Chapter 7 #3
“I know the story,” Shelly said softly. “I know about Adam Harrison. He lost his son, Josh, and Josh was a very special human being, and the friend who held him as he died after the car accident seemed to absorb his power—which is what got Adam started on all this from the very beginning, starting with Jackson and Angela and their ‘Krewe’ in New Orleans, and then expanding onward and onward and now … I guess we’re called The Crows!
Because Adam discovered people who did have strange gifts such as ours—many who happened to be awkwardly in law enforcement—and he set up the Krewe and more.
While, of course, using his tech genius to donate enormous sums of money to those in need. ”
“So, you see, he’d never let agents go hungry on the hop across the pond. There’s a lunch or dinner in there, too, all kinds of snacks, and bing!” he repeated. There really was a “bing” sound from the microwave. “There’s our food—”
A little kerchunk sounded.
“And there goes the toaster,” Shelly said. “Perfect timing. Butter? Cream cheese—I see the little mini fridge!”
“Just butter for me, thanks. Seems to be smooth sailing across the skies. I’ll take this out to the table,” he told her, indicating their plates.
In minutes, they were all set up, food on the table, the two of them sitting across from one another.
“Wow. Nice—much better than the bag of chips I usually get tossed to me!” Shelly said.
Grant nodded. “It is nice,” he said. He watched her for a moment.
“What?”
“Should we talk about the elephant in the room?” he asked her.
“Let’s pray there’s no elephant in this room,” she said. “We’d go down faster than the speed of light.”
“Not that fast, but that’s not what I mean. When did you find out that you could call people on an unusual wavelength?” he asked her.
She hesitated, wincing.
“Okay, fine,” Grant said. “I’ll go first. I had a grandfather who was just about the coolest person who ever lived.
I was a kid when he died, and I was with him.
He was in the hospital and, I thank God, feeling no pain.
But he started telling me things that my parents would need to know when he was gone.
The doctor said that he couldn’t have told me anything; my grandfather had peacefully passed.
But I was holding his hand, and I heard everything that he was saying to me.
Even my parents thought that I was crazy, but everything I had to tell them turned out to be true.
Then, of course, my parents got tremendously worried about me.
Sent me to therapy. Then one day my dad pulled me out and apologized; apparently, my grandmother got my father to believe that there was a sixth sense, that it ran in the family, skipping generations, appearing now and then.
But I was never, never, never to say anything to anyone because they’d lock me up.
So, like most of us, I learned to never say anything at all about having a strange sixth sense. Your turn.”
She smiled slowly, her eyes meeting his with a nice gleam of understanding and appreciation.
“Similar. I had a dear friend, Bryce, a kid I grew up with. In high school, I pledged to a stupid sorority, and one of the older girls didn’t like me much and kept giving me demerits, saying that she was going to see that I was kicked out. ”
“You don’t strike me as the type to deal well with that,” he said.
She shrugged. “My older sister was a member; it was a family thing. Anyway, Bryce was one of their ‘brother’ sponsors, from a fraternity the sorority did bake sales, car washes, and things like that with for different hospitals and charities. This girl started to give me a hard time, and Bryce wanted to bring up her behavior with one of the deans at school. If I had complained, I might not have been believed. Bryce was a star athlete for the school that year, and a straight-A student. He would be believed. And that was it—she never went at me again. We never dated; we were friends. Right after his graduation, he died in his sleep. They said that it was an aneurysm. After the funeral, I was a mess, and I was alone in the cemetery, just saying his name and telling him how much I had loved him when … well, you know. When he appeared. And it didn’t scare me,” she said softly.
“I was just so glad to see him. And it was the same thing, just a bit weird in a way. His girlfriend was pregnant and afraid to tell his mother, and I was able to get to her and tell her that I knew, tell her how much Bryce had loved her—and how it would be the greatest kindness to let his parents into the child’s life.
So, in a way, it all went beautifully. But then some of us were fooling around my first year in college and someone suggested that I call the ghost who reportedly lived in a ‘haunted’ house where we had rented rooms for the night, and he appeared.
To me, but of course, to no one else. And I realized that people would think I was crazy.
The ghost warned me the next morning that I had a beautiful voice that called with empathy to the dead, but that I must be careful, as the world would think that I was crazy. ”
“You’ve always gotten to use your ‘gift’ for good,” Grant said. “So, when did you know—”
“To use it in law enforcement?” she asked.
“When I graduated—majored in criminology and wanted to be a cop. Someone suggested the FBI. Then I heard rumors about Jackson Crow and the Krewe and … I guess he knew something about me, though I don’t know how.
” She winced again. “Except that I did manage to solve a murder when the forensic techs were going insane trying to get something. The ghost told me where to find his phone that the killer had ditched—and they got his threats and his fingerprints off the phone. Maybe Jackson heard about that. I never had a chance to ask him.”
“What about your folks?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I never told them a thing.”
“Wow. That must be hard!”
“Sometimes. But … well, I guess we all have our stories!”
“We do.”
“And …” she added slowly.
“And?”
“Well, I’m grateful to be working with you. I mean, I get to be honest. And I can appreciate all that you do.”
“Even when it’s just my gut?” he asked lightly.
“As long as you accept my gut in return!” she said determinedly.
“Okay, it’s a promise. We respect our guts. And with that … despite the coffee we’ve just imbibed, I’m thinking it might be time to stow the trash and take naps.”
“That sounds delightful,” she assured him. “I …”
“You didn’t sleep last night. Despite being exhausted.”
“That would be correct.”
Grant rose and picked up their plates. “We don’t really trash stuff,” he told Shelly.
“We rinse these little microwavable dishes and leave them for the folks who take care of the plane in various places. Jackson’s ‘Blackbird’ team uses this particular jet often, and Rome is a major base for them. Anyway, it’s all easy—”
“I know how to wash a dish, and I’m glad that there’s a rich man out there who is still worried about the environment,” Shelly told him.
“I got the plates; you make sure butter and all are put away … and”—she paused, laughing—“there really isn’t much to do.
Not sure if we’ll need more than two minutes! ”
They didn’t.
The plane was still moving incredibly smoothly through the air, as if the atmosphere itself knew that they needed rest, that something was going on in the world, and that, hopefully, they could fathom just what it was and do something about it.
“Pillows are in the cabinets!” he told her. “I’ll get yours—”
“I am capable.”
“I’m taller.”
“So you are!” she agreed. “And a blanket?”
“Got ya covered!”
In another few minutes, they were both stretched out on the cots just a few feet from one another.
He vaguely heard Miles come in, digging in the kitchen for a bite to eat as well.
Then he was out.
The next thing he knew, Miles was making the announcement that they needed to buckle up. They were about to land.
And in Rome …
It was still day, or early evening. Time to arrive, time to meet up with at least one of the Italian law enforcement men who had become Grant’s friends.
Time …
And he could only pray that there wouldn’t be another curse tablet to be found.