Ghosts in the Graveyard Page 6

  “What’s that?” Morris asked as he moved toward the object, bending down to pick it up. “It’s a cell phone. Probably belonged to one of the boys.”

  Brewster took the phone and started pushing buttons. The screen came to life and both men gasped when Brewster touched the camera icon and an eerie image popped up. The picture was fuzzy and dark and it was hard to discern most of it except in the center, at the spot where the flash had been the strongest.

  “Is that flour?” Morris whispered, pointing to the white substance in the picture.

  “Seems to be.”

  “And is that what I think it is?”

  Brewster brought the phone closer to his face, his heartbeat running wild as he registered what the picture showed. “If you think it’s footprints, then yep.”

  Morris pulled the phone in his direction. “Footprints too small to have been made by those teenage boys.”

  Brewster pushed the button, advancing to the next picture. It was a little darker and a little harder to make out. The image was very faint and distorted, more transparent than visible, but it was definitely there. The officer could barely believe his eyes, but the picture seemed to be the grainy outline of a small child, probably between six and eight, sitting in the middle of the flour. Jack Foster maybe?

  The young officer beside him let out a curse. Brewster turned to look at Morris and caught him just before he hit the ground, dropping the cell phone in the process.

  “Easy there, Morris. You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I-I-I’m okay now. Thanks. It just threw me for a minute there, ya know.”

  “Yes, deputy, I do know.” Brewster released the officer after making sure the shaken man had his balance. Then he picked up his foot and slammed it down hard on the cell phone, sending pieces flying in all directions.

  Morris looked at him aghast. “Sir, why did you do that?”

  “I like my quiet town, deputy. The rumors about the haunted Foster house and the occasional call here to pick up some teens are bad enough without adding a whole slew of ghost hunters, reporters, and psychics to the mix.”

  “Won’t the boys tell people what they saw, what happened? Say they have pictures on a cell phone and try to find it?”

  Brewster locked eyes with the young officer. “Not when I get through with them. Oh sure, they’ll talk to their friends. But when I remind them trespassing is against the law and that any evidence proving they broke into the Foster home can be used against them in a criminal case, they won’t make too much noise. At least not enough to attract notice from anyone outside their friends and family. And after a couple of months, no one’ll think twice about the Foster house.” Brewster took in a deep breath and released it with a loud sigh, allowing his shoulders to heave up and then fall in an exaggerated motion when he exhaled. “Until Halloween rolls around again.”

  About the Author

  Kim Bowman lives in Indiana, where she was born and raised. For the past twelve years, she has been married to her best friend, Tony. She has four wonderful, awesome children. Three she was lucky enough to inherit from her husband and one she was given by the grace of God. They live on a small farm with two of their four kids, five horses, Possum the wonder cat, and Lex the lovable pit bull.

  Although she has notebooks full of songs, poems, and short stories she has composed, it wasn’t until she started doing technical writing for her job that she really got the writing bug and decided to take her English professor’s advice and write novels for a living.

  She is proudest of the tribute song she wrote for her parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and the true story she wrote about her parents’ wedding titled The Ballad of Brenda and Willard that she contributed to the charity anthology Matrimonial Mayhem. And also of the eulogy she, her cousin Julie, and Aunt Sue penned for the funeral of her grandmother, Jewel Lawson, the bravest person she ever knew.

  Also by Kim Bowman:

  “Owen, please don’t go to work today.”

  Zanna slapped a hand over her mouth. Did she just say that out loud? What the heck was she trying to do? She was Owen’s spirit guide for goodness sake. Her job was to make sure he followed his charted course while living on Earth. To be the invisible force that directed him toward which decision to make. She knew better than to try and change fate. If his chart said he was supposed to die, that was that. His life had already been mapped out from beginning to end before he was born and it was pretty much set in stone. Unfortunately, right now she wasn’t his spirit guide, but the woman who loved him.

  “Did you say something?” Owen asked from the kitchen.

  Zanna stiffened. If she hadn’t already been sitting on his sofa, she would have fallen to the floor. Had Owen heard her? “No, nothing.” Yes. Please don’t go to work. Stay here. Stay safe.

  “Do you need me to drive you home? I appreciate you staying here last night with Jamie and getting him off to school,” Owen said, walking back to the living room with two cups of coffee. He sat down on the coffee table and handed her a cup.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” Zanna said. I need to go look at your chart on the other side and see if there’s any way to stop you from dying.

  “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna to be late for work.” He smiled, revealing the dimple in his right cheek.

  Inspiration struck. Maybe she was forbidden from telling Owen to stay home, but if he made the choice on his own…

  “Well, we can’t have that, Lieutenant Nash.” She leaned forward, sat the coffee down, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him on the couch with her.

  Desire flashed in Owen’s eyes. “Forget work. I spent all night chasing the bad guy.” His mouth captured hers, urging her lips to part. The minute they did, he deepened the kiss and her conscience receded to a distant part of her mind. Zanna ran her fingers down Owen’s sides and around his back, pulling him closer, her hands dipping lower.

  Breathless, Owen broke the kiss to ask, “Are you sure? I mean, I know you want to wait…”

  Was she sure? As one of the few spirit guides who had never lived on earth as a human before, she didn’t have a lot of experience in the romantic depart. Slowly, she emerged from the blissful daydream where she was trying to find a place to hide from the impossible dilemma she faced.

  Do my job and let Owen die or save him and risk causing bedlam on Earth. Why did it have to be written in his chart that he had to die? Would it really be so disastrous if he lived?

  “Earth to Zanna,” Owen said.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  Owen furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, I asked if you wanted to stop. I’m sorry. I freaked you out, didn’t I?”

  Zanna took his face in her hands. “No, you didn’t scare me at all. It’s just—”

  “It’s fine, I get it. I’m sorry.” Owen pushed back off the couch and moved to the door. “I gotta go to work.” He grabbed his gun and badge off the shelf by the door and turned the handle.

  He released the handle and raked his hand through his hair. With a loud sigh, he removed the gun and put it back on the shelf and then walked back to Zanna. He took both her hands in his and placed a tender kiss on her lips. Tears of relief streamed down her cheek.

  “Please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. I was a jerk.”

  “I didn’t mean…It’s not you…It’s just…It’s just…” It’s just that if you go to work, you’ll be killed and I’ll lose you.

  He caressed her face with his thumbs. “Why don’t I call and have Smitty bring me the reports I need to finish, and we can spend the day doing whatever you want,” Owen offered.

  Zanna’s heart sang with joy. “Yes!”

  Owen gave her a sheepish smile. “Okay. Let me call work and then I’ll be all yours.” He opened his phone and dialed.

  Zanna fell back on the couch, relief washing through her. Her mind reeled trying to figure out how this was possible. How had it been so easy to keep Owen from going to work, when his cha
rt said he would end up being shot and killed in the line of duty today?

  “Zanna.”

  His voice had taken on a somber note. The laughter completely gone. The way he said her name sent cold shivers up and down her spine. She couldn’t look up, didn’t want to see the solemn expression on his face. She started to tremble and beads of perspiration broke out on her temple. If she didn’t get a grip, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her physical body and it would be cast back to the spirit side. Owen would then drop dead from shock at watching her disappear.

  He sat beside her on the sofa and placed his hand on her forehead. “Are you o—”

  His cell phone started chirping. Cursing under his breath, he answered. “Nash.”

  Zanna couldn’t hear what the caller was saying, but from the way Owen’s jaw tightened and the vein on the side of his neck throbbed, it wasn’t good.

  “I’m on my way.” He snapped the phone closed then tossed in on the table. “I’m so sorry, Zanna. We have a really good lead on the guy we think’s been killing all these young girls. I have to follow it. Why don’t you stay here and wait for me.”

  Her throat was so tight she couldn’t speak, so she just gave him a tight smile and nodded.

  “Don’t hate me. You know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”

  “I love you, Owen,” she said, her eyes intent.

  He pressed his lips to her brow. “Why, I don’t know, but I’m glad you do. I love you, too. Wait for me.”

  A few minutes later, she was alone in Owen’s house. Frozen in place, hoping time would stand still.

  I can’t lose him. I don’t care what his fate is supposed to be! Think, think, think. There has to be a way to stop Owen from dying without causing chaos and destruction to ensue.

  Now Zanna understood why spirit guides were only permitted to take on a physical form to help a charge as a last resort. Why too much interaction between a life director and the human they helped protect was forbidden. The temptation to rewrite a person’s destiny, which in turn would cause pandemonium, was too great.

  She picked a pillow up off the couch and screamed into it, loud. There was nothing she could do to save Owen.

  Astraea Press

  Where Fiction Meets Virtue

  www.astraeapress.com