What We Hear - Chapter 6

What We Hear

Chapter 6

©2010 Rebecca Rhielle

Pulling open the door, Sadie’s vision was filled with the wonder that was Noreen Davis. She was dressed in a dark, navy blue skirt set, with pearls at her neck and wrist. A navy blue pillbox hat rested atop her perfectly coiffed hair, completing the Jackie O look. Added to all of that were her impeccably manicured nails and sensible pumps. Navy blue, of course.

She was clutching a handkerchief in her left hand, already blotting at her eyes, though Sadie could see she had clearly not been crying.

“Hello, Mrs. Davis,” she said cordially.

“Hello, Sadie,” came the sniffling reply.

“Hello, Harpy,” Markie chimed in brightly, causing Sadie to fight down a grin.

“Won’t you come in?” she asked the elder woman.

“Yes, thank you,” Noreen answered, voice quivering.

It was all Sadie could do to not roll her eyes. Academy Awards, here she comes.

She heard Markie giggle at her thought.

Together they walked up the stairs to Sadie’s office, Noreen taking a seat in one of the plush club chairs as Sadie shut the door behind them.

Sitting across from the woman in the other chair, Sadie began their session.

“What is it you are wanting to know today, Noreen?”

“Well,” she sniffed. “I just know Markie’s been trying to contact me. You know how it is…certain songs come on the radio, signs that I’ve passed by on the road. Why, just this morning I heard a commercial for the Almand Center. You know – that place downtown that helps out wayward teens? And I knew, I just knew it was Markie trying to tell me how much she wished she could have turned her life around before she passed on.”

“Oh good grief,” Markie said. “Don’t they have medication for delusional people now, Noreen?”

Shushing the girl mentally, Sadie spoke aloud to Mrs. Davis.

“Now, Noreen, we’ve talked about misinterpreting signs before, remember? Sometimes the mind wants to believe something so badly that it latches on to anything that could support its theory.”

In an instant, the woman’s demeanor changed. “I do not pay you to tell me what I am doing wrong, girl. I pay you to talk to my daughter. So let’s get on with it.” Her mouth set itself into a firm line, the handkerchief routine all but forgotten.

Sadie sighed inwardly. Not for the first time, she wondered why she couldn’t have just gone into something simple, like brain surgery.

“Okay, Mrs. Davis. Let me see what I can do. Did you bring something of Markie’s for me to hold?”

Of course this was completely unnecessary, but Noreen had insisted that this was the way psychics did it on television, therefore it was the way Sadie was to do it, too.

Fishing through her purse (navy blue), Mrs. Davis brought out an elaborate cameo necklace.

Sadie could hear Markie chuckling. “That thing wasn’t mine. I never even touched it! She gave it to me for my fourteenth birthday. I left it in the box and shoved it in a drawer behind my underwear.”

Trying desperately to maintain her composure, Sadie took the item from Noreen, holding it in her left hand and pretending to concentrate. After a few moments she opened her eyes, telling the woman her daughter was now here.

“Ask her if it was her giving me all those signs. Ask her if she wanted to tell me she wished she could change,” Mrs. Davis asked greedily, eyes hungry for validation.

“No, and no,” came Markie’s reply.

Reminding herself how much she needed the money, Sadie worked up a smile and told Noreen, “Well, she says she has been trying to communicate with you.”

“I knew it!” the woman shouted. “Didn’t I tell you? I know my daughter, Ms. Johnson. I told you not to question me on that. See how wrong you were?”

Before she could reply, there was a knock at the door, and Gale entered with a tray full of tea things. As she placed it on the small square table between the chairs, Sadie was mortified to see it was one of her art pieces…the one with the Greek urn design around the edges and women enjoying various sex acts illustrated in the middle. Shooting a sharp glance at her partner, Sadie had to smile a little at the knowing wink Gale shot back as she shut the door.

Mrs. Davis picked up the teapot and began to pour. Much to Sadie’s chagrin, Noreen was studying the center of the tray.

“Is that…?” she asked, confused.

Laughter echoed again in Sadie’s head.

“She wouldn’t know what to do with that if she had a handbook,” Markie said.

“Why don’t you let me pour,” Sadie interrupted quickly. “It’s only proper for the hostess to serve the guest, after all.”

She reached for the teapot, surreptitiously pushing the cream pitcher with her elbow into the middle of the tray to cover the pictures.

“Well,” Noreen answered with a demure smile, “you do have a point. Sugar please, no cream.”

Thanking the gods for small favors, Sadie poured.

What we Hear - Chapter 5

What We Hear

Chapter 5

©2010 Rebecca Rhielle

Sliding her key into the lock, Sadie was surprised to see the door swing in, open and clearly not secured. Cautiously she pushed it open further, trying to peek inside. Arnold had disappeared, embarrassed, somewhere between the nursing home and here, or she would have sent him ahead to scope out any danger.

A figure darted by the door, and her momentary panic dissolved as she recognized the bright colors and efficient stalk of the figure. Stepping into her entryway, she had to smile as she watched her partner in a flurry of activity.

“Oh, hi honey,” Gale said over her shoulder. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I imagine not,” Sadie laughed. “The door was wide open!”

Gale turned to look at her sheepishly “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, love. I must have forgotten.”

Sadie never could be truly upset with her partner of nine years, especially since she was well aware of Gale’s absent-minded artist’s ways.

“Is that your new piece?” she remarked, referring to the huge, blindingly blue sun-shaped object Gale was holding. Tilting her head slightly, Sadie tried to take in the sculpture. There were figures in various states of undress painted onto the outer ring in bright orange, and a bulbous mirror-type thing in the middle. She shook her head slightly. I never will understand art.

“Yes!” Gale beamed at her. “I call it “Passion of the Sun”. What do you think?”

After so many years together, Sadie had more than enough flubs under her belt to have been trained to the right answer. “I think it’s unique … and very thought provoking,” she answered.

“I knew you would get it!” Gale rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek. “Now run on upstairs and I’ll fix you some tea. Your first client of the day will be here in fifteen. Oh – and if you find the picture wire up there, bring it down, will you? I want to mount this in the entryway.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Sadie halfway up the stairs in resigned despair. The entryway? Of their house? Really?

Ah, well, Sadie told herself. It makes her happy. Learn to pick your battles, lady.

Then she was up the stairs and into her office, organizing things for her first client of the day. Checking her notes, she saw that it was Noreen Davis and groaned aloud.

The woman came in at least once a month, if not twice, trying to reach her daughter who had died in a car accident four years prior. And Sadie just couldn’t bring herself to tell Noreen that Markie was much happier in her afterlife than she was in this one.

The girl visited her often, and was honestly delighted with her status as a Spirit. She even had a job, helping the newly-deceased adjust to the Spirit Realm.

While on this plane, she had suffered from an overbearing mother who obsessed over clothes, her hair, her friends, her path in life … everything, really. Noreen was determined to live vicariously through her daughter, and it made Markie miserable. All she wanted was acceptance and love from her mother, neither of which she ever truly received, instead only garnering criticism and resentment.

Sadie took a deep breath as the doorbell rang, and went down to meet Mrs. Davis. Markie arrived about the same time, traveling with Sadie down the staircase.

“Well,” the teenager said, “let’s go let the old bat in.”

Chuckling, Sadie reached for the doorknob. “Okay, Markie. Here we go again!”

What We Hear - Chapter 4

What We Hear

Chapter 4

©2010 Rebecca Rhielle

“I’m a medium.”

The word hung in the air like smoke between the two women. Marjorie said nothing, only continued to stare at Sadie expectantly.

“From what Arnold told me about your beliefs, I anticipated a different reaction, I suppose,” Sadie remarked.

The elder woman’s tawny eyes never left Sadie’s face.

“At my age, child, you learn there are a great many things that you don’t know everything about. Now, I’m not saying you are, and I’m not saying you’re not able to talk to what you think are spirits. What I am saying is that you have no way of knowing about the promise Arnold made me, so you better start explaining yourself.”

“She always did get straight to the point,” Arnold conceded.

Sadie sighed. Here goes. “Spirits have talked to me since I was a child,” she began. “At first I thought I was crazy, hearing voices that others didn’t. But as I grew older, I realized that these were people just like me – they just didn’t happen to have a body.”

Marjorie’s eyebrow raised suspiciously, but she said nothing.

“Your husband came to visit me for the first time about six months ago, right after he passed from the accident. He was so worried about you, and so intent on speaking with you. He had tried to do it himself, but you couldn’t hear him, and he was frustrated. So he sought me out, and begged me to talk to you for him. As you’re aware, he can be quite persistent.”

That remark got a small smile from Marjorie, and it gave Sadie hope.

“At first, I researched the accident, and all the media coverage surrounding it. Apparently there were a great many people interested in the passing of a City Councilman and the injury to his politically involved wife,” Sadie said carefully. She had no intention of telling Mrs. Walker what the papers had said about her injury – that she had gone insane, turned into a raving lunatic that had to be locked away for her own safety. Somehow, though, she got the idea that the woman knew exactly what was being said about her, perhaps because of the sardonic look on her face.

“So, as you can imagine,” Sadie went on, “I was in no hurry to visit you. No offense intended, of course.”

Marjorie nodded her head in assent.

“I held him off as long as I could, visiting his barber and constituents first, seeing how everyone was dealing with life after his passing. But he wouldn’t let it go – my coming here, I mean. He told me you were recovering, that you were healing, and you were ready. I must admit, I didn’t believe him. But I have to say … I think I have changed my mind.”

The two women regarded each other for a moment, the elder seeming to weigh all that she had been told.

“If you know my husband, if this is truly him you are speaking to, ask him what the deal was he made with me. What he promised me,” Marjorie said guardedly.

Sadie spoke to Arnold in her head, asking him to give her the information. His answer was, to say the least, frustrating.

She looked again to Mrs. Walker and decided just to say what he had.

“He said no,” she said, defeated. Why would he ask me to come here, to go through all of this only to deny me what I need to validate it? Her cheeks burned with indignation and embarrassment, but she said the words he was telling her anyway.

“He said he can’t, because he promised never to tell another living soul.”

Sadie had expected Marjorie to laugh in her face, tell her to get out again, or give her a smug I-told-you-so. But nothing could have prepared her for the woman’s actual reaction.

She began to shake, to tremble. The color drained from her face, making the feverish look in her eyes that much brighter. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, her nostrils flared, and her chest heaved with quick, deep breaths. She stood up so suddenly that the chair pushed back a full foot, its legs shrieking against the floor.

“Heathen!” she whispered fiercely. “Demon-lover! Harlot!” She began to mumble unintelligibly, voice rising and falling with no recognizable cadence. Her voice went shrill, cresting at a fearsome volume, bringing nurses running down the hallway at top speed.

Sadie sat, transfixed by the transformation, completely and thoroughly immobilized by shock.

“Uh, oh,” came Arnold’s voice through her head.

And then Sadie was whisked away by strong male attendants and deposited into the lobby, where she found herself face to face with Miss Helpful herself, from the info desk.

“I checked Mrs. Walker’s file,” she said angrily, tapping the toe of one leopard print high heel shoe on the tile. “She has no granddaughter, no record of any adoption. But I suppose you knew that. You’re lucky I’m such a nice person, or I’d be on the phone with the police. You will leave now, Ms. Johnson, and you will not come back. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

Nodding numbly, Sadie stumbled out the entrance and back to her car in a daze. Opening the door, she sat down, shaking, and rested her head on the steering wheel. She felt Arnold’s presence filling the seat next to her, and anger began to seep through her stupor.

“Uh, oh?” she asked him. “Really? That’s all you’ve got?”

No answer was forthcoming, so she shook her head and started the car, driving on autopilot toward home.

To herself, to Arnold, to no one in particular, she spoke outloud.

“I knew that wasn’t a good idea.”

What We Hear - Chapter 3

What We Hear

Chapter 3

©2010 Rebecca Rhielle

Walking gingerly toward Marjorie’s chair, Sadie said a silent prayer that today would be one of the ‘good days’. She had no first hand knowledge of the woman’s condition, caused by head trauma sustained in the same accident that had taken Arnold’s life, but from what Arnold had told her it was always a gamble. Marjorie could be lucid and clear, but more often than not she would rant wildly and strike out at anyone near her. Sadie’s ghostly pal had also informed her that Marjorie had a deep, abiding faith – one that didn’t exactly align with the practice of talking to dead people, so this was likely to be a difficult conversation.

She sat in the chair across from Mrs. Walker, noting the youthful smoothness of her face, though she had to be in her late seventies. Her whiskey-colored eyes were focused somewhere far-off, and Sadie was certain she saw nothing beyond her window.

“C’mon girl,” Arnold prodded. “Talk to my lady. Tell her I’m here, I’m okay. Tell her I love her.”

Sadie took a deep breath.

“Hello, Mrs. Walker. My name is Sadie. You don’t know me, but I know … er … knew your husband, Arnold. I wondered if we could talk about him for a moment?”

No reaction.

“Keep going,” Arnold pleaded.

Gently, Sadie laid a hand on Marjorie’s clasped ones.

“Marjorie?” she inquired softly. “I just want to help.”

“Help?” came the terse reply, as Marjorie jerked her hands away. “And just how do you plan on doing that, girl?”

She turned her sharp gaze toward Sadie. “My husband is dead. There is no help to be had. Now I’m just waitin’ my turn so I can see him again.”

Saying no more, she turned her head and resumed her study of the window.

Well. I guess this would qualify as a ‘good day’, then, Sadie thought ruefully. She seems lucid enough to me. Time to try it out.

“Mrs. Walker, what if I told you there was a way to communicate with your husband – right here, right now – and that he is always around you? That he never left you, even for a moment?”

The woman’s hands squeezed together so tightly that the knuckles went white. She moved slowly, turning her whole body to face Sadie.

“Get. Out.” The fierceness of the statement left no confusion as to how she felt about this subject.

“Marjorie, I … “

“Do I know you?” the elder woman retorted.

Answering her own question, she continued, “No, I don’t. And I don’t believe you knew my Arnold either, girl. So you take your heathen, spirit-talkin’ ways and exit my presence. Do I make myself clear? Or do I have to call security?”

Her eyes had gone hard, clear as a morning sky and just as unreadable.

What now?

“Tell her you know about the edelweiss,” Arnold said quickly, “About the time we went to Austria when we were young, before Henry was born. Tell her you know what she told me, and you know that I tried.”

At that moment Marjorie stood from her chair, a formidable form, and placed her hands on her hips defiantly.

“You have exactly three seconds to leave this room, missy, or I’m calling security and having you thrown out on your skinny white butt! Do you hear me?”

Sadie stood and took a step backward before she realized what she was doing. She could only imagine what a force this woman had been before the accident.

“Tell her!” Arnold was screaming in her head.

“I … I know about the edelweiss,” Sadie managed to stutter. “I know about your trip to Austria before Henry was born.”

Arnold’s wife went stock still, her face a few shades paler than before.

“What did you just say to me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Arnold whispered back. “Yes, keep going, girl. You’ve got her now!” he chuckled.

“Arnold told me. He told me about your trip, and something about edelweiss, and what you asked him to do. He said he did the best he could. Do you know what that means?”

Marjorie took a few shaky steps forward, staring hard at Sadie.

“How do you know that? How can you possibly know …” she trailed off.

“Arnold told me,” Sadie repeated.

“When? When did he tell you this?”

Sadie breathed deep. All or nothing, now.

“About thirty seconds ago.”

Confusion twisted Marjorie’s face, making her look more her age.

“Mrs. Walker, please … just hear me out. I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise you. Give me a chance to explain.”

Marjorie studied Sadie for a moment, seeming to consider what she had said.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really?”

“I said okay.” She walked back to the chair and sitting down, arms crossed, chin up.

“Now start talkin’.”

Arnold’s booming laugh echoed through Sadie’s head.

“That’s my girl. That’s both my girls! Now this is gettin’ good!”

What We Hear - Chapter 2

What We Hear

© 2010 Rebecca Rhielle

Chapter 2

Sadie looked around at the gray, institutional walls, taking in the sterile, antiseptic atmosphere. This was called an assisted living home, but she didn’t see how anyone could honestly call this “living”. Hopefully she would have the good fortune to die a quick and painless death when her time came, with no hope of hanging on in a place like this. A girl can dream.

Walking up to the info desk, she stood waiting impatiently for the woman behind it to notice there was someone in need of her attention. After a full thirty seconds of watching the pages of a People magazine flip by, Sadie cleared her throat pointedly.

Setting down her tome, the terribly friendly creature sighed heavily and looked up at Sadie over her bifocals.

“Name?”

“Sadie Johnson.”

Nimble fingers tipped with inch-long, bright green fingernails typed it in. “We got no Sadie Johnson, miss.”

“No,” Sadie replied patiently, “that’s my name.”

Another large sigh, this time accompanied by an eyeroll. “Name of the patient?”

Sadie heard Arnold mumble, “She’s not a patient. She’s a resident.”

Silently Sadie begged him to keep his cool.

“Marjorie Walker.”

“Mmm hmm,” clucked the nurse sarcastically, without even typing in the name. “And what do you want to see Ms. Walker for? You can tell you ain’t related … you’re a little too pale to be in her family, child,” she finished, chuckling to herself, “and we only let family in to visit.”

Sadie knew the truth would never work. Time for Plan B.

“For your information, my pale mother was adopted as an infant by Ms. Walker, who therefore happens to be my grandmother. So I would appreciate if you kept your comments to yourself, and direct me to my Granny’s room immediately. Unless you would prefer to have your manager escort me?”

Sadie stared down the nurse, one eyebrow raised, as Arnold’s belly laugh resonated in her ears.

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled.

The nurse’s demeanor shifted considerably, and she began to apologize profusely as she walked them down the hallway. “I’m sorry, Miss Johnson. We’re just trying to protect our guests, and with all the media that covered Mrs. Walker’s car accident …” she let her words drift off.

“It’s okay,” Sadie replied magnanimously, “I appreciate you taking such good care of my Granny.”

“It’s our pleasure, miss.” She turned a key in the lock of a non-descript door, and it swung open to reveal the stately Mrs. Walker staring out the window, humming “Just As I Am” softly to herself.

The butterflies in Sadie’s stomach turned to hornets. “Arnold, you had better know what you’re doing,” she whispered. “‘Cuz here we go.”

What We Hear - Chapter 1

What We Hear

© 2010 Rebecca Rhielle

Chapter 1

“Get up! C’mon sleepin’ beauty ... rise and shine!”

Sadie rolled over and groaned, pulling the pillow over her head.

A good-natured chuckle sounded in her ears. “You know that don’t work, girl.”

“Arnold, please!” Sadie pleaded, voice muffled by the covers.

His laughter filled the room - big and booming, like everything else about him.

Sadie sighed, sitting up finally and casting the useless pillow aside.

“Okay, okay! What do you want, Arnold? Why, in the name of all that’s holy, are you waking me up at this hour?”

“I need you to go with me somewhere.”

She looked around the room, even though she knew there was no one to see. If anyone walked in now, it would appear Sadie was talking to herself, when in fact she was having a perfectly normal conversation with a ghost named Arnold. Well, normal for her, anyway. Sadie talked to ghosts all the time.

And they talked back.

***

After stumbling through the whole shower-dressing-coffee routine, Sadie grabbed her bag and headed to the car. The minute she shut the door of her sedan, she felt Arnold beside her in the passenger seat. At least he had the decency to have made himself scarce during her shower. Sighing, she pulled out her notebook and a pen.

“Okay Arnold. What will it be today?”

The dead man’s spirit gave off an air of anticipation, and it made her wary. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.

“I want to visit my wife.”

A warm wave of nostalgia washed through the car, bringing tears to Sadie’s eyes. Overwhelming responses to the emotions of those on the other side were a side effect of being both a medium and an empath. This was one of those times she wished she had not been quite so blessed in both areas.

“Arnold,” she began gently, “we’ve talked about this. Your wife is not strong enough. If she even recognizes what’s happening, she’s likely to have me exorcised or locked up in the looney bin or both. You know that, right?”

“She’s ready. I know she’s ready. Please, Sadie. I need her to know I’m okay.”

She never actually saw the spirits that spoke to her, except in her mind’s eye. But Sadie was completely convinced that had she been able to see Arnold’s eyes right then, they would be filled to the brim with desperation and hope. Dammit. She should say no. No way, no how, not happening.

“Okay, Arnold,” came out of her mouth instead. “Let’s go see Marjorie.”

Sadie could feel his smile radiating toward her. She started the car, reversed out of the driveway, and headed toward the Silver Leaf Assisted Living Center. This was not going to end well.

***