Should he talk to this fellow? The man’s blue eyes held a warm welcome in the wash of streetlight. What Jesse had to say would sound so crazy, but surely a priest could help him sort through the muddle he found himself in.
He put his hands in his pockets. “It sounds crazy. Maybe I am crazy.”
In his midthirties, the priest was slightly built with a shock of sandy hair. He studied Jesse’s face. “Have a seat.” He indicated a park bench along the sidewalk, then sat down and glanced up at Jesse with an interested smile.
Why not? Jesse sat beside the priest and laced his fingers together around his knee. “What do you think happens to a man’s spirit when he dies?”
“Is this a rhetorical question or do you have a reason for asking?”
Jesse didn’t want to be drawn into a theological discussion. He wanted answers. “Do you believe a spirit can possess another person? Or at least bug the heck out of them?”
The priest smiled. “Who do you believe is possessed?”
“Me.” Jesse watched for a reaction, but the priest’s expression didn’t change. This was a waste of time.
The man’s gaze locked with his. “What makes you believe you’re possessed?”
“There was this car bomb. My best friend was killed, and I think his spirit or some imprint of his memory moved to me. I know things about his life. Things I could only know if part of his spirit transferred to me.”
“I see. We usually think of possession as by a demon. Maybe your friend told you some things and you’re remembering them now. It sounds like you were close?” The man’s voice was kind.
Jesse grabbed onto the idea, which would be much better than being possessed by Liam’s spirit. “I’m sure my shrink would be saying the same thing.”
“Why are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
Jesse told him about the amnesia. “And I had some depression before the explosion.”
“Have you told your doctor about this idea that you’re possessed?”
Jesse shook his head. “He’d lock me up.”
“But you’re still convinced it’s the truth?”
Was he? His earlier certainty faded when he stared into the other man’s calm eyes. “I suppose it’s possible Liam told me some things and I’m starting to remember.” He shook his head. “Some of the things I’m remembering are feelings. How can that be? Maybe I’m just possessed by the love he had for . . . someone. Maybe his love survived death. Is that possible?”
“Love is the greatest of all commandments. That shows the importance God puts on love. Love transcends eternity.”
“Could Liam’s love have imprinted itself on me in the moment of his death?”
The priest shrugged. “Some mysteries are beyond us.”
The guy wasn’t much help. Jesse rose. “Thanks for your help.” Or lack of it. He walked across the street to his car. The priest was right about one thing. This whole situation was a mystery.
In the darkness, pain radiated up Alanna’s legs and arms. Muscles began to protest. She should have taken a Tylenol before coming up. The pills were still downstairs on the coffee table. Barry would be quick to run and get one for her, but she didn’t want to disturb him when he’d likely nodded off already.
Stifling a groan, she slipped from under the sheet and went to the door. The door creaked when she eased it open, and she listened to make sure she hadn’t disturbed Barry. The silent hallway assured her she was alone. Sliding her bare feet across the wood floor, she slinked down the steps, found her pills, and carried them back upstairs with a glass of water. When she reached the top of the steps, she heard something. The tinkling sound could almost be music. She put the water and pills on her dresser, then followed the music. The melody drew her down the long expanse of blackness, though she trailed her fingers along the wall in search of a switch.
The twisting corridors reminded her of a maze. In the darkness, she lost track of which way she went and how to get back, but the melody still drew her on. Maybe it was a music box? She couldn’t determine what made the noise. No one should be in these rooms. She, Barry, and Grady occupied the bedrooms closest to the stairs. Her bare feet trod debris on the floor, and she wondered if she’d made a bad turn. At least Barry’s parents were in a totally different wing on the opposite side of the house.
Her hand finally touched a light switch and she flipped it on. Weak light from a bare bulb in the ceiling illuminated a hallway that hadn’t seen a paintbrush or a mop in years. Wallpaper hung in strips and revealed old milk paint on the plaster walls. Scratches scarred the wood floors. Maybe this had been the servants’ quarters. The paper wasn’t the expensive sort she’d seen downstairs.