Her mother entered the room, prim and straight-backed.
“Ashley, honey.” Her voice was soft, yet firm. “Sweetie, your father and I are going to see the Bentons. Would you like to come with us?”
Ashley turned her head slightly in her mother’s direction. “Not tonight. Please tell them I’ll visit tomorrow. I need to be by myself a little while.”
“Understood. We’ll return in a couple hours.”
Mrs. Rigby kissed the crown of her daughter’s head and left the room.
Howie kneeled between the sofa and the coffee table, less than a foot from the woman he loved. Ashley lifted her head and wrapped her arms around her torso in an attempt to warm herself. Billy and Solomon kept their distance, out of respect. John Lennon watched over their shoulders.
Howie smiled at his friends. “Here goes nothing.”
“Or everything,” Sol answered.
“Ashley,” Howie began, “our movie was never supposed to end this way. I’m sorry it did. The happy ending would have gone something like: boy drummer and his buds become huge rock stars, conquering the world. And something corny, like: the girl goes to one of their concerts—a homecoming show—and our drummer boy-hero stands up, confessing his love in front of thousands of people. And—and then she takes him back. The end.” Howie stopped. Long seconds ticked away. “Instead, some asshole screenwriter decided the band would drive their van into a tree at seventy per, turning our drummer boy into hamburger.” He turned to face Billy. “Don’t think I didn’t notice where the tree plowed through the van. I was toast. Well, we all got toasted, but I was French toast. I’m sorry you had to see us all like that.”
“I’m okay, How,” Billy said.
“I know. You’re always okay in the end. But I’m not. I’m not okay.”
“Then it’s not the end,” Lennon said.
“No,” Howie said. “But I wish it was.” He returned his attention to Ashley. “I’m here and so are the guys. They came all the way across the country with me, and, get this, Ash … John-fucking-Lennon is with us! Sorry, John.”
“It’s quite all right. I met Chuck Berry once, blabbered my way through the entire conversation.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I never blamed you for wanting a different life for us. I know you’d have preferred raising a family here in Rockford. I wish I would’ve stayed with you. Sol and Billy wrote all the songs; they could’ve replaced me like they replaced Rich. They could’ve still been stars. The world would never have known. And maybe if I hadn’t been there to distract Billy with my bitching and moaning, he could’ve kept from hitting the tree.”
“This isn’t your fault, Howie,” Billy said. “I was stoned. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Either way, here we are. I’m so sorry, Ash. I love you. I’m so sorry.”
Ashley lifted her head from her hands, unaware she was staring into Billy Cherry’s eyes. Nevertheless, Billy felt them piercing through to his soul. I’m sorry too, he thought. You’re alone because of me. You let him go because I wouldn’t, and I’m sorry too. Please forgive me.
She rose from the sofa, shuffling away from Howie in that way the living have of naturally avoiding the dead. She walked down the hallway and entered a bedroom. Reemerging with a stack of clean, folded clothes, she went into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower started.
“Stay beautiful,” Howie said to the door. Then to his friends, “There’s nothing more I can do. Let’s go, guys.”
Solomon put his arm around him, and they passed through the door to the front porch.
“Well,” Solomon said, “you did what you could, man. I have no doubt she’ll be just fine. She’s always had a level head on her.”
“Yeah,” Howie said, dejected.
“At least you know she felt you. Did you see her trying to cover herself?”
Howie stopped on the porch steps. “Freeze Out!”
“What are you talking about?” Sol asked.
Howie turned to Lennon. “John, on the bus you taught us that game. Freeze Out. You sit next to someone long enough, you freeze them out. Ashley couldn’t hear me but she felt me. She can feel me again.”
“What would be the point?” Billy asked. “You’ll make her cold, so what?”
Not hearing, Howie was already back on the porch. This time he missed the door, traveling through the wall where the mailbox was mounted. The mailbox rattled and the lid … raised, then … dropped down into place.
“Holy Jesus,” Billy said. “Did you guys see that?”
“Indeed,” Lennon said. “The boy’s got it now.”
He ran after Howie; Billy and Solomon directly behind.
Howie waited outside the bathroom door while the others gave him space. Ashley turned off the water. They heard the shower curtain being pushed aside, followed by sounds of rustling clothes and items moving around on the bathroom countertop.
Billy licked his lips. If they weren’t already dead, the anticipation surely would have killed them.
The door opened. Ashley trekked the hallway to the bedroom. She returned a moment later with a makeup bag. Howie preceded her into the bathroom and stood against the wall as she entered the room. She tossed the makeup bag onto the countertop.
Ashley grabbed a hand towel from a wall rack. As she reached to wipe the condensation from the bathroom mirror, Howie made his move. The three men in the hallway watched in awestruck horror as Howie stepped into his ex-girlfriend. Their two forms— hers physical, his spectral—occupied the same space. Ashley’s body stiffened with shock, chest hitching as she fought for air.
“I love you. I love you, I love you.” Howie’s voice.
Ashley gasped and hugged herself. Howie stepped forward, releasing her; the separation causing them to stumble in opposite directions. Ashley plopped butt-down on the bathtub’s edge. Flung forward, Howie caught himself, his hands hitting the vanity mirror above the sink with an audible smack, rattling the glass against the wall. Careful to avoid Ashley, he backed away, taking a seat on the opposite end of the bathtub.
“Oh.” Lennon stepped between Billy and Solomon, his mouth guppy-ing. “Oh,” he said again.
Two clear handprints had been left in the middle of the steamed mirror. Howie’s handprints. A single rivulet of water ran from the bottom of each.
“Howie?” Ashley cried, scanning the bathroom. “I heard you in my head. You were inside of my soul!” She laughed, heavy tears flowing. “Baby? Howie, are you still here?”
Howie stood and returned to the mirror. Using a finger, he traced through the condensation. A large Valentine’s heart appeared on the mirror.
Ashley nodded. She wiped at her face, trying to keep up with her tears, and failing. “I love you too, Howie. I miss you.”
Miss you, he wrote above the handprints.
“Shit, no one is ever going to believe me,” she said, more to herself than to Howie.
No, he wrote. He followed with a little smiley face.
Ashley began to cry again. “Howie, what am I going to do without you?”
Howie set his finger in the middle of the heart. He waited a long while, and Billy wondered if he was okay. Finally, he wrote, Live Well.
“I will, Howie. For you, I promise.”
Howie started making smaller fist-sized hearts all over the mirror. He only finished seven. A quarter of the way through the eighth heart, the line narrowed. Three-quarters through, his finger ceased affecting the layer of condensation, and his hand passed through the mirror and wall.
“Damn, it’s gone,” Howie said.
He gave another try, and again his hand went through the wall.
“You ran out the battery,” Lennon said.
“What?” Howie asked.
“She charged you, like a pair of jump leads. You’ve run out the charge.”
“Howie? Are you still here?”
They all turned to Ashley, who was slowly raising herself from the tub’s edge.
Howie looked past his
friends to the legend standing between them. “What should I do?”
“You’ll have to take more from her if you want to continue. I think so, anyway.”
“I can’t do that, can I? Won’t she be hurt if I keep taking from her?”
Lennon shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then you’d better step aside, lad.”
Ashley raised her hands, searching. If her hands found Howie, she’d feel the decrease in temperature and know he was there. Howie slipped behind her and out the bathroom door as her hands reached the countertop.
“Howie? Howie, are you here?” She searched from side to side and turned around, looking for further messages or clues. “Howie?”
“I’m here,” Howie whispered.
Billy could barely hear him.
“I always will be.”
Ashley studied the messages on the mirror, then switched off the exhaust fan in an attempt to keep Howie’s words a little longer.
“Goodbye, Howie,” she said.
She expelled a short laugh. Covering her mouth, she laughed again. This time she allowed her emotions to carry her away, and she jumped up and down, laughing and squealing.
Smiling, Howie walked to the front door and his friends followed. They passed, one by one, single file, to the porch where Howie sat on the top step.
He looked at Billy, his face beaming and his eyes sparkling with victory. “I did it. I’m ready to go now.”
“You sure did. That was amazing, Howie. We’ll leave in a second. Let me talk to the guys first and figure out where we want to go next.”
Walking to the end of the huge wraparound porch, Billy rejoined Sol and Lennon.
“Do either of you have folks you need to see here?” Lennon asked.
“No,” Sol said. “Like I said before, the last thing I want to see is my mother grieving for me. I don’t know what to do next, but I’m ready to coast the hell out of Rockford. The sooner, the better.”
“You?” Lennon asked Billy.
Billy had no reason of his own to stay. His mother was the only one, other than his bandmates, who thought him worth a shit. Like Solomon, Billy had no desire to witness his mother’s bereavement.
“No. Wherever you guys want to go, I’m game.”
Sol looked to Lennon. “What about you? Chicago?”
John Lennon sighed. A whimsical smile spread across his face. “After everything we’ve seen tonight, I think the best place would be New York. I need to see my family, perhaps leave my own message. Who knows, maybe I’ll even catch a plane for a hop across the pond. I’d love to see my old mate, Stuart. My oldest boy plays music, I hear. I should check on him as well. You lads ever been to England? We’ll have some fun, see the sights. What do you say?”
Billy looked at Sol, who nodded.
“I’d say we’re in, John,” Billy said. “Hey Howie, John’s invited us to … Howie?”
Howie was no longer on the step.
Billy ran around the porch, looking over the railing for his friend. “Howie? How? Where are you, man?”
Solomon went into the house. He returned shaking his head. “She’s alone in there.”
“Where is he?” Billy asked. “Howie! Come on, man. Where you—”
“Stop,” Lennon shouted. “Howie’s not here. And he won’t be coming back. Gentlemen, your friend has moved on.”
“What do you mean?” Billy asked.
“Moved on. To heaven, reincarnation, whatever is waiting for us.”
Billy shook his head.
“I think John’s right, Billy,” Solomon said.
“But he wanted to meet Keith Moon,” Billy pleaded. “Or somebody. This can’t be his end.”
“And yet it is,” Lennon said.
“But why?” a distraught Billy asked, the finality of Howie’s absence sinking in. I’m ready to go now.
John Lennon smiled. “Because he’s okay.”
The shower’s hiss behind me competes with the roaring inferno raging down the hallway. Breathless and without thought, I gaze with lifeless eyes into the bathroom mirror. This gore-drenched nightmare of a witch is no longer recognizable. What have I done? What was the lesson here? I never wanted this.
Questions bubble up like water-borne carcasses until I hear his final words thunder in my head. “Only the dead go free,” he had said, right before he—
No, there’s nothing left for me now.
I raise the imbrued hunter’s knife to the side of my neck, fingers tightening, hand shaking. My palm sticks to a bloody strip of leather matted on the handle. Sinewy bits of his flesh dangle from the blade’s tip that now presses into mine. A tiny droplet of blood wells where the point pierces the outer layer of skin. Will I die if I never look away or will time freeze me here forever?
Fiona’s whispered prayer echoes in my mind—in reparation for all of my sins, for the souls in Purgatory—and I question again if she was correct in her faith. Is there a Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory? Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. Nothing real can be changed, anyway; the die has been cast. Sweat trickles down my temple from the growing heat. An acrid stench of burning flesh and gasoline assaults my nostrils.
With my eyes still locked onto their dead reflection, I plunge the knife into my neck. Its warm blade slides through my skin, slicing tendon and esophagus until it strikes bone. In a single swift motion, I bring it around the front of my windpipe. The blade squeaks as it scrapes across my vertebrae. A new mouth opens where one should never be. Crimson sprays onto my ghoulish doppelganger.
What must be gallons of blood splashes into the rusted sink, maroon on brown. Wells of saline liquid spring from the back of my throat and pour from both the slit in my neck and my mouth. Copper stink masks the smoke.
Fiona, oh my Fiona, I miss you more than anything.
The mirror clouds. Is it steam from the shower or is my vision failing? Is it like this every time? I sense there is truth in the answers flashing across my heart, but just as I am about to reach them, they elude me once more.
Weakness overtakes my legs; I stagger, then fall into my own gore. My head cracks open on the white tiles like a ripe coconut. Life drains from me in a widening lake of sanguinity.
The world evaporates and the answers disappear.
“Are you sure he can’t find us here?” Fiona’s voice cracks on her last word.
She tucks a wave of brown hair behind her ear with a trembling hand and grimaces. Bruises the color of moldy plums cover her wrist. Wide, bloodshot eyes scan the driveway and what little of the road is visible through the dense pepper trees. Her other hand clutches the gold cross necklace I had bought her for her Confirmation, what, three months ago? Her thumb caresses it with care.
“Yeah,” I said. “I never told him about this place. Grampa died and left it to me before I ever met Earl. Police should’ve cleaned up all the nastiness by now. Hard to believe the renters killed each other like that, after being here so many years. Who knows why? Anyway, we ain’t had any new takers yet. Should be good here for a bit.”
In the distance, a coyote yips and howls at the setting sun, eager for the darker side of day to end so its nocturnal hunt can begin. Fiona shudders at the sound. “We haven’t been here since I was, what? Five? This place still creeps me out. I hated those weekends we would come up here.”
A sense of familiarity mingles with stark dread within my soul.
Walking to the front door with keys in hand, I hear a faint buzzing behind the aged wood. A hive crawling with bees doing insect things in insect ways must be on the other side. Keys tumble from my hands onto a dirty pile of leaves before the door. Every heartbeat feels like a hammer to my skull.
“God-fucking-dammit, which key is it?”
I stomp my foot and bend to retrieve the metal ring, which seems to hold passage to every door but the one before me. I crouch low and retch in a wave of nausea as a thick stench of rot and death slams into my
nostrils.
Must be a dead raccoon or somethin’ under the porch.
Straightening, I fumble with the tangled key mess again. Smoke puffs around the cigarette dangling from the corner of my mouth.
“I gotta fuckin’ piss like a goddamned racehorse, and this motherfuckin’ key must not exist!”
I kick the door before collapsing on the peeling wooden porch in a sobbing heap. My arms cover my head as my body rocks back and forth.
Why can’t anything ever go my way?
“Here, Mom, give me the keys.” Fiona sighs, prying them from my hand with care. Her eyes avoid the reddening track marks dotting my arms. “I’ll get the door open, and you can go in and lie down for a while.”
“Screw that, I need a drink.” Or a fix.
“Let’s just figure out our next move first, okay? Afterward, maybe it’s time you—there we go.”
With a loud creak, the door opens and stale, smoke-scented air wafts out. The fly-buzzing ceases. Fiona helps me up, kisses me on the cheek, and we step inside.
Fiona flicks on the light switch. From the corner of my eye, I see a shadow dash behind the faded brown sofa in the middle of the room. Maternal instinct kicks in, and I step in front of Fiona, my arm barring her at the door.
“Stay here.”
I step toward the couch with fists so tight my fingers ache, and my acrylics dig into my palms. Stepping around the sofa, I see there is nothing behind it, aside from a large brown stain matting the carpet.
“Huh. Guess I’m seeing things.” Though I am pretty sure I saw something.
“I think this might be a good time for you to get completely off all that stuff, Mom.”
Fiona steps behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. Love, pain, and disappointment resonate in her words. A parent should never disappoint their child.
“It would be good to have my mother back, full time again.”
Anger flashes across my heart before it melts into agonizing regret. I’ve not been there for her, not for a long while. No Mother of the Year awards are on display on my shelf. She deserves so much more than she’s gotten. How did Fiona manage not to become a fuck up? Thank God she didn’t end up like me. Only fifteen and already a stronger person than I. My vision blurs as tears well up and threaten to fall.
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