I’m dead and gone? You keep it. I have no use for it here.”
Toni reached out to soothe the ghost and her fingers passed right through her.
Priscilla’s face was the picture of regret. “I am so weary of this. Night and day for years and years I walk the same path. Up Third Street, right on Main, left again. I take the pictures. I wave at the people waiting in line to see the show. I take more pictures. It never ends. I just want to rest.”
The tears tumbled from Toni’s eyes, tracing a frozen path down her cheeks. “Please Priscilla, please tell me what I can do.”
“My things…they took my things. They stood on the lawn and bid on them then they packed them in an automobile and took them to that building where you found my pin.” The ghost reached out and stroked the pin in Toni’s upturned palm. An icy river flowed up her arm. “But there’s more,” the ghost said. “They took my pictures—all of them.”
Toni fought to keep her composure. The information this spirit gave her could very well fulfil her promise to Kip. “Priscilla, is there something special—something important—in those pictures?”
Priscilla jerked her head to the right then looked back at Toni with a terrifying combination of fear and excitement. “I have to go. The fire is starting. I have to get the shot. I’ll win an award. They’ll remember me forever. I have to go. I have to go. I have to…”
An enormous vacuum of air jerked Toni forward and sucked the air from her lungs. Her ears popped and her eyes felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. She fell to her knees in the snow-dusted alley and had to plant her palms on the ground to steady herself. The painful suction subsided with a subtle puff and she dropped her head below her shoulders for a moment, gasping until her lungs refilled with air. Still on all fours, Toni slowly raised her head and looked across the street. Priscilla was once again caught up in the never-ending loop—walking, shooting, waving, shooting again.
Toni pulled in three more deep breaths then forced herself to her feet. She brushed the snow from her jeans then staggered through the metal door. With nothing more than sheer willpower she made her way to the centre of the theatre and faced the stage. Thomas, Bridget and Mike stopped laughing and stared at her. She could tell they were frightened and she was glad.
“He didn’t do it!” Toni gasped.
“Who didn’t do what?” Bridget asked jumping from the stage.
Toni fought to remain conscious. “Kip Monroe—he didn’t set the fire.”
Bridget reached out and touched Toni’s arm. “Can you prove it?”
“There’s a witness. Now come on!”
Thomas rubbed his forehead and shouted after Toni, “Who’s the witness?”
Toni held open the swinging door. “Priscilla Stringman.”
Mike laughed, “Yeah, well she’s been dead for twenty years and the police don’t usually take statements from ghosts.”
Toni grabbed his sleeve and dragged him through the lobby. “No, but photographic evidence is pretty compelling.”
She could hear Thomas and Bridget grousing as the three followed her out of the building.
“Where’s she going?” Thomas asked.
“No idea. Just follow her. She looks like she’s got a plan,” Bridget answered.
“Doesn’t she always?” muttered Thomas.
* * * *
The three followed Toni up the sidewalk, until she stopped in front of The Antique Emporium. She reached out for the tarnished brass knob.
“Um, Tone, we’re not welcome here. Remember?” Bridget said.
“Screw that,” Toni answered and yanked open the heavy oak door.
“We’re closing,” said the plump woman behind the counter, without looking up from her magazine.
“Five minutes,” Toni said, “five minutes and we’ll be out of your hair.”
The woman looked up. “Oh! It’s you! No, no, no. Uh-uh. Out you go or I’m calling the cops.”
Toni set her hands on her round hips. “Now you listen here,
Toni reached out to soothe the ghost and her fingers passed right through her.
Priscilla’s face was the picture of regret. “I am so weary of this. Night and day for years and years I walk the same path. Up Third Street, right on Main, left again. I take the pictures. I wave at the people waiting in line to see the show. I take more pictures. It never ends. I just want to rest.”
The tears tumbled from Toni’s eyes, tracing a frozen path down her cheeks. “Please Priscilla, please tell me what I can do.”
“My things…they took my things. They stood on the lawn and bid on them then they packed them in an automobile and took them to that building where you found my pin.” The ghost reached out and stroked the pin in Toni’s upturned palm. An icy river flowed up her arm. “But there’s more,” the ghost said. “They took my pictures—all of them.”
Toni fought to keep her composure. The information this spirit gave her could very well fulfil her promise to Kip. “Priscilla, is there something special—something important—in those pictures?”
Priscilla jerked her head to the right then looked back at Toni with a terrifying combination of fear and excitement. “I have to go. The fire is starting. I have to get the shot. I’ll win an award. They’ll remember me forever. I have to go. I have to go. I have to…”
An enormous vacuum of air jerked Toni forward and sucked the air from her lungs. Her ears popped and her eyes felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. She fell to her knees in the snow-dusted alley and had to plant her palms on the ground to steady herself. The painful suction subsided with a subtle puff and she dropped her head below her shoulders for a moment, gasping until her lungs refilled with air. Still on all fours, Toni slowly raised her head and looked across the street. Priscilla was once again caught up in the never-ending loop—walking, shooting, waving, shooting again.
Toni pulled in three more deep breaths then forced herself to her feet. She brushed the snow from her jeans then staggered through the metal door. With nothing more than sheer willpower she made her way to the centre of the theatre and faced the stage. Thomas, Bridget and Mike stopped laughing and stared at her. She could tell they were frightened and she was glad.
“He didn’t do it!” Toni gasped.
“Who didn’t do what?” Bridget asked jumping from the stage.
Toni fought to remain conscious. “Kip Monroe—he didn’t set the fire.”
Bridget reached out and touched Toni’s arm. “Can you prove it?”
“There’s a witness. Now come on!”
Thomas rubbed his forehead and shouted after Toni, “Who’s the witness?”
Toni held open the swinging door. “Priscilla Stringman.”
Mike laughed, “Yeah, well she’s been dead for twenty years and the police don’t usually take statements from ghosts.”
Toni grabbed his sleeve and dragged him through the lobby. “No, but photographic evidence is pretty compelling.”
She could hear Thomas and Bridget grousing as the three followed her out of the building.
“Where’s she going?” Thomas asked.
“No idea. Just follow her. She looks like she’s got a plan,” Bridget answered.
“Doesn’t she always?” muttered Thomas.
* * * *
The three followed Toni up the sidewalk, until she stopped in front of The Antique Emporium. She reached out for the tarnished brass knob.
“Um, Tone, we’re not welcome here. Remember?” Bridget said.
“Screw that,” Toni answered and yanked open the heavy oak door.
“We’re closing,” said the plump woman behind the counter, without looking up from her magazine.
“Five minutes,” Toni said, “five minutes and we’ll be out of your hair.”
The woman looked up. “Oh! It’s you! No, no, no. Uh-uh. Out you go or I’m calling the cops.”
Toni set her hands on her round hips. “Now you listen here,
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