Paranormal Realities Box Set by Patricia Mason Page B

outer door of the restroom swung open
with a swishing sound and I heard Senji come in.
    “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he called
to me.
    “Get out!” Petra ordered.
    “Okay. Okay.”
    When the swish of Senji's leaving sounded,
I rose, opened the door and stepped out.
    “All right. Here it is," I snapped.
"You want to know what I’m going to do? I'm going to do nothing.“
    Petra started to speak and I interrupted
her.
    “I keep failing.” My voice broke. “I
failed Adam and now I’ve failed Juliette and Franky. I know I’m a coward but in
the long run it’s better for everyone if I stop trying. I’ll only make things
worse. So I’m going to do nothing.”
    “You don’t fail. The thing with
Adam...Who could have done any better under the circumstances?”
    I would have spoken but she stopped me.
Unlike the typical Petra, this one was totally serious as she gazed at me.
    “And if even half of what Senji said
about last night is true, you did all you could. You are so not a coward,” she
said. “You’re whatever the polar opposite of coward is."
    Her words struck me. Petra considered me
brave?
    "But you never ask people to help
you," she continued. "We’re here.” She gently shook me. “I’m here.
You don’t have to do everything alone all the time.”
    The words echoed against the tile walls
before the room went silent. Could I trust myself to do something to get
Juliette and Franky back? Could I trust my friends to help? As much as I wanted
to forget the vortex and everything associated with it, I would never forgive
myself if I didn’t try to get Juliette and Franky back. Just as I would never forgive
myself for losing Adam...but there was nothing I could do to save him now. One
death on my conscience was enough.
    “Even if I wanted to do something I have
no idea where to even start,” I said. Then a thought struck. “Wait. Maybe there
is something or someone.”
    After flipping the notebook open, I paged
through until I found the post-it.
    “I could start with him.” I pointed to
the name.
    "We," she emphasized.
    "We," I affirmed.
    “Him who?” Petra asked.
    “Remember the historian the librarian
told us about yesterday?”
    “Yes. No. I wasn’t really listening,”
Petra admitted.
    The second bell rang signaling class had
started. I knew what I had to do. And it wasn’t going to class.

 
    * * * * *

 
    Petra insisted on going with me. I let
her help since she had a license and a car whereas I didn’t. The address I had
for the historian was in Pooler about ten miles away. We found an old faded
green farmhouse at the end of a remote dirt driveway. The overgrowth on the
property around it shielded the house from view on the adjacent street. We
almost missed it but, at the last second, I saw the mailbox mounted on a
tilting wood post bearing the address.
    We exited the car. At least two separate
dog “voices” barked from inside the rundown maintained house. Big dogs , I
thought. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all. But since this was
the most hopeful I’d felt since Juliette and Franky disappeared, I resolved to
talk to Anderson. So despite the trepidation I had about a possible dog bite,
Petra and I ascended the wood steps to the wrap around porch and approached the
door. Lifting a hand, I prepared to knock.
    “Get off my property.” The shout came
from inside.
    “Mr. Anderson?” I called. His words
freaked me out but I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Can we talk to
you?”
    “I don’t wanna buy no girl scout
cookies.”
    “We aren’t selling anything,” Petra said.
    “What do you want?”
    “The librarian at the Georgia Historical
Society gave me your name and address," I replied. "She said you
might be able to help us.”
    “That ugly crone should mind her own
business.”
    I imagined a grizzled old curmudgeon of
an academic on the other side of the closed door.
    “Instead she violates my privacy.” A
thump of impact from the inside