Rain of the Ghosts

by Greg Weisman

  He kept his hand on her shoulder. She placed hers on his. “Really, Papa. I feel good. Thanks.”

  “You … are welcome.” Then, with a grunt, he hoisted himself up onto his feet. The old wound was really killing him tonight. “Just put the milk away, okay? I’m beat.”

  “Sure, Papa.” As he limped out the door, she gathered up the milk carton, the cereal box and his bowl. Another bolt of lightning flashed outside. The thunder came a full second later. The storm seemed to be moving on.

  She listened to ’Bastian’s footsteps as he slowly climbed the back stairs to his third-floor room. Then she rinsed out the bowl and spoon. Put away the milk, the cereal, and her own unused bowl. She crossed back through the dining room and into the lobby.

  Her father was there, checking in yet another late arrival. This one was a very tall woman with long black hair. She smiled at Rain. Red lips and dark eyes. Rain smiled back politely and headed up the front stairs.

  Rain’s room was on the second floor. First door on the left, facing Goodfellow Lane. As she reached the top of the stairs, her mother came out of the guest room across the hall. “We serve breakfast from seven to ten.”

  Callahan filled the doorway. His eyes looked past Iris to Rain, who glanced over her shoulder at him, before pulling out her key and unlocking her room. Iris didn’t notice. She was in hostess mode. “Please, let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay a pleasant one.”

  Callahan’s brow furrowed. “Get back to you on that,” he said.

  Rain shuddered involuntarily. Iris didn’t see it but somehow sensed it and turned toward her daughter. Rain smiled, shrugged at her mother and entered her room, closing—and locking—the door behind her. There was no doubt about it. This Callahan guy gave her the creeps in a major way.

  But he didn’t occupy her mind for long. She paused in front of the dresser mirror to admire her new armband. She had to admit it did look pretty cool around her biceps. “I’m hip,” she said aloud. She giggled. Then she carefully removed it from her arm and placed it on the nightstand. It was late, and she was going waterskiing in the morning. She quickly got ready for bed and turned out the light.

  Soon the steady beat of the rain had lulled her to sleep. While outside, Maq and I stood vigil in the downpour, all through the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE GHOSTS

  Somewhere along the line, I’d been dubbed “Opie.” It wasn’t my real name, of course, but I’d gotten used to it, and at any rate I wasn’t one to complain. I spent most of my time with an old beach bum that the locals knew as “Maq” (though that wasn’t his true name either). I was Maq’s best friend, and he was mine. We disagreed sometimes, but considering we were never too sure where our next meal was coming from, we got along just fine.

  Maq and I know things.

  Lately, he’s grown a bit scattered, but Maq can see into the future. No joke. He knew we’d find lunch behind the Versailles Hotel, and that night he had us standing outside the Nitaino for Rain’s reawakening before she even got to the kitchen. When the snake’s golden glow lit up her eyes, we could both feel it from the street—and despite the weather, it warmed us to our bones.

  I couldn’t see the future. I could guess at it like anyone. And I had a more-than-decent memory for the past. But my real talent was the present. I knew what was happening—wherever it was happening—now. I knew what was being done. I knew what was being said. I even knew what was being thought. It came in handy, given my line of work, but it’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

  Still, that’s why Maq and I made such a great team. We complemented each other. I handled the here and now; he handled the yet to come. Had to be that way. He was (to say the least) a bit vague on the present.

  At present, Rain was dreaming. All through the night, she had slept the sleep of the dead. But just before sunrise, rapidly behind closed lids, her eyes began to track back and forth in her skull. She was alone on cobblestone streets. Surrounded by shadows seeking to hem her in. She ran, breathing hard, frightened. Bernie Cohen blocked her course. She tried to slip past, but his garish shirt seemed to swell up to fill the lane, and his increasing bulk forced her away. She stumbled backward, turned, tripped, fell to her knees. Tourists loomed above her. Bernie Cohen, Maude Cohen, Rebecca Sawyer and the shadows of a hundred others she had served breakfast to at the Inn, had carried bait for on the boat.

  ’Bastian called out to her. Her parents, too. She could barely get her legs and arms to move; she crawled as if through Sycorax Honey, desperate to reach her family. ’Bastian pointed. The armband lay on the ground before her, shining gold. The Key! Just out of reach. She struggled forward, aware she was being pursued. She glanced back over her shoulder. Callahan! Gaining on her with every lightning strike. Gaining; he would catch her. She found her hand grasping the armband. She turned to look. The two golden snakes were wrapped around her biceps. They had come to life, growing, binding, constricting her entire body. The blue-eyed serpent opened wide its black maw, threatening to swallow her whole. She screamed silently at her parents … wordlessly begged her grandfather for help … but they simply nodded their approval.… Darkness.

  And then the smallest fragment of light. Glowing white like a frosted Christmas bulb behind her. She turned to find a hand reaching to pull her out. She lunged for it; she couldn’t reach; she couldn’t reach. I can’t reach you! She caught hold. The hand pulled her from the darkness into the frosty light. Into winter snow. I’ve never seen snow! She was in a city. A big city frosted with beautiful lights and snow, black and white, like old movies. It was wonderful. She was so grateful. So grateful. But who had pulled her out? She turned. A woman. A very tall woman with dark hair, dark eyes and a kind smile. She knew this woman. From somewhere. Somewhere.

  “You don’t belong back there,” the woman said gently. “Leave it all behind.”

  Rain nodded. That’s right. That’s right.

  “You have the whole world to explore,” the woman said warmly. “There’s so much to see.”

  Rain could only nod. So grateful. So much to see. She wandered forward. The snow was white and warm and glowed softly, quietly. So much to see.

  She turned a corner to find Charlie waiting. He cocked his head. “What took you so long?”

  She shrugged. So much to see. The snow melted away, leaving a big world in bright warm hues. Tall purple skyscrapers. A bright orange calliope. A red carousel with every horse in the rainbow. Her best friend beside her. And so much to see. This is where I belong. I don’t want to go back.

  But in her bedroom—in her bed—she began to stir. Something nagged at her, something that seemed to pull her out of this pleasant dream, this vision of her and Charlie walking through a color-drenched cartoon of New York City. Funhouse music, new surroundings, the arrival of Daffy Duck—none of it could hold her.

  There was a man in her room.

  She was aware of him watching before she had even opened her eyes. The dream faded to black. Charlie and Daffy disappeared. She caught one last glimpse of the beautiful Tall Woman, and then she was alone with the intruder. He was reaching for her. She tried to pull away but could barely manage a cringe. Did his hand graze her skin? She felt nothing tangible—just a chill that wracked her body like a spasm. She tried to speak, but it took all her strength to move her lips, and no sound came out. Finally, she forced her eyes open. The room was still dark. But he was still there. Looming over her bed. Reaching for her again. Black hair. Broad shoulders. She managed to shrink back against her headboard.

  This time she made herself speak, each syllable a massive effort, almost painful. “Who—are—you?”

  Dawn came. Rays of morning sunlight streamed in through her window. For just a second, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden glare. She reopened them immediately and thought she caught a glimpse of his silhouette moving fast toward her nightstand. Her head turned to follow the movement, but he wasn’t there. Just her grandfather’s armba
nd, cheerfully reflecting the sun. She scanned the room. Rubbed her eyes. Looked again. There was no man. Awake now in a light-filled space, there was no man. Breathing hard, she leapt to her feet. Stood there in her pajamas, unsure. Then she checked the door. Locked. The windows. Locked. Under the bed. Nothing. With dread, she opened the closet. Jammed with stuff but no bodies. With greater dread now, the bathroom. No one hiding in the shower. And behind the door … absolutely no one.

  It had all been a dream. And the dark man, just a remnant of that dream. The ghost of a remnant. She looked at the clock. A good two hours remained before she needed to leave the Inn. She sighed and started her day. She’d shower when she got back from the water, but she washed her face and brushed her teeth without ever letting her eyes stray from the mirror. No ghosts were going to sneak up on Rain Cacique. She brushed her long hair and braided it into the thick rope she favored. Got dressed. She paused over ’Bastian’s armband. If she lost it on the water, she’d never forgive herself. And besides …

  She left it on the nightstand and went downstairs. As she walked through the lobby, she remembered the Tall Woman who had checked in the night before. On a whim, she checked the guest register:

  Rebecca Sawyer, Hannibal, MO

  Mr. & Mrs. John DeLancy, San Francisco

  Terry Chung and Elizabeth Ellis-Chung, Cambridge, Mass.

  Callahan

  Judith Vendaval, New York.

  The Tall Woman was from New York. The dream was already fading away, but Rain still recalled the friendly smile and the wintry streets of the city. Had Rain seen Ms. Vendaval sign the book the night before or had she guessed the woman’s home from her sophisticated clothes or was it all just a big coincidence? She shrugged it off and closed the book. Maybe she’d see the lady at breakfast.

  Her mother was already up and cooking. Rain helped serve the guests. Neither Ms. Vendaval nor Callahan (nor any dark ghost) came down to eat, but the DeLancys were demanding enough that she didn’t miss the extra work. As it was, Rain still had to wash the dishes, fold some towels in the laundry room and beg Iris to make the beds for her. By the time she met Charlie at the docks, she had all but forgotten how her morning had begun.

  Miranda was waiting at the gate to the Columbia Yacht Club. She seemed immediately relieved to see them, as if she hadn’t been sure they were going to show up.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up,” she said. Rain looked at Charlie and rolled her eyes. He elbowed her to lay off.

  Miranda led them down a gangway to a sleek thirty-foot twin-engine speedboat. It was brand new, and Rain figured it was worth about ten times her dad’s charter. A woman in her late twenties with short blond hair and tan skin held out her hand to help Miranda board. Rain and Charlie followed. As an afterthought, Miranda said, “Oh, this is Ariel.” Rain and Charlie both said hi. But the woman only nodded silently and untied the line. She took the helm and piloted the boat smoothly out onto the water beyond Pueblo Harbor.

  On most any map, they were labeled the Prospero Keys: a chain of tropical islands on the edge of the Bermuda Triangle—southeast of Florida, midway between the Bahamas and Cuba. Locals, however, never referred to the Prosperos by their official name. To the native born, they were the Ghost Keys, or simply, “The Ghosts.”

  The Keys were an American Territory. The main industry was tourism, but there were also substantial fishing and agricultural interests, a U.S. military base and burgeoning industrial growth. The capital city, Pueblo de San Próspero (where Rain and Charlie were both born and raised), was a medium-sized destination resort. Tourist trade made it seem bigger than it really was. For full-time residents, the Pueblo was really just a small town on the edge of the jungle where everybody knew everybody else’s name, business and secrets.

  There were eight islands. San Próspero was the largest. Sycorax Island was a ferry ride to the west. Five others arced to the northeast in a gentle curve: Tío Samuel, Malas Almas, Ile de la Géante, Teatro de Fantasmas and a strip of sand that locals called “The Pebble.” The eighth island, Isla Soraya, was some small distance south of the other seven.

  Miranda’s father’s boat took the kids beyond the already crowded Próspero Bay and into the Florida Straits. Ariel cut the engine and immediately began helping the three teens get prepped. Charlie and Miranda were gamely trying to generate some small talk between them. But Rain watched Ariel. There was something strangely compelling about the woman. It wasn’t simply that she was beautiful. It was the way she went about her business. There was a precision, an economy of movement. There was nothing loose about her. She never spoke; in fact, she might have been a mute for all Rain knew. She seemed somehow coiled and ready to spring.

  Miranda still felt nervous around Rain, as if Rain had put her on some kind of probation, which wasn’t exactly an inaccurate assessment. Trying to gain some points, Miranda asked her new companion if she wanted to go first. Rain jumped at the chance, and a few minutes later she was out on the water, wind and spray in her face. An electric guitar was rockin’ out fifties-style in her head as she rode the single wide ski and called out for Ariel to open her up. Ariel complied, and Rain’s smile broadened with the increased velocity. All thoughts of school and tourists and unfulfilled dreams were forgotten. She was in the moment. She was free.

  Back on the boat, Charlie and Miranda watched as Rain began sliding her ski back and forth across the boat’s wake, getting a little bit of air with each pass. Miranda was impressed. “Wow. She’s great.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said dreamily. He was in major crush mode, and Miranda immediately picked up on it and turned to look at him. Charlie caught the look and snapped himself out of it. “I mean her skiing.”

  Miranda nodded. She was mildly disappointed. The hug she had caught them in the night before had been a tip-off, but Charlie was really nice, and she had thought maybe … Still it was good to know. These were her first friends since moving home. She definitely didn’t want to come between them. She did wonder if Rain felt the same way about Charlie, or even if she knew how he felt. It didn’t seem like they were a real couple.

  Meanwhile, Charlie was babbling. “See, this is her routine. She’s got it down to a science. Wake-jumping. And look, left hand in the air. She’s gonna do a turn-around.” On cue, Rain, holding on with just her right hand, executed a sweet three-sixty on her ski. For a split-second, she released the line completely then grabbed for it again with her left hand.

  And missed! Instantly, she started to lose it. A look of panic swept over her face as she wiped out big time.

  Charlie shouted, “Rain!”

  And Miranda: “Stop! Stop the boat!” Ariel was already decelerating and bringing it around. She had the speedboat dead in the water within five seconds, but they had already lost sight of Rain. Charlie was ready to dive in—in fact they all were—when Rain’s ski abruptly popped up to the surface without her. Charlie froze. Exactly three more seconds passed.

  Rain surfaced, sputtering. Fine, but embarrassed, she treaded water and waved sheepishly. Ariel pulled the boat alongside, and Rain climbed aboard. Charlie glared. Rain shrugged. “Whoops.”

  Charlie took his turn skiing. Then Miranda. Rain again. Charlie. Miranda. As Charlie helped Miranda back aboard, Rain offered to take the boat and let Ariel go next. Ariel looked at her. Then she shook her head; it was a tiny back and forth movement, just exactly what was necessary to convey the message “no.” Maybe she is mute, Rain thought.

  They headed back to the bay, to the harbor. Ariel at the helm. The three kids stood on the deck, enjoying the sun and the salt air. Rain toweled off, then suddenly turned to Charlie. “Oh, I had the weirdest dream this morning.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You were in it. And this woman—a new guest at the Inn. I don’t remember exactly. I think we were all in New York City.”

  “What would you know about New York City?”

  “I watch television. Duh. Anyway, the dream changed, and I was back in my ro
om. There was a man standing over me. It felt so real, I jumped out of bed.”

  “That’s creepy,” Charlie said. He glanced over Rain’s shoulder at Miranda. Rain had virtually turned her back on the new girl, and Miranda was clearly feeling unincluded and borderline lonely. She took a step away.

  “I searched the entire room,” Rain was saying. Charlie tapped her knee with one hand and nodded toward Miranda. Rain turned. “Hmm?”

  She took another look at the girl. As much as Rain wanted to leave the Ghosts, it must be even tougher to come back here to stay. The place was so insular. Rain and Charlie were so insular. So self-sufficient. A wave of empathy washed over Rain. “Miranda?” she said. Miranda turned toward her.

  “¿Hablas español?” Rain asked.

  “Hey, wait!” Charlie sputtered. This was backfiring.

  Miranda’s eyes ping-ponged between them. Cautiously, she said, “Si. Por supuesto.”

  Charlie shook his head, mock furious. “I seem to recall that English is the official language of the Ghost Keys.”

  Rain ignored him and leaned toward Miranda conspiratorially. “Que bueno. Porque Charlie no habla y esto le vuelve loco.”

  Charlie recognized the word loco, knew Rain was trying to drive him crazy and bellowed, “ENOUGH!” at the top of his lungs. The girls laughed. Charlie shook his head. But he saw how Miranda was smiling. How Rain had finally opened up and let her in. It was a good thing, even if it had been at his expense. Soon he was smiling too.

  “Thanks, you guys,” Miranda said. “I mean, thanks for coming today.”

  Charlie shrugged, “Free boat, good weather.”

  And Rain, “You did make it hard.” They all laughed again.

  Maq was down on the beach, bumming French fries off the tourists, but I wanted to see this in person, so I was watching from about twenty yards down the dock when Ariel eased the boat into its slip. The kids all jumped down as one to tie it off. Rain was saying, “You know the End of Summer Party is Sunday night at the N.T.Z.… unless it rains.”