Hearing Voices Read online

  The Marie Jenner Series

  Seeing the Light

  Drowning in Amber

  Stalking the Dead

  Dying on Second

  Hearing Voices

  Hearing Voices

  a Marie Jenner

  Mystery

  E. C. Bell

  Hearing Voices

  Copyright © 2018 E.C. Bell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

  Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

  Calgary, Alberta, Canada

  www.TycheBooks.com

  Cover Art by Guillem Marí

  Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

  Interior Layout by Ryah Deines

  Editorial by Rhonda Parrish

  First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2018

  Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-95-5

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-96-2

  Author photograph: Ryan Parker

  PK Photography

  This book was funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.

  To Jess. You’re always there for me, kid.

  Prologue

  Jasper Flynn: It Was All about The Colours

  WHEN I WAS alive, I could tell exactly how people were feeling by the colours emanating from their bodies like wings. Like halos. To me, they looked like angels.

  It broke my heart when Mom told me that she couldn’t see the colours and that no one else could see them, either. That I was the only one on the face of the earth who had the ability.

  She didn’t think it was an ability. She saw it as a curse. Something wrong with me. She broke my heart again when she decided that I needed to be fixed.

  She never said that, of course. She was all, “I love you,” and, “This will only hurt for a minute,” and “It’s for your own good,” as she took me to doctor after doctor, trying to figure out what was broken in me. But I could tell, by her wings and her halo, how she really felt.

  None of the doctors could fix me. I watched their wings go from sky blue calm to the muddy brown of confusion and finally, the blue-black of despair. Then Mom would find another one, and the rainbow and painful tests would start all over again.

  At sixteen I finally learned not to talk to anybody about the colours, but it was too late. Mom had had enough. When she dropped me off at the Alberta Hospital, for an assessment she said, I could tell she wasn’t coming back.

  I died of a heart attack at twenty-six, and it felt almost poetic. After all, life had metaphorically broken my heart a million times. It shouldn’t have surprised me that it would literally give up on me too.

  My psychiatrist, Dr. Parkerson, was the one to pronounce me dead. She demanded an autopsy.

  “He was too young to die that way. I have to know what happened to him,” she cried. She’d been my psychiatrist since I was fourteen, and though she’d never believed there were colours, she had always believed that she could fix me. Until I died, of course.

  She didn’t realize that part of me was still in the room, watching her. Watching her wings and her halo as she looked down at my body one last time before it was hauled away. It wasn’t just sadness that I saw. She was relieved that I was finally gone.

  My heart broke one last time.

  Stage One

  Hiding the Truth

  Marie:

  A Danger to Myself and Others

  THE PYJAMAS THEY gave me were blue. Cotton, I think. Probably not all cotton, because that doesn’t last, so they were probably a polyblend of some sort—and I couldn’t believe I was thinking about what the frigging pyjamas were made of. I was locked up in a ward somewhere in the Alberta Hospital, because my shrink was convinced that I was a danger to myself and others.

  What was I going to do?

  Sergeant Sylvia Worth and James Lavall had driven me to the hospital, after my shrink, Dr. Parkerson, had committed me for a psychiatric evaluation to determine whether I was crazy or not. Sergeant Worth was a cop who thought we were friends, and James was my boss slash boyfriend. Personally, I’d wished it had only been James in that car, because then I could have had a good cry, but the Sergeant demanded I let her come with, so it was the three of us on that horrible drive.

  James remained silent as we headed to the north end of Edmonton. Sergeant Worth couldn’t shut up.

  “I’ll do what I can to see you,” she said. “After all, you’re a material witness to an assault so I’ll need to interview you at least once.”

  “I’m the victim of the assault,” I said.

  “I know,” she replied. Way too fast, and I realized she was trying to keep me calm. “I know you’re the victim, but just let us investigate, OK? So we can prove it, materially.”

  That almost made me cry, because proving anything materially was always a problem where ghosts were concerned. After all, it wasn’t like the spirits of the dead left fingerprints or anything.

  And that was the big problem. Those ghosts had really done a number on Andrew Westwood, after he’d attacked me. They were protecting me and avenging the death of one of their own, but he couldn’t see them, even as he was being hacked and gouged.

  He couldn’t see them, but I could. They’d beaten him and broken him in front of me. And I’d watched them do it. And then, stupid me, I’d told him.

  I was angry when I yelled that the girl he’d killed forty years before was responsible for him getting the crap kicked out of him. The problem was, he told anybody who would listen, including the press, what I had said. Word finally got back to my shrink through the television. Apparently, Dr. Parkerson watched the morning news.

  And that was how I ended up in a locked ward, in blue poly-cotton blend pyjamas.

  What a mess.

  EVEN THOUGH SERGEANT Worth had to head right back to the cop shop after she delivered me, I imagined, as I was being admitted, that James had stayed. That he was out in the waiting area, waiting. I asked the nurse who’d given me the pyjamas if I’d be able to talk to him.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you won’t be allowed to have visitors for a while. Until you’re stable.”

  Stable. That sounded like a bad word.

  “How long?” I asked.

  She shrugged and smiled. It was not comforting. “Dr. Parkerson will let you know,” she said. “You try to get some rest.”

  I looked down at my wrist, but they’d taken away my watch. Actually, it was my dead mother’s watch and it didn’t work anymore because I couldn’t bear the thought of changing the battery in the thing. Changing anything she’d touched, before she died. God, maybe I did deserve to be in this place.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s just after one,” she said. “You missed lunch. Are you hungry? I could get you something, if you want.”

  I was going to say no, but my breakfast had been interrupted by the phone call from Sergeant Worth at seven that morning and I hadn’t had a chance for a breath since that time, much less a meal. My stomach growled, sealing the deal.

  “That would be nice,” I said. “Thank you.”

  She smiled again, and it was wa
rmer this time. “Back in a bit,” she said, and left the room. I heard the lock turn, and I was alone.

  That didn’t last, of course. I barely had time to try out the bed—which was too soft, by half—before the first ghost wandered into the room.

  I knew there would be ghosts, of course, but since being able to see and interact with ghosts had put me in this place, I wasn’t really that happy to see him.

  He looked to be about my age and was dressed in the same stylish blue poly-cotton blend pyjamas I was, so I took a wild guess and figured he’d been a patient when he died.

  “Get out!” I barked. “I’ve had enough of you guys. Seriously.”

  His eyes popped. “You can see me?”

  Here we go again.

  “Yeah.” I curled my hands into fists and thought extremely bad thoughts for a few seconds.

  “You can really see me.” He nodded. “Cool. Most people who act like they can see ghosts, can’t. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I said again. I didn’t want to be having this conversation. I wanted some alone time, to see if I could figure out how to talk my way out of this mess. “Now get out. I’m not having a great day.”

  “I get that,” he said. He didn’t leave, of course. He wandered around the room, running his hand through the walls and the small dresser that rested against the wall furthest from my bed. “Most of us are in the same boat.”

  “Most of us?” I asked, before I really thought. He turned and smiled, and suddenly looked much younger than me.

  “Yeah, there’s a bunch of us here, just like me. Can’t seem to get out.” He shrugged. “We got locked up, died, and now we’re stuck. Bit of a pisser.”

  “Fantastic,” I said. A bunch of ghosts were in this place, and soon they’d know I could see them. I was pretty sure having them hanging around wasn’t going to make convincing Dr. Parkerson that she’d made a terrible mistake any easier, but it was obvious that the ghost wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. I could continue to act like a jerk, or I could talk to him, living to dead. Surprise, surprise, I decided to be a grown up.

  “My name’s Marie,” I said. “What’s yours?”

  “Jasper,” he said. “Jasper Flynn.”

  “And how long have you been dead?”

  “Seven years,” he said. “Seven years, three months, three days.”

  “And you were here when you died?”

  He nodded. “I came in for depression,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Actually, I was suicidal. Can you believe it? Suicidal at sixteen. My mom brought me in. She said she was desperate to keep me alive, even though I couldn’t figure out one reason why I should live a second more in this world. It’s pretty fucked up, know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “Did you kill yourself?”

  “No,” he said. “Some of that therapy was working, I suppose. Or maybe it was the drugs they had me on. Or not being able to watch the news. Anyway, I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I could handle being out in all that. And then I died.”

  I frowned. “What happened?”

  “They said it was my heart,” he said. “But I was pretty young to have a heart attack, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly.

  “I’m not the only one. There are lots of us who had heart attacks before they died.” He smiled. “I think somebody’s killing us.”

  I sighed. I didn’t need this right now. I really didn’t.

  “At first I thought somebody was putting something in the food. Or maybe the water. But that doesn’t make sense, because then everybody would be dead. Know what I mean?”

  I closed my eyes, hoping he’d be gone when I opened them again, but he wasn’t.

  “I haven’t been able to figure it out, yet,” he continued. “Maybe it’s the meds. But, those are closely monitored. All I can say is, don’t eat anything the kitchen staff didn’t make, just to be on the safe side.”

  A conspiracy theory from a ghost in a mental institution. Fantastic.

  A key scraped in the lock of my door. “It’s the nurse,” I whispered. “Please be quiet. I can’t talk to you in front of her. Understand?”

  “I do,” he said, and stepped away from me. As the nurse came in, he pressed himself against the wall. He looked afraid.

  The nurse put a tray on the bedside table and handed me a napkin. “I hope a sandwich will be enough,” she said. “The kitchen staff doesn’t like it when we go back there and ‘muck about’ as they say. It’s roast beef, a little lettuce, and a dill pickle on the side. Sound good?”

  My mouth started watering, because yeah, it really did sound good and I was starving. That was when the ghost popped his cork.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” he screamed, throwing himself at me, into me before I could protect myself. I could feel his crazy and his fear running through me like a wild river. “Don’t eat the food!”

  I clawed my way across the bed to get away from him, and the nurse’s eyes turned to steel.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I—I thought I wanted something to eat, but . . . But . . .”

  “Are you a vegetarian or something?” she said. “You should have told me before I went to all this trouble.”

  “Don’t touch it!” the ghost shrieked. “Don’t even touch it!” His eyes rolled in his head, and he howled, and for just a moment, I was really truly afraid. Not of the food, or the horrible situation I found myself in, but of him. I was afraid of a ghost.

  “Get away from me,” I whispered.

  Of course, the nurse figured I was talking to her. Her face tightened and she grabbed the tray from the bedside table. “Sorry the food wasn’t up to your standards or whatever,” she said. “Make sure you tell Dr. Parkerson that you have dietary requirements when she comes to see you, and I’ll make sure you won’t be bothered with food until I get word from her.”

  “When is she coming?” I asked, trying to keep my voice low though it was hard not to yell over the ghost’s shrieking. Which the nurse could not hear, of course.

  “She comes in the evening,” the nurse said. “After her clinic hours are over. And you don’t have to yell. I can hear you just fine.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered. I glared at the ghost, who was writhing and flailing on my bed, shrieking and howling as though he were in terrible pain. And then I wondered if he was dying his death all over again.

  I’d never heard of a ghost doing that when they knew they were dead, but this ghost sure was acting like he was dying all over again.

  Then, he stopped and stared at me, and I realized his eyes were absolutely bloodshot. Why hadn’t I seen that before?

  “Don’t eat the food,” he whispered, and then he disappeared.

  I heard the nurse’s white shoes squeak as she turned on her heel, the tray in her hand. She didn’t say a word to me as she left the room, and this time, when she locked the door, it sounded like something final.

  Jasper:

  That Was Not the Best Way to Meet the New Girl

  I FELT LIKE an idiot when I finally came to, back at my old room in Ward G. I’d never lost it in front of anyone before—even when I was at my very worst, before Mom brought me to this place. And I finally had someone who could see me. Not just see me, but talk to me, too. And I’d blown it.

  “What the hell am I going to do?” I asked the old catatonic who’d been in my room since I died. He didn’t answer of course, and I wondered for the millionth time why this guy wasn’t dead yet. He had no halo colour to speak of and was literally stealing oxygen from everyone else on the planet. I figured he was only still around because no one had the decency to put him out of his misery.

  Not that I was sure he was miserable—like I said, I saw no colour from him—I just knew that I would be, if I was in his shoes. Imagine being stuck inside your head, always. No thoughts but your own, year after year.

  If you weren’t crazy, those thoughts sure would drive you there.


  Phillipa Wonderly walked through the door to my old room. She’d hung herself two months before I got to the hospital and was always surrounded by waves of yellow and red. “You OK?” she asked. “I heard you yelling.”

  “I’m an idiot,” I moaned. “Someone came in who can actually see me—see us—and I acted like an idiot in front of her.”

  She flicked the bedsheets she’d used to hang herself over her shoulder, like a freaky neck scarf. Then she frowned. “Did you say someone in here can see us?”

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “It’s not just someone who claims they can see us?”

  “Nope,” I said. “She talked to me and everything. She’s on the lockdown ward. I’m guessing she’ll be there until the staff can assess her and get her on meds.”

  “Yeah, that’s the drill,” Phillipa replied. “Maybe I’ll go meet her. You know, be friendly.”

  I felt a thrill of possessiveness. The girl in the locked ward was mine. I’d found her first.

  “What do you want to talk to her about?” I asked, when I could trust my voice not to give away my true feelings.

  “Well, I’d sure like to find out what happened on the television show House,” she said. “I loved that show!”

  “I didn’t watch much TV,” I said. Actually, I’d watched a ton of TV before I died because there really wasn’t much else to do in this place, but she didn’t need to know that. “I don’t remember that show.”

  “Oh, it was the best,” Phillipa replied. “It was so good, it has to still be on. I’d love to know what happened. You know, just to catch up.”

  “You could watch the TV in the recreation area,” I said. Phillipa glared at me.

  “Julius hangs around in that room,” she said. “All the time.”