Ghost Witness, Part Three

Two days later I was in an apartment on the north side. Paulus had gotten bail for Jordyne Sail, but she didn’t want to go back to the condo where her husband had tried to strangle her. So she was staying with her sister, Clarissa.

            Clarissa glared at me as she opened the door. She kept glaring as she led us to the living room where Jordyne was sitting with her legs curled up on a sofa. sipping tea.

“Thanks for seeing us.” Paulus sat down. “You remember Tom Jurgen.”

She stared at me, then looked away. Clarissa stood by the door, watching everyone. Mostly me. 

“I am sorry for what happened,” I said as sincerely as I could. “I’m actually here trying to help undo some of the damage I’ve caused. If I can.”

Jordyne’s gaze was icy as the South Pole. “How?”

“Tell me about Clark.”

Her eyes flickered. She put her tea down and looked out the window at the park across the street. “We were in college. We were in love for two years. We were talking about getting married, after graduation. Then he—we got into this big, stupid fight, and we broke up. That was . . . 11 years ago.” She hugged her arms around her body.

“And he, uh . . . died?”

She nodded. “C-car accident.” I could barely hear her. 

“So when did you start seeing him again?”

Jordyne finally looked straight at us, defiant. “Nine months ago. I thought I was hallucinating, yeah. I’d see him on the street. He followed me. He tried to talk to me, but I ignored him, and then I told him to leave me alone, and people started looking at me like I was crazy. And that’s—that’s when I knew he was really there. Because I was the only one who could see him.”

She picked up her tea. “Yeah, I know that doesn’t make sense. But that’s what happened.”

“So you were at the bar with him Tuesday night? Last week?”

Jordyne nodded. “Yeah. I always order a whiskey for him. He can’t drink it, but he likes it there.”

“And the hotel?”

Her face flushed. “Yeah. Sometimes we—meet. Not that it was ever any of your goddamn business.”

There was no point in arguing. “How do you communicate?”

“He calls me. Not—not on the phone.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. “I just—hear him. Then I have to pretend I’m on my phone. I use an earpiece sometimes, and people think I’m just talking to anybody.”

“Can you call him?” I asked.

She put the phone down next to her on the sofa. “S-sometimes.” Her voice was a whisper. 

Paulus and I looked at each other. How hard to push? She already didn’t like me. I didn’t want to alienate her any further. 

Paulus spoke. “What happened when you got home that night?”

Jordyne blinked. “I already told you all that. What?”

I leaned forward. “Clark knew you were in danger? Is that correct? And he came to help you?”

“I—I guess.” She shrugged. “We didn’t really talk after—after it happened.”

“He can be visible? Do things? In our world?”

She nodded, tense. Defensive. “We can—I feel him. He can touch things. Move stuff. It takes a lot of concentration for him to be visible and do stuff. A lot of energy. That’s why I can’t see him that often.”

I spoke slowly, cautiously. “Could you call him here?”

She looked around the room. “You mean, now?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see him.”

She stared. Not at us, or her sister. At nothing, thinking. 

Then she sighed. “Maybe.”

Paulus and I exchanged glances. In the doorway Clarissa sighed heavily, annoyed. Maybe she thought her sister was just crazy? But even she looked curious. 

Jordyne closed her eyes. Her lips fluttered in a whisper, “Clark?” I could barely hear her. “Clark?”

We waited. I figured we’d have to be patient. Paulus looked as if he was regretting bringing me here. Clarissa glared at me from the doorway, drumming her fingers.

“Clark?” Jordyne cocked her head, as if she could hear something in the distance. “Are you there? I really need to see you. I really need—these guys to see you.”

I thought I felt a sudden breeze across my neck. The curtains at the window shivered.

Jordyne smiled.

I turned. A man stood in the center of the room, looking at Jordyne. He had short hair, thin shoulders, and he wore a denim jacket and jeans. “Jodi?”

She nodded. “These are some—” She stopped, apparently not wanting to introduce Paulus and me as friends. Or me, anyway. “People who wanted to see you.”

I stood up slowly. “I’m Tom Jurgen.”

He frowned. “I’ve seen you before.”

“Yeah. I was . . . following Ms. Sail. And you’re who I think you are?”

He nodded. “I’m Clark Weston.”