Chapter Five

A room steamier than a sauna hit Frank in the face when he stepped into the bathroom. Hot water poured from the shower head. "How the hell . . . sorry, how on earth did you turn the water on?"

Silence met him. Overhead, Betsy twirled in a circle. Due to the heavy layer of steam, Frank had no idea if Ghost-girl still occupied the room. Grabbing the door handle, he pushed and pulled in an attempt to scoot the mist from the room.

When the vapor cleared he looked toward the ceiling and gasped. An energy of light huddled above the marble tiles of the shower and surrounded his little ghost. She blinked her round, blue eyes and watched him. Tucked behind her ears, long, pale hair fell over her shoulders, so white he couldn’t classify the shade as blonde. Angelic all right, there were no other words to describe her features. Her tiny face was shaped like a heart, her chin almost pointed. A pert, upturned nose rested above plump lips and her eyes loomed enormously large in sharp contrast to her other features.

"I’m Frank," he said and knew he sounded like a fool. "You finally decided to come out and meet me. That’s great."

She blinked again and moved her gaze toward Betsy.

"You want to hold the doll?" Hot water trickled from the shower head again. "Oh, no, don’t start up the water again. I finally got the room cleared. Here, hold on." He dug the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. Then he held the doll out in her direction. "Let’s make a deal. If I let you hold Betsy, are you going to take off on me?" Without moving his head, Frank watched the shower head and prayed it wouldn’t spray buckets again. "Okay, good." He eased up onto the ledge of the tub with outstretched arm. "It’s okay, you’re safe. Take her, take Betsy."

A tiny arm came out and grabbed the doll. She held it to her chest, looked down at the doll and smiled. His heart wrenched. Like her, the smile embodied innocence. Similar to a dragonfly in flight, Ghost-girl flew from the ceiling and landed on the sink. Frank held his breath and wondered what came next. Other than watching Rand and his sister Marlow grow up, he didn’t have much experience with children. The spirit-child lifted a hand and with her finger etched out letters in the steam-covered mirror. When she finished, she turned and smiled at him again.

He stepped forward and leaned in, trying to make out the name through the mist. "Your name is Cricket?"

She crooked a finger, turned to the mirror again and wrote some letters beneath her name.

Frank squinted. "Christine? Your name is Cricket Christine?"

She shook her head.

Puzzled, Frank stared at the letters for a while. "Your name is Christine, but they call you Cricket?"

She blessed him with another smile.

Damn, he wondered if Cupid had descended from the sky and shot an arrow into his heart. Not in a sexual sense, but the girl-child had totally stolen his. "Good, this is very good. Just so we have an understanding now. You don’t need to start up the water or turn my wipers on. Just nod for yes and shake your head for no, agreed?"

She nodded.

"Cricket, I like it. The name suits you. Do you want to tell me your last name?"

Her eyes darted about the room and her energy sparked, lit up like fireworks on the fourth of July.

"Okay, no problem. We’ll take it slow. Forget I asked that last question."

Her light grew dim and she focused on the doll again. Frank thought about her reaction for a minute. He’d have to bide his time with her, understand that perhaps she didn’t want to give up certain information right now. Which translated to mean, she had something to hide from him.

He tried another approach. "When we were in the car today, you said you knew about the missing girls." Her aura blazed, but not as much as last time.

Go to sleep my dolly. Shut your eyes of blue.

He heard her words clearly, but in his head. So, if he could hear her sing, why couldn’t she transmit spoken words to his mind? Mystified, he decided he needed to go back to the drawing board on this one; see if information existed about this phenomenon. Maybe he heard only what she wanted him to hear. He had communed with the dead many times, by hand signals, expressions, a shake of a head, a nod, but never through spoken words.

"You like that song, don’t you Cricket?"

This time she graced Betsy with a smile.

"Did someone sing that to you when you were little?"

She lifted her sorrowful baby blues and nodded before turning to the mirror. Her small finger met the dissipating steam as she carved out the word Mommy. Before he could ask her another question, she fled from the room and landed on one of the beds in the other room.

Frank flopped down on the opposite bed and drew a deep breath. Jesus, here he was in a fucking Super 8 conversing, or trying to converse with a ghost. His life had taken a dramatic turn from the norm in just one day. Three girls were missing and a spirit-child had entered his life. He didn’t know why yet, but every possible scenario for an ending to this nightmare ran through his mind. What would become of his little Ghost-girl, his Cricket, when all was said and done? His heartstrings tightened. She wasn’t his, and whatever the outcome—the girls found dead or alive—she wouldn’t be staying. Why did the thought devastate him? He didn’t have three problem girls on his hand, he had four.

He glanced over at her. She seemed content at the moment with Betsy in her arms. "In the morning, I have to meet with Lauren and Chelsea’s parents. If you go with me, maybe we can add to your doll collection."

That comment sparked her interest. Her eyes grew wide and her lips curled into a wide grin that transformed her features.

"I thought that might interest you."

He wondered if ghosts ever slept. Tired, he was so damn tired; he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He closed them and prayed she’d be there when he awakened in the morning.

* * *

Frank jackknifed up in bed when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and scanned the room for Cricket. "Damn, you promised!"

"No, I didn’t promise to call you; you promised to call me, last night."

"Rand, oh yeah, I’m sorry. I fell asleep and I just plain forgot.

A long pause ensued.

"Forgive me?"

"I suppose, but I’m starting to worry about your mental state, Frank."

A sigh of relief left Frank’s lips as Cricket floated down from the ceiling and landed on her bed again. "Oh, thank God, you didn’t take off."

"Take off? Why would I take off? Where am I supposed to be going?"

"Not you, Rand. I’m talking to Cricket."

"Cricket? Your Ghost-girl? She’s talking to you now?”

"In a fashion. She nods and shakes her head when I ask her a question, but I can’t hear her speak."

"You can see her now?"

"Clearly."

"I thought you said you heard her singing?"

"I hear the words to a lullaby in my head. It’s not like when you speak to me. How to explain? I can’t hear her words in the room; they’re in my head."

"Whatever. Hey listen, I waited for your call last night, which never came, but since I was up anyway I surfed the net a little. Found something you might find interesting about Ghost-girl, er, I mean Cricket."

"Shoot."

"I don’t think she’s a poltergeist. I found this neat site about ghost versus poltergeists, and from what you tell me Cricket definitely falls under the ghost category. I’ll read it to you, and you interpret this any way you like."

"Go ahead."

"Poltergeists can’t manifest into an apparition nor can they communicate or have a conversation with the living. You won’t hear a poltergeist speak or call your name, except as a mimic. Poltergeists can mimic noises, kind of like a very talented parrot."

"I figured she wasn’t a poltergeist."

"Is that a good thing?"

Frank laughed. "Very good thing. Nasty, those poltergeists."

Rand cleared his throat. "Some think poltergeist activity is a type of involuntary psycho kinesis manifested by a teenager, usually a female."

"She’s not a teenager. Age ten at best."

"This article goes on to say, ‘So if you can see the ghost, it’s not a poltergeist. If the ghost communicates with you, whether verbal or through writing, it’s not a poltergeist.’"

"I’m relieved. You confirmed what I thought I’d read at one time. Thank you, Rand."

"No problem."

Frank filled the mini-coffee pot on the counter with water, dropped a packet of Folgers® in and watched it brew. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something last night."

"Yeah, and now that I have you on the phone, I’m tongue-tied.” He gave a worrisome laugh. “Okay, here goes, and don’t go bonkers on me. Let me get it out first before you say anything."

Frank poured the coffee into a cup, added a packet of cream and took a sip. "This sounds serious. You’re lucky they leave a coffee maker in every room. Go ahead."

"I’m done with college for the summer now. Already I’m bored. The thing is," he drew a deep breath. "The thing is; I don’t want to return in the fall. I’m not cut out to be a doctor."

"Rand!"

"Hey, you said you’d hear me out."

Frank’s turn to draw a deep breath.

"I promised Mom I’d try med school. Well I tried it and it’s not for me. I’m dropping out."

"Just like that; you’re dropping out after one year?"

"Yep. I want to know one thing. If I drop out of college, does that mean I can’t live with you anymore?"

"You remember our agreement?"

"Hell, like you’d ever let me forget."

"But you’d still drop out knowing that?"

Rand paused briefly. "Yes, because you said you’d support whatever I wanted to do with my life. And I don’t want this.”

A wave of dread washed over Frank. How had it come to this? The thought of Rand leaving him made him sick to his stomach. "What do you think is best for you at this point in your life?"

"I want to work with you, want you to teach me everything you know about being a private investigator."

"Are you kidding me? You’re too smart for this kind of life. It’s hard work, dirty and dangerous work at times, and you’re not suited for it."

"When are you going to realize, Frank, I’m no longer a child? We’ve been down this road before. I don’t want to be a physician. Either you let me work with you or I’ll take up where my dad left off."

Frank choked on his coffee. "Over my dead body will you become a cop!"

Frank looked over to the bed and caught Cricket’s bright blue—narrowed—eyes boring into his. He forgot she was in the room for a minute, and apparently he forgot that she might be able to hear and understand every word he said to Rand.

He lowered his voice. "You want to end up like your old man, bleeding to death on the street after taking a bullet from a hyped-up speed-freak?"

"When I was a young boy, I wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps. Him dying in the street didn’t change that. I went to med school because my mom didn’t want me to pick up where my dad left off. But it’s not her life . . . and it’s not yours, either.”

“I don’t think I could handle that. You have no idea how many times I’ve relived your dad dying in my arms. Now, I have to think about you . . . no, just no.”

“It’s your choice, Frank. Either you let me live with you and join your business or I’m taking my ass over to the Baltimore Police Department and signing on. They’d love to see Quinn Brennan’s son join the force."

"That’s fucking blackmail!"

"Ah-ah, remember you’re supposed to act like a role model around children. Isn’t that what you told me last weekend every time I touched you?"

"You little bas . . . jerk. I don’t want to talk about this right now."

"That’s another thing that has to change, Frank. You never want to talk about us. I’m done with that shit. Make up your mind. You take me on or I sell my soul to the street again."

Frank looked at the ceiling, the floor and then at Cricket. She rolled her eyes as if she’d had enough of this conversation.

"You still there, McGuire?"

"I’m here. You damn well know I’m still here."

"Well?"

"I have to give you an answer right this minute? Or what, when I get back; your bags will be packed?"

"That’s the bottom line. You want me here waiting for you, say the word. You want me to put on the blues, well, just say the word."

"If you were here right now, I’d knock some sense into your immature, thick brain."

"No you wouldn’t. If I were there, you’d be jumping my bones. When I had you at my mercy, I’d force you to admit you want me to stay with you, you want me." Rand’s tone turned somber. "Why is it so damn hard for you to commit? Either you want me in your life on a permanent basis or you don’t. Just say it, damn it."

"I do."

"What was that? I think a nest of wasps flew into the line. Did you say something, Frank?"

"I said, yes, damn it, I want you in my life, permanently."

"You mean it?"

"Would I say it if I didn’t mean it? What do you want a dozen red roses delivered to the condo?"

His tone turned giddy. "I’m not fond of roses. They remind me of funerals, but I love lilies . . . white lilies.”

"That’ll be the fucking, I mean freaking day.” He looked at Cricket, shrugged and mouthed the word, “Sorry. Don’t push your luck, Rand, with all that romantic stuff. You can’t change me, you know that, right?"

"I don’t want to change you. I want you to open up, tell me how you feel about things. Is that asking too much?"

Frank put the coffee cup down and ran his hands through his hair. "No, it isn’t asking too much. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll work on that."

"All right then. I’ll let you go. I know you have a lot on your mind. Call me tonight, will you?"

"Yes, when I get back to the hotel, I’ll call you."

"Hey, before you hang up. What’s your gut feeling? Are those girls still alive?"

"Are you asking me to make an educated guess?"

"No, I’m asking you what your Inner Spirit shows you when you call on it."

"My Inner Spirit went on hiatus the moment Cricket walked into my life."

"What does that mean?"

"Not sure. All I know is; I have to deal with what is."

"I’ll get off the phone, then, and let you deal with it."

“Talk to you tonight, Rand.”

Frank pushed End on the phone, poured another cup of coffee and plopped onto the bed. "As soon as I’m done with my coffee, I’ll take a shower and then we’re out of here Ghost-girl, okay?"

Cricket nodded and held Betsy in the air.

“Yes, you can bring Betsy.”

“Christ,” Frank said as he walked into the bathroom. “Now I’m talking to a ghost and her doll.”