Page 32 of Stronger Than Blood
“Is that all you did?” Madam asked.
Mrs. Ida shook her head. “No, there was a man who lived down by the river. Had to be about ninety himself by the time I approached him. He used to give spiritual readings to all the ladies. He was wrong as much as he was right, but he was so mysterious with his coal-black eyes and piercing stare. Anyway, he gave me what he called a mojo bag and told me how to use it.”
“Can you remember what you did?” Madam asked, her eyes bright as she took in all the information.
Mrs. Ida nodded. “While Mick was at school, I took a piece of his hair from his comb and dropped it into the bag to make the bag just for him. To protect him from the jackass. Then I went around the room where the murder happened and chanted. Idon’t remember the exact words, but it was basically lock him down or lock him up… binding him. Then I smeared my own blood on the bag and cursed the spirit. I was so angry at him. I hated him with all my heart for taking away Abigail, not once but twice. Physically and then spiritually. Then he was harassing Mick. The poor kid had been through so much with his mom, the murder, now… now a ghost? So, I cursed him. Virgil, the man by the river, didn’t tell me to do that, but it felt right. Virgil had told me to find a hiding place in the living room where I wanted to keep him confined and to hide the bag there.”
Madam nodded. “Is the bag still there?”
“Last time I looked. Virgil’s gone some ten years or so now, but I think his spirit helps bind the ghost to the house.”
“His energy does, for certain.” Madam looked at Mick and asked, “When will your granny be getting out of here?”
He shook his head. “She’s supposed to be here for recovery, but they’ve not given me a timeline.”
“’Cause they plan to keep me in here forever, at least until I die,” she said belligerently.
Madam stood and looked out the window before turning back to us. “I think there are several things at play here. One is that you stopped talking about your daughter. Abigail was stronger than Preston Garrison’s spirit, or he would’ve been there from the beginning. So, you should fill your home with her name and stories about her.”
Mrs. Ida looked down. “It was hard to talk about her after—”
“And that gives the entity power.”
The old woman sighed, and I saw the sadness overcoming her.
“The second issue is the curse. Fire brings about more fire. You thrust your hatred at a hateful being. So, we have to undo that, and the only way I know is to destroy the mojo bag. We can create a new one that isn’t associated with your anger and curses, but the one that currently occupies your home is justenabling it further. Finally, I think the entity fears you. Not only did you stop him from his evil plans of murdering everyone, but you encased him in the main living room of your house. He is getting braver with you gone.”
Mrs. Ida nodded. “I’m not sure what I can do from here,” she said and looked around the room.
“Then stop being here.” She turned to Mick. “I spent a decade working as a nurse in the intensive care unit, then onto hospice before I left nursing and became a full-time psychic. If your great-grandmother would allow it, I’d be willing to stay with her until she transitions.”
Mrs. Ida stared, her mouth open. “You’d do that? Why?”
“Because I think without your involvement, your grandson will never be free of the entity.”
“I’m not sure we can afford you,” Mrs. Ida said, but Madam Bellamy walked over and took her hand.
“I’ve just been given a windfall. I won’t need your money, but I won’t pretend this will be easy, and you won’t be able to go up and down stairs, so part of the first floor of your home will have to be used as a bedroom. Can you handle sleeping in the room where the murder occurred?”
Mrs. Ida nodded. “Yeah, I used to sleep in there often before Mick moved in, hoping to feel my Abigail again.”
“Mick, are you okay with this?”
“Um, don’t you need your physical therapy and stuff?”
His great-grandmother shook her head. “Son, I’m a ninety-year-old woman who just had a stroke. How long do you think I have left?”
“I… well… I’m not ready…”
Madam Bellamy walked over and put her arm around him. “No one is ready to face this sort of transition, but we’ll all be here with her and with you. And there’s no need for all this tohappen inside a nursing home, especially when I’m trained and know how to help her be at home for as long as she can.”
Mick nodded. “But we best talk to Joann and Brenda. If they put their foot down—”
“Pssh,” Mrs. Ida said. “I’ll tan both their hides if they interfere. I might be old as Methuselah, but I’m fully capable of making my own decisions, and if this lovelynurse,” she said, emphasizing the word, “is willing to sit with me, then that’s my business and not theirs.”
When we were done, I could tell Mrs. Ida was getting tired, so we quickly took our leave. Madam made sure that everyone understood she wasn’t a licensed nurse any longer and told Mick to make sure they set up home health care too. Palliative care was what he needed to request.
We followed him to his apartment because Madam said she could cleanse the space to give him some protection, at least temporarily.
