Unfinished Business

by B. G. Thomas

  Lori ushered them to a corner table. There was only one other customer this time of day, but she was in business mode. Mike saw that clearly. She didn’t let people know her business.

  They sat. For a long moment, neither said a word. Mike could see Joel was waiting for her.

  She held up her glass. “To Mike.”

  Joel held up his. “To Mike.”

  They drank, and Joel’s first swallow surprised Mike. Barely a wince. And it was a good swallow. Then again, it was really good whisky.

  Mike found himself suddenly craving a taste of the whisky himself. He realized it was the first time since all of this had happened that he’d wanted anything to eat or drink. But now? Now he could use a drink. Could almost taste it. Smooth, woody, smoky….

  He sat next to Joel. Put his arm around the back of the chair. Anything to feel close. When he looked over at his wife, though, he felt funny. Like he was flaunting his love for someone else. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him. It didn’t even matter that she had someone else. This “wrongness” and “rightness” at the same time had been a source of anxiety from the very beginning. If only he’d had the courage to be a bridge-builder. To be out from the beginning.

  But then he would never have had met Joel, would he?

  “Are you in love with Mike?” Lori asked quite suddenly. Mike all but gasped. Joel did. It was not the subtle touch she usually used, but sometimes she just went for the kill.

  Joel just looked at her, mouth half open.

  “Oh, come on, Joel. We’re both adults here. I can see it on your face. I can see it in your eyes. The nurse was hinting all about it. ‘Friend.’ Please!” She took a good drink of her whisky.

  “I—I….”

  “It’s okay, really.” She reached out and uncharacteristically touched his hand. This was not one of her “we’re all friends here” touches that she would use to good effect in business. This looked truly sincere.

  “What?” Joel asked, clearly confused.

  “You’re gay, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. Joel was not one to deny himself.

  “And you’re in love with Mike. As far as you’re concerned, it’s love.” Again, not a question. “If Mike and I weren’t married, you would want to be with him.”

  Joel sat up straight in his chair. Raised his head high. “If he would have me, yes. In a minute. But he is married to you.”

  “Was,” she said with a sigh and took another drink. It was enough to finish her glass, and she waved the bartender over. “You too?”

  “What the hell.”

  She raised two fingers, and the glasses were set before them in an instant’s time. The power of a big tip.

  “That’s good,” she said when the bartender left. “That you love him. Mike deserved to be loved. I’ve never given him what I should have. I’ve felt guilty about that through the years. The things is, I don’t think I had it in me. To love.”

  Mike’s mouth dropped open. What?

  “My parents taught me through their ‘unlove’ that practicality is what mattered. And until…” She paused. “…recently, I didn’t think I was really capable of love.”

  Greg, Mike thought. Greg!

  “The question is, did Mike love you back?”

  Mike held his breath—a purely unnecessary act, of course, but he had a lifetime’s habit behind him, even if he wasn’t alive anymore.

  “Lori, I don’t speak for Mike.”

  “And Mike isn’t speaking. In fact, his doctors are trying to tell me to turn the machines off—”

  “No!” Joel said, nearly knocking his glass over. He froze, then slowly relaxed. “Please, Lori. Can you wait? Just a little longer…?”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything for what felt a very long time. “You really do love him.”

  “More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

  “And you won’t tell me if Mike loved you.”

  Joel took another big swallow of his whiskey. He grimaced for a moment.

  “Careful, slugger,” she said.

  “Lori, did Mike ever tell you that he loved you?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Well. Maybe a few times in the beginning.” She looked away for a moment—but as if to somewhere else. Into another time, perhaps? “Maybe.” She shrugged. “It was really never about that for either of us. We loved each other in our own way.”

  Joel didn’t say anything.

  “So he never told you he loved you?” she asked.

  Mike felt the tears coming on. He was such a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I tell him?

  Joel shook his head. It was an answer. Did it answer her unasked question? Lori wasn’t stupid.

  “Did you sleep with Mike?”

  And she’d done it! She’d asked! Joel’s eyes went wide and he sat back.

  God! Now what?

  “I believe I can answer that question.”

  They all turned.

  It was Detective Brookhart.

  20

  JOEL RECOGNIZED her, of course, and Mike saw that Lori did too. But she would, wouldn’t she? She was the one who had called Lori. They must have met during the week he had somehow lost….

  They asked her to sit, and again, Mike could see Lori didn’t want her to. That’s what the years had done. They could read each other easier than any book. They even had a language of sorts. Could express essays in a glance. They were a team, if not the most loving of couples.

  “How can we help you?” Lori asked.

  Brookhart looked decidedly uncomfortable. Whatever cop-face she might have developed through the years—and Mike imagined all cops must have that skill—it wasn’t present this afternoon. “Well…. It’s like I said.” She coughed. Cleared her throat. “I think I can help you.”

  “And how is that?” Lori asked.

  “Well, you wanted to know if your husband was sleeping with Joel.”

  Joel jumped. “Detective Brookhart!”

  Lori was nodding. “Yes. I did want to know.”

  “Detective…,” Joel moaned.

  “It’s all right, Joel.” Brookhart turned back to Lori. “I can answer all kinds of questions.”

  “You can, hmmm?” Lori raised a carefully plucked right eyebrow.

  “Ask me something,” Brookhart said. “But ask me something that only Mike—Mr. Ellsworth—would know.”

  “Are we playing a game, Detective?”

  “Sure. A game. Ask.”

  “All right, then,” she said. “What’s the combination to the safe?”

  “Mike?” Brookhart said.

  And Mike gaped at her. She really was jumping into this. No messing around.

  “Mike?” Lori asked.

  “Our anniversary,” Mike said.

  “But then I don’t know your anniversary, do I?” Brookhart asked while Lori came close to losing her composure.

  “June 16, 1997,” Mike said.

  Brookhart repeated the date. “So I assume the combination is 6, 16, 97?”

  Lori’s mouth all but fell open. Then her control took over. “Good guess. Tell me something else.”

  “You need to ask,” Brookhart said and leaned on the table.

  Lori narrowed her eyes. “What did my father say when Mike asked for my hand?”

  Mike sighed and told Daphne the unromantic answer.

  “Really?” Brookhart asked. “Harlequin Romance that is not.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Lori asked.

  Joel said nothing. He just sat there. Pale. Almost unmoving.

  “Really,” Mike confirmed.

  “Your father said that he thought he could approve. It would be good business. And that you both had good genes, and that even though your children wouldn’t continue his name, as far as he was concerned, everyone would know they were of Pitcairn blood.”

  Lori’s hand shot out and knocked her half-full glass to the floor with a crash of broken glass. She didn’t even seem to notice. “How the fuck di
d you know that?”

  Fuck, thought Mike in surprise. Imagine. Lori saying “fuck.” He wasn’t sure if he could count on one hand the times she’d used the word.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re both sitting down. The reason I knew….” She paused. Mike could see her steeling herself for this. “It’s because Mike is here with us now. And I can hear him.”

  “What?” cried Joel.

  “Bullshit!” Lori cried in turn.

  “Seriously,” Brookhart said. “You don’t think I know how crazy it sounds? How crazy it is? In fact, until I was able to answer your questions, I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t lost my mind.” She lounged back in her chair. “It’s a goddamned relief, is what it is.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” Lori demanded.

  “Mrs. Ellsworth. What do I have to gain with this? Besides maybe getting my ass in hot water? I didn’t want to do this. Your husband begged me.”

  “I didn’t beg,” Mike said.

  “Oh, you begged, all right, Mikey boy.”

  “Mike hates that nickname,” Lori snapped.

  “He does?” Then glancing to her side. “Do you hate that nickname, Mike? You should have told me.”

  “Yes,” Mike admitted. “Never did like it.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Stop it!” Joel said with a groan. “This is crazy.”

  She looked over at Joel. “You, sweetie, are the main reason I’m here.”

  “Me?” Joel had gone dreadfully pale.

  “You,” Brookhart confirmed.

  “Why me?” Joel asked.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute.” She looked back at Lori. “Ask me something else.”

  “No. You tell me something. You tell me something that you couldn’t know.”

  Brookhart sighed. “Mike?”

  Mike thought about it a moment. “Tell her, yes, that I am having an affair with Joel.”

  She told Lori.

  Lori nodded. He was relieved she didn’t jump on what Brookhart said. She let it go. She only nodded. Then she looked at Joel. She actually gave him a half smile. “I thought so.” As if she believed Brookhart was talking to a… ghost? To whatever he was.

  “And tell her that she needs to tell Greg that she loves him.”

  Brookhart looked back his way, again—even though she couldn’t see him. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he said, determined.

  Brookhart sighed. “Mike says you need to tell Greg you love him.”

  Lori’s mouth fell open.

  “Tell her she deserves love.”

  “He says you deserve love.”

  “Tell her that I’m sorry that I cheated on her, and I should have been honest from the beginning.”

  Brookhart told her.

  “But then, you were cheating on me.”

  Brookhart told her, and that’s when Lori lost it. Lost it for her, anyway. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Mike?”

  “He’s really here?” Joel asked. He was crying too.

  Actually, it looked like Brookhart’s eyes were wet as well.

  “Y-Yes,” she told Joel.

  Mike told her what to say next. He was crying too, of course. Openly. And why not? Only Brookhart could hear him.

  “Joel. He says for me to tell you that he loves you. That he’s sorry he never said it. That he couldn’t even text you the little heart symbol. He says he is sorry that he was texting and driving, and that he should have listened to you. He said that he’s sorry that he didn’t cherish you like he should have. That he kept you a secret. He said he wished that he could salvage everything. And that if he’d only told Lori”—Brookhart nodded at Mike’s wife—“then they could have parted amicably, and she could have been with Greg and that he—Mike, that is—could have been with you. He’s sorry for all of that, and he will love you until the end. The end of whatever comes.”

  And then they were all crying—even if Brookhart was doing the best at not losing it—all four of them.

  There were more questions after that. And Mike answered them. But then something very peculiar began to happen.

  Mike began to feel… drunk. He found himself drifting like he hadn’t since this all began. The voices of his loved ones—of Lori, of Joel, the voice of a cop going beyond the call of duty—began to fade. It was growing harder and harder to hear.

  My God, he thought. Was this it?

  No! Not now!

  But that anger didn’t seem to make any difference.

  “God! Brookhart!”

  The detective jumped. “Mike?”

  “I’m…. God… I’m fading!”

  He felt like he was swimming. The bar dissolved away. It grew dark, then shockingly bright.

  The light? he wondered. Had he done what he was supposed to do? Was that what had really been holding him here? Was he going on…?

  21

  HE WAS on a city street again. A familiar street. The very place he had died. The traffic wasn’t as heavy. It was afternoon—after the lunch break and before rush hour—and look there! That driver was texting and driving. Mike wanted to scream at him, tell him to stop before he got himself killed.

  Was this last text worth your life? Share this if you agree! Don’t text and drive!

  And look…. Across the street. The woman with the IV pole, dragging it behind her, banging and wobbling and probably the only thing keeping it from keeling over was that it wasn’t real.

  And then….

  “It’s you.”

  Mike jerked around and looked. Who should it be? Why, the girl wearing a Siouxsie and the Banshees T-shirt. She was just as pale, the blood from the gash on her head flowing just as freely. But now there was something more. The blood in her lap. It was spreading.

  He stepped back.

  “No,” she said. “Please.”

  “What do you want?” As if he didn’t know. He wiped the tears—still wet—from his face.

  “I’ve heard about you. That you can help us. Help the dead.”

  “I—I…. Sometimes.” He took another step back and stopped himself. She had heard about him? How? Then something else occurred to him. “Wait. You know you’re dead.”

  “Fuck, yes,” said the girl. “Known it for a long, long time.”

  Mike shook his head, confused. “But that’s how I help. I tell them they’re dead. They don’t know, you see. It’s like they say in those horror movies. They don’t know they’re dead, and when I help them see it, they go on.”

  She shook her head, which only made the wide gash on her head bleed all the more. “No. Not all ghosts. Some of us do know. But some of us can’t rest until something has been done.”

  “Done?” he asked.

  “You know. Just like in the movies. I was murdered. And no one knows it. They never found my body. They don’t even know I’m dead. I’ve probably been on the back of a milk carton, if my parents ever even told anybody I was gone.”

  Mike found himself needing to sit again. Instead, he leaned against a light pole. “You were murdered?”

  “By a trick,” she said. “A john.”

  “You were….”

  “I was selling myself,” she snarled. “Get over it. I had to. You do what you have to do.”

  “And you want me to…?”

  “I need someone to know. To find my body. When they find my body, I can rest. I can die. Really die.”

  “And you think if I see it… your body… then you can move on?”

  “It don’t hurt to try,” she said.

  True. It didn’t hurt to try.

  “Where?”

  “Funny you should ask,” she replied. “Not far. Not far from here at all.” She reached out to him.

  “You want me to….”

  “Just take my hand, mister. And we’ll go together.”

  So he did.

  And….

  —Swish—

  22

  THEY WERE standing outside an old building that
looked a lot like a brownstone.

  Mike looked at her and she nodded. “This is the place,” she told him. “He buried me in the backyard. But he keeps my finger in his bedroom.”

  “Christ,” Mike said.

  “Tell me about it,” she replied.

  A second later, they were moving—swishing—and they were in a bedroom. She pointed and he looked.

  There on the headboard—it was the old type, with a couple of shelves and two little cabinets on either side—lying right out in the open, was a finger. Except there were lots of fingers. They were dried. Mummified, somehow. But they still smelled. Sweet and something more. Like gasoline.

  “God…,” Mike said, and tried not to puke.

  Could he puke?

  “See?”

  “B-But which one is yours?” he asked.

  “The one with the snake ring.” She held up her hand. “See?” Her middle finger was missing. How had he not seen that before?

  So he looked. He looked at a good dozen or more mummified fingers, and yes, one of them had a snake ring.

  “I see it.” He turned back to her.

  She looked up at him. Waiting.

  “Well?” he asked.

  A look of total grief spread over her face. “Fuck…,” she cried. “Nothing’s happening. You’re not fucking enough! I must need someone alive to find it. To find me! Now I’ll never get out of here! I’m stuck forever.”

  But then Mike thought of something.

  Maybe he could help.

  23

  WHEN MIKE went to Brookhart, she was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. “Daphne?” He didn’t yell at her. He kept his voice down.

  She flinched only the barest amount. “Mike?” she asked, sitting up.

  “Yup,” he replied.

  “God. We thought you were gone.” She seemed genuinely happy to hear him.

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I better go tell them. They’re both in there, making the decision to pull the plug.”

  “Pull the plug?”

  “You know, buddy. Turn off the switch. The machines keeping you alive.” She stood and started for his room.

  And Lori was letting Joel help make the decision? Simply incredible.

  Then he made a decision of his own. He made it fast.