To Free a Phantom

by Carrie Pulkinen

  She’d figure something out. She had no choice. Inhaling deeply, she pushed in her chair and swung her purse over her shoulder. Pressure mounted in the back of her eyes, but she would not allow tears to fall. Not here. “I guess I’ll be going then.”

  “Call me if you want to talk.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Or if you feel like getting hammered tonight, count me in.” Lindsay tried for a smile, but her eyes held so much pity, Erica almost choked on a sob.

  She nodded and hurried out of the office. If she could keep it together for her stupid exit interview, she might make it out with her dignity.

  Gage drummed his fingers on his armrest and stared at his phone. His leg bounced incessantly beneath the desk as his nerves twisted his stomach into a knot. He’d read every goddamn dating article his sister had sent him, and now he was more confused than ever.

  Act like you care. Act like you don’t care. Buy her flowers. Whatever you do, don’t buy her flowers. He’d read so much conflicting information last night, he couldn’t tell his head from his ass anymore.

  But one thing he did know was that he needed to see Erica today. Screw the relationship experts. He was asking her to lunch. Popping a wintergreen breath mint into his mouth, he strode to the elevator and punched the button for the sixth floor.

  As he rounded the corner and pushed open the door to the graphic arts department, he nearly plowed into Lindsay. He stopped short of knocking her down, but the papers she carried scattered on the floor.

  “Sorry.” He knelt to help her pick them up.

  “It’s okay.” She furrowed her brow. “What are you doing up here?”

  He handed her a stack of papers and straightened. “I was going to see if Erica wanted to go to lunch.”

  She scrunched her forehead until two lines formed between her eyebrows. “You haven’t talked to her today?”

  “Not yet. Why?” He started toward Erica’s desk, but Lindsay caught him by the arm.

  “Erica got fired.”

  Coldness spread through his chest, and his hands instinctively clenched into fists. “What? Why?” If that asshole Brian had anything to do with it, he’d gladly make his lower lip match his upper.

  She pulled him to a corner and lowered her voice. “That presentation she was working on for Aaron…the file was corrupt, so he fired her.”

  He blinked, his mind trying to catch up with the news. Erica had been fired over a damaged file? “Couldn’t she send him the backup?”

  Lindsay shook her head. “She forgot to move the file to the server. There was no backup.”

  “Shit.”

  “I thought she would’ve told you.”

  “Well, she didn’t.” He clenched his jaw. Was he more upset over Erica losing her job or the fact that she didn’t tell him? “When did it happen?”

  “Two hours ago.”

  “Thanks.” He turned on his heel and marched back to his office. It only happened two hours ago. She was probably still processing it herself; he shouldn’t have expected her to call him immediately. If this had happened ten years ago, she’d have told him the first spare second she had. He was always the first person she called when anything…bad or good…happened to her. Even when she was dating Carter, she’d always talked to Gage first. But that was ten years ago. She still might need a shoulder to lean on, though, and he needed to let her know his was available.

  He slid into his desk and dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. “Hey, Erica. It’s Gage. Call me when you get a chance.”

  Chapter Five

  Erica’s exit interview wasn’t much of an interview. They reminded her she wasn’t allowed to share company secrets…as if she knew any…and told her to expect her last paycheck to be deposited in two weeks. She somehow managed to hold herself together through the entire ordeal because all she felt was numbness.

  Numb was better than hysterical.

  Numb could stop for an iced latte—probably the last one she’d have for a while—on her way home. Hysterical couldn’t be seen in public.

  She ordered a coffee cake to go with her drink, paid the cashier, and almost tripped over the four-year-old boy standing behind her. Her cake, still tucked safely inside its paper bag, slid across the floor.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Erica bent down to retrieve her cake, lost her balance, and fell on her butt. Sharp pain shot from her tailbone up to her neck, and she grimaced. Her braid swished behind her back, revealing the scar on her cheek.

  The boy clutched his mother’s leg. “Mommy, what’s wrong with her face?”

  The mother’s eyes widened in horror. “I am so sorry.” She looked at her son. “That’s not nice, Jamie.”

  Erica smoothed her hair back into place and rose to her feet. “It’s okay.” She smiled at the boy but didn’t approach him. “I was burned in a fire a long time ago.”

  He buried his face in his mother’s pants.

  The mom patted his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Really, it’s okay. Most adults just stare; at least he had the courage to ask. Have a good day.” Clutching her bag tightly in her hand, she shuffled out the door and headed to her car.

  The sun shone high in the sky, warming her face as she trekked through the parking lot. Cars sped by on the street in front of the coffee shop. People meandered along the sidewalk on their lunch breaks, preparing to return to their jobs. The world moved on, while Erica’s life fell apart around her.

  She climbed into her car and devoured her slice of cake in three bites. The sweet, cinnamony goodness should have lifted her spirits a little bit, but she hardly tasted it. What a waste of calories. It wasn’t the cake’s fault, though. She’d have eaten the whole damn thing if she’d thought to buy it all.

  She took a sip of her latte and leaned her head back on her seat. What now? She could go home and sulk. But she’d be doing enough sulking tomorrow. How she was going to make it through her rehearsal with the kids, she wasn’t sure. She’d been debating canceling the class all week. Lord knew she’d be a mess tomorrow.

  But the class would go on as planned. It had been twenty years, for goodness sake. She was strong enough to function. The kids were depending on her. Their parents had paid for a summer production, and Erica intended to give it to them.

  A little guidance would’ve been nice, though. She couldn’t go to her dad. He might have already started drinking. Tomorrow would be hard for him too, and she’d caused enough disappointment in his life. Gage had called, and he was always happy to listen.

  But what would she say? She’d failed again. Cry on his shoulder. Let him comfort her. Then what? She needed to have some sort of a plan in place before she called him back.

  If only Mrs. Spencer were still around.

  She started the car and drove aimlessly for a while. As she passed her tiny theater, she considered going inside. The place brought back so many fond memories. But the theater was supposed to be her future, and at the moment, she couldn’t see past tomorrow.

  She kept driving, passing her old high school, and turning down a familiar street. Mrs. Spencer had turned one of her bedrooms into a rehearsal room, and Erica had taken private lessons every week for two years. If her ghost were around, she might be attached to something inside the house. Of course, after committing a murder-suicide, who knew what kind of state her spirit would be in. What kind of state had her living mind been in to commit such a horrendous act?

  Maybe if she parked on the street, she’d be close enough to talk to Mrs. Spencer’s spirit. It was worth a try. She would look like an idiot talking to the air if she waited for the estate sale tomorrow morning. At least this way, she wouldn’t have an audience.

  She pulled up to 1147 Sycamore Street, and her heart hammered in her chest. A car sat in the driveway, and the lights inside the house burned bright. Maybe her son was there, preparing for tomorrow’s sale. She parked in the driveway and made her way to the front porch before she could talk herself out of it.

&
nbsp; A tall, dark-haired woman with hazel eyes answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  Erica straightened her spine. “Hi, I’m Erica Miller. Is Johnny here?”

  The door opened wider, and Johnny appeared behind the woman. “Hey, Erica. This is my wife, Sarah.” He put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Erica is the one who took the theater off our hands.”

  Sarah smiled. “Oh. Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure.” As she stepped into the foyer, a strange heaviness settled in the air. Solemn. A stark contrast to the once-cheerful atmosphere the house used to hold. She followed Johnny and Sarah into the living room, and a thickness formed in her throat. She’d heard the details. She’d attended the funeral. But being here, in the house where it happened, brought on a whole new onslaught of emotions she wasn’t prepared for.

  Tears pooled in her eyes. If her teacher’s ghost was here, she wasn’t showing herself. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to believe…”

  Sarah slid her arm around Johnny’s waist. “What can we do for you, Erica?”

  Erica pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. She inhaled deeply, making certain her voice wouldn’t fail her as she spoke. “Mrs. Spencer had a mirror in the rehearsal room. An oval one with an ornate metal frame. Have you sold it yet?”

  “I think we have it.” Johnny motioned for her to follow him down the hall.

  The tightness in her chest released as she entered the room and found the mirror hanging on the wall. But her stomach sank when she saw the price tag. “You’re asking a hundred dollars for it?”

  Sarah entered the room. “It’s an antique.”

  “I know.” It was so much more than an antique, and its…special properties…rendered it priceless. They’d have been justified in asking a million for it if they’d known what it could do.

  Johnny blew out a hard breath. “Go ahead and take it.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “You were her star pupil. I’m surprised she didn’t will it to you along with the theater.” Though he sounded resigned, the slight hint of venom in his voice came as a surprise.

  When Johnny had contacted her about the will, they’d had a long, heart-to-heart discussion about the theater. Erica wasn’t family, and she wasn’t about to take anything that wasn’t rightfully hers, whether Mrs. Spencer wanted her to have it or not. But Johnny had assured her she’d be doing him and his family a favor by taking the theater off his hands. Was he having second thoughts about it now? She’d gladly return the place to him if he wanted it. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  “I’m so sorry I bothered you. I’ll come back tomorrow during the sale and bring enough cash to pay for it. It was nice to meet you, Sarah.” She bowed her head and shuffled toward the door.

  “Wait.” Johnny touched her elbow. “I’m sorry. Being in this house again after everything…my nerves are shot. Please, take it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He laughed dryly. “The thing’s hideous. If you don’t take it now, I’m sure it’ll end up in the dumpster tomorrow afternoon.”

  Ice flushed through her veins at the thought of that mirror—and what it contained—being thrown away like common garbage. “I can bring the cash by tomorrow.”

  “No worries. It’s yours. It’s heavy, though. I’ll carry it to your car.” He grasped the mirror by the metal frame and lifted it from its hook on the wall.

  Erica peered into the silver, but only her own face reflected back at her. Apparently, Johnny didn’t know about the mirror’s special properties. Both Erica and Mrs. Spencer had been sworn to secrecy when they’d discovered it. It appeared her teacher had taken the secret to her grave.

  She followed him to the driveway and opened the back hatch of her car.

  He gingerly laid the antique inside and closed the door. “I am sorry I snapped at you in there.”

  “It’s okay.” She waved off his apology.

  “You were one of the few who came to the funeral. Who actually acted like you cared.”

  “Of course I cared. She was the closest thing I had to a mom.” A sob lodged in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know.” Though he was five years older than Erica, he’d been around the house when Mrs. Spencer gave her private lessons. He’d even joked about adopting Erica as his little sister because she’d spent so much time there. “After it happened…most people were ready to write her off as a monster. They forgot all about the good things she’d done. The people she cared about.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I can’t believe she did it. I don’t want to believe it. But the evidence is all there, isn’t it? My mom’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Oh, Johnny.” She pulled him into a hug. “I didn’t want to believe it either. I still don’t. But we don’t know the whole story.”

  He patted her back. “And we never will.” Straightening, he wiped beneath his eyes and stepped back. “Good luck with the theater. I’ll see you around.”

  “Bye, Johnny.”

  He shuffled into the house, and Erica climbed into her car and drove home.

  It seemed Mrs. Spencer’s ghost had moved on. Her husband hadn’t shown himself to Erica, so he probably wasn’t around anymore either. But that mirror had been in the house when it happened. And if Erica could convince the spirit trapped inside it to talk, maybe she could glean a little more information about what had happened to her favorite teacher.

  And if the spirit would talk, maybe Erica could finally get her theater up and running to full capacity.

  She hauled the twenty-pound mirror up the stairs to her second-floor apartment. The weight wasn’t so bad, but with the oval shape, and the awkward way she had to carry it, her arms where shaking by the time she got it to the landing.

  Sandra appeared by her door. “Don’t take that into your house. There’s a spirit attached to it.”

  She shoved her key in the lock. “I know. That’s why I’m taking it into my house.” Opening the door, she ran her foot through the salt line, breaking it at the entry, and turned to Sandra. “You stay outside.” She stepped through the threshold, and using the toe of her shoe, she spread what was left of the salt to connect the circle again. The mirror nearly slipped from her hands, but she caught it with her knee and readjusted her grip. That would have to do for now. She’d add some more salt to the entryway later.

  Balancing the mirror on her desk and leaning it against the wall, she settled into the chair and stared into the silver. She smoothed her hair farther over her face to conceal her scar and examined the hollow expression staring back at her.

  Dark circles ringed her chocolate eyes, and her pallor had taken on a sickly, pale appearance. She looked even worse than she felt. But things were looking up now. She had Mrs. Spencer’s mirror, and hopefully the ghost that came with it. She’d finally done something right.

  “Colette? Are you in there?” She held her breath and waited for the shimmering image of the woman to appear. Nothing happened. “Colette?” She knocked on the glass.

  Nothing.

  Was there a special way she was supposed to call to the spirit? Every time she’d rehearsed at Mrs. Spencer’s house, Colette was already there, in the mirror waiting for her. She’d never considered that there might be some magic ritual that needed to be performed to summon the ghost.

  She sighed and shook her head. How was she ever supposed to learn how her ability worked if she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone she could see ghosts? “Colette, if you can hear me, I could really use some guidance right now.”

  No response.

  “Mrs. Spencer is dead, but I guess you know that. I was hoping you could tell me what happened.” She traced her fingers along the frame as a sob bubbled from somewhere deep in her chest. “She left me the theater in her will, but I lost my job today, so I have no way to pay the mortgage. I’ve only been able to find seven kids willing to enroll, so I’m not mak
ing enough money on tuition to feed myself much less pay all the bills.”

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she let them spill down her cheeks. “And tomorrow is…I don’t even want to think about what tomorrow is.” She laid her head on the desk. “What am I going to do, Colette? I fail at everything. How do I expect to make this theater work when I can’t even keep a job?”

  She straightened and wiped the tears from her cheeks, determined to get the spirit to talk. “I summon the ghost of Colette. Show yourself to me.”

  Her own mascara-streaked face stared back at her.

  “Damn it, Colette, I need help. Abracadabra. Voilà. Where are you?” She stood and took one last glance in the mirror. “This is pointless. I’m going to bed.”

  Chapter Six

  Erica sat in the small auditorium as Amber stood in the center of the stage, singing her solo. The girl’s voice melted in the ears like butter. Smooth. Soft. She had talent for miles, and there was no doubt she’d do well for herself with the right guidance.

  But this song needed something Erica couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was good, but it would be great if she could figure out how to coach her pupil. If Colette would appear, the spirit could tell her exactly what was missing.

  Colette had been a Broadway star in the 1940s. She knew the ins and outs of making a great production…of making a great actress…better than anyone. She’d been Mrs. Spencer’s advisor for years, and when Erica revealed her ability to see the ghost, Colette became her mentor as well.

  But she was stuck inside that damn mirror, and Erica had no clue how to summon her. She rolled her neck to stretch the stiff muscles. She must’ve gotten up sometime in the night, because when she’d woken this morning, she’d found herself sitting in front of Colette’s mirror, head down on the desk.

  Amber finished her song, and the cast seamlessly acted out the rest of the scene. Just as Jason escorted Amber to the center of the stage for the finale, the lights brightened, blinding the actors, before shutting off one by one until only a few remained, casting the stage in an eerie blue haze.