Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, Strong. I am still working on my story where the heroine, a former Army nurse, can see and speak to spirits.

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“A man inside is bleeding according to Bertha here. I’m not sure who. She thinks she could sew his wound so he must not be too injured. It might be the guy who did it and not the victim if that’s true.”

“Okay. That’s exigent circumstances. I’m going in.” Malcolm broke one of the window panes and reached inside to unlock the door.

Once it was open, he led the way inside with his weapon drawn, leading Lu to think he wasn’t sure who was in there either.

They moved from room to room and ended up at the back near the door leading to the rear of the house. It was clear that was the point of entry for the wounded man as the door was ajar.

He was on the floor with a vast amount of blood near his head. But head injuries always bled a lot.

It was also clear the man was not a threat. He was breathing, but shallowly.

Lu dashed over to him and knelt to check his pulse. “Thready.” She looked up at Malcolm. “Call an ambulance. I think he isn’t mortally wounded but he’s clearly lost a lot of blood and we need to get him warm immediately.” She glanced around for something to help warm his core but there wasn’t a thing. This place definitely used to be a restaurant. Not a blanket in sight.

At a loss for what to do, she did the only thing that came to mind. She got on the floor beside him and pulled him to her.

“What are you doing?” Malcolm asked as soon as he disconnected the call for the ambulance.

“He’s lost so much blood, he’s in danger of hypothermia. My body heat will help him. There are no blankets around so this is all I have.”

“Sometimes I worry about you.”

“For your information, I’ve done this exact thing before in Afghanistan. That guy was cuter though.”

“See? That kind of craziness is what worries me. Cute guy. Pfft.” He grinned, then turned serious. “What if this guy is the man we’re looking to arrest? Would you be hugging him?”

“Maybe. Depends on how bad he was injured. This one clearly is the victim. In fact, I have no idea how he made it this far from the church. He must have a strong will to live.”

“Too bad he didn’t stop somewhere on the way to get help.”

“He did. I saw him knock on the boarding house door and the house across the street. No one offered to help him,” Bertha said. “I urged him to come here but he didn’t act like he could see me.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, meet. I am working in my story where the main character sees spirits. I am also using real historical figures buried in our cemeteries as characters in the book. This is part of a scene where the protagonist stumbles on a dead body as she’s walking her dog in the cemetery.

Check out the other tales here.

She sat back on her heels and let out a small moan of pity for the deceased.

Realizing she was surrounded by spirits, she glanced at them to try to identify someone she might have spoken to in the past.

Her eyes finally landed on Juan de La Rua, a one-time alderman and mayor of Pensacola back in the 1800s.

He stared at her with sad eyes. “Someone has disturbed our peace yet again, Señorita Haverstock. We are all upset about this invasion of our resting places.”

“Did any of you witness what happened?” Lu didn’t see the amount of blood that would be expected if the man was killed on site but she also wasn’t sure how a body would’ve been transported there when the gates were locked from dusk to dawn. Who could’ve gotten inside to dump this poor soul here?

Many of the spirits disappeared when she looked back up at them from where she knelt beside the body. Clearly they didn’t want to interact with her like the ones in the morgue didn’t.

La Rua was still there along with two or three others she hadn’t met before. Lu addressed him. “Did any of you here see how this poor man got here? The gates aren’t open at night to let anyone in.”

“We have seen live people come over the fence and inside through the gates somehow. I think they do something to the lock.” La Rua pointed to a man standing to one side. “This is Salvador Pons. He thought he saw someone when he was out taking the air around three a.m.”

Lu wasn’t familiar with this man and wondered how he’d been buried in St Michael’s. He was dressed as if it was the late 1800s or early 1900s and she’d thought this cemetery was segregated during that time period. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pons.”

He bowed as if he was attending a formal ball. “It is my pleasure. I am not sure you would have heard of me, but I was the first man of my race to be mayor of this fine city. In the 1870s. A very long time ago for you but it does not seem so long to me.”

“You’re correct. I didn’t know about Pensacola having been so open as to have someone of your race as mayor back then. I’m happy to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly. I was born in Mexico to a Hispanic parent and a Black parent. So perhaps with the Spanish background of this place, it was acceptable even so close to the end of what is called the civil war.” He smiled a grim smile. “Although as we know, there is nothing civil about a war.”

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. This week’s word prompt is narrow. I am working on my NaNo story and the heroine has just tried to visit a crime scene. Her love interest, who is also a detective with the police department has called her in this scene about her jaunt to the crime scene. His nickname for her is Mick as when they first met, she was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

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As soon as she greeted the caller, Malcolm said, “I hear you’re up to your usual habit of annoying Detective Morgan.” He spoke with a laugh in his voice so she didn’t get offended at his words. She knew he didn’t like the man as much as she didn’t, but he had to work with him.

“You know what’s weird?”

“Good Lord, Mick. What a thing to ask me. When it comes to you, there are so many things that are weird it’s hard to narrow it down unless I have some context.”

“Very funny. What I was going to say is that I was just making a move to call you and find out why this lady’s fall down the stairs isn’t your case since you were at the autopsy and then my phone rang and it’s you. I call that weird.”

“I don’t. You had to know Morgan would call me to complain about you and that I’d have to reach out, as chief detective, to warn you officially not to interfere with his investigation, so your phone ringing shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

“So that what this is then? An official call?”

“Just so I can say I did it.” He sneezed. “I presume you and our friend the general were wanting to go in and inspect the crime scene? How’d you think you’d manage that?  Knock on the door and ask the husband to show you were he killed his wife?”

“You keep sneezing. Are you getting sick?”

“You’re deflecting, Nurse Haverstock. I’m asking a legitimate question. We’re you going to enter the house of a man suspected of violently murdering a woman with only a dead former president to witness this debacle? What if you’d been hurt? How would anyone know you’d put yourself into such a situation?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Nope. That’s your biggest flaw, Lu. You plunge in, head first, not even thinking about the next move and what consequences could come into play. It worries me.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt run. I’m taking a break from the story I’ve been sharing as I started a new story for National Novel Writing Month. This is the beginning of book three of a series I’ve been working on that are all unpublished as of now. The protagonist has the gift of seeing and speaking to spirits. I used a form of the word run.

check on the other tales here.

A deep quiet floated on the air under the dense fog hanging down in the predawn darkness. Lula Mae Haverstock didn’t usually venture out at this time of the morning. Working twelve hours shifts from three p.m. to three a.m. usually saw her cuddled up in bed once she arrived home and settled in from her work day. But today was different. She’d been awakened by a spirit at her bedside letting her know there was someone in danger who needed her assistance. This wasn’t unusual—well the spirt part wasn’t—after all, she was able to communicate with the dead. What was unusual was she didn’t normally have the spirits invade her home. 

This time, it was a gentleman named George Barkley. He was sort of a neighbor. If you could call someone who drowned himself in 1854 a neighbor. 

Startled awake by him, Lu immediately pulled on her jeans and sneakers. She didn’t waste time taking off her nightgown. She pulled a puffer jacket over it and grabbed her phone.  Once she was ready, she made her way out the back door and toward the bay. The same bay where George committed suicide after some financial setbacks. 

He led the way across Bayfront Parkway, moving much swifter than she could since she still had mortal feet and had to watch for whatever traffic might be out this time of day. 

As soon as she was over the seawall, she saw the person floating in the water. 

“Geez. It’s got to be thirty degrees out here. I have no choice do I, George?”

“Sorry, Miss Haverstock. I do not think so. I know how this goes. Best to hurry.”

She threw off the jacket. It would need to stay dry. 

Running toward the water, she dove in, hoping for the best. The icy water nearly took her breath away but she swam out to the body face down in the little bit of waves formed by the wind whipping over the water. 

The water was cold enough that there was a slight chance the woman could still be resuscitated. Cold helped the body’s organs from completely shutting down.  No way to know how long the woman had been out here, but she was pretty sure George moved swiftly since he spent a lot of his time here in the water as well as the house he built looking over the bay. He was buried at St. Michael’s cemetery but liked to hang around the house and the scene of his death. He sure loved his home. 

Lu dragged the body toward the shore. When she was able to get the woman clear of the water and flip her over, she realized it was actually a young man. All the long brown hair floating around him like seaweed had resulted in her missing that fact.