Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Run.  I am still sharing the paranormal story. I am working on first pass edits on it now.

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“I need to text Malcolm. I’ll be right back.” She walked a few steps away from the two spirits in order to think about how to compose the message. Not too friendly, not rude. Some middle ground, hopefully. She wished she had someone else to tell. But he was the only one who knew about her gift. Should never have gotten involved with him on a personal level. I wish I’d kept it strictly professional. Too late now. It is what it is.

After sending the message, she returned to the tombstone. “I’m going to go home. I told him where to find Mollie’s grave and the fidget spinner and told him the urine was on the back of Railroad Bill’s stone and also on the leaves on the ground. The crime scene people won’t need me to be here.”

“Lula Mae, you are not going to run away from this. You are always telling me women are as capable as men. If that is true, you stay and fight your battles. You were in the Army. An officer. So be one. Stay and face this new enemy and show him what you are made of.” Jackson saluted her. “An officer does not run.”

She sighed. He had a point. She couldn’t hide forever. Malcolm knew where she lived and had her phone number. It wasn’t like she could disappear. “All right. But be warned, I’m not taking any crap off him or Morgan if Morgan comes with him.”

“Do not forget, I saw you not take any bunkum off him earlier. You tossed them both out of your home. You were magnificent. Be that officer when they arrive.”

Lu straightened spine. I can do this.

Soon enough, the crime scene van arrived accompanied by a dark sedan that most likely held at least Malcolm, if not Morgan, too.

As it drove in, it came close to hitting Lu’s open car door. She looked at Jackson. “Be right back. I better shut that before more law enforcement cars arrive.”

She jogged over to shut her door just as Morgan got out of the driver’s side of the sedan.

He leered at her. “And here we find ourselves in yet another cemetery with Lula Mae Haverstock.” He glanced around, even turning in a circle. “No dog? Where’s the dog that needs to be walked in cemeteries? The weird dog that likes hanging out with dead folks.” He snickered. “Are you going to attend every cemetery in town and call us to come keep your company?”

“Can it, Chris,” Malcolm said as he came around from the passenger side.

Lu didn’t really want to talk to Malcolm but he came to where she stood. “Can we chat for a moment?” He looked at Morgan and added, “Privately.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Water. I’m still sharing from my paranormal story.

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“I thought the entity was restricted to the place it chose to manifest. The old funeral home.”

“It should be. The problem now is the gases that escaped when he had the confrontation with Bernardo. That ice rain was part of it as well as the smoke. You should go and bathe as some of the rain is still on you and in your hair. We do not know what harm it may cause.” As she opened her mouth to respond, he held his hand up to stop her from talking. “Maybe none. We do not know so do not ask me.”

“All right. I’ll do that. I need a hot shower anyway. Maybe it’ll make me less cold. I can’t seem to shake the chill in my bones.”

“I will leave you to it then. I will return later once I have information from Marie.”

“Sounds good. Hopefully soon and hopefully good news.”

As soon as Jackson disappeared, Lu stood and tossed the blanket back on the sofa. “I’m going to take his advice and see if I can get warm.”

She headed to the shower and stood under the hot water for a long time, letting it comfort her. Eventually she stopped shivering and dried off.

Back on the couch, in her flannel pajamas, she wrapped herself in two blankets. “I’m finally almost warm, Aneto. I hope you are as well.”

In a moment, she flipped on the television. A newscaster stood in front of Christ Church. The broadcast had clearly already been in progress as she caught the woman in the middle of a sentence. “…And no one can explain the sudden deluge of cold rain.  The presence of a plume of dark smoke with no evidence of a fire other than a strong smell in the air caused scientists to question what phenomenon could be in play. There are no answers at the moment and law enforcement are requesting that people steer clear of the whole area until more information is available. It is unknown whether breathing in those fumes is hazardous. For now, this is Stacy Fleming. We’ll be back with updates as the situation develops.”

Lu tossed the remote to the sofa cushion beside her. “Looks like the spirit world is invading the living world, Aneto. Too bad it’s seeping over into where the average person may become frightened.”

This week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt active. I am still in my same story with the woman who sees and speaks to ghosts. I am hopeful about getting to The End soon. I slowed down over the holidays and have to get my groove back.

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Lu didn’t really agree some evil entity from another plane was behind the injuries and deaths. The person in the red beanie was definitely alive. That much she was sure of. But perhaps an entity had whispered in that person’s ear. Who knows?

She decided not to argue with Jackson about it though. Easier to pick her battles with the man. And this wasn’t one of them. “That may be true, but perhaps they can identify the person in the red cap.”

“I doubt they can. How will they know a person who is alive now? Most of the spirits are long deceased.”

“I’m surprised you’d say that. Most of the spirits I’ve met are actively involved—at least when they’re in their awareness state—with the living.”

Startled by a tap on the driver’s side window, Lu let out a little screech before turning to see a security guard’s face peering in at her. He made a hand gesture for her to roll down her window.

When she had it half way down, he said, “Anything wrong? You’ve been sitting there a while.”

“No. No. Everything’s fine. I was on a call and didn’t want to be driving.”

He tilted the brim of his ball cap. “All right. Just don’t stay much longer. Parking is tight this time of day.”

After he walked back to his white truck with the logo of his company in the side, Jackson said, “In my day, a gentleman would never tell a lady she needed to move from where she was comfortably ensconced. Some changes in society are not very nice, Lula Mae.” He leaned to the side and looked at the truck. “And what is that nonsense scrawled on his conveyance?”

“It’s to let people know he’s in charge of the parking lot and when he knocks on the car window to scare you to death that he’s not a mad stalker or murderer and that it’s safe to roll down the window to speak to him.”

“That little symbol and the word Security tells you all that?” Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What is stopping some stalker—as you say—or murderer for that matter—from buying such a carriage and having his own sign painted on it? How that decoration makes one feel safe is questionable to me.”

“Good point. It would make a stellar cover story for someone with nefarious intent. I’ll not be so blasé in the future.”

This week the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Song. I am still in my paranormal story but am close to being done with it. YAY!

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“Lula Mae, I know what you are mulling over. I can see it all over your countenance. You think the detective has been leading you in a song and dance and is not ready for the two of you to be courting. I hope to set your mind at ease with what I am going to say,” Jackson stopped walking at the passenger side door. “I shall ride with you as I tell you. I do not want to wait until we return to your home as I think I know you well enough by now that you will fret over that last conversation with the detective until you convince yourself he will never care for you in the way you desire.”

Lu looked over the top of the car at him. “You’re right. I’m already thinking it.” She opened her door and got in.

Inside, Jackson smiled a sad smile. “Listen to me carefully. The man has two children with the lady who has passed away. They have a deep abiding love that encompasses those children. My Rachel and I did not have any of our own but we adopted several. Those young people, as well as others we took into our home, strengthened the love and admiration we already had for each other when we wed. Nothing can break that. Not even death. But I am convinced—because I have seen him with you and how he looks at you—he is ready to be part of a twosome again and with you. He is a man who is from a family that is loving and he wants that for himself again.”

“How do you know that? Besides, he’s been pushing away from me all week.” She sighed as she turned onto the road. “And you saw him just now. He was extremely upset.”

“Yes, he was. Imagine this for a moment, Lula Mae. Pretend you had a husband you loved very much. A father to your children. You watched him become ill and fight a terrible disease and eventually succumb to it. Leaving you to raise those children alone.” He held his hand up to stop her reply. “I am not finished.”

She nodded at him to go on.

“Now imagine a couple of years later, you meet a man and think you could start over. And then you learn, as a result of your line of work, that a woman has killed her husband and you are tasked with investigating that death. Now, imagine the man you have begun to admire asks you to feel sorry for the woman who chose to end her husband’s life. A lady who didn’t treasure what she had, but voluntarily chose to end that person’s existence.”