Vision of Shadows

by Vincent Morrone

  “I don’t know,” Payne said. “Something about yourself. What kind of music do you listen to? I got that you’re not a huge football fan. I’ll have to work on that. But do you play any sports? Any instruments? What kind of movies do you like? Stuff like that.”

  Was he kidding me? What kind of music or movies do I like? We were just talking about decapitated ghosts in denial of their own demise. Now he wanted to know whom I voted for on American Idol?

  It was insane. It was insane because it was normal, wasn’t it? It was normal to talk about music and movies. It was wonderful to talk about them, sitting in a pretty field by a pretty stream while holding hands with a very pretty boy.

  And you know what? It was nice. I found myself there, snuggled under Payne’s arm, talking about things normal teenagers talk about. He made a few mock faces of disgust over my choice of music—Yes, he took the I talk to ghosts better than I listen to Fergie. I moaned when he told me he preferred country, but he also listened to rock, even if it is mostly from older bands he liked to call classic.

  We talked movies. His favorite was Die Hard. When I told him mine was Ghost, he just chuckled and said, “Of course.” We only briefly passed by the subject of sports. He was satisfied I would be happy to root for whatever team he wanted me to as long as he never required me to understand it.

  We traded a few personal stories with an unspoken understanding to keep away from the sad ones and concentrate on the goofy. We both knew the other had seen tragedy in their lives. Neither one of us wanted those gloomy memories to define how we saw each other. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that we would share the more depressing parts of ourselves at a future date. There was no if, just a when.

  Soon enough we arrived at the point in the conversation that I was dreading. Dating history. I silently wished for a spirit to come along and interrupt our little chat. I felt lame beyond belief having to sit there and explain that I was seventeen and I’d never been on a date.

  Then he said two words that, had I not been lying in his arms, would’ve certainly knocked me on my behind.

  “Me neither,” Payne announced with a shrug.

  I sat up so quickly I got lightheaded. “You haven’t been on a date? You, Payne McKnight, have never been on a date with a girl? You”—I waved my arms at him in an attempt to indicate his all-consuming hotness—“have never, not once, even kissed a girl?”

  He shrugged. “No, never. I just…”

  “Yes?” I urged.

  Payne gave me that grin of his. “I guess, every time I’ve been around a girl, there’s been this part of me that just knew they weren’t for me. I always felt like I’d been waiting for someone.” He reached out and gently placed his fingers on my cheek. My skin tingled where he touched. “Someone just for me. It didn’t seem right. I’ve just never been interested in any of the girls I’ve met. Not until you.”

  He looked at me with such intensity; I could feel it. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I wanted to run. I wanted to leap into his arms. I wanted him to take it back because it was simply more than I could handle. But more than everything else, there was a piece of me that felt the same way.

  In short, I was torn between running and doing a happy dance.

  “Bristol,” Payne said, “I know I’m going kinda fast here, and I’m sorry. No, wait…I’m not,” he corrected as he moved even closer to me. So close I could tell what he was leading up to. And I wasn’t moving away. “Bristol, I can’t help it. I feel connected to you. I trust you. I don’t understand it. But I know I don’t want to fight it. I know we haven’t even been on a date yet—”

  “Yet?” I said, my eyes bulging wide. “Payne, I don’t date. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know why you would even want to date me. Of all people, why me? You could have any girl in Spirit.”

  “Bristol,” Payne said. It made me weak, hearing him say my name.

  “Payne,” I countered. “This is nuts.”

  “Why?” he asked. “What am I saying that’s so crazy? Are you saying that you don’t feel the same thing? Bristol, if you don’t like me, I’ll understand. If you’re just not interested, fine, but I think you are.”

  “Payne, of course I… like you, but really, what could you possibly see in me. Is it just possible what you feel is more like fascination?”

  Payne grinned. “I think I am fascinated.”

  “I don’t mean like that,” I complained. “I mean because of… you know… the whole talks to the dead thing. Let’s face it, it’s not every day you get to spend time with someone so freaky that—”

  “Hey.” Payne grabbed both my hands. I stared at him, his beautiful, deep blue eyes gazing down on me, penetrating my soul.

  “I don’t want to ever hear you say that,” Payne insisted. “Do you understand me? I don’t look at you and see a freak. I can’t stand that you think I do. I look at you and see a girl who is kind and funny and wonderful. You helped me when it would have been far easier to stay away from me.

  “Bristol,” Payne continued as he reached out and twirled my hair. “You mean something to me. I feel there’s something between us. I need to ask, do you feel the same way?”

  I couldn’t respond. I lost the ability to speak. It didn’t help that every time Payne touched me like that, I was flooded with flashes of the two of us together; his hands all over me, his mouth covering mine.

  But it wasn’t just the promise of sex. It was so much more.

  All of the reasons why I should be wary of Payne melted away. I was done pretending that I didn’t want this.

  The dreams didn’t matter. The feud between our families was irrelevant. Nothing else mattered.

  Nothing, except the ghost of a small boy who looked terrified beyond belief.

  “Please,” Jared whispered, “can you help me?”

  I put my hand on Payne’s chest. He instantly read my face and knew something was wrong. “What?” he asked.

  “Jared,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Help me,” Jared repeated. “He has my dog.”

  I realized for the first time, Jared had appeared without his beloved dog, Eli.

  “Who does?” I asked. “Who has your dog?”

  My question only served to frighten Jared more, but he didn’t fade away.

  “Jared,” I said. “You can tell us. Who has your dog? Who has Eli?”

  Jared’s panic-filled eyes darted from me to Payne and then back again.

  With a deep breath, Jared spoke. “The man who killed me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Payne’s Secret

  I followed Jared along a path leading to a development of homes. We were headed in the same direction where Payne lived with his father. Something I was sure wasn’t lost on Payne.

  I could feel the rage within Payne. It was as if he were radiating anger, reeking of fury.

  Jared was extraordinarily despondent. I wasn’t even sure if he realized Payne and I were following him. He was stumbling along, his arms still hugging himself, muttering something every now and then.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Payne came behind me and hissed in my ear, “You know where we’re going, don’t you?”

  “Just stay calm,” I urged.

  “Stay calm? Are you—”

  “Shhh,” I commanded. I looked to Jared to make sure Payne hadn’t caused him to fade, but he was still there. “First off, if you get too upset, it might frighten Jared off. Besides, I can feel your anger, and it’s very… distracting.”

  Payne had a rebellious gleam in his eyes, but he held his tongue and made a visible effort to calm down. I could feel the fury within him pull back. It was still there but somehow muted.

  We started to pass by homes I recognized from last night. Beautiful homes with well-maintained lawns and expensive cars in the driveways. We were deep in McKnight territory.

  Jared made a right turn, and I followed. Payne stopped for a moment at the corner. He looked around a moment b
efore catching up with a few quick steps.

  “Wait,” Payne whispered. “Where are you going? My place is down that way.” He pointed behind us.

  I shrugged. “But Jared is heading this way.”

  Payne frowned. I could sense, not only the confusion from him, but a touch of disappointment.

  “But…”

  “Hush.”

  Payne was not happy, but he hushed.

  We kept walking. Jared moved slower now. I watched him carefully, looking for any clue, any hint of what was to come. Jared grew more terrified with each painful step.

  We were passing beyond what I assumed was the McKnight area. The houses looked more average, less expensive. Instead of new Cadillacs, BMWs and Mercedes, there were used Hondas, Fords, and Toyotas. Instead of large three or four story houses, with in-ground pools and long driveways, these were more modest homes.

  Suddenly, Jared came to a halt. I came up behind him, trying to not stop as quickly in case anyone was watching. Payne stayed by my side. Jared glanced at me, showing me he was still aware of my presence.

  “Do you hear him?” Jared asked. “I can hear him now.”

  “Hear what?” I asked. “I don’t…”

  But I did. I could hear the faint but distinct sound of a dog barking. Jared seemed slightly heartened.

  “Eli,” he mumbled as he started to move forward.

  Once again, I followed with Payne. Jared walked faster now, mumbling Eli’s name every few seconds.

  “What’s happening?” Payne asked, unable to stay quiet any longer.

  “He hears him,” I answered.

  “Hears who?” Payne asked. “The guy who killed him?”

  “No,” I said. “Jared hears his dog, Eli.”

  Payne stopped, confused. Then he rushed to catch up.

  “Wait,” Payne said. “That can’t be right.”

  “Why not? I can hear him, too. I can hear Jared’s dog barking,” I explained. “It’s getting louder. We must be getting closer.”

  “Bristol.” Payne grabbed me. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Payne,” I said, “I can hear him barking. I think it’s coming from that house on the corner. Why don’t you believe me?” Through all of this, Payne had never faltered in his belief in me or my abilities. Why would he stop now?

  “Because,” Payne insisted, “I can hear that dog barking, too!”

  I started to pull away to follow Jared, who was now waiting for me at the edge of the corner house. It took me a few seconds, filled with my looking back and forth between Payne and Jared, before I understood what Payne was saying.

  “What do you mean you can hear the dog barking?” I asked. “You can’t hear the dog barking. Not if the dog is dead.”

  Payne shrugged. “What do you want me to tell you? I’m hearing a dog.”

  “That is not possible. It’s not like you can catch what I have.”

  “No kidding,” Payne responded.

  “Then how?” I yelled. “How you can hear a dead dog? Jared can hear a dead dog because it’s his dead dog, and Jared’s dead. I can hear his dead dog because that’s just one of the freaky things I do. So, what is your excuse?” I folded my arms and tapped my foot.

  Payne shrugged. “I was kinda going with the theory that the dog I’m hearing isn’t dead.”

  “Not dead?” I gave myself a mental head slap. “Yes, that makes sense. A living, breathing, barking dog.”

  Payne smiled. “I’m so happy you approve. So, does this mean that this was for nothing? Jared’s just hearing a dog bark and reacting?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “We passed other dogs on the way here. Remember those big, mean looking ones that jumped up on the gate a few blocks back and made me scream?”

  “That’s Uncle Karsten’s place,” Payne said. “They’re Doberman Pinschers. Good guard dogs. Uncle Karsten doesn’t like them cute and cuddly.”

  “Right. Whatever,” I said. “Then there was the little thing we passed, that little yippidy thing.”

  “That was a Brussels Griffon,” Payne explained. “Yeah, he’s annoying. Uncle Devontae doesn’t care for it either, but Aunt Patty loves the little bugger.”

  I placed my hands on my hips and gave my best you’ve got to be kidding me looks. “Uncle Devontae? Uncle Karsten? I guess there is no Uncle Bob in your family?”

  “Yeah, we McKnights tend to go for unique names,” Payne agreed. “So now what?”

  “Payne, do you know who lives here?” I asked.

  “Um, yeah, it’s Mr. Weeder,” Payne said. “He’s the guy who does the gardening for the McKnight homes. Whenever I see him, he’s either gardening or writing in one of his journals. Seems harmless enough.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I said, “that it’s often people who appear harmless that turn out to really be monsters. You know how it goes. People say ‘Oh, he was such a nice, quiet guy. I can’t believe he chopped those girl scouts into brownies!’”

  “Well, that’s pleasant,” Payne said. “You think Mr. Weeder had something to do with Jared’s death?”

  “Could be. Does he drive a black pickup truck? Or did he when Jared was killed?”

  Payne nodded. “Yeah, he does.”

  “Well, he’s a gardener, right?” I reasoned. “That would mean he would probably have a shovel handy in his truck if he needed it, right?”

  “But that’s not enough. We need more.”

  “True,” I said. “But if we were in front of your house, you wouldn’t be waiting before rushing in to do Lord knows what to your father.”

  “Yeah, well,” Payne murmured. “Look, what about the dog? You’ve always said you saw Eli with Jared. Why would he think his dog was here now?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “But my uncle never mentioned finding the dog buried with Jared. I couldn’t figure a way to ask, but I’m pretty sure I would have heard something. Wouldn’t he have buried them together if he killed them together?”

  “Okay,” Payne said. “That still doesn’t explain how Eli can be alive when you’ve seen his ghost.”

  I thought back over my history with the dead, trying to think of something that could make sense out of all of this. Then it hit me.

  “Mr. Whiskers!” I exclaimed.

  Payne didn’t jump, but he did look at me like I had lost my mind.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Whiskers,” I repeated. “It makes perfect sense. It explains everything.”

  “Who’s Mr. Whiskers, and how does he explain everything? He’s not um…” Payne whispered. “Here?”

  I watched as Payne glanced about nervously. It was kind of cute.

  “No,” I explained. “There is no Mr. Whiskers here. As far as I know, Mr. Whiskers is still alive.”

  “Well, good for Mr. Whiskers?”

  “Listen,” I said. “Mr. Whiskers belonged to a ghost I met a few years ago. Concetta Cassandra Carmichael. She was this really old lady who’d died in her sleep. She spent a few nights with me, correcting my posture, criticizing my table manners, driving me nuts.”

  “Sounds like a fun gal,” Payne said. “Did Mr. Whiskers kill her?”

  I sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Never,” Payne replied.

  “Mr. Whiskers was her cat. Well, one of her cats. She had forty. Mr. Pussems, Mr. Sweetie, Mr. Kit-Cat, Mr. Fluffy…”

  “Okay, okay,” Payne interrupted. “I get it! She had a bunch of cats, each with a name more ludicrous than the last.”

  “The point is,” I continued, “Mr. Whiskers was her favorite. I don’t know why. She never told me anything that made sense. Ugly little cat, if you ask me. Didn’t do anything.”

  “I’m a dog person,” Payne said.

  “The point is, Mr. Whiskers wasn’t dead,” I said. “He was still back at the house being pampered by all of Mrs. Carmichael’s nieces and nephews, along with the rest of her cats. Something about the will being divided up by who took care of the cats. The more cats
you adopted, the bigger of a percentage you got.”

  “I know I’m going to regret this,” Payne said, “but why didn’t everyone just each take an equal amount of cats?”

  “It wasn’t up to them, silly,” I replied. “The cats got to choose who they went to. Mrs. Carmichael hired a cat expert to watch. Make sure no untoward influence was placed on the cats.”

  “Untoward influence?” Payne asked. “You know what, never mind.”

  “My point,” I continued, “was the entire time Mrs. Carmichael was there, so was Mr. Whiskers. Even though Mr. Whiskers was still alive and being fed pâté on a fluffy, red pillow, Mrs. Carmichael was simply projecting the cat. It must have been too much for the old biddy to be without all of her feline friends.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that makes sense. But why would Jared suddenly realize Eli was just a projection and not real?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe he saw Eli for real. Maybe our finding his body gave him what he needed to face it? We may never know. Would you recognize Eli after all this time? He wouldn’t be a puppy anymore.”

  “No, but when he was little, he got caught in a barbed wire fence. That’s how Jared and I found him. Poor little pup was doing that high pitched, doggy cry. We got him free and nursed him back to health. He has a few scars if you know where to look.”

  Payne looked at me. Then he looked at the house, and I knew what he was going to do.

  “Payne!”

  “Just stay here,” he ordered. Without waiting for me to respond, Payne jogged over to the house and hopped over the fence.

  I wanted to call out to him but knew it would be a bad idea. I didn’t want to draw attention to what he was doing. For all I knew, Mr. Weeder could be home. I didn’t see any truck, but there was a garage.

  Jared looked to me. “Make sure that Payne takes care of Eli. Okay?”

  I looked at Jared, rolled my eyes, and nodded. “Sure, kid. Stay here.”

  Then I made my way toward the house. The fence wasn’t very high, clearly designed to keep a dog inside, not an intruder out. It was a chain metal fence that ran the length of the yard.