by Leah Cutter
However, Ray knew something about the supernatural.
He had seen the creature.
“Someone stole something from me,” Franklin said. “A powerful blade.”
“Powerful how?” Ray asked.
“It can hold spirits, take them,” Franklin said.
“I see,” Ray said thoughtfully. “And you need this blade back.”
“It is a matter of life or death for a whole lot of folks,” Franklin said, repeating what he’d told Karl.
Ray might understand if it was ghost lives on the line, but Franklin still wasn’t planning on mentioning it.
“Do you know who has the blade?” Ray asked.
“Dr. Traeger,” Franklin said.
Ray nodded and took another sip of his beer. “He’s a powerful man in this community. Lot of friends, particularly in law enforcement. He beat that lawsuit those patients’ families brought against him.”
“I know,” Franklin said sourly. “We tried breaking into his house—me and Darryl—but we got caught.”
“So you need someone with greater skills to steal this blade back for you?” Ray asked.
“Yes, sir. We do.”
Ray was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I know somebody. They can get here by tomorrow,” he said quietly. “But. Listen to me, Franklin. This is the first, last, and only time you ever ask me for this kind of favor. Whatever I may owe you or you owe me—this is it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Franklin said. Had he made Ray angry?
“Come by tomorrow at this same time,” Ray instructed. He seemed so serious. It was a side of Ray that Franklin had never seen before—easygoing Ray replaced by someone a lot harder.
Had he ever shown this face of his to Adrianna?
They talked a little while longer, and Ray accepted a dinner invitation for a week later. But there was still this distance between them.
Franklin left sooner than he’d planned to, unsure of how to fix this.
He needed the help. He was certain, now, that whoever Ray brought in would be able to handle the job.
But how was Franklin gonna handle this new side of Ray?
Ξ
Franklin got back to the vegetable stand early. He didn’t really have time to do anything else—if he biked to his farm, he’d only be there twenty minutes before he had to turn right around and come back.
Karl was sitting in the shade at the back of the stand, one of the high-powered fans blowing directly on him. He was reading some fat fantasy book—a habit he’d picked up since fighting the creature the year before.
Karl had always thought that the stuff made up in fantasy books wasn’t true. Now that part of it might be, he told Franklin that he’d be doing his research to make sure he’d be up to speed the next time something otherworldly attacked him.
Franklin didn’t bother telling him that most of what was in those books wasn’t true, at least the ones he’d read about ghosts. And the made up words and languages just made his head hurt.
“You get your problem taken care of?” Karl asked as Franklin walked into the back of the stand, heading toward his popcorn making equipment.
Franklin looked over at Karl. He hadn’t raised his head, and appeared to still be reading his book.
“I did,” Franklin told him.
“Good,” Karl said. “That’s all I want to know. Don’t want Sheriff Thompson accusing me of being some kind of accomplice or something.”
“Wouldn’t want that either,” Franklin assured him. Sure, Karl had been instrumental in killing the creature the year before, and hadn’t lied exactly about breaking Franklin out of jail, though he hadn’t told the truth, either. Karl had just let Sheriff Thompson assume the worst.
A few moments passed while Franklin got out his popping corn and his big pan. Should he try for another fancy combination that day? Or just go for a straight forward mix?
“You think we might close up a little early Friday night?” Karl asked.
He was still sitting, still looking down at his book, not meeting Franklin’s eye.
“We could,” Franklin said. “Or I could just handle the stand on my own.”
“Okay,” Karl said.
When it appeared Karl wasn’t gonna say nothing more, Franklin felt he had to ask. “Hot date?”
“You might say that,” Karl replied, finally looking up, wearing a huge grin.
“I’m glad you finally asked the girl out,” Franklin said. And he was.
What was it about being in love that made him want everyone else to be as happy as he was?
“How about you try a one-to-four combo this time?” Karl said, putting his book to the side and coming to stand next to Franklin.
“White to yellow?” Franklin asked. At Karl’s nod, he continued. “Tried that. Too chewy. I was thinking of reversing it this time.”
“But wouldn’t that much yellow corn overwhelm anything you mixed in with it?” Karl asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Franklin said, grinning.
And they was off, talking about their favorite subject, debating the right and wrong mixes and blends, getting into the fine details of a subject they both knew the most about.
Popping corn.
Because while Karl was Franklin’s partner at the stand, he was still a competitor.
And maybe this year, Franklin would beat Karl and get that blue ribbon prize at the Kentucky state fair for the best-tasting popping corn.
Ten
FRANKLIN SPENT ALL Thursday night trying to figure out some other way of getting the blade away from Dr. Traeger, but he couldn’t think of nothing. He weren’t no superhero, able to run so quickly no one could see him. He couldn’t leap over the walls around Dr. Traeger’s house, or spin a web and fly on the strands.
Franklin’s only ability was to help ghosts pass, and there weren’t even any ghosts around. Since the year before, when he’d fought the creature, there had always been a few.
Was the doctor stealing all the souls who were dying in the area? Franklin wasn’t sure where he’d put them, though. The blade was still full. Did the doctor have other containers that held souls? Like canning jars, that Franklin would keep in the root cellar beneath the house?
He could still feel the blade, impatient with waiting. It wasn’t designed to hold souls, not long term, just take ’em and move ’em along.
Working at the fruit and vegetable stand the next morning was actually a relief, giving Franklin something better to do than to sit there and cogitate. After Karl left, Franklin spent his time perfecting a three-corn blend of popping corn, topped with rosemary butter. This corn he’d be willing to sell for a quarter.
Finally, it was time for Franklin to make his way back to Ray’s house. The day had started out warm and just gotten hotter. Franklin pedaled slowly through the heat, still not sure he was doing the right thing.
All too soon he was standing outside Ray’s gate. Before he pushed the pretty doorbell the door buzzed and swung open.
Franklin walked his bike into the yard and leaned it on the fence right close to the gate, even turning it around so he wouldn’t have to later.
Not that he was thinking he’d have to make a fast escape or something.
The door to the house stood open, a dark hole cut into the gray stucco. Franklin walked forward slowly, pausing on the threshold. He didn’t see no one. “Mr. Sorrel?” Franklin called. “Ray?”
What had happened to Ray? Had whoever Ray called turned on him, instead?
“Come on back to the office,” came a mechanical-sounding voice right next to Franklin.
He jumped and turned.
There was a small speaker on the side of the door, like an intercom. Franklin had used those when he’d worked at the grocery store. He’d just never noticed it before.
“And close the door.”
Franklin didn’t want to close the door. He had a bad feeling about all of this. But he did as Ray asked, since that was his voice coming thro
ugh the speaker.
The living room hadn’t changed—Adrianna’s art still crowded the bookshelves to the right, the extra chair still sat in the middle of what used to be open space, and boxes still sat all piled up next to the island of the kitchen.
Franklin got a better look at the boxes this time. They were moving boxes.
Bright sunlight poured through the big glass doors leading to the backyard. The hallway just beyond the kitchen was dark in comparison. More boxes sat along the left side, making it more narrow. It smelled of burnt toast and bacon, holding in the remains of breakfast, most likely.
Franklin hadn’t been down the hallway into the rest of the house too often. But he knew where the office was. First door on his right after the kitchen.
Ray sat behind his desk, the only light in the room a fancy lamp, the light pointing down at the desk. The curtains behind Ray were drawn tightly shut, so no sunlight came in. Bookshelves loomed on every wall, the dark making the space seem tight. Two chairs stood on the other side of the desk.
Ray wasn’t wearing one of his usual Hawaiian shirts. Instead, he wore a white shirt and a suit coat. His square jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were harder than Franklin had ever seen them before.
“Good to see you, Franklin,” Ray said softly. “Please, have a seat.”
Franklin wanted to stay standing, but he did as Ray asked, choosing the chair on the right.
“I want to make sure I understand the problem you’re having,” Ray said, putting a strange emphasis on the word problem. “Dr. Traeger stole your knife. You’d like it back.”
“I would,” Franklin said. “It’s important,” he added.
Ray stared at him, looking like he was judging Franklin’s soul.
Franklin was just about to stand up and tell Ray to forget about it when Ray nodded. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
A shadow detached itself from the corner. Franklin would never have guessed there was someone else in the room with them. She came to stand next to Ray.
She wore dark clothes—Franklin would have guessed it was a jeans jacket over a black T-shirt. She wasn’t black, but she wasn’twhite either, her skin the color of paper in old books that had browned. She wore her hair in tight braids racing over the top of her head, then dangling down with yellow and red beads on the end.
Dark freckles spread across her tiny nose. Her eyes looked like hard marbles, black and unforgiving. Her thin lips were pressed together hard in an uncompromising line.
When Ray stood up, Franklin got another surprise.
The woman barely came up to Ray’s chest, and Ray was shorter than Franklin. She couldn’t have been five feet tall, even.
Franklin stood as well.
“Franklin, I’d like for you to meet Odell,” Ray said formally. “Odell will fetch your blade for you. I will cover her costs.”
The woman Odell exchanged a look with Ray that Franklin couldn’t read. Was that not what she’d agreed to? Was Franklin supposed to be paying for her services, whatever those were?
“Franklin and I have already worked out our costs and favors,” Ray continued.
Franklin nodded warily when Ray turned to look at him. As Ray had said, this was the first, last, and only time they’d ever do something like this. Particularly since it brought out this hard side of Ray that Franklin had never seen before. It made him uneasy.
Ray asked, “Do you agree?”
Franklin hesitated for a moment before he nodded and said, “I agree.”
He felt like he was agreeing to his doom.
Ξ
“Now, you keep this phone on you. All the time. You take a shower, it goes with you in a baggie. You take a shit, it’s in your hand. Got it?” Odell instructed Franklin.
Her accent was soft, and the words melodic. It placed her not as a local, but from somewhere close. Probably from someplace just south of Kentucky.
Where’d she and Ray meet? Had it been at one of the big picnics that Ray and Adrianna used to give?
The three of them stood in the kitchen with the shades drawn across the bright sunlight outdoors, mainly so no one could see in. Odell was paranoid about that.
“Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said, accepting the phone meekly. He was relieved to see it weren’t a smart phone, but a flip phone, like his own.
“I’ll text you the address where to meet me to pick up the package,” Odell said. “I expect you to haul ass to get there.”
It took Franklin a moment to realize that by package she meant the blade.
“Got it,” Franklin said. He paused, then added, “I don’t got a car. But I’ll ride my bike as fast as I can.”
Odell opened her mouth then shut it again, and shot a mean look at Ray.
He merely shrugged back.
It appeared to be a draw.
“Now, Ray here says you can talk to ghosts,” Odell said. Her voice grew a shade softer.
“Really?” Franklin asked, surprised. He’d never admitted to his ability to Ray before Adrianna had died, and he certainly hadn’t talked about it afterward to him. Just seemed cruel.
Plus, Adrianna’s ghost had never come to visit. He figured she went straight to Heaven.
“My Aunt Jamilla died a couple of weeks ago. Cancer,” Odell said. “Think I could talk to her?”
“It don’t work that way, ma’am,” Franklin said firmly.
“Then how’s it work?” Odell asked.
Franklin looked at Ray who shrugged.
It was Franklin’s choice just how much he told her.
“I work with ghosts who’s having troubles,” Franklin told her. “I help ’em with what they need to let go of this earth, pass beyond.”
Odell nodded at that. “And there’s some ghosts involved with this blade? It’s haunted?”
That sounded about right to Franklin, not without going into all kinds of details. “Yes, ma’am. It’s holding a bunch of souls right now.”
Every time Franklin thought about the blade, he felt the weight of it in his side. It weren’t always pain, like now, it was just pressure, a cold silver weight pushing him down.
“I ain’t worked with spirits before,” Odell said, glancing at Ray.
“You can always back out,” Ray said smoothly. “We’ll find someone else.”
“I didn’t say that,” Odell said. “I’m just saying it might be more complicated.”
“We’ll talk details after you finish the job,” Ray told her firmly. “After.”
Odell gave him a sly smile. “Just checking. You still got it, old man.”
Ray barked a laugh. “Thanks.” He paused, then added, “You need anything else from him?” He indicated Franklin with a nod of his head.
“Him being able to drive a car might be nice,” Odell drawled. “But I got it.” She fixed her hard look back on Franklin again. “You might want to think about stealing one.”
Franklin just shrugged. He couldn’t borrow any of his cousins’ cars without explaining too much. And he really didn’t want to bring Julie into any of this.
“By tomorrow morning, you should have the blade,” Odell said.
“Good. Thank you,” Franklin said.
Odell gave him a curt nod.
Franklin just hoped that he’d still be thankful by the time this was all over.
Ξ
Franklin was exhausted by the time he pedaled home, working alone at the fruit and vegetable stand after Karl had left early. It weren’t some kind of holiday weekend, but that’s what people were acting like, buying up everything they could.
Then Franklin had had to close down the stand and haul everything back to the fridges, lock them up tight. They’d never had any problems with vandals. Karl claimed it was because he came by sometimes at night with his shotgun, packed with rock salt, and just waited in the shadows.
He’d only ever had to use it twice, but word had gotten around.
Franklin had jumped just about out of his skin every time he heard a phone ring. B
ut it had always been one of his customers, not the phone that sat heavy in his pocket.
Franklin was looking forward to a good long soak in his tub, though he’d keep the phone right next to him. He figured, knowing his luck, that Odell would call just after he’d fallen asleep.
But no, his luck weren’t even that good.
Julie’s car sat parked in his driveway, with Julie standing beside it, waiting for him.
Franklin weren’t sure, but he probably would have been happier to see Odell, what with the glare Julie was giving him.
Ξ
“Was you ever gonna tell me about being arrested?” Julie asked after they’d both gotten themselves a beer and had settled themselves out back, on the chairs there. The big bug zapper was tinging every few seconds, taking the mosquitoes out of the air that would have been eating Julie alive.
Franklin had never been that bothered with bugs—they just didn’t seem to like the taste of him.
He sighed and considered Julie’s question. He knew the right answer was to tell her that of course he would have told her.
But Franklin figured the truth would be better just then.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be worried.” He paused, then added, “And though you may not think it’s right, I’m glad it was Darryl, and not you, with me. I didn’t want you to get into trouble.”
Julie nodded. “I know you was trying to protect me. But you got to tell me things. If I’m feeling like you’re hiding and lying to me, we just won’t work out.”
“These things are dangerous,” Franklin pointed out. “The ghosts. And the doctor. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”
“How do you think I feel? Knowing you’re going into this danger alone?” Julie said.
“Still better than you getting hurt,” Franklin said stubbornly.
“I can take care of myself,” Julie replied. “Better’n you, sometimes.”
Franklin opened his mouth then shut it again. There weren’t no way to win this argument. And he hated fighting with Julie this way.
On the other hand, he knew he was right. He wouldn’t put her into danger if he could at all help it.
After a long moment, Julie asked, “So how are you getting the blade back?”