Ghost Program

by Marion Desaulniers

“Be just a minute.” She left the room.

  The rest of the day passed uneventfully until around noon when Brent called. I was sitting on my bed, eating a hamburger and some mashed potatoes, my mind hazy and slow from the medication, when I heard my phone ring.

  “Sam?” It was Brent’s voice. “I didn’t know if you’d gotten your phone back. This is the first time you’ve answered at this number in a few days.”

  “Sorry, mom had it.”

  “I’m taking the afternoon off of work and heading down to see you. If I get on I-5 now, I should only be an hour and a half or so. I worried so much about you last night.”

  “They’re gonna let me finish my classes from home,” I said. “So I’m here all day.”

  “I can’t wait to see you,” he said.

  “I feel like shit and look it, too. Will you still have feelings for me if you see my banged up face? It’s not very feminine, you know. There’s a gash on my forehead. I look ugly.”

  “Sam, I’d like you no matter how bad you looked. Don’t be like that.”

  “Would you like me if I were seventy and had wrinkles?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “What if I grew a beard?”

  “Now you’re just being weird.”

  “What if an alien put a seed pod in me and then I gave birth to a squid?”

  “What?”

  “That’s the pills talking, sorry. Hurry up and get here.”

  “See you soon,” he said.

  The phone went dead, and I went back to my lunch. I finished the plate off and put it on the floor. I crawled across the bed and inserted a zombie thriller into the DVD slot on the television. Mom had set it up on a portable stand, and as I pushed the play button, I wondered what had inspired her to bring me such a strange selection of movies. Besides Zombie Flesh #2, there was a copy of House on Haunted Hill and Without a Paddle, which is such a bad film, it doesn’t even merit being described here. The zombie film was about the efforts of a local hillbilly population to rid the town of zombies using baseball bats and hunting rifles. By the end of the film, the entire town had been turned, and the humans had all been eliminated. I watched the film with remarkable disinterest while drooling on my pillow until the movie turned itself off.

  Bored, I looked out the window and saw Gregg pacing around outside. There was a cement fountain in the middle of the yard that was never used or cleaned out but just sat ignored and full of dead, dirty leaves. I waved, but Gregg didn’t notice me as he walked around the perimeter of the fence. I closed the curtain, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. Apathy was fast becoming my sole trait.

  The doorbell rang, and then I heard footsteps trudging up the stairs leading to my room. If the ringing doorbell had been a Starbucks Mochaccino coffee, then the sound of footfalls on the stairs was a hot fudge, banana-topped sundae covered in maraschino cherries and marshmallow creme. But putting all food imagery aside, someone was on their way to visit me!

  Brent opened the door, holding a box of Godiva chocolates, running his surprised eyes over my clobbered figure while wearing a friendly, but anxious smile, then he met my gaze with his shining grey eyes as he dropped his heavy backpack on the wood floor. He came to me, content but slightly shaken as my hand reached for his, drawing it gently towards my breasts, close to my beating heart, and he delivered a passionate but very soft kiss to my cut mouth as I pulled him yet closer by hooking my fingers under the hem of his Levis. We stayed that way for a brief moment, then he sat up and spoke gently as he handed me the chocolate box. I left my head against the pillow while Brent sat close by.

  “My gosh, Sam. Your leg, the cast, are you sure you’re alright? Look at you!”

  “My mind is undamaged, my body not so much. I’ve got two broken ribs and a fractured ankle.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes, but they gave me white pills which keep me sufficiently blitzed. Are you going to stay?” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. There was satisfaction in knowing I hadn’t been forgotten.

  “I’ll stay as long as I can. My god, have you seen the reporters around your house?”

  “Mom told me.”

  Brent traced the bruise along my cheekbone with his finger, then carefully drew an outline around the stitched gash on my forehead, and finally touched my split lip.

  “Does it look that bad?” I asked.

  “Oh, Sam, you could never look bad....you just look hurt as hell. Let me look at you.”

  I felt butterflies in my stomach as he lifted the front of my shirt up to my neck and softly ran his hand over the purple swells of flesh on my belly and ribs.

  “This is not good,” he said. “Have you ever thought of hiring a bodyguard?”

  “And where would I find one of those?” I asked drily.

  “I’m not sure.” He ran his hand along my breasts. “Well, these gals don’t look as sore, but I wonder about the rest of you.”

  I squirmed a little, uncomfortable because I wasn’t used to anyone touching me like that. I gazed downward at myself; Brent’s hand still rested warmly on my breast, and my heart pounded beneath it at double its normal pace. A smirk on his face, he gave the breast a squeeze, then pulled the hem of my shirt down so it covered me.

  “How do you feel, now?” he asked.

  “Actually, it hurts to move. Can I ask a little favor? Say no if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Anything.”

  “Sneak into the pantry and get a bottle of wine?”

  “Uh, Sam. If your mom saw me do that...I mean, you’re a little young.”

  “Well, I wasn’t saying Get caught. She won’t notice if you hide it underneath a few other things, like a box of crackers and a liter of pop. Just go to the back of the pantry. There should be some wine bottles in a large box on the floor. The soda is on the second shelf.”

  “I’ll try, but should my mission fail, don’t be too upset. This is outside the scope of what I’d normally agree to for anyone, even you, but I’m going to make an exception since you’ve been maimed.”

  “I appreciate it.” I gave his hand a squeeze.

  “You better.” He frowned. “Well, I guess I should head downstairs then.”

  “I’ll be right here,” I said.

  He kissed the bruise on my cheek and left out the door. I stayed on my back and studied the ceiling some more.

  I had conflicting feelings about Brent. When he was gone, I felt a painful yearning for his return, but when he was close to me, I experienced a mixture of happiness and embarrassment. I’d never been in a serious relationship and wondered if it was a blessing or a huge violation of my privacy. When Brent had looked at the unsightly bruises on my stomach, I realized that there was very little about myself that I could conceal from him any longer. The more time he spent with me, the more he’d become acquainted with my sterling qualities as well as my shameful imperfections. Was I ready for that level of intimacy?

  The door slowly opened, and he came into my room, carrying more boxes and bottles than he had arms for.

  “I didn’t see her downstairs, your mom, but just in case, I grabbed two boxes of crackers, a can of squeeze cheese, and a liter of soda to disguise the wine bottle underneath. I almost dropped all of it coming up the stairs.” He dumped his catch on my computer desk.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if she did catch you. She catches me drinking all the time and never says anything. But it’s better she didn’t. Might’ve made you look creepy.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to look creepy.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do you want any of this?”

  “Can you open the bottle and bring me a pill out of that orange bottle, there? If I stop hurting, I may be able to sit up and visit for awhile.”

  “Jesus, are you sure you should be drinking with this stuff?” asked Brent as he studied the prescription bottle.

  “Don’t be so sanctimonious,” I said. “The alcohol will give it a nice kick.”
>
  “As you wish, your highness,” he said and handed me a pill and an open bottle of wine.

  “Have some yourself.”

  “Just a little. I’ve got to drive back to Seattle.”

  “No, you don’t. You can stay here. If mom gives me a hard time about it, I’ll just start to cry. They’ll give in to me. They think my mind is shattered; they think I’m damaged goods. Poor Sam, she’s been abused by the Seaside Strangler. I’m going to exploit my situation and get whatever I want. And for now, I want you. Please stay? I know it’ll be an early drive back, but we never get to see each other. I was so frightened on that boat. I thought I was going to die. I kept thinking I wish Brent was here; I wouldn’t be so scared if he was here with me.” I gave him a smug look, certain I’d gained his pity.

  “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” he said. “But wow, the Seaside Strangler.” He shook his head. “That was two guys.”

  “A couple of psychos.”

  “A couple of dead psychos.”

  “I could’ve been the one that died.”

  “You were too much for them.”

  “The wine’s starting to kick in. It feels good.”

  “Do you want me to help you sit up?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Let me help.” Brent gathered two pillows and placed them by the headboard, then held my hand as he pulled me up, positioning the pillows behind my back. “Room on the bed for one more?”

  “Sure.” I handed him the wine bottle.

  He took a swallow and handed it back to me. “What am I going to do with you? Seaside’s become too dangerous a town for you.”

  “I’m only staying another week.”

  “I’m gonna get the crackers and cheese.” He crawled forward on the bed, reached over to the desk, and grabbed the Ritz crackers and can of processed cheese, then crawled back next to me. “This isn’t a bad lunch.”

  “I already ate a hamburger.”

  “Well, this is it for me. Not too bad, though.” He squeezed a dollop of cheese out of the can and onto a cracker.

  I took another swig of wine and handed him the bottle. He took a sip to wash down the cracker.

  “You know what would be good with wine?” I said. “The chocolates that you brought. We can share them.” I picked up the box of expensive chocolates that he had brought me and opened them. “Ohh! They’re so fancy. Here’s one shaped like a snail!” I pulled it out. It was white chocolate with swirls of brown chocolate and shaped like a little beach snail. I popped it in my mouth and moaned at the explosion of raspberry and chocolate in my mouth. I washed it down with more wine.

  Brent smiled, pleased that his gift had brought me such pleasure. “Slide closer. I’ll pick the next one for you to eat. Let me put it in your mouth.”

  “If you say so.” I didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but I soon found out.

  Brent lifted a caramel square out of the plastic tray and placed it in his front teeth, then brought his mouth to mine and let go. “How’s that?” he asked. “Good?”

  “Mhhhhmmmmm.” I couldn’t answer as my mouth was full of candy.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said. He ran his fingers through my hair and gently twisted the strands into a bun behind my head as he slid his other hand underneath the waistband of my pajama pants and into my panties. He found the spot between my legs that he was looking for, and I moaned and squirmed. “Shh,” he said, then let go of my hair and shoved a truffle in my mouth while his other hand continued to fondle me as I panted, frantic from the sensation. Then he laughed and pulled his hand away. “No more of that till you’re better. How do you feel, now?” He wiped his hand on his jeans.

  “What was all that?” I asked, looking at his laughing eyes.

  “Something to take your mind off of things.”

  “Well, it worked,” I said, my voice a little shaky. Brent had produced in me a strange mixture of arousal, amazement, and embarrassment.

  “We’ll get back to that when you’re less broken.” He grabbed my hand and held it in his, studying it for a minute.

  “I should finish my term paper,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything less titillating. Or a better way to regain my composure. “Can you fish my laptop off the desk for me?”

  “Yeah.” Brent handed it to me. “What’s the paper about? Mind me asking?”

  “The thesis is about the search for a thesis.”

  “Seriously, or is that a joke?”

  “No, I’m writing a paper on how I go about finding a thesis for my papers. It’s kind of instructional, like something a student might want to read.”

  “Geesh. Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “It’s never been done before by a student. A thesis paper about thesis papers.”

  “You’re the first.”

  “Yeah. Do you got anything you gotta get done?”

  “There’s a Biochem 351 exam tomorrow.”

  “We can study a little, then maybe think of something else to do.”

  “Besides drinking wine and eating chocolate?”

  “Yeah.” My head was dizzy from the wine, so now was as good a time as any to do some heavy thinking about my term paper. A lot of people think that alcohol kills brain cells, but I always thought it made me smarter.

  Brent pulled a heavy book out of his backpack and read for awhile.

  I worked on my paper. After thirty minutes of typing, it was finished. I added my name to the top and e-mailed it to my instructor. That was my final assignment for English Composition, and I smiled with satisfaction as I knew I had just finished the class for good. Now I only had to complete calculus III and computer programming, and I’d be ready for my new college.

  I thought back to my time on the yacht. Back then, I hadn’t believed that I’d survive, let alone finish my term paper. But everything had worked out, and now I was safe and in the company of a good friend. I shivered as I remembered Mr. Breame’s rage as he kicked my stomach, then I thought back to my first day in his class. I hadn’t liked him, but I’d never expected him to be a monster.

  My cell phone rang. I wondered who it could be.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Sam? This is Veronica.”

  “Oh.” Had I really expected her to call? I didn’t even know her that well.

  “Do you think we could meet? There are some things I need to discuss with you.”

  “Well, like what? What do you need to discuss?”

  “Of course. I should have explained myself properly. Remember when you mentioned to me that you’d been...strangled by a phantom? Sam, I need you to listen now. It worried me all last night, your words. I think you may be in danger, and I’d like to help you. I could come by your house and pick you up. Please agree. If something were to happen to you, I’d feel responsible.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I’m going to take you to see Karen; she was a friend of mother’s. She’ll know how to handle your demon problem. Karen has psychic abilities like mother used to before she passed on, and I’d trust her with anything. Demons have been known to kill humans, Sam.”

  “I’ll come, but I’m not in the best of shape, you know.”

  “We’ll try to keep you comfortable. Can I pick you up?”

  “Yes, come by.”

  I heard her breathe a sign of relief. “What time will you be ready?”

  “3:30 should be okay. Just ring my doorbell. Someone will answer.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  I clicked the phone off.

  “Who was that?” asked Brent.

  “Veronica. She wants to take me to see a psychic. Oh! I forgot to mention you were here. Are you coming with?”

  “Gee, I’m not so sure you should be getting out of bed.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve been through a lot worse. Besides, I’ll have you to help me and staring at the ceiling is getting boring, anyway.”

  “What do you want to wear? I’ll get some c
lothes out of the closet for you.”

  “Just look in the dresser drawer. There should be some sweatpants and shirts in there.”

  Brent rummaged around in the drawer and produced a pair of sweats and a crew neck sweatshirt, both in red. “Will these work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me put them on you.” He sat down next to me on the bed, then unbuttoned my flannel shirt and carefully pulled it off of my arms. Then he gently pulled the sweatshirt over my head, and I pushed my arms and head through the holes. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

  “No. But I’m going to put my own pants on.”

  “Okay,” he laughed and handed me my sweats.

  I pulled my pajama pants off, struggling to remove them from my casted ankle, then folded them and placed them on a corner of the bed. I wiggled into my sweats, sliding them over my hips as Brent placed his science book back into his backpack and smiled at me.

  I reclined on my back, using my pillow to lift my head.

  “Who is this Veronica?” asked Brent.

  “She rescued me after I washed up on the beach.”

  “You washed up on the beach?”

  “Yeah. I was half dead. She and her husband carried me into the house.”

  “How did you not drown? You wore a life preserver? The water out there’s awfully cold. That’s a long, cold swim.”

  “Give me some credit. For all you know, I could be an Olympic level swimmer.”

  “But you’re not, I take it.”

  I didn’t answer for a minute, and he said, “Sam?”

  “No, I jumped off the yacht after Mr. Breame and his friend were killed. I should have died, but I was carried out of the water by the Dark Lord and found by Veronica.”

  “I though the Dark Lord was bad.”

  “He kind of is, but he thought I was his wife.”

  “He thought he was saving her,” Brent pointed out. “But he really was saving you.”

  “Yes, because in real life, she was murdered in his house. He couldn’t save her then, so he saves women that he finds now. And in doing so, he believes that he is rewriting his own life history.”