Woo Woo

by Joe Coccaro

  “Well, Rose, you’re obviously very scholarly and make arguments that are beyond my pay grade. I’m a small-town priest, a foot soldier charged with providing hope and comfort to those seeking it. I pray that I’ve provided at least a tinge of that for you today. If not, well, it’s still been a delight to meet the great niece of the wonderful woman who so richly endowed our church. Fate has brought us to this doorstep.”

  Father Ricardo stuck out his hand to shake. “Go find your great aunt, and if you do, please send her my regards.”

  “Your regards? Sounds like you know her.”

  “In a manner of speaking, I do.”

  “How so, Father? Be honest. Have you seen my great aunt?”

  The priest again grinned broadly, eyes blazing blue, cheeks flush pink like a schoolboy about to tell a dirty joke.

  “I try to keep our chapel open a few hours every night, Rose. I stop in to see if there are any lost souls who come in darkness needing counsel or comfort.” Father Ricardo cleared his throat. “On a few occasions, I have seen—how should I say—images of a young woman sitting in a pew, alone, just staring at the crucifix, not moving, not saying a word, just smiling and gazing. She appears, seemingly from nowhere, and vanishes as quickly. Is that real or imagined? And does it really matter? You tell me, Rose. Either way, you’d better get inside. That storm is almost here, and you know what they say about God and lightning bolts.”

  CHAPTER 20

  GIL NETTERS FILLED up nearly as quickly as the rain flooded the street. Tourists and locals poured into the pub to escape the torrent and grab a bite or a brew while waiting it out. Classic rock played while thunder clanged like cymbals in a high school marching band.

  “Good thing we got here a few minutes ago or we’d be standing,” Carter said to Lizzy, both comfortable and dry on their barstools. Lil, serving drinks, gave Carter a hard stare.

  “What can I get ya for?” she said to Carter, ignoring Lizzy.

  “I’ll have a Bell’s Oberon draft, and Lizzy will have a mojito.”

  “How appropriate,” Lil huffed. She reached for the cheapest rum on the shelf and ginger beer.

  “What’s up with her?” Lizzy said as she brushed back her hair.

  “Moody, I guess.”

  “Moody? What are you implying, Carter?”

  “What? Nothin’, Lizzy. Just saying that Lil is acting moody.”

  “Hormones! You guys blame everything on hormones. You’d understand if you were a woman; but you’re not, so you can’t.”

  “Jesus, Lizzy. I didn’t say a thing about hormones.”

  “No, but your implication was clear. You’d better apologize.”

  “For what? All I did was order a drink. Lil’s the one with an attitude, and, if I’m not mistaken, it was directed at you.”

  “I sense something deeper going on. Anyway, just drop it, Carter. Men just don’t get it.”

  “Okay. Consider it dropped. So, pretty wild stuff at the church. Blew me away!”

  “I felt something in there, Carter. Something strong. Can’t explain it, really. But staring at the cross was overwhelming.”

  “You religious, Lizzy?”

  “No. Haven’t been a regular at church since freshman year in high school. Just seemed like a lot of hocus-pocus to me. But I’m not so sure of myself anymore. The longer I live in Cape Charles, the more I experience—”

  “What, Lizzy? Experience what?”

  “Like I told you, I see things, that’s all. And I hear things sometimes too.”

  A flash lit the windows at Gil Netters, followed by exploding thunder. The lights flashed off and then quickly back on. Power outages from summer storms were common.

  “That one was close,” Carter said. He looked toward the windows by the pub entrance. “And look who just walked in.”

  Gil slipped off a dripping rain jacket and headed right to his friend.

  “Well, well, well. It’s Sparky, with a girl. Who’da thunk it? How are you, Lizzy? So nice to see you. What are you doing with this moron?”

  “Lunch. He’s buying,” Lizzy said with a sly grin.

  “So, you two are together? A date I presume.”

  “Yes, but no. Dammit, Gil, we’re conducting business.”

  “Yeah, funny business no doubt.” Gil winked at Lizzy.

  “Actually, Gil, we’ve had quite an interesting couple of days exploring the supernatural.”

  “Well, you’re obviously in the right place for that activity. Ground zero in woo-woo land. You been hanging out with the Ouija board lady and her nutty professor friend?”

  “She’s a parapsychologist, Gil,” Carter said. “A PhD. She doesn’t mess with Ouija boards. She’s a scholar.”

  “Well, I guess that makes me a doctor of mixology. I’ve spent a lifetime serving and studying mixed-up morons and drunks.”

  “I know it’s easy to poke fun at the paranormal, but this is actually quite serious stuff, Gil,” Lizzy said.

  “No offense intended, Lizzy. I was just having some fun with my best buddy here.” Gil leaned in and kissed Carter on the cheek. “I love this guy.”

  “Dammit, Gil, would you stop that?”

  “Carter, you’re so uptight. Nothing wrong with displays of affection, even between two men,” Lizzy said.

  “You tell ’em, Liz. The guy is a homophobe.”

  “Am not!” Carter huffed. “My ex-wife is a lesbian.”

  ***

  The rain stopped and the lunch crowd fanned back out to work and the beach. Gil helped Lil clean up the bar and get the cash register straight. Lizzy headed for home, deep in thought and more lightheaded than normal from three mojitos. Her limit was four. Carter sat alone, checking text messages and emails on his iPhone while finishing his beer. No calls or messages. He felt alone.

  He really liked Rose—a lot. Beautiful, sensual, and smart. Intense too. Maybe a little bit too much. She excited him, for sure. But he didn’t relax around her, not the way he melted into a placidity around his shrink. Kate Lee-Capps was equally as smart, attractive, and interesting. But whereas being with Kate was like sailing on a mountain lake on a calm day, carousing with Rose was like riding the Bay when whipped by thirty-knot winds.

  “How’s it going, Sparky, seriously?”

  Gil sat next to his buddy with a plate of fries and a BLT sandwich.

  “Better get rid of that,” Carter said as he pointed to the lettuce on the sandwich. “Might be good for you. You could go into anaphylactic shock.”

  “Yeah, I know. Happened once ten years ago when I ate some broccoli. Never again.”

  “Gil, let me ask you something. And I’m being serious. This ghost stuff around the bar, how real is it?”

  Gil looked right and then left to make sure no one was in earshot.

  “It’s real, and it’s been getting realer since that chick you’re dating came to town. My people are freaking out. Last night, Lil was cleaning glasses behind the bar, looked up, and saw whatever the hell it is walking into the vault and just standing there, staring at the floor. The place was closed and the door locked. Lil about shit herself.

  “Then two nights ago, again after we closed, I’m walking around checking tables to make sure everything is cleaned up for the night. I go through the vault area and feel something jab my shoulder, like somebody poking me with a finger. I turn, and there’s nothing there. Fifteen minutes later, I’m cutting off the lights in the kitchen and I feel it again. This time, I spin and see something—someone—walk into the vault. Looked like a hologram. It was that Gina ghost. Same description. Younger woman nicely dressed with a fancy hat. She’s just standing, looks down at the floor. I look away, adjusting my eyes, look back, and it’s gone.”

  “Damn, Gil. I mean goddamn! You know, when I was in here Saturday night, something jabbed me in the shoulder blade. I turned, and no one was there. I’d had a few Tito’s by then and didn’t think much of it at the time. But now that you mention it—”

  “Weird, Spark
y. Very weird. Some of the help in the kitchen’s been experiencing more stuff too. Frier swears that he saw a spoon stirring a pot of sauce, but no one was holding it. He said the sink faucets have been turning on—themselves. I called in a plumber to check it out, but nothing was broken.”

  “I may know what’s going on,” Carter said.

  He told his friend about how he confirmed the whereabouts back in 1918 of Luzia Rosa Douro. He told him about Cyril Brown’s records, the diary, and the crucifix at Saint Mary’s. He kept his promise to Cyril, not sharing what the hardware store owner had seen.

  “The one piece of this thing we can’t pin down is how she died,” Carter said. “We know she had a connection to this building, that she kept her savings here, and had a safety-deposit box when it was a bank. We even know what was in the box. And, we know the building burned and was nearly destroyed when Luzia lived in Cape Charles. That’s where the blood trail ends. I can only speculate that maybe she died in that fire. But why? Why would she have been here when everyone else cleared out? Makes no sense.”

  “Not sure how much I can help you fill in those blanks, Sparky. I don’t know much about what happened or what caused the fire. If this ghost we call Gina is lurking, I can’t imagine what she, or it, wants. I just wish it would find whatever the hell it is and leave.”

  “Gil, I need a favor. I’m wondering if you’d let a few of us spend the night here, after closing. We know someone who seems to have a special talent when it comes to this type of stuff.”

  “And just who might that be?” Gil asked. “Glinda, the Good Witch of the South?”

  “No, someone more real: Jessep Greyson.”

  “Crazy Jessep. Are you shitting me? He hasn’t stepped foot in Cape Charles since the day the first gay couple moved to town. That was fifteen years ago. Rumor is he never leaves his farm. He’s one eccentric cat.”

  “I know, I met him, and I’m not sure he’ll come. But I’d like to invite him and Lizzy and Rose too.”

  “That’s a lot of woo-woo to have in one place at one time. I’d better make sure my fire extinguishers are all fully charged and that the sprinkler system works. Could get hot in here. And I’ll see if I can get a number for Max von Sydow.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the guy who played the priest in The Exorcist.”

  “If someone pukes green vomit all over your walls, I promise to clean it up before you open in the morning. Deal?”

  “Deal, Sparky. But not a word to Lil or the staff, especially Frier. In fact, not a word to anyone. I don’t want this getting out. Nobody will ever set foot in here again.”

  CHAPTER 21

  ROSE AND CARTER had dinner together. He grilled kabobs on his back deck, and she brought a bottle of white Burgundy, already chilled. They ate in silence, enjoying Noam Pikelny’s newest CD and older stuff from the Flecktones. Carter loved progressive banjo music.

  Rose seemed unsettled, but not melancholy. She smiled politely and complimented Carter’s cooking and music. For dessert, they walked to the beach. The sun was setting, and the sky was a blue canvas awaiting nature’s paintbrush.

  “Should be pretty tonight,” Carter said. He reached for Rose’s hand, and they locked pinky fingers. Their strides were evenly matched. They walked almost as if they were one.

  “I really like you, Rose,” Carter said. He leaned in with a kiss.

  “Me too. You’re a cool guy. Different than I expected when we first met.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re shy. I thought you were more of a player. I think your shyness makes you attractive to other women. Or maybe . . . I don’t know. Maybe you’re just cute in that Chandler Bing sort of way—kind of goofy-sincere.”

  “Goofy cute . . . Okay. Where does that rank? Just above funny sweet and below awkward charming? Babies are cute. I was hoping for something more: macho stud.”

  “Sorry, sweet man, but macho you’re not. Your hands are too soft.”

  Carter blushed. She thinks I’m a wuss. Maybe I am.

  The sun dipped into the Bay, a pulsing fireball fading from yellow to orange in its daily curtain call, then casting purple shadows as it submerged. The wind picked up at the very moment of transition, just as always. Deadrises and charter boats scurried to beat the darkness to shore at full throttle, the throaty roars of their four-stroke engines echoing over the water. Tourists standing on the beach applauded the day’s graceful exit.

  “Spectacular,” Rose said.

  “Yep, sure is. Best sunsets in the state, maybe on the East Coast,” Carter said with pride of ownership. “Those sunsets keep a lot of people here, and a lot more coming back. Magical.”

  “I can see how this place gets into your soul,” Rose said. “Life is so connected to nature here, and simple. But there’s substance here just beneath the surface. It’s sort of like a chocolate lava cake. It looks plain, but when you bite into it, the thing erupts. Deceptive, very deceptive.”

  “You can get as many calories, or as little, out of this place as you want,” Carter said. “You can be a recluse, like Jessep Greyson, or you can be a gadfly like Hattie Savage and know everyone in town on a first-name basis. There’s the artsy crowd, survivalists, potheads, churchgoers, draft dodgers, retired Navy Seals, stock exchange executives, professional athletes, you name it.”

  “I haven’t been here long, but I definitely feel that, Carter. I get it. Lots beneath the surface—literally. The stuff with the crater and magnetic fields is real. Exactly what effect it has on people here is harder to say. But I’m more and more convinced that sensory perceptions are amped up here, at least for some. Probably more than I suspect. Woo-woo runs deep in Cape Charles.”

  ***

  On the walk back to Carter’s, Rose shared parts of the conversation she’d had with Father Ricardo. She confided what the priest said he saw: the ghostly woman who appears and vanishes. She talked about the corollaries between faith-based spiritualism and her more clinical approach.

  Carter shared what Gil had told him that afternoon: the increasing frequent appearances of a vapory female figure at the pub. Then he made the offer.

  “Gil has agreed to let us spend the night in the pub, after closing.”

  “Who is us?”

  “You, me, Lizzy, and Jessep Greyson.”

  “Jessep? Interesting,” Rose said. “Very.”

  “I’m not sure it will resolve anything, but it seems that Jessep, and maybe Lizzy, have more evolved abilities to witness anomalies than us—or certainly me. I’ve never seen a ghost or heard one. The closest I have ever come to a premonition was guessing which would be the fastest checkout lane at the Food Dog.”

  “Stick around this place a few years, and I bet you’ll begin to experience the unexplained,” Rose said. “You’ll be a witness just when you least expect it.”

  “Honestly, Rose, I’m still not convinced how real all of this hocus-pocus is. But I will admit this much: People, like Gil, like Jessep, like Lizzy, like Cyril, who think they see things, really believe their eyes. Maybe that makes it real.”

  “How very noble of you, Carter Rossi. A man with an open mind, and of few words. Now, that’s sexy. What are you doing the rest of the night, macho man?”

  “Sexy! Guess I’ve been promoted from cute.”

  ***

  Rose decided it best to meet with Jessep to pitch Carter’s sleepover idea. Carter offered to drive her, but Rose declined an escort. They settled on a night in the middle of the week for the gathering because business at Gil’s was slow then.

  “It’s Monday. So, two nights from now. We have to work fast,” Rose said as she lay beside Carter. “I’ll get Jessep on board tomorrow. You reach out to Lizzy.”

  Carter wasted no time. He texted Lizzy, who immediately replied, I’m in. She’d have to get someone to let her dog out, but that wouldn’t be a problem. She’d get a neighbor or one of the kids on the street to do it. Her bulldog had an overactive bladder and needed to pee every three
hours.

  Figure on being at Gil Netters from two until sunup, Carter texted. Don’t worry about food or beverages. We’ll raid the kitchen.

  ***

  Carter spent the day repairing hairline cracks in the plaster in his upstairs bathroom and guest bedroom. Floor joists and the other ninety-year-old-plus timber that made up the skeleton of his house had expanded in the summer heat and tugged and stretched the walls and floors. Wall cracks seemed to have developed overnight. He quickly ran out of spackling and hoofed over to the hardware store.

  “Hey, Carter. What can I do ya for?” asked Cyril, more chipper than normal.

  “Fixin’ wall cracks. Always something, right? These old houses are more of a hobby than a home.”

  “Yes sir. And these old houses keep me in business,” Cyril said.

  “Where’s your sidekick?” Carter asked.

  “You mean Mac? I sent him to get a hearing aid. Told him I’d pay what Medicare didn’t cover. Can’t hardly have a conversation with him anymore ’cause he only hears every other word. Been like that since the war, but it’s getting worse lately, a lot worse. The old coot is makin’ a damn fool of himself.”

  “You’re a good guy, Cyril, taking care of your friend like that. I know the story: You pay all his medical bills and even help with his rent. Hattie told me.”

  “Damn her. Can’t keep her mouth shut. She’s ruining my reputation. I don’t want to lose it now. Besides, I owe old Mac. He saved my ass more than once when we served in Nam. In fact, one reason he can’t hear is because he took mortar fire pulling me from a burning Jeep. I was out, I mean lights-out unconscious. Mac was riding in an infantry truck in front of me. He grabbed me by my armpits and dragged me off the road. Just as he did, another mortar hit. Mac did a summersault in the air from the impact, but the shrapnel missed him somehow. So, I figured I owed him. Been paying off that debt ever since.”