Frost

by Elise Faber

  I’m not saying Jessica wasn’t strong. She was. But she, I don’t know… It isn’t nice to speak ill of the dead.

  It’s just… She was sort of meek, timid. She wore her heart on her sleeve and would get upset so easily. I never understood that. One minute she’d be fine, and then the next she’d be in our room crying. It got to where I hated to even say anything to her because I didn’t want to set her off. I didn’t want to be the person who made her cry.

  I never wanted to hurt her.

  Never.

  When I stopped talking, so did she.

  I loved her though.

  I still do.

  I have a lot of regrets about our marriage, things I wish I had done differently. Things I wish I had said differently, especially in those early years. We were both young, probably too young to get married and, well, we both said things I think we regretted.

  Like the one time I told her I wasn’t in love with her anymore. It was an argument. A stupid argument over something I can’t even remember, and when those words flew out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it. Instantly. The look in her eyes. I’ll never forget it. Hurt and anger all rolled into one sad, little person. I never wanted to hurt her. I just wanted her to understand.

  We went to counseling after that and had a good marriage. I suppose, in hindsight, everything is good.

  Still…

  There are things I wish I could tell her.

  Things I wish I could take back.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” Jodi wiggles closer to me. We are propped up on the surprisingly white — since everything else in the room is some shade of gray — pillows. Jodi thought it would be ironic to watch a show on ghost hunting. So we are… I’m pretending not to watch it, but I slightly am. I want to know what Jodi might do, since we are convinced we are after a ghost.

  “Hmm… just thinking.” I automatically squeeze her shoulder tighter like I have any right to do it. Like we have dated for months or something. It is to add to the realism, I tell myself. And what happens when this ghost doesn’t show up, and I’ve held her in my arms all night? Can I really go back home and pretend it didn’t feel good to have Jodi Granger in my arms? Can I just forget the fact that, for the first time in five years, I actually feel like a man — feel things men feel when a lovely woman is snuggled up beside them?

  I realize it is wrong to think like this. Jessica… I’m here for Jessica.

  But what if Jessica isn’t here? She’s not. She can’t be.

  So that means I’ll be here alone with Jodi…

  All alone.

  I should enjoy tonight — not like that — not jump her like I’m a teenaged boy, but enjoy her company. Enjoy the time I get to spend with her. I have a feeling it won’t happen again. Not for a very long time — if ever. Jodi only needs me for bait. She isn’t interested in me in any other way. Why should she be? I’m a suicidal drunk with no job, no prospects, no hope.

  That’s who I was yesterday.

  That’s who I will be tomorrow.

  But for tonight, I have a purpose. I’m different. I’m Will Jenkins, newlywed. The husband to the beautiful Jodi Granger-Jenkins. I can pretend this is real, just for tonight.

  I pull Jodi closer to me. She allows it, and I smile into her hair. I can pretend that just for tonight, just one night, everything will be all right. That I’ll be all right.

  I can go back to being suicidal tomorrow, right?

  “Thinking, huh? Thinking about how this ghost-hunting thing isn’t a bad gig? Get to lie in bed, lovely woman by your side…”

  Horrified, I let her go. “No… no, that’s not—”

  Jodi laughs and snuggles closer to me. “It’s alright. It adds to the believability. Jessica—“

  “Jodi,” I warn.

  “Sorry, the ghost won’t come out if she doesn’t think we are a couple.”

  “So says the lore.”

  “So says the lore.” She looks up at me and gives me a sly grin.

  “What else does the lore say? Are the couples… um…?” I can’t believe I’m asking this. “…are they…?”

  “What was that?” Jodi sits up and looks around the room before I can even finish my thought. Probably a good thing. It’s not like that was a thought that should be finished in the first place.

  I start to ask, “What?” when she puts her finger over her mouth to shush me. I’ve been shushed. Didn’t see that coming tonight.

  It’s funny to sit back and watch her work — if you can even consider this a real job. Is hunting ghosts a real job? I mean, obviously the dudes on this TV show consider it a job. I wonder if they charge their clients.

  I wonder who Jodi charges. If she clears this hotel of this so-called ghost, who does she send the bill to?

  Then I have a thought I can’t believe I didn’t have before. Did the hotel send her? She would have told me if they had, right? Higgins, at the front desk, wouldn’t have acted so weird if he’d known she was coming… right?

  Jodi grabs my arm and squeezes it tightly. Her finger is still over her lips, and she’s looking around the room like she’s waiting for Slimer to come out and get us.

  We only have two lamps on in the room, so between those lamps and the TV, things aren’t exactly illuminated in HD-quality. I don’t hear anything, so I have no idea what she’s going on about.

  However…

  …I do have to admit that I like the way her hand feels against my arm, holding me. It’s been a long time since anyone has done that. I think I forget to breathe. I think I forget to think.

  Jodi lets out a breath. “I guess it was nothing, but I could swear I heard footsteps.” She looks down at her death grip on my arm and releases it just as fast.

  Pity. I liked it. She can hold other things if she wants.

  Yes, I’m a jerk.

  “Sorry… I’m, I just wanted you to listen.”

  I try to get that darn knot out of my throat that is preventing me from talking. You’d think I’d never seen a pretty girl before, let alone talked to one. Let alone pretended to be the husband of one while hunting my potentially crazy deceased wife… “Yeah, I… I didn’t hear anything.”

  I sit up straighter and cross my arms over my chest. It seems the best place to put them. What I want is to put them around Jodi again. I want to feel her body against mine just one more time. Just to let me feel her warmth.

  Since Jessica, I’ve been cold. Almost dead on the inside. It has been nice to feel something besides depression, anger, frustration, regret… for the past few weeks, and definitely for the last few minutes.

  Jodi smiles sheepishly at me and places a piece of hair behind her ear. I think she’s fixing to say something to me when the sound of early-80s rock music fills the air. It makes me jump. I guess the room and everything in it has made me a little on edge. Or it is the ghost show on television. Probably that. It’s not that I’m scared. I’m not.

  Heck, even if there is a ghost here, it ain’t going after me, right?

  Jodi pulls a black and teal phone out from her pocket and reads the screen. She rolls her eyes and starts typing a reply. I can’t say she looks happy.

  “Problems?”

  “Yeah, about ninety-nine of ‘em.” She doesn’t stop messaging.

  “Ah… boyfriend?” Yeah, I asked it. I can’t help it. I’ve been wondering. It just blurted out.

  She nearly drops her phone, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are incredibly wide. “Boyfriend? No, why? No… he’s just… a colleague.”

  So, there is a he. And she stuttered over it. Hmm… Why would it bother me if she had a boyfriend? It’s not like I really think we have anything between us. Again, what can I offer her besides a broken man? Nothing. Someone like her deserves better. I sit up straighter and force myself not to bite my lip — one of my tells that I’m frustrated or upset. Benny Bartley told me that friendly tip after he hustled me out of 25k a few months ago. I didn’t tell Benny, but that had been the plan the entire time
. Who needs money when they are dead?

  “I didn’t know people in your line of work had colleagues? Is there like an agency? Like the Charlie’s Angels of ghost hunting?” I force a laugh.

  Jodi, however, does not. “Something like that,” she says all cryptic.

  It makes me imagine some place where people like her gather to get their daily assignments from some dude in a suit — plaid — and go there to do some ghost busting. Wouldn’t be bad, I suppose. See the country. Meet new people. Deal with ghosts.

  That brings up an interesting question. I wait to ask it until she’s finished typing, because she seems the kind who needs every bit of concentration to get her text across. I don’t mean that bad. Definitely not a blond joke in there. I’m saying… she’s the kind that if I interrupt her, she might haul off and smack me upside the head.

  That is something that I bet would hurt.

  Finally, Jodi throws her phone in her lap and pulls the covers higher up on her stomach. Nervous twitch, I suspect. I can’t say I enjoy the fact that she’s covering up. I like that she’s changed into a white tank top that is pretty form-fitting and black yoga pants. It doesn’t bother me in the least.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Jodi’s eyes narrow. “Sure… anything.”

  “What happens to the ghosts? You know, what do you do with them? What happens when they leave?”

  Jodi finds her fingernails very interesting. “Didn’t think you believed in them.”

  “Humor me. I’m making conversation.”

  “That you are… okay.” She clears her throat and rakes her hair behind her ear again. I think that's her tell that she's fixing to say something she doesn't want to say. Makes sense. I'm pretty good at reading people. I have a feeling that whatever she is going to tell me isn't going to be pleasant. I doubt there is some light at the end of the tunnel or afterlife imprisonment in an ecto-unit for these poor souls.

  "A ghost is a spirit. One that didn't cross over when it was his or her time."

  I raise my hand as if I'm in school to get her attention. It works. "So… you're saying that a ghost is just a spirit that didn't get to its assigned line? Maybe it got lost. Maybe its GPS got screwy." I meant it lighthearted. I mean, who in the world could really take any of this seriously?

  Jodi doesn't seem amused, so my smile quickly fades, and I pull my knees up to my chest, and settle in for the tale of ghostly woe.

  "As I was saying, ghosts are just souls that didn't go to where they were supposed to go when they die. Everyone has a path to take when they bite it. And a reaper to guide them."

  She pauses. I guess she expects me to question that. Why would I question a reaper? Seems logical in the way that it doesn't.

  "You don't have anything smart to say about a reaper?" Her eyes widen.

  I shake my head. "No, sounds about right. Grim Reaper comes and scythes you away."

  "No…" Her head drops. I think I'm giving her a headache. Maybe we are a convincing couple, after all. "…not the Grim Reaper. A reaper. An angel who takes you to heaven or hell."

  "And who decides that?"

  "Look, I'm not getting into a religious discussion with you. I just know this happens. Some people go up. Some people go down. End of story."

  Seems too cut-and-dry for me. I have a lot of what if questions I'd love to have answered, but I don't dare ask them now. She'd probably smack me if I interrupted her — I'm sure I'll chance it in a second.

  "Anyway—"

  "Wait…" I can't take it anymore. "…so, the vengeful spirits you hunt, like the one that is supposedly here at the hotel, it was a spirit intended for hell, refused to go, and stayed here?"

  She tilts her head to the side. "Why would you think it was a soul sentenced to hell?"

  How could I not? "Because seems like a bad person would become a bad spirit. A good person would go to heaven automatically."

  "Interesting…"

  Why does she keep saying that to me? Interesting. I'd love to know why I'm so ever-loving interesting. I doubt it is my drop-dead good looks. Unless the hotel makes people see other people how they want to see them too? Hell, I might look like Brad Pitt — a young Interview with the Vampire-era Brad Pitt — to ole Jodi. I might be okay with that.

  "Why am I interesting?"

  "Anyway…" she goes on, totally not making this anymore suspicious, "…no, a vengeful or violent spirit doesn't have to be someone who was bad in their lifetime. It could be a saint. A priest. A soccer mom. A hooker with a heart of gold. Any spirit can become violent… in fact… every spirit will become violent given enough time."

  "Why?" I'm listening now. Really listening. I've turned toward her and propped my elbow up on the pillows. This is fascinating. Truly. I'm not even trying to hide the fact that I don't believe it anymore. Something inside me is nudging that what she's saying is true. I try to counter with, “It is what Jodi thinks is true,” but I know better. Even though I haven't seen any sort of activity, I can feel my attitude on it changing. I can't explain why. I'm not sure there is an explanation. I just know that there is something in my gut that is saying Jodi is right. There is something not right about all of this, and not the not right I thought it was before.

  Jodi bites her lip and keeps her eyes trained on her phone, which she is now fidgeting with in her lap. "Because, it isn't natural. It's not the natural order. You die; you go to heaven or hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. That's it. No in-between. So when you — when a soul doesn't go — when a soul refuses to go with his reaper because of some unfinished business or whatever, they become a ghost. Alone."

  "What do you mean alone?"

  "I mean… Will, can you imagine how lonely it has to be as a spirit? You can't talk to anybody, and even if you can, you scare them to death because, HELLO! Dead person! And being a ghost is eternal. Eventually, everyone you love, everything you thought was so important that you had to stay on earth for will go away. People will move on. People will die too. Everything goes on, and you are stuck. Stuck without a body. Without a purpose. Alone. Forever."

  "So… the once-friendly ghost goes crazy."

  "Something like that. They become more and more violent. A nice, friendly, flickering-lights haunting can turn into a full-on poltergeist nightmare in no time."

  I've never thought about ghosts like that before. Heck, I've never thought about ghosts before, period. If I had, I'd see them as evil, bad things that needed to be taken care of. And I guess they are — or even if they aren't, they will become one eventually. "How long does it take?"

  "For the ghost to turn violent?"

  I nod.

  She shrugs. "Depends. Some take centuries. Some, it can take a matter of a few years."

  "Are those the bad people in real life?" I ask because it has to be.

  She shakes her head. "No. Actually, we've found that the sooner a ghost becomes violent after his or her death, the, quote-unquote, better the person was when they were alive. Most of the time, it is people who were in love."

  That certainly sparks my interest because of Jessica. "Love? Wouldn't love keep a person more grounded?"

  Her eyes narrow. "Think about it. What if you loved someone so much that you told your reaper to shove it? What if you gave up heaven to stay on earth with someone, and then find out they can't even see you — not really. To be with someone and not be with them, to have unfinished business eating away at your soul for all time, to be invisible to some and terrifying to others — how can it not drive a person — a thing — insane?"

  It makes sense. Still… I don't want to think about it. Especially not like that. "So, you are saying that Jessica is a violent spirit because she loved me too much? That she didn't go with her reaper to heaven because of me? Because she loved me too much. Because she couldn't live without me?"

  Once the words are out of my mouth, the dudes in the night-vision camera on the TV disappear, and the lamps flicker. Jodi looks at me. I look at her. />
  "I'm saying… I'm saying that sometimes people hold on too tightly. Life is all about free will. So is death. We all get a choice, and sometimes people choose wrongly. I'm there to fix it when they do."

  "We…" I can't look at her. I'm staring at the dark screen of the television.

  "What?"

  "We… You said we before. ‘We found that the better a person was when they were alive, the harder they have it as a ghost…’ Who is we?"

  "You know I have a partner. We talked about it — you and me. Earlier."

  Why does she sound nervous?

  Something isn't right. Something isn't adding up. I just can't put my finger on it. "What happens to them when we get to them? What are you going to do to this poor soul when you get it trapped in here? Where do they go when you get rid of them?"

  She shakes her head. I'm starting to get irritated, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it is because I feel like, even in death, I have to protect my wife. Hell, if I actually think it's her who turned off the television and flickered the lights… Could be a power shortage for all I know. But, I know that whoever the ghost is, she had to belong to someone at some time. Someone loved her. Someone mourned her. And we are just going to what?

  "We are saving people," she says and places her hand on mine. "We are. We… my brother… other people like us. We are saving people. The ghost here has killed, and it will do it again. It's only a matter of time."

  "How?" I won't let it go. I don't feel like I can. "How are we going to get rid of the ghost?" I can't keep my eyes off the TV. The hotel makes you see what you want to see, right? It is contorted and confusing and plays with your mind… That's part of the appeal… right?

  "A spell." She sighs. I swear I see tears shine her eyes. "A spell. We will use a spell, and it will simply go on its merry way into the afterlife."

  "But the salt?"

  "The spirit has to be contained and present in the circle for that the spell to work. We have to be able to physically see it. Touch it."

  "You can touch a ghost?"