Shades of the Wolf. Karen Whiddon
at her? She squinted at him, not sure. “And?” she finally prodded. “Are you going to tell me what it’s like?”
“It was liberating,” he said. “Once I’d shed that ruined body, joy filled me. I went to another place. Another plane. I knew I’d come home.”
Nothing but contentment and happiness filled his voice now. “But because of the violent manner of my death, my spirit went into shock. It was all too traumatic, and they took me to a healing place.”
“A healing place?”
He waved his ghostly hand, about to say more, and then didn’t. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“But...why are you here? Why didn’t you move on?”
“Because somehow I heard my sister’s cries. Her prayers for help. So instead of moving forward as I should have, I was allowed to remain tethered to earth.”
“I’m not sure I understand. You’re a ghost.”
“Yes.” He smiled, and the beauty of him struck her deep inside her heart. “I was permitted to come back as an ethereal being in the hopes of saving my sister. She’s being tortured, and while death would be a release from the pain, it’s not her time to die. Still, I fear he will kill her. And if he doesn’t, her suffering is terrible. We’ve got to get her out of there.”
“We’ll figure out a way,” she promised, reacting to the sheer desperation in his voice.
Apparently overcome, he turned away. For a moment, his ghostly form flickered and vanished, before solidifying once more.
“Thank you.” When he met her gaze, his hazel eyes glowed with determination. “Meanwhile, have I answered all your questions?”
She thought of her dead husband, the man she’d mourned for so long. “Since you said David was still alive when you died, I take it he wasn’t with you that night?”
“I don’t actually know. If he was there, I don’t remember him. But I’m guessing he was killed doing something similar.”
Miraculously, this helped ease her heart more than anything she’d heard or read about the troops in Afghanistan. “He died helping women and children,” she whispered, marveling again that war hadn’t changed her husband’s generous heart.
“Most likely.” Tyler shrugged. “Though I wasn’t there, so I can’t know for sure.”
“I do. I know inside me.” Turning, she headed toward her bathroom. “I’ll be out in a little while. You can wait in the kitchen, if you’d like.”
His wry grimace made her smile. “Sure. I’ll go in there and inhale the aroma of the coffee brewing. I used to enjoy my first cup in the morning.” With that, he drifted away, his broad shoulders and narrow waist drawing her eye until she could no longer see him.
Shutting the door, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He’d died a noble death too. Had he no one to mourn him? She realized she’d never asked about his family. Surely he must have had parents, maybe even other siblings, someone to mark his passing. She’d ask him later.
She knew only of the one sister, Dena, who’d surely mourned her brother. So much so that she’d cried out to his spirit in her pain and terror. Their tie had been so great that he’d come back from wherever he’d been to try to save her from a fate worse than death.
Again, a noble man. One with a generous spirit, like David.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and paused. A woman of purpose stared back at her, brown eyes blazing, expression resolute and determined. And resilient. Somehow, after all she’d been through, she realized she’d emerged stronger for it.
Fine. Decision made, she turned the shower on and, as soon as the water got hot, stepped inside. If she had magic power inside her, she’d learn how to use it to locate Tyler’s sister. As for doing battle with the warlock person, well, she’d have to deal with that when it happened.
* * *
As Tyler drifted into the colorful kitchen, he took in the green cabinets, orange walls and colorful paintings. More of Anabel’s personality. How strange that it happened that the woman he’d sought help from had been married to one of the guys in his former unit. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a fluke. One thing life after death had taught him was that there were very few real coincidences. Things happened for a purpose, and while he might temporarily be blinded to what that might be, he knew to keep an eye out.
While he and Dena were growing up with a drug-addicted father, his mother had shielded them as best she could. Older by ten years, Tyler had tried to be the man in the family, but as a kid, he hadn’t fully realized that his father might kill him rather than hurt him. His mother had, always stepping in front of the blows, taking the brunt of his father’s drug-fueled wrath.
Desperately wanting to defend his mother, despite her strict orders not to intervene, Tyler had helped in every way he could besides beating the man to a bloody pulp, which he fully planned to do once he was older and stronger. In the meantime, he’d taken care of his mother when her bruises and broken bones incapacitated her. He’d cooked and done laundry and watched after his baby sister. He’d learned to change her diapers and mix her formula, sleeping on the floor by her crib in case his doped-up father got any stupid ideas. When his mother had found out about this, she’d put a stop to it, promising Tyler she’d make sure nothing happened to the baby.
And she had. She’d always made sure to be in the way of her husband’s fists and vitriolic bile. Despite her petite stature, she’d displayed enormous courage, though Tyler had never understood why she wouldn’t leave. All she’d say when he asked was that he was too young to understand. Eventually, he’d figured out that his father had sworn to hunt her down and kill her and his children should she ever try to run.
Finally, their father had disappeared. Tyler had heard the man now lived on the streets, a slave to his own demons. Periodically, he’d show up at the house, but only to take money, which he used to buy more drugs.
Tyler had never understood why his mother gave the man anything at all.
As soon as he’d graduated from high school, Tyler had enlisted in the army. For him, the military was not only an escape, but a chance to make something of himself, to make sure he didn’t end up like his father.
Their father had overdosed when Dena was seventeen. Tyler had been stationed at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. He’d been granted leave and had hurried home to help out.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect. A celebration, perhaps? Instead he found his mother insensible with grief and his baby sister angry at the woman who’d raised them.
“What’s wrong with her?” Dena had asked. “He spent his life making her miserable, and all she can do is cry.”
“I don’t understand either,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “But I do know Mom needs us. Let her grieve, and be there for her, the way she always was for us.”
“She should have left him” had been Dena’s response. Since Tyler tended to agree, he didn’t reply.
After the funeral, he’d gone back to base and kept in touch with his sister. He’d celebrated with her long-distance when she got a job at the junior college. Sure, it was in the cafeteria, but she’d had plans, she told him. She wanted to take some classes, with an eye on earning her degree. He’d been proud.
What Dena hadn’t told him was that their mother had started using the very same drugs that had killed their father. Heroin, mostly. Sometimes meth. Their mom had died right after Tyler was sent to Afghanistan, though he hadn’t learned about it for two weeks. He’d raged and grieved and worried that his sister might follow this horrible family pattern. Dena had assured him that she wouldn’t. He’d believed her. Neither of them had wanted anything to do with that lifestyle.
After that, he and his sister had been on their own.