The Mysterious Messenger

by Gilbert Ford

  “You dropped something!” called Ms. Madigan, but Maria didn’t care. She’d just escaped a sinking ship, and she wasn’t going to be detained any longer. But as she went through the first door, she could feel the librarian and the cop watching her. Heart pounding, she pushed open the second door and took in a gulp of fresh air. She was free, just narrowly escaping drowning in a whirlpool of questions.

  * * *

  A few days later, Maria picked her way over the jagged slabs of sidewalk pushed up by the trees lining her block. The brownstones glowed burgundy and orange as the sun melted into the tops of the buildings. The leaves crunched under her feet. Maria held her hand out and hit every iron bar on the ornate fences and gates guarding the apartments. When she reached her home, she noticed the curtains had been pulled and the neon PSYCHIC sign flickered and buzzed in the front window. This was her mother’s signal that she was not to be disturbed.

  Maria perched on the steps outside her building and opened one of her books. It was not the first time she’d had to wait outside. For a few seconds, she shut her eyes and listened to the other kids playing down the block. The wheels of a skateboard popped and grumbled against the grit of the pavement, and a ball bounced between shouts and laughter. The strollers rattled over the bumpy sidewalk like covered wagons, making their way to Fort Greene Park. The autumn breeze blew around her as she cradled her book, running her fingers across the embossed title: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.

  Whhhack!

  Maria’s head knocked back. Stunned, she opened her eyes to find a red rubber ball rolling under her feet.

  “My bad! My bad!” called a voice. The slap of feet moved toward her. “I’m really sorry! Are you okay?”

  Maria shook her head before she could focus on who was standing on the other side of the gate. “I’m not okay. Your ball hit me.”

  “I’m really sorry,” said the boy from the library, adjusting his ball cap. “I’m not so good at throwing, but you probably guessed that.”

  Maria rubbed her head. “Well, it looks like you hit your target.”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t aiming for you. I didn’t take into account the wind! It was supposed to go over there.” The boy pointed down the block at a group of kids. He turned and grinned.

  He had a gap between his front teeth that made a pleasant smile.

  “I’m Sebastian,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Maria.”

  “What grade are you in?” asked Sebastian. “I’m in fifth. But was bumped up a year.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and waited for Maria to answer.

  “Grade level doesn’t interest me,” Maria said with a shrug.

  “So … is it true?” Sebastian asked, with a nervous crack in his voice. “Are you the girl that lives with the psychic?”

  Maria knew she was not supposed to answer questions from anyone. If her mother saw her talking to this boy, she would yell. But before she knew it, she found herself blurting, “Sure, I guess. She’s just my mom.”

  “We moved in above you last month. I see you at the library, but you never play outside. How come?”

  More questions? She should shut her mouth, but she wanted him to stay just a little longer. She shrugged. “I got things to do.”

  “What kinds of things?” asked Sebastian. “Psychic things?”

  Maria rolled her eyes. If only he knew the half of it. But she was keeping her mouth shut.

  “And why is the super always in your apartment?” asked Sebastian. “Mr. Fox doesn’t fix a thing in ours.”

  Sebastian had gone too far with his questions. Maria had to end the conversation before it went any further. “You ask too many questions,” she told him, turning back to her book and opening it.

  Sebastian looked down and kicked at a crooked slab of sidewalk. Maria peeked at him from the corner of her eye.

  “You wanna play ball?” he finally asked.

  Maria shook her head, staring down at her book. “I can’t today,” she mumbled, but she knew she was forbidden to ever play with other kids. Her mother didn’t want anyone snooping in their business.

  The kids down the street called out for Sebastian. He cleared his throat and asked, “Can you hand me the ball?”

  Maria retrieved the ball from the step and threw it to Sebastian, but he missed. “I guess I’m not so good at catching!” he said, trying to shake it off with a laugh, but Maria could tell he was embarrassed.

  “Sports aren’t really my thing either.” Maria smiled just a little, but inside she was hurting.

  Sebastian retrieved the ball and gave his gap-toothed grin.

  Maria turned around to see if her mother was looking. The window was dark and foreboding, the heavy curtains still drawn. She wanted to be with the other kids—laughing and playing ball.

  Sebastian lingered a moment, tossing the ball in the air.

  Maria shut her eyes, still facing her apartment. Please go away, she thought. After a few moments, she heard Sebastian’s feet slap the sidewalk as he ran back down the block to join the other kids.

  Maria opened her eyes. The other kids had forgotten her and had begun their game again. She studied her book, but no longer felt like reading.

  The door to her apartment swung open, startling Maria into dropping her book. A middle-aged man exited her home. Madame Destine pulled the curtains and peered through the rippled glass at Maria. Then the buzzing of the neon sign died, and its soft glow faded to darkness.

  5

  A Return Client

  The next morning, Maria drew the heavy curtains in the front parlor, allowing the light from outside to beam through the stuffy room. Tiny particles of dust floated around her like snow, settling over a card table with a paisley tablecloth splattered with candle wax. The dust drifted to the two folding chairs and onto Houdini’s cage, which was covered with seeds, feathers, and bird droppings.

  Maria wondered why her mother never cleaned the birdcage herself. He was HER parrot, after all.

  She took out Houdini from the cage and patted his feathers before feeding him a few seeds. “It’ll only be a minute. You’ll have your cage back in no time,” she said, placing him on top of his stand. She poured dish soap into a bucket of water, dipped a rag in, and scraped away at the rusty cage.

  Maria worked quickly, the suds wrinkling her fingers. Then she threw the rag into the bucket, picked up a broom, and swept away the seeds that had spilled from the cage.

  She listened for the sound of her mother and Mr. Fox at the other end of the apartment.

  Ka-thud!

  Ka-thud!

  Ka-thud!

  Someone must be kicking a ball outside the building, she thought.

  Maria dropped her broom and peered out the parlor window. Behind the ripple of glass stood a boy, his face hidden in the shade of his red ball cap. Maria squinted.

  Sebastian?

  Yes, it was Sebastian kicking a ball against the steps. Maria ducked behind the birdcage and peered between the vertical bars. The ball bounced rhythmically back and forth with every kick. Sebastian must have seen her looking, because he stopped and waved.

  It was almost as if he was taunting her. Or maybe he was trying to get her attention, trying to say hello.

  The front gate swung open, and Sebastian moved aside, his ball rolling beside the steps.

  Wavering before him like a lily in the wind was the widow, Mrs. Fisher. She smiled warmly at the boy and scooted past him, making her way to the front door.

  Maria snapped from her trance.

  Buzzzz! Buzzzzz!

  The widow had returned to speak to her late husband! Maria dragged the bucket and broom into the kitchen as fast as she could, while the buzzer rang through the apartment. Her feet slid against the wooden floorboards, her body crashing to the mattress in the closet.

  Buzzzz! Buzzzz!

  Maria slammed her door and pressed her eye against the hole in the wall.

  Footsteps tapped across the apart
ment to the front parlor.

  Madame Destine swung open the door. “What is it!” she barked, but then stopped. “I mean—er—welcome, dear friend!”

  “Madame Destine!” said Mrs. Fisher. “I’ve been thinking about my late husband’s request.”

  Madame Destine folded her arms and leaned against the door. “Go on…” Houdini mimicked her order.

  “And if you’re willing, I would like to make contact with him one more time.”

  Madame Destine gave a dramatic bow and steadied her turban. “Well, I’ve been expecting you,” she said slowly. “Come inside, and I’ll summon his spirit.”

  Mrs. Fisher tiptoed in and closed the door behind her.

  Madame Destine yanked the curtains shut before she killed the lights. A match was struck and the two women were illuminated by soft candlelight. Madame Destine backed away from the table until she covered Maria’s vent with her bottom.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  This was Madame Destine’s signal for Maria to get ready.

  “Mr. Fisher is nearby,” began Madame Destine. “I can feel him in this very room,” she continued in a whisper. “Come and sit with me at the table.” She grabbed Mrs. Fisher by the hand and swung her in front of the card table.

  Mrs. Fisher fell into her chair while Houdini was placed in his cage.

  Madame Destine clapped her hands and held them high above her head. “Silence! I need absolute silence as I attempt to summon the dead.”

  Mrs. Fisher shut her eyes and sat motionless in her chair. The room was deathly silent.

  Madame Destine began, “Spirit of the late Robert Fisher, I summon you to this table on behalf of your wife wishing to speak with you ONE. LAST. TIME.”

  Behind the wall, Maria felt the familiar frosty chill of Edward against the back of her neck. “Not now!” she whispered. “I have to work!” She waved her hand behind her while she peered through the grate.

  She waited for Mr. Fox’s moans and clanging pipes from the basement and quickly turned on the fan.

  But once she’d ducked away from the fan, the cool air continued to whip around her face.

  “Edward! Can’t you see I’m busy?” she whispered. Maria felt around the floor for a pen and paper.

  Ka-thud!

  Maria stopped.

  That must have been her mother’s head hitting the table. She reached for the fan and turned it off. Then she grabbed the pen and placed it between her knuckles against the paper.

  “Okay,” she said out of breath. “Tell me. And hurry!”

  Edward instantly took over, moving Maria’s hand across the paper. When she stopped and the pen fell to the paper, Maria opened her eyes and scanned the note:

  Marilyn will give your mother

  The prize that she is after.

  Then follow the widow home

  And tell her alone what I told you.

  Maria crumpled the note.

  Oh, Edward! Why was he asking her to follow this stranger home? Didn’t he know she could never get away long enough without arousing suspicion from her mother?

  But she’d promised Edward she’d help him. She knew that helping the widow was the right thing to do. But why couldn’t it be a simple task? One that wouldn’t get her into trouble?

  “Okay, Edward,” she whispered. “I’ll … I’ll try.” But Maria was not so sure of herself.

  Madame Destine’s voice boomed in the next room. “Goodbye, my love! I look forward to our reunion in the next world!” Her bracelets jangled, the pipes clanged, and the moans sang through the apartment. Maria switched on the fan until she heard the thud on the table and turned it off again. Then she peered through the vent.

  Mrs. Fisher dug through her purse and handed Madame Destine a twenty-dollar bill. The fake psychic tucked the money into her bosom and tore open the curtains. Houdini fluttered back to her shoulder.

  The widow eased out of her chair and drifted to the front door. “Thanks again,” she said, taking Madame Destine’s hand with a bow. “Now, the Brooklyn Urban Youth Initiative for Tomorrow is on Waverly and Atlantic? Which way is that?”

  Madame Destine released her hand from the widow’s grasp. “Take a left, and you’ll walk straight to it.” Madame Destine flung open the door and gave Mrs. Fisher a tap on the back, propelling her outside. She let the door slam behind her.

  Maria backed away from the vent and threw on her hoodie. She had to follow Mrs. Fisher and do it fast! She took a deep breath and whispered, “Edward, you owe me.”

  Then she kicked open her closet door and raced through her mother’s bedroom, gliding across the hall to the front parlor.

  Madame Destine’s thin body charged for Maria. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  Maria clenched her fists. “I forgot my library books. I’ll be back soon!” she said. She sped full throttle at her mother, causing the fake psychic to spin and lose her balance as she passed.

  “No running in this house!” barked Madame Destine, her turban falling over her eyes. She swept her hands about the room for her daughter like a lobster’s claws in a tank.

  Maria flew through the front door faster than Houdini could mimic “NO RUNNING!” She turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, passing the kids at play on the sidewalk.

  “Hey, where are you going?” called Sebastian, running after her.

  But Maria ignored him. She had no time to stop anyway.

  She scanned the sidewalk for the widow until she spotted the familiar sway of Mrs. Fisher and her cape blowing in the wind.

  6

  Ghosting the Widow

  Maria’s Converse sneakers hopped over the uneven sidewalk, dodging broken glass and sloppy spills. She stopped running to catch her breath. She’d made it to Atlantic Avenue, the edge of her neighborhood, where heavy traffic rumbled and honked. She’d never been much farther than this before.

  After she caught her breath, she searched down the street for the familiar cape of Mrs. Fisher.

  The woman couldn’t have disappeared into thin air, she thought, as the slap of feet that had been following her slowed down. Maria swung around to discover Sebastian.

  “Where are you running to?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Are you following me?” Maria knew she sounded harsh, but she was on a mission, and this kid was getting in the way. She turned and scanned the sidewalk again for the widow.

  And then she saw her.

  She was standing in front of a grimy building across the street. The old woman paused to look at the back of the business card and held it up to the numbers over the unmarked door. Mrs. Fisher rang the buzzer to the foreboding building while a truck unloaded boxes into the garage next door.

  “Why are you hanging out by Atlantic?” asked Sebastian. “There’s nothing over—”

  “Shhh!” said Maria, pushing him behind her. “You’ll mess it up.”

  Mrs. Fisher tried knocking on the door this time. After a long pause, she stepped away from the door and turned around.

  Maria stopped and watched the widow.

  Mrs. Fisher twisted her wedding band around her finger and began to walk away from the building.

  “Hey, missus. You looking for something?” called a voice from the garage.

  Mrs. Fisher stopped.

  There, from the shadows of the alley, stepped Mr. Fox. He was sweating under a suit that was too small for him. A bolo tie dangled from his neck. The strings were joined unevenly by the turquoise clasp, as if it were a noose.

  “Why, yes.” Mrs. Fisher’s voice wavered. “I’m looking for the Brooklyn Urban Youth Initi—”

  “You got the right place, lady,” said Mr. Fox. “You the one that called the other day?”

  Mrs. Fisher frowned and brought her hand up to her chest. “Why, er—yes. That was me, but is this a nonprofit?”

  “Yeah, what’s it to ya?”

  Mrs. Fisher shook her head and backed away, but Mr. Fox swooped in front of her, pushing he
r shoulder toward the building. “Relax, lady. This is our loading dock, where we receive deliveries. The kiddies are down the block!”

  Mrs. Fisher seemed to be relieved, bringing her hand up to her head to flatten her hair. “Okay! I was beginning to think that this place was—”

  “The place is legit, lady,” Mr. Fox assured her, and gave her a fake smile. “Didn’t you have a donation for our charity?” He opened the door to the building and pushed the lady inside.

  Maria could feel Sebastian watching her. She turned around.

  “Are you spying on that lady?” asked Sebastian. The traffic at the end of the block almost drowned out his voice.

  “Of course not!” Maria found some scraps of old newspaper in the trash by the curb. She grabbed one for herself and shoved the other into Sebastian’s hands. “Quick. Make yourself look busy!” Then she hid her face behind the newsprint.

  “You ARE spying!” Sebastian said, before hiding behind his paper, too. They said nothing for four whole seconds before Sebastian peeked above the newsprint. “Why are we following her?” he whispered.

  “Sebastian, please leave!”

  Sebastian dropped the paper. “Okay. I get the message. I just wanted to see what you spend all your time doing!” He turned around and disappeared down the block.

  A moving van pulled away from the garage, and behind it stood a bewildered Mrs. Fisher. She stepped past the driveway, shaking her head.

  But the ring was missing from her finger!

  Maria brought the paper up to her face as the widow shuffled past her. She waited until Mrs. Fisher had hiked half a block before she followed.

  The old woman quickly turned the corner onto Fulton Street, where there was a cluster of restaurants. Maria weaved through the pedestrians with baby carriages until Mrs. Fisher descended the stairs into the subway.

  But Maria stopped at the entrance.

  She’d never left her neighborhood, much less ridden a train. What if she got lost and couldn’t find her way back? Maria began to shake and took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no time for worry.