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Authors: T.A. Foster
Tags: Paranormal
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to his neck to search for a pulse.
Nothing. Holden Chadsworth was dead.
M Y FLIGHT back to the lights of the city was heavy with guilt and a sense of confusion that permeated my core. The images of Holden and Helen, his handsome smile and devilish treatment of her, the intense passion he shared with Simone, and now the image of his lifeless body at the bottom of a canyon kept reeling through my mind. My eyes started welling with tears again, but this time it wasn’t from the desert wind.
It was late and I needed sleep. I wasn’t quite sure what time it was. It seemed like hours ago when I watched the sun set in the Chadworths’ apartment. How long had it been since I started this Time Spell ? My head was pounding. I hoped the Starlight would have an open room so I could crash for the night and regroup.
I took a quick peek at the reservation book while David, the front desk clerk, assisted a disgruntled couple. The woman in the party kept shaking her finger and her head. She shouted at the clerk that they had been promised a suite upgrade for her honeymoon. She threw angry stares at both David and her new husband while they tried to sort through the confusion.
With one eye on the arguing trio and the other on the reservation list, I scanned the handwritten notes. Scribbled next to “Smythe Family, Check In Thursday at noon” were the words “Hold Room.” Perfect! There was an open room on the floor below the Chadsworths’ penthouse. Close enough to keep an eye on Helen while I worked through Holden’s murder. It gave me chills thinking about it, but I couldn’t leave 1968 without answers.
After a restless night’s sleep in the Smythe family suite, I awoke with no more clarity than when I turned out the last golden lamp. I had been too upset to even create a night’s sky. My head hit the polyester pillow, and the heated breeze from the vent soothed me into sleep. The shock of what I had seen unfold in the desert evaporated and was replaced with a committed sense of purpose. I wanted to know why Holden Chadsworth was dead. Who was the young bald man? How were Helen and Simone involved? My witchy instincts started to tingle again. It was time to visit Helen.
The most important duty of the Time Spell was to erase any trace of my visits through time. Ripple effects and changing history terrified me.
I faced the room, lifted both arms, and whispered, “Erase.”
At once, the room twitched and ticked. The towels in the bathroom folded and draped neatly on the racks. The water droplets in the shower vanished, the smudges on the cup disappeared, and the sheets and flower-adorned comforter returned to their original creased state. Pleased with this crafty spell I had perfected, I performed a final inspection. Yes, the room was ready for the Smythe family, and no one would ever know Ivy Grace had been here.
I scanned the hallway through the peephole. I only spotted morning copies of the Sun News rolled in front of each door. I cracked the door open enough to slip through then turned toward the stairwell doors. With only one flight of stairs to climb, I made it to the penthouse level in only a minute. The hallway in front of the Chadsworths’ apartment was littered with matching sets of green luggage edged with white piping. Valets walked in and out of the penthouse, loaded with bags. The security guards huddled close, whispering to each other.
“Henry, get all of this to the airport, won’t you?” Helen called from the other side of the suite’s heavy doors.
She stepped through the doorway like a queen on her way to her coronation. She was dressed in a long-sleeved white dress, which stopped just above her knee and was fashioned with a matching white belt. Her hair was pinned under an oversized white hat that was tipped to the side. Her eyes were concealed behind a gigantic pair of tortoise sunglasses. She buttoned a pair of leather gloves and pinched her pearl-studded earrings to ensure they were tightly
Nothing. Holden Chadsworth was dead.
M Y FLIGHT back to the lights of the city was heavy with guilt and a sense of confusion that permeated my core. The images of Holden and Helen, his handsome smile and devilish treatment of her, the intense passion he shared with Simone, and now the image of his lifeless body at the bottom of a canyon kept reeling through my mind. My eyes started welling with tears again, but this time it wasn’t from the desert wind.
It was late and I needed sleep. I wasn’t quite sure what time it was. It seemed like hours ago when I watched the sun set in the Chadworths’ apartment. How long had it been since I started this Time Spell ? My head was pounding. I hoped the Starlight would have an open room so I could crash for the night and regroup.
I took a quick peek at the reservation book while David, the front desk clerk, assisted a disgruntled couple. The woman in the party kept shaking her finger and her head. She shouted at the clerk that they had been promised a suite upgrade for her honeymoon. She threw angry stares at both David and her new husband while they tried to sort through the confusion.
With one eye on the arguing trio and the other on the reservation list, I scanned the handwritten notes. Scribbled next to “Smythe Family, Check In Thursday at noon” were the words “Hold Room.” Perfect! There was an open room on the floor below the Chadsworths’ penthouse. Close enough to keep an eye on Helen while I worked through Holden’s murder. It gave me chills thinking about it, but I couldn’t leave 1968 without answers.
After a restless night’s sleep in the Smythe family suite, I awoke with no more clarity than when I turned out the last golden lamp. I had been too upset to even create a night’s sky. My head hit the polyester pillow, and the heated breeze from the vent soothed me into sleep. The shock of what I had seen unfold in the desert evaporated and was replaced with a committed sense of purpose. I wanted to know why Holden Chadsworth was dead. Who was the young bald man? How were Helen and Simone involved? My witchy instincts started to tingle again. It was time to visit Helen.
The most important duty of the Time Spell was to erase any trace of my visits through time. Ripple effects and changing history terrified me.
I faced the room, lifted both arms, and whispered, “Erase.”
At once, the room twitched and ticked. The towels in the bathroom folded and draped neatly on the racks. The water droplets in the shower vanished, the smudges on the cup disappeared, and the sheets and flower-adorned comforter returned to their original creased state. Pleased with this crafty spell I had perfected, I performed a final inspection. Yes, the room was ready for the Smythe family, and no one would ever know Ivy Grace had been here.
I scanned the hallway through the peephole. I only spotted morning copies of the Sun News rolled in front of each door. I cracked the door open enough to slip through then turned toward the stairwell doors. With only one flight of stairs to climb, I made it to the penthouse level in only a minute. The hallway in front of the Chadsworths’ apartment was littered with matching sets of green luggage edged with white piping. Valets walked in and out of the penthouse, loaded with bags. The security guards huddled close, whispering to each other.
“Henry, get all of this to the airport, won’t you?” Helen called from the other side of the suite’s heavy doors.
She stepped through the doorway like a queen on her way to her coronation. She was dressed in a long-sleeved white dress, which stopped just above her knee and was fashioned with a matching white belt. Her hair was pinned under an oversized white hat that was tipped to the side. Her eyes were concealed behind a gigantic pair of tortoise sunglasses. She buttoned a pair of leather gloves and pinched her pearl-studded earrings to ensure they were tightly
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