This is my online novel, being written right here before your very eyes. It is an alluring ghost story I know you'll love. The previous chapters can be found here.
The Storyteller's Muse
Chapter 17
Sara laid the phone on her lap with a slow-motion movement. Pulling over to the side the road, she turned off the ignition and leaned her head against the steering wheel. How much could one person take? What in the world was that phone call about? Was Margot in trouble? Why did she hear David's voice in the background?
"I've got to find them," she murmured, turning the key in the ignition with a shaky hand. "Smithton. I've got to go to Smithton." Good grief--she sounded like a crazy woman.
A tap on the window sent her jumping. It was a cop, his badge glinting in the sun, blue uniform hiding a body firmed from working out. He hovered like a huge dark mountain outside the window.
"Is everything okay, Ms?"
Now would be a good time to ask for help. But she didn't understand exactly what was happening with her friends. Maybe it was an innocent situation. She wouldn't want to get them in trouble.
'Yes! I just...got something in my eye. I pulled over to take care of it."
"Okay, just checking. Have a nice day!"
Have a nice day--not bloody likely, the way things were going. She watched his hulking form return to the squad car. It pulled away in a cloud of dust.
"Are we going to Smithton?"
Justin again. He sat resplendent and calm, perched in the passenger seat.
"Not today. It is way off in the other direction. We'll have to go home and start out tomorrow."
"Do you have any idea what we will find?"
"No. But I have a feeling you do!" She shot him an accusatory glance.
Justin's aura wavered before coming back again with strong colors, as though the affront weakened him. "Really, darling! Stop trying to give me supernatural powers. I'm just a lost soul, by the way, nothing more."
"Aren't we all?" Sara murmured. Her mind wandered. When she looked again, Justin was gone.
Arriving home proved to be an exasperating experience. Phone messages from her publisher, frantic and loud, reminded her she'd missed a deadline for her next chapter submission. That, and Griffin the cop was dogging her again, leaving three messages. He wanted to speak with her. One day out of the house, and all this happened.
With a sigh, she made her way to the kitchen for tea. Tea, the great soother, a vehicle to send her mind jaunting to some other place with each savory sip. It was a drink that transcended time and space. The beverage always put her in the mind of the characters in her stories. Those folks were tea drinkers, sipping it during their best conversations. When she drank it down, she was anywhere but here, stepping into the drink's dignified and significant history. Coffee was out of the question. What magic did coffee hold? None.
The tea worked. She relaxed, sorting out her problems. Of one thing she was certain, she would prefer to avoid Griffin altogether, not liking his accusatory nuance. If she told him about the phone call, he would find a way to loop her into its negative mystery. Besides, maybe the call was innocent and Margot and David just needed help. Perhaps they were in a bad cell zone. It would be a fine thing to show up with the cops when all they needed was to jumpstart the car or some extra cash.
Am I being delusional? The thought irked her. Was she avoiding the obvious? Were Margot and David actually in trouble? Surely, with a cell phone they could have called a car mechanic on their own. But the cell cut out on Margot in mid-conversation. So how reliable was it?
"I'm going to Smithton," Sara stated. "Just as soon as I finish a chapter." The publisher's deadline still loomed. She owed them a chapter, and she hadn't begun yet. What to do--save your friends or save your book deal? Well, she'd just have to find a way to do both.
Splashing the tea down the drain, she put on a pot of coffee. Time to pull an all-nighter.
Eight o'clock in the morning, and she finally finished. Clicking "send," Sara sighed and leaned back in the chair. Finally, the publisher would leave her alone for a time. She could get back to the business of helping her friends. She'd worked all night, and now finally she was free, and exhausted. As she wrestled with the idea of a nap, the doorbell rang. Stumbling over, she pulled back the white lacey curtain and peeked. Griffin and his sidekick, O'Malley. The younger one looked up and nodded to her. Busted! They'd seen her through the tiny glass.
She opened the door.
"Ms. McNeil! Sorry to call so early, but you are hard to get a hold of. I figured I'd catch you before you could take off somewhere for the day."
Was that right? Damn him. She forced a smile, trying to be civil. They were cops after all.
"I guess you want to come in?" She opened the door wide.
The two entered in businesslike fashion, brushing past her and settling in the parlor as though it was their own home. Griffin flipped out a notebook and fished a pen out of his pocket. Sara followed with reluctant steps, sitting across from O'Malley at her desk, chair turned to face them.
"You don't seem to be home much these days." It was a statement of fact, but followed with a questioning glance from Griffin.
Sara's heart thumped louder than the monotonous tick tick of the hall grandfather clock. She didn't want to tell Griffin about the phone call, about her search, nothing.
"I've been having a bit of writer's block. I went for a drive...to get ideas."
He watched with rapt attention, his eyes scrutinizing her face until she felt pain. This guy wouldn't be easy to lie to.
"You realize, of course, you need to cooperate with us, tell us all you know." He spoke with flourish, staring at her point blank. "If you're holding back anything, you could end up being charged as an accessory in a crime, if your actions have helped someone in the commission of an unlawful act."
The man was frightening. Was he slap-happy and trying to haul to jail anyone within reach, just to call the case solved? She was glad she'd kept her silence. She didn't like Griffin, and she didn't like his puppet sidekick, either.
"Well, I've nothing to tell you."
He stared back, next reaching into his pocket to extract a business card. "Well, if you change your mind, give me a call."
He rose and started for the door, O'Malley close behind. He turned to face her.
"You know, there's still time to save yourself, from jail or from trouble, whichever applies. You just need to be honest with me."
The two slipped through the door. Sara watched them go, frozen in place. When she heard their car pull out, she stumbled to the sofa and plopped down, bursting into tears.
Was she going insane? How much could one person take? What had she done? Turned away the very help she needed? She'd caused her friends grief and maybe even put them in danger. Who knows why they'd disappeared, but guilt lingered, hinting of trouble. Everything has been fine until she had them here at the house. Then strange things began to happen. Margot got weird after being here. And David, being with Margot now, was a continuation of the problem.
She was evil. Sara Ann McNeil was an evil woman who lured her friends into her circle of ghosts and mysteries and dragged them down with her. If anything happened to David and Margot, it was her fault.
Copyright 2007 Jo Janoski | 