Wayward Souls: The Sequel to Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) Read online

  WAYWARD SOULS

  The sequel to Beckoning Souls

  By J.R. Tate

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Contact Information

  More Books By J.R.

  Book Description: Nathan Gallagher thought the ghosts were gone. He did everything they demanded, aiding in their souls passing on to the other side. But it’s not over for him – new visions appear and they’re not leaving until he helps them. Ignoring them only makes them more hostile, pushing Nathan and his son Rusty into a supernatural world of violence and uncertainty that edges them to the breaking point.

  Realizing the ghosts won’t go away, Nathan begins to listen to what they need. It requires Dr. Clint - his missing in action therapist from before, and a self-admission to Sunset Canyon - the mental hospital that Nathan fears and swore he’d never return to.

  Sacrificing everything, Nathan hopes to reveal corruption that stems as far back as the 1800’s. He’s labeled a high-risk patient and thrown into a wing of the hospital where the most brutal patients are locked up, away from society - only to be forgotten and beaten.

  With time running out, he and Dr. Clint must come up with a plan to gather indisputable evidence that will vindicate the souls who sought his help. Without it, he’ll be stuck in the mental hospital forever, becoming a wayward soul himself.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to another person. Any names, locations, or dates are fiction and any similarities are strictly coincidence.

  Copyright © 2015 by J.R. Tate

  Cover art by M.P. McDonald

  For my mother – I can’t put into words how much I love and appreciate you.

  Chapter One

  Nathan

  I stare out of my front living room window. The window that leads out into my front yard where I gaze at the for sale sign placed strategically in the middle for many to see. The realtor recently placed a ‘sold’ banner on top – the house is spoken for now. The house that Rose and I bought together, where we became pregnant with Rusty, and where we had our ups and downs together, including possibly the worst weeks of my life so far. I shiver at the thought of how the past few months have transpired, and I sure as hell never want to go through any of it again. The trouble doesn’t end with my seeing ghosts – no, even more shit has hit the fan since.

  “Well, Dad, I think that’s the last of it.” Rusty carries a box down the stairs and places it by the door. “I don’t think much more will fit in the moving truck anyway.”

  “Yeah, let’s get it in there and hit the road.”

  I open the door for him, glad that he’s in my life. A nostalgic feeling courses through me, and before I can leave, I pad up the stairs, stopping in each doorway on the second floor. I pay the closest attention to mine and Rose’s room, now empty with only picture hooks and old blinds to ever show that we were there. I think about it all as I step toward the mirror where I first had my encounter with the souls that sought me out.

  Many people scrutinized me for forgiving Rose as quickly as I had. The woman had institutionalized me for God’s sake, and like a lovesick boy, I crawled back to her. I often thought about it too, wondering if I should’ve allowed her back so fast, but truth is, I’m glad I did. After the past month, we were living on borrowed time. Now that she’s gone, I’m thankful I did get to spend those last few weeks with her, even if it was rocky.

  Ducking my head, I fight back the sting behind my eyes. Too many tears. Too much pain. I can’t do this right now. Rusty and I are about to drive out to our new place. I have to hold it together. Lord knows, he seems to be the rock in all of this, and I’m not sure how. Her being gone is rough on both of us, and it’s hard to believe my son is not suffering.

  “Dad?”

  Turning, I see Rusty in the doorway of the bedroom. “Everything okay?”

  Nodding, I take a deep breath. “Good. I was just checking to make sure we’re not leaving anything behind. You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  I follow him down the stairs, breathing in the old house, hoping it is just as good to the new owners as it was to us. One more glance and I shut the door, leaving the key where the realtor told me. I double-check that my pickup is secure to the back of the U-Haul and climb into the driver’s side of the moving truck. Rusty smiles and I gently punch him in the shoulder.

  “To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings,” he repeats. “Living in the country will be interesting.”

  I laugh and put the truck in gear, easing it out onto the road. I watch as our old house fades away, and choke back the emotion. It’s like I’m completely ridding Rose of my life, but after everything, I can’t fathom the thought of staying there.

  “I did for a while when I was a kid. My grandparents had several acres. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Longer commute into the firehouse for you,” Rusty says as he taps his fingers on the window.

  “I don’t mind driving. And with you getting your license, we’ll make it work.” I’m glad I still have my job. My Chief has done a great job keeping things under wraps, and have worked great with me during this transition, giving me time off when needed to handle Rose’s affairs. None of the guys know about my stint in the mental hospital, or the fact that I was seeing what I had, otherwise my career as a firefighter would’ve long been over. Without my job on top of Rose being gone, there’s no telling what would happen.

  “At least I’m staying at the same school.”

  “That’s right.”

  I turn onto a narrow, two-lane highway. Highway Six Thirteen – nothing more than an old county road maintained when someone finally complains enough. The houses are spread apart by several acres on each side, and I can’t wait to have some peace and quiet. By the dirt washed over the asphalt, it’s apparent the maintenance on the road hadn’t been done in years, especially after all of the rain we’ve had.

  A few more miles and we’d be at our new house. I have made the trip several times as I tried to decide on whether or not to buy it. It was a big decision, and the real estate lady was about ready to give up on me when I extended my offer.

  “You know, growing up, we always heard stories about this highway,” I say, trying to break the silence.

  “What kind of stories? Like scary stories?” Rusty arches his eyebrow and keeps his gaze out to the side.

  “Yeah. There’s several ghost towns up past where we live. Nothing left but old school buildings and churches. There’s a few small cemeteries too. I know if a cop caught you out here after dark, your parents would get a call. Just old wives tales and things.”

  Rusty turns to face me, smirking. “After everything we’ve been through, I’m sure an old ghost story about an old highway will be like a comedy to us.”

  I laugh at his comment. He was right, but something still makes the hair on the back of my neck raise. Funny how when I was in the process of finalizing the house, that didn’t happen, but as we pull into our long driveway, I get a strange feeling. My imagination is playing tricks on me again, I’m sure, and I sho
ve it aside as we park in the circle drive in front of the farmhouse.

  Rusty hops out and looks toward the road. “Damn, we’ll have to drive just to get to the mailbox. How far from the road are we?”

  “A little over half a mile.” I pick up a rock from the ground and toss it with the rest of the gravel covering the driveway. This is Rusty’s first real visit to the place. I drove by with him before, but large elm trees and willow trees block the view from the road. We are in a pretty wooded area, giving added security to help my peace of mind.

  “Mom would’ve liked this place,” Rusty says as he leans against the truck.

  “Yeah, she would’ve.” My voice trails off, and I have to wonder if she really would. She was never the outdoors type of person, and the mention of her from our son makes me miss her, despite our differences.

  Adjusting has been hard. I miss the small things she did, like set out my work shirts while I was in the shower, or make a pot of coffee that was ready for me when I came down for breakfast. I miss her smile, her laugh, and even our small fights. I miss our lovemaking. And I feel guilty – mainly because I felt resentment toward her for doing what she did to me, for betraying me and getting me put in a mental hospital. For not believing me when I told her what was happening. I never could get past it, but I was working hard on it. She died knowing that I still held all of it in my heart, and there’s no way I can ever make it up to her.

  Scooting toward the pickup, I unhitch it from the back and open the U-Haul. Moving signifies us trying to pick up the pieces and press on, even if my mind can’t get past it. Pulling the boxes to the edge, Rusty and I begin taking things in the house. Pausing in the entryway, his eyes widen at the sight of it. It is older than the house we had back in the city, but I can tell he likes it. The stairs are dark wood, and the light fixtures are the originals. Most would say it looks creepy, but I prefer the term historical. And for the price I got it, I can’t complain. Bigger square footage and about three-fourths the cost of our previous home.

  “Our TV will look awesome in that corner,” he points.

  “I’m glad you think so, because I’m gonna need all the damn help I can get with decorating this place. I guess it’ll be our bachelor pad, yeah?” I nudge him and stack the boxes in the middle of the room. “We gotta survive unpacking first. Let’s get this shit done so we can get some sleep. It’s been a long ass day.”

  ***

  Nathan

  Nighttime is lonely for me. My mind races with so many things and I miss the warmth of Rose next to me. I still am fidgety with things. If I hear a random noise, I have to wonder what it is. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a decent night’s sleep. My curiosity runs rampant and I have to get up and make sure it’s not a visit from someone. I haven’t seen much since before, but with Rose now deceased, I wonder if she’ll ever come visit me. I’m not sure how I’d take it if she did – losing her once was enough, I don’t know if I can handle her coming and going again.

  Rolling over, I adjust myself on the air mattress, making a mental note that the first thing we do in the morning is get our beds set up. My body aches and sometimes I still have residual issues from the electro-shock therapy I endured while at Sunset Canyon.

  I have to remind myself that I’m in an old house now. It creaks and moans, and with the trees that surround us, the branches hit the windows and roof as the wind blows. Pulling the blanket up around me, I have to laugh at the fact that I feel like a young child, scared of the monster in the closet. The only thing is, I have actually seen the monster in the closet. I have spoken to it. It has injured me. And I know one day it will come back. At least now, I’m almost certain on how to handle it if and when it happens.

  Fighting my body, I finally get up and go down to the kitchen. The stairs squeak under my weight and I hope I don’t wake Rusty. He claimed the room on the other side of my room, at least temporarily, glad that he had three options to choose from.

  We haven’t unpacked the boxes yet. In fact, there’s still a few in the truck we didn’t grab, as both of us were too exhausted to do another thing. I search through several in hopes to find our kitchen stuff. Jackpot! I come across the box we packed the liquor in and pull out the first bottle I get my hands on, not caring what it is. I’ve always liked a good stiff drink occasionally, but lately I have noticed that I do it more often than I used to. I can hear Rose now, wagging her finger at me as she tells me to watch myself. And I know I should. It’s a path I don’t want to take. I can’t do that to Rusty or myself. I have to be levelheaded.

  Unscrewing the lid, I notice it’s some old Scotch that Rose got me. I don’t even bother with finding a glass, and take a swig off of it, savoring the burn. Funny how something so simple can extinguish so much emotion.

  I hear the same creak in the stairs that I made, and Rusty meets me in the living room, pointing toward the bottle. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No. I’m so tired I can’t sleep.” I hand the bottle to him. I don’t let my kid get drunk, but I believe exposing him a little at a time will make him not run wild when he does reach drinking age. Depriving him won’t do him any favors. At least I’m here to make sure he’s safe.

  He gladly accepts, and sips on it, wincing. The poor kid can’t handle it yet, and that makes me feel better. I haven’t turned him into a complete alcoholic, at least, not yet.

  “You don’t like it?” I laugh and put the lid back on.

  “It’s good, I guess. So what has you awake?”

  Shrugging, I look around the dark room. The moon is so bright that it’s lighting it up enough to see his face. “Just thinking about stuff. What about you?”

  “New house. I mean, I like the place, but you realize it’s like we’re in the beginning of a Stephen King story, right?”

  I shake my head and laugh. His imagination is just like mine. “Enlighten me,” though I know exactly what he means.

  “We’re starting over. We’ve moved into this old house off of a secluded highway. Our closest neighbors are what, probably twenty acres away, if not more? C’mon, Dad, you know what I mean.”

  “You’ve seen one too many movies.” There’s too much truth in what he’s saying and I don’t want to admit it.

  “And you’ve seen too many real ghosts, Dad. Don’t forget, I was seeing them too.” He points at my chest, his face changing from a smile to seriousness.

  “That’s all over with. I fixed it.” I know he hears the doubt in my voice. I’m horrible at hiding it. Like I said before, I’m not sure if they’ll come back. So far so good, but there’s no certainty it’s over.

  “I hope so.” He walks back to the stairs. “I’m gonna try and get to sleep. Maybe that Scotch helped. See you in the morning, Dad.”

  “Good night, Russ…” I watch him amble back up the stairs and try not to let his words linger for too long. They won’t be back. This is just part of the adjustment. It’s hard to convince myself of that, but it has to be accurate. All of this will work out and moving out here is the right decision.

  After everything else that has happened, I need something good to happen. Rusty and I both deserve it.

  ***

  Nathan

  The next morning I wake up early, and it dawns on me that I have an eight thirty appointment in town. I completely forgot about it, and shower quickly. Rusty is already in the kitchen, rummaging through boxes to find food. He’s chewing on a piece of toast and I’m shocked to see that he already has several appliances out and ready to go.

  “Hey Russ, I totally forgot that I have a doctor’s appointment this morning. It shouldn’t take too long and I’ll be back here in a bit.” I glance down at my watch. If I hurry, I won’t be too late.

  “Therapist?” He arches his eyebrow, and though I still feel shame about seeing one, it’s no secret to him. Since my wife’s death on top of everything else, I have been required by my chief to go to sessions as a stipulation to stay on a truck. It’s a blow to my pride but it also helps, e
ven if I haven’t opened up as much as I should.

  It’s taken a lot for me to gain the trust of psychologists. Even after everything, I still fear their only goal is to lock everyone up in an insane asylum and do crazy experiments. The fact that lobotomies are still practiced gives me the creeps, so I fear that disclosing too much will put me back in the loony bin.

  The drive to the office is quicker than anticipated, and after checking in with the receptionist, I wait all of five minutes before Dr. Carson steps into the waiting room and calls me back. I’ve only seen her a couple of times, but she’s sincere, and if there is a mental health professional I’ll ever trust, she’s got the best chance.

  She motions for me to sit on the couch and she sits across from me, her notebook open, her pen poised between her fingers as she waits. Her dark brown hair is curled at the tips and her smile is sincere and that makes the sessions a bit more bearable.

  “How have things been since last week, Nathan?”

  I shift my weight and fold my arms over my chest. I’ve been warned that it shows I’m closed off, but it’s an old habit I won’t ever break.

  “We closed on the house and moved in yesterday.”

  “Yeah? How’s it gone? Moving is always a tedious process.”

  “Not bad. Rusty says the house is creepy, but I think he likes it. Just gotta get used to it. It’s a big change from the house we were in.”

  She arches her eyebrow. “What kind of change?”

  This is the part of therapy I hate – the part where she knows the question, but still asks, almost like she’s being condescending. Rather than harp on it too much, I press on, trying to get through the hour so I can help my son continue to unpack.

  “The house is about sixty years older than what we were in. And secluded. We can’t just hop on over to our neighbors to borrow a cup of sugar. Rusty thinks…” I trail off, catching myself. Sometimes Dr. Carson makes it so easy to talk without thinking about it.