Page 10 of Ghosts From Christmas Past

“You’re kidding?” Jesse voice held the same shock Dylan felt. “I’m on my way there now.” Dylan heard Jesse hit his siren. “I’ll radio Sam. What are you doing there? I thought you checked on the place not too long ago?”

Jesse had come along with Dylan the last time he’d made his inspection of the house earlier in the month. It was always easier to have someone come with him. Otherwise, the dark memories threatened to pull him down.

“I did, but—” Dylan stopped. He’d come here for sentimental reasons.

“Charlie,” Jessie easily figured it out. “How is she?”

“She still looks the same. But she doesn’t remember a thing about the past or what happened that Christmas.” He’d watched Charlie age through the years and struggled to come to terms with the realization she might never come back to him. “She doesn’t even know me.” His voice caught.

“Oh, buddy, I’m so sorry,” Jesse said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure her memories will return in time.”

Dylan pulled himself together. “That’s what Dr. Montgomery said. He believes the events of that day were so traumatic that her brain just can’t deal with them yet. It’s hard seeing her like that, though.”

Jesse had been there for him through the rollercoaster ride of the past eight years. “I know it is, but you have to be strong, brother, for Charlie. Listen, I’m turning on the drive now. Sam’s five minutes out.”

Dylan spotted the headlights coming his way. “See you in a minute.” He ended the call and stared up at the vacant house until Jesse pulled up beside his vehicle and killed the SUV.

“You check the entire house?” Jesse asked after he got out.

Dylan nodded. “I did. It’s clear. The front door was left open. Her dad’s Bible was laying on the floor. It could be kids who managed to get inside and were snooping around.” But his gut said something different.

“I noticed the tire tracks on my way in. I followed your path. I’ll check the perimeter. See if I can figure out how they got inside.”

“Thanks, Jesse.” Dylan watched his friend disappear around the side of the house. Headlights bounced through the trees coming down the drive.

Deputy Sam Crenshaw parked his vehicle and jumped out.

Dylan explained about finding the light on inside and the fallen Bible.

“I’ve got my fingerprint kit in the vehicle,” Sam told him. “I’ll dust the doorknob and some of the more obvious surfaces. See if I can pull a print.”

“Thanks.” While Dylan waited for his deputy to return, he couldn’t get the strange timing out of his head. Eight years and there’d been no sign of anyone in the house before. Now, on the night that Charlie awakened, someone had come back here. What were they looking for? Sheriff Henry had his team go over every square inch of the house. There wasn’t as much as a stray hair that wasn’t accounted for. What had the intruder hoped to find?

Sam returned with his kit and they went inside.

For the past few years, the family trustee had suggested it might be time to sell the house and property and put the money into a trust for Charlie’s care, but something prevented Dylan for giving the okay. He’d taken care of it through the years, always hoping one day she’d come back home.

Past memories along with ghosts from that Christmas were everywhere he looked.

He left Sam to his work and walked about the house while looking at it through different eyes. When he’d cleared it earlier, he’d been expecting to run across the person responsible for leaving the light on. Now, he was searching for anything that might give him a clue into the mind of the intruder. His purpose here.

Dylan headed up the stairs and opened the door to the room that belonged to Patricia and Barlow. Nothing had been reported missing from the house at the time of the murders, although Charlie’s house key was never recovered. But Charlie had a habit of misplacing it. She’d gone through at least two during that last year before the attack. Was that how the intruder had gotten it?

As soon as he stepped inside, his mobile radio squawked to life.

“Sheriff, are you there?”

Stella.

Dylan hit the mic. “I’m here. What’s up?”

“Caretaker over at the cemetery just called. Said someone had been driving around the place near Barlow’s and Patricia’s graves. When he went to investigate, they took off before he could make out the type of vehicle.”

Dylan’s blood ran cold. “How long ago was this?”

“Maybe forty-five minutes. He said whoever was there left a couple of feathers on the headstone.”

The shock of what he heard ran through his body. “What kind of feathers?”

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