ANGELS AND GHOSTS

May, 2015

Mia enjoyed a blushingly decadent afternoon with her new friend, but she was upset when the new friend said that she wouldn’t be able to see her for a few weeks. She tried not to show how disappointed she was as she asked, “Why?”

“Arhhh, I’m going on a business trip.”

“Ohhh, what are you doing?”

“A bit of out-of-town surveillance work.” Rachael replied.

“Surveillance work? I thought you did information collection?”

“Huh, ohh you know, it’s the same thing.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Maybe two or three weeks.”

“I can call you?”

“Gorgeous, I’ll be back before you know it.”

With noses touching, Mia whined, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Rachael kissed her then said, “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, but our lives don’t revolve around each other.”

Mia blinked, then lowered her gaze … Ouch! Mia could understand that her new friends exciting life didn’t revolve around her, although Mia knew that her own dull and non-eventful life did now revolve around her new friend.

*

Mia wanted each day to pass quickly, because days without Rachael Terina in them were hard to cope with.

She used the exercise bike every day, morning and afternoon; and she knew that her new friend would be pleased with her, because the bike shorts and the singlet sat innocently on the couch during every session. Indeed, during one session, Mia had purposely left one of the drapes open a fraction, and she knew that her friend would also be pleased that her vibrator seemed like it needed new batteries; because thinking about her, missing her, hungering for her …

Mia’s personal diary had a notation every day.

-Day one; miss you already.

-Day two; can’t stopping thinking about you …

-Day three; I dream about you, so my dreams are beautiful, but I want you to come back.

-Day ten; pining for you …

-Day twelve; she didn’t reply to my message.

-Day fourteen; I feel horrible, but excited. Seeing you again, Gosh, when I see you again, I won’t be able to control myself.

-Day sixteen; am I in love? Is that why I feel so empty, yet so expectant?

-Day eighteen; She hasn’t contacted me; it’s not over is it? Please no, please don’t be over … I don’t think I could handle it.

On the eighteenth day, Rachael leant forward and glared at him, then she said blandly, “You’re probably wondering why you’re naked and tied to a chair …”

*

Marco was glad when Rachael popped in to retrieve her phone the next day. “Fucking things been going off!” he huffed. “Especially in the last week.”

Rachael scrolled down, presuming that it would be Mia, although only the one message from her, the message from a week ago; Hi, thinking about you, missing you, missing you so much … The logjam of missed calls and messages were all from another source, and Rachael pressed call.

“Jesus Rachael, where have you been?” Mark asked.

“Where I have been; I told you I was going to visit my relatives!”

“And what, you don’t take your phone with you?”

“What’s the problem, I mean how come you’re bombarding me with calls and messages?”

“I just wanted to give you a warning that the Feds are involved in the case now.”

“How come?”

“Due to the condition of the bones, the Coroner couldn’t get an accurate time-line of how long they’ve been buried, and his guesstimate was between twenty to forty years; so they sent them off to FBI Headquarters for further analysis.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“The files been sent across as well, and of course the cell phone you used to report it, that number is recorded in the file.”

“Ohh that,” she replied. “Don’t worry about that; it’s not my regular cell.”

“Well I know that, it was traced back to a Sean Steven Hampton, and when we spoke to him, he told us that he reported that the phone was stolen in October of 2013.”

“So what?”

“So what?” he asked incredulously, “How come you had it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters! The only evidence the FBI have in the file is that the location of the body was reported in by an anonymous caller, using that cell phone!”

“Mark settle down, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Jesus, me, I’m the only person who knows who the anonymous phone caller is!”

“And yes, I hope it stays that way.”

“Where did you get the phone from?”

“Fuck off Mark!”

“No, tell me!”

“I found it on the side of the road.”

“Rachael, I’m protecting you okay, but you’ve gotta be straight with me; how did you know there was a body there?”

“Fuck, I told you!” she hollered.

“No, none of that ghost story bullshit, be straight with me.”

Rachael tried to calm herself, then stated, “Listen, if the body had been there for forty years, I wouldn’t even have been born.”

“I understand that, but Rachael, the FBI are involved, and soon your little friend is going to get a phone call.”

“My little friend?”

Silence, then Mark coming in solemnly, “Mia Coombes.”

Rachael froze, then asked, “What, what about Mia?”

“The pill, the pill we found at the scene has been traced back to her.”

Rachael felt queasy, although she rallied and said, “I told you about that, she kept hearing the voice in her dreams, and yeah, we went out that day.”

Mark huffed, “Yeah, good luck off-loading that story onto the Feds.”

Grimacing, Rachael rubbed a hand over her brow. “Look, it’s still no big deal, she had nothing to do with it and I had nothing to do with it, so let the FBI interview us, I don’t give a fuck!”

“Rachael, one thing’s for certain …”

“What’s that?”

“They’ll be wanting to interview her.”

After hanging up, Rachael made a mental note to get rid of her second phone, then she rang Mia.

“Ohh Rach, hi, how are you?”

“Yeah, okay,” she replied, “What about you; you okay?”

“Yes, well I’m excited, arrhh, actually, are you back, back in Brocksley?”

“Yeah, but Mia, I’ve just been speaking to my police officer friend, and he said that your name has now been attached to our, ummm, little discovery.”

“Ohhh that.” Mia replied casually.

“Mia, wait, hold up; this is a big deal!” Rachael stated. “My contact said that the FBI are involved, and he said that at some stage, they’ll be ringing you.”

“Yes, they did.”

Rachael was stunned, “What?”

“They came and saw me, ummm, three days ago.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No,” Mia replied. “What, is there a problem?”

Rachael hung her head as she asked, “What did you tell them?”

“I told them the truth.”

“Fuck.” Rachael muttered.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter; you’ve just implicated yourself in a major felony!”

“What do you mean?”

“Mia, we were digging at a grave-site that could have been there for forty-odd years …” Rachael stopped, turning things over in her mind, then she asked hesitantly, “Ummm, when you spoke to the Feds, did you mention me?”

Silence, and the silence was Fuck-No silence. It was a simple yes-or-no question, and when the No answer wasn’t relayed immediately, Rachael felt a shiver rattle up her spine. She knew that she was one of the Good Guys, and her job revolved around getting rid of the Bad Guys; although the Justice System always seemed to get a little edgy and nervous when Bad Guys got knocked off. Rachael always took all the precautions, and she always crossed the T’s and dotted the I’s, although her greatest fear was getting a phone call where the caller said expectantly, Hello, Rachael Terina, this is the FBI, and I was just wondering if you could pop in and see us sometime … Despondently, Rachael dropped her face into her right hand.

“Well Rach …” Mia began, and Rachael stiffened when she heard the beginning of the delayed answer. Questions and doubts covering the last seven years of her life bombarded Rachael’s mind; Did I do this? … Did I do that? …. Did I cross all the T’s and dot all the I’s? Then Mia said casually, “They were interviewing me, so no, I didn’t mention you.”

Rachael felt the weight of the world, or the weight of the FBI being lifted off her back; and she asked expectantly, “You didn’t say anything about me?”

“Rach, I told them about me, and I told them about the voice and the dream, that’s all.”

“Fuck … thank God …” Rachael whispered to herself. This cat was out of the bag though, and Mia was now formally implicated, so Rachael said, “Listen Mia, if they interview you again, just keep my name out of it, okay.”

“But Rach, what about if they ask me if someone else was out at the site with me?”

“Just say that you went there by yourself,” Rachael began, then she reinforced, “Don’t mention my name, ever.”

“Okay, sure, but Rach, I’m pleased that the FBI is investigating this, because maybe they can find out what happened to the girl.”

“Yeah, sure, just don’t ever mention me.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

“Anyway, what happened during the interview?”

“Well, they were nice, and they listened to everything I had to say.”

“That’s good I guess, but did they believe you?”

“I don’t really know, I mean they didn’t say anything,” Mia replied, “Although thinking about it, it probably is a little bit hard to believe.”

“Fucking A.” Rachael moaned.

“Pardon?”

“No, sorry, nothing.”

“Rach …”

“What?”

“Can I come and see you tonight?”

Rachael pondered, thinking about links and crossovers, lining up her recent actions with things that could be checked or investigated. Prior to her last work assignment, she and Mia had set aside three nights a week to fuck each other’s brains out, and that worked, that sat comfortably in Rachael’s weekly routine, but this latest upheaval had Rachael thinking of Mia more as Brain-Injury Woman than Great Fuck Woman. “I’ll come around and see you tomorrow.” Rachael replied, then she disengaged.

*

At FBI Headquarters, Special Agent Mark Georgiakis sat back and stared into space. Another possible cold case murder, Yeah, well listen friends, this is America …

The discovery was reported by an anonymous caller who still hadn’t been identified, although Georgiakis presumed that the young woman he had interviewed recently, was the caller.

The woman, Mia Coombes, denied reporting the discovery, although she didn’t deny being at the site in January. The young woman was twitchy and nervous during the interview, and they were classic signs of involvement; although if the bones had been there for twenty years or more, the suspect would have been merely a child. Georgiakis was a clear and rational thinker, and he liked to link the pieces of a puzzle. Parents did it, maybe an accident, and the young girl witnessed the burial?

Mia Coombes’ parents had died in May of 2013, in a car accident. Or was it a car accident? Had the parents been so overcome by guilt and remorse, that they decided to end it all?

Georgiakis made a notation on his pad, Check the accident report.

He and Agent Stephanie Childs had sat with Mia Coombes for more than three hours, listening to the tale, going over it again and again, The voice, the voice …

Georgiakis knew that he could crack a timid and nervous young woman like Mia Coombes in ten minutes flat; crack her like an egg, although his instincts warned him to back off. The FBI psychologists would get the next interview with Mia Coombes, and maybe the egg would crack, maybe Mia Coombes would break down and confess; Yes, my parents did it, and I saw the whole thing! Or maybe the psychologists would suggest, ‘Disregard anything she says, because she has a few severe psychological issues.’

Georgiakis stared into space, his mind on the wander. If you lived in San Antonio, why on Earth would you ever think about visiting Brocksley, Illinois? Georgiakis made another notation on the pad, Check the whereabouts of all relatives or close friends of the parents.

He had asked the nervous, timid woman, ‘What does the voice say?’ and she had replied, ‘The voice, it says, Hello, hello, can you help me.’ He had also asked her, ‘Why you, why is the voice asking you for help?’ Tears had welled in her eyes, and she muttered, ‘I, I don’t know why.’

The country, the world for that matter, had its fair share of evil monsters, had plenty of seriously sick deviants, and it also had its fair share of freaked out loonies. Was Mia Coombes in the latter bracket? If she was a freaked-out looney, how did she know about the grave, the body? An exact determination of how long the bones had been buried still seemed a fair way off, and that meant that the identification of the victim was probably months away, so this investigation wasn’t going anywhere quickly.

The following day, Georgiakis ran it through his mind. A cold case file sat on his desk, and he assumed that it would be sitting there for quite a while, because at this stage, there wasn’t much to go on.

-An unidentified caller had reported the discovery.

-A young woman admitted to being at the scene of the discovery, stating that she had been led to the site by a voice in her mind.

-In the background check Stephanie had done on Mia Coombes, she had discovered that Mia had been involved in a near-fatal hit-and-run accident in July 2014. The result of the accident was that Mia was now classified as Disabled, due to the extent of her brain injuries.

-An accurate estimate of how long the bones had been there was still a fair way off, so identification of the victim wasn’t going to happen in the immediate future.

-He had received a list of missing females in the state of Illinois since 1980, although with over 11,000 names on it, that line of investigation was going to be time consuming.

Georgiakis picked up another cold case file and opened it.

*

Mia awoke in the early hours of the morning and propped herself up, gazing around the darkened room.

The clock radio showed that it was 4.22am, and Mia shook her head in confusion. She had become accustomed to sleeping undisturbed, her sleep rarely ending before seven o’clock in the morning; although on this morning, she had been disturbed.

Drowsy, tired, Mia opened her bed-side draw, picked up the bracelet and stared at it. The silver bracelet had lost its sheen, although it almost seemed to be alive. It had been weeks since she’d thought about the girl, although on this morning, the girl was responsible for disturbing her peaceful slumber. There was no pleading voice in her dream, no image of the forest, but when she was snapped awake, the girl was the only thing in her mind.

Mia held the bracelet again the following night after she’d been disturbed, the clock radio showing 3.49am, her mind seeming alive and active, seemingly ready and willing to listen or understand, although billowing masses of confusion hovered.

In her secret diary that morning, she made the notation,

I don’t understand.

Another notation the next day,

Is it you? Is something wrong?

Then three nights in a row, woken up, Mia drawn to the bracelet, the diary hosting confused notations,

The fifth night in a row …

-What is this about …

-Can I help you, or can you help me help you …

*

On a Tuesday afternoon, Rachael was all groping hands, although she did realise that her enthusiasm wasn’t being fully acknowledged or appreciated. She propped herself up and gazed at her. “You okay?”

“Yes, why?” Mia asked.

“You seem, I don’t know, distracted or something.”

Mia sat up and placed her face in her right hand. “Sorry.”

“What, what’s the matter?”

Mia sighed, “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, if something’s the matter, of course I want to know!”

Mia lowered her gaze and said quietly, “For five nights in a row, I’ve woken up in the early hours of the morning, and I pick up the bracelet.”

“The bracelet?”

“You know, the one we found in the forest.”

Rachael cocked her head and asked, “You have the bracelet?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, maybe you should have given it to the cops.” Rachael said, then she added, “Give it to me and I’ll give it to my contact.”

Mia bowed her face and mumbled, “Ummm, I don’t think I should.”

“Mia, it might help identify the girl.”

Mia opened the draw, pulled out the bracelet, then handed it to Rachael. “There’s no inscriptions on it.”

Rachael studied it, then gazed at her as she said, “I’ll hand it over anyway.”

Mia held her gaze and whispered, “No.”

Rachael shook her head. “What?”

“I, I think I need to hold onto it.”

“Why?”

“No, I don’t know why,” she replied sheepishly, “But I’m kinda drawn to it when I wake up.”

“Drawn to it?” Rachael asked as she sat on the side of the bed, “Seriously Mia, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Rach, I don’t understand either, but when I wake up, I’m drawn to it, and I open my draw and pick it up.”

Rachael huffed, then said, “This is way over my head, but what, you’re hearing the voice again?”

“No I’m not, but I’m waking up in the middle of the night, and I pick up the bracelet, and, and, gosh, this hard to explain; but it feels like I’m being requested … no, that’s not the right word; it feels like I’m being prepared for something.”

“Prepared for what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Who’s preparing you?”

“I’m not sure, but it might be the girl.”

“The girl from the dream?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Mia, I don’t think I can help you with this, because I don’t understand what it’s about.”

“Yes I appreciate that, and I’m sorry, I don’t mean to burden you with this, but Rach …”

“What?”

Mia gazed at her timidly as she asked, “Would you be able to sleep over tonight?”

Rachael hung her head. In reality, she did want to spend the night with her, wanted to curl into her and embrace her as she drifted off to sleep, and she wanted to have the experience of waking up next to her; but what price would there be to pay? Being Fuck-And-Go-Gal worked for her, because it meant that none of her lovers would ever met cowering-in-the-corner Rachael, although something occurred to her. Ever since she and Mia had become fuck-pals, Fuck-Shit-Head seemed to have vanished, because when she dreamed these nights, the dreams were about black hair fanning out across her thighs as the Heavenly Angels stood around her, joyfully belting out the Hallelujah Chorus. Maybe this relationship was just what she’d been crying out for, maybe the passion and the intimacy had chased Him out of her life. Rachael assumed that it was worth taking a chance, so she asked, “Do you snore?”

Mia shook her head, “I don’t know, I mean how would I know?”

“If you snore, I’ll smother you with a pillow.”

“Ohhh Rach, you’ll stay?”

“Will I get breakfast in bed?”

“Yes, yes, you’ll get anything that you want!”

It was after one o’clock when Mia finally fell asleep, and Rachael cuddled into her as she closed her eyes. Rachael enjoyed the experience, enjoyed the sensation of cuddling into her, although by living the experience, it had her thinking about the reason she normally shied away from such occasions. She frowned as she cuddled in tighter, trying to calm herself; Relax, just stop thinking about him …