Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  “There was a short power outage,” Tate said smoothly. “I came down to make sure Bellamy and the kids were okay. The lights came back on after a while, but I hung out with her a bit to make sure they’d stay on.”

  Faith’s smile was back as she approached her son. She reached toward him, but he stiffened, causing her to falter. After an uncomfortable moment, she patted his shoulder instead of embracing him as it seemed she had wanted to.

  “That was sweet of you,” she said. “Thank you, son.”

  Tate shrugged, but he said nothing else, gazing down at the floor.

  The gleam of headlights appeared in the driveway, and Douglas gave me a tight smile. “Bellamy, it looks like your father’s here. I’ll walk you to the car.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, casting another look over my shoulder at Tate.

  But he was gone, already halfway up the stairs and rapidly disappearing from sight. Turning back to the door, I let Mr. Baldwin lead me outside.

  The next morning, I peeled myself out of bed early, intending to walk into town with Dad to open the bookstore. We’d had a shipment of books come in the day before, and I needed something to take my mind off what had happened at Baldwin House. I hoped a quiet Sunday spent shelving books would do the trick. After taking a few pancakes from the stack between us, I covered them in syrup under Dad’s watchful eye.

  “How were things at the Baldwin’s house last night?” he asked.

  His gaze fixed on me, as questioning as his tone. I knew he still waited for me to tell him what happened the last time I’d stayed late to babysit. My mother’s death had brought us closer together, and there wasn’t much I kept from him. But this was something I didn’t know how to approach—especially since I had yet to make sense of it.

  Shrugging, I dug into my pancakes. “It was pretty low key. I actually… spent some time talking to Tate.”

  It was better than telling him nothing.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you? If he’s around all the time, why doesn’t he babysit his own siblings?”

  “Well,” I began, trying to choose my words carefully. “This disease he has… Ezra says it causes a lot of pain. He has migraines and trouble with his vision—even seizures. I guess they want him to be able to rest whenever he needs to.”

  “Poor kid,” Dad mumbled between sips of coffee. “He didn’t try anything with you, did he? I don’t care if he’s sick; I’ve still got a loaded shotgun for any punk who tries to get fresh.”

  I laughed. Then, thinking of Tate’s harsh tone of voice and aversion to letting people get too close, I sobered. “The guy is as prickly as a cactus, Dad. No worries on that end.”

  He shook his head. “He’d have to be made of stone not to notice how beautiful you are. I know he seems weak because of his illness, but just be careful. You don’t know him as well as you do Ezra or those kids.”

  I had a feeling no one really knew Tate, especially now that his illness had changed him. Despite how rude he’d been to me, I’d also seen that he could be considerate and kind—but only when he wanted to be.

  “I will, Dad,” I said, even though I knew Tate wouldn’t hurt me. Despite his outburst the night I’d first encountered him, he hadn’t laid a finger on me. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid making any physical contact with me at all.

  Silence passed between us as we finished eating, and then Dad stood to clear the dishes. Rising to help him clean the kitchen, I cleared my throat. I glanced over at his back as he stood at the sink scrubbing plates and the pans I’d used to make breakfast. The question I’d been dying to ask lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I was afraid. He was the only person who could help me with this, but I didn’t want to disturb his mind while he seemed to be doing so well. He hadn’t mentioned ghosts in over a week, and I worried bringing it up would set him off again.

  There’s nothing wrong with your dad, I chastised myself. If you’re both seeing ghosts, you can’t both be insane.

  “Hey, Dad?” I ventured.

  “Yeah, munchkin?”

  “I want to ask you a question about ghosts.”

  He paused, his shoulders going rigid at my question. Turning slightly, he gazed at me over his shoulder. “Bellamy, have you been seeing them?”

  He sounded so frightened at the possibility that I couldn’t bear to put that sort of strain on him.

  “No!” I said in a rush. “No, I just… I’m just curious. You keep records about seeing them, so I thought maybe you had solved the mystery.”

  “What mystery?” he mumbled, going back to the dishes.

  “Why?” I ventured. “Why do they appear to you? Is it that they choose who sees them, or do you have some sort of special ability?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, laying rinsed plates in the drying rack. “At first, I worried they would hurt me. Some of them look downright terrifying.”

  Thinking of the ghosts I’d seen, with their dead, black eyes and the noises emanating from them, I shuddered. “Has one ever attacked you?”

  He shook his head. “I thought one tried, once. But I really think he was just frustrated.”

  I frowned. “Frustrated with what?”

  “Well, a ghost is a spirit that isn’t at rest, right?” he said, turning to face me and leaning against the counter with arms folded over his chest. “How would you feel if you were trying to communicate with people who can’t hear you, or who run at the sight of you?”

  “You can’t hear them?”

  Just like I couldn’t hear the two women from Baldwin House. Hearing this made me even more certain that we were experiencing the same thing.

  “They open their mouths and move them, but no sound comes out,” Dad replied. “I try my best to understand… sometimes, they try to show me things… but I must be missing something. The messages never seem clear.”

  For a while, I didn’t say anything. I simply stood and stared off into space, the wheels in my head turning. Dad sighed, straightening and crossing the kitchen to where it opened into the living room.

  “You must think your old man is nuts,” he murmured.

  “Of course I don’t,” I insisted, following him and halting him with a hand on his arm. “I just want to understand, is all. I think that’s what Mom would have done, and I don’t think anyone else has tried. You deserve that much, at least.”

  He turned and pulled me into his arms, crouching to rest his head against mine. “You don’t have to do that.”

  Hugging him back, I took comfort in his nearness. The last few weeks had been emotionally draining and confusing, but it was nice to know that some things were constant. He might be unpredictable when he was out chasing ghosts, but when I needed him, he was always there.

  Patting his round belly, I smiled. “Time to get a move on. Those books aren’t going to stock themselves.”

  We parted ways to get dressed, and then joined back up for the short drive into town. Even though I insisted we walk to save gas, Dad claimed it was too hot. The further into summer we got, the stickier the air became, until even thinking about stepping outside caused your forehead to break out in a sweat.

  Reaching the shop well ahead of our weekend one o’clock opening time, we set about filling the shelves with our newest shipments. While I tended to prefer the fiction section, I somehow found myself in the back, rifling through the non-fiction tomes.

  It was in the ‘sciences’ section that I found it. A book on parapsychology, and, next to it, several about investigating paranormal phenomena. Putting aside the stack of child psychology books I’d been about to find a place for, I removed three of the books from the shelf—the one about parapsychology and two of the investigative ones. Holding them in the crook of my arm, I peered out from my aisle toward the register. Dad was nowhere in sight. Moving quickly, but with light steps, I made my way toward the front of the store, mentally counting the contents of my wallet. I wanted these books—needed them—but I wouldn’t steal them. However, I di
dn’t exactly want him to see me buying them. After our talk this morning, I could tell he didn’t exactly like me prying into his ghost encounters. If he thought for a second I was having them myself, I wasn’t sure what he’d do. He had enough to worry about.

  I made it to the register and quickly scanned each book. I could hear Dad rifling around somewhere in the children’s fiction section, and hoped he would stay there just a little bit longer.

  “What are you buying now, munchkin?” he called, poking his head over the low kids’ shelves.

  Quickly tossing the books into my bag hidden under the counter, I straightened and smiled sheepishly, wallet in hand. “Just a few history books,” I lied. “It’s going to be time for me to start my college essays soon. I need some good material to pull from.”

  Dad chuckled. “Even during the summer, you can’t help finding something educational to read. You are, indeed, your mother’s child.”

  I shrugged, giving him my most innocent face. “Guilty as charged.”

  Or just plain guilty. I felt like crap while I paid for the books and fished my change out of the register. The subject I was studying was one he likely wouldn’t approve of, and I hated lying to him. But, as he gave me a grin and went back to his work, I knew it was for the best… at least for now. I needed a better idea of what I could be dealing with. Besides, my research could prove useful to him, too. With that in mind, I went back to work, anxious to get it all done so I could focus on my reading when the store closed down for the evening.

  That next day, I found myself on pins and needles to get to Baldwin House. I’d spent all of Sunday night poring over the books I’d bought about paranormal activity and ghosts. The subject was fascinating, and I needed to share what I learned with Tate. The kids were waiting for me in the kitchen, already wearing their swimsuits. Thankfully, I’d remembered to bring mine after having promised them Friday afternoon that we could swim on Monday. I joined them for bowls of oatmeal, and then asked them to watch TV in the living room while I went to the library for a moment. Used to me needing a book at my side during pretty much any activity, Max and Emma simply shrugged and did as I asked.

  Grabbing my phone, I shot Tate a quick text, hoping he would get it right away.

  Come to the library, please. It’s important.

  About a minute later, my phone vibrated in my hand with his response.

  What do you want?

  Rolling my eyes, I plopped in a chair in the library and crossed my legs.

  To talk to you in person.

  He answered almost immediately.

  If you wanted to see my ugly mug, you should have just said so. OMW.

  My fingers froze over the keys, and I was seconds away from telling him he wasn’t ugly. For some reason, I hesitated, and then the moment passed me by. Something told me he wouldn’t have appreciated my saying that, so it was probably for the best.

  A few minutes later, Tate appeared wearing a navy hoodie and matching pants, feet thrust into a pair of slippers. With the skylight overhead, the temperature in here was warmer than the rest of the house, yet he gave no indication that he was uncomfortable in the sweatshirt.

  “Well?” he prodded once he’d entered and closed the door. “I dragged myself away from my bed and a Gotham marathon… this better be as important as you say.”

  Standing to face him, I slid my phone in my back pocket. The fact that he’d gone back to being so churlish gave me pause, but I powered ahead. I’d called him down here, so there was no turning back now.

  “I spent my weekend reading up on parapsychology,” I began.

  “What?” he blurted, his brow wrinkling within the shadow of his hood.

  “It’s the study of mental phenomena—”

  “I know what parapsychology is,” he snapped. “Why would you spend your weekend studying it?”

  “Because, I got to thinking… there has to be some way to get rid of the ghosts in this house. Have you ever tried to get them to leave?”

  Tate gritted his teeth, hands balling into fists at his sides. “No, I invited them in for tea, then stood back and let them have full run of the house.”

  I sighed, feeling far less confident than I had this morning. Maybe I’d been mistaken, but I thought we’d come to an understanding before. Now, we were strangers again. He was no longer the boy who’d given me a book, or waited up with me when I was scared.

  “Look, I wasn’t trying to imply that them being here was your fault or anything,” I ventured. “I just thought it couldn’t hurt to do some research on the subject and try something you might not have done before.”

  Inhaling, and then releasing his breath on a snort, he shook his head. “You are unbelievable. It isn’t enough that you put yourself in this situation by snooping around where you didn’t belong, but now you have to make matters worse by trying to solve everything. This isn’t a game, Bellamy. My life isn’t some puzzle you can solve, or some project you can fix!”

  I flinched when he began to yell, but I refused to let him scare me into backing away. “I know that.”

  He inclined his head at me. “Do you? Because I highly doubt it. You get chased by the ghosts once, twice, and now, all of a sudden, you know everything about it. You traipse in here trying to tell me what I should do, when you don’t know the first thing about them.”

  “I’m just trying to help,” I ground out from between clenched teeth. He was starting to piss me off.

  “Do me a favor and don’t bother,” he argued. “You’re here for one reason, and that’s to babysit Max and Emma. Stay your ass off the third floor, mind your business, and they’ll leave you alone. End of story.”

  Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and left me alone in the library, slamming the door behind him so hard that a framed painting fell off the wall. The glass shattered, sprinkling across the carpet. Shaking from head to toe, I sank down onto the closest chair. I tried to slow my breathing, but I was too wound up from the argument with Tate. A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Ezra. He guided his chair into the room, concern creasing his features.

  “Is everything all right in here?” he asked, glancing from me to the broken glass on the floor.

  I nodded and forced myself to speak. “Yes, I… it was an accident.”

  Ezra watched me in silence for a moment, as if waiting for me to divulge more. When I didn’t say anything else, he nodded.

  “All right. It’s okay… it’s just a little glass. You go take the kids to the pool, and I’ll handle this.”

  I stood and crossed the room toward him, kneeling to pick up the larger shards of glass. “No, I should help. It was my fault.”

  Ezra placed a hand on my shoulder. “Bellamy, stop.”

  Pausing with three pieces of glass in my palm, I glanced up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

  My voice wavered, and a lump rose in my throat. I had thought I could help this family, help Tate, but all I’d done was make a mess of things. I had no idea what I was doing.

  Giving me a smile, he urged me to stand and held his hand out for the glass. “You have nothing to apologize for. Go. I’ve got this.”

  Nodding, I blinked back tears, feeling like an idiot after what happened with Tate. He’d made it clear not once, but three times, that he wanted nothing to do with me. My interference wasn’t needed or welcome, so the best thing I could do was take Tate’s advice. He would know better than I did how the ghosts behaved when someone ignored them. So, that was exactly what I planned to do.

  Thursday dawned with cloudy skies and rain, which I knew would make the humidity even more unbearable. When I opened my eyes to the sound of water drops tapping my window, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I’d been dreading this day for a month now, and while the situation at Baldwin House had been a distraction for a while, there could be no avoiding it.

  It had been two years to the day since my mother died. On other days, it seemed as if it had been forever since I’d seen her face. Today,
the pain of her loss felt as fresh as ever.

  I lay there, thoughts swirling in my head. When people die, time moves on around you, no matter how abruptly your life has been upended. Over time, you begin to move again, too, pushing past the pain and taking things one day at a time—until the days begin to move at their usual pace. You don’t count every minute or hour; you stop turning to talk to them, forgetting that they aren’t there.

  But then, the date of their loss comes back around like hands striking twelve on a clock, and just like that, you’re back where you started. Counting the minutes and the breaths in and out of your lungs, lying in bed and waiting to hear the sound of their singing come wafting from the kitchen along with the aroma of pancakes.

  Shaking away the melancholy thoughts, I reached for the phone plugged in on my nightstand, noticing that it was seven o’clock. If I didn’t get out of bed and start getting ready to go to Baldwin House, Dad would start to worry. Of the two of us, this day would be hardest on him. With that in mind, I forced myself out of bed, barely making an effort at choosing decent clothes before braiding my hair into a crown-like coil around my head to protect it from the rain. Leaving the curls loose wasn’t an option in the rain and humidity.

  I trudged into the kitchen and found it empty, which was unusual on a normal day. Dad was an early riser and liked to read the paper before heading out. But today wasn’t a normal day.

  I set a pot of coffee to brew, then retraced my steps back down the hall and paused in front of his bedroom door. I hesitated only a moment before knocking, knowing he was awake even though he hadn’t come out.

  “Come in,” he said, his voice muffled.

  I twisted the knob and slowly opened the door, peering around it cautiously. I wanted to make sure he was all right, but I didn’t want to intrude on a private moment.

  He stood near his desk, facing his wall of ghosts. Hands braced on his hips, he stared at them without turning around.

  “I made coffee,” I ventured, uncertain of how to approach him. I wasn’t sure if he was having one of his episodes and needed to be left alone or not. “You want some breakfast?”