Promise Me When I'm Gone

PROMISE ME WHEN I’M GONE

BY C.L. RAGSDALE

Copyright 2017 by C. L. Ragsdale

Cover Design by Mirtika Schultz

Editor: Sherry Graef Chamblee

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

About The Author

Chapter 1

Then You scare me with dreams

And terrify me with visions

Job 7:14

Amelia St. James jumped violently as a stock-car screamed past her on a speedway to which she seemed uncomfortably close. Bewildered by her surroundings, she looked around and tried to figure out how she’d gotten there. She didn’t like car racing, and the little knowledge she did possess had been gleaned from sports reports on the evening news. So why was she dressed like a member of the pit crew? She was an attorney, not a mechanic, and truth be told, she barely knew one end of a car from the other.

These questions were brought to an abrupt halt as a male voice shouted over her headset, Hey! Chief!

The voice was so loud and unexpected that Amelia actually flinched in pain. She turned swiftly about, opening her mouth to inform the speaker that it was not necessary to bellow in her ear. At least that had been her intention, but once she saw the mature handsome man who had spoken to her, she was immediately rendered speechless. Although he looked like any other member of the pit crew, she was shocked to recognize he was her father, Tyler St. James, a man she had rarely seen in anything other than custom tailored three-piece suits. So why was he now dressed in a jump suit and helmet, and addressing her as chief?

Oh no, she thought, it’s one of those dreams again.

Dream or not, her father continued matter-of-factly, The official wants to have a word with you.

As in all of her dreams, Amelia immediately recognized the conservatively dressed young woman with dark hair and blue eyes approaching her. The only difference was that this time Amelia was not surprised.

After all, she always showed up sooner or later.

Before Amelia had the opportunity to say anything, the new arrival, who somehow managed to look intimidating in spite of her petite stature, said sternly, You need to get your driver off the track before it’s too late.

It was another member of the crew, a good-looking older woman setting up tires, who answered this time, saying dismissively, He’ll be just fine. Y’all worry too much.

This was getting ridiculous, for a dream, Amelia thought. Her mother was hauling around tires?

Rosemary St. James spent hours at high end spas all over the world to ensure she would look perfect at all times. There was no way she would ever be seen with axle grease on her face, and since when did Rosemary speak with a Southern drawl?

As Amelia opened her mouth to question Rosemary, the lady racetrack official demanded her attention by tapping her firmly on the shoulder. As Amelia turned about to face her, the official asked severely, "Fine? You call that fine?"

Amelia looked where the other woman was pointing, at a racecar speeding around the track. In itself, that was not strange, they were on a race track after all, but what was horrifying were the vehicles in pursuit.

They were not competitors in similar cars, but huge monster trucks, the word ‘monster’ in this case being literal, not figurative/

Their front grills were crammed with huge dagger-like teeth, and opened to maws filled with a raging fire. Almost worse were the headlights, which resembled glowing yellow eyes filled with hate. They had no drivers, rather the trucks themselves seemed to be alive and intent on hunting down the occupant of the car they were pursuing.

Amelia looked back to the young female official, who was staring at her sternly. She wondered about that look, as it was not her fault that mechanical monsters were out to get that poor driver.

As if she heard Amelia’s thoughts the official said, If you really cared about Marshall you would get him off that track.

Marshall? Amelia demanded in a horrified voice.

Who do you think is driving?

The official then pointed up to a wide display screen, which showed a close-up of the driver of the stock-car. Amelia gasped in horror as she immediately recognized Marshall Bailey, her law partner and best friend. Incomprehensively, rather than looking scared, as his current circumstances would have dictated, he was smiling cavalierly at the camera, suggesting he was either too oblivious or too stupid to realize the danger he was in. Amelia had never thought that Marshall was stupid, but now...

Just then, one of the monster trucks raced past him, sped a good distance ahead, stopped and turned about, tires screeching. Then it opened up its huge grill-mouth wide and waited. Another truck caught up to the rear of Marshall’s car and bit down violently. Using its forward momentum, it pushed him into the waiting vehicle, trapping the front end and causing the car to explode into flames. Beyond all reason, Marshall did not even appear to notice. Instead, he continued to smile and wave to the cheering crowd as the fire engulfed him and the car.

Marshall! Amelia screamed as she sat up violently in her bed.

After several long, terrifying seconds, she finally managed to calm down, more or less. Sitting up, she reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. She intended to take at least ten minutes before risking another attempt at sleep. She didn’t want to take any chances and pick up where she had left off on her latest nightmare, a legitimate concern as it had actually happened on previous occasions since the things had begun.

This is really getting out of hand, she thought. The dreams had come out of nowhere, were getting worse over time, and she couldn’t think of what could have started them. She had even consulted her doctor, but his only suggestion was to refer her to a psychiatrist. Never one to share her innermost feelings with people she knew, let alone a total stranger, Amelia had ignored the recommendation and let the subject drop.

So instead, she had tried to figure it out for herself, and she had succeeded, at least partially. The vivid dreams might appear dissimilar on the surface, but she had soon become aware that they had, in fact, a recurring theme.

They always involved someone in her life a relative, friend, client, or sometimes a mere acquaintance in peril under bizarre circumstances. Stranger yet, she always found herself in the position of being the rescuer with no idea how to rescue them, a detail that was both frightening and frustrating at the same time.

Like the one dream where her hairdresser had been heedlessly sweeping away debris with a broom. Not so bad, except that she was doing so on the ledge of a tall building. Back and forth she had walked, never seeming to notice that she was several stories off the ground. Then there was the fact that the debris she was attempting to clean originated from a fire engulfing the building. So not only were her efforts in vain, but either the fire or the fall was going to kill her.

The peripheral characters in the nightmares were also people she knew, and their roles shuffled about constantly between victim and bystander. Except for one. She was in every nightmare, and like Amelia, always had the same type of role, that of moral regulator.

In the burning building dream, she and Amelia had been dressed as members of the fire department, both on top of separate extension ladders. The other woman was shouting to Amelia to rescue the sweeping hairdresser, as she was the only one close enough to save her. In tonight’s dream, she was the racing official who had suggested that Amelia might want to get her friend away from the monster trucks trying to kill him.

Amelia even knew who she was outside of the dreams. Her name was Barbara Owens, the sister of Marshall’s current girlfriend, but why she was such a regular fixture in the nightmares was a mystery. After all, Marshall didn’t like her, and Amelia had only met her once. So why was this virtual stranger such a constant in her bizarre nightmares, acting as if she were Amelia’s conscience? Why were all these people putting themselves at such risk? Moreover, what was she supposed to do about it?

Unfortunately, Amelia couldn’t figure out how she would get the answers to her questions, and she suspected, crazy as it sounded, that those answers were the key to stopping the nightmares. But if she asked, all of the parties involved would think that she was crazy. Especially, Marshall.

Chapter 2

For we brought nothing into this world,

and it is certain we can carry nothing out.

1 Timothy 6:7

The next morning, unaware of any real or imagined danger, Marshall Bailey parked his brand new, cobalt blue sports car in his designated spot and activated the automatic locks and alarm. It was really more car than he needed for the amount he actually drove, or for the period of time he would retain possession of it. There was also the awkward fact that the MPG was miserable, and the upkeep would cost more than the car itself, and it had cost a lot.

Still, his reasons for the purchase were simple. He wanted it, he could afford it, so why not? However, he decided he would put off telling his law partner about it for a while. Expensive cars never impressed her, and she would probably just tease him about buying a new toy he didn’t need.

The woman was no fun at all.

A few minutes later, the thirty-one-year-old attorney walked into the elegant office suite located in Avila Beach. The new offices were another recent acquisition. Like the sports car and his other vehicle, a fully loaded Hummer, they suited his preferences. He loved the beach, and the upscale vibe of the town. However, once again, it seemed to put him mildly at odds with his partner.

First off, Amelia was not a beach person. Too much sand and too many sharks as far as she was concerned. Second, she did not see the benefit of moving their firm from the county-seat in San Luis Obispo. That’s where the Superior Court was, which they used quite often in case he had forgotten. Sure, Avila was only a little over 15 minutes away by car, in good traffic, which was never a sure thing on the 101 freeway. Of course, after that you had to deal with downtown SLO traffic, one way streets, and paying for parking! So, how would it benefit their day-to-day business to trade an office practically walking distant from the court for a seaside view?

It had taken some persuasion on his part, especially in light of her valid points, but Marshall had finally managed to convince her that it would be a good move for them. Either that, or she was just giving in on the assumption that she could later say I told you so.

It was always hard to tell with Amelia.

Once he arrived at the reception area, he briefly acknowledged the two female employees seated behind the large desk. As a matter of course, they had greeted him without expecting much of a response in return. Not that he was ever rude to them, but Mr. Bailey was a very busy young attorney, and had several things on his mind at the same time. A brief Good morning was the most they expected.

Some members of his female staff might have wished it otherwise as he did resemble a prince out of a fairy story, being tall, blond, handsome, and having the most incredible dark blue eyes. However, he made it clear that his work life was separate from his personal life – and the two would not overlap. The only exception to this rule was his law partner, the St. James of Bailey and St. James, Attorneys at Law. Since they had been friends long before they were law partners, it made sense that she was not included in this policy.

Once Marshall had reached his private office, he went through his voice mail, as was his normal routine. None were out of the ordinary, except for two notable exceptions. The first was a message from an important new client, who indicated he would call back at his own convenience. The other was from his current girlfriend who was breaking a lunch date for that afternoon. Marshall frowned, as the message was so unlike Marjorie. She usually didn’t give such short notice, so it worried him a little. For that reason, he decided to contact her first and dialed her place of business.

M & B Occasions, how may I help you? announced a smooth pleasant voice.

Marshall grimace as he recognized the speaker’s voice. It was Barbara, Marjorie’s sister. He should have remembered to call Marjorie’s cell phone, which would have bypassed her sister, and been a big help to his blood pressure.

This is Marshall, he said shortly.

Good morning Marshall, she responded pleasantly as if trying to emphasize his curt, almost rude, tone of voice. Since Marshall didn’t like her, he assumed Barbara was purposely trying to get under his skin.

Is Marjorie available? he asked impatiently, not wanting to speak with the woman longer than necessary. This was due mostly to the memory of their one, and only, lengthy conversation that had resulted in ill feelings and dislike. On his part anyway, he had never bothered to ask Barbara her feelings on the matter.

Marjorie? Barbara sounded confused. Oh. You mean Margie. Sure, I’ll get her.

Marshall sighed impatiently. It always annoyed him when people insisted on shortening names. Why couldn’t she use Marjorie’s correct name?

Had Marshall been in a less antagonistic frame of mind, he might have stopped to consider that it was none of his business what Barbara chose to call her own sister, let alone that there might be a valid reason for it.

Marshall? a second female voice came on the line.

Hi Marjorie, what’s this about not making lunch? Are you okay?

I have a crisis, she explained. One of our regular staff can’t make it in, and the other is not back from vacation. We have a major banquet scheduled for tomorrow, and no one else can fill in. Leaving Barbara and me, as usual, to pick up the slack.

But Marjorie, this is the last time we can get together before my business trip, Marshall objected.

I know, and I am sorry for the short notice, but I really can’t take any time away today.

Marjorie and Barbara’s catering business, M & B Occasions, was becoming quite successful. In fact, his cousin had them booked for her wedding reception in a few weeks. So Marjorie’s explanation was quite reasonable, but because of his dislike of her sister, Marshall couldn’t help but suspect there might be more to it than what she was saying.

Barbara can’t handle things by herself for an hour or two? Marshall asked skeptically.

Sure she could, if it wasn’t for the cooking part.

Marshall missed the subtle sarcasm in her words, so he asked seriously, How hard can it be?

For Barbara? she asked as though he had just suggested that they rob a bank. Let me put it this way, she can burn water.

That got his attention. On the face of it, the statement sounded like a contradiction in terms.

How can anyone possibly burn water?

"By letting it evaporate and ruin the pan. Trust me on this Marshall,