“Yeah. And with special guest Madame Josie and her telepathic associates its gonna be too cool,” Lisa said, lolling her head back and looking up through the pine branches. No moon, no stars, just dark. “This place is haunted, I know it is.”
“So we have the palm reader tent, and then tarot card tent.” Julie said, looking down at her clipboard, noticing how the pink permission slip was looking fuzzy in the glow of John’s flashlight. For an AV geek he was kinda cute.
“Let’s get some long scarves and drape them over the tents, for atmosphere,” Lisa said.
“I talked to the head shop in Champaign and they’re gonna drive their van over with massage oils, crystals, Ouija boards, decks of tarot cards, astrology charts, and maybe even bongs,” Petey said, smirking, “I figure that’s worth an A at least.”
“We better have a history of mediums in one of the tents or I don’t think we’ll get full credit,” Carol said with a quiver of anxiety, wishing suddenly that she hadn’t had the third beer.
“Oh don’t be such an old maid, Carol. You know it’s just bullshit.” Petey laughed hoarsely and grabbed for the last beer. “It’s just a fun way to get a grade from old Rosenbaum, he was into all that stuff before - whatever happened before- and he wound up in our dump of a school. ’Cause I heard he was famous, and he sure ain’t now.”
“I don’t think we should talk like that. I like the professor, I think he’s seriously okay. ” Julie said quietly.
“Yeah, Pete. Let’s get going, we got a lot to do tomorrow to pull this off,” John agreed, feeling an uneasiness come over him.
“What you think the ghosts might hear?” Petey’s speech was slurred.
“Come on, Petey, let’s go,” Lisa said standing up.
“I’m not taking the cans, let the grounds crew get ‘em” Petey said, getting to his feet and jabbing at John who flinched back, dropping the flashlight. It rolled from under the awning of branches. They stumbled out of the shelter of giant weeping pine, and the silver cylinder was illuminating in a big arc the deserted Charlesworth mansion with the windows looking like empty and pitiless eyes. As John scooped up the flashlight he thought he saw a dim silhouette of a woman crossing the windows for just a half-second.
“Did you see that?” John whispered.
“What?” asked Lisa wide-eyed.
“Ghost!” squealed Julie, white as one herself.
The kids looked at each other then and started running, weaving their way back out onto Pine Street, hearts beating with excitement and fear, passing a big man who was leaping over fences in backyards and running like he too was being pursued. A person would do a lot in Decatur, Illinois to feel like they were doing more than watchin’ the corn grow, thought Carol as they sprinted back to campus.
In the back of the house the old koi pond heard the gasping stumble run of the students and felt the thrill of water filling its bottom. New cracks had opened up and now streams of water were rushing up from below and little brown leaves whirled like boats with twigs as oars across its surface, two feet deep already and more to come, eight feet, ten feet, just like the old days. The old days. The water charged up and kept on spreading, spreading a rippling black twenty feet wide and getting that lovely deep. It was coming, it was coming and it was coming full, the koi pond whispered to the night, its promise about to be fulfilled.
Gar leaned against a garage, panting and holding his side. That had been close. He had started trotting down the street away from the doc’s office wondering where Marilyn was now and who was with her. The familiar desire and hunger burned in his gut. No matter how much he should be angry with her for what she had done to him today he couldn’t help himself, he was drawn to her, all of her, and just wanted to sit someplace quiet so he could hold her close and take her soul. But now she wouldn’t come with him willingly ever again, in this life at least, and this was the only life left he had. His best last hope would be to surprise her and take her by force. Still, she’d be on her guard now and probably have more than the dog with her when she returned to her apartment. But then a police cruiser had slowed down enough to catch a glimpse of him as he was jogging purposefully in a calm deliberate way; trying to look like a night time exercise enthusiast.
One of the cops used a bullhorn out the window of the car asking him to stop but Gar just sped up like he hadn’t heard. The cruiser put on its flashing lights then, but Gar jumped a fence and started cutting through backyards, hedges, and alleyways until he was sure he’d lost them. Damn. He had to get off the street again. He could go back to Harry’s and Marilyn’s duplex but those cops were out looking for someone and that someone was him so that might not be a good idea. He needed a sweet spot and suddenly he knew just where to go.
Max spooned out mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs onto small plates as Marilyn, wearing his grey plaid flannel robe, passed them around to Father W and Gretch. They ate the creamy peppered eggs for a moment standing at Max’s kitchen counter, with Gretch sitting on the lone stool feeding some to Rowley from a spoon. Max had already thrown his razor and Dopp kit into a gym bag along with a clean shirt and underwear in preparation of spending the night at the rectory. He had shown Marilyn where his clean towels and sheets were, and had given her his robe. She had worn it down the hall to the laundry room where they fed quarters into the white enamel washing machine, dumped in the Tide, and she put the ball of her uniform and panties in on the gentle cycle. Before everyone split up for the night they decided they were hungry and Max made eggs. It was then Marilyn realized the daily grind wound on no matter what extremis they were in. Max had to teach class in the morning, Father W was due to assist the high mass with the Bishop for the Monsignor, and she had to at least make the lunch shift at the Surrey. Sure, they might be able to nudge things here or there, but they were really too low on the ladder to say like the old song did, “stop the world I want to get off,” They had to work, just like they had to eat, sleep, and shower. Everything seemed completely normal and insane at the same time.
Adele was almost pulling out of the little garage attached to the Front Porch when she saw the big man Gar’s face pressed against the driver’s side window of her red station wagon. She stifled a scream and then after a second’s pause rolled down the window halfway.
“You surprised me, what are you doing here? I’m closed.” she said, nervous and yet a little thrilled he had shown up again.
“Got in a fight with my ex- girl,” Gar sounded so down. “She cut me, see?” He touched the tiny stitches on his lip and let a lock of his hair fall over his eyes. “I just want a woman I can talk to you, you know.”
Adele felt torn for an instant, but Gar seemed so lonely and sad that before she really had thought it through she had rolled down the window all the way and asked him if he wanted to come home for supper.
“Aw, I couldn’t put you out like that, Adele. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal for weeks but it’s just too much. She never cooked.” Gar said regretfully, one hand on his slim waist, the other big paw leaning on the open window of her car.
“I have sirloin steak. You can’t get a sirloin steak to serve one, so if you don’t come, half of it’ll go to waste,” Adele said, thinking maybe she’d fire up the grill that hadn’t been used since Kurt died.
“Steak, that does sound good,” Gar said, suddenly feeling better. He was going to get off the streets, and get fed. It might be just what he needed to keep going.
Marilyn took a long shower after Weston and Max left. Gretch shrugged out of her tweed trousers and man’s shirt and pulled on a pair of white Brook’s Brothers cotton pajamas from the alligator hide suitcase. She then riffled through Max’s record selection and selected out a Deutsche Gramophone recording of Mozart’s Piano Concertos. Choosing number 20 in D minor, she took the black record with the yellow label, putting the needle down on the third groove. The music, at once sublime and thrilling, filled the apartment. She settled herself in her friend’s Eames chair and lit a cigarette while Rowley
kept an eye on both her and the closed bathroom door. After awhile Marilyn came out, with a towel wrapped around her head and the plaid robe tightly knotted.
“That sounds nice. I’m just going to get my uniform from the laundry room. Work tomorrow,” she said.
“Take the dog,” Gretch instructed, her eyes closed and listening to the music.
Marilyn thought it over and whistled softly for Rowley who followed at her heels as she padded down the apartment building hallway to get her uniform and panties out of the washing machine. They could dry in the bathroom, she decided.
The picture of the cropped grey-haired professor smoking in cotton men’s pajamas with her polio leg up listening to Mozart was comforting in a way to Marilyn, as she hung her black uniform over the shower rod.
“Marilyn,” called Gretch in an easy way, “I know you want to get to bed, and frankly I don’t sleep much anymore, so why don’t you take Max’s bed? This chair and ottoman will do me just fine.”
“Oh, no I couldn’t, Dr. Wendell,” Marilyn said, stepping out in the hall, combing her damp hair with a plastic pocket comb.
“Gretch, and you will. Tell me, when did you first notice that you had abilities?” Gretch asked as the music rose and fell in beautiful waves.
Marilyn hesitated for a moment but she was too tired to put up her customary defenses and the music was so exquisite and the little professor so bright eyed that she shrugged and settled herself on Max’s leatherette bench. “Well, I think I always had them, but they got stronger,” the words seemed like they were slipping out of her as the professor smoked and the music played.
“They did. When did you notice that?” Gretch asked, moving one hand to the piano concerto like she was conducting.
“When I was nine,” Marilyn’s dropped to a whisper.
“What number am I thinking of now, Marilyn?” Gretch asked.
“33,” Marilyn answered, relieved more than she wanted to admit that the professor was taking a different tack.
“Good, and now?” Gretch asked again rapidly.
“72.”
“Good.” The oboe line was marvelous with the piano trilling below, thought Gretch and the Instrument before her was truly talented. “See the Buddha on Max’s stereo speaker? I want you to move it for me,” Gretch said.
“Oh, I don’t do that. I mean, not on purpose,” Marilyn said, feeling on high alert.
“You did in the graveyard. I think you can,” Gretch said evenly, her eyes olive green and intent looking straight at Marilyn like she could see inside her.
Marilyn bit her lip. She had made a promise to herself long ago that she wasn’t going to direct her ability to move objects, but Gretch was right, she could do it if she wanted to. She looked at the Buddha, sitting in golden serenity on top of the cabinet. “I’ll try,” she said softly. The jewel is in the lotus. Then the molecules in the room seemed to thicken into a path between her and the statue. Ions streamed between them and the statue lifted from the speaker vibrating in the air.
“That’s very nice. You can let it down now, Marilyn. I think you might want to consider expanding your employment horizons. ISCAR might be a better place for you than the Surrey Restaurant. Think about it. And get to bed. We’re all tired.” Gretch pushed herself up to her feet as the Buddha settled back down. She lifted the needle on the record player and the music stilled and Marilyn yawned, suddenly overcome with sleepiness.
When she was sure that Marilyn and Rowley were safely asleep in Max’s bedroom, Gretch limped over to the big picture window and pulled up the blind, pursing her lips and looking out onto the asphalt parking lot. Tree branches soft with new leaves all silvery grey in the streetlight waved, and she saw the shadowy forms of what looked to be a bunch of kids running down the block outside of Max’s heading towards Charlesworth University. She shook her head and opened the side window to the big picture window, sniffing and listening, on guard. The voices were dim and receding as they ran away but there was something there, some little sliver of fear vibrating in their tones. She lowered the blind and shut the side window and went back to the Eames chair, slipping off her brace with a sigh. Gar was out there somewhere and coming for them, but was there something else too? Then, concentrating on her breathing, she put herself under.
Gretch came out of her body easily after years of practice, years of making herself see her hands and feet in dreams, daily meditations, and the way the polio drove her to master her spirit since part of her body had failed. She walked easily as her spirit self, a spritely figure in white, as her sleeping form slumped in the leather chair, the brace leaning on the ottoman. She turned the doorknob to Max’s bedroom and slipped inside.
Rowley was half-barking in his sleep in muffled bursts at the foot of the bed. Gretch carefully made her way around him and hovered above the slumbering form of Marilyn, whose hair spread like glossy black stain on the white pillowcases. She was filled with empathy for the sleeping woman, whose journey and abilities had cast her in a precarious role that she would never escape from. Gretch had come some distance on her own personal journey, and while she had very real brushes with evil both by humans and other paranormal beings in the universe, she had also been touched by those who were sentinels of the light. They had guided her and shared their ancient wisdom so that she learned their ways, and gradually over time became a custodian, a trustee, of the luminous. And this one needed her. She breathed deeply in and then carefully exhaled her essence, it came through her, expanding to cover Marilyn in a protective glistening net, layering in over Marilyn’s own soul and strengthening it for the journey ahead. Like the Guardian she was, Gretch laid a light protective web over the woman who had drawn them all together and put them in the middle of the cosmic pull between the dark and the light.
Marilyn felt a cooling breeze cross her face and soothe her. She had been sweating, trapped in a phone booth suffocating somewhere down in the dark and the phone had kept ringing and ringing and she had been afraid to answer it, afraid because she knew who was there. Then the door of the phone booth opened and there was a sweet light air filling the space and she felt stronger, so, picking up the phone, she spoke into its black handset firmly, even before the rasp could begin. “Don’t call here again,” is all she said. The phone fell away and she felt herself float up towards the light and onto a restful plane of sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY
The Things We Offer Up
Sam Reed decided to check in on his patient of the afternoon because he hadn’t been able to get the young priest out of his mind. It was nearly ten and the E.R. had settled down with his own shift over. At home his children would be asleep but he didn’t mind his long hours at the hospital, in many ways he felt more comfortable here than he did there. Or at least more useful. He hit the elevator button for five, hoping that maybe seven hours on the locked ward had calmed Father Troy. He felt all nervy himself. He buzzed to get in, standing at the big double-thickness glass doors that opened onto the nurses’ station for the mental patients. A small pixie of a nurse with a silver page boy waved and the doors clicked, unlocking, and Sam Reed pushed them open and went through as they closed behind him and relocked. St. Mary’s really was a modern facility.
Connie Pender had been the senior RN on this floor for three months and was still getting used to it. The pay on this ward was the best in the hospital except for the surgical nurses and she had taken several courses over the past three summers to get her certificate of mental health nursing, but the administering of drugs and restraints had a way of wearing a person down and she wondered if she was going to be able to cut it in the long run. Maybe after Eileen her oldest got her braces off she could go back to what she really loved, pediatric care. It could be heartbreaking but when it worked it was beautiful. But now that nice young ER doctor that everyone put so much store in was here, no doubt to check on the priest that had been admitted before her shift had begun. She pulled out his chart and intercommed for Lumley, the orderly, to come up to t
he nurses’ station.
Lumley was overweight but he could put down a patient in two seconds flat if he had to and he didn’t mind working the mental ward because he came from a family of crazies and it just seemed like old home week most of the time. The folks here weren’t bad, they were just tired, mostly from the drugs, and a little disoriented. Sometimes they’d get rowdy and Lumley would have to put them in restraints but even that wasn’t much more than tying grandma to the bedposts when she’d have her fits. He eyed the young doctor walking in step with him to room number twelve where the priest was, no psychiatrist this one, nope, he was too down to earth for that.
Father Troy was coming out of it. The evening had passed in a syrupy haze with some truly terrifying nightmares of beings with nothing but maws for faces but whatever they gave him was wearing off and now he could really feel what had happened with Gar - the name washed over him with a mix of revulsion and fascination. He felt aching and lost and he looked down at the hospital pj’s draped around his skinny legs illuminated in the nurse’s night-light. They were swimming on him, he had lost so much of what made his substance, it was odd, and he began to pick at his wrist. But when the door opened and the big fat orderly came in with the young doctor who had seen him some time, what time, earlier, Father Troy looked at them, crouching on his bed, hiding his face at first in shame but then quickly glancing up. They had what he didn’t, both of them. You could feel it. It stirred something in him. Before he knew it his hand had shot out and he had grabbed a hold of the doctor’s arm, “Gimme,” he said, because words had lost their beauty to him, they were just sounds you made to get and get by.
Sam Reed felt a curious feeling come over him as he saw the priest in the half-light, it was as if every other positive impression he had of man had been erased, but when Father Troy reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve his reaction was immediate, get the hell off me; jerking away and stumbling back, as Lumley smiled a jagged little grin and said, “Hey we don’t touch others, here, Father.”
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