Free Pipeline by Christopher Carrolli

Like I
told you about the shrink my parents brought me to years ago, I
called her by the name her dead fiancée had called her. That is
what he called her. He wanted her to know that it was real,
that he was real, and that I was no freak. My parents knew what had
happened, and they realized that the shrink became obsessed with
what I had said. That’s why they kept me away from her.”
    “But, Mr. Richardson?”
    “You have to understand,” he said, “we are
not bodies with souls, Tracy. We are souls with bodies.” He spoke
the last three words as though together, they formed some
miraculous and mystifying revelation.
    “A soul is the energy that leaves our body at
the time of death,” Brett joined in, clarifying. “Where it goes is
anyone’s guess, but it’s free to roam, or it can go to a final
resting place, wherever that may be.”
    This reminded her of the conversation she’d
had with Marcia.
    “Where do you think the soul is, Tracy?”
Sidney asked. “Why do you think ancient texts always refer to
‘heart and soul’? We know where the heart is, but where is the
soul? I have a theory that the soul is actually the mind. Now, I
don’t mean the brain, but the mind, where the knowledge, and the
memories, and the experience are—the mind is the soul. That energy
becomes a spirit after death. It leaves our bodies when they cease
to exist, but it forever remains a constant. It is all that the
human knew in its lifetime, and everything it will encompass on a
higher plateau.”
    Sidney’s theory remained undoubted, as the
interlude of silence fell hard upon the room. He leaned forward to
Tracy and explained his next theory.
    “It’s also a fact that spirits can manipulate
energy to their advantages in many ways. One way is that they can
enter the shell of a living body just before its death, although,
its time is limited. I think that David’s spirit may have entered
Mr. Richardson’s body only minutes before he died, to speak to you,
Tracy. He uttered that one word that you would automatically
connect with him—princess.”
    Tracy heaved, and tears welled in her eyes.
She never dreamed that she would ever have to think about David in
this way, in the context of someone who no longer was. Six months
ago, they were planning their wedding, and now she about to show
four ghost hunters where his spirit had lingered not twenty-four
hours ago.
    Her world had become a bittersweet nightmare
in a matter of only three days, and her crying eyes pleaded in
distress to the four faces that tried to comfort her. The most
disturbing thoughts invaded her mind like an angry army crashing
the walls of a fortress.
    What if David didn’t know he was dead? What
if he was afraid and alone? The worst of paranoia squeezed a
tightened grip around her: what if he couldn’t rest because some
malevolent entity that still lingered in this world was tormenting
him? Was that the other voice she’d heard? Was he crying out for
help?
    She dried her eyes with two open palms that
fell down her face in a wiping motion. She took another deep
breath, rose from the table, and walked toward the kitchen.
    “Here,” she said, as the four followed. “This
is where he stood, right there.” She pointed to the open archway
that divided the kitchen from the living room. She stood in the
same spot behind the kitchen chair where he stood, a faded
existence unacknowledged by the light of the world.
    It took minutes to recreate the events that
led her to flee the house the night before, and then her cell phone
rang. She reached for the phone she’d left on the table.
    “Wait, Tracy,” Dylan stopped her, pointing to
the cell. “Did those strange calls come from this phone?”
    She shook her head and pointed, indicating
the land line as the culprit. She looked at the window on her cell:
it was Marcia. She flipped up the top of the phone.
    “Marcia, can I call you back--”
    Marcia’s voice, urgent and angered,
interrupted.
    “She knows, Tracy.