Catherine sees the smoldering papers in the bucket. “What are you doing, Jasmine? You’re going to burn the theater down.”
Scanning through the mist of ash, her eyes catch sight of the metronome lying off-balance, causing the pendulum’s irregular ticking. By the grand piano, she sees Jasmine lying still on the blood-splashed floor.
Catherine charges to Jasmine’s side, bursting into tears. She feels her wrist for a pulse, she puts her hand over Jasmine’s chest to feel for a heartbeat, she puts her ear close to Jasmine’s nose and mouth, trying to find any signs of life.
“No. My god no.”
The anguished Catherine leans over Jasmine’s still, mutilated body. Jasmine’s face is swollen, crimson drips from wounds and bruises have formed throughout her body.
“Jasmine! Jasmine!”
Catherine recoils as she notices a very slight flicker in Jasmine’s oval eyes.
Jasmine cannot move no matter how much she tries and she cannot make out any distinct images or sounds. The world begins to swirl... Kaleidoscopic fragments of life’s pictures rush and rotate...
From some remote memory, she hears scraps of voices of laughter, pain, conversations and sound of the street, the environment, the playground, mingling, mixing, confusing...
She senses that hints of Catherine are coming in and out.
“Oh... oh...”
Summoning every bit of strength, she releases a soft gurgle from her windpipe. “Catherine... Catherine... I will not go until we are avenged.”
Again, the confusion of images spin, then she sees a huge burst of red and she hears a thundering sound….
Then nothing.
“I will not go until we are avenged.” Angela confronts Jasmine. “Now that sounds like someone who knows who their killer is.”
“No! That was the last line in the play! It’s a psychological supernatural horror. Of course the heroine will say that!”
Even Liang is startled by this revelation. “You were acting?”
“Yes, I mean no. I don’t remember. I don’t know. Everything was happening all at once. It was a blur.”
“You are mixing reality with fantasy.” Angela exhales. “But the bottom line has not changed. Todd did it.”
“I… I… don’t know.”
Cam whistles. “Well, now that you’ve brought psychology and horror into the picture, that’s my forte. Rather than getting more confused, it’s becoming clearer. Jasmine, what you are experiencing is a modified ‘Stockholm Syndrome.’ Victim identifies with the abuser to the point of defending them. It’s traumatic bonding and highly irrational.”
“I’m not some psycho.” Jasmine rushes to the door. “I’m going to find Vicky. Todd is sure she can give us answers.” She forsakes the room, leaving Liang, Cam and Angela astounded and confused.
RING! Cam’s cell phone goes off. He looks at the caller ID and opens his iPhone. “Well, well, well. How’s happenin’, Piano Man?”
Cam puts the phone on speakerphone for all to hear.”
“Cam, I need to see something human.”
“Uh, I believe you’ve gone to the wrong place then. My mother used to tell me I was a product of the devil.”
“Don’t lie to me, man.”
“Hey, you called me. I don’t need no attitude.”
Cam mocks Todd by opening and closing his fingers in the “talk talk” motion. “This is not a good time. My publisher’s breathing down my neck.”
“Can you help me, Cam? Please?”
Cam laughs silently and sarcastically, saying nothing as he plays with the phone.
“Cam. You there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen. I’m really not a counselor type. You gotta get yourself some lonely hearts kind of person.”
A pause that travels eternity.
“I got Fen Jiu from Susan.”
“You mean the crazy lady from Bamboo Curios?”
“Yeah.”
Cam gives the thumbs-up sign. “How the hell did you get her to give you some?”
“My charming personality? My good lucks? Hell, how do I know? Are you coming or not?”
“Fen Jiu? Of course. I’m on my way, Liberace.”
Cam closes his cell phone. “A little rock, a little roll, a little let’s get out of control.”
Liang reaches into his desk and hands Cam a key and two vials, one with brown powder, the other with white. “Do it right.”
“Always.”
Chapter 18
Todd, pacing the living room, hears a knock on the door. He jets to the door but struggles with the doorknob, twisting left, then right.
“Just a sec, Cam.”
He tries force, tries gentleness. No luck.
He uses his legs to gain leverage but even with the added strength the door won’t budge. “Open, damn it!”
Suddenly, the door springs open. The shock sends Todd flying across the room as if someone was tossing him.
He lands hard against the far wall and crumples to the floor as Cam swaggers into the room, waving the key Liang gave him in the air.
“Mr. Fixit strikes again.”
“How’d you get the key?”
Cam loses it and goes after Todd, guns blazing. “Man, I’m so tired of your paranoia. I got the key because remember, I told you that I helped Liang fix this room. Or did you get that bit of info blasted out of your memory synapses? Sometimes I come here by myself so I need a key to get in and out. I happen to know that Liang doesn’t always use the newest of parts to save some money so I carried a key around just in case. Get it, Sherlock?”
Todd gets up and runs to Cam. He grabs Cam’s shirt and starts shaking him.
“Jasmine came. She talked to me. She tried to kill me.”
“Now that’s paranoia, Piano Man.”
Todd points to the knife imbedded in the wall. “Look! That is not an imaginary knife.”
Cam advances, pulls out the knife and whistles. He menacingly hits the knife against his hand.
“Well, you can rest easy, Piano Man. If someone wanted to take you out with this”—Cam plunges the knife’s blade into the writing desk—“you’d be dead. But if it’s a ‘ghost’ who’s trying to do shit to you, you got no worries.”
“No, no, no, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the dead can’t eat, drink, take a crap but most importantly, they cannot hurt the living.”
“Did you make that up for one of your fairy tales?”
“It’s the natural conclusion based on empirical evidence. Ted Bundy, Son of Sam, Charles Manson, Pol Pot, Hitler. These guys were assholes supreme and there isn’t anyone who didn’t want them dead. But the living are too afraid to do anything and the dead? Think about it. If ghosts could take the lives of human beings, victims would make damn sure that murdering bastards joined them. That they have not leads one to one inevitable conclusion. Spirits are harmless and ghosts, assuming they are real, couldn’t hurt a fly.”
Cam sits on the sofa. “Forget about it. The dead are dead. It’s the living you got to worry about.”
Todd is quietly freaked. These are the words that he said to the panhandler just before he went into Liang’s building. In reality, if Todd had bothered to look closely at the panhandler, he would have known that it was a made-up and costumed Cam, another of Liang’s creations.
“What’s going on, Cam?”
Cam pulls out a cigarette. “Like things are happening that you wouldn’t expect? Like somebody’s messing with your head?”
“You got it. Nobody alive knows what I’ve experienced... What if it’s not alive?”
The air in the room grows heavy as Cam meditates. He lights his cigarette, takes a puff and blows a smoke ring in the air. Todd can hardly stand it.
“Cam? Answer me, man.”
“The truth is…” Cam smiles. “The truth is that actually, I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
“What?”
“Every inc
idence of the supernatural can be explained by logical and natural means.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Cam leans over to Todd with an impish grin. “There’s a zillion people out there who want to believe in magic, zombies, vampires and levitation. And that’s who I’m counting on to buy my books—people just like you.”
Cam leans back and takes another drag. “People invent the mystical and paranormal”—Cam snuffs out the cigarette with his fingers, then takes a bite of it and spits it out—“to give hope to the hopeless or in my case...”
Todd watches carefully as Cam shreds the remainder of the cigarette and closes his hand on the pieces. Cam waves his hand in the air and opens it. There is a new unbroken cigarette.
“... to give entertainment to the chronically bored.”
“What am I seeing then?”
“Now I get to sound like a shrink. What you are seeing is the manifestation of your deep-seated psychological problems. Repression. Suppression. Unconscious and subconscious exclusion of painful impulses.”
Cam wipes the sweat off Todd’s forehead with a finger. “Now, it’s time to get pissed. Don’t go away, Piano Man.”
“Nowhere to go.”
Cam carries the bottles of the inebriant to the kitchen, leaving Todd standing
by himself.
Cam takes two earthenware tumblers out of the cupboard and places them on the counter. Glancing over his shoulder, Cam makes sure that Todd isn’t looking as he takes out Liang’s two vials.
“Metaphysical mumbo jumbo is great for me.” Cam empties white powder into one glass, then pours Fen Jiu into it. “When there’s no agreement on anything, that means I can write or say anything I want.”
Cam gently turns on the tap and fills the other glass with water and pours the brown powder into it, quickly putting the empty vials back into his pocket.
“No one can argue with me…”
Cam picks up the glasses and swivels to see Todd entering. Cam coolly hands the glass containing the white powder and Fen Jiu to Todd.
“You think so? Why not?
“No one can argue because demons, angels, goblins, heaven, hell just don’t exist.”
Cam keeps a wary eye as Todd plays with his drink, rubbing his finger around the rim of the glass.
“I know what I saw.”
“Don’t be so sure, Piano Man. Nobody knows anything.”
Todd lifts his glass then puts it down without drinking.
“Does anybody really know what they see? I don’t think so.” Cam lifts his glass in a toasting motion to Todd then tosses the drink in a single gulp.
Todd follows but it’s so strong, it’s like burning acid. He retches—not Fen Jiu but a red liquid that’s the color of blood. It sprays all over the floor.
“Cam, what the hell did you do?”
Todd looks to the place where he spat out the blood. However, there’s only clear liquid.
Cam shakes his head. “Piano Man, Piano Man. You know I didn’t do nothin’.”
Todd hands Cam his glass. “Drink it! I saw you put something into my drink.”
“Piano Man’s angry now. And gettin’ crazy too.”
“I said drink it.”
“I’m not going be your friend no more if you keep this up,” mocks the writer. Cam takes Todd’s glass and slugs it back easily. “So what’s the deal?”
“Open your mouth. Let me see what’s in your damn mouth.”
Cam opens his mouth—not a trace of red.
Todd suddenly shoves his hands into Cam’s pockets and pulls out empty linings.
“Looking for something?”
“Yeah, but I don’t really know what it is.” Todd closes his eyes and puts his head in his hands. He breathes hard and suddenly collapses on the floor. Waves of nausea overpower him.
“Cam... Cam... help me.” Droplets of sweat forming on his forehead, Todd looks up but doesn’t see the writer anywhere.
“What the hell? Cam! Cam! Where are you, man?”
But there’s no response. Todd reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of nitroglycerine pills and pops two of them under his tongue.
“This is not funny, Cam.”
Todd struggles to get up and puts the bottle of nitroglycerine on the counter by the sink.
He turns on the faucet but no water comes out. “Great.”
He cranks even harder and a blast of red fluid gushes out. Todd jumps back and the fluid stops. He goes back to the sink and rubs some of the liquid between his fingers. He tastes it—it is definitely blood.
“That’s it. No more.”
He lifts the bottle of Fen Jiu to pour down the sink when it suddenly shatters. “What!”
Todd’s cell phone rings. He grabs it like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get to it to immediately. “Hello.”
Todd is flabbergasted to hear the voice on the other end.
“Todd, where the hell are you? You invite me for a drink and then you lock the door?”
“What are you talking about, Cam? You were here with me just now!”
“Like hell. I stood at your damn door banging away forever and then said screw you. Now I’m keeping Harlan’s sorry ass company. I’ve had so many beers that reject is starting to look good. Come join us?”
“I need the key or something. I can’t get out of the room.”
“Oh for chrissake, Todd, kick the damn door down if it’s stuck. Don’t be such a wuss. If Liang doesn’t have the place working properly, it ain’t your fault.”
Cam hangs up.
Todd slides to the door and reaches for the handle but before he can open it, the door swings open by itself.
He looks but there is no one there.
Todd stumbles into the hallway and the door shuts by itself. No. It just can’t be…
Chapter 19
Todd’s totally losing his mind as he straggles down the street. Everybody and everything seem threatening or suspicious as he trudges down the sidewalk. There’s a haze of mist fogging his mind.
Reality has become surreal.
A rubbie taps him on the back. “Got a couple bucks buddy for some soup?” Todd whips around and pushes him to the ground.
He backs into an old Chinese woman and spins, only to have her snarl at him. “You little white boy think you take over my place. No way. No way. Go back where you come from.” She takes out a cast iron frying pan and tries to hit him with it.
Todd dashes up to a slender figure whose body is like Jasmine’s.
“Jasmine!”
The person maneuvers around to face him and it’s a Chinese transvestite.
“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“You can call me that, honey! I can be Jasmine or Joseph or anybody your little heart desires.”
“Thanks, but no.”
Todd escapes down the street, arriving at the Ho Inn. Through the café window, Todd sees Angela sitting with Cam, having coffee at the same table that he sat with Cam. “You gotta be kidding me.”
He enters the restaurant but the surreality transforms into a kind of disconnected “hyper-reality,” like an out-of-body experience,
He makes his way over to the dining couple. “Hey.”
Cam and Angela not only do not acknowledge the pianist, they are oblivious to him.
Angela shows a Chinese newspaper clipping to Cam. There are two photos: one of Todd, the other of a battered Jasmine.
“Isn’t that him?”
“Sure looks like Piano Man. What’s it say?”
“Damned if I know. Chinese just isn’t very big in Alabama. How did you get this paper?”
“He had it hidden in his backpack.”
Todd screams but again, there’s no recognition from Cam and Angela about his existence. “I did not have it hidden in my backpack. I’ve never even seen these photos.”
Angela stares hard. “Who is she?”
“Why, you interested?”
“I’m not that kinda gi
rl but you sure strike me that you are that kinda man. She’s pretty damn hot if you’re into S and M.”
“Oh, you’re a nasty bitch. Hey, Harlan, what’s this say?”
The husky Chinese waiter comes over and scans the paper.
“Man oh man. It says that Piano Man is a very bad boy. He beat this actress to death at the Double Stars Theater in Beijing. Disappeared without a trace. Asshole.”
Cam pokes Harlan in his enormous gut. “You’re no angel.”
“I only wasted pervs and deviants. I’m a defender of the public.”
Cam pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and jabs it with his index finger. “You guys never want to admit anything.”
Todd shrieks at the group. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. Jasmine was alive when I left.”
There’s an abrupt change in the room. Hyper-reality disappears and life is “normal” again.
Previously ignored, Todd’s presence is very much felt. The muscle-bound Harlan sees Todd and lifts him up over the table. “Hey, man, cool your jets. This is not the establishment to have wacko attacko.”
Harlan drops Todd onto the floor. Todd looks up to the table but Cam and Angela are gone. He stands and grabs Harlan.
“Where’d they go?”
“Where did who go?”
“Angela and Cam. They were sitting at this table.”
“Yeah, right.”
Todd lets go of Harlan. He searches under the table, scans the room, goes behind the bar, but there is no sign of Cam or Angela.
Desperation of an incomprehensible intensity comes through loud and clear although he’s barely whispering.
“Do you know what it’s like to be haunted, knowing you’ve done something wrong? I dream dreams, I see visions. Things I can never forget. Things I wish that I never knew.”
Harlan comes over, disdain for Todd running amok.
“Hey, man, I’m running a business. Cut the crap. Now order something or get lost. Wasted enough time on you already.”
Todd grabs Harlan’s shirt lapels and shakes him. “Where did Cam and Angela go?
“Okay, enough’s enough. We’re done.”
Harlan rips Todd’s hands off his shirt, knocking him down into the chair and onto the floor. “Go home, get some sleep. Sober up. Comprendes, amigo?”
Ghosts of Chinatown Page 8