Oct 26 Plot Background Story

“It can’t be,” he muttered under his breath. “No way.” Longfellow Darke spun his head and body around, quickly, spun on his heels like he was back on the dance floor. He watched as she disappeared into the crowd which came from the elevator bank and stairs. He had been visiting his wife, a junior partner at Oldham and Newbury, to see how she was doing. Before she left, she complained of nausea, though she was ardent that it was not morning sickness: none of the DeMarco women suffered from that malady. And she had called an hour ago, wanting him to bring her another lunch: she was hungry.

“I’m eating for two,” was her excuse.

The chill the titian-haired woman gave him as she walked past had not subsided as he waded into the small sea of office drones and well-dressed executives, both women and men. He still had sight of her despite her lack of height. The redness of her hair made it possible for him to track her.

He remembered where he first saw her, at La Grande Patisserie, the best pastry shop in the greater Capital Region of New York. It was where students from the three colleges – Charlotte County Community College, Binnekill College, and Beverwyck Law School – went when they wanted to study in groups, mostly for the coffee, tea, and French pastries that were made in-house. After he graduated from CCCC and right before meeting his wife, he worked for Campion and Champion, a private detective agency, as a “special consultant,” special because his gift was an asset Michael Champion III, the president of the agency and family friend, had used before.

“She’s missing,” Champion told him three years earlier as he slid a file. Longfellow opened it and looked at the photographs the family had given. “The last person to see her was her mother, two weeks ago.”

“Why are you asking me to help?”

“The Pierce family believe that Mandy here, Mandy Thompson, is dead. Her ex-husband has said that he would see her dead than pay child support. Those last words made Longfellow’s skin crawl: a sign that she had indeed past over.

He saw her get on an elevator alone and watched the doors quickly. He waited a few minutes, to see where she got off: Fifth floor, Tessa’s floor. From the back of his mind, he heard that voice, the one which was now screaming. He ran to the stairs and pulled open the door.

He was skipping two, three at a time, trying to get to Tessa’s office. He sensed that she was in trouble. He tried to get those thoughts out of his mind, he needed to get to her. His stomach fell when he heard the shoots ring out. Longfellow pushed open the door.

He felt the searing pain in his leg, but did not fall. He had a mission, and that was to get to the love of his life. Another two bullets whizzed past, one to the right of him, the other between his legs. He saw an armed man exit her office behind the shooter. He was holding a semi-automatic rifle, one that was being leveled at him. Longfellow dove to avoid being hit, landing face first. The pain from another bullet invading his body made him scream, left shoulder this time. He looked up and expected to see the shooters advancing towards him, but he saw them retreating, back towards the other set of stairs.

“No!” he screamed as he saw the titian-haired woman again, leaving his wife’s office. “No!” again, louder this time when he saw Mandy turn and hold Tessa’s hand.

He tried to get off the floor, but consciousness began to fade, darkness began to creep into the edges of his sight.

“No!” he cried out softly before he fell unconscious.

“We can’t always be there to stop death,” his great-uncle Wadzy, Wadsworth Sobieski, whispered, words Longfellow her him speak before, in the hospital as he lay quickly recuperating, and then mostly in his dreams. He was grateful that his in-laws decided to hold off on the wake and funeral until he was well enough to travel, first to the funeral home for the closed casket wake and to the church, the same one where they had been married.

He looked to his right and saw the old man, the man who he wanted to be his Confirmation sponsor, looking around the church to see who would be joining him from the spirit world. If he had seen anyone, he didn’t communicate it with his great-nephew. He didn’t tell Longfellow of the other spirits and ghosts who had come to visit, including those of the other women he had found. And for his part, Longfellow kept quiet, not telling Wadsworth, one of the men he was named after, that in his dreams, he kept knowledge of those he met in his dreams, including Wadzy’s own brothers.

The private investigator or author, he wasn’t sure what he was going to be now that his beloved Tessa had been taken from him. He had plenty of time to think about it. He wanted to mourn her death, quietly and quickly. He had cried enough: he sat numb and emotionless.

He felt a hand on his uninjured shoulder, a gentle squeeze. He knew that touch: his oldest sister Stephanie was a nurse and knew how to bring back to reality someone grieving.

“We’re so sorry,” she whispered. She took his hand and rubbed it. She leaned in and kissed a cheek before shuffling over to the opposite side of the aisle and took a seat in the second pew. Other relatives from the Darkes and DeMarcos whispered their condolences, offering words of grief and support, and thoughts of how they could help him in this time of sorrow. He managed to speak a few words of appreciation, but he mostly looked past these people, looking for the ghost of the woman who had twice appeared when his life was going to be turned. He didn’t see her, and neither to Wadsworth.

“We can’t always stop death.”

But she was there, tucked away in the St. Mary Chapel, left of the altar. She stood still behind a column, making sure that neither the ghosts sat close to him, nor he could see her.