by Alexie Aaron
Once again she reached out and found herself moving ever slightly upward. She turned her head in time to see the essence of her body pull away from her flesh and blood. Mia moved into the kitchen and then back to her body. She opened her eyes and was overcome with a fatigue she didn’t expect.
“Must be doing something wrong,” she said aloud, forgetting she wasn’t alone in the apartment.
~
Mike tapped his foot impatiently while Beth struggled with the tripod camera. Burt kept looking over his shoulder. He thought he saw old Murphy when they arrived. Gone was the ignorance of invisible entities. What replaced it was the cold clarity that Stephen Murphy was a powerful man with a wicked axe. How did Murphy feel about them digging up his unfaithful wife?
“All set,” Beth’s voice penetrated Burt’s anxious thoughts.
“Good, let’s get started,” Mike said, handing the young woman a pickaxe.
The three of them worked in concert on the wall. At one point, Beth left and switched places with Ted at the command center. They were still monitoring the house just in case their actions riled up any other denizens of the pale variety.
The hard-packed dirt fell away to reveal wood slats. They pried away the slats and were rewarded with more earth. Mike took a big swing at the wall, unleashing his frustration. When the axe contacted this façade, the wall broke apart leaving a gaping hole, spewing noxious fumes.
The three of them backpedaled until the air cleared. Burt turned on one of the small but powerful flashlights. He walked over with his T-shirt pushed up over his nose. The beam of light cut through the darkness, outlining a still reclining form. The body was encased in two joined potato burlap sacks. On top of the sack was a wood panel that Burt gently removed and brought into the beam of the floodlight.
“Chastity Murphy, Adulterer” was carved into the panel.
Mike turned to Burt and asked, “How did they know?”
“Research,” he replied, knowing it sounded lame.
“Burt, over,” Beth’s voice crackled on the walkie-talkie.
“Burt here, go ahead, over.”
“Heads up, guys, we have company. A black SUV and a hearse, over.”
Ted was up the ladder before the end of the transmission.
“I think you can ask them yourself,” Burt said.
Mike took the flashlight and scanned the recumbent form. “Didn’t go much into flashy burials with adulterers, did they? I wonder how she died?”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Could explain why Murphy’s ghost is still here,” he reasoned.
“Murphy died before Chastity,” a West Indies accented voice informed them, followed by the man belonging to it. He slid down the ladder. He walked over and turned the camera off before continuing, “Chastity’s lover murdered Stephen Murphy before having one last go at his wife. Steele left her bleeding on the porch for her mother-in-law to find in the morning.” He borrowed a flashlight and scanned the burial. “Murphy’s mother gave the little tramp the burial she deserved.” The man turned to Burt and Mike. “I’m Gerald Shem. You must be Burt and Mike, founding partners of PEEPs.”
“How do you know all of this?” Mike asked.
“Research. Try it, saves a lot of time.” The man smiled. He pointed at the walkie, “Mind if I use that?”
Burt handed it to him.
“Shem for Ted, over.”
“Ted, over.”
“Ted, tell the giant that we need a stretcher with a cadaver bag. And tell Beth that if she takes a picture of Father Santos, I will personally magnetize all your work thus far, over.”
“Understood, over,” Ted’s voice squeaked.
“Those techies, you got to watch them every minute,” Gerald said. “This is what’s going to happen now that you have your big discovery. We are going to transport Missus Murphy to a consecrated graveyard and give her a Christian burial befitting her upbringing.”
“Gerald, you sorry excuse for a biped, grab hold,” Angelo’s accented voice demanded.
“Coming, excuse me, gentlemen,” Gerald said, pushing by them.
Burt stood back and watched as the stretcher was lowered, and a body bag just missed Shem’s head by less than an inch. Next Angelo slid down.
“Mister Hicks, we meet again.”
Burt smiled.
“Have you ever transported old bones? No, well take a gander, and I’ll make an expert of you two. You never know in your line of work when you may run into this.”
Mike and Burt moved as close as they could get to watch the duo respectfully collect and move Chastity Murphy.
~
Whit and Mia ate a late breakfast, washed the dishes and took their coffee out onto the back balcony where Mia had put some dubious folding chairs. There was a cool but pleasant breeze moving through the top of a neighboring tree.
“This is nice,” Mia said, propping her feet up on the rail.
“I never thought I’d feel so good in the city. I hated New York. It was all dust and noise. Here there’s always wind.”
“Comes from having so many politicians,” Mia said, laughing at her own joke.
“The super’s wife mentioned you had quite a party here. Care to elaborate?”
“Nothing to hide. Let me tell you everything all the way through first, before you get all coppy and pissy.”
“Fair enough. Coppy?”
“Law enforcement professional.”
“Oh, coppy, why didn’t you say so.” Whit leaned back and readied himself for a long story.
Mia started with her visit to the Field Museum and didn’t stop until Whit’s chair collapsed, sending both of them inside with hysterical laughter.
Coffee refilled and dignity restored, Mia asked, “Where was I?”
“Harry the fireman. I told him to stay away from you.”
“Actually, I was feeling so proactive, I visited his stoop.” Mia continued her tale, ignoring the jibes about just wanting to see his hose and Whit’s upchuck motions when she told of picking up Harry’s fingers. “Honestly, you’re a grown man.”
“That’s where you were when I called. You lied to me.”
“Uh huh,” Mia said. “Forgive me?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Your turn.”
“You can’t want to hear about the funeral?”
“Yes, I do. Tell me everything. I will refrain from childish behavior during the telling.”
“I’ll start with the fight over Sherry’s wedding ring.” The words poured forth, and Whit emptied his anger, sadness and worry with the telling. “Do you think she’s passed on?”
“I don’t think we’ll know until we go back,” Mia said thoughtfully.
“Do we have to go back?”
“No, but it would be the responsible thing to do, especially for a law enforcement professional.”
“There’s that.”
“Yep, burden of the badge.” Mia reached over and put her hand on Whit’s heart. “You need to mourn your wife,” she said before removing her hand.
“It’s important to me that I don’t blow this friendship, Mia. I can be a royal jerk sometimes.”
“If we can stay friends since elementary school, I think we can survive adulthood,” Mia lied, knowing that as soon as Whit was on his feet, he was out of her life.
“Sherry didn’t like you much,” he told her. “She was afraid of you.”
“I’m complicated, but I never thought of myself as a scary person,” she said thoughtfully.
“I think it’s our connection that bothered her the most.”
“We never connected. Hell, you barely said hi to me in the halls.”
“No, being from the same place, sharing memories,” he clarified.
“Oh, like Whitney Pee Pants,” she teased.
“That is one memory I’d like to forget,” he said with a yawn.
They sat side by side in silence. The breeze from the window brought the sweet sound of cou
rting birds. Mia sat, enjoying the silence until she heard Whit snore. She smiled and moved a little further away from him before she tried to bilocate again.
This time she advanced out of her body in the first try. She moved in front of Whit and herself and marveled at what a cute couple they would have made if providence hadn’t stepped in. Dismissing the thought, she moved around the apartment until she could do so in smooth movements.
Whit’s phone rang, and she willed herself back to her body. She was left wiped out by the quickness of this movement.
~
Whit woke up to the sound of his phone. He almost knocked Mia off the couch looking for it. He caught it on the last ring.
“Hello?”
“Whit, it’s Tom. The sheriff wants to know when you’re going to be back in town.”
“Tomorrow, maybe. Why?”
“He wants to assemble a team of men to work with this Father Santos to investigate the foundation beneath the church out at Cold Creek Hollow. I thought that you’d want in.”
Whit watched Mia as she moved and woke up. She got up and wandered down the hall to the bathroom before he answered, “Count me in.”
“Be at Cold Creek crossroads no later than ten in the morning. I’ll add you to the list.”
“Thanks for the call, Tom,” Whit said before closing his phone.
Mia came back out, a little more awake. “Sorry about that,” she yawned, “I’m pretty tired, although I never slept so well.”
“That was Tom. The sheriff’s calling for volunteers to search the church foundations with your Father Santos.”
“Really? That’s quick.” Mia found her phone in the pocket of her jeans on the floor in her parent’s room. No sooner did she flip it open when it rang in her hand. “Hello?”
“Mia, this is Gerald. We’re going to join the local yokels and PEEPs and search the foundations of the church up at the hollow.”
“I just heard that from Whit of all people...”
“We want you there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, we need you in particular.”
“Why?”
“You know the area, you have the ability to see spirits, and with the amount of non-seers with us, it could be dangerous without an extra set of eyes.”
“Yes, I see, who...”
“I’m going to try to get Sabine and Bev to be there. Sabine isn’t very reliable. She has a nervous disorder. You would be a backup.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” she said warily.
Whit walked into the room to hear her side of the conversation more clearly. He sat down on a clothes-covered reading chair and waited.
“Can Whit drive you in or shall I come get you tomorrow?”
“Might as well leave tonight as Whit is anxious to get back. See you tomorrow.”
Whit saw the fear move to and from her face. She suppressed a chill and set her phone down before walking over to him. “Evidently you guys aren’t going alone. They want me, Sabine and my aunt Bev to be lookouts for the entities.”
“No, you’re not going,” Whit said, getting to his feet. “I need you to be safe.”
“Whit, I’ll never be safe if this thing gets out. I can be your eyes down there. You can have my back.”
“Last time, I had to carry you out unconscious.”
“I was surprised, that’s all. This time, I’ll be more aware,” she said, trying to convince herself.
“First sign of trouble you’ll leave?”
“Promise,” she lied.
“Well, get your rear in gear,” Whit ordered. “Bus leaves in an hour.”
“I’ll be ready in half that,” she lied again.
Chapter Forty-four
They drove through the night, singing bad eighties songs. Mia’s favorite key was off, and Whit’s three note range made for some truly hurtful combinations. Mia begged Whit to spend the night at her house, but he needed to take care of things at home. He did walk her to her door and check out the place. All was well. Mia walked him back out to the gate and closed it after him. She hummed one of the bad tunes to keep her company on the walk back.
~
Whit pulled into his driveway and sat there for a few moments. “Time to be a big boy and go in there,” Whit scolded himself as he opened the car door. He whistled to keep himself company as he crossed the lawn and opened the front door. He saw that Tom had piled all his mail on the little phone table in the front hall. Sherry had picked that out at a flea market, took it home and refinished it. All around him were Sherry’s rescues. She was the biggest upcycler in the tri-state area. Some of the things she sold, but most of them she found a use for in their little home.
Whit dropped his suitcase in the laundry room as most of the contents were headed for the washer. The rest he would retrieve when he unpacked.
Feeling a mighty thirst, he walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a beer after checking out a few of the casseroles Tom said had been left at the house while he was gone. The house was still but not quiet. He heard a swish-swish as if a brush was painting. Whit took off running down the hall to the studio. He fumbled for the light switch in the dark room.
The overhead lights came on, and Whit was stunned. There before him on the center easel was the painting. He was certain he had put it in the closet with the others before he left for the funeral.
He grabbed the painting, walked over to the closet and opened the door. Inside sat a duplicate of the canvas he had in his hand. He reached out and felt the surface and found the paint had dried. Whit moved his thumb along the one he held, and the paint was wet. It would seem that Sherry had painted another picture. He grabbed the dry canvas and walked back out into the room and set the paintings side by side on the easel.
The paintings were identical. The mix of the paint was exact. The brushstrokes were the same. Why paint the same painting? “What are you trying to tell me?” Whit asked the empty room. He brought the paintings inches away from his face, and still they held on to whatever meaning Sherry had voiced with her technique.
“What the fuck, Sherry? What the fuck?” Whit threw the paintings blindly, caring not for the devastation their landings caused. He then stormed into the closet and returned with an armload of paintings. He walked out of the room, down the hall, through the back door, and stood before the fire pit they had purchased together last summer. He dumped the armload and went back into the house for more.
After several trips, he began to twist newspapers and jam them between the canvases. Whit doused the pile of artwork with lighter fluid and then lit a match. He hesitated only a moment before the anger reemerged, and he flung the match deep into the pile of oils.
With a whoosh the flames came to life. They dined on the newsprint before licking at the oils. Soon, they too were engulfed in flame. The prisms turned black, and the smoke billowed out. The fire eased off, and the most recent paintings smoldered. Whit squirted more fuel, and when the stream of liquid ignited, the fire shot back to the can. “Fuck this.” Whit tossed the can in the fire, and when it exploded, it tore through the two identical canvases. A sulfurous smell billowed out of the pit as they burned. He stood and watched until all was ash.
~
Secure inside, Mia turned on all the lights. As promised, she found her phone on the desk. She hit voicemail and listened to the messages: a very irate Burt, a super mad Burt, and a very apologetic Burt. There was also one from Beth asking her to call and Mike asking for some of her time. Basically, it was an all out barrage of PEEPs phone calls. She would have to give Tom and Whit credit for getting her a different phone number. She would have never gotten any peace with this group closing ranks. The only one who didn’t call was Amber, and, face it, she already had her say - or at least Chastity did.
Mia straightened up her house, getting rid of anything that would remind her of Burt. It was bad enough she would see him tomorrow. It had been a fun afternoon they spent together, but that’s all it had been, fu
n. She didn’t have to spill her guts to this man. She suspected she only did it because he was so far removed from her community.
Her pink phone rang. “Hello?” she answered without looking at the ID.
“Mia, it’s Whit. I can’t stay here. She’s still here. You should see the studio. I think she’s still painting.”
“You want to stay here?”
“Actually, I’m going over to Tom’s. I just think...”
“I understand, Whit,” she lied. “See you tomorrow.” She closed the phone and put it down. What did she expect? The guy just buried his wife who was murdered by an unknown assailant. He was just protecting himself and maybe her too. It just sucked. She was fine being alone before Burt and Whit came into her life.
She picked up her phone and dialed Ralph and Benny. She got their voicemail so she left a message that she had arrived in one piece. She thanked them for everything and promised a shopping trip later in the month.
The phone rang while she was finishing the message. Thinking it was Ralph, she clicked over. “Hello.”
“I had a feeling you were in town,” Burt Hicks said softly into the mouthpiece.
“Just got here. I understand you had a big day. Care to share?” Mia did her best not to let her resentment show in her voice. “I just got a sketch, why don’t you fill in the colors.”
“I met some pals of yours, Gerald, Angelo and, of course, Father Santos...”
“I only met Gerald and Angelo the other evening. They’re all friends of my godparents,” a lie but easier than going through the truth.
“Something happened to me...”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could take away your pain but...”
“No, not that, but thank you. I could see a Sister Agnes at the hospital. She’s been dead for half a century. And I swear I saw Murphy this afternoon.”