The Whispering

Today we are pleased to present Gayle Hollingsworth as our guest poster on the Paranormal/Supernatural topic.  Gayle is an Architect working in Denver, Colorado.  She is originally from Georgia and a graduate of Georgia Tech.  Gayle is a single mom to a German Shepard named Jasper.  In 2013, Gayle was awarded the Humanitarian of the Year Award for the greater Denver area for her social work with the homeless.  She speaks three languages (English, Spanish, and French) fluently which enables her in her social work.  Gayle has two brothers, Mac, who is a lawyer in New York and Joseph, who is a U.S. Marine 1st Lieutenant currently stationed in Afghanistan and one baby sister, Liz, who is deceased.  Gayle's hobbies consist of working with local church outreach programs for those who are homeless or at the poverty level.  She also enjoys speaking at local colleges on careers in architecture.

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It happened during Liz's favorite time of the year, Christmas.  Liz dearly loved Christmas.  It is a joyous time of the year that she cherished each year of her 25 years on this good Earth.  Liz didn't have much money.  But, what little she had she would spend on her family.  Liz was the most loving and considerate human being I have ever known.  I doubt I will ever meet anyone as loving and compassionate as Liz.  She and her husband (My sister made only one mistake in her life.  Unfortunately, she married her mistake and paid the ultimate price) had just returned from some Christmas shopping (Saturday after Thanksgiving Day in 2009) when she decided to go make up the bed in the spare bedroom where our mother had slept the previous night.  Unbeknownst to my sister, her husband had laid a gun he had just purchased under the pillow of that bed.  Why he would do such an idiotic thing is something only he could explain.  When Liz pulled the pillow off the bed, the gun came with it and went off.  The bullet struck my sister in the chest.  She only lived about 90 seconds according to the coroner's report.  It seemed impossible that my little sister, Liz, was dead at 25 years of age.  It just didn't seem possible and it was due to such a freak accident?  That pillow bringing the gun with it never seemed accurate to me.  But, the detectives told me I was trying to see things in the case that simply weren't there.  I was incensed at that.  A first-year Criminal Justice major could see this whole thing was just so farfetched it defied imagination.  But, police closed the case and left it as is, accidental death due to negligence.  He should have been jailed, at least, for that.  But, police said after questioning him, and giving him a lie detector test, they were confident he was being truthful, that he did not plan this "accident" of my sister. We were told there is no law against someone being a fool.  I had doubts for a long time about whether or not this whole thing was truly an accident.

Losing a loved one is something you really never get over.  Losing a sister, someone as beloved as Liz, is something that stays with you.  Both my brothers, Mac and Joe, were overwhelmed with grief as were our parents.  But, life goes on.  I left the architectural firm, I was associated with in Georgia, for a position in Denver.  I wanted to get as far away from Georgia as possible after my sister's untimely death.  This took place about three months after Liz's death.  I settled in with my new firm and life in Denver.  Denver is much different than Atlanta or New York.  But, I enjoy living here.  I rescued a 4-month-old German Shepard from the local animal shelter.  I named him Jasper after an old friend of mine from my college days.  He is wonderful and my protector since I live alone. There are many diverse cultures here in Denver.  I love it!  But, my story is not about Denver, Jasper or architecture.  This story is about my sister and her quest for justice from beyond the grave.

The first time I heard the "whispering" sound was late one Saturday night as I was preparing for bed. I had just came from the bathroom (after taking Jasper for his nightly walk to use the bathroom) when I thought I heard a human voice. The words were unintelligible.  I whirled around to see nothing.  I checked the entire house.  There was no one here but me and Jasper.  Thinking I'd had too much to drink at dinner, I got into bed and turned off the light on my nightstand. Suddenly, I heard Jasper growl.  "What's wrong Jasper?" I asked my German Shepard as if he was going to answer me.  Jasper answered with another growl when I heard the whispering once again, only this time, I understood what was said.  "Justice.  I demand justice," the voice said to me.  I felt cold shivers go up my back as if I'd stepped into a cold shower.  "Who is speaking to me?  What justice" I asked fearfully.  I heard Jasper whining under my bed (My protector, mind you).  I heard no reply this time.  The voice had a faint familiarity with it.  I was afraid to acknowledge in my mind who it sounded like.  But, it sounded like the soft southern accent of my beloved sister, Liz.  Tears immediately flowed from my eyes as I considered that Liz was trying to reach me from beyond the grave.  "Liz?  Is that you, little sis?  Speak to me, Liz," I cried out.  I received no reply.  I sat up in bed and cried and pondered over the words, "Justice.  I demand justice."  If this was Liz, my reservations about how she died would all come to the forefront once again.  I always had doubts about how she died.  I always thought the official version from the police had holes in it they never cared to explore for reasons only they could explain.  I settled in for an uneasy and restless night.

The next morning, I was doing my makeup when my cell buzzed.  It was "Unknown Number."  I immediately rejected it and went back to apply my makeup.  My cell buzzed again.  Frustrated and running late for work, I answered it this time.  "Hello?"  No answer....but, I did hear what appeared to be waves crashing onto the shore.  I used to spend a lot of time at  Jekyll Island when I lived in Georgia.  So, I was quite familiar with the sound of waves crashing on the shore.  "Who the hell is this?  I don't have time for games!" I yelled at the caller.  I then heard the two words that ran straight through my heart...."Justice...Gayle."  There was no mistaking it this time.  The pronunciation of my name as "Gay-hell" was made by one person who would say my name that way.  "LIZ?!?!? IS THAT YOU??? SPEAK TO ME!  PLEASE!" I screamed.  Click went the cell.  I was beyond words, beyond horror.  I knew my little sister was deceased.  But...this sounded like her so much and the way the caller pronounced my name?  Only Liz said "Gayle" like "Gay-hell" (I believe it was her mischievous side as the reason she did it). I had to call in sick to work that day.  I was wasted.  

These cries for "Justice" from the voice of my sister Liz continued on for another two months.  One time, I was in an elevator on my way to see a client.  The elderly lady next to me, looked up at me as if she were about to say something.  We got to her floor and on her way out of the elevator, she said, "Justice...Justice."  The elevator door shut before I could gather my wits about me to speak.  I was horrified.  Another time, I went out to dinner with a man from work.  As we were about to have dessert, he excused himself to the restroom.  The waiter came up to show me what they had for dessert.  As I was about to make my choice, the waiter cleared his throat and said, "Justice. I demand justice!"  And then he walked off.  I was extremely upset.  My date asked to speak to the waiter and why he had upset me so.  We were told no one fit his description as an employee of the restaurant.  I continued to hear the "Whispering" of "Justice.  I demand justice."  I would attempt to speak to the voice of whom I thought was my sister, Liz.  But, I never got a reply.  I knew my sister would not give up.  She had always been that way.  If she felt that she or a member of her family was wronged, she would be relentless in seeking payback (which I admit is a contradiction to her normal sweet, gentle soul).  I had a choice; either continue to deal with this "Whispering" in the hopes it would play itself out.  Or go to the root of the problem and deal with it there.  Hence, my decision to pay a visit to the police department in Georgia.  

[I've already made my story longer than I had anticipated.  Thus, I will condense the rest]

I arrived at the police department only to be greeted with great skepticism.  Police do not like to reopen cases they consider closed.  They said they see no reason to open the case again without some verifiable proof as a reason to reexamine my sister's death. I argued with them for the better part of an hour to no avail.  They were polite but firm.  There would be no reopening a case that they considered clearly an accident.  As I walked to my car in the visitor parking lot, I was crying.  There was something clearly wrong with this case.  My sister knew something and for reasons I didn't understand, would not tell me.  I got into my car and just slumped over in exhaustion.  I heard the "whispering" again as I put the key into the ignition of my rental car.  "The safety.  Tell them to look at the safety....Gay-hell," the voice said.  I knew, by this time, it was Liz whispering to me. "Liz, you know I love you and always will love you.  Please tell me what this is about.  Please!" I cried out.  "Your answer is in the safety.  Tell them to examine the safety again," the voice quietly whispered to me.  I got out and went back upstairs to the police detectives.  They were surprised to see me again.

It took some convincing, but the detectives did look at the gun again.  They soon discovered that the safety had a manufacturing defect.  Why they didn't have a gunsmith examine that gun, in the first place, speaks to the incompetence of the police department.  I wanted the impending lawsuit to include the entire police department.  But, was convinced not to include them.  We were going to need them.  The detectives, to their credit, were looking for criminal intent, not a defective safety on a handgun. Hence, my grossly incompetent, negligent Brother-in-law was off the hook.  My family filed a massive lawsuit against the gun manufacturer.  They settled out of court and had all those guns recalled to correct the defect or just refund their money.  So, all the time I had blamed my former brother-in-law for my sister's death, it was actually the manufacturer who was at fault.  Does this excuse my stupid brother-in-law's reckless behavior by putting a gun under a pillow that he knew my sister was going to remove prior to making up the bed?  No, absolutely, not at all.  That is something that moron will have to live with for the rest of his life.  We had threatened to file a lawsuit against him when he insisted he gets his share of the proceeds from the lawsuit against the gun manufacturer.  He backed down when we told him we would spend all the money we had to make sure he never got a penny of my sister's blood money.  We would also press for criminal negligence if he persisted.  His negligence can't be emphasized enough.  But, I'll always believe my little sister did not want that gun defect to cause the death of someone else.  That is what I believe and always will believe as long as I live.

I didn't receive any more "I Demand Justice Whispers" from my late sister Liz, after that time in my car in the police parking lot.  But, a month after the lawsuit against the gun manufacturer was settled out of court,  I went into the women's restroom just outside the lawyer's office.  I was trying to apply some makeup to those red eyes of mine from so much crying.  I composed myself, brushed my hair and prepared to leave the restroom when I looked back in the mirror.  Applying all that makeup was for naught as I saw a brief (maybe three seconds)  smiling Liz Hollingsworth.  I cried silently as I heard her say"Thank you, Gay-hell."  I didn't say anything in reply.  I couldn't. My sister had achieved what she set out to do.  I knew then and I know now, my little sister can now truly rest in peace. 

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