#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

Chapter 41

Sarah flipped up the latches and slowly peeled up the lid. She needed to know she wasn't crazy. She needed to know that James had been right and true - real.

And what she saw before her, was without a doubt, a war medal of the most beautiful and dramatic color purple she had ever seen. Sarah felt her heart stop - then kick back in with a vengeance all the way up in her throat and behind her eyeballs.

The purple satin cloth inside was still strong and shiny, and on the medal, there was the golden profile of a man who also rested on a brilliant purple background. The medal itself was shaped like a heart - an extraordinary purple heart. Sarah gently turned it to read the back: "For Military Merit" and she felt her eyes fill with unexpected tears.

She was suddenly overcome with sadness for the flesh and blood James Fitzpatrick and an aching for him. She re-imagined his death so many years before and the unending pain it undoubtedly brought to those he loved.

Then her thoughts jumped the fence and she imagined the malevolence required by a human to coldly bring another's life to an abrupt end. James had soberly warned her. It was Wicked. It was Evil of the magnitude that Sarah had only read about in books. And she was in its back yard.

She wiped her tears onto her sleeve, shut the box quickly, latched it and climbed back to her feet. She would mourn later when it was more convenient.

Click. The motion light over Zwicki's back door snapped softly on illuminating his back yard, and Sarah. She sat as still as a tombstone.

Slowly she looked over her shoulder toward his back door but saw no one.

A cat triggered it, a cat, a cat, a cat, she thought, but her heart was back up to racing speed.

"Give it to me," was all she heard him say.

+L