by E. C. Bell
Maybe a job would help him. “I have an idea,” I said. “While I’m gone you can go check voices.”
“What voices?” He frowned, but more colour returned, and with it a bit more light.
“From the offices connected to the furnace room. The ones you could hear.”
“Right.” He nodded his head. “Right. That’s something I can do. Excellent idea.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Glad to help. I’ll see you in an hour.”
I grabbed my sweater and purse, and walked out the door. As the door swung shut behind me, I thought I heard him say, “I’ll try,” but I couldn’t be sure.
Farley:
Let’s Keep from Going to Hell, Shall We?
The thinning settled in when Marie said, “Las Vegas.” I grabbed myself, hung onto myself as though I was going to fly into tiny pieces around the room. Las Vegas. Las Vegas.
Marie didn’t see how bad I had been affected. She was already halfway out the door, still blathering about me checking the air vents, to figure out whose voice I had heard. That was definitely the last thing on my mind, believe me.
As the door shut, I tried to hang onto myself, and not go back to Hell.
Marie:
The Margarita Lunch
I wished I hadn’t had to leave Farley so soon after he’d finally come back, especially since he was so upset, but I had to eliminate Andrea’s boss, Mr. Henderson, as a suspect. I was certain that if I didn’t clear this up for Farley, he wasn’t moving on. That man could sure grab hold of a thing and hang on to it. That quality probably made him an excellent handy man. I bet he could’ve been a good cop, or something, too. I pushed that thought away, because it wasn’t productive. It didn’t matter what he could’ve been. He was done, this time around. He had to move on.
Andrea was waiting on the sidewalk, stopping traffic. She was a beautiful bleached blonde, with that plucked and primped to within an inch of her life look that men find extremely appealing. I never seemed to have enough time to get a quarter of that look. On top of it all, she was about four inches taller than me, so I felt doubly insignificant as I walked up to her.
Her outfit looked really expensive. I glanced down at my skirt, which I thought was kind of pretty, and felt insignificant, times three. Dowdy, almost.
I hated feeling that way and tried to ignore it, as I crept up to her like a little grey mouse. Something she’d probably skewer with one of her incredibly thin spike heels. She flashed me a huge white smile, when she finally saw me.
“You ready, Mary?”
“Marie,” I said. She ignored my words.
“I love the skirt!” she said. “A gypsy look, that was so the rage last year, I can’t quite pull it off, my legs are too long, but you look darling!” She air kissed my cheek, and I tried hard not to pull away. I was regretting this outing now that I was actually on it, but I pulled a smile from somewhere, and air kissed back.
“Thanks. Where is Joey’s Grille?”
“Just around the corner. Doesn’t seem like much, but it has the best margaritas in the world. The known world.” She tried to frown, but Botox or something held a number of her features frozen. It wasn’t the look she was hoping for, I was willing to bet. Nastily, I felt a tiny bit better. “I think they have food, too. We’ll have to check.”
She sashayed away from the Palais, and my good feeling collapsed as I tottered after her, wishing I’d at least left my outsized grey sweater back at the office. I was sure it made me appear even more like a mouse.
Joey’s Bar and Grille was just around the corner, and Andrea walked in like she owned the place. The bartender called her by name, and set up a pitcher and glasses before she even had to order. I glanced around the place, hoping for a quiet table somewhere. I quickly realized I wasn’t going to get it.
The tables were crammed with Business Types, all doing business, and all trying desperately to keep the creases in their obscenely expensive pants intact. I inwardly groaned. I had no idea how I’d keep Andrea focused on a conversation about her boss when the pickings were, for her anyhow, so good.
She pointed to a small table near the front window that two men had just vacated, and maneuvered toward it, her perfume and the length of her legs causing small fits at every table she passed. She didn’t seem to notice the effect she was having on the room.
She sat down and crossed her legs, which caused minor chaos, and signaled for the bartender to bring the pitcher of margaritas to her. I plopped down opposite her, and tried to smile.
“So, how did you find this place, Andrea?”
“I happened on it one afternoon. A girl needs sustenance, doesn’t she? And Carlos is so cute, and mixes such a mean drink—well, I couldn’t stay away from either, now could I?”
She flashed her smile and blinded me. How could she get her teeth so incredibly white? I leaned forward, then backed up when her perfume hit me. Too much. Way too much. In fact, everything about Andrea was way too much. When cute Carlos set the pitcher in front of us, I grabbed one of the glasses, filling it to the brim and drinking deeply.
“My, you were thirsty, weren’t you, Mary?” Andrea drawled.
“It’s Marie, and yes. I was. Am.”
“Marie. Right. Well, they are kind of the same name, aren’t they?” She reached for a glass with her long-fingered, perfectly manicured hand, and I took another big swig from my glass, trying to figure out a way to surreptitiously wipe the foam from my upper lip. Couldn’t come up with one, and ended up using my sleeve, which brought on another round of swigging, before I finally pulled myself together.
Luckily, Andrea wasn’t paying attention to me. She scanned the room as she sipped her drink, occasionally waving her fingers at one or another of the men. They melted, of course. That’s what men do when a woman like Andrea graces them with a look. They melt.
However, the closer I got to the bottom of my glass, the less this bothered me. I searched for a menu, didn’t find one, and poured myself another drink. After half of it was gone, I smiled at Andrea.
“So, tell me about Mr. Henderson.”
Those were the last words I needed to say. Oh, I said some other stuff, and I think I even mentioned how cute I thought James was, way near the bottom of the first pitcher, but really, it was Andrea’s show after that. Wow, was she mad at Mr. Henderson.
The thing that did me the most good was, she didn’t do mad very well at all. In fact, a couple of times, she looked positively average. Mousy little me was pretty happy to see that.
I stumbled back into the office, fifteen minutes late and half-cut from the stupid margaritas I’d been pounding back with Andrea. I saw Farley huddled in the corner. He looked like he was in pain. I didn’t know if the information I’d gathered was going to help him or hurt him, but before I could talk to him, Mr. Latterson stomped out of his office, mightily pissed at me. Apparently he’d had to answer the phone—twice—all on his own.
I snapped to attention while he gave me heck. Well, I tried to, anyhow. The swaying didn’t really sell the idea that I was completely sober and ready for another half-day of work, yessir, yessir. Through it all, I tried to keep an eye on Farley.
He really didn’t look good.
Mr. Latterson finally gave up, and told me to make more coffee before he walked back into his office. I honestly didn’t know whether he wanted it for himself, or for me. I hopped to, and soon the Bunn was burbling merrily. When I turned to Farley he’d managed to stand up, and was walking over to my desk.
“What happened to you?” I asked. I stood beside him, feeling absolutely useless as he tried to sit on the edge of the desk and missed. He slid back down to the floor.
“I don’t know.”
He tried to get up again, then gave it up as a bad job, and stayed where he was, so I plunked down beside him.
“It happened as you were leaving,” he said. “You said Henderson was going to Las Vegas–” he shuddered as though the words he’d spoken had cut him—”I don’t know
why.”
Las Vegas? I thought he had reacted so strongly because of Ian Anderson. He was so certain that Anderson was involved—somehow—in his death. But Las Vegas? Where did that come from?
“You’re about half as bright as you were when I left,” I said. “If it has to do with Las Vegas, we have to figure that out.”
That appeared to surprise him, which surprised me. Hadn’t I mentioned the brightness thing to him? I was sure I had. Then I realized he’d zoned out again, and waved at him.
“Farley, pay attention. This is important.”
He slowly swung his head back and stared at me.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “What did you say?”
“I said—” I started, then realized I had no idea what I’d said, important or otherwise. “Heck, I can’t remember. Why did I have that many drinks?” I pushed myself to standing. “I need some coffee. I gotta get my head together, right now.”
I slopped some coffee in a cup, downing half of it in a gulp. It burned, and that was about all.
“That won’t work, you know,” Farley said.
“I have to try something.”
I gulped the rest of the coffee even though it made my eyes tear up something fierce, and then sat back down beside Farley. “I need to think. I really need to think right now. None of this is right, you know. Not a bit of it.”
“Not a bit of what?” he asked.
“Of what you’re doing. The fading away and blinking out. All that.”
I slumped against the desk, pulling my skirt down over my legs. “You should be gaining strength, not losing it. Know what I mean? You have to get brighter, not fade away. You need the strength for the next steps, otherwise, I don’t know if you’ll make it.”
“Make it?”
“To the next stage. Stage two.”
“Stage two?” He frowned. “Is this more of that moving on crap? I told you—”
“Farley, if you don’t at least get to the next stage, you are going to disappear from my sight. Do you understand what that means?”
“What does it mean?”
“It means we will be done. I’ll never see you again.” I felt a lump form in my throat. “I think you’ll be stuck here. Forever.”
“Forever’s a long time.”
“Yes. Yes it is,” I whispered. “So please, let me help you get to the next level. All right?”
“All right,” he said.
He settled back, close to me, and I felt the cold of his arm against mine.
“You’re leaving a cold spot,” I said.
“Sorry,” he replied, and pulled away.
“All right, so let’s go over what we know for sure,” I said. “You were killed, brutally. Somebody in this building rigged it, we hope, because if we have to start searching outside this building, I may shit and go blind, excuse my French. It might have something to do with the fact that Carruthers hasn’t been making much money in this place.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you said he hasn’t spent money on maintenance in years,” I replied. “Besides, more than half the offices are empty. Aren’t they?”
“Yep,” Farley said. “They are.”
“Another thing I figured out,” I said. “Did you know this building is being designated as a historical site?”
“No,” Farley said, and frowned. “Why would that matter?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, and rubbed my eyes. “But that’s what I’ve figured out, so far.”
“It’s not much, is it?”
“Nope,” I said. “Not yet, anyhow. But I will get more. I promise.” I tried to wink at him, but it didn’t go well, and all I ended up doing was blinking like an owl. “Like, for example, did I tell you that my new best drinking buddy Andrea thinks that her boss, Mr. Henderson, is involved in your death?”
Farley sat up straight. “She told you that?”
“Yes, she did. We became best friends and she told me everything I wanted to hear. More, even.” I yawned. “Why do I drink? I am so bad at it!” I rubbed my face, hoping that somehow that would help. “What do you think of her?”
“Who, Andrea?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know.” Farley was quiet for a moment. “Henderson has her in a shitty situation as far as I can tell—but really, I don’t know her.” He glanced at me. “Why? What do you think of her?”
“I think she was handing me a line of crap.” I grinned at him. “I think she’s really pissed at Henderson for using her as the office blow-up doll. I think she’s trying to cause him trouble. When I started talking about you and how you died—she jumped all over it. Said she wouldn’t put it past him, doing something like that. She tried to talk me into calling the police and telling them that he was involved.”
I yawned again, hugely. I knew that if I didn’t get up soon, I was going to curl up on the floor and go to sleep.
“The police?” he prompted.
“Yes,” I replied. “The police. I asked her why she wouldn’t make the phone call, but all she said was it could screw something she had in the works.” I snorted laughter. “Who the heck says, ‘in the works’ anymore?”
“I don’t know,” Farley said, faintly. I glanced at him, and could see he was thinking, hard.
“Anyhow, she didn’t even mention anything about you before I did. All she did was complain about him. So I think she’s lying.”
“Maybe she’s not,” Farley said. “She’s got it bad with that asshole—maybe she’s afraid to go to the police on her own.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help myself.
“Farley, you act like such a knight in shining armour, I can’t believe it.” I chortled. “Always trying to save the damsel in distress, aren’t you?”
“A what?” Farley leaped to his feet and glared at me as though I’d spit on his shoes or something. I’d pushed a great big button. “What the hell do you mean by calling me that?”
“I mean that you look at the world like a knight,” I said. “I bet you wouldn’t have to dig back too far to figure out why. It colours your perceptions about people, especially women people, a lot. Heck, you did it with me, remember? When Mr. Latterson laughed?”
“I remember,” he said gruffly. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know, Farley. It’s kind of endearing, but we don’t all have to be saved, you know. We’re not all victims.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a—what the hell did you call me? A knight?” He sounded stiff. Angry. Defensive. “They were good guys, except for the wars, and some of that other shit they pulled. They treated women with respect—”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” I said, cutting him off. “You know that, don’t you?”
“My daughter didn’t like it, when I acted like that around her.” Farley’s voice sounded like the words were being pulled from his mouth like rotten teeth.
“Your daughter,” I said. “Rose?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I used to drive her crazy.”
“Maybe she didn’t feel like a damsel in distress,” I said.
“But that’s what I do!” The whine was back in his voice, full force. “I’m the go-to guy, the guy you can turn to when you have a problem, the guy that will save you . . . “ His voice faded, and he hung his head. “Son of a bitch,” he continued. “Even if you don’t need to be saved.”
“I think you’re getting it.” I stood, shaking out my skirt and picking up my mug. I poured myself one more coffee, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. Not really.
“So what you’re telling me is, I was right.” He sounded stronger, and when I turned around, he had regained some of his colour. The tips of the hair on his head were beginning to glow.
Oh my God. He was starting to glow.
“Right about what?” I asked, barely able to believe what I was seeing.
“All this time, people have been telling me I could change. My wife, before my marriage
crashed and burned, and my daughter after that. All these years, trying to defend my position, protect my territory. And now you’re saying I was right? That it’s just the way I am?”
I think if I hadn’t had quite so many margaritas, I would have explained to him that the reason he couldn’t change now was because he was dead. He might have been able to before, if he’d found out why this “knighthood” thing had become his essence.
That’s what my mom calls it. The essence of the soul. The one defining characteristic of a person. It’s a good beginning, but isn’t everything. He had to figure out how he came to be that way. He wasn’t born acting like a knight in shining armour. Something or someone brought him to that state.
But I was so relieved to see him getting brighter, all I said was, “Yes.” It was enough that he knew. We could get to the why of it, after he remembered how he died and I wasn’t so drunk.
He smiled, and then began to glow more brightly than I’d ever seen him before. “Look at yourself, Farley,” I said. He glanced down, and even his smile brightened.
“This is a good thing, isn’t it?” he asked.
“You’re absolutely right,” I replied. “Congratulations. I think you made it to Stage Two.”
Stage Two
Gaining Awareness
Farley:
Let the Fading Begin
Want to hear something weird? My tattoos are starting to fade. Marie assured me that it was all perfectly normal. We all go through a fading period toward “uniform luminosity.” I asked her if she was going to write a book, and she laughed. Didn’t think there would be much of a market, since the only people who would really give a shit enough to read the book would be dead.
I don’t know about that, though. There are enough pop psychology life after death spiritual transformation books out there to bury a city the size of Edmonton, so why the hell shouldn’t she try her hand at it? Write a book, make a million, then she wouldn’t have to pull these kind of bullshit jobs she does now, to make ends meet. She wasn’t interested, though. Maybe later, she said. Maybe when she knows more. Me, I thought she knew plenty all ready.