Lost Souls Read online

  Lost

  Souls

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  Book One in the Redstone Chronicles

  J.T. Bishop

  Want access to free content from J.T. Bishop, including her first book, Red-Line: The Shift, plus additional books, excerpts, short stories, and missing scenes? Then look for the link at the end of the book to learn more.

  Chapter One

  “He’s in there. I saw him. I know he’s in there.” Serita Avery wrung her hands. “Don’t you see him?”

  Mason Redstone sat on the carpeted floor and stared into the long, free-standing mirror. Other than seeing the reflection of his own face, he saw nothing, but he tweaked the end of his handlebar mustache and made a mental note to get a haircut. Mrs. Avery paced behind him, every bit as distraught as when he’d first arrived. Her clothes hung on her small frame, and her narrow face pinched more as she waited for Mason to answer.

  He tried again, and focused. Mirrors could be a powerful conduit for energy and in his experience as a paranormal investigator and medium, could be used by a spirit to make contact with the living. Mirrors had been used as a tool for communication for years, and he didn’t doubt Serita Avery’s story; she likely had seen something come through. According to her, it was a male energy, and it had spoken to her more than once. At first, she had considered it part of her imagination, and had tried to ignore it, but it had lately become more insistent and wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Mason took a sip from the cup of coffee she’d given him and tried to center himself. It had been a long week. He’d just completed an investigation of a family home in which a mother and child had been affected by a malevolent spirit. Mason had made contact with the former home owner who’d died in the house fifty years earlier from suicide, and who now tormented the current owners—especially the child, who Mason realized had her own gifts. Over the course of a week, he’d finally convinced the energy to move on and had encouraged the mother to stay in the house and support her daughter’s gifts. He understood how difficult it could be to grow up hearing the strange voices and seeing the ghostly faces, knowing that everyone believed you were crazy, and keeping it all a secret so you didn’t get sent to a shrink or a mental hospital.

  Still feeling the effects from the difficult case, he chastised himself for taking on a new client so soon. He needed time between assignments, or his health suffered as a result. But Mrs. Avery had sounded desperate over the phone, and although his sister Mikey had attempted to push back their initial meeting, he’d agreed to meet with Mrs. Avery and investigate her mirror.

  Blinking, he took a deep breath and shook out his hands. Serita Avery continued to pace behind him. “Mrs. Avery, perhaps you could wait in the other room? That might help. Your worry could be blocking anything from coming through.”

  She stopped, her small dark eyes darting around. “He’s here. I know he is.”

  “Who’s here? The man from the mirror?” Mason paused. “Do you see him outside of the mirror, or is it just in the mirror?”

  Holding her head, she slumped. “I see him in my head. He keeps talking. Just like before he...”

  Mason frowned. “Before he what?”

  Dropping her hand, she stared at him blankly. Her pale skin was stark in the dusky bedroom. She’d kept the curtains closed, and he wished she’d let some sunlight in to shed the murkiness from the space. She stepped closer and picked up his cup. “I’ll get you some more coffee.”

  Mason watched her leave, uncertain of her response. Looking around, he took in the unmade bed. Despite the covered windows, some light filtered in, and he could see her open closet. Clothes hung neatly from hangers, mostly dresses and blouses, but also pants and collared shirts. A pair of men’s loafers peeked out from the beneath the clothes. Settling in without Mrs. Avery’s nervous energy to distract him, Mason took a deep breath, and his skin tingling, sensed a masculine presence. He tuned in. Was this the man his client had seen? Did the male items in the room belong to him? He went still and listened.

  The presence gained strength. Mason couldn’t see it but could feel it. Speaking silently in his head, he asked what the spirit wanted him to know and waited again. The standalone mirror in the bedroom reflected only the wall behind him and his own face, so Mason closed his eyes, preferring to connect in his own way.

  A chill made his skin prickle, and Mason shivered. Curious as to the spirit’s intentions, he probed again and hoped for a response.

  A voice sounded in his head. “Help her.” It was low and raspy.

  Mason clenched his eyes and responded in his mind. “How?”

  “Help her. It’s not too late,” came the reply. “I should have listened.”

  “It’s not too late for what?” asked Mason.

  There was a pause. “Help her. You know how. She shouldn’t be alone. I should have known.”

  “Known what? How should I help her?”

  “She is lonely. Help her see what I could not. You know what to do. Trust your instincts.”

  Mason didn’t understand. “Did she lose you? Is she grieving for you?”

  “She is looking for answers. You can help her. Let her know I made mistakes. I should have offered my help, but I was blind. She can make different choices, though. She can stop it.”

  “Stop what? Do you want her to do something?”

  “Help her. Trust your instincts. Trust your friend.”

  Mason opened his eyes. He hadn’t expected that. “Trust my friend? What do you mean?” he asked aloud.

  “You’ll know what to do,” said the voice inside his head. “No secret remains hidden for long. For all of us.”

  Mason blinked, trying to make sense of it. It hadn’t been the first time a spirit from one case had comingled with another, and he’d received messages before from various entities who’d used their connection with him to discuss other unrelated topics. “Are you talking about her, or me?”

  He waited for a response, but the presence faded, along with the chill. He stared at the shoes in the dark closet and wondered if the man he’d just spoken with had owned them. Looking back at the mirror, he tried again to connect, but the spirit had left, and Mason no longer sensed the energy.

  He stood, smoothed his shirt and stretched his neck. His muscles were tight after a strenuous workout that morning. In an attempt to clear his head, he’d gone to the gym before arriving, and had lifted weights and hit the treadmill. Exercise helped him to reset, and he’d needed it after the previous week. Expelling a deep breath, he left the bedroom.

  Mrs. Avery sat at her breakfast table, looking lost in thought, his empty coffee cup beside her. Seeing him, she straightened. “I’m sorry. I never got your coffee.”

  He waved a hand. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  She stood and went to the coffee pot. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Mrs. Avery…it’s okay. I don’t need any more. Thank you, though.”

  Putting the cup down, her face fell. “It’s not Mrs. And you should call me Serita.”

  Mason nodded. “Okay.” He paused. “Serita, can I ask you something personal?”

  Her pale face lost what little color was left, and her eyes filled. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

  He sighed. “I saw the clothes in the closet, and the shoes. Do they belong to the man you are seeing in the mirror? Is that who’s haunting you?”

  A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. “So, I’m not going crazy? It is him?”

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, he crossed his arms. “Yes. It is. He’s worried about you. Thinks you’re lonely. He told me to help you. Said he made mistakes, which he regrets.” He recalled the voice’s words. “He said it doesn’t have to continue. You can stop it.”

  Her sadness evaporated, and she stiffened. Wiping her cheek, she glared. “Is he going to keep coming around?”

  Her reaction surprised him, but he understood how grief could affect the ones left behind. “In my experience, he’ll stay until you get the message. It seemed important to him.”

  “He should have thought of that before…” Her face tightened, and she paused. “He lied to me.”

  “I understand. It’s hard. He’s not the first man to lie to a woman and won’t be the last. But he knows he was wrong. I think he wants to make amends with you.”

  She picked up his coffee cup and dropped it into the sink with a bang, making Mason jump. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate you coming here on short notice.”

  Her demeanor had shifted in an instant, and Mason frowned. “He asked me to help you. I’d like to do that.”

  “Can you stop him from returning?” She flipped on the faucet and rinsed the cup. “I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I’ve got nothing to say, and if he thinks he can stop me…” She shut off the faucet and turned. “…it’s a waste of time.”

  A flare of concern rippled through Mason. “Mrs…Serita. I’m sorry to ask, but you’re not thinking of hurting yourself, are you?”

  Her flat face softened, and she chuckled. “Are you serious? What for? So he can thwart me in the afterlife, too? Hell, no, Mr. Redstone. It’ll be a cold day in Satan’s backyard before that happens.”

  Mason’s thoughts whirled with how to respond. While he was happy to help, if the person in need didn’t want it, there was little he could do. Still thinking of the connection, he wondered about the parts of the message he assumed were for him, but kept that information to himself. “Is there anything else I can do fo
r you? I wish I could tell you that he won’t come around anymore, but I can’t promise that. I delivered his message to you, so that may help, but if he’s insistent, then you may continue to see him in your mirror.”

  “Figures,” she said. “Just as annoying in death as he was in life.” She pushed away from the counter. “I appreciate your assistance.”

  Something nudged at him, and he sensed her doubt and her underlying anger. He followed her to the front entry. “If you need anything else, or if he should show again, you are welcome to call. Now that I’ve been here, I’m always available. I may be able to connect with him outside of the home.”

  “Lucky you. If you can, let him know he deserved what he got. He should have known better.”

  Mason nodded, saddened by her lingering animosity. “You can tell him yourself. Perhaps that’s what he wants.”

  “I think what he wants and what I want are two different things. I should have realized that sooner, but I was stupid. Not anymore, though.”

  Mason put a hand on her elbow. “He’s gone, Serita. If I could offer a small bit of advice. It’s best not to hold onto old grievances. They tend to be more harmful to the holder, than the one they’re directed toward.”

  “Not if I can help it, Mr. Redstone.” Her pointed stare unnerved him, and she must have sensed his discomfort because she took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. “But I see your point, and I’ll take it to heart.” She opened the door. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded. “You take care. And you have my number should you need it.”

  “I appreciate that. At least I now know who I’m seeing, and that it’s nothing to fear.”

  “I find in most cases that tends to be true. It’s rarely as evil as our minds make it out to be.”

  She hesitated and her eyes narrowed. “I never questioned whether it was evil, Mr. Redstone. I can handle evil.” Her expression softened, and she blinked and smiled. “You have a nice day.”

  Confused, he stepped out, and she shut the door.

  Chapter Two

  Mikey Redstone studied the file on the monitor and typed a few notes, then saved and closed it. Pushing back in the chair, she swiveled and picked up a paper from the printer. She brought it back and placed it in a folder on the desk. After straightening a few items so Mason wouldn’t complain when he returned, she stood and helped herself to some coffee from the machine on the table next to the desk.

  Sighing with satisfaction, she smiled as she poured, happy that she’d finally convinced Mason to add a few items to the office that were sorely needed, one of them being the coffee maker. The spacious room in the two-story brick building that served as his workspace sported his desk, plus a couch, coffee table, and cushioned chair. The shelf-lined walls were bare other than the wooden box that sat against the back wall along with a plexiglass cube that enclosed two small stone statues. The box was familiar to her, and although she didn’t like it, the statues were what gave her the willies. Sipping her coffee, she stared at their round heads and wide eyes, remembering where they had come from and why they were there. A tremble passed through her, and she thought of Daniels and Remalla, thankful they were alive and well.

  Other than those items, and the new coffee machine, an open area beyond the desk was empty, except for a woven rug Mason had purchased on some overseas trip. A storage space beyond the far wall contained files and other tools necessary for Mason’s business, and they were kept out of sight. Mikey smiled, though, pleased with her negotiating skills and her coffee. She’d also made Mason install a camera and intercom at the front door. Considering Mason’s clients and his past experiences with those who might wish him harm, Mikey knew his safety required it and the extra security made her feel better. Now she could see and speak to anyone at the entrance and buzz them in.

  Hearing the outer door open, she went around to the desk and eyed the monitor. The screen saver defaulted to the camera views up front, and she saw Mason walk through the outer office. The door to the inner office opened and Mason walked in. “Hey. How’d it go?” she asked.

  Closing the door behind him, he grunted. “You were right. I should have waited.” He slid his jacket off, and Mikey noted his blue, narrow-cut, collared shirt and pressed blue jeans with boots. “I told you. At least you looked nice. The blue suits you.”

  He ran his hands down his shirt. “You chose well. It fits perfectly.”

  “Well, since you agreed to the coffee machine, I figured it was the least I could do.”

  Mason tossed his jacket on the chair and sat on the couch. “I’m exhausted.”

  “That bad, huh?” Mikey leaned back against the desk. “Was she weird?”

  Mason frowned. “You know I don’t like that term.” He rubbed his face. “But I do admit, she was a little…off.”

  “I told you she felt weird to me.”

  He frowned at her again.

  “Sorry. But it’s true.”

  “She’s lost someone she loved. She’s grieving. You and I both know what grief can do. Plus, from what I learned, the man she lost may not have treated her well. On top of her grief, she’s angry. Pain, unaddressed, results in a myriad of unpleasant problems. She’s pissed at someone who’s dead. It can be frustrating, especially now when that person returns from beyond. It’s a lot to assimilate.”

  Mikey sipped her coffee. “I suppose. I still think she’s weird.”

  “Mikey…”

  Mikey huffed. “Fine. What would you prefer? Odd? Unusual? Creepy?”

  “None of those. How about lost, confused, and depressed? Any of those terms would be more accurate. I can only hope she seeks the help she requires.”

  “You can’t be there for everyone, Mason. Sometimes, you just have to let people find their way.”

  He nodded and leaned back against the couch. “I know. It’s just not in my nature.”

  “Which is why you’re exhausted.” She turned and picked up the file folder. “But you’ll be happy to hear that I cleared your schedule for the next couple of days.” She waved the file at him. “You can look at it when you’re ready.”

  “What about the Dunbar case?”

  “I called and moved it back. They can live with a few spooky bumps in the night a little longer.”

  Mason stared and she half expected him to argue, but then he nodded and rested his head back. “All right. I like the new pink streaks, by the way.”

  Mikey touched her hair. She’d added pink highlights the previous day, thinking it added a little color to her brownish-red hair. “You prefer the purple or the pink?”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy. But if you’re going to continue wearing black and keep your nose pierced, I don’t think it matters.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the piercing, and I don’t always wear black.” She straightened her black t-shirt that framed her narrow waist and admired her skinny black jeans.

  “Since when?”

  “When I exercise.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  He cracked open an eye at her and then closed it.

  “You want some coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thanks.” He raised his head. “How are you? Any nightmares?”

  Mikey sat on the chair across from the couch and set her coffee down. “You’re hovering.”

  “It’s just a question.”

  Mikey picked up a magazine from the table and flipped through it. “No, actually. Haven’t had one in a while.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is that a gossip magazine? How can you read that stuff?”

  “I can only handle so much of your science and medical journals. For someone who works in the paranormal, you sure read a lot about research and studies.”

  “The more I know the better, regardless of the field I’m in.” He shook his head. “Do you buy that crap? You know it’s all lies.”

  “I didn’t buy it. I picked it up at Remalla’s. He told me to keep it.” She flipped another page.

  “Detective Remalla?” He paused. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

  She stopped on a page with several pictures of a famous actress who, judging by her enormous lips and too tight skin, had had yet another plastic surgery. “Don’t start, Mason. We’re just friends.”