, what does she look like?” I asked worriedly.

“Ahh, she’s bald and has a red turtleneck sweater.”

In a matter of seconds
Skype
froze up. Missy hissed before she ran out of the room.

I knew something was behind me. I felt it staring at me. I started praying the Lord’s Prayer. I stuttered through it. I was hoping it didn’t touch me or speak to me. I could feel it come closer to me, directly behind me. I couldn’t keep my hands still, they were shaking and then paralysis set in and I couldn’t move.

Lord, please protect me. Don’t let this happen.

The bald woman wearing the red turtleneck could only be one person and she was dead.

“Jo?”

I think I blacked out in place for about fifteen seconds. My body was no longer a safe haven so I checked out.

When I could no longer feel the presence behind me I grabbed my keys and slowly walked downstairs and opened the door. I got in my car and drove to a lodging on a US military base nearby. I didn’t look in the rear view mirror. I probably would’ve crashed my car if I had seen her in the back seat that night.

“Mr. Thompson, the chaplain will see you now,” the chapel secretary said.

I followed the secretary into the chaplain’s office. The Base Chaplain was known as Padre. I never saw Padre dressed in anything but clergy attire even when he shopped on base. Padre was a man of God first and a Navy Commander second. His crew cut and wire-framed spectacles gave him that distinctive
officer look.

“Have a sit down, Mr. Thompson. I was just looking at your referral sheet. I want you to know that everything we discuss here is confidential.”

“Thanks, Padre. If my office finds out why I’m here, my suitability for holding a security clearance may be challenged.”

Padre cleaned his glasses while he spoke.

“So, you think your house is haunted?”

“No, sir, it’s not my house. It’s me that’s haunted. I know it sounds crazy but I know her, I mean the spirit. Her name is Jo.”

Padre ceased cleaning his glasses and placed them on his desk.

I thought he would find my issue bizarre and unusual but he didn’t. He responded without hesitation.

“The chaplain community is aware of the paranormal incidents in Europe and particularly here in England. Some chaplains choose to ignore such complaints. At least once a week I have an appointment that involves a spirit inhabiting a service member’s dwelling. Believe it or not, some Americans request rental accommodations that are haunted. I call them my ghost hunters.”

“That’s insane. Why would anyone do that?” I replied.

“Mr. Thompson, it is not within my pastoral duties to convince you that ghosts exist. But what I can tell you is that God’s love will protect you, always. If you want I can come to your home and bless it and rebuke any evil spirits in the name of the Father.”

“But Jo is my friend, she’s not evil. There must be a reason why she came to see me,” I said in her defense.