The Loveliest Dead

by Ray Garton

  “The who?”

  “Arthur and Mavis Bingham, the occult investigators. Remember? I’ve told you about them before. They cleared another house possessed by demons. In Connecticut this time.”

  Jenna dipped her brush in the can of paint on the counter. “Do they do yards? Maybe they could clear all the weeds and ivy outside.”

  Martha laughed.

  “How’s your bedroom coming along?” Jenna asked. “Have you got all your things unpacked and put away?”

  “I’ve unpacked everything but my photo albums and jewelry. That’s a big room. Even with all my junk, it’s going to look half empty.”

  “I promise to get those boxes out of there soon,” Jenna said. “But like you said, it’s a big room, and I needed someplace to put that stuff until I can unpack it.”

  “No problem,” she said. She took a sip of her tea and turned another page.

  After a set of commercials on the radio, Doris Day sang “Sentimental Journey.”

  “I hope Miles is doing okay at school,” Jenna said.

  “Oh, our Miles always does well at school. Hasn’t he always gotten good grades?”

  “That’s not what I mean. Yes, he’s a great student, a lot better than I ever was.”

  “You did well in school, Jenna.”

  “But it was always such a struggle for me. I really had to work at it. It seems to come naturally for Miles. He’s very smart. No, I mean I hope he’s making friends. He’s so shy.”

  “He said this morning he’d made a friend.”

  “He said he’d met a boy—that’s not the same thing. He never complains about anything, he keeps everything inside.” Josh was the same way, she thought as she dipped the brush again.

  Mommy—

  “Last year,” Jenna said, “there was a boy at school who picked on him every day. Miles didn’t say a word about it. I only found out because one day after school he went to his bedroom as usual, and I took a snack to him, but his door was locked. He never locks his door. He didn’t want to open it at first, but I insisted, and when he let me in, I saw that he’d been crying.”

  “Crying? Miles?”

  “I almost had a heart attack when I saw the tears on his cheeks, because ... well, I just.. .”Jenna said nothing for a moment. When she’d seen the tears on Miles’s cheeks, panic had exploded inside her, because ever since Josh had died, she’d been living with the palpitating fear that something might happen to her only remaining son. But she said none of that. “It took me a while, but I finally got it out of him. He told me about that bully, and it made me so angry. Miles didn’t want me to do anything about it, and I promised him I wouldn’t, but that was a little white lie, because I called his teacher and told her about it. Apparently, she intervened somehow. I asked him about it a week later and he said things were okay, that the boy was leaving him alone.” She sighed. “Children can be so cruel to each other.”

  “Speaking of children,” Martha said, “there are about half a dozen of them in the backyard right now playing on the slide and swing set.”

  Jenna stopped painting and looked over at the breakfast nook. Martha was leaning to her left, craning her neck to peer out the breakfast-nook window. “What?”

  “A bunch of boys. There’s, let’s see—one, two, three ... five of them.”

  “It’s not even noon yet, they should be in school.”

  “Well, they’re not.” Still looking out the window, Martha sipped her tea. “You know, you really should chase them off, Jenna. If one of them hurts himself in your yard, his parents are likely to sue you. Everybody’s suing everybody these days.”

  The house was in such a remote location and so far off the main road, it seemed unlikely that a bunch of little boys would be playing in the yard. But Martha was obviously watching something.

  Frowning, Jenna placed the brush across the top of the paint can and carefully climbed down off the stepladder. She walked over to the breakfast nook and slid onto the bench opposite Martha.

  “Oh!” Martha said softly, her back suddenly stiff.

  Jenna looked out the window. The backyard was empty. The two swings twisted and swayed in the wind. She looked across the table at her mother.

  “There are no kids out there now, Mom.”

  Martha’s eyes were wide behind her large, silver-framed glasses as her head turned slowly from the window to face Jenna. “They disappeared.”

  Jenna looked out the window again. They hadn’t had time to climb over the Cyclone fence, which would have been difficult, so there was only one direction the boys could have gone. “Did they head for the front yard?”

  “They disappeared into the ground.”

  Jenna looked at her again, this time with a wrinkled brow, and a chill passed over her shoulders.

  Martha’s eyes lowered to her cup of tea. She looked as if she were about to cry.

  “Are ... are you all right, Mom?”

  She said nothing for a moment, did not even move.

  Martha had become much more forgetful since the stroke. She lost her train of thought during conversations and forgot what she was saying. She did silly little things, like searching for her glasses while they were on her face, or remembering conversations or events that had never taken place. But this was the most drastic thing that had happened so far—that Jenna was aware of, anyway.

  “Mom, have you taken all your pills today?”

  Martha slowly raised her head to look at Jenna. “You think I made it up?”

  “No, I didn’t say that.”

  “Then you think I imagined it.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “They were out there. One had a green knit cap on his head, and another wore a red plaid jacket and ... and they just... disappeared into the ground.”

  Jenna nodded and started to say that, yes, she believed her—but she knew her voice would give her away, that she would not sound convincing, because, of course, she did not believe her. So she said nothing. Instead, she scooted out from behind the table and went around to the other side, put an arm around Martha’s shoulders, and hugged her.

  “You didn’t answer me,” Jenna said. “Have you taken all your pills?”

  After a moment, Martha said, “What time is it?”

  Jenna looked at the clock on the microwave oven. “Almost eleven-thirty.”

  “Okay, I... I do need to take a couple pills. I’m glad you reminded me. I think I’ll do that now, and then ... maybe I’ll lie down for a little while.”

  “All right. I’ll fix lunch around one. How do soup and sandwiches sound?”

  Martha nodded. “Good. That sounds good.”

  Jenna stepped back and watched Martha get up and shuffle out of the kitchen with her cane. When she heard the bedroom door close down the hall from the kitchen, Jenna sat down in Martha’s place at the table for a moment and stared out the window.

  Martha’s stroke had frightened Jenna. She had not been ready for another death so soon after Josh’s. She knew she would never be ready for the death of her mother. They had always been close. But as much as it hurt her to think it, she would prefer a quick death for Martha to the slow, lingering fate of something like Alzheimer’s disease. She wondered if that possibly could be the cause of such a hallucination.

  Before the move, Martha’s doctor in Redding, Dr. Evan Reasor, had recommended a doctor in Eureka, Dr. Blanche Wenders. He had written a letter of referral for Martha and sent it along with her medical records. Jenna decided to call Dr. Wenders’s office that day and make an appointment. She thought Dr. Wenders should be told about Martha’s hallucination.

  As “Take the ‘A’ Train” began to play on the radio, Jenna went back to her painting.

  Jenna was lying naked in bed, reading a paperback novel, when David came into the bedroom in his robe and slippers. He shed the gray robe and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, kicked off the slippers, and slid naked beneath the covers. He propped himself up on his side, facing her, and put a
hand on her belly.

  After two children, Jenna’s belly wasn’t as flat as it used to be. But aside from the fleshy pouch over her abdomen, she had managed to keep her figure mostly intact. Her curves were perhaps a little curvier than they used to be, but that was all. It helped to have good genes—at sixty-nine, her mother was still a slender woman.

  Jenna closed the book and put it on the bedstand, then turned out the lamp, leaving the room dark. Turning to David, she brushed her hair back from her face— she had just brushed it and it was soft and feathery—and kissed him on the mouth. He tasted of toothpaste and Listerine.

  “Hey, you did a terrific job in the kitchen today,” David said as he lay back on the bed. “It looks great.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jenna nestled against him, stretched a long leg over both of his, and put a hand on his chest. He was tall and strong, fit except for a paunch he’d developed from eating Martha’s baking. Jenna felt safe in the crook of his strong arm.

  “Now, how about doing the outside of the house?”

  She laughed and tweaked his nipple, then rubbed her fingers through the thin tuft of hair on his chest. “Very funny. You know, we really need to do something about the light out in the hall. It’s way too dark out there.”

  “I know. Just add it to the long list of things we need to do.”

  “Is Miles settled?”

  “He’s already asleep. I think watching that monster movie on TV tonight excited him so much, it wore him out.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t let him watch movies like that.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I watched them when I was his age, and I turned out okay.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “They scared the hell out of me back then, but that was what made them fun. I think Grandma even enjoyed it.”

  “Well, nobody ever accused Mom of having good taste.”

  They leaned close and spoke just above a whisper. Their apartment back in Redding had been so small, the only time they had any privacy together was when they were in bed, and it was then that they whispered about their day and whatever was on their minds. They had plenty of opportunities to talk alone now that they were in a large house, but they had not been there long enough to break the old habit.

  “Speaking of Mom,” Jenna said. She told David about Martha’s hallucination that morning. “I called Dr. Wenders’s office today and made an appointment. If it hadn’t been for that letter of referral Dr. Reasor sent, we would’ve had to wait months, but I pressed it and managed to get her in two weeks from Friday.”

  “Why wait? Call Dr. Reasor and tell him what happened. He’s a lot more familiar with her than this new doctor will be. He might have something to say about it.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that? I was so busy worrying...”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much. Remember, she had a stroke. It was a year and a half ago, but still, that’s a sucker punch to the brain.”

  “True.”

  “Call Dr. Reasor tomorrow, but for now, don’t worry about it, okay?”

  “Okay. What about you? Didn’t you have any luck at all today?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “One possibility. A garage in Eureka. The guy said he might need some part-time help, but he won’t know for sure for another week or so.”

  “Well, that’s a possibility, at least.”

  “I went everywhere in Eureka today. Tomorrow I’m going to try Fortuna and Arcata.”

  He was trying to conceal his discouragement, but Jenna could hear it in his voice, and knew if the lights were on she would see it in his eyes. It made her chest ache. She tilted her head up and kissed him again.

  “Don’t let it get you down, okay?” she said. “Something will turn up.”

  “It better, or I may end up working in the food-service industry.”

  “Hey, if nothing else, you can freelance, like you did back home.”

  “Back home?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, what am I saying? This is home now.”

  They lay in silence for a while, Jenna stroking his chest as he lightly brushed a hand over her hair.

  “You know, we haven’t made love in this house yet,” David whispered.

  “We’ve been too wiped out from moving in.”

  “I’m up for it if you are.”

  She smiled. “We don’t even have to be quiet anymore—there’s nobody on the other side of the wall.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She rolled over on top of him. “Only if you don’t make me paint the house.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lily. Wednesday, 2:19 P.M.

  The Reading Room in the back of The Crystal Well bookstore in the northern California town of Mt. Shasta was not for reading books. It was where forty-three-year-old Lily Rourke, the store’s owner, conducted psychic readings.

  In the doorway that led into the Reading Room, Lily had hung a curtain of multicolored beads that clacked and chittered whenever someone walked through them. It was a small room, with a round table in the center and two carved mahogany chairs, each with burgundy velvet-upholstered cushions, facing each other on opposite sides. The room was painted hunter green, with plush burgundy carpet. On the wall were a few framed pictures of Victorian-era seances that Lily had cut out of some old books. A brass floor lamp topped by a burgundy shade with beaded fringe stood in one corner, giving off a muted glow. Candles flickered on a sideboard, and incense in a small marble holder gave the room a sandalwood scent.

  At five feet, five inches tall, Lily weighed 304 pounds. She wore a black silk broomstick skirt with a red rose print, a matching red silk blouse, and black pumps. Her dark-blond hair was short, in a pageboy cut. She sat at the table in the Reading Room with one of her regular clients, Maggie Rydell. Lily’s arms rested on the table-top and her plump hands gently held both of Maggie’s small, slender ones. A votive candle glowed in a plain glass holder between them.

  “Things are going better with Rupert,” Lily said.

  Maggie smiled and nodded. “Yes, they are.”

  “That’s good, I’m glad. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working, because I sense that his eyes aren’t wandering like they were before.”

  Maggie sighed with relief.

  “The kids, though .. . you might want to keep a close eye on them for a while. Have .. .” Lily frowned. “Have you hired a new babysitter? Tina? No .. . Dina, right?”

  Maggie’s smile melted away and she suddenly looked concerned. “Yes, Dina. We hired her a couple weeks ago. She was recommended to us by friends.”

  “Get rid of her.”

  “Why? I mean, what’s wrong with her? Has she hurt the kids?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I just sense ... neglect. A lack of safety. She’s not very good at what she does, that’s all. You can do better.”

  “Okay, we won’t use her anymore. But we’ve already used her twice. Did anything happen to the kids while we were—”

  “No, no, I’m not getting that. But don’t use her anymore. And you might want to say the same to the friends who recommended her.”

  “What about my dad?”

  Lily closed her eyes a moment and creases appeared in her forehead. She tried never to let anything show on her face when she was giving a reading. Sometimes it was more difficult than others, and this was one of those times. She opened her eyes.

  “He’s not doing well,” Lily said.

  “No, he’s not.”

  Lily closed her eyes again and took a moment to decide how to respond.

  “And to be honest,” Maggie said, “we don’t expect him to get better this time. So ... well, I mean, if you’ve got bad news ... I can take it.”

  Lily opened her eyes and said, “Well, you know I don’t like giving bad news, but... you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

  Maggie’s shoulders sagged and she sighed. “We already have. He’s in pretty bad shape. I expected you to say that. I just... well, I thought it couldn’t h
urt to ask.”

  “He’s had a good long life, Maggie. You shouldn’t—”

  Lily saw faint flashes of electric blue in the periphery of her vision on both sides, and she caught a whiff of bananas. A burst of adrenaline coursed through her and she dropped Maggie’s hands as if they suddenly had become unbearably hot. She scooted her chair back from the table and pressed the heels of her hands to her closed eyes for a moment, hoping the flashing and the smell would go away.

  “Are you air right?” Maggie asked. When she got no response, she spoke more urgently. “Lily, is something wrong?”

  The electric-blue flashing continued, even with her eyes closed, and the smell of bananas grew stronger.

  “Lily, what’s the matter? Do you want me to call someone?”

  It stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Lily opened her eyes again. Sometimes it happened that way—the flashing and the smell would come and then stop, and nothing would follow. She blinked her eyes a few times, then looked at Maggie, who was staring at her with concern.

  “I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I... I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”

  “Can I get something for you?”

  “No, I think it’s passing. Just give me a few seconds to—”

  The flashing started again and the smell of bananas filled her nostrils. Lily felt all the strength drain rapidly from her body, felt herself slide off the chair. She lost all awareness of Maggie and the room around her before she hit the floor.

  Floating in silent darkness.

  A distant scream grows louder. No, not a scream, but a metallic screech. Light flickers in the darkness, a strobe effect. She sees glimpses of a children’s swing set and a slide. Both are dark with rust and covered with wild tangles of ivy. The swing’s chains screech and chitter as they sway. The swing set and slide flicker out. The screeching stops.

  Floating in dark silence, until—

  Another sound, garbled, as if under water. It is music—a delicate, twinkling tune, as if from a music box. It’s vaguely familiar, but off key, warped.

  A filthy old teddy bear appears. It has only one round black eye. A dark ribbon is tied in a bow around its neck. Stuffing dangles out of its filthy chest and abdomen.