“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be frightened by it. So why aren’t you afraid?”
Blake sighed and sat down on the bed next to her. “I guess it’s because I know that things don’t end when we leave this.” He waved a hand around the room. “And I don’t believe in heaven and hell, not literally anyway.”
“Because of your powers. Not many human beings are as lucky as you are to know all of that.”
Here it is, Blake thought. Instead of arguing, however, he kissed Melody on the cheek and took her hand. “I don’t know if what I did tonight was right or wrong, but I have to try.”
*
As soon as Blake had gone, Melody pulled a wooden box from her cupboard and carefully coiled the yellow cord inside. Blake might change his mind—at least she hoped he would—and she would protect the cord from harm for when that day came. She closed the lid and placed the box back in the cupboard, then strode into the living room. She pulled her address book from a drawer and flipped through the pages, searching for a number, a number Blake had given her in case of emergencies when he was still dating Brian. Fortunately, Brian answered on the second ring, even though it was well past midnight.
“Brian,” she said, “we need to talk.” Melody almost felt as if she was betraying Blake’s confidence to someone she barely knew, but she didn’t know what else to do. She was telling Brian how lonely Blake had been since their breakup when Brian interrupted.
“Melody,” he said, impatience creeping into his voice. “I feel for Blake, I do, but what do you want me to do? I’m sorry the way things ended between me and Blake, but I can’t change the past.”
“I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about the future.”
“What do you mean?”
“Blake asked me to do a spell to strip him of the ability to see ghosts. We just did it tonight.”
“What? Can you do that?”
“I can only bind the powers.” Melody was happy to realize she had finally gotten through to Brian. “I don’t know if a spell exists to get rid of that sort of thing.”
“He did this for his boyfriend?”
“He did it for himself. He’s convinced that he and Joe are finished because of what happened. No, he did this so he can have a chance at a normal relationship.”
“Can you undo the spell?”
“It’s a simple knot spell. It can be undone, but only by Blake.”
“What can we do?”
“I don’t know. He’s set on this and wouldn’t even let me try to talk him out of it.”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Brian. This whole thing just feels wrong, like Blake did it for all of the wrong reasons.”
For once, Brian Cox seemed to agree with a witch.
Chapter Seventeen
After Blake left Melody’s apartment he decided to walk home. It was after midnight and it would be nearly an hour before he reached Nob Hill, but Blake didn’t care. He suddenly felt free of a heavy weight that he had been forced to carry his entire life, and he wanted to relish the feeling.
Not only were the whispers gone, the incessant babbling of a thousand ghostly voices, but the streets, too, seemed to be free of spirits. He would no longer pass the ghost of a dead cowboy on his way to the market or see dead prostitutes beckoning him into deserted alleys. He was free of it all.
Of course, he knew they were still there—they always would be—but he had freed himself from the ability to see and hear them. And Blake willingly embraced the old adage that ignorance is bliss.
Now, he told himself, he could meet somebody without bringing to the relationship all the baggage that came with his former “gift,” and, maybe—just maybe—the relationship would last longer than a couple of months. Joe’s face suddenly flashed in Blake’s mind and a pang of guilt washed over him. No, he told himself, forget Joe. It’s time for a fresh start, unencumbered by the past.
Blake couldn’t even begin to imagine what his mother would say when she learned he had bound his gift. He considered not telling her. After all, why should she have to know? But Blake knew all too well that she would, instinctively. In fact, she was probably leaving him a message right now.
Blake arrived in front of his building forty minutes later, perspiring mildly. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh sea air. Everything around him was still, blessedly still. He walked into his building, happy with the knowledge that the night would hold nothing more than a peaceful sleep.
*
Brian hated hospitals. As a detective he was forced to visit them regularly, whether to question a victim, question a suspect, or visit a wounded fellow cop. How many times had he been in a hospital in the last two years? Twenty times? Thirty? He tried not to think of it, but his real problem with hospitals had nothing to do with his work. More likely they reminded him just how fragile life is, that one day he, too, might end up here or, worse, dead.
Joe was unsuccessfully attempting to reposition himself in his hospital bed when a handsome young cop entered the room. Joe glanced at his visitor. “Would you mind…” he said, motioning to the pillows piled behind him.
While his injury wasn’t life-threatening, the wound—which had pierced his abdominal wall and resembled an appendectomy incision—made moving painful. The cop, who Joe assumed was there to question him yet again about the stabbing, was amiable enough.
“Thanks,” Joe said, settling back into his newly adjusted pillows. “I guess you’re here about the attack.”
“I know all about the attack. And I know that there was no real attempted robbery.”
Joe felt his face flush and his heart began to beat faster. Before Joe could respond, however, the officer smiled reassuringly and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know a ghost possessed your body and stabbed you, and I also know you recently began dating Blake Danzig.”
“Who are you?” Joe asked, startled.
“My name is Brian Cox. I used to date Blake, before I got spooked by the ghosts and left him.”
“Where’s Blake?” Joe asked expectantly. “I haven’t seen him since the night of…well…” He pointed at his stomach.
“He assumes it’s over between the two of you,” Brian’s face was serious, “because of what happened.”
The announcement stunned Joe.
“Is it over?” Brian asked.
“No.” Joe’s face was hot. “Why would he assume—”
“Because of assholes like me. He’s gotten used to guys bailing on him as soon as the ghost thing gets too intense.”
“I’m not like that,” Joe said firmly. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Brian rose from his seat on the edge of the bed.
“The night the ghost attacked,” Joe said, suddenly recalling a lost memory, “it was like I was being held under water…when it was inside of me. I can’t really describe what it felt like, but I do remember Blake telling the spirit that he loved me.”
Brian didn’t reply.
“Anyway, knowing that is the one thing that made this whole ordeal worthwhile.”
“Do you love him?”
“I think so…yes.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because that’s what he needs to hear, especially after what he gave up for you.”
Joe stared at Brian, confused.
“His friend Melody, the witch, cast a spell on him to remove his ability to see ghosts. He asked her to, so he could have a normal relationship.”
“He did that for me?” Joe was deeply touched. “I would never have asked him to do that.”
“You need to tell him that, as soon as you’re able to get out of here.”
“You can bet on it.”
*
As he had predicted, Blake had slept soundly on his first night after performing the spell. Without his powers, no visitors awakened him from his slumber.
That night, however, free of the usual interruptions, Blake dreamed. Unfortunately,
the dream was more like a nightmare, probably caused by the binding spell. In it, Blake was sitting beneath a large oak tree and, in the distance, he could see the circus of his youth. As he watched, the circus began moving farther away, sending huge columns of dust into the dry, windy air. Afraid that he would be left behind, Blake got up and ran after the departing circus, all the while shouting for his parents to wait for him. But when he caught up, neither of his parents recognized him.
“But I’m Blake,” he said, looking from his mother to his father. “I’m your son.”
His mother looked at him, expressionless. “This is our son.” She held open the lid to a wooden box.
Blake peered inside and spied a yellow, knotted cord.
He awakened from the dream with a start, drenched in sweat, and had a difficult time falling back to sleep, his mother’s words echoing in his head.
The next morning he woke determined to plunge into his ghost-free life. After initial hesitation, he phoned his producer Marty with the news. Marty’s initial reaction, incredulous laughter, had taken Blake by surprise. “Marty,” he said, calmly, “I’m not kidding. I’m done with ghost hunting.”
“For the love of fucking God, kid, are you trying to give me a motherfucking heart attack?”
“No. I’m trying to give myself a regular life.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Marty bellowed. “If I knew what a goddamned ‘regular life’ was I would have one myself!”
“Marty—”
“You’ve obviously been working too much, kid,” Marty said, surprising Blake by suddenly changing his tone. “Call me in a month and we’ll talk.”
Blake’s news had a similar effect on Donatella, who he phoned after hanging up with Marty. She reacted as if Blake had announced he had just had a wart removed. No longer being able to speak with spirits took nothing away from his abilities as a writer. In fact, she suggested, this latest development could make for another good book, one in which America’s favorite ghost hunter describes the latest chapter in his quest to finally be free of his burdensome “gift.”
His mother, however, did not disappoint. She called him just as he was ending his conversation with Donatella and, as Blake suspected, she claimed to have been visited by him in a dream the night before, asking for her help. Although, she explained, it wasn’t really Blake in the dream, it was the part of Blake that he had gotten rid of…the part that saw ghosts.
“Why on earth would you do this to yourself?” Lila asked, her voice heavy.
Blake knew his mother’s voice well enough to recognize that she had been crying, and he felt like a six-year-old again, in trouble for nicking the blade on one of the sword swallower’s daggers. He decided not to tell her about his own dream.
“Mom,” Blake said, keeping his voice calm, “I could never hope to get into a lasting relationship as long as I was still seeing and talking to ghosts. Most guys just aren’t into that sort of thing. They want to marry a doctor or a lawyer, not spend the rest of their lives with a man who talks to ghosts.”
Lila was silent.
“I did it so I could be happy. Don’t you understand that?”
He resisted the urge to tell his mother that he had actually considered suicide, just to be free of his cursed gift, and suddenly remembered Moe, the old circus elephant. Had Moe’s desperate act of escape been a suicide, his only way of escaping his miserable existence? Blake quickly pushed the unpleasant thoughts from his mind.
“How can you be happy,” Lila asked, “when you’ve lost a part of yourself, something you were born with?”
“People born with illnesses have them cut out, and nobody faults them for that.”
He realized instantly that the analogy would not work on his mother.
“Your gift is not an illness.” Her voice was low.
“Then why did it always make me so unhappy?”
“Because you never met the right young man. It’s that simple.”
Blake was silent and could hear his mother sigh loudly.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I have enough money saved to last for a while. Besides, Donatella assures me that even this chapter in my life will make a good book.”
“Take care of yourself, darling,” Lila said. “I love you no matter what.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Blake’s heart was heavy. “Tell Dad I said hello.”
Blake hung up, more confused than he had been since casting the spell. Nobody could wreck a good mood, could make him question the validity of his decisions like his mother, no matter how well-intended her comments. Was she right? Had he inadvertently banished a part of himself and, in the process, made himself into some sort of half person? And, if this was the case, what good would he be in a relationship as a half person? Afraid that he might have only made things worse in his quest for love, Blake headed for the door. He needed some fresh air.
*
Lila Danzig walked out into the yard where Ben was weeding the garden. He looked up at her expectantly.
“My dream was correct,” she said, solemnly. “Blake did a magic spell to bind his abilities.”
Ben wiped the sweat from his forehead and regarded her for a moment. “It’s his decision.” He carefully weighed his words. “Maybe it’s just a phase he’s going through.”
Lila nodded, seeming to consider this possibility.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Ben said. “Blake’s a bright young man. He’ll figure out the right thing to do.”
Lila crouched down to kiss Ben. He had always been able to say the right words, the words that took the edge off life’s difficult moments. She walked back into the house and began to absently scrub the inside of the oven, even though she had cleaned it only three days earlier. Certainly, Blake’s childhood hadn’t been a typical one, brought up in a circus among bearded ladies and sword swallowers, never staying in one town for more than a week. Perhaps, if he had only been able to have friends his own age, Blake would have turned out different. But for a boy with a mother who was a fortune teller and a father who was a contortionist, Lila doubted that playmates would have made much difference. And while siblings might have helped Blake’s sense of self, well, that had simply been out of the question, too. Life on the road was difficult enough with one child. The idea of more children had been unthinkable, cruel, even. Had they made the right decision as parents? Surely Blake knew they loved him, he had to.
Lila rose from her kneeling position in front of the oven and a sharp, familiar pain surged through her chest. She grasped the counter for support and stood there until the pain subsided.
Six months, the doctor had told her. She knew better, though, even without consulting her crystal ball, something she never did for herself. Not that she was afraid of death. It was just that she wanted her life to unfold before her like a mystery, every day a surprise. Reading other people’s futures was fine, but she preferred not to know her own. Knowing her future would have been like peeking at presents before Christmas morning.
Certain that this most recent episode had passed, she walked slowly into the living room to rest. Yes, she thought, it’s coming, and soon. She only hoped that she had a chance to help Blake one last time.
Chapter Eighteen
Blake stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk and crossed Sacramento Street. He strode confidently into Huntington Park, happy that he would not be seeing the usual spirits that frequented the area, many of them victims of the 1906 earthquake that had destroyed so many buildings there. As he passed children swinging on the park’s swing set he was happy knowing that they were all alive, not one of them the morose spirit of a child who had once run in front of a bus. No, all of the people he was seeing were alive and enjoying life. He spotted an empty bench beside the famous Fountain of the Tortoises and sat down, admiring the bronze figures perched on the smooth marble. The water in the fountain gurgled and danced and occasionally sprayed him, carried by the strong wind. The
fountain, adorned with bronze figures astride dolphins and, above them, tortoises, was an exact replica of one in Rome. William Crocker had purchased this copy in 1900, and his mansion was once located just across the street, the current site of Grace Cathedral.
Blake knew all this because the spirit of Mr. Crocker had told him, nearly a year ago, as he sat admiring the fountain.
Blake sighed. He would miss some things about not being able to communicate with the dead, but if binding his ability meant the prospect of a normal life, he would survive. A familiar voice startled him, and he turned to find Joe, leaning on an aluminum cane.
“Joe,” he said, quickly rising from the bench, “what are you doing here?”
“I was coming to see you and just happened to walk through the park on my way to your building.”
“How are you?” Blake was suddenly filled with guilt for not having visited Joe in the hospital. The aluminum cane made him look even more pitiful.
“I’m fine.” Joe slowly lowered himself onto the park bench. “The doctor says this should heal fairly quickly. And the cane,” he said, which Blake was staring at, “I’m only using it because I’m not supposed to put a lot of weight on my leg.”
Blake sat down and stared at his hands, waiting for the bombshell, the reason for Joe’s visit.
“Brian came to see me at the hospital and told me a very interesting story.”
“Yeah?” What the hell had Brian been up to?
“Yeah. He said you thought I wouldn’t want to see you after what happened, that you assumed we were finished. Is that true?” Joe had locked Blake in his gaze, his eyes serious and sad.
“Joe.” Blake’s voice was beginning to quiver. “I wouldn’t blame you at all if you—”
“What?” Joe’s voice was firm but tender. “Deserted you? Blake, you didn’t stab me, the ghost did. I was there, remember?”
“Everyone else seems to leave when the ghost thing gets a little too uncomfortable. I assumed…”
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