Blood & Spirits

by Dennis Sharpe

  Julie walks in and catches me in the kitchen, with a bottle of blood in one hand, and a bottle of rum in the other.

  “I have some messages for you.” She takes out her notebook and sets it down on the counter. Looking over her daily planner files she reads aloud. “Harry from the storage place called and said you are late on your payment for you unit.”

  “That’s great.”My sarcasm could wilt cacti.

  “Your therapist’s office called because you missed your appointment.” She looks up with a wince.

  “Why do they care? They’re gonna bill me anyway.” I tip a bottle to my mouth and am pleasantly surprised that it’s rum.

  She continues, unfazed. “They said to let you know that your appointment for next month is at the usual time.”

  “And trust me, I look forward to it.”

  “Oh, also, I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but Lucy was here while you were out. She left a message for you, too.” She always saves the good ones ‘til last.

  “She didn’t want to wait, V. I’m sorry.” Julie is sincere, but I don’t think she understands everything that’s going on, why I’m going slowly crazy.

  I look into Julie’s eyes and ask her what Lucy said. She jumps a little at the vivid experience of reliving her own memory as I watch. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.

  Today just keeps getting better and better. Grave robbers, spirit armies, Paco, and Lucy running off into forces of doom halfcocked. When do I catch a break?

  “Paco? Really?” I ask it out loud, making Julie think I need an answer.

  “She didn’t say any more than… well you saw what she said… I don’t know who Paco is.” She’s stressing now too. I love this girl.

  “I do.” I put the bottle of rum down, and drape my arm around her. “Look, don’t worry. I’m gonna head out and find Lucy, then I’m gonna meet up with Frank. Just look after the house and call me if anything comes up.”

  ***

  It’s been seven hours. I’ve been all over the city. I’ve checked the alley, the bar on Broadway, the cemetery on Park Avenue, and the ranch house. There are no other places she frequents that I can even get to. It’s now three in the morning and I have no idea where else to look for Lucy.

  I’m coming a little unglued. Usually if I’m looking for Lucy, she finds me. It’s always a much shorter search than this. Frank is already back at the Jefferson House waiting on me and I’m really at the end of my rope.

  First Rachel vanished and now Lucy. It’s like having my mother and daughter stolen, and having no clue who the thief is. I don’t know what to do or where to look anymore.

  Standing at the foot of Broadway again, letting the wind batter me, I feel like my life has spun off its axis. I realize that there’s only one option left, and I don’t like it.

  I need to call Paco.

  That can’t go well. Having to deal with that thing never is. My kind drinks the blood of the living, he eats their flesh. That’s the closest to something in common I have with him… it.

  I take in a deep breath, looking out at the lights moving down the river. Slowly, I let my gaze move upward to the blue-black crushed velvet sky and all its twinkling LED lights. I’m going to regret this.

  I scroll down to Paco’s number and hesitate, letting my finger hover over the green button for a few more moments before finally shaking my head at my lack of options and pressing it.

  The phone rings so long I expect voice mail to pick up. I’m surprised when there’s a crackle on the line and then a voice that makes my skin crawl. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Veronica Fischer; we’ve met before through Jules and Jacobi. I have a spirit related situation I need to talk to you about.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THE GREASY SPOON IS BATHED in the yellowed glow of light fixtures covered in more than a decade’s worth of nicotine film. Smoking hasn’t been allowed inside for almost six years, but the distinct odor still hangs in the air and breathes out from the walls. It’s a gritty place, but not quite what I’d call dirty; the kind of place you only find on the outskirts of small rural towns in Middle America.

  I know a few of the regulars here, but it’s well past the hour they’d be out and about. At three o’clock on a Friday morning the place is usually as dead as it is tonight.

  Only one car in the lot, and I’d recognize the rusty old yellow conversion van anywhere. He beat me here. Why was he so eager to meet with me?

  It’s impossible to miss him in the corner booth, being generously avoided by the waitress on duty. The fact is that Paco would be impossible for anyone living to help but notice. But for those with senses as keen as my kind possess, it’s almost painful to be near him.

  The smell of death and rot waft off him like heat from a flame. I don’t know much about how he came to be, or if there are more of his kind, but I certainly hope not. Rumor has it that he made himself this way. He doesn’t feed off the blood of the living, but their flesh. The breathers either can’t or won’t see him for what he really is. I wish I was so lucky.

  His skin fit him loosely, like a wet suit six sizes too big. His vacant, sunken black eyes were haunting, while the holes and tears that covered his body, allowing me to see the maggots and other vermin that infested him, would be more than enough to make me wretch if I still used my stomach.

  I hate to even be near him, but needing something from him is deeply unsettling. His prices for anything are almost always more than anyone wants to pay, but he has an uncanny way of having just what you need -- if you’re willing to meet his price. That’s the only reason I can come up with why Jacobi has suffered him to call this place home for these past twenty years. The council looks at this little trash peddler as even less than me.

  I walk slowly over to his table and he gives me what passes for a smile as I approach. I firmly believe he knows how much he disgusts me, and revels in my discomfort at his presence.

  “I think you have something that belongs to me.” My voice is quiet, but carries a cutting edge.

  “Now that’s not very social of you; cutting right to business like that. Sit down and be social. I don’t get a lot of time with pretty dead things like you. Where’s your manners? For that matter, where’s all that lovely skin you’re so fond of showing? Hiding it from me?” He says it with a smile that lets me know he’s enjoying this. He might make this more difficult than I’d anticipated.

  I sit across the small table from him, and he clearly doesn’t approve. He motions to the chair next to him, and his vacant eyes seem to compel my proximity. I’ve little more than come to rest in the seat next to his when he slides his chair inches away from mine. I might well have to punish his insolence later, but until I get what I’m here for I have to endure his audacious advances.

  “You know where she is?” My question hangs in the air as he stares at me. His facial muscles constrict enough that I can tell he’d be squinting at me if his face could afford the expression.

  “Where who is? You don’t mean that little spirit girl you’ve grown so attached to lately, do you?” His laughter reminds me of an incompetent villain from a bad 80’s TV show. It would be funny in a sad way if it weren’t coming out of that hideous face.

  He must think he’s really funny too because he seems to find it hard to stop laughing at all his own little jokes.

  “I don’t know where she is right now, sweet thing, but I know places she’s been. I might even be convinced to look for her, for you. You’re gonna get a lot nicer to me though, if you want me to do anything with her once I find her, that wouldn’t just hurt your feelings and hers.” His words almost drip with nauseatingly evocative poison.

  My body instinctively swallows, some things never get unlearned. I summon all my willpower, and smile at him suggestively.

  “Where have my manners been?” I roll my eyes and bite my lower lip for the briefest moment. I can tell he notices the gesture. “What did you have in mind? I mean, I can be a really nice
girl... or a really naughty one. It all depends. What will it take for her to find her way to my house?”

  I did my very best to look at him with wide-eyed innocence. We both knew it was an act, but he was a paying client now, and I had to do my best to treat him like one. Even if that meant making myself sick.

  ***

  I begin to question my sanity at going with him as we pull into the sewage treatment plant. He assures me that all will be above board and on the level, as he opens the door and escorts me to the overflow tunnels. I can already smell that no matter what else he can promise me, he doesn’t intend for this to be sanitary.

  We walk down a series of steps and then a long tunnel, and as the heat and moisture grow, so too does the vile aroma of old death.

  “There. That’s where I want you.” He stops and points down into a sealed release tunnel with a debris trap. I have no idea how deep it actually is, but it‘s filled to within three feet of the main tunnel floor.

  He pointed again, and I closed my eyes, disrobed and stepped in.

  Most disgusting place I could imagine being in doesn’t begin to cover this, and I’m naked. Dead rats, live rats, human waste, animal waste, rotting garbage, and a thick layer of scum and muck built up over decades.

  He wants three hours of my time, just three hours with my body, three ghastly hours in this pit. To do with me as he sees fit. It seems like a fair, if not completely nauseating, trade. What have I gotten myself into?

  I turn to face him and to my surprise it really can get worse. He’s naked.

  “You’re a professional… high class. I expect you to make me believe you’re enjoying yourself. You’d better sell it too, if you want what I’ve got to offer.” He utters the words with all the warmth I’d expect from a reenactment of Deliverance.

  He grabs my body and pushes me to my knees in front of him. I get a cold, sick feeling in my stomach. I was really hoping to avoid this and get straight to the act.

  I open my mouth and the taste that invades me accompanying his body is the single most sickening thing I’ve ever encountered. I’m focusing on the taste, trying to compare it to something, anything, that it would be near to and I find nothing. Focusing on it however keeps me occupied enough to not consider what’s happening, and further allows my mind to wander just enough to keep from purging.

  I count time in my head. He’s been at this for almost half an hour, my jaw is aching like it may never close again, and my throat is raw almost to the point of bleeding, when he jerks back out of my lips. He steps behind me and all but falls down on top of me, forcing my hands out in front of me and into the rotting pile to keep me from landing on my face.

  Again, there is no pretense of kindness as he forces himself into me. I try to act as though this is the best I’ve ever had, it’s almost not possible, but I can hear him chanting ‘yeah, bitch’ behind me so I assume he’s a believer.

  Leaning forward onto me he pulls my arms behind me and my face finally does drop. I manage to close my eyes just before I’m coated past my neck in decomposition.

  He only speeds up, shoving my torso down in the thick rancid liquid. With each thrust he pounds my face further into soft smelly things I have no desire to identify.

  From behind me I can feel him rubbing things he’s picked up in this putrefied depository on me and then he starts to shove them in me. I try to tell myself that this is only for a finite amount of time, and I continue to squirm back into him and moan like a good little slut.

  Only two thoughts keep running through my mind over and over. ‘Is whatever rotting disease this asshole has catching?’ and ‘how many times will I have to bathe in bleach to get his stink off of me?’

  I think I’ve finally reached my limit. Nothing else he can do will make this worse. He pulls my hair hard, arching my back, and rubs a handful of muck into my mouth.

  I groan and grind down on him and begin to gag a little on something in my mouth. Moving my tongue I realize it’s a tampon and I’m all set for killing this son-of-a-bitch when I’ve got Rachel back.

  I now understand the deal we’d made. He wasn’t looking for physical pleasure or release, he was only trying to humiliate and debase me.

  He arches back, I assume to proclaim he’s finished. He rolls back off me and I finally lose the control I’ve held over my reflex to vomit as I realize he’s left something, a part of himself, inside me.

  “Call it a tip,” he snickers, buttoning his pants and standing above me. If this guy only knew the month I was having. He only gets to be a part of why my life is sucking right now.

  ***

  Driving back to the house I do everything I can to keep my mind off of what’s been on and in me, and how long it’s going to take to clean out my car. I know I’ll keep reliving that, like it or not, but I intend to do all I can to put it out of my head. I’ll have to kill him one day. There’s no way around that.

  Paco assured me that he doesn’t have Rachel. He thinks I need to go to the Sikes Funeral Home to look for her, so I guess I have my plans for tomorrow night. He says he knows that Rachel was there a few nights ago, and might still be, according to some of his contacts on that side. He’s going to dispatch spirits he works with to ask around too and see if they can come up with any sightings of her since she was seen last at the funeral home.

  Going there is the only logical next step. I know that Lucy has gone there before to meet with other ghosts, so it really might be a great place to start.

  I’m gagging. Even with the windows down I can’t get going fast enough on these roads to vent the smell out of the car. I need his help, but this is awful.

  Right now, I’ve got to stay focused on what I’m doing. Watch the road and think about the plan.

  He says that Lucy never made it to meet with him, but with the larger than normal amount of dangerous spectral creatures working together in concert, it’s no wonder. He says he’s heard rumors of some larger malevolent entity pulling the strings of these unquiet spirits.

  I’m not sure if I believe him or not, but what he says does match up with what Lucy was telling me. I tried to read him and either he can hide his mind really well, or whatever he is keeps me from being able to get anything but ‘dead’ off of him. It makes me a little nervous, but for now, I’ll have to take his word.

  He claims that the locket Lucy gave me is a tie to her. I already wear it all the time, so that’s a step in the right direction to locating her. He did some kind of chant over it and now it’s supposedly imbued with some sort of power that makes it shinier to spirits, or something. It’s supposed to let me know when she’s close to me.

  I pull into the driveway, park, and slide out of the car. My skin is crawling all over as I walk to the back door naked. I told Paco to burn my clothes but he’ll likely hang onto them as some sick souvenir. Creepy.

  I walk into the house and pass Julie on my way upstairs. She cocks her head to one side and looks at me like she’s got a question.

  Before she can even speak, I stop her. “Don’t talk, just listen. If anyone needs me that isn’t you or Frank, I’m dead or not here. Nothing disturbs me, or gets me out of the shower or the bed until tomorrow. Nothing.”

  I don’t look back, but I can feel her bewildered stare on me as I continue up the stairs. Right now, I really don’t care.

  The moans coming from the rooms I pass in the upstairs hallway usually conjure deliciously wicked mental images in my head.

  The sounds of this place make me love what I do. Now they only take me back to where I was this evening and make me want to wretch.

  I really can’t get to the shower fast enough.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE SIKES FUNERAL HOME HAS never been one of my favorite places. Not under the best of circumstances. It’s older than me, and full of energy that can be felt radiating off of it like a giant Tesla coil. It gives me the creeps and I have to stand outside for more than fifteen minutes just to build up the nerve to go in.

  I find t
he side door on the rear of the building unlocked as always. That much is familiar. The light switch inside the door does nothing, so I stand still for a moment letting my eyes adjust. I can feel something watching me, like an animal in the darkness, and I am suddenly aware of every hair on my body. This is what they’re talking about when they say a hunter is hunted.

  It takes only a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the building. The doorway to the main parlor is plainly in view. Moving forward, my hand finds the knob and turns slowly to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

  Inching into the room, it’s clear something is wrong here. There’s a tingling sensation up my legs and back before I can even really focus on the parlor’s details. There are silhouettes of people, but I can see through them. It’s like shadows were cast and left behind to do as they please. Lost in the surreal sight of them for a moment, I inch further into the room without noticing that some were now moving behind me.

  There is no warning. I’m suddenly in the air, and moving backward rapidly toward the wall. It’s almost a full second before my body registers the actual pain of the blow my stomach just took. Being hit by a car doesn’t even compare to this, and I didn’t even see it coming.

  “For a shadow, you hit like a sledgehammer!” The words barely escape before something else slams into the base of my skull, imbedding most of my upper body in the wall and all but removing my head. These things are like Lucy; the disembodied dead who haven’t moved on. I’ve never met others that can actually touch things physically; they must be fairly potent.

  I pull my face out of the hole it had been planted in, letting plaster dust fall, coating my chest and legs like snow. Looking around quickly I try to gauge my surroundings. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. Is one easy night without a huge dry-cleaning bill too much to ask for these days?

  I only have time to dwell on it a moment before my head is bouncing off the hardwood floor; once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession. Now ‘pick splinters out of my forehead’ can be added to my Saturday night to-do list. Damn it, this is not going as planned.