the sea can be dangerous, the Gulf Stream can be treacherous and human beings can make errors. There was a case just a few years ago where seven fishermen were out.The captain had sailed the waters more than thirty years. They left on a clear day, and a rogue wave overturned the boat. They weren’t five nautical miles from shore, but after the wave hit, the boat overturned. Two died and five were found alive. If the five hadn’t been recovered, it would have been another case for the Bermuda Triangle, because no trace of the fishing boat was ever discovered and they were in relatively shallow waters, close to shore, when it happened. I don’t believe in crystals or aliens. Who knows? Maybe a city was sunk thousands of years ago—I’ve been places where they know that one day the volcanoes beneath the surface will blow—and old islands will go down and new ones will be formed. Hawaii will sink—hell, one day, Florida will sink. That’s the planet. But as far as people being murdered by the Bermuda Triangle, crystals, aliens, or even a subspecies of humanity with gills—I don’t believe it for an instant.”
Bartholomew laughed. “That from a man carrying on a conversation with a ghost!”
Sean glared at him.
“Hey!” Bartholomew protested. “I’m just pointing out that there is more in the world than what most people are willing to see or accept. But frankly, I’m with you. I don’t believe in aliens—not from other planets. Oh, there may be life out there, but I have a feeling that life might be fungi or sponges. And no one sees the future—except for God. I’ve been around a very long time. I’ve been able to observe quite a bit. Like the fact that you’re thinking about all of this because you’ve spent the day on the computer.”
“Is there no one else you can go haunt?” Sean asked him. “Where is your beautiful lady in white?”
Bartholomew waved a hand in the air. “I’ll see her later.”
A ghost, yes. He was talking to a ghost. Not his fault—he blamed that on Katie! So he was talking to a ghost, and calling others absurd!
“Ghosts are different,” Bartholomew said, as if reading his mind. “We were, we lived and breathed. Energy doesn’t die—and we are the result. Most human beings have a religious or spiritual belief, and if you believe in what you don’t see, as in God, then it’s not such a stretch to believe that souls exist. And we all know that even among the living, some people can communicate and some can’t. But I do agree with you. The perpetrator of the evil deeds surrounding the film crew was not the Bermuda Triangle, the power of a crystal or a little green man popping out of the ocean. There’s a live person, homicidal, organized and possibly psychotic,” he finished.
Sean stared at him, hiding a smile.
“I have spent some time in the police station, obviously,” Bartholomew said. “Actually, it’s quite something. People are always saying ‘I’d just love to be a fly on the wall.’ Well, that is one thing about departing one’s earthly form. I am able to be a fly on the wall.”
“Ah, so you’re an expert now on all things law enforcement,” Sean teased.
“No, I’m gifted at listening to other people—and you may never know when you need the services of an excellent eavesdropper.”
“Point noted, thank you. Isn’t it time for high tea, or something like that?” Sean asked.
“I’m off to find my dear beauty in white,” Bartholomew said. “Be nice to me, Sean O’Hara—I believe I’m still here to watch out for you, so you just may find that you need me!”
Bartholomew walked to the door, and disappeared through it.
Sean turned back to the computer and keyed in the name Vanessa Loren.
“Fascinating!” Marty said to Vanessa. She and Katie had joined him at his house on Fleming Street. It was what they called a “shotgun” house, built with a long hall or breezeway, so that if the front and back doors were both open, you
Bartholomew laughed. “That from a man carrying on a conversation with a ghost!”
Sean glared at him.
“Hey!” Bartholomew protested. “I’m just pointing out that there is more in the world than what most people are willing to see or accept. But frankly, I’m with you. I don’t believe in aliens—not from other planets. Oh, there may be life out there, but I have a feeling that life might be fungi or sponges. And no one sees the future—except for God. I’ve been around a very long time. I’ve been able to observe quite a bit. Like the fact that you’re thinking about all of this because you’ve spent the day on the computer.”
“Is there no one else you can go haunt?” Sean asked him. “Where is your beautiful lady in white?”
Bartholomew waved a hand in the air. “I’ll see her later.”
A ghost, yes. He was talking to a ghost. Not his fault—he blamed that on Katie! So he was talking to a ghost, and calling others absurd!
“Ghosts are different,” Bartholomew said, as if reading his mind. “We were, we lived and breathed. Energy doesn’t die—and we are the result. Most human beings have a religious or spiritual belief, and if you believe in what you don’t see, as in God, then it’s not such a stretch to believe that souls exist. And we all know that even among the living, some people can communicate and some can’t. But I do agree with you. The perpetrator of the evil deeds surrounding the film crew was not the Bermuda Triangle, the power of a crystal or a little green man popping out of the ocean. There’s a live person, homicidal, organized and possibly psychotic,” he finished.
Sean stared at him, hiding a smile.
“I have spent some time in the police station, obviously,” Bartholomew said. “Actually, it’s quite something. People are always saying ‘I’d just love to be a fly on the wall.’ Well, that is one thing about departing one’s earthly form. I am able to be a fly on the wall.”
“Ah, so you’re an expert now on all things law enforcement,” Sean teased.
“No, I’m gifted at listening to other people—and you may never know when you need the services of an excellent eavesdropper.”
“Point noted, thank you. Isn’t it time for high tea, or something like that?” Sean asked.
“I’m off to find my dear beauty in white,” Bartholomew said. “Be nice to me, Sean O’Hara—I believe I’m still here to watch out for you, so you just may find that you need me!”
Bartholomew walked to the door, and disappeared through it.
Sean turned back to the computer and keyed in the name Vanessa Loren.
“Fascinating!” Marty said to Vanessa. She and Katie had joined him at his house on Fleming Street. It was what they called a “shotgun” house, built with a long hall or breezeway, so that if the front and back doors were both open, you
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