Final Call Read Online Free PDF

dead isn’t all it’s
cracked up to be, she’s bound to get in touch with me. You just moved that
process along.”
    Bradley leaned one hand against the
roof of the car, blocking Mary in place. He looked down at her and she looked
up, meeting his eyes. His breath mingled with hers in the icy air. He lifted
his other hand, encased in soft leather and slowly stroked her cheek with his
thumb. “I miss you,” he said softly.
    Shuddering from his touch, she felt her
eyes fill with tears. One single teardrop slid down her cheek and he gently
wiped it away. “What did I do?” he asked, pain and confusion apparent in his
gaze.
    She shook her head. “Nothing,” she
insisted. “Nothing. It’s not you. It’s me.”
    He sighed. “Mary, will we ever be able
to get back what we had?”
    She nodded, her voice tight in her
throat, wondering how he was going to respond when he discovered she had known
that Jeannine was dead. “I really hope so.”
    He stepped back away from her and the
car. “So, are you going over to Rosie’s?” he asked, his voice friendly and
impersonal.
    “Yeah, I thought I’d head over there
now.”
    He paused for a moment. “I was going to
go over there too. Will that be a problem for you?”
    Mary felt her heart break a little bit
more. “No, that won’t be a problem at all,” she said.
    He turned before she could add anything
else. “Fine, I’ll see you there.”
    Mary watched him walk back down the
street to his cruiser, and then she opened the door to her Roadster and slipped
inside. Inserting the key, she listened as the engine purred to life. She
fastened her seat belt and reached over to the gear shift to move it into
reverse when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Slowly turning
her head towards the passenger seat, she found herself face to face with a pair
of non-corporeal eyes floating in front of her.
    She jumped, initially startled, and
watched as the face around the eyes slowly began to materialize. He was an
older African-American man, with a distinguished face and a nearly balding
head.
    “Sorry,” she stammered. “I wasn’t
expecting you.”
    The gentleman glanced around. “Where am
I?” he asked, his face creased in concern.
    “Well, you’re in my car, which is
parked on Walnut Avenue, near Clark Street in Freeport, Illinois,” she replied.
“Does that help?”
    He shook his head violently. “No, no,
that does not help, young lady,” he bellowed. “I was in the hospital, intensive
care, my heart…”
    Pausing, he lifted his hand and placed
it over his chest. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said in wonder. “There is no
pain.”
    Closing her eyes for a moment, Mary
took a deep breath. She really hated when it happened like this. “It doesn’t
hurt anymore because you died,” she said softly. “You’re a ghost.”
    Whipping his head up to face her, he shook
his head. “Oh, no, young lady, I’m afraid you have this very wrong,” he said
firmly. “I am a minister. I am Reverend Hezekiah Johnson, a servant of God.
There are no such things as ghosts.”
    “I can understand how this might come
as a surprise,” she began.
    “Surprise,
young lady? No, this is not a surprise, it’s blasphemy! I don’t know who you are, or how you got me here, but you will be
lucky if I don’t press charges,” he growled, as he reached over and tried to
open the door, but failed. “You let me out of there, or so help me…”
    Mary reached in front of him and opened
his door. He slid out of the car and turned back to her. “You don’t look like
the type who would pull a prank like this,” he said, his voice softer and a
little more kind. “I would suggest you think about the company you’ve been
keeping lately.”
    She nodded. “If you ever need help,”
she added quickly before he could walk away. “Please feel free to call on me. My
name is Mary O’Reilly.”
    “I find that highly unlikely,” he
sniffed. “But I thank you for the offer.”
    He