by Stuart Jaffe
"So what? I'm already dead."
"I'm not," Max yelled.
Drummond rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. I promise I won't haunt people to help us out."
With two raps on the door, Sandra walked in. "Knock, knock," she said.
"Honey?" Max rushed over to greet her, his mind racing for an excuse if she heard any of his argument with Drummond.
Sandra looked around the room before placing a wonderful smelling bag on the desk. "I brought dinner."
"How sweet."
"Well, with all you've been dealing with, I haven't seen you much. Besides, last night —"
Max hugged her. "Thanks, hon."
"Hey," Drummond said. "Don't stop her. I want to hear about last night."
Sandra shot a nasty look in Drummond's direction. As Max pulled out the fried chicken dinner, Drummond moved closer and said, "Um, I think she can see me, Max."
Max and Sandra traded stunned eyes and both said, "What? You can see him?"
Chapter 15
Over the next few hours, Max and Drummond listened as Sandra told them of her long history with the dead. It began at the age of thirteen when she saw the ghost of a neighbor shortly after the neighbor's wake. From then on, it never stopped. She spoke with the dead sometimes. Mostly she ignored them.
She glossed over much of her story, and Max did not press her for details. Her unusual shy behavior as she spoke told him to back off. Besides, he had enough imagination to paint in the missing parts — he saw the struggle she endured, the attempt to blot it out through destructive behavior, and finally, the acceptance of her ability. And after awhile, it became a regular part of her life.
She said that the ghosts never asked for her help or bothered her. Once in awhile they interrupted her during private moments in her life (like her honeymoon night), and she had to learn to live with the intrusions. Sometimes she found ghosts surprised she could talk to them, but usually they were too caught up in their own worlds to notice a living being — which was fine by her.
She never told anybody about her ability. Once, when visiting a psychic with her girlfriends, she thought she would be exposed. The psychic clearly sensed something odd about her, but he never gave her away — looking back, Sandra often dismissed the whole thing as a coincidence brought on by a clever actor. "The only time I ever truly considered telling somebody was when you asked me to marry you," she said. "But things were so happy for us and I figured no good could possibly come from it. And I was frightened that you might react badly to the whole thing."
"Well, I'm angry. And hurt. You didn't trust me, and here I am trying to get things back the way they were, but now that's not even what I thought it was."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm upset, but that's just a gut, of-the-moment reaction. The fact is I'm just as guilty."
He proceeded to explain all about Drummond and the curse and Hull and everything regarding their predicament he had held back before. The words gushed out and relief followed. Even as he spoke, he thought about what her world must have been like — living a duplicitous life like a covert spy only she never saved the world, she only fought for a normal routine.
When he finished his story, he held her arms and said, "Look at that — we didn't explode. We told the truth and we're still here."
Drummond yawned. "I'm still here, too."
Sandra cracked a grin but stayed focused on Max. "There's hope for us yet."
"You know it," Max said. "From now on, no more secrets between us, okay?"
"Okay."
"Is there anything else I should know?"
Sandra steeled her expression before shaking her head. Then she said, "It looks like you boys could use my help."
Drummond jumped so fast he flew through his chair. "Wait just a minute here, young lady. You two can be lovebirds, but this part isn't a game. And it isn't some club you join. This is serious work."
"Marshall, may I call you Marshall?"
"No."
"Call him Drummond," Max said with a chuckle.
"Well then, Drummond, this isn't 1940 anymore."
"I'm aware of that," Drummond said as he flew about the room. "But the people we're dealing with are dangerous."
"Which is why you need me."
"I appreciate that you're Max's wife and that you can see me. But none of that —"
"Have you found your book yet?"
That stopped Drummond. He cast a suspicious eye towards Max. Max shook his head and said, "Calm down. She's on our side."
Sandra stepped closer to Max. "When I started seeing ghosts, especially during my teen years, I spent some time looking into the occult and witchcraft and all of that. I know a lot about what you're dealing with."
"Then enlighten us," Drummond said.
"If you agree to let me help."
Though a pale ghost, Drummond appeared to redden. Before he said a word, Max intervened. "Of course you can help. Whether Casper here wants to admit it or not, we need you. Now, what do you know about the book?"
"I know that it's not something most people would be comfortable keeping. When you bind a ghost, there's the object bound to and there's the holder. In this case, the object would be the page the spell was written on. The holder is the book, and holders tend to radiate energy." As Sandra delved into the finer points of binding spells, Max watched with an awe he had not experienced since he first fell for her. Little lines on her face filled him with excitement. He wanted to kiss her, to let her know that he loved her, to see her understand that all the ups and downs of the past months were coming to an end. Part of him, however, fought back — he feared the worst had yet to happen. It was a dark sensation reminding him of sitting in that witch's office.
"The witch," he blurted out.
"What?" Sandra asked.
Drummond swooped down. "Yes, yes. The witch."
Max said, "She hates you."
"I don't know if 'hate' is the right word."
Max said to Sandra, "There's a witch here in Winston-Salem. Her grandmother knew Drummond. They had a past. Well, not the best of past experiences together."
"You think she has the book?"
"She certainly didn't want to help him out. She told me only what I already knew and insisted on Drummond's apology."
"It sounds like a good place to start."
Max got to his feet, looked out the window as he thought, and then turned back to the others. "Why did you send me to her? No, no, don't give me that crap you said before. It just hit me now — you knew Connor's grandmother. Why would you send me to see this witch when you knew she would be angry?"
"I wasn't sure whose side she was on. We needed that information and you needed to learn about witches. I figured two birds one stone."
Before Max let loose a torrent of cursing, Sandra said, "It doesn't really matter, does it? You can't undo it."
"Listen to the lady," Drummond said.
"And now you know just how little you can trust this ghost."
"Don't listen to that part."
"We've got to deal with this witch, okay?" she said. Max closed his eyes and nodded.
"Great," Drummond said. "So, she works out of an office. Max knows the place. You two could go in after hours."
"Break in?" Max said.
Sandra nodded. "Good idea. We should go tonight."
"Are you crazy? We can't break in."
"Why not?"
"How about jail for starters."
Drummond slid behind Sandra and shared a devilish grin. "Max," he said, "do we really need to put everything in perspective for you?"
"I know, I know," Max said.
"Well, that went easy. You know, Max, even though she doesn't trust me, I think I like your wife."
Sandra looked over her shoulder. "Thank you."
"If you two can tone it down, I'd like to know a few important details. For example, how are we going to break-in? Unless you're going to tell me you were a thief when you were a teen, honey
, neither of us knows how to pick locks."
"I can do it," Drummond said, but when the other two stared at him, he added, "Well, I can."
"You'll have to teach me someday. For now, the break-in is off. We'll just have to think of another way to find that book." Max tried not to sound too relieved.
Drummond frowned. He moved his head from side to side, mouthing a debate that only he could hear. A few seconds later, he let out a loud sigh and said, "You won't have any trouble breaking-in because you won't have to. The doors will be unlocked. There's no security system or anything like that to worry about. Okay?"
"And you didn't want to mention this because?"
Drummond turned away and mumbled something. Sandra said, "He wants to come with us, to be useful, but he keeps having to face the fact that he can't leave here."
"Oh," Max said, searching for something to change the subject with. He brightened as he latched onto the first thing to come to mind. "She knew I was coming before. She'll know we're coming again. She must be able to see the future."
"See the future? What kind of bozo are you?" Drummond said with a scowl. "Look, she doesn't live in a vacuum. I'm sure she has all sorts of sources of information spying all over to help her manipulate people."
"So, she's not a real witch?"
"Of course, she's real. Look what she did to me. It's just that no matter how much she tries to make people believe it, she can't see into the future. As far as I know."
"You're a bundle of confidence," Max said. A new thought struck, and he snapped his fingers. "Why will the doors be unlocked?"
Drummond turned back but stared at the floor. "Because Dr. Connor is a witch. Nobody would dare try to break into her office. Even those who don't know she's a witch sense she holds a lot of power because in all the years she's been in that little place, she has never once had any kind of trouble."
"Was that supposed to convince me?"
"You have to go, so just do it," Drummond said with a harshness that took Max by surprise. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "Please. I need you to do this."
Max closed his eyes. "Don't worry. If she has information that will help us, then I'll find it. I promise."
"Just go do what needs to be done. The rest is nothing to me. I just want a little freedom."
"Then we'll go to the office. We'll go right now."
Sandra winked at Max. "Guess we're back on," she said.
Twenty minutes later, Max sat in his car with Sandra next to him, waiting for the witch to leave her office. They parked in the lot across the street next to a dentist's office. While rain pelted the car and chilled the night, Max lost himself in the office sign's colors reflecting upon the pavement puddles. Neither Max nor Sandra said much at first. Then, Sandra made a tentative step by asking, "Are you mad at me?"
"Not at all. I mean it. I understand why you kept this secret from me. I do. I'm not mad."
"Then why are you acting so distant?"
"I'm just preoccupied."
"That's what I'm talking about. Right there. You're avoiding an answer by dismissing the whole thing, by being distant. Don't do that. That's the way we've always dealt with things. Avoid them until it blows up into a fight or a passionate night. Let's stop that. Tonight. You said no more secrets. I mean you've got to be wondering about me, right? So let's talk about it."
"I just want to be quiet and think." Throwing a charming smile, he added, "And we can still let this blow up into a passionate night later."
"No," Sandra said as she clutched Max's arm. "If everything is so fine, then I want to know why you're so far away. What are you thinking about?"
Max sighed and the sound reminded him of Drummond. He kept his eyes on the puddle, watching as the rain distorted the image thousands of times over. "For one," Max said, "we're about to commit a criminal act. That's not something I've had much experience with. For another, I only see Drummond. I don't know why I thought this, but I had assumed that was it. Not that Drummond was the only ghost but that he was the only one in the area — that ghosts were somehow few and far between. The idea that there are ghosts all over us — it's unsettling. I mean, are there any here now?"
Sandra glanced around the parking lot. "Do you see an old man leaning by that No Parking sign?"
"Nobody's there."
"Then there's one ghost."
Max shifted his weight and said, "That's just weird. I guess I'm also feeling strange about us. Not because of you or your ability or anything like that."
"Then what?"
"I'm sitting here and thinking about all the years I've known you, and I just wonder what our lives might've been like, how different, if I had known the real you. We've had such a screwy time lately, and maybe none of it had to actually happen. Maybe things could've been better. Maybe we never would have come down here and got all caught up with Hull." Maybe you'd be quietly smiling over a rose every day.
Sandra stroked Max's head. "You'll drive yourself crazy playing out all the What Ifs, and really, when you get to the end, none of that matters. This is the way it happened. This is the life we've got to live. Nothing you can say is going to change the fact that we're sitting here now listening to the rain, getting ready to break into an office," she said, curling the corner of her mouth which forced a warm smile from Max.
"No fair," he said.
"All's fair."
"Don't you do that hair flip thing."
"What? You mean this?" she said as she tossed her hair over one shoulder and leaned her head to the side, exposing her soft neck.
Max kissed her from the shoulder up to her ear. "Honey, I'm in love with you. Understand? You don't have to seduce me all over again."
"Maybe I want to."
"Then let's go home and forget about this place for tonight."
A moment passed in which Max thought she might agree. Then Sandra sat back, the glimmer in her eye turned icy, and she looked toward the office. "We've got to do this. You know —"
"I do, I do. It was just nice there for a minute to feel like a normal person again — one who doesn't have to worry about ghosts and curses and Hull."
"Is that her?"
A figure stepped outside, closed the door, and scurried toward a blue car holding a purse over her head. Because of the rain, Max found it difficult to tell if the figure was Dr. Connor — if not the doctor, she had to be an assistant. Once the blue car pulled away, there were no other cars in the parking lot.
"Guess this is it," he said.
Sandra kissed him. "I won't let anything happen to you."
They dashed across the street and toward the office. In just seconds, Max felt soaked through but he kept moving. And because of the cold and wet, Max did not hesitate when he reached the door but rather opened it with brazen abandon.
Inside the waiting room, they both shook off the rain. Sandra walked around the receptionist's desk, flicked on her flashlight, and started opening drawers. Max pointed his flashlight at her and said, "Forget about that stuff. It won't help us. If she has the book, it'll be back there, in her private ... lair."
"Lair?" Sandra said with a smile.
Max shrugged. "She's a witch, after all."
As they headed to the back room, Max listened for any sounds of people. He only heard the rain being blown against the building, their footsteps on the thin carpet, and his own nervous breathing. The air smelled different — partly a lemon-scented cleaner but mostly something stronger and stranger. It had a slight burned odor and a slight sweet aroma as if Dr. Connor had been lighting cinnamon sticks. Max tried not to think about the twisted spells that left such a smell in the air. He could not stop the chills rolling over his body.
When they reached Dr. Connor's private office, Max pointed to a bookshelf. "You look there. I'll check out the desk."
The desk was an exquisite, hand-crafted rolltop with fierce animal heads carved on the sides — snarling wolves, roaring bears, and gibbering hyenas. The shadows cast by the flashlight animated the carv
ings, and Max had to remind himself that it was just a desk. Dr. Connor was a witch and Drummond was a cursed ghost, but he didn't believe spells to bring wooden carvings to life were real. That seemed to be stretching reality in a way Max refused to accept.
In the desk, he found three books. Each looked very old and had been covered in thin, tanned hides. Sandra peeked over his shoulder and said, "You don't want to touch that."
"Why?" Max said as he picked one up. The covering felt smooth yet stuck on the book when rubbed.
"That's human skin."
With a gasp, he dropped it to the desk, the smooth feel of the cover still tingling his fingers like the remnants of an electric jolt. "A little warning next time would be appreciated."
"There's nothing on the bookshelf that fits the bill."
"What about these?" he asked, pointing to the rolltop.
"No. Human skin is used for very sacred texts. This is just a binding spell. From what you and Drummond said, this should be rather ordinary like a notebook or a journal or even a diary. Something easy to overlook."
Max glanced at the skin-covered books. Before his flashlight could play with the books shadows, he moved the beam to the floor. "Maybe she has a hiding space," he said. "A wall safe or a loose floorboard."
"I doubt it. Not if she's as powerful a witch as Drummond says. She has no need to hide a book, especially a minor binding book. If anything, she would have hidden those books you were looking at. No, if that book was here, it would have been in plain sight."
"Look here." Max pointed to a red, hardcover book with black lettering. "Cruor Teneo. That's on my office floor. Could this be it?"
"It means 'Blood Hold' and it's not what we want. That's more of an instruction book on various binding curses."
"Damn," Max said and slouched against the wall. "Without that book, I can't do anything for Drummond."
"Keep looking then."
"Why? You've made it clear that she doesn't have it here. It would be in plain sight and it's not. And for that matter, when I visited her the other night, she was trying to encourage me to find it. Why would she do that if she knew where it was?"
"If she has it, she obviously doesn't want you to know."