Page 11 of Ghosts From Christmas Past

“He wasn’t sure, but he believes they are bald eagle feathers. Aren’t they supposed to be considered sacred to some of the local tribes?”

They were. “Jesse, Sam, and I are finishing up here at the Swenson place. Once we’re done, we’ll head to the cemetery.”

“Roger that. I’ll let the caretaker know.” Stella was still there. He sensed she had more to say. “Dylan, I just heard about Charlie’s memory loss. I’m so sorry.”

He steadied himself before responding. “Thank you, Stella.”

His dispatcher had been employed at the sheriff’s department long before that Christmas. She’d been there through the investigation and the aftermath. She knew about Dylan and Charlie’s marriage. And despite her sassy exterior, she had a heart of gold.

“Did you and the boys find anything useful at the house?”

“Not really. Besides the light and a misplaced book, there’s nothing here to indicate who might have been in the house or what their motives were.”

Stella audibly sighed. “Still, I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that someone shows up at both the Swenson’s home and the place where they’re buried on the same night Charlie woke up.”

Dylan didn’t believe so either. “I agree.” Jesse was coming his way. “Tell the caretaker we’ll be there soon.” Once Stella confirmed, he ended the transmission and waited.

“There’s no sign of a break-in.” Jesse reinforced what he knew.

Dylan shook his head. “Then how did they get in?”

Jesse didn’t have an answer. “Are you sure someone broke it? Maybe the book was close to the edge and fell on its own? If I remember correctly, you and I received a call the last time we were here. Maybe you forgot to turn off the light.”

While he made sense, Dylan was certain that wasn’t the case. Through the years, he’d memorized everything in the room. Everything’s place. He was positive the book hadn’t fallen by itself.

“What about the tire tracks?” Dylan asked while doubts snuck into his thoughts.

“Maybe someone lost. Some kids coming here to drink because it’s deserted. There could be any number of explanations.”

“I don’t think so in light of what’s happened at the cemetery.” Dylan explained about the feathers, and Jesse blew out a long whistle.

“Yeah, that is odd. Feathers are very significant in our culture.” As a Northern Arapaho Indian himself, Jesse had embraced his culture completely.“Bald eagle feathers represent honesty, truth, courage, and wisdom among other things. The eagles are believed to have a special connection to the Creator.“

Which confirmed to Dylan, this wasn’t just a random act by some kids. Someone had been in the house and left those feathers at the Swenson’s gravesites for a reason. And in his mind, those two events had everything to do with the other event that happened tonight. Charlie’s awakening. Someone was sending a message. And Dylan believed it was the man responsible for it all. The man who attacked Charlie’s family eight years earlier. The killer.

Chapter Three

You’re mine. He was there again. His face obscured by the blackness she’d escaped. Calling out to her. Urging her to return to her quiet sleep. She couldn’t go there. Wouldn’t survive it again.

“No!” She tried to wake up, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Please no.” She fought and clawed and tried to free herself, but it was useless. He didn’t want to release her.

You’re mine and you’ll be mine for all eternity.

“No,” she screamed and sat up in bed, her frightened eyes searching the room while her heartbeat threatened to explode. She was alone. Except for the ugly dream and a past she couldn’t pull out no matter what. Charlie sucked in several calming breaths before her pulse slowed. She covered her eyes with her hand and sank back against the pillow. If she could only see his face. . .

“Charlie?”

Her eyes flew open. A petite woman with striking blonde hair stood in the doorway.

The woman appeared slightly familiar. Was it a real memory or was her desperate mind scrambling to fill in the blanks? “Yes? Do I know you?”

The woman stepped into the room and closed the door, then came over to the bed.

“I’m Melissa Walker. We went to school together.” The woman held out her hand, and Charlie took it. “Actually, I was a grade younger than you.”

Melissa glanced down at the bed scattered with old yearbooks. Charlie had been combing through them before she’d fallen asleep.

She closed the yearbook near her hand. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.”

---