by C. E. Murphy
There was nothin’ to say to that but buy another round, an’ hope mentionin’ all the heart attacks might get one of ‘em curious enough to ask me about it later, when we were all too drunk to see straight. In the meantime we took turns talkin’, telling tales about the past year, remembering old friends, and thankin’ God we were happy drunks instead of miserable ones. Danny kept us that way by stayin’ sober and dragging us out of self-pity when we went that way.
But him bein’ sober meant he noticed I wasn’t talking much about the past year after all, but about Annie and older times instead. He called me on it, too, after last call and we’d been poured out onto the street by a bunch of kids impressed with how well the old guys held their liquor. We staggered through San Diego toward our hotel, arguin’ over who snored worst and should have to bunk together, and Dan stepped up alongside me to say, “So what’s with the girl?”
“You don’ wanna know. You don’ wanna talk ‘bout it. You don’ wanna…woo. Too much booze. Shoulda shtayed shitting. Sitting. At the bar. Booze woozing. Shick. Ah, hell, Danny, I gotta get shome water. D’ya shee a water fantain? Foun. Tin.”
Dan did a good job of not sounding like he was laughing too hard. “In the mall, come on.”
“Mall’sh closhed at thish hour.”
“It’s open-air, Muldoon, come on. You get some water in you, you’ll be fine. Never heard of you having a hangover.”
“Yesh. Rep. You. Tay. Shun. To main…tain.”
Dan, grinning, got me pointed toward the mall and found me a water fountain. I leaned on it and drank til my head stopped spinnin’. My gut felt worse with the sloshing, but I could walk again. Danny got me pointed back toward the other two, and we were snickering at me like a couplea school girls when The Ack’s voice roared down the street: “Muldoon! Danny! Jesus, somebody call 911!”
Out of my head or not, I got my feet under myself and broke into a run, out-pacing Danny. Took maybe half a minute to get back to the other two and maybe half a second to realize The Ack was on his knees beside Andy, who lay sprawled across the sidewalk like a rag doll. I lumbered on, details coming into focus as I got closer. The Ack was in tears. Andy was still breathing, but labored, like it was gettin’ harder and harder. Lights were goin’ funny, smearing and stretching the way they did in movies to show the viewpoint character was dead drunk. I felt like I was seein’ another, messed-up world.
That mess snapped into focus, and I saw a ghost sittin’ on Andy’s chest.
It looked like a lover bendin’ to kiss him, all this smoky black hair trailin’ between its face and his. Its mouth was over his, but I could see his breath bein’ pulled into it, hungry soft an’ sweet. It didn’t look substantial, at the same time it looked heavy. It made me think again of bein’ unable to breathe when I woke up on the plane, an’ for a horrible minute I wondered if I’d had a real narrow escape there.
Then I did the only thing I could think of, and tackled the damned thing.
Now, there ain’t no way that shoulda worked, except for the girl in my life. Joanne Walker, the closest thing I ever had to a daughter. Whether my old Army buddies wanted to hear it or not, the girl had magic. Healin’ magic, the kind that could make an old ex-smoker’s heart as strong and healthy as a teen athlete’s three days after he went into the hospital in cardiac arrest. And more than that, the kind of magic that could go into a world of spirits and demons and ask the spirits if any of ‘em would be willin’ to help an old guy along, to protect him a little an’ be there when he needed a little extra strength.
The kinda magic that would bring a tortoise spirit right into my soul, where it mostly rested and waited patiently for the times it was needed. It wasn’t until it picked me that I ever learned anything about ‘em. Turned out they were symbols of immortality the whole world over, not that I was in any hurry ta live forever. Not that I was in any hurry to die soon, either, so we were both happy with that symbology. An’ everybody knew the tortoise won the race, so that was a good thing to have in my pocket too.
What I never knew, though, was that the world over again, tortoises were symbols of somethin’ able to protect itself. Made sense, once I found it out, but I never knew it before. And if I’d learned anything ‘bout magic from Jo, it was that if a gift has one side, then it’s gotta have a flip side.
Somethin’ that could protect itself, in my mind, was also somethin’ that could fight.
I hit the ghost with two hundred an’ twenty pounds of ex-linebacker enthusiasm. Its mouth ripped open like it was screamin’, but no sound came out. We rolled together, me and it, until we hit a building wall still warm from the afternoon sunshine, an’ it came out on top.
The weight on my chest came back just like it’d done that afternoon. Pressin’ down, takin’ my breath, but this time my drunk old self saw the ghost leaning in, felt its cold mouth on mine. Saw all kindsa rage and fear in its eyes, and had no idea why. I couldn’t move, feelin’ like a hundred stones were flattenin’ me. It was desperate, trying to crush my life away as fast as it could. Like it was dyin’, and I was the only thing gonna keep it alive.
My tortoise flipped itself over, presenting its mottled shell to the ghost. It fell away and my breath came back, even though my head kept spinnin’. I sat up, checkin’ myself with my hands. I was still all there, still all breathin’. The ghost spun toward Andy again, and I remembered him actin’ like he couldn’t breathe all day. “Wait a sec!”
No way I thought the thing would understand me, but it stopped and turned, tremblin’ with need. “Wait a minute,” I said again. “What’s goin’ on, what do you want? How the hell can I even see you?”
“See who?” The Ack whispered, but Daniel hushed him. The ghost looked between us, haunted bleak gaze, and said something in Korean.
“I don’t speak—dammit! Danny! What’s—” I replicated the sounds it had made best I could, feelin’ like a fool. “What’s that mean?”
He hesitated. “Are you sure you got that right?”
“No!”
“Because if you did, it’s asking for fish soup.”
I stared at him. “I don’t think life-suckin’ ghosts ask for fish soup, Dan. Wait a second. Can you see it?”
“Revenge.” The ghost spoke English that time, and its bleak haggard face started changin’, becomin’ more like a girl than a ghoul. I pinched my fingers against the sidewalk, gettin’ ready to run or tackle or whatever I had to, but she said “Vengeance,” again, and I figured that was communication, not a threat. “So long,” it whispered. The thing’s accent was pure Korean, like it’d learned English as an adult. As an adult ghost. Joanne was just gonna love this one. “My family…dead. For them…I slay.” She gestured to all of us, and I closed my eyes.
“Somethin’ happened in Korea. We, our unit, we killed her family, maybe. Killed her, dammit. I’m sorry, doll. I’m so damned sorry.” That was all explanation to my buddies and half a question to the ghost, but I hardly needed to see her nod to know I was right. “You been with us since then? Comin’ after us since then? Danny?”
“It came back with us,” Dan said miserably. “Fifty years ago, it came back with us. I can’t see it. Why can you?”
“’cause I’m drunk off my ass, an’ I been magicked up a lot lately. You gotta be in an altered mental state ta see this shit. Now stop avoidin’ the topic an’ tell me what you knew.”
“Nothing! I just knew something was there, and I never did know how to stop them. Then it disappeared and I thought…I don’t know what I thought. I never imagined it was coming after us, Muldoon. I had no idea. Heart attacks. Everybody dies of heart failure in the end. And besides, we were spread all over the place.”
The ghost peeled her lips back from black rotting teeth, an’ I was glad as hell she didn’t have enough breath to stink. “Long hunt.” Her ruined face crumpled and she reached out, not to any of us, but toward the sea.
Not the sea. Any idiot coulda seen that, and I wasn’t that much of a fool. Toward K
orea. Toward her home. “Last blood.” She came alive all of a sudden, throwin’ off the smoky air an’ insubstantiality to look like a real girl. Just a kid with eyes haunted by death, same way as we’d all been back then. She wasn’t anybody, not a face burned inta my memory, not one of the regular nightmares that came through the long years to remind us what we’d done. She was just a girl, and we’d prob’ly dropped a bomb or fired a bullet and earned ourselves some’a what the brass called collateral damage.
She hadn’t been one of ‘em, though. I could see it now, the bloody hole in her chest an’ the shadow of the knife that had put it there. She’d killed herself to haunt us, an’ there was a kinda horrible sick honor in that. “I am so sorry, darlin’. But you been pickin’ us off slow, when you coulda taken us all at once at one of these get-togethers. Why’s that?”
“Pain.”
A laugh that wasn’t funny came right from my gut. Pain, for alla us who knew each other and had to watch each other die slow over the years. Thank God the ghost was a kid, ‘cause real pain woulda been takin’ us all out at once and leavin’ our families to cope with the shattered remains of their lives. Still, I said, “Guess we got what we deserved,” and a big part of me meant it. “You’re hurryin’ it up now, though, sweetheart. Why’s that?”
Her face collapsed, no more girl, just ravaged wretched spirit. She reached toward home again, speaking in Korean. I ground my teeth an’ did my best to make the same sounds. I’d never managed ta learn Spanish, nevermind a tonal language. But I guessed I got it right that time, ‘cause Danny started translatin’ and what he said made sense: “I need strength to cross the water. I thought I was the last of my family, that all the others had been lost in the war. But I feel it now, even from so far away. My daughter, the baby, she lived, and now she dies. I don’t want her to die alone, and I want to lay down my burden when she does. So you must all die now, to end my vengeance and give me strength to cross the water.”
“I thought spirits had trouble with crossin’ water. Or maybe that’s witches. Nevermind. Sweetheart, you got any idea how far that is? You ain’t gonna make it. Not even if you press us all dry, there ain’t no way you’re gettin’ across the Pacific Ocean on willpower alone. People been tryin’ forever, an’ it just don’t work.”
Turned out that wasn’t such a smart thing to say. She whipped toward me, leapin’ like a cat. My tortoise hunkered down, ready to take a hit, but Danny got between me and her and started shoutin’ in Korean. She slammed into him, but backed off again, listening instead of tryin’ ta gobble his soul. I edged toward Andy and Ack, makin’ sure they were okay. Andy was still clutching his chest, but he nodded, so all three of us sat there starin’ at Danny talk to a ghost. She finally nodded, then looked at me expectantly. “She’s noddin’, Danny. Whatever you’re doin’, keep it up.”
“I’m taking her home.”
“You’re what?” Ack and Andy drowned me out, shouting louder and louder about all the reasons that was a dumb damn idea. I started out agreeing with ‘em, but I was the one who could see the ghost. The more they shouted, the angrier she got. She got smaller, crouching, and I could just about see her gettin’ ready to uncoil and jump on us all.
I reached out an’ slapped my hands over Andy and Ack’s mouths. “Shut up. Shut up. It’s more’n that, ain’t it, Danny. She’s gonna let us go as long as we shut the hell up. She needs to get home more than she wants revenge.”
“Almost more. What I didn’t translate was she was saving me for last, Muldoon. Because I betrayed Korea. She didn’t care that I was born in America.”
“Oh no.” I got to my feet, hopin’ the tortoise was feelin’ up to a real fight. “You ain’t goin’ off to sacrifice yourself for us. Trust me, buddy, I know sacrifices are bad magic.”
“I’m not sacrificing anything. She didn’t care that I was born in America. But if she was nodding, she understands what I told her. If she has family left, grandchildren, I’ll bring them back here. I’ll say that they’re mine, from during the war. North Korea’s a hard place to live, Muldoon. Her family will have more opportunities here.”
“That line woulda worked a lot better back before DNA and paternity tests were possible, Danny-boy.”
My old friend, the one whose heart scars I didn’t know a damned thing about, gave me a pained smile. “That’s not going to be a problem.”
I almost didn’t get it. Then Ack breathed, “Son of a bitch,” and it all came tumblin’ down.
“Her name was Lee Sun Soo.” Danny watched the place where the ghost stood, but he was lookin’ at a memory. “We had been together more than a year. A year, but not many days. I only saw her when I could slip away at the end of an assignment. But it was enough, until her soldier brother came home on leave. He heard me teaching her English, before we knew he had arrived. Someone higher up realized my cover was blown before I even knew it. They snatched me out and bombed her village. So many people died. I thought Sun Soo was one of them. I thought our daughter was one of them.”
I shoulda known. I shoulda known, because Jo’d run into ghosts a time or two, an’ they always had some kinda strong emotional connection that kept ‘em going, usually to people. I shoulda known it wasn’t the whole unit, even if it coulda been. I said, “Damn, Danny,” ‘cause there wasn’t much else to say.
“I’ll see you guys next year.” Dan came back, shook each of our hands, then walked back to Lee Sun Soo.
He couldn’t see it, maybe, but I could: smoky black tears on her face, and her hand tucked into his elbow as they walked away together, fifty years too late.
Me an’ Andy an’ Ack sat there on the sidewalk for a hell of a long time, not one of us quite willin’ to look at the others. After a while the sun came up, and a while after that a cop came along to tell us to get our drunk old asses off the street. We got up, dusted ourselves off, and headed for the nearest diner.
“Well, shit,” Andy finally said, over bacon and eggs. “I guess maybe I’d better tell you about Brer Rabbit and Big Man-Eater, then.”
Petite
“Petite” takes place moments after SPIRIT DANCES (Book Six of the Walker Papers) ends. The author feels strongly that you should read SPIRIT DANCES first. Very strongly.
The most infuriating woman I had ever met handed me the keys to her car, kissed me, and walked out my front door.
Every bone in my body said to follow her. Not just to stop her from leaving, but because I lived in a residential neighborhood. She wasn’t likely to catch a taxi on my block at four in the morning. Smart money would be on me driving her to the airport. But I stayed where I was, looking at the keys in my palm.
Joanne Walker had never voluntarily handed those keys over to somebody else in her life, and she’d just given them to me.
FIVE YEARS AGO
“Michael. Michael Morrison. It’s good to meet you.” I’d repeated the same words, the same solid handshake, dozens of times already. Seattle weather was cooperating, pouring sunshine down on a Fourth of July picnic, and it looked like everybody from the Seattle Police Department’s North Precinct who wasn’t on duty that day had turned up. The man introducing me around, Captain Anthony—Tony—Nichols, was pleased. It was a good opportunity to meet my new team in less formal circumstances than the department building, he said. It would warm them up to me.
I didn’t want them warmed up, I’d said. I wanted them to do their jobs.
He’d looked at me, and though he hadn’t said it, I’d heard it anyway: You’re young, Mike. Trust me on this.
I was young, and that was why I wanted formality. Thirty-three was damned young to be taking over as precinct captain. I had the credentials—youth correctional programs in high school, college completed in four years, volunteer services for the department in my free time, top of my academy class, made detective by twenty-five, lieutenant by twenty-eight. Every officer in Seattle knew the only thing I’d ever wanted to be was a cop, and they respected the effort I’d put into it.
My hair had also gone silver by my thirtieth birthday. I wasn’t kidding myself: if it hadn’t, I’d still be a lieutenant instead of preparing to take over the North Precinct when Tony Nichols retired at the end of the month.
But I was young, which was also why I listened to Nichols. Why I trusted him. He’d been a cop longer than I’d been alive, and he’d been a captain since before I reached double digits. If all I wanted was to be a cop, then I’d be a fool not to learn from men like Nichols. So I was at the picnic in shirtsleeves and slacks, as informal as I would let myself get, even surrounded by men and women in shorts, tank-tops, t-shirts and skirts. Plenty of them were in uniform, too: men—mostly men—coming or going from their shift, but mostly they were casually dressed, and I was a little too formal.
That suited me just fine.
We worked our way through the picnic—this is Bruce, bad hamstring injury sideline him to desk work, that’s Ray, real fireplug of a guy, Jenn works Missing Persons, over here is Sandy, yes, he knows his hair is red, not blond—and I’d relaxed enough to accept, if not drink, the bottle of beer someone offered when I first saw her.
She was sitting on the hood of a purple car that had been rolled illegally far onto the grass. A dozen or more big men sat around the vehicle’s front end, passing beer and whiskey bottles back and forth, frequently via the woman on the hood. One bottle tipped as it was passed over, and the guy who’d spilled wiped the splash off the car’s paint job without thinking about it, like making sure the Mona Lisa didn’t get stained. I knew nothing about cars, but the paint job had to be Mona Lisa quality: the purple glowed with an internal shimmer, like someone had layered starlight into it. Its shadows were black and in sunlight the purple looked deep enough to dip your hand into. The only reason I was certain you couldn’t really was because she was sitting on it, not sinking in like it half-seemed she should be.