The First Ghost

by Marguerite Butler

  I swallowed. I had no idea so many ghosts could exist in one place. “There’s so many of them.”

  Hephzibah nodded solemnly. “Now you know why the Reclaimers were called forth. Things were getting crowded. Used to be that everyone was eager to cross over, but people ain’t got faith no more. They don’t believe, doll.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move. One minute the shadow was part of the wall, the next it was part of a rolling cart. I tried to fix on the image, but the shadow melted into the other shadows in the waiting room and I lost track of it.

  “See something, doll?” Hephzibah asked sharply.

  “I thought I saw a shadow walk.”

  Hephzibah closed her eyes. “Oh, damn. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to see this for a long time.”

  “See what?”

  From the other side of the room, another shadow moved so quickly I barely had time to register the shape of a man with too-long arms, more gorilla than human. It loped along on its hands and feet.

  “Reclaimers!” shrieked a woman. “Reclaimers!”

  Chapter 12

  Ghosts screamed, fleeing in all directions, and the shadows moved. Shady figures crawled from every crevice. They swarmed the room, grabbing for ghosts with their thick arms.

  Reclaimers swarmed the stringy-haired ghost in front of me, wrapping their arms completely around him. Dark shadows covered his mouth and arms. He was immobilized, but his eyes bugged with fear.

  The Reclaimers made a noise, deep inside their featureless faces. I felt the rumble in my chest before I heard it. It started as a low hum that made everything vibrate and tremble. The tile floor cracked, splitting open, melting away tile until it was a hot maw with jagged tiles like teeth, spewing a weird, deep blue fire. The indigo flames seemed to have a life of their own and reached up like grabbing hands. More Reclaimers poured from the hole.

  It might not look like any fire I’d seen before, but the heat searing my skin was real enough to make me draw my feet up into the chair. Blue flames raced across the floor, crawled up the walls and over the lights until everything was darkness and heat and sound.

  A woman wiggled loose enough to scream, but her mouth was quickly covered again as Reclaimers dragged their thrashing prey into the hole. One youngster, barely more than a teenager, made a break from his hiding place. He skimmed the ceiling, heading for the back wall. A hand lashed out of the pit and snaked around his ankle with a hideous popping sound.

  The low hum rose to a shattering wail. I clapped my hands over my ears, unable to bear the building decibels. The sound hammered at me like a fist. Two more hands caught the boy around his knees and waist. The teenager scrabbled helplessly on the floor as he was pulled down into the dark flames. I couldn’t hear his screams, but his mouth was locked open with terror.

  An absolute silence blanketed the chaos. The floor tiles stretched like closing lips until the crevice sealed.

  Oblivious, the living walked, read, chewed gum, checked watches.

  “It’s over, doll. Sit up,” Hephzibah said. I had curled into a fetal position on the chair.

  I gradually uncurled. “That’s what will happen to Corinne?”

  “She has until midnight tomorrow. Then the mark will fade.”

  I shivered. “What about Starla? How long does she have?” Tears collected in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I couldn’t let this happen to Corinne after she had been through so much.

  “Starla’s time is up, doll. She died before Corinne. She’s in play.”

  I couldn’t let it happen to either woman. “I’ve got to warn her. Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”

  Hephzibah shook her head.

  “There you are. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Ethan crossed the same floor that had been a gateway to hell only moments before. “Who’s this?”

  “Oh, shit,” Hephzibah muttered. “Forgot I’m not invisible.”

  “Not too long,” I said. “This is, uh…”

  “Helen. I’m an old friend of Portia’s mom. Me and her family go way back. I’m here visiting friends. Got to go, doll. See you soon.” She tottered off down the hall. Fortunately, Ethan turned around and didn’t see Hephzibah walk through the back wall.

  “I need to finish marking a few things on a chart and sign off on something and I’m done.” He glanced around. “Sorry for making you wait. This place can be pretty grim.”

  You have no idea. “Just hurry. I’m starving and I need a drink like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Great.” He looked up at me. “I can’t wait to hear about your first day with the new job.”

  A nurse in pink floral scrubs walked up. “One more, Ethan?”

  “I haven’t even finished the paperwork on the last one, Lisa, and I need to be going.”

  The nurse looked at me with pleading eyes. “Can you spare him for a few more minutes? We’re really shorthanded.”

  I had made reservations at a very nice French place. I glanced at my watch.

  “Excuse me?” A frazzled woman in a baggy coat tapped the nurse on her shoulder. “How much longer?”

  “I’m working on it. If you’ll have a seat over there, someone will be with you shortly.”

  Behind the frazzled woman, a girl with enormous eyes had a dish cloth wrapped around her hand.

  “Is this your little girl?” Ethan crossed over to her and knelt down. “What’s your name?”

  “Lucy.”

  I could barely hear her soft voice.

  “Nice to meet you, Lucy. My name is Dr. Ethan.” He glanced over at me and I nodded.

  “Do what you need to,” I said.

  “What seems to be the problem, Lucy?”

  “She was helping me in the kitchen and her hand slipped. We were cutting vegetables,” the mother said.

  Ethan smiled. “Do you like vegetables, Lucy?”

  “No, but I like to cook,” she said.

  Ethan peeled back the dish cloth a little. It had a lot of blood in it. “That’s a yucky cut on your thumb. It’s going to need stitches. But we can take care of you right away.” He looked up at the pink nurse. “Do we have an empty room, Lisa?”

  It was another two hours before we left. The ghosts who had escaped the Reclaimers never came back. I read the magazines and then wandered around chatting up the nurses. The consensus was that Dr. Ethan Feller was quite a catch, which left me to wonder why such a catch was still on the market.

  Nobody said anything, but I could see the smirks and half smiles as the nurses noticed my height.

  I called Le Cuisine and cancelled the reservations, despite the snooty man on the other end who informed me that no one ever cancelled Le Cuisine.

  “Well, let me be your first. Something’s come up. An emergency.” That was sort of true. “We won’t be there.”

  I was half-asleep, curled in one of the vinyl chairs, when a hand on my shoulder woke me. Ethan squatted down next to my chair. “Sorry about that. Things always take longer than you would think.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, and it really was.

  “I know a great Mediterranean place right around the corner,” he said. “It’s not fancy, but the food is good and it’s open late.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He looked down. “Your feet must be killing you in those heels. How about I bring the car around and pick you up?”

  * * * *

  The Mediterranean place was fun. Lounging on the oversized pillows piled on the floor around low tables made me feel like a character in Arabian Nights. Waitresses in belly-dancing costumes brought platters of meats and mysterious sauces with pita breads and salads.

  I steered clear of the onions and feta cheese. Not good date food. But we enjoyed feeding each other grapes and dates and giggling.

  We also consumed a great deal of a milky drink called ouzo. It was vile the first time I tasted it, but on each subsequent drink, it tasted better. Either that or my tongue was getting numb.<
br />
  Byblos was dimly lit, and we took full advantage of the soft lantern glow to cuddle as I told Ethan in hilarious detail about Dr. Seleman fixing the fax machine. Well, he did laugh, but maybe it was the ouzo. I skipped all mention of Ruth, but described the other secretaries in savage detail.

  I took a long drink of ouzo. “I don’t know what’s in this, but I don’t think I can walk.”

  He leaned both elbows on the table. “Me either. And I definitely can’t drive. We’re gonna have to call a cab.”

  “You look good in the lamplight.” He had a warm skin tone anyway, but the flickering light made him glow. His hair was a little too long and starting to curl at his collar. I reached up to touch it absently.

  “Time for a haircut,” he said.

  I traced the strong curve of his jaw. “Why aren’t you married?”

  He pulled back from my hand. “Should I be?”

  I dropped my head onto the table with a thunk. “That isn’t what I meant to say.” My voice was muffled against the table.

  He pulled my head up gently. “I almost was.”

  “So what happened?” I so did not want to be having this conversation, but I couldn’t stop myself. This was why I rarely drank. Blabbermouth.

  “She got tired of sitting home alone while I was working. I guess I was gone too much. So she found someone else.”

  “That is so sad.”

  He looked down. “A little. She didn’t want me anymore.”

  “My last boyfriend wanted me,” I said.

  “But you left him?”

  “He wanted every other woman he met too. He was a drummer,” I added as if this explained it.

  “We can want each other.”

  “That would be nice.”

  It was a drunken kiss, a little sloppy, but very enthusiastic. He lurched to his feet and found our waitress, who had been hiding discreetly in the kitchen. A flash of plastic took care of the bill and got us a cab ride to my apartment with my head resting on Ethan’s shoulder. I had to scooch down a little in my seat, but it was still nice.

  The cab smelled like the restaurant we had just left. Actually, the cab driver had the same accent as our waitress. She probably called a brother or brother-in-law or cousin or friend to come and take her drunken patrons home.

  Billy needed to pee. He didn’t care that I was drunk and horny. After tending to the dog, I was a little less inebriated, but no less needy.

  Ethan let me get inside the door and hang Billy’s leash on the peg that usually held my jacket. He helped with the removal of said jacket and drew me over to the couch.

  Instead of sitting right next to me, he sat at the other end and lifted one foot into his lap, unzipping the boot and sliding it off. He massaged the arch of my foot with practiced hands, sliding up my calf. “You shouldn’t wear heels that high. It puts a strain on your toes.” He caressed them. “The balls of your feet. Your ankles.” His hands slid higher. “Your calf muscles.” He released my leg. My eyes opened. I didn’t remember closing them.

  He lifted the other foot and repeated the motion. This time he didn’t stop at my calf. I lay back on the couch and groaned.

  The phone rang and time stopped.

  I blinked. “I won’t answer that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not a doctor. I can ignore my phone for a little while.”

  “Or a long while.” A slow smile spread across his face.

  “Oh, wow.”

  The phone kept ringing. The machine picked up. “This is Susie Simpson. Corinne’s aunt?”

  I flew across the room and snatched up the receiver. “Hello? This is Portia.” I smiled weakly at a befuddled Ethan. “Um, sure. I can pick you up at the airport. It’s no problem. When?” I wrote down the flight information and hung up. “I’m sorry. My friend is coming into town. I had to take that.”

  He crossed the room to me. “You’re a good friend.”

  “She’s not from the city. I hate the idea of her here alone, not knowing anyone.”

  He took my hand. “Where were we?” He stretched up to kiss me. I leaned in and met him halfway, lips stroking lips. His tongue slipped in, caressing mine and starting a sweet ache.

  I should have dated a doctor a long time ago. He knew what he was doing with his hands. There was no fumbling as he kneaded my neck, shoulders, back and lower. Magic hands.

  We pushed and pulled one another back to the couch, moving clothes aside. I pulled my sweater over my head. We unbuttoned his shirt together as I trailed little kisses down his chest, following the trail of hair down until he gasped.

  Ethan pulled me up to him and took me in his arms. The first skin-on-skin contact was electric.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my breast.

  I think I would have taken him right then and there on the couch. His mouth was doing incredible things to my breasts and stomach, trailing lower until I was the one gasping and sighing. And the hands.

  Have I mentioned his hands?

  A small inkling of common sense reminded me that we were hardly randy teenagers. We didn’t have to settle for fumbling on the couch. I stood up and pulled him to his feet, then led him to my bedroom, remembering to put the dog out of the room and close the door.

  * * * *

  I went three days without unmasking the owner of the burritos. I did narrow it down to management or one of the scientists, and something about the cheap, frozen burritos didn’t say upper management to me. They had to belong to one of the scientists.

  During this time, I started to slip into a workable rhythm. I also received flowers from Ethan. Pink roses. Very nice. I managed to keep the scientists from completely dismantling the equipment, although I did find Dr. Tamaguchi trying to unjam the copier. He had pulled out the paper drawers and spirited the sorter shelf away from the main unit, but no real damage was done. At least he was very tidy about it, the complete opposite to Dr. Seleman. Dr. Tamaguchi never went anywhere without a crisp white lab coat that never seemed to wrinkle, a white shirt and gray slacks. He never had a hair out of place.

  I never did learn to tell the differences in the research assistants. Ted, Tom, Trey and Whatever were still interchangeable to me.

  But Friday was Friday. I was cheered by the thought of a date with Ethan and only slightly stressed about Sunday dinner with my family.

  I like a super hot, borderline scalding shower, and my bathroom was a steam chamber. I stepped out, wrapping one thick towel around my body and a smaller one around my hair. When my hand wiped the moisture off the mirror, I peered into Starla’s face.

  “Agh! Don’t do that!”

  “Someone hasn’t spent enough time on the Stairmaster lately,” she said.

  “How dare you? I haven’t seen you since the demon attack and you just show up playing peeping Thomasina in my bathroom?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Get out.”

  She pouted. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. Get out of my bathroom. I’ll speak to you in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll do what I want.”

  “Fine. If you aren’t interested in what the detective had to say...”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Kitchen,” I said.

  She flounced as much as a ghost can. I didn’t have too much time. I needed to get ready for work. I dressed and combed through my wet hair.

  Starla hovered sullenly in the kitchen. “Happy now?”

  As if. “Fierro went to talk to Joby.”

  “That’s the detective guy? What did he say? Joby, I mean. Did he admit anything?”

  “Joby claims you called him from California and that he sent you your stuff.”

  Starla is creative when it comes to swearing. I never would have thought to put the words kangaroo and dick together like that. Not wanting to waste time, I moisturized while I waited for her to finish. Then I pulled out my stand-up mirror from the cabinet and sat down at the table to put on mak
eup. The light in my bathroom is cruddy, so I always get ready in the kitchen.

  By the time she finally wore down, I had on base and blush and was working on my eyes.

  “Don’t worry. Fierro isn’t a fool. He knows Joby is lying, but it’s not enough for the warrant. We’re still working on it. I need information. First of all–” I paused to make the dopey, openmouthed face necessary for putting on mascara. “Where have you been for the last several days?”

  “I’ve learned a new trick.”

  I was almost afraid to ask. “A trick?”

  “Watch.” She swiped her hand through my coffee mug. “Shoot.” She did it again. “Dammit! This should work.” She slapped the mug for a third time and it crashed to the floor, splattering the last teaspoon of liquid left over.

  “There,” she said smugly. “I’m a poltergeist now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nice. But you’re not a poltergeist.”

  “I am so. I’m haunting them.”

  “You’re just an angry ghost. I take it you’ve been haunting Joby?”

  “And his little whore. Joby’s so twitchy he’s called in sick to work and Wanda’s gone to visit her mama.”

  I recalled seeing Lincoln swat the cup at the police station. “How do you do that anyway?” I puckered up to put on lip gloss.

  “I don’t know. I concentrate real hard and think ‘solid.’ I have a talent for it.”

  “You shouldn’t waste time playing spook. This is serious.”

  “Yeah, my murderer is getting away.”

  “I mean it, Starla. If you see the shadows move, run.”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re creeping me out.”

  “Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean bad things can’t happen to you. You aren’t safe until you cross over. Got it?”

  “I’m getting my revenge where I can.”

  I put down my mirror and turned to face her. “Fierro has questions.”

  She drifted closer. “Like what?”

  “Like when exactly did you die? And where?”

  “I told you. I was in a car. And it was a Saturday. I died the Saturday before Corinne did.” She sighed. “Joby was so sweet when we started dating. I never had a man so nice. It was two whole months of heaven. Then we got hitched.