by E. C. Bell
“Not at first,” I whispered, trying to look nonchalant and hoping like heck staff wasn’t listening. Then I tried just mouthing, “Sometimes I can’t hear. It’s the medication.”
He nodded again. “I understand,” he said.
“Did Jasper send you?” I mouthed.
“No,” he replied, his voice monotone and his hands flying. “He said he wants me to teach him. I figure he wants to teach you, but that seems like taking a bit of chance, knowing Jasper as I do.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
His face stilled, like he was formulating his response carefully. “Jasper isn’t the quickest study in the world and it could take forever for him to learn,” he finally said. “Better that I teach you myself.”
“Couldn’t you teach us both at the same time?” I mouthed. “After all, Jasper wants to be able to communicate with me. You know?”
“I know,” the ghost said, and smiled. “But it’s nice to be able to talk to someone else. Not just my own kind. You know?”
Oh.
“I get tired of the ‘I’m so bored,’ and ‘What’s waiting for us next?’ and ‘I want to go home.’ All the usual garbage ghosts spout. You know?”
“I guess,” I mouthed.
“I been dead ten years, and the conversations never change,” he said. “Boring as hell is all I can say.” Then he laughed, atonally. “Look at me,” he said, “talking about being bored. Item number one on the ghosts’ list of things to talk about.”
I smiled in spite of myself.
“I imagine you know all this, though,” he said. “Seeing as how you can talk to us, and everything.” He snorted laughter. “I can’t imagine it’s any fun for you.”
“It’s not bad,” I mouthed. Then I thought about some of the ghosts I’d dealt with and sighed. “Well, sometimes it’s not bad,” I continued. “But I still think it would be better for Jasper and me to work together on this. Don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Probably,” he finally said. “Then Jasper can keep you for himself, just like he’d like.”
“What?” I said that word aloud, shocked out of my self-imposed silence. “What do you mean?” I mouthed.
“He wants you for himself,” the ghost said. I could see a hint of anger on his face. “He’d rather the rest of us just stayed away from you. He’s as bad as Phillipa, that way. I imagine if I tell him that we should have the lessons all together, he’d figure out a way to put a stop to that right quick. Know what I mean?”
I did. And I realized that if he was right I had another problem to deal with. But first, I had to be able to communicate and if I was going to learn another language it sure wouldn’t hurt to learn it from the teacher.
“What’s your name?” I mouthed.
“Franklin Gilroy,” he said. He moved his fingers at the same time that he spoke, too quickly for me to follow. I guessed that he was probably signing his name.
I didn’t know how I was going to be able to learn all that well enough to actually interact properly. However, even attempting to learn would give me something to do that wasn’t just staring at that stupid black spot in the far corner of my room and worrying about the staff spying on me.
I pointed at his hands. “So, you going to teach me how to do that?”
His eyes brightened. “I’d be happy to,” he said.
His voice cut in and out at that moment, and I realized the pills were going to have their usual effect.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed. “I won’t be able to hear you soon. Maybe we can try this tomorrow morning? Early, before I take my morning pills?”
He looked disappointed, but nodded. “All right,” he said. At least I was pretty sure that’s what he said, because his voice had completely cut out by that time. “Tomorrow.”
And then he was gone.
I laid back down on my bed, and pulled the bed covers up to my chin. I waited for sleep to overtake me, and wondered what the sign was for “Please, no more nightmares.”
And then . . .
I WAS AT the ball diamond, eating peanuts.
I WOKE UP after the nightmares had run their course and wondered why the medication wasn’t helping. I ached all over, and felt wrung out, as though I’d spent the whole night running or something. It seemed to take me forever to get out of bed, and when I finally did, I felt like I’d aged thirty years overnight.
“Man, if this is what being old feels like, I don’t want it,” I muttered as I stumbled around the small room on feet that felt like they’d been beaten with a couple of phone books all night. I gasped when my left calf cramped, and dropped to the floor, rubbing it ferociously to loosen the horribly knotted muscle. “What the hell?” I yelled. It wouldn’t loosen, and I groaned, rubbing even more furiously. The pain was intolerable.
“What’s wrong?” Nurse Willoughby called from the doorway. She stood there with her hand on the door like she was made of stone.
“A cramp,” I said, and squealed when it knotted up again, even worse than before. I could feel the cramp working its way down my leg and watched in horror as my foot spasmed and twisted. It hurt like hell. “Jesus, how do I make this stop?”
She didn’t answer. Just squatted beside me, pushing my flailing hands away from my poor calf and foot.
“Try to breathe through this,” she said. “It might hurt a bit.”
She began to massage my foot first, which killed, and then the knots in my calf, which killed even more. I sucked in and puffed out little breaths, trying not to cry.
“You’re doing well,” she said, without looking at me. “Just keep breathing.”
So, I did, as she continued to work on the knots and twists that seemed to make up most of my left foot. And then, suddenly, the muscles loosened, and I had my left leg back, more or less good as new.
I touched her arm and she finally looked at me. “You can stop,” I said. “It’s gone.”
“Good,” she grunted. She released me and pulled herself to standing. Then she held her hand out to me and, when I took it, pulled me upright beside her. “Can you stand?” she asked.
I tested the leg, and even though the muscles twinged, I remained upright. “I think so,” I said.
I took a step, to test, and remained on my feet. Even better, I could feel the muscles relaxing further, and took three or four more experimental steps. “I think you fixed it.”
“You have to remember to drink more water,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll keep getting those.”
“Thank you,” I said, and damn, I meant it. “I think you saved my life.”
She didn’t even crack a smile. “Cramps won’t kill you,” she said, turning toward the door. “They just hurt a fair bit.”
It was obvious she was going to leave, and I frowned. “What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s five thirty,” she replied. “A couple of hours before breakfast.”
“So, why did you come into my room?”
“I heard you,” she said shortly. “Sounded like you were in distress, and I guess I was right.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You guessed right.” I suspected she hadn’t heard me through the door, but via the monitor in the nurse’s office. But there was no way in the world I was saying that to her.
“Drink the rest of the water, and try to go back to sleep,” she said, and opened the door. “When it’s time for meds, I’ll be back.”
“And if it happens again?” I asked, pointing at my leg.
“Just call out,” she said. “I’ll hear you.”
Then she was gone. I sat on the bed but didn’t lay back down. There was no way I was going to be able to get back to sleep. She said she would hear me.
And then I wondered if the old deaf ghost who was going to teach me sign language was going to show up soon, and how we could have a proper lesson without the nurse seeing me.
“She’ll think I’m having fits or something,” I whispered. “I’ll never get her to leave me alone.”
&nbs
p; I reached for the plastic pitcher and poured water into the glass that was sitting on the table beside it. Obediently drank it, hating the faint plastic taste of the lukewarm stuff but hoping it would do the trick and keep the leg cramps at bay. Then, I leaned back on the headboard and felt myself relax.
“Maybe I’ll close my eyes for just a second,” I whispered. “Just until he shows up.”
My eyes obediently flicked shut, and I reached out blindly with one hand and pulled my blanket up to my chin. Just for a second, I thought. Just until Franklin shows up.
“I THOUGHT WE were going to have a lesson.”
I opened my eyes, and the old ghost was staring down at me, his eyes glowing weirdly in the mostly dark room.
I pulled free of my blankets and swung my legs over the edge of the bed so I was facing the far wall. If anyone was watching me on the video feed, they’d just see me apparently staring at nothing. “We are,” I mumbled.
The old ghost followed me, and even as I was getting settled, began to flash signs at me. “This is ‘a’,” he said. “You try it.”
I worked my fingers until my hand looked more or less like his. “Like that?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he said. “Now, ‘b’.” Another sign, and then he nodded to me. I mimicked what he’d done, and he smiled. “That’s good,” he said. “Real good.”
He got me through the alphabet once, and was going to start again, but I shook my head. “That’s enough for now,” I said. “I gotta go back to sleep.”
“You’ll practice?” he asked.
“Yes, I will,” I said. He smiled and nodded, and then he was gone. I sighed, and lay back on my bed, and wondered how much time I had before the nurse came in to take me for breakfast. Then my eyes closed and . . .
I AM AT the ball diamond, eating peanuts.
Marie:
Dad Comes to Visit
NURSE WILLOUGHBY WOKE me and rammed a plastic container full of pills into my hand. “Take these,” she said shortly, and handed me a half glass of water.
I took them obediently, and, when she held out my housecoat, extended my arms so she could put it on me.
“Breakfast?” I asked, and she nodded curtly. She looked harried and pulled the tie to my bathrobe too tight before turning to the door and walking through it without another word.
Breakfast was quiet because Natalie still wasn’t back. I glanced around the room to see if she’d been put at another table but couldn’t see her.
“Where is she?” I asked, pointing at Natalie’s empty chair.
“Gone,” one of the wheelchair bound mumbled around her oatmeal mush.
“Gone where?” I asked.
“Another building,” the woman said, and finally looked up at me. Her eyes looked surprisingly clear for someone at this table. “I figure it’s Building One.”
“What happens in Building One?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “They’re all dead there.”
Before I could react, she pushed her chair away from the table and waved her hand weakly until she got the attention of an orderly. And then, she was gone and I was alone with my increasingly worried thoughts.
Nurse Willoughby showed up to take me back to my room a few minutes later. In her hand she held sheets of paper and an old-fashioned yellow pencil. I didn’t think they made those anymore.
“What’s with the paper?” I asked.
“It’s for you,” she said shortly. “Dr. Parkerson’s orders.”
I frowned, then remembered. “That’s right,” I said. “Nurse Melodie mentioned it yesterday.” I held out my hand, and reluctantly, Nurse Willoughby handed everything to me.
“Just six sheets of paper?” I joked. “What if I go on a drawing jag?”
“I’ll try to find you something more suitable,” she replied without cracking a smile. “We’re out of notebooks, for the moment.”
She held out the pencil, but didn’t release it when I took the pointy end, and we ended up playing an awkward game of tug of war. “Don’t break the lead,” she said. “Because she didn’t tell me I needed to give you a sharpener.”
I was going to laugh, but could tell by the look on her face that she was absolutely serious.
“All right,” I said. “I promise.”
Only then did she release the pencil. “You won’t have time for artwork now,” she said. “You have a visitor coming. Make yourself presentable.”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard her right. “A visitor?”
It had to be James, which meant that he’d made some headway with the lawyer. God, maybe I was actually getting out of here.
“It’s your father,” Nurse Willoughby said. Shortly, of course. “He’ll be here to talk to you within the hour.”
Luckily, her back was to me so she couldn’t see the look on my face, which, I imagine was pretty darned horrified.
My father was here? Why? How did he know where to find me? What the hell was going on?
DAD WAS SITTING at the same table James had been but the room was much emptier than it had been for James’s visit because it was still early in the morning and most of the patients were off visiting their shrinks or getting their heads vacuumed in some other way. Except for me. Lucky me.
“Marie!” Dad called. He smiled for a moment, then his face spasmed and I was afraid he was going to cry.
God. The last thing in the world I needed was for my father to start crying. So, I pulled myself together and smiled at him, as breezily as I could manage. When he leaped up and grabbed me in a rough bear hug that went on much too long, all I did was whisper, “Don’t worry, I’m good,” over and over.
Finally, he let me go. “Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?” I sat in the seat opposite his, placed the pencil I’d brought from my room on the table in front of me then pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket and straightened it in front of me. I was prepared for whatever information my father gave me.
That was the way I’d decided to make this seem normal. By treating it like a regular meeting—as if I was back at Jimmy Lavall’s Detective Agency and not in the recreation area of a mental institution.
“Are you okay?” he asked again. He did sit down, though, so that was something. “Because you look like crap, girl.”
“Well, thanks for that, Dad,” I said, sarcastically. “I even brushed my hair for you, and all you can tell me is I look like crap?”
He didn’t laugh. “When was the last time you slept?”
“Last night,” I said. “Eight full hours.” I didn’t mention the nightmares, but Dad looked at me like he knew just the same.
“What are you on?” he asked.
“What?”
“What drugs are you on?” he asked again. “Don’t try to lie to me, girl. I recognize someone on drugs when I see them. You are high as a flipping kite.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So, they’ve got me on some stuff to help me sleep, and something for anxiety. That’s all.” I shook my head. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. I’ll be out in a day or two. James has a lawyer working on it.”
“I spoke to James,” Dad said. “It sounds worse than that, Marie.”
Damn James. Never could keep the truth to himself.
“I suppose he was the one who called you and told you about me being in here,” I muttered. I picked up the pencil, and doodled on the sheet of paper, more to keep my hands from the lapels of my father’s jacket so I could shake the crap out of him than anything else. “He didn’t need to bother you—”
“Oh, James kept your big secret,” Dad said. “I got a call from Ellis Wheeler. You know, the news guy from Global. He wanted to talk about your mother. And you. About your abilities.”
“God, Dad, please tell me you didn’t tell that son of a bitch anything,” I said. “He’s just looking for a story.”
“I know,” he said. “But when he told me you were in here, well, I couldn’t just let you sit here all on your own, now could I?
”
“I guess not,” I said miserably.
“Besides, he says he wants to talk to you, too. I think we could swing it, if you want. Just so you can get your side of the story out there.”
I frowned. “Did he offer you money?”
Dad looked down at his hands. “So what if he did?”
“Jesus, Dad!” I cried. “You’re thinking about making money off me? Off my issues?”
“Issues?” he said, and snorted unamused laughter. “You might have issues, girl, but surely seeing ghosts isn’t one of them, and that’s what he wants to talk to me about.”
I glanced around, to see if anyone was listening. Nurse Willoughby was sitting by the door, but she didn’t look like she’d heard and the rest of the room was empty.
“Shut up,” I said. “Do not talk about them here.”
“Are you serious?” he said incredulously. “You’re still trying to keep your big secret? Even in here?”
“It’s nobody’s business but my own,” I said. “Why can’t you get that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought—well, I thought you’d get over trying to keep everything a secret. Eventually.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” I whispered. “You’re not a freak, like me.”
He was silent for so long I hazarded a glance at his face. Thunderclouds had formed. “Is that the way you think of your mother, too?” he asked. “A freak?”
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
He glared at me. “Your mother was a woman with abilities that could help people—”
“Dead people,” I snapped.
“Dead people,” he said, and glared. “And she helped them. You know that. I know that. For heaven’s sake, you’ve managed to help a few yourself.”
“I know,” I said, wishing I could figure out a way to stop this conversation. “Dad, you said you talked to James.”
“What of it?” he replied, still plenty pissed. “I suppose I wasn’t supposed to do that, either? You have a lot of rules, don’t you? Maybe you should write them down for me, so I know what’s all right for me to do.”