Disclaimer: I own nothing of Ghost Whisperer; the show, characters, actors or otherwise. This is strictly a work of my own fan-fiction.
The Cat Song
Melinda Gordon walked quickly along the sidewalk toward her antique shop. Having decided they both needed a stout shot of caffeine, Andrea had given her friend enough money not only for two stout cappuccinos, but also for a couple of the big, soft blueberry muffins that Village Java sold. Just that morning, Melinda had made a bid online to purchase an antique pepperbox revolver dating from the nineteenth century. She wondered if her bid of twenty-five hundred was a bit overboard, but she wanted that pistol! She was paying nearly double what the last bidder had, and she was sure she would win.
Passing by the war memorial statue in the middle of the village square, Melinda noticed a lone figure dressed in an Army dress uniform. He seemed inordinately interested in the names on the plaque for the Gulf War, and she felt drawn to him. As if feeling her watching, the figure turned, and Melinda gasped, nearly dropping the Styrofoam coffee cups in surprise. The brass plaque he had been staring at showed up clearly, even though he was standing in front of it. Another ghost, Melinda thought, and moved to walk away. Suddenly, the man was right beside her.
"Can you see me?" he asked, and Melinda took a deep breath, studiously trying to ignore him.
She was anxious to get back to the shop and see if she'd won the revolver. Her ghost friend wasn't about to give up so easy, and stepped in front of her, walking backward.
"I need you to help me," he said, and Melinda stopped.
"What do you want?" she asked, tilting her head to the right, and looking into the ghost's eyes.
He was a handsome man, she thought; tall, with sandy blonde hair peeking out from beneath the green cap on his head, and bright, piercing eyes, the ghost seemed real. But, Melinda knew he was not by the way he passed right through a park bench beside them.
"My son's in Iraq," the ghost began, "he's in danger and I need to warn him," he finished, and Melinda sighed.
"I'm sorry; I can't help you there. There's no way I can go to Iraq to deliver a message for a ghost," she said, cringing as she waited for the apparition to get angry and cause something to fly, fall or smash violently around her. Instead, the ghost smiled.
"I wouldn't ask you to go to Iraq," he said, walking beside her now.
"Then what can I do," Melinda asked, and the ghost shrugged.
"My son has email, and a phone; there are ways of getting in touch with him." He said, and Melinda smiled.
"What's your name," she asked, as she stopped in front of her shop's doorway.
"Tom Freeze," the ghost replied, and added, "my son's name is Grant and he's going to be a father," Tom said. "I want him to live to see his baby." With that, the ghost was gone, and Melinda found herself staring at a short, round woman walking toward the store.
"Excuse me," the woman called, and Melinda turned.
Tucked tightly under the woman's arm was a brown cardboard box swathed in grey duct tape.
"Aren't you Melinda Gordon?" the woman asked, and at Melinda's affirmation, continued, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in a pepperbox revolver?" she asked, and Melinda's eyes widened.
"I just bid on one online," she explained, and the woman's eyes narrowed.
"How much did you offer?" She asked, and Melinda shrugged.
"Probably too much, but we had a request for one," she said, and the woman nodded.
"I'll sell you this one," she said, and followed Melinda into the store.
Two hours later, Melinda pulled up in front of a small two-bedroom house on the outskirts of town. Tom was 'sitting' as well as a ghost could, in the front seat of her SUV.
"This is my house," he said, a wistful note in his voice. Melinda gave a nervous smile.
"I hope your wife believes me," she sighed, and Tom winked.
"She will; she talks to me all the time. I only wish she could see me." His ghostly eyes were sad, and Melinda smiled in sympathy.
"Here we go," she said, and got out of the car.
Knocking softly on the door, Melinda waited until she heard the knob turn. The door opened, and a tall, older woman with silvery hair upswept in an elegant French twist at the back of her head smiled out at Melinda.
"May I help you?" she asked, and Melinda swallowed.
"I'm sorry," she began, "I know you don't know me, but Tom wants me to tell you something," she said, and the woman frowned.
"I think you have the wrong house, dear," she said, and smiled sadly.
"Are you Mrs. Freeze?" Melinda asked, and the woman's eyes widened.
"Yes; I am, but I'm afraid Tom's been dead for five years." She sighed heavily.
"He was in the Pentagon on September eleventh," she explained and shook her head. "Our son was just barely sixteen," she added.
Melinda smiled in sympathy, and took a deep, relaxing breath. She hated this part of her job. So many times, when she told people of her gift to talk with earthbound spirits, she met one of two reactions. Either the people laughed in her face, or accused her of trying to defraud them. She glanced to her left, and Tom inclined his head. Melinda smiled a slight smile.
"Tom wants you to give your son a message," she said, and Mrs. Freeze frowned.
"My son's in Iraq," she said icily, and began to shut the door.
Tom turned to Melinda, his expression desperate.
"Tell her to ask Grant if he still knows the words to 'Cat's in the Cradle,' the ghost suggested, "that was his favourite song," and Melinda spoke quickly.
"Do you think Grant still knows 'The Cat's In The Cradle'?" she asked, and Mrs. Freeze's eyes widened in shock.
"How do you know that," she asked, and Melinda shrugged.
"Tom told me about it; said that he used to always sing it to Grant."
Tom was elated; he was so happy to find a way to communicate with his family that he could hardly contain himself now.
"Tell her that Grant must take the right fork in the road tomorrow, not the left." He said, and Melinda repeated the message.
"If he takes that road, he'll be alive to sing that to his own son," Tom said, and Melinda looked at Mrs. Freeze.
"Tell Grant that when he's going to Riyadh tomorrow, to take the right fork in the road." She explained.
Mrs. Freeze nodded, her hand reaching up to fiddle with the gold cross necklace at her throat. Melinda spoke again, relieved that the woman believed her.
"If he takes the right turn, he'll be alive to sing the cat song to his own son." Tom grinned, and his widow's eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, my," she said, and then, "do you mean," she couldn't finish, and Melinda nodded.
"Tell her," Tom began, "tell her that Grant wanted the baby to be a surprise," he finished, and Melinda relayed the message.
Mrs. Freeze clapped her hands together and hugged Melinda impulsively.
"He said he had a surprise for me," she squealed excitedly, and held Melinda at arms' length. "I'll leave a message on his cell phone tonight. He knows I leave a message every afternoon telling him I love him," she explained.
Melinda nodded, and noticed Tom looking toward the SUV again.
"What is it," Melinda asked, and Mrs. Freeze frowned.
"There's a light;" Tom began, and Melinda nodded, opening her mouth to explain.
But she didn't have to. Tom walked forward, his steps becoming faster as he began to cross over.
"What's going on," Mrs. Freeze asked, and Melinda sighed.
"He's crossing over," she said, and the woman sniffed.
"I always talk to him; all the time. I never would've thought he heard me." She looked at Melinda.
"Do you think he heard me?" she asked, and Tom suddenly turned, nodded his head, and blew a kiss before disappearing completely.
Melinda nodded, swiping at the tears on her face.
"He heard you," she whispered, "He blew you a kiss."
Melinda finished polishing the gun cabinet, still happy with her unexpected purchase. She was glad the customer from that morning had showed up; the pepperbox revolver she'd bid on ended up being sold for three times what she'd offered. Flicking her dust cloth over the fine-grain wood once more, Melinda walked away, ready to close shop for the day.
A shadowy figure stepped out from behind the gun case, watching her leave…
To Be Continued…