The Devil's Cowboy Page 2

  A few years ago, she’d read a magazine article about Asheville, North Carolina, a picturesque mountain community filled with folks who supported and even sought out people with her unique skills. Two weeks later, she packed up her few belongings, crammed a furious JayJay into a pet carrier, and drove twelve hours straight through from Michigan. She rented a tiny cat-friendly apartment on Craigslist, one within walking distance of the vibrant downtown area. Then she made the rounds of crystal healing stores and psychic gatherings, offering her services to the locals as well as to the throngs of curious tourists who flocked to the mountains.

  Now she scraped by performing psychic readings to support her real love—writing. She had half a dozen romance/adventure novels on Amazon, selling her work under a much more glamorous name than Ellen Jacobs. There’d been some minor successes. She even had a few loyal fans who read everything she wrote and left reviews that kept her spirits up on long lonely nights. But she didn’t make enough money writing to keep both her and JayJay in tuna.

  Although Ellen was able to predict passionate love affairs for her growing list of clients, her abilities didn’t extend to seeing what the future held for her. It was as though the Spirit had put up a curtain. She could sense it, even feel it. But she couldn’t see what lay beyond it, no matter how hard she tried.

  So far, her wildest romantic interludes had all been within the pages of her books. There were a few casual boyfriends in her past. But they had all reacted very much like Melanie—intrigued at first, then backing away when they discovered her gifts were real.

  Except in the end, Melanie hadn’t backed away. She stayed a loyal friend… just as long as Ellen promised never again to bring up any of that ‘spooky shtick,’ as Melanie referred to it. That’s why her email came as such a shock. Ellen figured her friend must be seriously frightened to even broach the topic that had been taboo for years.

  She checked the flight schedules out of Asheville’s airport and emailed back, telling Melanie there was a flight available that would put her in Dallas the day after tomorrow. Then she made a list of the clients she’d have to reschedule in the morning. When she finally went to bed she tossed and turned for hours, only to dream of a dark, malevolent winged serpent carrying Melanie’s screaming children off into the clouds while she watched, helpless.

  Chapter Two

  Ellen had visited Melanie several times since her friend married and moved to Texas. But it was a pleasure to fly into the heart of Dallas now that Love Field’s newly remodeled terminal was open. Bright concourses with a variety of restaurants, spacious walkways flooded with light—compared to the huge Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, it was uncrowded and easy to navigate. The central location made it just a short hop to the upscale community of Highland Park where Melanie lived.

  Knowing how frantic Melanie was, she’d taken advantage of a last-minute cancellation to move up her arrival time, flying out of Asheville, then changing planes in Houston and securing the last seat to Dallas on an always-crowded early morning commuter flight. It meant waking up at 4 AM, but since she’d hardly slept since she got the email, that wasn’t really a problem. She’d left the key to her apartment with her neighbors downstairs last night. They loved animals and Ellen had a feeling that JayJay would be spoiled rotten by the time she got back.

  Ellen hadn’t wanted to disturb her friend’s routine so early, so she decided to grab a cab at the airport and surprise her. With the time change from back east, the morning rush hour was still on. This early in the day, suburban moms were almost outnumbered on the streets. Men in dark pants and blue dress shirts herded little ones to school before they headed to the office, high-fiving each other on last night’s football game as though they were each personally responsible for the Dallas Cowboys’ victory.

  Her cab moved slowly along the crowded streets. Mini-mansions were springing up everywhere, crammed onto city lots designed for the modest ranch and two-story homes of the 1950s. According to Melanie, the few small homes still remaining were selling for half a million as tear-downs.

  The cab pulled up in front of a pleasant-looking two-story beige brick home with two dormers in the attic. Ellen knew it had been built in the early 1930s. She’d done her homework, Googling Melanie’s address, even checking online Dallas newspaper archives, searching for a clue as to what event might have triggered the presence of the entity she’d be facing. But the newspaper files were no help. The only entry she found on line with that address was the recent Trulia listing and sales information.

  An excited Melanie had called her when they bought the place, telling Ellen what a great deal they got on the house. Thanks to her research, Ellen now knew that ‘great deal’ translated to $785,000. She realized David must be doing very well in his job here. For a moment, Ellen had a pang of envy. Here she was—thirty-four years old, unmarried, scraping by in a tiny rented apartment with only a cat for company. Melanie seemed to have it all—a hot hunk of a husband making enough money that she could afford to be a stay-at-home mom to their two adorable kids in this beautiful home. Too bad my psychic ability doesn’t include choosing winning lottery numbers—or even decent guys, Ellen thought ruefully.

  She got out of the cab just in time to see Melanie dashing up the street, Amy in tow.

  “Oh my gosh, you’re here! Why didn’t you call? I’d have picked you up. We were just walking Adam to school, weren’t we, honey?” she said, scooping the sleepy blond toddler into her arms. “Amy loves to walk her big brother to school in the mornings. She can’t wait till it’s her turn to go there. You remember Miss Ellen, don’t you, Amy? She and I have been best friends since we were not much older than you are.”

  She chattered on, nonstop, never giving either member of her audience time to answer the volley of questions she posed. Ellen smiled and shook her head. Same old Melanie.

  “Come on in, girlfriend. I put a pot of coffee on before I left. We can spend a few minutes together before I drive Amy to preschool. Then when I get back we’ll sit and have a nice long private chat,” she said, rolling her eyes at the little bundle in her arms.

  “Don’t worry,” Ellen replied. “I understand.” She bent her head to drop a kiss on the soft curls. “Hi, Amy,” she said softly. “It’s so nice to see you again. Can we play in your dollhouse when you get home from preschool like we did last time I was here?” Amy nodded shyly, then buried her head in her mother’s shoulder.

  “She’ll warm up,” Melanie assured. “It takes a little longer for her to come out of her shell these days.”

  Melanie’s normally cheerful voice sounded strained and Ellen could see the worry in her eyes. This timid child was nothing like the exuberant little girl who threw herself into Ellen’s arms the last time she came to visit six months ago. That child had prattled on, talking nonstop just like her mother.

  Ellen followed Melanie into the house, stopping dead as she entered the foyer. There was definitely something here. She could feel its presence—a dark, heavy energy overpowering the faint rays of sunlight streaming through the leaded glass door. She took a deep breath, asked her Angel spirits to gather around her, and followed Melanie into the kitchen.

  Melanie settled the child in front of the TV in the adjoining family room with a bowl of cereal, then poured two cups of coffee. Handing one to Ellen, she sank heavily into the old fashioned built-in banquette in a corner of the kitchen.

  “Sorry. I’m exhausted.” She lowered her voice, barely whispering. “Amy had a bad night, sobbing and covering her ears. She said she could hear the lady crying again and begged me to make it stop. She woke Adam and I ended up singing to them and telling them funny stories about you and me until daybreak.”

  She sighed. “I loved this place when we first came to see it. Even though it needed a lot of work, we were thrilled to find such an affordable home in this neighborhood. Dave and I spent hours fixing it up before we ever moved in. I remember how excited we were when we realized there were hardwood floors under all that outdat
ed carpeting. We sanded and stained and refinished every inch ourselves.”

  She stared down at a gleaming oak floor, covered here and there with Oriental rugs. “I never sensed anything, never heard anything. But then we never do when Dave is around. It’s only when the children and I are alone that things happen.” Glancing at her watch, she jumped up.

  “Oops, gotta get moving. Amy likes to be there in time to play on the playground for a few minutes before class starts. Do you want to come along?”

  Ellen shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take advantage of the time to look around a little.”

  “Good idea.” Melanie nodded. “Feel free to explore anywhere you want. I won’t be gone long. Make yourself comfortable. Your room is at the top of the stairs on the left.”

  As soon as the front door clicked shut behind them, Ellen closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Despite the sun shining through the windows, she shivered. The banquette was definitely a cold spot.

  She began wandering through the empty rooms, noting the sensations her body absorbed. A chill in the hallway, a heaviness in the formal living room. She didn’t know about other psychics, but in Ellen’s experience, evil didn’t feel hot, like coming into contact with lost souls burning for eternity in the fires of hell. Instead, negative energy was cold—a palpable drop in temperature that varied in intensity depending on the strength of the malevolent forces that were present.

  This house had a definite chill that even the warmth of the October sun outside couldn’t dispel. She left her suitcase in the hall and headed upstairs empty-handed. There would be time to unpack later. Right now she wanted to experience whatever the house threw at her before her feelings were influenced by Melanie’s experiences.

  Upstairs she was drawn to the second door on the left. Peeking inside, she found a cheerful room with white walls and decorative accents in primary colors. The small bed sported a Superman comforter and the bookshelves lining one wall were crammed with Legos and action figures.

  But all the playful figurines couldn’t dispel the sense of doom she felt when she stepped into the room. She closed her eyes and it appeared clearly in her mind—a huge lurking shadow in the far corner, shrouded in a dark cloak, head bent to fit into the room. Adam was right. There were wings. But these weren’t delicate, feathery angel wings. Long and thin, with jagged black edges, they sprang from the shoulders of the creature and scraped the floor, even though the figure was easily nine feet tall.

  Ellen called on her spirit guides for protection and backed out of the room. She wasn’t going to tackle a fight with the dark side until she had a better idea of what forces were at work here.

  Turning away, she headed across the hall. Popping her head into the master bedroom, she breathed a bit easier. The heaviness was here too, but not as severe. She moved on. The room at the top of the stairs that Melanie said would be hers was a serene shade of turquoise, like the water in a tropical lagoon. The atmosphere was heavy here as well, but it felt more like sadness and despair than evil.

  Ellen had no fear of spending a night in the room. She’d moved often over the years and knew how to set up a space to make it a sanctuary of peace and security in no time at all. Whenever she traveled, she brought along a handful of treasured objects, things that took up very little space but held great meaning to her. She always arranged them together, setting up a kind of makeshift altar. A tiny angel statue she’d had since she was a child, a couple of crystals, a white votive candle in a shallow ceramic bowl made by her grandmother… and in the center, her stone. Her center. Worn smooth from centuries of endless waves tumbling it against the sand, it was smooth and black and flat, fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand.

  She’d found it on a solitary walk along the shores of Lake Michigan one blustery winter day when she had the beach all to herself. The stone spoke to her soul—spoke of timelessness and continuity. It had been here eons ago and would be here still when she was long gone. The stone reminded her that no matter what trials she might face along the way in this life, one truth was certain… that her self, her essence, would endure, would go on to face another day, and each lifetime she lived was meant to smooth away the rough edges, leaving her soul stronger and more pure.

  Ellen glanced around, picturing the altar she’d set up on the tall chest across from the bed, where she could see it when she opened her eyes each morning. Then she left the room to continue her tour of the house.

  Across the hall from the turquoise room was another bright child’s space, cheerful yellow walls decorated with drawings in crayon and a poster from the latest Disney princess movie. Ellen moved closer to study the drawings. Stick figures obviously meant to represent mommy and daddy, always with two smaller stick figures, one male and one female. In one they were playing ball in the yard, in another they sat at a dinner table. Yet another depicted the family walking in a garden that was a riot of color.

  Sure enough, Amy had faithfully reproduced what she’d been experiencing. Every drawing set in the house had a shapeless dark huddled mass in it somewhere. Only in the outdoor pictures was the figure missing. Ellen shook her head. No wonder the child was withdrawn, timid. Facing spirits alone was terrifying for anyone, especially when you were just a child and had no experience dealing with them.

  Ellen stood in the center of the room, eyes closed once again, and breathed slowly in and out, emptying her mind. Images poured in—a jumbled mass. She heard screaming, arguing, felt punching and kicking… then pitiful, heart-wrenching sobs and the unmistakable click of a door locking her in. Trapped. She was trapped in here forever. Ellen felt the rising panic. Her breath quickened, her heart raced.

  She forced herself to stay calm. I can open my eyes at any time, she reminded herself, and it will all go away. This spirit’s reality is not my reality. She murmured a prayer for the soul in distress and disconnected herself from the images. Still, it took all her powers of concentration to wrench herself away, back to the present moment.

  She moved out of the room, deeply worried. Contrary to what some New Age practitioners preached, this wouldn’t be a simple matter of burning a little sage, thinking happy thoughts, then clapping her hands three times and saying “Be gone.” And even after the entities departed, the children were going to need someone who understood what had happened here to talk them through the trauma they’d experienced.

  There were at least two distinct presences in the house, maybe more. Were they all related by some event in the past? Ellen knew she’d have to delve further into why the entities were here. Whether they felt their souls were trapped or they were choosing to remain here, past experience taught her that freeing a spirit from earthly ties sometimes meant becoming a therapist to the departed.

  She heard the door open downstairs and Melanie’s voice rang out.

  “I’ll be right down,” she replied. She left the room, her mood lightening as soon as she was on the stairs.

  Melanie was animated, looking far more cheerful than she had when she left.

  “We’re having coffee in an hour with someone who was recommended by a member of my church,” Melanie announced. “You know, Dallas is very big on faith-based groups. We’ve started attending a church here that one of my neighbors recommended. I finally told several friends in my prayer circle about the goings-on here a few days ago, right around the time that I contacted you. They told a few friends… and things just kind of mushroomed from there. Anyway, one of the girls told me this morning about a man who may be able to help. According to her, he’s been called in on other situations. She didn’t really say what kind, just hinted around about ghosts and demonic possession and such. His name is Rafe—Rafe Cummings. Sheryl spoke to him last night and gave me his number when I ran into her at the preschool Amy goes to. I called him right away and he agreed to meet with us.”

  She must have seen the look of surprise on Ellen’s face because she hurried on. “I hope you don’t mind? It’s not as though I don’t think yo
u can handle this whole thing. I just thought maybe another…” Her voice trailed away, as though realizing that despite her urgent plea for help, she had just shown how little she believed in the abilities of her childhood friend.

  Ellen swallowed a pang of disappointment. Honestly, she didn’t blame Melanie for bringing in an ‘expert.’ The woman was grasping at anything she could find to ease the pain her babies were going through. And it was easier sometimes to believe that a stranger could have psychic powers that it was to accept those abilities in a friend you’d known since childhood.

  “It’s fine, Melanie. I’d be happy to meet with him. You know, I’ve worked with a fellow psychic medium before.”

  “Is that what you are… a psychic medium?” Melanie sounded curious. “Psychics talk to dead people and see the future, right?”

  “It’s mediums who connect with those who have passed. All mediums are psychic but not all psychics are mediums. Psychics perceive, mediums receive. That’s a simple way to explain it. Actually, we all have different abilities, different ways to connect with the world outside commonly accepted reality. Some people see entities, others hear voices. Some have flashes of intuition, others see visions of past or future events. Many have what they call a spirit guide, who appears to them either in dreams or while they’re awake, and answers questions or makes them aware of a situation where their help is needed.”

  “How do you do whatever it is you do?” It was the first time Melanie had ever asked a direct question about Ellen’s gift since the night she’d confessed her abilities.