Poor Mr. Wilson didn’t have anyone alive who wanted to take part. He only had Ryley to witness the last resting place of his mortal remains.
The minister presiding read a few passages and closed with a prayer.
Ryley rose and moved to the casket. She rested her hand on the wood and closed her eyes. She was met with a void. No energetic markers of Mr. Wilson’s lingering soul nearby. No pull of a spirit fighting the light. This one had gone home. Ryley smiled and opened her eyes. She rested the white rose on top of the casket and turned to step back.
A flash in the distance blinded her for a split second—possibly something shiny sitting on top of a gravestone that the sun had hit just right.
“Ryley, we need to quit meeting like this,” Father James said pulling her attention toward him.
Ryley knew most of the presiding clergymen. It didn’t matter what religion they represented. Death didn’t discriminate, and neither did she.
“Father James, that sounded like a pickup line.”
His cheeks reddened against his pale complexion and graying hair.
“You’re always a breath of fresh air.” Father James gently squeezed her arm.
A guy about Ryley’s age dressed similarly to Father James approached. He was a good-looking guy. Strong and tall. He had a peaceful air about him. Something calming and out of place, she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the Priest’s new assistant said as he neared, leaving the workers he’d been talking to, off in the distance.
The workers always waited silently in the background, and most of the time out of sight where the head guy would check his watch impatiently like a mother of five waiting on her income tax refund.
“My loss?” Ryley asked.
“Mr. Wilson,” he said, glancing at the coffin. “It’s always hard to lose someone you care about.”
Ryley raised her brow at the new guy. He hadn’t been warned, like the others that came before him. Most assistants steered clear of Ryley, and rightfully so. Most people didn’t know what to say when they learned the truth.
“I didn’t know Mr. Wilson. I’ve never met the guy.”
“I…” the assistant stammered. “I don’t understand.”
“Henry, Ms. St. James, is one of our regular mourners.”
“Come again?” Henry asked. The perplexed look on his face was one she often met when someone discovered her hobby. Well, not all of her hobbies. She’d be committed to a psych ward if they knew.
“Everyone should have a witness at the last goodbye, and today I’m here for Mr. Wilson. May he rest in peace,” she answered with a smile.
Today she was just a witness; other times when ghosts didn’t want to go, she was the two hands that shoved them into the light.
“You go to funerals of people you don’t know? Why would anyone want to be a funeral crasher?”
“No one comes into this world alone. They shouldn’t go out that way, either,” she answered. She’d given up on trying to make anyone understand something she didn’t understand herself. But she knew the consequences of trying to deny her gift.
Henry tilted his head and frowned.
Ryley liked Father James the best. His prayers and eulogies were on point and with just enough depth that made Ryley feel like she knew every one of the deceased.
“Today must be a light day, Ryley. There was only one funeral listed in the paper,” Father James announced.
“The reapers must be on vacation,” Ryley teased
“Reapers don’t take vacations,” Henry replied beneath his breath.
Before she could reply, her phone vibrated. Her brother’s name popped up with a text message.
Call me.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have family matters to attend to.”
“Of course.” Father James clasped his hands together.
Ryley crossed the cemetery toward her car. A weeping woman was bent over a grave. Her gray curled hair matched the collar on her 1840s dress. She reminded Ryley of her grandmother; what she remembered of her, anyway.
The woman looked like she’d had a good life, even if she didn’t want it to be over. Her ghostly apparition would make any sane person pause if they could see her.
A child-sized ghost hid behind a large oak tree, peeking at Ryley as she approached. A stone bench sat facing older headstones in the shade of overhanging branches.
She met the child’s gaze and pointed from her eyes to his and winked. “I’ll be back soon to talk to you.”
He vanished just as quick as he’d appeared.
Earth-trapped restless spirits were hard ones to help and often remained in the static if they were lucky to avoid the creepy crawlies.
Creepy crawlies were no joke.
Not all souls were ready to quit mourning or fighting for the life left behind just like the one spirit that called Ryley her best friend.
Catherine Floyd, also known as Stretch, was a constant reminder of the night Ryley’s father almost killed her.
Ryley slipped into her car and dialed her brother’s office. Janet answered on the first ring.
“St. James, Thompson, and Davies.”
The logo on the company letterhead had the initials, STD. Her brother and his buddies hadn’t thought that one through. Or maybe they had, knowing those three. After testifying in a murder trial against her father’s criminal boss, she, her mom and her brother had been sequestered away by Witness protection. Just as they got settled into a new life, her father had found them again and they’d been reluctant to settle into any one place much less make friends.
Until this town where they’d finally settled and put down roots. It wasn’t a matter of choice. It was a matter of necessity when their mother fell ill.
Tucker was a popular kid and could fit in anywhere. He’d bonded with his two new best friends over girls and football. All three had gone to college and then law school, even if their reasons had been misguided.
Making more money meant better arm candy had been the excuse Thompson and Davies used. Tucker’s had been more straight forward. This was his way of fighting the demons from their past.
“Hey Janet,
