by J. R. Tate
I’m so paranoid – surely they haven’t heard here. I have to keep telling myself that I’m not violent and they probably won’t broadcast for the world to see, at least, not yet, but it still feels like there is an arrow pointing right on me, like in a video game showing you where the bad guy is. The teller does her thing, and counts out the cash, in twenty-dollar increments to me.
“Have a great day, Mr. Gallagher.” She smiles, and I know then that she has no idea what kind of situation I’m in.
“Thanks.” I pull the bill of my ball cap down, trying hard to keep my face hidden without alerting the security guard. I’m in a bank, for crying out loud. They purposely look for suspicious people, much like how I’m acting.
I make my way out the front door and onto the street. There is a Burger King and a McDonalds, right across from each other, but I can’t stop again. I need to go uptown, away from the medical district. The more I drag my feet, the better chances of me being spotted by someone.
I wait at the bus stop along with a few other people. Now that I have some cash, I’m not quite as panicked. It’s crazy how much we rely on it and once you’re running around without it, everything seems twenty times worse than it actually is. A public transit bus pulls to the curb and we climb on. The bus weaves through traffic, and the tall high rise of Saint Mary’s Hospital is getting farther away. With each block we pass, my nerves ease up a bit, and I rest my head on the window, watching the sidewalk beside me pass by.
“You okay?”
A little old lady’s voice pulls me away from my daze, and I shift my weight. She’s in an old dress and she’s busy knitting. “I’m good. You?”
“You look tired.”
I always seem to attract the weird ones, and then I wonder if she’s really sitting beside me, or if she’s a vision. Just what I need – to talk to myself on the bus and alert everyone.
“I’m fine.” I keep it short and keep my voice low just in case.
“Get some rest, Nathan. You’re going to need it.”
I scoot away from her as my heart starts to race. “How do you know my name?” My voice is a whisper, but I know she hears me.
“I think you know the answer to that, Nathan.”
I pull the chord, alerting the bus driver to stop. I should probably stay and get some information from her. Whoever she is, she’s going to perceive this as me ignoring her, prompting more violence against Rusty and me, but I can’t risk someone seeing me talking to thin air. If she knows so much about me, she’ll know what’s in my heart, and maybe she’ll visit me in a more private area.
I step over her and hurry down the aisle, exiting the bus. I’m far enough away from the downtown area now to feel more comfortable, and am glad to see a small diner on the corner. I can smell the food, wafting into my nostrils, and I step inside, sitting in a booth in the farthest corner away from the door. A waitress that fits the mold of truck stop staff greets me, pulling a pencil from behind her ear.
“What can I get you, hon?”
Could she be any more cliché? I’m not even sure I want anything. The old woman on the bus has me frazzled, but I need to eat. I need to keep my strength up.
“Coffee. And a cheeseburger and French fries.”
She writes it down and smiles, taking the one page menu from me. “You got it. It’ll be out in a minute, cutie.”
Her pet names get on my nerves, but I keep it in check. There is a Motel 6 down the block, and where my temporary residence will be for the next few days. Anything longer and I’m risking being familiar. And I can’t help but hope that this will all be over with. I’m not even sure where to start, but the first few things on my list are finding Dr. Clint and communicating with the souls. If I can get them to back off, I can focus on proving my sanity and getting back to real life.
She brings the food out and I scarf it down. The news is on, and I eye the flat screen TV nearby. Same old stories, and I expect to see something about me come up, but they continue the broadcast with no mention of me. Things seem too lucky right now. Maybe they only talk about escaped people who have killed or are violent offenders. Maybe they’re just keeping an eye out on me, but it’s not priority. I still can’t take a chance. I won’t be able to go back to my house unless I sneak in somehow. I’m sure Carla is watching and I’m sure they have the county cops alerted as well. It won’t blow over, at least, not yet anyway.
I put a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Since I have no change, the waitress is getting a nice tip, but I don’t really want to deal with waiting on some money back. Slipping out the side door, I notice that the sun is going down. I’m not even sure what time it is. All of my personal belongings are still at the hospital, and I’m sure they’re keeping them handy, trying to rummage through them to find any clues about Nathan Gallagher and why he is suddenly “relapsing.”
It’s a short walk to the motel, and I wait in line behind a middle aged couple as they fight over whether they want one bed or two in their room. Another man approaches the counter, motioning me to him.
“How can I help you?”
“I need a room for tonight.”
“I need a credit card and your driver’s license, please.”
I pat my empty pockets. Son of a bitch! All of the simple things in life I take for granted – who ever thinks how much they need their driver’s license? And a credit card? It would’ve never crossed my mind otherwise.
“I have cash, Sir.” I pull out the wad of bills, hoping this guy is in a good mood. “I’ll pay for it with cash. And I might be staying more than one night, but I’m not sure yet.”
“I need to see your identification, please.” He says please, but his tone is anything but understandable.
“I lost my wallet this morning. But I’m good for it, I promise. I’ve got the cash right here. I just need a place to sleep.”
He hesitates, looking at his coworker. I take note to his name tag – His name is Oscar, and he types something into his computer.
“We really need an I.D. and a major credit card in case you damage the room.”
The couple who were arguing just minutes before have stopped, both of them staring at me like I’m a sideshow attraction. My cheeks heat up, and I’m not sure how I can talk myself out of this one. Maybe this place isn’t fleabag enough. Maybe I need to find some shady place right off the interstate.
“I won’t damage the place.”
“We’ve heard that before,” Oscar says, smirking.
“Give him the room.” The other guy motions toward Oscar, and he’s dressed a tad more formal. I have to assume he’s the manager, and I let out a sigh or relief. “Give him the room at the end of the hall on the third floor.” He turns to face me. “I will be keeping a close watch on you, Mister. One towel gone, one picture frame that isn’t straight, and we’ll call the cops, you got me?”
“I’m just here to sleep. Thank you.”
I pay for the night and they give me two keys. I hop on the elevator and push the number three button, leaning against the wall as the doors slide shut. I’m not sure what convinced the man to allow me to stay – Oscar was ready to boot me out the door, but I have to be thankful for the stroke of good luck, despite everything else. I’m just waiting for it to fall back on me – that’s how it always works.
The elevator comes to life, the motor sounding a bit off, but I try not to write too much into it. This place definitely isn’t the Hilton, but it’s better than sleeping on the street. It seems to be moving slow, but again, I don’t give it too much attention until the lights at the top begin to flicker. It’s a quick flash at first, and then they dim and brighten, as if someone is playing with them.
I move to the middle of the car and I get a glimpse of something in the mirror that isn’t my own reflection. Each time the light flashes, I see it, but when I focus, it goes dark again. It feels like a hand is wrapping around my throat and I’m thrown to the back of the elevator car. The lights come on and stay there, and a face I don’
t recognize is right in mine, their hand clamped down on my body, hindering me from moving.
The elevator is at a complete stop now, and we are dangling between floors. It’s as if the shaft is gone, and the box I am trapped in is swaying. I’m disoriented and I fight to get the hand off of my throat. I scratch the fingers, but they don’t move. The lights go dark again and the grasp on me is gone, but I know I’m not alone. I can feel the hot breath on my neck and I scoot back, but something else is there – a child’s laughter echoes on the walls.
I want to yell out, but I can’t draw attention to myself. They are watching me closely, and one disruption and there’s no telling what will happen. The lights are dim and I can see enough to crawl to the control panel of the elevator. I go for the emergency button. I need to alert someone that I’m stuck, but I’m tackled and knocked back. I try to get to the button, but the more I move toward it, the farther it gets from me.
The elevator is swinging more violently now, clanking against the cement barriers that should be holding it in place. How long will it hold until the cables snap and we go crashing down? I should’ve never thought it, because a loud mechanical screech pierces my ears, and we are in a free fall. There is nothing for me to hold onto, and again, I’m left wondering if this is the end for me.
“I’ll help you!” I yell out. “I’ll help you!”
The elevator stops it’s free fall and the lights come on. I’m alone inside, and the floor indicator light shows that I’m coming up to the third floor. Standing, I adjust my shirt and smooth my hand through my hair. Nothing appears out of the ordinary. It’s like the elevator never got stuck and never fell.
The doors slide open and I’m glad that there is nobody waiting to get in. I hurry to my room, put the key in, and close the door behind me. Stopping in the bathroom, I’m shocked at what I see. Though the elevator appeared in normal shape, I did not fare as well. There is a red mark on my throat, right above my collarbone and my nose is bleeding. My hair is shooting out in every direction and I feel like the elevator fell right on top of me.
But I’m alive. And I’ve made a verbal promise to help them, though it goes against everything that I want to do.
“You better do what you say, Nathan…”
Rose’s voice is a whisper in my ear, and though I can’t physically see her, I know she’s standing right by me, leaning on my shoulder.
“I will,” I reply. “Why is this happening? Why are you doing this to me?” My voice trembles and I’m on the verge of tears. The moisture stings the corner of my eyes and I swipe them before the drops have a chance to fall down my cheeks.
“You should’ve never denied us. Now look where you are… You’re a wanted man. They really think you’re capable of taking your own life.”
Rose now appears for me, standing in the corner of the bathroom.
“Please, Rose. Tell me what I need to do.”
“It’s not me who needs the help right now. You will figure it out.”
“They do think I’m suicidal. I need to find Dr. Clint. I need them to know the truth.” I feel like I’m begging, but she shows no emotion.
“Are you capable of taking your own life? I know you miss me. I know you are having a hard time, Nathan.”
I shake my head. Her question hits me hard. Every red blooded human being thinks about suicide. I’ve been sad, but I would never do it. “I do miss you, Rose. And I hate the way it all happened. I hate that you died while I still held so much resentment in my heart for what you did to me.”
She shakes her head and begins to fade. “Figure it out, Nathan. It’ll come to you. I don’t need you right now. Another soul does.”
I reach out, attempting to touch her, but she’s gone, disappearing into thin air. I slide against the wall until I’m sitting on the cold, linoleum floor, burying my head in my hands. The tears flow and I don’t even try to stop them. She doesn’t need my help… right now. How long is this going to go on and how many are coming to me?
Looking up, I grit my teeth and ball my fists. “Okay, you son of a bitch. If you need my help so bad, come out and tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.”
***
Rusty
I have spent most of the evening trying to conjure up my mother. It feels wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. She should be resting in peace, yet she’s haunting us, and she won’t tell me why she needs my dad. The house is empty without him here. All this time, I couldn’t wait to be alone, but now that it’s happening, I wish he were here. Maybe it’s the circumstances. No one wants to be alone when ghosts are lurking.
I trudge through the house again, keeping the lights dim as if that is a way to get them to come out. A part of me also wishes that Hershel would show up. The dude is creepy, but he seems to know his shit. Maybe he has more information on the little girl buried out back, but even better, more stuff about the father. He drowned in the pond – was it suicide? What is the history, and why, so many years later, do they have so much unfinished business to bother my father with?
My cell phone rings and the vibration rattles the coffee table. It makes me jump, and when I finally realize that’s what it is, it stops, and I see that it’s a missed call from Britney. She has been calling me quite a bit and I feel bad – I care for the girl, but it’s bad timing. How would she react if I told her all of this? How would she feel about her boyfriend and his dad seeing ghosts? She’d run into the night screaming.
I shoot her a quick text message and let her know I’ll call her back. Right now, I’m on a mission. Maybe I should go to the store and buy a Ouija board, but my dad would kill me if he knew I did it. He’s always been against them, but maybe now, in light of everything, his opinion might be different.
I open a closet door. Sure, Rusty – the ghost is hiding right inside. That makes perfect sense. Why would a spirit do that? I shake my head and laugh to myself. And my thoughts drift to my dad. I hope he’s safe wherever he is. He seemed panicked earlier, and there’s no way for me to know if they found him. That makes me worried – how would I ever know if he’s back in Sunset Canyon? If they’ve taken him into custody, they pretty much strip all patients of their rights, including outside contact until they are “healed.”
“Your father is okay right now.”
I hear the hissy voice, but it’s not my mom’s. It is unfamiliar – a mixture of a young boy and a growl. Turning on my heel, I squint toward the hallway, but nothing is there.
“Who’s there?” I ask, loud enough that it echoes.
“It doesn’t matter.”
And then I see the small boy, right at the foot of the stairs, his cold, vacant gaze on me appearing almost as if he’s looking through me. He’s vaguely familiar – he looks a lot like my dad’s pictures when he was a kid. Could this be Sammy, his little brother who died?
“Are you Sammy Gallagher?” The boy’s eyes widen and he moves backward, his body going through the stairs like a mist in the air. “You are! You’re my dad’s little brother!” I point at him and move closer, but I stop. I can’t come at him so fast. And then, I have to laugh at myself again. I’m literally going to scare a ghost? That goes down as one of the most idiotic things I’ve ever heard.
“Your father is okay right now.”
“What can we do to help you? Why are you here? What can I do?” My voice shakes and I plead with him. Anything I can do to help the process along would be helpful, but they look at me as if I have a disease.
The boy shakes his head and puts his index finger up to his mouth, shushing me. “We can’t talk about that right now.”
“Why? Why can’t we talk about this right now?” I swear, if another damn ghost fades off in the middle of me asking them a question, I’m going to put a hole in the wall.
“Because I have to go.”
“No! Don’t go!” I reach out, and as expected, he’s gone. He never confirmed he was Sammy, but I know he is. Sliding to the floor, I rest my head on my knees. Why won’t they talk t
o me? Why can I see them but they won’t let me do anything?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. At first, I consider not even checking who is calling. It’s probably Britney again, and I don’t want to take it out on her. I check the screen anyway – and I’m glad I do.
“Dad! Where are you?”
“Hey Russ, I’m fine right now. Are you alone?”
“Yeah, I am. Well, I think I am.” I look around the house, and there’s nothing in sight.
“You think you are? What do you mean?”
I scoot up the wall to a standing position and walk to the living room. Flicking on a lamp, I stare at my reflection in the TV. “What did Sammy look like?”
“What do you mean? He looked just like me? Why?”
“Because he visited me right before you called, Dad.”
“Did he say anything?”
“I asked him if he was Sammy. He didn’t answer it. I asked if there was anything I could do and he said we couldn’t talk about it right now. He did tell me you were safe though.”
“Well he’s right. I’m at a Motel. I’m not sure how long I can stay here though. I don’t have my I.D. or a credit card, so I’m lucky they let me have the room at all. Listen, tomorrow I’m going to try and by a disposable phone. I’ll keep in touch with you. Eventually we’re gonna have to sneak me back home. I’ve gotta work on finding my doctor from Sunset Canyon, and I think the person…” he cuts himself off. “The ghost I need to help is there at the house.”
“It can’t travel?” I ask, trying not to be too skeptical. This is a whole new world for me – I don’t get how it works, nor do I think anyone else does for that matter.
“I really don’t know. There’s something strange about it this time.”