Motel. Pool.

by Kim Fielding

  They walked back toward the car and stood in the middle of the street. “Nothing here but desert and abandoned buildings,” said Jack. “Sorry I dragged you here.”

  But Tag was looking across the pond past another row of palms, where the lake bed was flat and white and a mountain ridge lined the horizon. It was just desert. But there were a hundred shades of green and brown and yellow, and the sky was white-smeared blue. He opened and closed his hands, imagining the landscape’s textures: smooth, spiked, jagged, crumbly. Wet. He turned and gazed at the way the stucco flaked off the building, revealing layers of cream and gray that were smeared orange from water stains. An old metal windmill creaked in the breeze; a bird called; the odors of sulfurous water, salt, and sage drifted his way.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Jack put his palm against Tag’s chest, where his heart beat a quick and steady rhythm. “It is.”

  There was an old blanket in the trunk of the Camry. Tag fetched it; then he and Jack walked into the nearest building. Although the interior walls and all the furnishings were long gone, it was clear that this was once a motel room. Tag spread the blanket on the cracked concrete floor. “It doesn’t look like anyone else is around,” he said to Jack with a leer.

  Jack grinned and made his clothing disappear. “Okay. But I can poof away. You’re the one’s gonna be caught bare-assed and humping the air if anyone comes by.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  It took Tag a few minutes to get undressed, seeing as how his clothes couldn’t magically disappear. Then he and Jack lay down on the blanket, feeling the bumpy surface beneath it. They hadn’t thought to bring lube, but that was only a small impediment. They improvised. And then they remained in a tangled pile of limbs, Jack tracing his finger over the octopus on Tag’s sweaty chest and Tag staring up at the sky. Tag knew their peace and joy were transient, but maybe that was what made them so achingly sweet.

  Twenty-One

  A SKINNY woman in her fifties stood behind the desk at the Baja; there was no sign of Buddy. She gave Tag and Jack a skeptical look when they asked for him. “Whatta ya want him for?”

  Jack answered. “He asked me for a favor. I need to tell him yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Buddy asked you for a favor?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think he’s in his apartment. It’s—”

  “I know where it is.”

  She frowned at them and waved her hand vaguely.

  When they climbed the stairs of Buddy’s building and knocked, the door opened almost immediately. Tag recognized the enormous man as Rick, Buddy’s husband. He was even bigger in person than he looked in photos. His nose looked like he’d run face-first into a brick wall, and he had a big gold ring in one ear, like a pirate. He looked down at them. “Which of you’s the spook?” he boomed.

  Tag and Jack exchanged glances and Tag pointed at Jack.

  Rick opened the door. “Come in. Ball and chain was having himself some beauty sleep.”

  Just as they entered, Buddy came out from the bedroom. He was yawning as he tied his hair back, and he gave Rick a kiss on the cheek as he walked by. “Hey, boys,” he said. “How they hangin’? Rick, meet Jack and Tag.”

  Everyone nodded. Rick looked them over for a moment before heading to the fridge. “Beer?” he called.

  “I can’t drink,” Jack said. “And I’d really like to get this over with before it gets any harder.”

  Buddy looked puzzled. “Didn’t realize this was gonna be such a chore.”

  Tag frowned and opened his mouth to say something angry, but Jack settled a calming hand on his shoulder. “You know how ghosts eventually… go away?” Jack asked. “Like your guy in Florida? I’m pretty sure this is going to do it for me.”

  When Rick walked to his side, beer can in hand, Buddy leaned up against him. “That ain’t a good thing?”

  “It probably is, for a lot of fellows. But me….” Jack inclined his head in Tag’s direction.

  “Ah. Shit. You boys got it bad for each other.” He sighed loudly. “Forget it, then. This ghost’s been here for years and it can—”

  “I need to do this,” Jack interrupted.

  Buddy rubbed his beard and looked at them both before sighing again. “Shit. C’mon, let’s go.” He opened a kitchen drawer and removed a key on a green plastic fob, then walked to the door.

  “I’m staying here,” Rick announced. “This paranormal stuff scares the shit out of me. Uh, no offense.” He gestured at Jack with his beer before taking a long gulp.

  Buddy led them downstairs to a building behind his that looked identical to their building. But there were no numbers on the door where Buddy stopped, just cracked and faded paint.

  “This ghost’s been here for years. Much longer than me. Guests complained about weird noises and shit moving around, blinking lights. You know, all the usual haunted house crap. Bosses stopped renting this room out a long time ago. I tried to talk to the ghost, but it won’t come near me. I think I’d best stay out here.”

  He still hadn’t unlocked the door, and now he paused to run his fingers through his beard. “Nobody seems to know who it is. But one thing I can tell you for sure. A little kid dyin’ in a fleatrap like this, I bet it ain’t a pretty story, you know?” He looked at Jack. “You can still back away and I wouldn’t blame you none.”

  “Unlock the door, please.”

  Buddy nodded and complied.

  Jack slipped inside and started to close the door, but Tag stopped him. “Me too.”

  “Tag—”

  “I’m not afraid of this ghost and I’m not going to….” He stopped and clenched his jaw. Not going to say good-bye out here, in this crappy courtyard, in front of Buddy.

  With a tiny smile, Jack let him in.

  “Good luck, man,” said Buddy. “You’re good people.”

  Jack gave him a half grin and shut the door.

  It was dark in the room, the only illumination from the outdoor security lights shining through the thin curtains. Tag had a vague impression of a room much like his own, only dusty and musty-smelling. From what he could see of the décor, it hadn’t been updated since the seventies.

  “I think this might be a more depressing place to haunt than Jasper,” Jack said quietly.

  Tag agreed, and he was going to say so. But Jack held up one hand. “Someone’s crying.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  Jack grabbed Tag’s hand. As soon as he did, Tag heard it too: a child quietly sobbing. It was the most terrible sound he’d ever heard. But his horror was eclipsed when he glanced over at Jack—and the light was shining right through him.

  “Jack!” Tag cried, gripping his hand more tightly.

  “Shh!”

  Jack turned to Tag, embraced him so tightly Tag could barely breathe, and kissed the remaining molecules of oxygen away. “I love you, Tag Manning,” he whispered before pulling away.

  Tag remained rooted near the door as Jack walked slowly to the bed. When he got there, he sat on the rug cross-legged and peeked under the mattress. “Hi,” he said, very softly.

  Tag couldn’t hear the other ghost anymore. He was thankful that a muted beam of light shined directly on Jack, yet the light also revealed that Jack’s edges were fuzzy and indistinct and his torso was transparent. Jack looked up at Tag with his sweet, boyish smile before ducking his head again. “Hello. Would you come talk to me, please?” After a pause, he added, “I know it’s scary. I was scared too. But it’s all right. I promise, nobody will hurt you.”

  For what felt like a long time, nothing happened. And then something did—a whisper of movement in the overhang of the dusty bedspread. Something emerged. It was small and very faint, like a shadow seen out of the corner of the eye, but Jack must have been able to make it out more clearly, because his smile widened.

  “Hi, honey. I’m Jack. What’s your name?” He cocked his head slightly as if listening. “Angela Jones. That’s a pretty name.
I like your dress too. Pink’s my favorite color.” He listened, then chuckled. “Boys can too like pink.”

  Tag’s vision grew blurry, and it took him a moment to realize he was crying. He impatiently wiped away the tears with the back of his hand.

  “Yes, I’m dead too, Angela. But see? Everything’s okay. I’m not afraid anymore.”

  Everything was not okay. Jack was growing increasingly indistinct. He reminded Tag a little of a painting left in the sun, fading away. But his voice was still strong and unwavering. “Angela, this is my friend Tag. He’s alive, but he’s my very best friend.”

  Feeling slightly stupid, Tag gave a little wave. Maybe Angela waved back, because the shadow seemed to move a bit and Jack’s grin reappeared. “You know what? Jack found me at a motel not so different from this one. And he took me to the Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam—” He stopped, chuckled, and shook his head. “No, it’s not a bad word, honey. Not this kind of dam. And then he brought me here to Las Vegas and… and he’s my friend. I really needed a friend. Don’t you?”

  Tag could tell from the strain in Jack’s voice that he was fighting not to cry, but of course Tag had already lost that battle. All he could do now was lean back against the door and try not to lose it completely.

  He watched as Jack held out a hand. “I’ll be your friend, Angela. Will you be mine? Please?”

  The shadow moved again, closer to Jack. And then Tag could see a little girl standing in front of Jack, holding his hand. She was maybe five or six. She had a grubby face and snarled hair, and she clutched a beat-up teddy bear under one arm. She wasn’t crying anymore, and in fact, the barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. But she was as insubstantial as Jack, who had dimmed even more when she took his hand.

  “Thank you,” Jack said. “Sweetheart, can you tell me why you’re so sad? I want to help.”

  Angela sniffled—Tag could hear her now—and rubbed the bear against her cheek. “My daddy’s mad at me,” she said.

  Oh fuck. Jack and Tag exchanged quick glances. Jack was crying, and Tag so wanted to scoop him into his arms, but he couldn’t move. He was pretty sure if he tried to touch his lover, he’d grasp nothing at all.

  “Your daddy’s gone, honey. Nobody’s mad at you.”

  “Why is your friend crying? Boys isn’t s’posed to cry.”

  “He’s… he’s sad too.”

  “Did somebody hurted him?”

  Tag had to answer. “A long time ago, Angela. It was a long time ago.”

  “Oh.” She set the bear in Jack’s lap and wiped away a tear with her free hand. “Don’t be sad, Jack. I’ll be your friend too.”

  “Good,” Jack answered. Tag could barely hear him. Angela’s pink dress had faded to gray, and the colors had drained from Jack too. He looked like a man in a black-and-white movie. “What do you want, Angela? How can I help you?”

  Tag had to strain his ears to hear the answer. “I want to go. But I’m scared.”

  “How about if I go with you?”

  She looked at Jack solemnly for a moment before nodding. Jack let go of her hand and held out his arms, and she immediately climbed onto his lap, settled the bear between them, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Jack looked over her head at Tag. “Keep your heart beating, Tag,” he said.

  Then Jack and Angela vanished.

  Twenty-Two

  BUDDY DIDN’T say anything when Tag came out of the room alone, and Tag didn’t stop to chat. He’d tried to pull himself together, but his eyes were still red, his nose snotty, and all he really wanted was to shut out the world. The walk back to his room seemed like miles, and when he went inside, the room felt very empty indeed.

  He didn’t turn on any lights. He sat down on the love seat—the bed would smell like sex, and he couldn’t face that—and he looked around. A few of his belongings were scattered around the place, but there was nothing at all of Jack’s. Even the scent on the bed was all Tag’s own. He felt enormously sorrowful that Jack could drop out of existence and leave so little behind. Except Jack had left something very important, hadn’t he? He’d left the memory of his love.

  “God. How can I care so much about someone I only just met?” Tag said out loud. Despite his misery, he laughed at himself.

  He should probably sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t be able. He didn’t want to go out, and the television would only piss him off. So he sighed and opened the laptop. When he booted it up and glanced at the desktop, he saw a single Word document. Its name was TAG. With mixed curiosity and trepidation, he double-clicked.

  Dear tag

  This thing fixes your spelling! I never was a good speller and I didn’t learn to type but I guess anyone can type with one of these.

  I love you. I’m watching you sleep right now and I want to wake you up and fill your ears with all kinds of mushy stuff but I guess I won’t. I’m still thinking it though.

  I’m glad things turned out the way they did. If I never fell in that pool we never would have met. Or if we did I’d have been over 80 and that wouldn’t work! I know I’m going to have to go soon and that’s ok because for now I have you and you showed me someone could love me.

  So here’s what I want you to do when I’m gone. Keep the gun unloaded. Throw the damn gun away. And stay away from pools. You’re strong you know? Trust yourself and let people love you. Be happy. And I’m not going to lie. I want you to think about me. But don’t morn me tag. Please. When you get feeling down make a list of all the places you want to go or all the things you want to do and start doing them. Or you can read this list of Things I Love About You.

  You have great hair

  Hey! This thing makes lists too! You are funny even when you think you aren’t

  You are really really good in bed

  You have a good laugh. You should use it more.

  You are brave.

  You are smart.

  You don’t mind when a ghost hitches a ride

  You don’t care about stupid things like money

  You know more than you think you do.

  You keep promises

  You have a spectacular ass. Even better than mine.

  You are generous.

  You eat weird things for breakfast

  You don’t complain about stuff

  You love me.

  I could add to that list but you get the idea. You’re my star. I’m going back to bed now. I want you in my arms.

  Love always

  Jack

  TAG WOKE up hungry, which was a bit of a surprise. He walked to a nearby Denny’s and ordered spaghetti and meatballs because he hadn’t had that for years and it sounded good. He smiled when the plate arrived. Yes, maybe spaghetti for breakfast was a little strange. But because he’d learned to fend for himself so young, and because his parents’ grocery shopping habits were haphazard at best, he’d never really fallen into a cereal or bacon-and-eggs morning habit.

  He felt a little bloated after all that food, so he took a long walk down the Strip, which was still relatively quiet this time of day. Maybe he should stick around Vegas for a while. Rent at the Baja was reasonably cheap, and he could look for a job nearby. Surely someone was hiring. He’d worked retail and customer service before, and maybe his tech experience from his university job would come in handy. Even a small income would work; he wouldn’t need much to live on. As Jack had written, money wasn’t important to Tag, and he didn’t crave material possessions.

  But he couldn’t picture himself living here. Now that his luck and Jack were both gone, there was nothing to keep him here. Maybe now would be a good time to just bum around the country, picking up jobs when he needed them, putting on miles until he found a place that felt like home. He looked up at the fake Eiffel Tower and knew Vegas would never give him that feeling.

  As he trudged back up the Strip, a realization struck him so hard that he actually stopped in his tracks, nearly getting plowed into by a man with brochures advertising hookers. Tag shook his head
at the man and continued his walk, but with a bit of spring in his step. He wasn’t depressed. God, he missed Jack as fiercely as he’d miss a suddenly amputated limb, but he’d been given such an amazing gift. There he was on the road to nowhere when he chanced upon a ghost! A sexy, fascinating ghost who showed him what happiness could be like and who taught him important things about himself. He was deeply grateful to have had such wonderful luck—and for once, not to have blown it.

  And Jack. Tag had been able to break him away from his abandoned town, show him new things, love him. In the end, Jack had gone out as a quiet hero far stronger than anyone he could have portrayed in film. And maybe he’d found peace and joy as well.

  Without any decisions made about his future, but with his heart beating strongly, Tag returned to the Baja.

  A few minutes after he got to his room, as he stood and tried to decide whether to pack up or find a Laundromat, someone knocked on his door.

  “Hi, Buddy,” Tag said when he answered the knock.

  “Hey, man. I saw you walkin’ back. Just wanted to check. You okay?” The big man’s brow was furrowed with concern, and he looked a little nervous. Tag was willing to bet anxiety wasn’t an expression Buddy wore often.

  Tag swung the door more widely. “C’mon in. Want something to drink? I’ve got, uh, water.”

  “Sure, man. Hit me up.”

  They sat across from each other at the table, Buddy straddling his chair backward, both of them toying with their water bottles.

  “I’m really sorry, Tag. I didn’t mean for—” Buddy blew out a breath. “I’m real sorry about Jack.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If I’da known what was gonna happen—”

  “If you hadn’t sent Jack over there, he’d have disappeared soon anyway and that poor little girl would still be haunting that room.”

  Buddy nodded, twisted the cap off his bottle, and took a sip. “It was a little girl?”

  “Her name was Angela Jones. I think maybe… I think maybe her father killed her.”