That’s the first time I’ve heard the words “ghost” and “good” paired together. My world is definitely changing. “Of what?”
“That she might not be dead.”
“Okay, you just lost me.”
Lauren merges the van another lane over. “It’s kind of basic. If you can see ghosts, then you’d see her if she was one. I mean, if she wanted you to. So, she’s probably not a ghost. At the same time, we can’t know that. She might just be new at being dead.”
“New at being dead?” I’m not sure what to do with that.
Lauren glances at me. “Weren’t you once new at being alive? How good were you at walking and talking?” She takes the exit, slowing the van around the curve.
Things just keep getting more strange. Then it occurs to me to ask, “Where are we?”
“Almost at the Outer Banks,” Lauren says. “It won’t be long. You slept for like an hour and half. By the way, you snore. Did you know that? You probably couldn’t hear it over your music.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth again. I really love that. She’s trying to keep a straight face but doesn’t know she’s giving herself away. She’s lying, totally. I just know it. Okay, I don’t know for sure but I really hope she’s lying.
~~~
Back when I was eight, my family went on vacation in the Outer Banks. We never went again. Personally, I thought the place was fantastic. Endless beaches on one side with waves rolling in from the ocean and peaceful Currituck Sound on the other. So, you had both surf and calm water depending on your mood. There were restaurants by the millions—burgers, pizza, subs, ice cream and any kind of seafood you could think of—plus shops all over the place selling tie-dye t-shirts, kites, posters, toys and even live hermit crabs with painted shells. I never wanted to leave. Basically, it was kid heaven.
The Outer Banks didn’t quite have the same effect on my parents. They kept describing their surroundings as being “tacky” or “seedy.” I remember them also saying there were too many people around, which struck me as being kind of odd since obviously it was summer at the beach. Later, I realized what they really meant was that they were surrounded by the wrong kind of people, ranging from basic families to dreadlocked beachcombers and bikers. “Common” was the word I remember my mother using to describe them when she didn’t think I was listening. After that, they tried taking us to more “genteel” places like Charleston and Atlanta but after a while we were just shipped off to summer camps and they went where they pleased.
I try to fight off the sinking feeling. Forget all that, I tell myself—it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here now, with Lauren. She drives along roads that seem vaguely familiar and I stare out at flags flapping in front of beach supply stores, mini-golf courses with waterfalls and dinosaurs, places to rent kayaks and drive-throughs where people buy beer and silly t-shirts. Behind the businesses is a seemingly endless row of giant multi-level beach houses.
“We should be there soon,” Lauren says.
Suddenly, it occurs to me to ask, “Did you call this guy or something? Does he know we’re coming?” With everything that happened, I totally forgot about that part.
Lauren is scanning for a radio station now that we were back in civilization, but she stops her search. “Nothing like that. I just pulled up his address.”
“How do you know it’s even him?”
“There was only one Victor Delvechio listed in Kill Devil Hills. Seemed a safe bet.”
Something else crosses my mind. “It’s like two o’clock or something, right? What are the odds of this guy even being home?”
Lauren doesn’t hesitate. “Just a hunch but, considering Anthony’s description, I kind of doubt his son works nine to five.”
She steers the van off the main road and down a side street, the nice beach houses suddenly replaced by low end motels and apartment buildings. Not scary places or anything. Just kind of—oh, crap—the words “tacky” and “seedy” come to mind. The scenery around us continues to get more ghetto as we drive another mile or so.
“Arriving at destination!” the GPS lady announces. She’s been rambling on for so long that I forgot she was even there. Kind of like having your grandmother in the back seat.
Lauren kills the engine in front of an apartment building, hands-down the winner for the “tacky” and “seedy” prize. Blotchy, faded green stucco walls. Moss clinging to the roofline and window frames. Cheap, worn plastic furniture alongside rusting grills on cluttered balconies. You can tell at a glance the place is a total dump.
“So, here we are,” Lauren says. “Pop quiz! Is he home?”
I check to see if she’s joking but she stares back at me, waiting for an answer. “I guess he could be, sure,” I say. “Like you said, he might not work—”
“That was a yes or no question. Don’t think, answer.”
“Yes.”
“Cool, let’s go test your psychic abilities again to see if they’re getting any sharper.”
Sure enough, V. Delvechio is one of the names listed on the apartment intercom buttons. Apartment, 2-C. I push the button and wait. When nothing happens, I try again. After a few seconds, I say, “Guess he’s not home.”
Lauren shoots me a disappointed look. “You just said he was home. You need to learn to trust your instincts.”
I shrug. “He’s not answering.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t home. Maybe he’s sleeping.”
Just then, I hear a woman coughing. She’s crossing the parking lot in our direction carrying bags of groceries. She’s probably in her forties, kind of worn out looking with dirty hair partially tied back while the other half blows in the breeze. Apparently, she wore slippers shopping.
“I bet I can talk us inside,” I say.
“Go for it.”
As the woman walks up the steps, I smile. “Hi. We’re here to visit my uncle.”
Her eyes flicker my way for just an instant. “Good for you.”
“He’s not answering his buzzer,” I explain. “Do you think maybe—”
“Whatever.” The woman unlocks the door and pushes past us. I hold the door open and wait to be sure but she doesn’t look back as she wanders down the hall.
Lauren mocks me with an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Impressive. You worked her like a pro.”
“She really should be more concerned about her own safety. We could be anyone. Just saying.”
“Hate to burst your bubble. You look totally trustworthy.”
Is that a bad thing? I can’t tell by the way she says it. “What about you?”
She takes a step back. “Look at me.”
Right, she’s still wearing her conservative business-casual costume. “Actually, I think you look kind of scary that way.”
Lauren laughs. “I totally agree, but not to the slipper lady. Besides, she just wanted to get inside and microwave something. Are we going in or what?”
We climb the stairs to the second level and find a dingy hall lined with closed doors. A low bass sound vibrates the floor and grows louder as we approach Apartment 2-C.
“I guess that’s why he didn’t hear his buzzer,” Lauren says. “Sounds like Victor’s into Eminem.” She knocks on the door and the music cuts off inside the apartment. Footsteps approach the door.
Great, the back of my neck tingles. If it’s about knocking on this door, a little more warning would have been nice. I can’t be sure. Sometimes, it’s hours or even days before I find out. All the same, I wonder if this isn’t the best door to be knocking on. I glance at Lauren but she seems unconcerned. Still, I say, “Maybe we should—”
The door opens. “What’s up?”
Old Anthony’s son is not what I’d imagined. He’s way younger, for one thing, probably in his late twenties. Old Anthony must still have been having kids in his fifties. I also hadn’t imagined Victor being over six feet tall with cornrows and muscular, heavily inked arms. If Victor has his father’s smile, he isn’t sharing it at the momen
t.
“Are you Victor Delvechio?” I say, still hoping we may have gotten things wrong.
“Maybe. Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Jack and this is Lauren.”
Victor checks out Lauren, then turns back to me. “Look, if this is about whatever religion you’re into, I’m good.”
He goes to close the door but I say, “It’s nothing like that. We just wanted to ask about your guitar.” Even as I say it, I ask myself what the hell I’m doing. That was the perfect moment to bail.
Victor shakes his head just slightly. “What guitar?”
“A Fender Telecaster you used to own.”
He thinks for a moment, then opens his door the rest of the way. “No sense talking in the hall.”
Something tells me not to walk through that door. Just a feeling which I ignore. I tell myself I’m being silly. After all, we’re the one who knocked on it. And it’s not like Victor said or did anything hostile. A moment later, we stand in his living room. Behind him, two guys sit watching us—one white guy with a shaved head and a black dude with dreadlocks. Both of them hold cigarettes, ribbons of smoke drifting up to a stained ceiling. The shades are drawn, the reeking room dark except for the ceiling light. For some reason, there’s a blanket draped over the coffee table.
“What do you have there, Victor?” Shaved Head says.
“These two religious kids want to ask me about something I used to own.”
“Actually, we’re not—”
“Just kidding. Have a seat.” Victor gestures toward his sofa.
Lauren’s eyes meet mine and I can tell she isn’t exactly loving the situation. I lie to myself again. So, Victor and his buddies look kind of creepy but probably they’re really nice guys. Who are we to judge? Besides, what are we supposed to do, suddenly run out the door and back down the hall? After all, we came here. Victor didn’t lure us into his apartment.
“Okay, sure,” I say. The way I figure it we won’t be there long. I can talk us back out of there again within a minute or two. Lauren and I cross the room and sit down as Victor remains standing. All eyes are on us, so I try not to check out the covered coffee table. But there are lumps beneath the blanket and I can’t help wonder why. On the floor, there’s a scale and a box of baggies.
“So, what’s this about my old guitar?” Victor says. He arches his back to stretch and his t-shirt stretches against muscle.
My eyes jump away from the scale and baggies. Definitely better to pretend I didn’t notice that whole deal. “Oh, right,” I say. “The Telecaster you used to own.”
Victor’s tone suddenly goes hard. “Why do you know anything about something I used to own?”
I glance over at Lauren again. She’s holding what looks like an old metal lighter that she must have found on the couch and picked up out of nervousness. Her eyes are cast down as she stares at the worn carpet. I bring my eyes back to Victor’s. “I just ended up with the guitar. Your father said—”
“Why would you talk to my father? Are you checking up on me or something?”
A drop of sweat trickles down my forehead. “It’s not like that. It’s just—”
A grin spreads across Victor’s face. “Lighten up! I’m just kidding around. All you religious kids are the same. Way too serious.”
This time, I don’t correct him about the religious thing. Obviously, Victor is screwing with us. It isn’t like we’re supposed to enjoy it. We’re the mice and the cat is playing. But how hungry is the cat?
“Okay, cool,” I say. “We should probably get going. Thanks for—”
Victor shakes his head. “What’s the rush? We’re just getting to know each other.” He turns to Lauren. “What’s your name, honey?”
Lauren’s eyes flash at Victor. “Not your honey.”
“She’s kind of hot when she’s pissed off,” Victor says to his friends.
I stand up and Lauren does too.
“Okay, we’re leaving now,” I say.
Victor shakes his head again. “I’ll tell you when you’re leaving.”
Lauren stares hard at Victor, still holding that lighter in her hand. She keeps rubbing her thumb across its surface.
“Look, she’s checking me out.” Victor grins at his friends, then eyes Lauren up and down. “Tell you what, babe. If you’re nice to me, I’ll let you keep my lighter.”
Dreadlocks and Shaved head both laugh but Lauren doesn’t even seem to notice. She keeps staring at Victor like she can see right through him.
Victor cracks a smile but shifts on his feet like he’s not quite sure what to do. “How about you stop doing that thing with your eyes.”
“You took money from your father’s bank account,” Lauren says, her tone flat and distant. “He didn’t want to think it was you.”
Victor frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Oh, shit. Where are we going here? I try to get Lauren to look at me but she doesn’t break her focus on Victor.
“You stole from your brothers too. When you were young. You sold their things and they never saw them again.”
Victor sneers but Lauren is definitely getting under his skin. He puts his hands in his pockets, then takes them right out again. He steps back and cocks his head. “You need to stop talking.”
A moment passes in silence, then Lauren says, “What did you do to your sister?”
“Shut the hell up, bitch.”
Lauren shakes her head. “Oh, you remember,” she says. “Your sister definitely remembers.”
Victor’s eyes go cold like he’s looking inward, even as that creepy smile splits his face again. “Okay, so the religious chick is fucking insane!”
Victor’s words work as intended. Dreadlocks and Shaved Head chuckle. But I get the feeling they won’t be forgetting what they just learned about Victor anytime soon.
“Right?” Victor says. His eyes cut in my direction. “Holy crap, bro. Your girlfriend’s a nut job.”
I ignore the part about Lauren being my girlfriend. “She just knows things.”
“Okay, sure.” Victor rolls his eyes but it seems like his tough guy act is barely holding up. I get the feeling he want us out of there now as much as we want to leave. “Right, who cares. We have stuff to do. I got the guitar from some chick in Charlotte. She worked at a bar. Now, fuck off and get out of here.”
“What was her name?” Lauren says.
I can’t believe she has the nerve to keep pushing it. We need to go, now.
“Susan Walker. Why the hell would it matter?”
“What’s the name of the bar?” Now, she’s glaring at Victor like she’d tear him apart, given the chance. He can’t seem to break off contact with her either.
“The Trolleyman,” he says. “You keep bugging me and I swear—”
“We’re leaving.” I grab hold of Lauren’s arm and walk toward the door.
“You better freaking leave,” Victor says.
Lauren keeps her eyes on Victor’s even as I drag her. She doesn’t look away until he slams the door behind us.
We walk down the hall fast, neither of us speaking as I keep waiting for Victor to change his mind and come flying out after us. Lauren’s gaze remains fixed straight ahead, her brow creased with concentration. While I never doubted she must have some sort of psychic ability, now I’m stunned. I’ve never been around anything like that before. How was it even possible? I have no doubt Victor is thinking the same thing.
As soon we get outside, Lauren stops when I expect her to dash toward the van. She still grasps the lighter in her hand. She takes one last look at it and throws it in a great arc out across the parking lot. Then she takes something from her pocket. A cell phone.
“Is that—”
Lauren nods. “He left it next to his lighter. Idiot.”
“We don’t want that. Right?”
“Definitely. But something occurred to me.” She stabs at the screen three times, then waits. When someone answers, she says, “I’m n
ot giving you my name. I just want you to know that three guys are dealing drugs out of this location. In fact, right now they have it all out on a table in their apartment. From there, I’m leaving it up to you.”
Lauren disconnects and then dials. Again, just three numbers. She drops the phone behind a bush next to the front steps. “Just in case,” she says. “Let’s get out of here.”
9
Imagining the Need for Minty Breath
We drive out of the parking lot, neither one of us saying anything as we put some distance between us and Victor’s apartment building. We’re out of danger but my heart keeps beating fast as the adrenaline works its way through my system. I feel buzzed from it and the sky seems bluer than normal, the sun brighter. I still didn’t know what to do with what just happened. It will be a long time before I forget those moments when it seemed like Lauren stared right into Victor’s soul, seeing nothing but darkness. Sure, I’ve had premonitions, sometimes even about bad things about to happen, but I’ve never experienced that kind of insight. I definitely wouldn’t want to either.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Lauren takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I’m fine. What a creep. Just eye contact with that guy makes me wish I could take like fifteen showers.”
I can’t help laugh but that might be part of the adrenaline buzz too.
“Obviously, Victor has some very bad stuff going on,” Lauren says. “He’s a really screwed up person.”
“You realize that could have gone really badly,” I say, even though I’m not telling her something she doesn’t already know. Still, back at Victor’s apartment it seemed like Lauren couldn’t have stopped even if she’d wanted to, not once she’d locked on like that.
Lauren turns the corner, bringing us back out onto the street with all the nice beach houses. “I guess so. But the feeling I got was that Victor is all bluff. He’s a total slime ball, obviously, but he’s not particularly violent. At least, I didn’t see anything.”
Streetlights Like Fireworks Page 6