by J. L. Salter
“Evidently not.”
“But Eva still wanted the ring, the marriage, the whole charade.”
“Apparently so.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Me neither. But thank goodness I had enough smarts and resolve to walk away before things got any more formalized.”
“It must have hurt.” She lightly stroked the top of his hand.
Muir nodded sadly. “But not as much as it would’ve if I’d gone through with it. One of my buddies — he came back in a wheelchair and they were trying to fit him with prosthetics — he started dating a girl who kept talking him out of getting the legs.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I really don’t understand it.” He swallowed hard again. “But I think she was in love with his wheelchair instead of with him.”
“Ugh, that’s so disturbed,” she gasped. “I’ve read about people who are fascinated by the disabilities of others. Maybe she was in love with the idea of having a visibly crippled man by her side.”
“And if he got new legs and could walk on his own, maybe he wouldn’t need her.”
She straightened. “Okay, this has thoroughly depressed me.”
“Sorry.”
“This business of people thinking they’re in love with someone who they really only have a need to dominate or display. It’s so sick.”
“And it pretty much burned me up on dating, as I suppose you can guess.”
“I had wondered.”
“Well, I really like you, Lucy. And I wanted you to know enough to understand that my words or actions or whatever, might not be textbook pattern, at least for a while.”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. “I don’t date textbooks anyhow.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind going out with me? I mean, to places besides museums?”
“I enjoy your company, and I also like you, Levi.” She couldn’t hold back a giggle. “And suddenly I feel like I’m a school kid again. It shouldn’t matter whether we’re doing anything in particular, or nothing at all. I believe I want to be with you.”
“So you won’t object if I call you just to hang out together?”
“No problem. Only you don’t have to call. We can pass notes in the hallway, like in middle school.”
Both laughed. And with that, Muir left the tip, moved to the register to pay the bill, and they stood outside her car looking at the moonlight over the bog to their west.
“That marsh, or whatever it is, being so close surprised me a bit, but this is a nice little town.”
“Some folks say our swamp has as many haints as any of the haunted buildings in town, including the old hotel. You should go with our group on one of their forays at night.”
Muir chuckled. “If I go into a swamp, it’s daytime, I’m wearing snake-proof boots, and I’m armed. You won’t find me standing in black water at night asking spooks to talk to me.”
“Well, that’s not exactly how it goes, but I understand. I don’t do the swamps either.”
When she drove Muir back to the front of the hotel, he got out, walked around to the driver’s side and reached through her open window. Then Muir lifted her hand gallantly and kissed it. “Good night, Lucy. See you in the morning.” Then he unlocked the front hotel door and disappeared inside the darkness.
Lucy smiled sadly as she addressed her own hand: “Why didn’t he kiss me?”
Chapter Eight
Monday night
Having died shortly before age twenty, Danielle Gregg had spent roughly five lifetimes in her spirit state — neither in Heaven nor Hell. And not really Purgatory, had she been Catholic. It was more of an aimless, endless — and rather hopeless — sense of waiting for delivery from that status. There were no briefings and precious little information to speak of, but she had gathered — through a few isolated contacts with mortals — that she would remain in her limbo until something significant changed. What had to change? That was never totally clear. Danielle had concluded it dealt partly with her manner of death but there seemed to be other factors.
While in this ill-defined state, these hundred years, her awareness was more or less confined to the Majestic Hotel where she’d lived for several months prior to her death. That period had included certain joys, which were becoming increasingly difficult to remember, and — of course — those unfortunate situations with the stranger Father had selected for her.
But in the past several days, there had been much activity in the suite where she’d formerly resided. This new person — a young man. Handsome he was. Most interestingly, Mr. Muir was not the least bit frightened. The slightest noise or whisper would usually send visitors running, but the gentleman now residing in her quarters seemed to possess mainly skeptical curiosity… with a bit of compassion. That was new — compassion for a troubled spirit somehow captive in this old hotel.
The more she studied him, the more Danielle was willing to share. Mr. Muir had already pressed her to reveal herself, which she fully intended for that very evening. This bold new cohabitant might be just the one to provide the special assistance she needed. However, Danielle’s goal would require his complete attention, so she’d decided upon a minor campaign of subliminal suggestions to convince Mr. Muir that he need not concern himself with the Lucy Tierney person… except as a colleague at his school.
And if Mr. Muir did not seem to take these hints, Danielle had stronger measures she could employ to make up his mind for him. But tonight was to be about her debut and she was nearly as excited as she’d been for her social entrée at age sixteen.
No longer did Danielle expect Mr. Muir to flee, but she still did not know how he might respond to her manifestation. After all, a believer in ghosts is prepared with prejudices, but a skeptic offers no predictability whatsoever.
She waited until her cohabitant had settled in after his supper date with that woman. Danielle could still smell the vapors of burned pork and other rich spices about the man, despite him having washed his hands after visiting the bathroom. She did not watch his other activity. In fact, it was Mr. Muir’s open immodesty which kept Danielle on her figurative toes — she scarcely knew when he would pull off his shirt and sit in a chair near the window to soak in some sunlight.
Of course, she dared not observe him when he stood under the piped-in water spray, but Danielle had to admit she had accidentally glimpsed every bit of his unclothed flesh at one point or another. It warmed her just to think about it.
Now seated in what had clearly become his favorite chair near the east window, Mr. Muir put down a bottled beverage and spoke. “I can smell your perfume, Danielle, so I know you’re here. Will I be allowed to see you this time?”
“I am accustomed to less cursory greetings, Mr. Muir, before having demands placed upon me.” She could speak telepathically or direct her voice to approach from any angle of the room. Tonight, she spoke from the special window he already faced.
“Sorry.” He’d tensed ever so slightly, despite having requested the interaction. “Good evening, Danielle. Well, I survived my first day of school, went with Lucy to the archives and picked up a bit of background on you, and then we ate some supper.”
“Yes, I was aware of the supper. I can detect the pork aroma but its preparation does not seem familiar.”
“Barbecue. Didn’t they have that a hundred years ago?”
“If so, perhaps it was a Yankee dish. Down here, we roasted pigs on hand-turned spits. In any case, pork was not among my favorites.”
“I bet the sauce would make a difference. If you could taste the way good barbecue is done now, you’d be a believer.” He took another sip of his beverage and likely wondered if they had spent enough time on the pleasantries.
“I do not believe pork, with or without special sauces, will be a concern for me. Spirits do not consume food, as I am sure you realize.”
“Actually I don’t know much at all. I’ve spent my whole life thinking that ghosts were mostly imaginary, so the rules ar
e pretty much Greek to me.”
“I am pleased to know you still study that original language. There is much to be learned…”
Muir chuckled. “That was a figure of speech. Nobody actually studies Greek anymore except maybe some preachers. The only language I know besides English is a little bit of Spanish, but not enough to carry on a conversation.”
“I studied Latin and French, but Greek classes had already begun to decline in popularity when I was in school.”
“Well, anyway, when you visited last night, we discussed the possibility that you’d let me see you finally.”
“Yes, I recall that conversation.”
“So it wasn’t part of my dream after all?” He smiled as he pointed toward the askance bookcase.
“There is much about our interaction which may be viewed as dreamlike by mortals, but it appeared to me you were awake when you spoke to my portrait.”
“As I figured.” He nodded. “So, what did you decide?”
“I have not done this very often, but I should be visible as we speak. However, you will have to turn around.”
Muir jumped. Despite his declared skepticism of ghosts, learning there was a spirit directly behind him clearly unnerved the young man. “Holy smoke!”
“Do I frighten you now that your eyes can sense me?”
“No, but you shouldn’t sneak up on people. I thought you were over there near the window.”
“I was earlier, but spirits can relocate rapidly.”
“Yet you’re still confined to this building?”
“So it seems.” She moved around in front of his chair so his trunk would not be twisted. “Is my appearance what you imagined?”
“I thought you were beautiful in the portrait, but now I realize that guy was a lousy painter.”
Danielle’s lips formed a pout. “What do you mean, sir?”
“You aren’t just beautiful, you’re stunning.” Muir stood and stepped closer.
“Please,” she said, holding up a pale and delicate hand. “Do not approach.”
“Why not?”
“Let us proceed slowly and cautiously as we interact. This is not only a new experience for you, but for me as well.”
“Okay.” He returned to his chair. “Would you like to sit?”
“My manifestation will remain standing, but thank you for the offer.” She leaned forward slightly and gazed into his eyes. “You are certain you have no fear?”
Muir shook his head. “When you’re scared, your guts turn to ice.” He pointed to his bottled beverage. “But when I’m around you, my insides feel warm, like I’m sipping rich hot chocolate.”
It warmed her to hear his analogy.
“I wish my friend Lucy was here. She’d have a ton of questions for you.”
“I do not intend to appear to your acquaintance.” She knowingly frosted her words.
“Has Lucy done something to tick you off?”
“Our only encounter was when she visited you here. But I have been harassed by members of her organization. And, over the years, by others with similar tactics.”
“Harassed?”
“It would be difficult for a skeptic to comprehend, but some of these individuals seem to view their efforts as a gaming contest — their apparent goal being to accumulate more contacts than other individuals. As though someone somewhere were keeping score on how many spirits these people can locate and irritate.”
“Irritate?” Muir looked deeply puzzled. “I thought they believed they were helping you in some way.”
“It depends a great deal on their motives. The ones clearly out to increase their tally, I completely ignore. I would only avail myself with someone interested in me.”
“I’m interested in you.”
“As I am aware, which is why I have agreed to appear.”
“Have you appeared to anyone else in these hundred years?”
Danielle smiled. “Only briefly, and usually to frighten them away.”
“You mean, like, ‘Boo!’?”
“That is not an utterance of mine, but I believe I understand your reference. My customary approach is merely to whisper their names. Usually that pricks their haste in the other direction. It has been rare that a glimpse was also necessary.”
“Why do you seem to like that particular window?” Muir pointed to the parlor’s east wall.
“The morning sun visited through that window and felt good even on summer days.” Danielle inhaled deeply as though she could breathe those solar rays. “In the evenings, I could hear boats on the river and trains coming over the trestle.”
“If you had been born a few generations later, I’m afraid television would have drowned out those sounds.”
“I know what you refer to, having witnessed mortals using it in this building, but it does not seem like an inactivity which would interest me.” She smiled wistfully. “Watching a box on which other people’s lives play out seems quite dreary.”
Muir chuckled. “I can’t disagree with your assessment, though I’ve never heard it phrased quite that way. Yeah, it’s mostly mindless.”
“And I gather it keeps its adherents from observing real life, such as boats and trains. And people, of course.”
Her suitemate was silent for a moment. “Why does that particular window change when you’re looking through it?”
“I was not aware of a change. It has always looked the same to me.”
“When I saw you from the street that first time, the window had a completely different style, with something Lucy called decorative leading.”
“Those windows were specially ordered by Father before we took occupancy of this part of second floor. Mother was very particular about elegance and Father did whatever he could to please her. It was something of a town scandal how much money Father spent on those windows, for what would become a stay of less than one year.”
“Wonder what happened to them?”
When Danielle shrugged her shoulders, she noticed Muir’s eyes followed intensely. “It was, in my time, considered rude to stare.”
He smiled but did not turn away. “I’m sorry, but you’re so beautiful. I never realized women in that time could be so lovely.”
“We considered ourselves ladies, not women.” She turned to examine her own portrait but continued speaking over her shoulder. “That was my loveliest gown, and yet the only time I ever wore it was for those portrait sittings.”
“I notice it shows quite a bit more, uh, flesh, than what you have on now.” Muir pointed vaguely to her bosom. “Is this outfit you’re wearing the only one you appear in?”
Uncertain of the reason for his question, she replied cautiously. “This is the dress I wore when my life ended. It has not occurred to me to make wardrobe changes over these years, since I do not even exist in physical form.”
“Not a complaint, Miss Gregg. I was just thinking how much I’d like to see you in that other outfit.” He nodded toward the portrait.
Danielle felt her face grow warm, the first time she could recall in a century. “I do not believe it is possible, Mr. Muir. And I do not see how it could make any difference to you.”
“I appreciate beauty.”
He seemed immediately entranced. Surprising, but it could be useful to my purpose. “I see.”
“The more beauty I can see, the more I appreciate it.”
Possibly too entranced. “There is a decidedly carnal edge to your topic, Mr. Muir, and I will ask you to refrain from further consideration or expression of that bent.”
“My apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken with a woman.”
“Ladies, Mr. Muir. But speaking of women, what is your assessment of the relationship with Miss Tierney… beyond being colleagues at school?”
“Well, Lucy’s been a big help. She’s a buddy. My only friend in town so far. And very cute.”
“She is very fond of you, or were you already aware?”
“If that’s even true, how could you kn
ow?”
Danielle’s sly smile was her only reply.
“Besides, I think she’s just being friendly. We mainly hang out. It’s not serious… yet.”
“But you would wish it so.”
He nodded rather sheepishly.
“It could already be more than you realize.” Danielle again faced Muir. “She is actually quite pretty and very trim. A little too brown, however, for my taste.”
“It’s relatively common these days for women to have a tan. In fact, people pay good money to lie in a long clamshell with bright lights just so they can be darker.”
“You mean, while disrobed?”
“Of course. The idea is to tan just about everything.”
“Everything?” Danielle felt her cheeks flush. I did not know this was possible.
Muir grinned. “My knowledge about spirits is sketchy, but I didn’t think you were, uh, able to be embarrassed.”
“Perhaps other spirits have not encountered a young man who speaks so brashly and about such intimate matters.”
“I mean no offense. Sometimes I can barely speak, but other times I just say what’s on my mind.”
“That is one of your disarming qualities, Mr. Muir. In addition to the fact that neither my presence nor my manifestation seems to disquiet you.”
“I’ve seen a lot of death and it’s usually gruesome. You don’t even look dead. In fact, you not only look alive, you’re ravishing.”
She blushed again. It had been a long century with no compliments. “Your form is also beautiful, Mr. Muir.”
“Beautiful?”
“Well, your skin has a healthy glow and your musculature is well defined.”
“So you have been watching me undress. Have you also been peeking while I shower?”
“As a lady, I can be counted upon to avert my eyes when the moment would be too unpropitious.”
“Translate.” But the English teacher knew because he was already grinning.
“I looked away, after a moment or two.” She fanned her face theatrically. “But it is all right because I once intended to train as a nurse.”
Muir scooted forward on his chair. “What changed your mind?”