A Ghost of Fire

by Sam Whittaker

  Chapter Eleven

  Day one on the new job came faster than I liked, even with the week’s delay. I had been unilaterally distracted by the unforeseen turn of events with Katie. I made it over to the hospital to see her every other day, really just to watch her body try to recover without her mind aware of it, but I thought about her every day. The visits were silent and awkward. I tried everything I could to keep things from being that way. I even brought her flowers once and a “get well soon” card knowing she wouldn’t be able to read it, not for a while at least.

  Looking back I suppose I hoped I would be able to help her heal somehow just by being with her. I believe some desperate instinct within us wants us to be able to do that. We want to somehow lend some of the life and strength we have in us and channel it into the people we care about, sustaining them through what appears a hopeless trial. I also thought about those other things I could do on odd occasions, those psychic things. That could give me an edge I reasoned. At least that was the lie I told myself.

  It was a hard thing to do, going to see her. I barely knew her and almost felt like a stalker showing up to only look at her and not having her know I was there. Our connection had been brief but strong enough to mean something to me. I wondered if it had meant something to her too, but now I feared I’d never find out. Whenever I asked the nurses or doctors about her they just shrugged their shoulders. Additionally, I was discouraged by the fact that I was the only person who visited her.

  I noticed there were no other cards, no other flowers and none of the little stuffed animals I always expect to see adorning hospital rooms. On my second trip to visit I asked the hospital staff if anyone else had come by. They replied with sterility that there was no one besides me and then continued scurrying about their endless tasks of charting and changing IV bags. Katie was alone. I became concerned that maybe her parents, relatives or friends worried about her somewhere far away, not knowing what had happened. However, if such people did exist my hands were tied against helping them until Katie woke up.

  My meeting with Trent Blacker had also been called off but not because of me. When I called him to set up a coffee appointment he very apologetically had to decline.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Steve. There’s some sort of emergency departmental meeting at the school tonight and I need to be there for it. I might not make it as it is.” Though I was very disappointed we wouldn’t be able to meet and pick each other’s brains over what was happening, I completely understood and let him know. He was very gracious and offered to spend some time on the phone with me over the next few weeks. He even threw out the idea of coming back out this way during Spring Break.

  “That’s an intriguing idea,” I lied, not wanting him to know I felt let down. “We’ll have to trade e-mails about it,” came my reply. “How far away is it?” I heard him shuffle through his planner on the other end.

  “It starts two weeks from Friday. That’ll be a shorter day anyway and I bet I could get my assistant professor to cover it for me without too much arm twisting.” From his tone of voice I got the impression that it wouldn’t be hard at all. I imagined an overeager nerdy type with a pocket protector practically jumping up and down with excitement. “I could be there that Thursday night if we wanted to get started in earnest.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That could be good. At least we’ll be able to talk over the phone and I can let you know what’s been going on here on my end.” We fiddled with a few other ideas about instruments he might be able to get access to through some friends of his, things I imagined probably fit right into the movies. He reassured me that the devices under discussion were considered by many in the scientific community as legit.

  We finished our conversation and said our farewells. I hung up the phone and inspected every nook and cranny as would become my regular routine every time I walked into the place. The space was empty and there were no spirits of little girls or angry men in dark clothes holding torches. This would also become a theme for me over the week while I was visiting Katie in the hospital and hardly noticed the steadily approaching time my employment would begin.

  There were no visitations and no apparitions of any kind over that week. As much as I was happy to have a reprieve from all of that it also frustrated and worried me. I had come to accept the fact that I was going to have to help the little girl, whatever that meant. But how could I help if she wasn’t going to show up let alone tell me anything I needed to know? Strange as it may sound I wondered if something bad had happened to her. I didn’t know if bad things could happen to ghosts, but I supposed anything was possible. Then I remembered that when I had heard the little girl’s voice on the answering machine she was troubled that someone was coming. It was the man in the painting. That was enough to convince me.

  But what was I going to be able to do about it? I wouldn’t be able to do anything until I figured out what she had been trying to tell me in that odd message I found on my laptop after she handed it to me that night. I knew she wanted help. That much was clear. But what was the deal with that string of numbers? That one was going to have to wait for some kind of mental breakthrough.

  I parked across the street from Spectra Data Processing shortly before the time I was appointed to begin. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and had a staring contest with the building. It felt strange going back to work after such a tremendously long time off. It had been five months of no work. While I had spent a great deal of time looking for work, enough that it felt like it was full time work itself, I walked around with a feeling like I was playing hooky from school. But now that was all coming to an end.

  I pulled in a deep breath, quickly blew it out and then opened the door. With my left foot planted on the pavement I pushed upward and stood. I felt slight pain from this but that was all. I was now happily sans crutches and not about to let anything like a tiny spark of discomfort prevent me from getting on with what I had come to do. At my checkup a day earlier Dr. Williams said I was good to go if I felt ready. I had come to work and that’s what I was going to do.

  The streetscape played out before me like a slow panning shot in a movie. Everything was as I recalled. I watched closely to see, almost trying to see, a little girl in a white dress. There wasn’t one. Everything was still and silent like a painting. There didn’t even seem to be any noise.

  “Quiet as a tomb,” I said. I paused as if this would summon what I expected. “Oh, knock it off,” I told myself. She wasn’t going to show up and I knew it. I couldn’t make her come any more than I could make the sky green and the tree leaves blue. I shook off my self-inflicted anticipation and got down to business. I crossed the street, mindful of speeding black mustangs and megalomaniac drivers, and pushed through the lobby doors.

  I headed for Jan Fenstra’s office. We had talked on the phone after my check up the day before so I could confirm that the doctor had cleared me for work. She had also instructed me on what I needed to do when I arrived for work on my first day. I passed the cubicles I had seen a week and a half before but this time they were all full of people and teeming with a dull roar of activity. The hive was at full strength and buzzing for business.

  I came to Fenstra’s door and knocked twice. From inside she told me to enter. I opened the door and my eyes fell onto her majesty, seated on her throne. I instantly remembered why I had been so impressed with her the first time I met her. She leaned back in her chair, though not casually but instead the way a monarch might as she inspected a petitioning subject. The suit she wore was perfectly cut, probably custom tailored for her and there was neither an excess nor a deficiency of makeup on her face.

  She looked up and smiled cordially then beckoned me to enter. I walked in and almost shut the door but felt I shouldn’t. I also didn’t sit this time. We weren’t going to be in the office long. We would be in there for maybe three or four minutes at the most and then we would be on the move, off to more important matters.

  “Mr. Nichol
as,” she said with crisp authority, “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. How’s the ankle?” Her gaze pierced me through and through. It was uncomfortable at first but when I realized there was no ill intent behind it, only her unyielding spirit, I felt at home.

  “Ankle’s fine. I get a bit of pain every once in a while but not enough to keep me from doing what I need to do. I’m here and I’m ready and that’s enough for me.” I projected as much confidence as I was able to muster. I felt somewhat bolstered in her presence, somehow more eager to get to work than I had felt before. I wrote this off as the effect of her natural leadership. I was aware that some people could gather troops and build morale with hardly more than a few words. It was just something about them, some kind of natural charisma that made people want to be on their side. I wanted to be on Jan Fenstra’s side, no questions asked.

  “That’s good. We have things to do.” She stood to her full towering height and moved from behind her desk. The woman glided to me with the easy grace of a Russian ballet dancer. I moved out of her way and she slid past me into cubicle world. I followed her out and we began our meandering path to a place which, by the end of my whole long ordeal, would become for me something I could never have imagined if I had wanted. As we walked she filled in a few details about where we were headed and what we would be doing.

  “We have one basement level to the building and that’s where we’re headed now. It’s where our custodial department is centered. There we’ll get your picture taken for your photo ID. When we have it ready for you after tomorrow you’ll wear it at all times when you are working here but until it’s ready we’ll give you a temporary one.” She walked briskly and talked even faster. I had a difficult time keeping up with what she was saying and also with her physical pace. Not wanting to appear incapable I made the effort. The pain center in my brain alerted my body only once that my ankle noticed an increased level of activity. I ignored it to the best of my ability.

  “In Custodial Services I’ll introduce you to Derek Marshall. He’s been with us for two years as the head of C.S. He’s very capable and knowledgeable but he’s also a bit…” She trailed off, searching for the right word. “He’s rough,” she decided at last. “But don’t think that means he’s simple of mind or unfair in any way. He’s anything but. He’ll be showing you the ropes and he’ll be the one in charge of you.”

  “So why didn’t he interview me?”

  Jan looked at me and smiled broadly. “Because he doesn’t like to do that kind of work and he trusts me with it. He would say it’s the wrong kind of mess for him to clean up. Besides, I don’t mind. It’s the kind of thing I’m good at.” I couldn’t imagine the kind of thing she wouldn’t be good at if she put her mind to it.

  She led us through the way I had come, back into the lobby and through an opposite hallway. It stretched as far as the wide open cubicle area had and longer but it was an enclosed corridor all the way with other tributary halls periodically branching away. We followed the third one of these until we reached an open area. To the left and the right stairs ascended and descended to other levels. Straight ahead was a wall with an elevator door. Jan took off her ID badge and slid it across a scanning surface then pressed the downward arrow and its darkened form lit up green. She replaced the badge on her lapel.

  The door slid aside immediately and we entered. When the doors closed behind us I watched as Jan pressed the button for the level below us. Beneath it was another button, this one different from the others and what looked like a slot for a key of some kind next to it. I began speaking without realizing what was coming out of my mouth.

  “I thought you said there was only one basement level to the building. What does that button do?”

  When my eyes came up from the elevator buttons they were met by Jan’s steady and serious gaze. The smile which had previously adorned her face was all but a memory and now there was only stone and ice. I wondered if I had said something offensive or had stepped into territory which was normally understood by all to be off limits. I was taken aback at first because she was silent briefly and just looked at me and, yes, perhaps into me as well. She was working out her answer in that dead silence.

  “It’s not a proper level,” she finally explained. “It leads to a small room that has something to do with our heating system, I think. It’s nothing you’ll need to worry about.” That was meant to be the end of that discussion, I was certain. This, of course, only made me more curious about what was going on with the basement’s basement. But I wouldn’t press her about it, thinking it could be a disastrous mistake. It was my first day on the job and there was no need to put it into jeopardy so soon. I filed the information away for later use.

  The elevator door slid open again and we stepped out into the subterranean gloom of the basement. It was much like anyone would expect, really. It felt more closed in than it really was. This effect was created by the fact that there were no windows which allowed views of the outside. If there had been windows the scenery outside would only have been dirt, a casket’s eye view of things.

  The light source was a series of fluorescent lighting fixtures with their long glowing glass tubes arrayed two by two, side by side trapped behind wire covers like cellmates in some prison for delinquent members of the light bulb community. One of the fixtures blinked on and off intermittently. It reminded me of so many scenes I’d watched in movies. Our hero travels dark corridors stalking and being stalked by some terrifying predator.

  We came to a steel door with a large glass section in the upper part. On the glass, stenciled in black, were the words, “Derek Marshall, Custodial Services.” Through the glass I saw a series of three rooms in a row connected by door sized openings. Jan opened the door without knocking and waltzed in like she owned the place.

  The first room was a typical break room. There was a round table which looked like it could seat maybe six people. There were a series of cabinets above and below with an open area in between and a countertop. In one part of the counter was a sink with a liquid soap dispenser next to it. A coffeemaker with stale brew sat on another part of the counter.

  I looked around some more and noticed the walls were an off-white ceramic tile from floor to the height of my elbows. From there up the wall was made of cinderblocks painted with a glossy light green. I was reminded of the hospital room I’d stayed in only it was grimier. It struck me how the places occupied by those who were responsible for cleaning the rest of whatever facility was in question were always the dirtiest places imaginable.

  I peeked into the other two adjoining rooms and saw they were similarly designed except that the last room had no cabinets. It appeared to be the storage room for the larger equipment like floor buffers. It also contained a rolling bin lined with a large black empty garbage bag. Brooms and mops were clipped to the wall and a few other shelves held various supplies I would become familiar with.

  “Derek,” Jan called out. “Are you in here?” There was no answer and Jan looked back at me. “Don’t worry. He’ll probably be right back. He’s just out in one of the other sections of the basement. I have a lot of things I need to do back in my office. Are you alright to be left here by yourself?”

  I really wasn’t alright with it but I couldn’t tell her that, now could I? Instead I told her I was fine with it and took a seat next to the table. She exited the room and presumably returned to her throne in the above ground world of data processing. The cold walls were of little comfort waiting for Derek to show up.

  I’d been extra jumpy since my experiences with restless spirits had started and so my heart seemed to double pace at every little sound. But the creaks and groans of the place wasn’t the most unsettling aspect of it. The silence between noises was worse because it held all the potential in the world to be filled with things you don’t want to hear after realizing you’re being haunted. Sitting in a creepy basement didn’t help much, either.

  After about five minutes Derek came in but it felt at least tw
ice that long. He was older than I was, maybe in his early fifties. His hair was graying at the temples but it was all there. He wasn’t hunched over but stood straight and proud. His pants and shirt were the same color of dark green and he had a name tag sewn onto the front pocket of his shirt. Looking at him I decided he wasn’t what I expected to see for someone with the name Derek. I anticipated someone younger, I suppose.

  When he entered the room I thought he didn’t notice me sitting there. He went into the next room without even glancing in my direction. I heard him fiddling around with something in there and thought about clearing my throat or saying something introductory but I decided I didn’t want to startle the man. Anyway, before I had the chance to say anything he spoke.

  “Yes, I know you’re there. I’ll be right there.” There was a bit more in the way of clanking and rustling sounds and then it stopped and Derek stepped out a heartbeat later. He looked at me sitting at his little table and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. I stood up and as I did he looked me up and down then said, “You Steven Nicholas?”

  “Just Steve, please,” I heard myself responding.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “You’ll do.” I wasn’t offended but I wasn’t exactly honored, either. I didn’t like to be thought of as ‘the guy who we might as well work with.’ It felt a bit like a consolation. Had there been someone else he’d wanted for the position that didn’t work out? Then I remembered to check my attitude. I had a job and that’s what counted. I could beat myself up about such things all day but it wouldn’t do me or anyone else any good. Speculation is better left to psychologists, sociologists and historians. All I had to worry about was dirt relocation.

  “Ms. Fenstra said something about getting my picture taken for an ID?” I wanted to move on, get on with what we were supposed to be doing.

  “Sure,” he said. “You bet.” He disappeared back into the other room and reappeared a few seconds later with a small digital camera. “Alright, stand up against that wall over there,” he said pointing. I did as instructed and he moved around until he snapped the picture. “I’ll send this upstairs to Jan in a little bit after we’ve gone over a few things.” He paused and seemed to think about what came next.

  “Right,” he continued, “first things first. Let’s get you a time card so you can punch in.” Derek went back into the other room but this time I followed. “This cabinet here,” he said pointing to the first upper cabinet in the room “has all the extra time cards.” He opened the thing and pulled one from a stack on the bottom shelf. However, it was the top shelf which caught my attention.

  At first my eyes followed the man’s movements to the lower shelf, but the sight of blackened bones piled on the shelf above couldn’t but draw my attention. Derek’s movements had been so casual and quick that I barely saw them before he shut the door. He turned to me holding the card up and was about to say something when he must have noticed the shocked expression on my face and the fact that I wasn’t looking at him but at the space on the cabinet door behind which was the upper shelf.

  “Something wrong, Steve?”

  I looked him in the eye. He had no earthly idea what had caught me off guard, but my mind simply didn’t want to comprehend that. I looked back at the cabinet and then back at him. I had to see it again. “Can you open that again,” I asked. “I thought I saw a rat. I, uh, kind of have a slight fear of them.” I had just lied to my supervisor who I hadn’t known more than five minutes. That didn’t sit well with part of me, but the other part of me didn’t care one way or the other. But how could I say what I really thought I saw without sounding nuts?

  Derek turned confidently and opened the cabinet and looked at the upper shelf. It was now completely empty. He took a little flashlight off his belt and shined it up there revealing every little detail. He closed the door, replaced the flashlight and turned back to me.

  “No rats, nothing to be afraid of.” He crossed his arms and looked at me skeptically. Had he known I lied to him? I didn’t think so, but then I didn’t know the man. “We won’t have rat problems here,” he continued. “We’ve got good traps and other things like that set up but honestly, we don’t even need those.”

  “Why not,” I asked, my interest truly aroused at the man’s unshakeable certainty.

  “I’ve been here for two years. I have never seen a rat or any sign of rats here. I’ve never even found one killed by a trap. Tell you the truth,” I thought he emphasized that last word a little more than necessary, “I don’t think there ever will be rats here, I don’t think they like it down here.”

  “What do you mean?” My curiosity was now in full swing.

  “I don’t know,” He concluded. “They just don’t like it here. Something about the place just makes it an unfriendly environment for them, I guess. But I couldn’t tell you what it is.”

  Our minds think in images, not in words. When he said that, the image which came immediately to my mind was that of an old wooden barge in the middle of the ocean on fire, sinking and lines of swimming rats extending out from it. Then I thought I might know exactly why the rats and probably lots of other vermin were not to be found on the premises. Something scared them away.

  The time clock was in the first room, hidden in one of the cabinets. I flinched when he reached to open it but he didn’t notice because his back was turned to me. I filled out the appropriate portions at the top of the card and slide it into the machine. There was a satisfying thud within and I pulled it out. I saw the time stamped in dark blue ink. I showed it to Derek and said, “Looks like I’m official.”

  The next hour was spent in discussion about the kinds of things I’d be doing and the schedule in place for them to be done. It was all very simple and consisted of lots of things I had done before and only a few things which I hadn’t. I asked a few questions just to keep things moving. Derek had a tendency to tell stories rather than explain objectives. This was fine by me since I believe people are primarily geared to learn through stories and not lists of things which might or might not be true. One story Derek told gained my attention particularly well.

  I asked, “Are we the only ones who do the custodial work or are there other people who come in different shifts? It seems like an awfully big building for just the two of us to clean.”

  “No, there’re two other guys who do this stuff too, but you probably won’t meet them, except maybe in passing on occasion.” By this time we were touring the series of corridors under the first floor of Spectra. My sense of discomfort in the basement wasn’t eased much by Derek’s presence, not after what I saw in the timecard room. Derek continued his rambling explanation. “They have a different shift than you and spend most of their working time on the top two floors. You’ll be mostly in the basement and the first floor after hours.” I was not thrilled with the idea of spending lots of time in the tunnels but the paycheck kept my mouth shut on the matter as did the continuing drama of needing to find out how to help the ghost of the little girl.

  “You might run into Rico or Bill punching their time cards, but only if you’re a half hour early. Don’t do that, by the way, unless I tell you to. We don’t need to be spending any extra money on overtime.” We rounded a corner and Derek continued walking and talking. I lost a step when I thought I smelled smoke. I knew it was another sign, like the blackened piled of remains I had witnessed briefly in the timecard room. The spirits were becoming active again. They had seemed to lay dormant for a few days but I knew I had not seen the last of them and that I probably wouldn’t stop running into those experiences until the mystery could be broken through and solved.

  I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t see the girl or the man there, especially not while Derek, Jan or anybody else was with me. It was hard enough dealing with them when I was alone and wouldn’t appear crazy interacting with them. But, as my episode with the bones earlier indicated, nobody besides me could see them. That seemed a high probability too, anyway, but I didn’t want to chance it. There were a lot
more answers I needed before I shared with anyone else beside Trent Blacker.

  The rest of our time that day was uneventful. I kept a watchful eye for things that seemed out of place or otherwise dead. There wasn’t anything. Derek walked through the cleaning routine with me verbally and then later we performed it together. He informed me that by the end of the week I would be doing most of it by myself.

  “That’s good. I can do that,” I said, my confidence now returning. We returned to the basement and he led us to an office. Inside were a small desk and a computer. He took the memory stick from the digital camera he had used earlier and transferred my picture to the computer. After a few minutes of playing with some programs he seemed to know pretty well he created a temporary ID badge, printed it and handed it to me. I folded it twice and stuffed it into my shirt pocket.

  “Give me your clothes sizes and I’ll get you a pair of green grubbies like mine probably by tomorrow or the next day. They’re not pretty but they’re your uniform,” Derek informed me. “If I can’t get them to you by then just make sure you wear something clean, but also that you don’t mind getting a little dirty by the end of the day.” I told him I could do that without a problem.

  Then we went back to the room where we met and I punched out. The little blue numbers showed I’d only been at work for five hours. I chose not to be disappointed by the little amount of time. First weeks always seem that way. You learn a few things, unlearn a few others and it seems like it’s all over before it gets started. There would be plenty of work for me in the days ahead. More than I would know what to do with.

  I walked out of the rooms and down the hall until I came to the elevator. I pulled the folded paper from my pocket, scanned my temporary ID and pushed the upward button. The large steel box shuddered down from one of the above levels. It opened up its emptiness and swallowed me whole. There were no more strange and unwelcome images or visions and I didn’t see either of the two people from the other side of death with whom I was familiar. Thank God for small favors…and large ones, too.