“Do you think they’d believe me if I told them I was kidnapped by ghosts?” Lee mused and began a search for contact email addresses.
“Who’re you going to send this to?” I asked, watching the cops. One of them was recording the license plate number. I wondered if Cal had reported it stolen. Probably not. Knowing Cal, he’d more than likely stolen it himself.
“Newspaper editors, provincial prosecutors and the lawyer for your turncoat friend,” Lee said while typing up an email.
The cops were staring at the café now. One of them put a hand on her gun holster. That was not a good sign.
“Can you type any faster?” I asked.
“Almost there,” Lee said, squinting at the screen.
“So are the cops,” I told her.
Lee ignored me and the approaching cops. Shadow floated out into the middle of the room, dark tendrils swirling around him, but they were faint in the sunlight that glared through the window. Faye bounced around on top of the computer screen.
“Sent,” Lee announced as she yanked out the memory stick and went to the cash register.
The front door creaked open and the cops entered. They glanced around and zeroed in on Lee. She kinda stood out, the only non-Caucasian in the room. Plus the black Chinese pyjama suit and the long black braid swishing down her back. Yeah, it was a no brainer who they’d go to first. The gist of the conversation went something like this:
Cop: Ma’am, is that your car?
Lee: Which one, my dear? I forgot my glasses at home.
Cop: The battered one right there.
Lee: You mean, the blue one?
Cop: Yes, ma’am. The blue one.
Lee: You mean that wreck?
Cop: Yes, ma’am. I mean the blue, battered wreck.
Lee (with a gasp and fluttering hands over her heart): No, officer. I’d never own something so dirty.
Cop: Did you borrow it from someone?
Lee: No. I certainly did not. How could I? I don’t have a driver’s license. I don’t even know how to drive. And I don’t own a car.
Cop: So you have no idea how it got there?
Lee: I assume someone drove it there. But as I can’t drive, it wouldn’t be me.
Cop: What’s in the bag?
Lee: Bones. For my dog. I have a big dog.
Cop: What are you doing in Canmore?
Lee: Checking my email and getting the hell out of here as soon as possible. Are you picking on me because I’m Chinese?
Cop: Ah… Excuse me?
Lee: You heard me. I’ve told you that the blue, battered wreck isn’t my car and I can’t drive, even if I did own a car, which I don’t. And why would I own a car if I can’t drive? But if I did, it wouldn’t be that dirty. So why are you still talking with me? Is it because I’m a little, old Chinese lady? There are laws against that, you know, picking on people because of their ethnicity.
Cop: Ma’am, I assure you…
Lee: And stop calling me ma’am. It makes me feel old. Maybe you should interview one of those young punks in the corner over there (points to a small group of jean-clad kids laughing too loudly). Stop picking on little, old Chinese ladies.
There was more to the conversation, and obviously the cops weren’t that easily convinced or intimidated. I edited the scene extensively. But you get the idea. Lee may be little (although I wouldn’t call her old and definitely not to her face) but she can hold her own.
Eventually, after some hemming and hawing and checking, the cops let her go. With the bag of bones slung over one shoulder, she marched out, with the rest of us trailing behind.
“I guess we lost our ride,” Faye said, her shoulders slumped as she gazed at the car longingly.
“Yeah, that’s really too bad,” I said.
Shadow’s eyes widened. “You mean you’ll also miss the near death sensation inspired by Faye’s driving? Me too.”
“Good riddance,” Lee muttered and headed for the bus station.
“Yup,” I said. “Driving is so overrated.”
Faye sighed dramatically. “Everyone’s a critic.”
And that was pretty much the end of the road trip.
Secret Shadows
By the time our Greyhound bus reached Vancouver, I’d decided against any future road trips with a poltergeist. Let’s just say that the Greyhound company probably received a lot of complaints the next day about misplaced luggage, strange noises and a faulty air conditioning system that alternated between freezing the passengers and making them melt.
Now that’s something to think about the next time you’re on a plane, bus or other mode of transport: it may not be the service that’s the problem. Think ‘poltergeist’.
Back in Vancouver, I tried to convince Lee to stay at The Ghost Post or a friend’s house for the night, but she preferred the comforts of her own place.
“Even though you’re at risk of invasion by a poltergeist-empowered, ghost eating deathmark or an angry, armed gang member?” I demanded.
“Even then,” she retorted, rubbing her face and almost looking her age when she did that. “Besides, the files from Amos were received and it’s only a matter of a day or two before those two grease balls are caught, along with their boss.”
I knew she was right: the story had already made the news during our lengthy bus ride back home. Cal probably wasn’t even in Vancouver anymore. “And Ghost Easter?”
Lee yawned. “Cooper, you worry too much. That thing isn’t interested in me and apart from tossing a candle at an unwanted guest, it hasn’t done much to instil me with terror.”
Sometimes I really wish she was less fearless.
She asked us to leave and I refused.
Sometimes she wishes I was less stubborn.
If wishes were pennies… Well, you know.
“What I’d like to know is what we’re going to do with these.” She picked up the duffle bag and shook it. Dry bones rattled inside.
“Ah…” I glanced at the bag, thinking about its unusual contents. My memory about Dead Man’s Flats had returned, for better or worse. Despite the long ride home with the bag at my feet, I still wasn’t comfortable with the fact that the gruesome contents being shaken about were the mortal remains of Amos, the accidentally killed brother of a former good friend of mine.
“Well…” I smiled as winningly as I knew how. “Could you keep those for a few days? Maybe you could tuck them into that cubbyhole in the back of your closet.”
Lee stared at me, her bleary eyes glazing over. She shook her head sharply. “I’m sorry. I must’ve fallen asleep while standing up and dreamed you asked me to keep the bones of a murdered man in my closet.”
“Technically, he wasn’t murdered. It was an accident and…”
“And technically, he’s still dead and these are his bones,” Lee interrupted, giving me the little, old Chinese lady I’m-not-taking-that-crap-from-you expression.
I could tell she was about to pull out the I’m-your-elder patronising tone, so I interrupted before she could continue.
“Three days.”
“One.”
“Two. Great. It’s a deal. Thanks.” I plummeted through the floor before she could say anything else.
During this conversation / argument, Shadow had disappeared. I had a pretty good idea where to, but first I needed to make sure things were safe. Once Lee had retreated for what was left of the night, I asked Faye to stay on as guard.
“Absolutely not, sugar pie,” she grumbled, still put out that she hadn’t been able to drive us back.
I smiled. “Faye, my dear poltergeist. You can handle Cal and Frankenstein if they show up. Most likely, they’re already on the run.”
“And the deathmark?” She pouted.
“If Ghost Eater shows up, go hide,” I instructed her. Lee was right (as usual): that thing wasn’t really after her.
“Fine,” Faye grunted at me, flopped down into the sofa and switched on the TV.
Satisfied that my only living f
riend would probably survive the night to live again, I headed out to the place of my death: Chan’s Chinese Chow. Not that the food had killed me or anything like that. I had been picking up dinner and had been shot while exiting the building. I didn’t even get a last meal.
I found him lurking nearby. He was leaning (or pretending to lean) against the building across from Chan’s, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark gaze was fixed on Chan’s neighbour, Donut Delight. The pool of light from a street lamp ended before it could touch him. A misty drizzle glowed silver in the light but where he stood, it disappeared. Overhead, I could see free spirits flashing in and out of sight like spiritual lightening rods. I knew he wasn’t watching them.
I floated through the rain, the drops passing through me with a slight sizzle. When I was right behind him, I spoke. “There’s nothing more pathetic than a lost soul floating around his past.”
Shadow didn’t stir or twitch, like he’d heard me coming, which I was pretty sure was impossible. Then again, with Shadow, you never know. “I think that’s my line.”
I floated up beside him, shoulder to shoulder and watched the street. The rain and the night had cleared the sidewalks of the usual traffic. If I weren’t already dead, I wouldn’t be hanging around this part of town on my own, unless I was armed and up to no good, or picking up Chinese takeout.
“Yup, it was your line. You used it on me the first time we met.”
He smiled slightly. “That’s right. You were lurking around your old job site. It’s bad enough you did that when you were alive, but to go back when you were dead.” He shook his head. “Now that is truly pathetic.”
I nodded towards the diner and the donut shop. “So what’s the deal here then?”
Shadow shrugged, the shoulders of his black blazer shifting slightly upwards. He continued to stare across the road, his dark eyes unblinking. “You tell me, janitor. You always have interesting theories.”
“Sure,” I said slowly. “Although my theory doesn’t quite cover what you’re doing right now.”
“Yes, I suppose I am pathetic,” Shadow softly said. “This was the site of my last job, in a way.”
“You sold donuts?”
He snorted and shifted around to face me. “Please, Cooper. I thought you kept your theories interesting, not ludicrous.”
I shrugged. “Just checking. I kinda thought you might’ve been a member of the UN Gang.”
“Like you?”
It was my turn to keep quiet.
Shadow smiled grimly. “Well, that’s a better theory than me selling donuts. Why don’t you just spit it out? You’ve got a story thought up, haven’t you?”
I rubbed my chin with its permanent two-day old stubble and the jagged scar underneath. “Yeah, I got one. Faye did a check for me on the previous owner of the donut shop. Want to hear what she found?”
Shadow kept quiet and absolutely still.
“The original owner was a lady named Dora Knuttan. The shop used to be called Dora’s Delight.” I pointed to the smudges around ‘Donut’ on the signboard. “Always did wonder about that. Like someone had tried to erase a mistake on the sign but a trace remained. The current owner replaced ‘Dora’ with ‘Donut’. But either way, the initials are still DD.”
Shadow could’ve passed for a statue of a shadow: dark, silent stone.
“Dora was murdered one night in the store. The killer was never caught, but the cops figured it was a theft, nothing more. The cash register was broken into, money taken. But there was another possibility, one that the cops couldn’t prove.”
I glanced at Shadow, studying him for any sign of guilt. He remained motionless, so I pushed on before I changed my mind. “See, Dora was a stubborn one. According to the neighbouring shop owners, she had refused to pay service fees to the gang running the street. I guess she figured this was Vancouver, not inner-city LA or something.”
“An understandable confusion,” he murmured.
“Well, those are the facts of the case. So here’s the theory.” I stared at him, at his profile. He wasn’t returning the gaze, just watching the quiet store across the street. “You were a member of the gang running the block, probably an enforcer, and you killed her. That’s why you avoid DD. You don’t want to face her. Maybe feeling a bit of guilt or something?”
“Or something.” His lips barely moved and the words slid out as smooth and sharp as a switchblade.
“That’s what I figured.”
I waited, didn’t pressure him. He’d just disappear into the darkness if I did, so I waited. We watched Donut Delight. The place was still open, and I could see the three deathmarks - mine, Faye’s and DD’s – meandering over the walls, trapped at the site of their murders, forever searching for a way out.
As far as I knew, there was only one way out for them: eat a ghost, absorb the energy and be free. That wasn’t going to happen though: all the ghosts knew about Donut Delight. Those deathmarks would be trapped within the walls of the shop pretty much forever. Maybe I should feel sorry for the things, but I didn’t. They have about as many memories and emotions as a real shadow. It would be like wasting your pity on a stone.
“Yes, I was a member of the Vancouver UN Gang,” Shadow replied, his voice low and smooth. “I was a drug pioneer for a while…”
I grimaced and thought of Canmore and the story I didn’t want to tell my friends.
“You know what that is then?” he asked. He’d caught my expression.
I nodded. I knew. The more successful gangs are very entrepreneurial. In order to get more clients, some of them will send a gang member into a new town for a few months. During that time, the member assists a number of people to become addicted to the gang’s product. Once there is a nucleus of drug addicts, the pioneer moves on to the next place. Places that you’ve never heard of, that barely register on a map, have been infiltrated, successfully converted and brought into the drug market.
That’s what Jacob and I had been doing up in Canmore, when Amos had showed up. Like Jean and the long-dead and seriously insane François Marret from the legend of Dead Man’s Flats, Amos and Jacob had fought, for reasons now forgotten. And somewhere in the shuffle, an axe had connected with Amos’s big head.
But I digress.
“So you were a pioneer for the gang, eh?” I hazarded a guess.
Shadow nodded. “Exactly. But I wasn’t very good at it. The remaining towns up north are pretty white, and I’m not talking about the snow. I stood out too much. So I became an enforcer.”
“And one time, you enforced a little too strongly,” I suggested, my tone free of any judgement. I wasn’t in any position to be judge and jury.
“Yes.”
I scratched at the jagged scar on my chin, thinking about Canmore and Jacob, and our misunderstanding with Amos. I thought about the times I’d been with Shadow when we’d been attacked by our adopted deathmark, Ghost Eater. That’s when it hit me.
“The deathmarks. They never came after you. In the donut shop, that time when we were trapped and Timmy saved us. They weren’t chasing you. They kept coming after me, but not you. You weren’t in any danger, were you?” Without thinking about it, I shifted away, put a bit of distance between the two of us. “And Ghost Eater seemed curious about you, but I never saw it try to attack you. More like it was studying you, not hunting. Because you’re a… You killed someone? Is that why?”
“Exactly,” Shadow replied, smooth and quick.
Too smooth and quick. I was missing something. He was immune to deathmarks or they avoided him, but why?
I closed my eyes briefly, and murmured, “I may only be a janitor, Shadow, but I recognise a blocked toilet before I see it. Know how?” I opened my eyes. I could feel their colour: stony grey. “I smell the crap.”
He smirked and turned his attention back to the shop. I shrugged my shoulders and let it go. I’d figure out his secrets eventually. I’d probably have to give up a few more of my own in the process. But I could live with
that. After all, what did I really have to lose? I was already dead.
“So why are you here then?” I asked. “Fond memories of your last job?”
Shadow turned to face me completely. There was an expression there that I couldn’t quite figure out at first, one I’d never seen him have. It came and went faster than a dark cloud in a wind.
“I’m here because it wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” he said, his voice soft. “Because I keep wondering how I could have done things differently. Because I was young and stupid and didn’t think through it all. And I paid for it.”
Just then, I recognised what Shadow’s expression had been.
Regret.
I nodded. I could appreciate the young and stupid part. Heck, I was still young and stupid, but maybe just a bit less so. If I had any wisdom, it was from hanging out with Lee. And Bob.
Bob.
I thought back to the last time I’d seen him. It was when Shadow had pulled that weird stunt with the shadow arms and scared us all. What had Bob muttered?
That explains it. That’s why.
I mulled over that and all the strangeness I associated with Shadow. I wondered what Bob had wanted to tell me.
“You sure are different, Shadow,” I ventured.
He kept quiet, facing the shop again. But I didn’t think he was really seeing it anymore.
“Did Bob figure it out?” I said, my voice almost a whisper.
Slowly, Shadow swivelled around. He loomed in front of me, his face a dark mask. Only his eyes showed a glimmer of life, and even that was dark.
“Where is he, Shadow?” I persisted, even though I knew where he was, and I knew I wasn’t safe anymore, if I ever was. “What happened to Bob?”
“You’re a smart one, like I always said,” he said softly. Somehow, it came out as a hiss.
“Yeah, for a janitor,” I joked but my fists clenched, anticipating an attack that would involve dark tentacles and the death of a ghost.
Instead, he just watched me, defiant and almost sad.
I hesitated and then pushed on. “I’ll have to tell Faye, you know. About Bob. That he was eaten. She’s really worried. I won’t tell who ate him. She’ll just assume it was Ghost Eater, I guess. But you need to come clean, eventually. Because, well, you just should.” And I was babbling now.
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