by E. C. Bell
“Why thank you,” her mother, Rosa, said. “I thought you were gone.”
“I decided I wanted to catch the end of the game,” Marie said. She worked her way up the bleachers, sitting at the seat she had vacated when we rushed her.
I couldn’t decide if I should go up and sit with her again. She’d have some tough questions for me, and I didn’t know if I wanted to answer them.
Luckily, we were warming up for our game so the decision was taken out of my hands. We carefully distributed the equipment. Three balls and one bat for our team. The other team had two balls, two bats, and one glove. The glove was a bit of an affectation, because we no longer needed the protection, but hey, somebody got buried with a glove so it was going to get used.
We lined up just off the first base line close to the living right fielder, and began throwing the balls back and forth. Working out the kinks of a winter of—well, nothing, for some of us.
I was awake all winter and just hung around the diamond waiting for spring. But some of the dead didn’t do the same. Some of them went to sleep, waking a few weeks before ball season started, and slowly making their way here. The rest didn’t talk about what they did, and I never asked. I never told them my business, and didn’t want to know theirs.
As I warmed up, I looked around for any new arrivals. I was the unofficial dead greeter since I’d been here the longest.
“Anybody new?” Lisa asked. She’d shown up three years before and had easily fit in. She’d died at twenty-nine from complications of an appendectomy, which, as she said, had been a pretty big kick in the teeth. She’d played softball right up until the night she died. She’d brought the newest ball and bat with her, so her arrival had been greeted with glad hurrahs all around.
“Not that I can see,” I said. “But they don’t always make it for opening night.”
“True enough,” Lisa said. She tossed the ball, then turned and looked at me, hard. “Are you feeling as bad about what we did to that girl as I am?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“We never run anyone off,” Lisa said. “Not even the cranks.”
“I know,” I said. “But she’s—well, she’s alive. That kind of makes her not one of us. Doesn’t it?”
“Just because she’s alive doesn’t mean we should treat her like dirt,” Lisa said.
“I know,” I said. “She hasn’t done anything to us. She just came to play softball. Just like the rest of us.” I glanced over my shoulder, at Marie. She was watching the living game, but would occasionally glance in our direction. “Maybe I should go talk to her. You know, apologize, or whatever.”
“That would be a very good idea,” Lisa said. “One of us needs to.”
I waved to Charlotte, who I was playing catch with, and pointed at Lisa, indicating that she would continue warming up with her. Then I walked off the grass and onto the shale that edged the bleachers.
Marie was steadfastly ignoring me, but I went up to her anyhow. “Can we talk?” I asked. “Just for a minute?”
“I guess,” she said, after a short uncomfortable silence.
I plunked down beside her and watched Miriam mow the next batter down with three quick strikes. Her father cheered as the batter walked off the diamond, and Miriam waved her glove at him. I thought for a second how lucky Miriam was to have a father who cared enough to watch her play.
My father never would have come to a softball game if I’d played when I was alive. He thought activities like team sports were a stupid waste of time and money.
He was wrong, of course. Softball was the only thing that had kept me sane over all these years. But I was dead, so I guess he wouldn’t have seen it as such a waste of my time, if he’d known.
And I wondered, for the first time ever, if he would have been proud of me. Wondered if he would have come and watched me if he’d known that it was the only way he’d ever see me again. Shook it off, because there was no point in thinking that way. I was dead, and he couldn’t watch me even if he wanted to. Even if I wanted him to . . .
“You said you wanted to talk,” Marie whispered, pulling me out of my reverie. “What about?”
“About—about what happened by your car,” I said. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done anything like that.”
“Why did you?” Marie had turned back to the game, but I could see she was frowning even in profile. “I didn’t do anything to you—wouldn’t have done anything to you. What was the deal?”
“We—we were afraid that you’d try to make us leave,” I said, miserably. “For some of us, this is all we’ve got. You know? We were afraid that you’d—”
“Exorcise you all?” Marie whispered. She sounded sarcastic, and her frown deepened.
“Well yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”
“You do know that exorcising doesn’t work like that,” she said.
I shrugged. “Joanne seemed to think that it was something you could do. I thought maybe that ‘moving on’ you talked about was the same thing.”
I looked at her, and she briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. “Moving on has nothing to do with exorcism,” she said. “And if you don’t want to move on, I can’t make you.” She looked at me. “Would it be better if I quit?” she asked. “Just went away and never came back?”
“Maybe,” I said, then glanced down at Lisa, who smiled and waved when she saw me looking at her. I turned back to Marie and shook my head. “No,” I said. “That wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Hmm,” she said, after another long silence. “What about the one who attacked me? Joanne. She seemed pretty set on getting me to leave.”
“Oh, that’s just Joanne,” I said. “She’s always angry. But she might come around when she sees you’re not going to do anything to mess with our games.”
“She wasn’t just angry,” Marie said. “She was frightened, too.” She glanced at me then back to the game. “What’s her deal?”
“That’s a good question,” I said, and laughed uncomfortably. Joanne would have a fit if she knew I was about to talk about her. And to someone living, to boot. “She got here fifteen years ago. She rolled her car on the way to a tournament, out on Highway Two, and she was an emotional wreck when she first got here. Could barely stay for the games. Kept flipping back to where she died, sometimes mid-game. It was aggravating, but she was a good back catcher so we put up with it. Over the years she calmed down. Mostly.”
“So, she died in a car crash?” Marie asked. “Any chance she meant to roll the car?”
“You mean did she commit suicide?” I shrugged. “She never said anything but maybe. I shouldn’t be telling tales out of school, though.”
“Telling tales?” Marie looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“History doesn’t matter much, here,” I said. “Most of us have gotten past how we died. The how and why we’re here doesn’t matter. We’re all here for the same thing.”
“To play softball.”
“Yep. Exactly.”
We both watched the game in silence for a while. I felt tense knowing that Marie would have a ton more questions. I suddenly didn’t feel up to answering them.
“Look,” I said, “I gotta get back. We’re going to be playing soon. I just wanted to say sorry, you know, for before.”
“Apology accepted,” Marie said. She grinned at me, and I felt relief so strong my light momentarily flared. Marie squinted.
“Thanks,” I said and left.
I was half expecting her to leave after the living game ended, but she didn’t. Just sat in the bleachers, with her black hooded jacket pulled tight around her to keep out the cold, as all the rest of the living left.
Rosa Spears waved good-bye to her as she and Jerry packed up their stuff, and Marie waved back. Then, the only living people left were the two guys on the maintenance crew as they raced around on their little tractor raking the infield so that it looked perfect. Eventually, even they were gone and the lights cut
out, leaving Marie sitting all by herself in the dark.
Of course, our fans started showing up just a few minutes after that, so Marie was never really alone. Not really.
IT WAS ODD, seeing a living human in the stands, watching our game. She was surrounded by a dozen other ghosts—the ones who showed up to watch our games—and didn’t look that comfortable, but after a while I forgot about her. Forgot everything but the game.
We won handily because Joanne hadn’t come back and that put the other team at a serious disadvantage. Jane Rogers stood in for her as back catcher, but she wasn’t very good, and all the passed balls pissed off Robin, the pitcher, to the point that she glared at me a time or two as though it was my fault that they were losing. But I didn’t care. It was nice to have all my people around me again, and I probably cheered the loudest when we finished the game ahead seven to five.
I looked up at the stands and saw that Marie was gone. Wondered if I was going to see her again and then decided not to care.
This was, after all, the dead’s turn to play.
Marie:
Ribs and Advice
JASMINE WAS WAITING for me when I got back to her place. I was surprised, because it was kind of late for her to be up. After all, she had a full-time job and three kids to look after, which was actually another full-time job. She must have been exhausted all the time. I would have been.
“You hungry?” she asked. “I have some leftover supper, if you want.”
“That would be fantastic,” I said, suddenly starving. “And I’ll make some tea. I’m freezing. Want some?”
She nodded, so I set to work making tea as she pulled the leftover meal out of the fridge. Ribs, mashed potatoes, and a bunch of cut up vegetables. Soon we had a nice little picnic going, and I dug in enthusiastically.
“So, how did the baseball game go?” Jasmine asked. “Did your team win?”
“It’s called softball,” I said, and then frowned. The night had gone on so long, I couldn’t remember whether we’d won or not. “I think we won,” I said, and then remembered. We’d won seven to six.
“Did you have fun?”
The question gave me serious pause. Did I have fun? I guess while I was playing I had some fun, but all the ghosts showing up after hadn’t been that much fun. And the swarming—that hadn’t been fun at all.
“It was all right,” I finally said. I held out the teapot. “You want some more?”
She nodded, so I poured, and we drank in silence.
“I—I don’t know if I’m going to keep playing,” I finally said. “I don’t know if it’s really my game.”
“Oh,” Jasmine said. “That’s too bad. I told Ella, and she said she wanted to come watch sometime.”
Ella was Jasmine’s scary smart daughter who spent more time doing homework than most girls her age spent online. I was pretty sure she just tolerated me living with them.
“Well,” I finally said. “Maybe I can play a few more games. For her.”
“Oh God, don’t tell her that,” Jasmine chuckled. “She isn’t really into people doing things ‘just for her.’ Know what I mean?”
“I guess,” I said, and laughed a little myself. Sounded a bit like me, truth be told.
“Now, tell me why you’re thinking about quitting,” Jasmine said. “I thought you were going to really give this a go. You know—sunshine and fresh air. What happened?”
I looked over my teacup at her and tried to think of something that would sound normal but realistic. Jasmine didn’t know that I could see ghosts. I hadn’t been able to figure out a way to tell her—not with all the other foolishness that seemed to have swirled around me—and I didn’t want to lose her as a friend because of it.
“I—I just don’t play as well as I thought I’d be able to,” I said. “I think I’m holding the team back.”
“But you guys won,” Jasmine said. “Doesn’t sound like you’re doing much damage.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “It’s just—it’s been a long time since I’ve played. I don’t know if I can actually get better.”
“Does that matter?” Jasmine asked.
“Well, of course it does,” I said, then looked at her. She was shaking her head.
“I don’t know about that, Marie,” she said gently. “You’re just out there for a few laughs. You don’t need to be the best. Do you?”
I chuckled. “No chance of that, my friend,” I said. “There are some women who can really play. Miriam Kendel, for example. She pitches for the Blues. They played after our game, so I stuck around to watch. She’s really good. People were actually making bets that she’ll strike out everyone this year.”
Then I shuddered, because the people who’d been talking about taking bets had been the ghosts. Jasmine poured me more tea.
“Still cold?” she asked.
I shrugged but accepted the tea. We sipped in silence for a few minutes.
“So maybe you can practice,” she finally said. “You know, with James—”
“Ah,” I said, and laughed. “Did he talk to you?”
“Well, he might have,” Jasmine said. She smiled. “A little practice can’t kill you, though, can it?”
I sighed. “I guess not.”
“So, practice with him.”
“I might.” I stood, picking up my cup and plate. “But I think right now, I’ll go to bed. Thanks for the late supper. It was fabulous as always.”
“You are welcome, my friend.” But Jasmine didn’t smile. “When do you go see Dr. Parkerson again?”
“Tomorrow. Why?”
“Maybe you can ask her about quitting. You know, get her perspective on the whole thing.”
Jasmine had been one of the ones who had convinced me to go to therapy, mostly because of my nightmares after I came back from Fort McMurray. The nightmares were the usual. Dealing with my dead stalkery ex-boyfriend—and his equally stalkery girlfriend. My mother dying and leaving me alone. Absolutely alone. Dr. Parkerson was helping, as much as she could. But I hadn’t told her about the ghosts. No need to end up in a nut house, after all.
“Yeah, I guess.” I knew she would tell me to keep playing. That it was doing me good. All that fresh air and exercise would help straighten out my chemistry so the nightmares and everything else would finally calm down, and I could live a normal life.
Yeah. Right.
“Promise me,” Jasmine said, and looked at me with those “mother” eyes that did not allow me to say no.
“All right. I promise.” I grinned at her, in spite of myself. “You’re a bit of a hard ass, my friend.”
“Back at ya,” she replied, then caught me in a brief hug. “Sleep well.”
I went down to the basement. It was a little rugged down there—mostly unpainted Gyproc and cement floors—but I had managed to set up a bit of a nest for myself. I had a bed and a desk, with an old—and I mean ancient—computer on it.
I stripped down, carefully putting my ball equipment to one side so I could find it all again, and then fell into bed. And, more or less instantly, to sleep.
That lasted a blissful hour and a half, until I had another one of my nightmares. It was an oldie but a goody about popping the eyeball of a drug dealer who was trying to kill me. Then I was wide awake. So, I got up, fired up the computer, and decided to do a little investigating.
I’d met a lot of ghosts the evening before. A shit ton, if I was going to be honest, and I felt like maybe I needed to know who I was dealing with. So, I wrote down as many names as I could remember, and Googled them all.
Some of them had died of natural causes. Some in accidents. But some of them had disappeared. I found Charlotte on the Missing Persons website, along with Jane Rogers. Both missing and presumed dead.
“No presumed about it,” I whispered as I wrote the last of their information in a cheap scribbler Ella had given me. “All I have to do is find out where their bodies are, and I could really help the cops clean up their cold cases.”
I looked up and sighed when I saw the pink of the sunrise touching the little window above my desk. Another night with little sleep.
Whatever. I’d been without enough sleep for so long, I wasn’t sure I remembered how it felt to get a full eight hours any longer.
I looked at the little alarm clock on the wooden crate that served as my nightstand. Five in the morning. I could either get a couple more hours sleep or get up for real. So, I got out of the plastic folding chair that I used as a desk chair and headed upstairs.
At least I’d be able to have the first shower. In this house, that was a bit of a miracle all on its own.
JAMES WAS WAITING for me at the front entry way of “Casa del James,” when I drove up. He had Millie the comfort dog with him. I was late, and Millie was displeased. She let me know it by growling at me when I tried to pet her. James laughed.
“The dog’s like a nasty little alarm clock,” I said. “I’m only five minutes late.”
“That five minutes puts us right in the middle of rush hour,” James said. “And Millie knows that.” He laughed out loud when I tried to pet the little dog one more time and got the cold shoulder.
“Good grief, did you train her to do that?” I asked. I slid over to the passenger’s side as James got in the driver’s seat and we headed off.
“Nope,” he said. “She just knows her own mind, is all.”
“Cranky old lady,” I said. “That’s what she is.”
But Millie was right. The traffic downtown was terrible. James tried to talk to me about how softball had gone the evening before, but I felt like I needed a big cup of coffee before I told him what had happened. Surprisingly, he didn’t push, and we drove in amicable silence. Even the dog was quiet, except for the occasional snort.
Finally, we arrived at the Jimmy Lavall Detective Agency, and Millie curled up in her little dog bed while James and I prepared ourselves for another day of detecting.