The Two-Knock Ghost

by Jeff Lombardo

  As I drove to the Serenity Club, I enjoyed working on my approaches to my clients for Thursday. It was 8:30 already. The meeting started at 9:00. I didn’t have time for a relaxed dinner so I stopped briefly at a McDonald’s and grabbed a super-hot filet of fish and a diet Coke. But what I thought about most that night on the way to the meeting, even when I was contemplating my strategies to utilize with my clients, was how much personal work I had to do. There was unfinished business everywhere. In fact, it seemed as if my entire life was unfinished business. While I pondered that, I came to believe that my entire future life was unfinished business. But all of that was too immeasurable to fathom. I needed to focus on the here and now. I reasoned that I had two battlefields; one was practical, one was mystical. I couldn’t do anything about the devil dreams or the Two-Knock Ghost, but I could absolutely break down what had to be done on the pragmatic level. First, I needed to do whatever it took never to drink again. Second, I needed to figure out what to say to and give to Alicia Magnessun. Third, I needed to consistently increase my respect and affection for Christine. Fourth, I needed to be a more consistent and caring father. And lastly, I needed to put it all together, everything I would learn, and become a better psychologist and human being.

  I decided as I found a parking space a block from the crowded Serenity Club, that over the next few days I would jot down a variety of ideas relating to Alicia Magnessun and present to her my final words and gifts within two weeks of Toby’s funeral, which had been scheduled for Saturday morning, nine days after Toby’s death. I wouldn’t miss the funeral for the world. Strangely, but unbelievably lovingly, Christine would call me at the office and ask me if I would like her to be at my side for the funeral. I would say yes, and we put our plan into effect, which included dinner and an overnight on Snell Island on Friday night.

  But it was still Wednesday and I had to face being at the meeting knowing that Toby would not be there tonight or any other night ever. I knew a rum and Coke would take the edge off all my miserable feelings. I felt vulnerable as I thought that I would forever crave a rum and Coke. After a rum and Coke or two or three, they would always take the edge off my anxiety. My toughest job in my future life would be not to surrender to that nagging knowledge.

  I didn’t speak at the meeting. It wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to say. It was because my story of Toby and Mary and Reubin, the shootout and my wanting to be friends with Toby, was too complicated, too convoluted. I listened instead to everyone else’s problems and there was escape and comfort enough in that.

  I stayed through the entire meeting, my mind consistently wandering to thoughts of Toby’s wife and children and what kindness I could do for them. I made up my mind that I would never tell Alicia that it was I who had asked Toby to help look for Reubin Tatum. I decided that, based on the current popular phrase, “too much information.” In this case, I felt that revealing to Alicia that Toby was my client and friend, and that I thought that someday Christine and I, and she and Toby would probably have become friends, was enough. My greatest fear in regard to Alicia was that Toby had told her all about my request, and she would despise me from the announcement of my name at her front door.

  I thought about what amount of money I would give to her and the children. That seemed the easiest part of all. With the insurance money I had received from the deaths of my parents and grandparents, I had become fairly wealthy at a young age. And with Christine’s keen mind and the thirty years of ongoing assistance from her father’s keen financial mind, we had doubled our holdings a few times. I didn’t want to make her feel like I was giving it to her as if she were a charity. On the other hand, I didn’t want to arouse suspicions in her either, that I might have had something to do with Toby’s death and I felt guilty. She would have been 100 percent correct about my second line of concern. I prayed to God to let her be ignorant of this one fact of her husband’s life. God forbid that my showing up at her home would hurt her more. Then I felt my shame and worry urging me to take a drink of rum and Coke. Just one. I could control it. The pain I was feeling right now wasn’t that bad. A few ounces of ice cold rum and Coke would make it all better. These thoughts passed through my mind in their entirety until I thought: “And yeah, a single drink right now could ruin your life. Is it really worth it, no matter how cold and tasty and comforting it might be?” Of course I answered no. But the thought of thirst had to be replaced. I decided that on the way home I would stop at a 7-Eleven, buy a tall drink glass, no matter what it cost, fill it with ice, then buy however many small bottles of apple juice that it took to fill that soda glass. Now I was craving freezing cold apple juice. I had beaten back one of my demons again. I wondered how many thousands of these mental skirmishes I would have in my future; then I thought about the tree.

  My mind had been cluttered with thoughts moving faster than clouds on a windy day that I hadn’t thought of the live oak until the meeting was almost over. Immediately, I decided I would go to see it this night. I was surprised a few minutes later, when actually leaving the meeting, two or three people said hi to me in a very friendly way and that two different people unbelievably said to me something to the effect of, “We haven’t seen you for a few days.” I was touched that people might have missed me. Then I wondered what they might be thinking and may have already said about Toby.

  The short drive to the live oak was, for the first time, heartbreaking. Seeing it was worse. Before I got out of the car I was overcome with emotion, dropped my head to the steering wheel and cried the heaviest tears I had in decades. When my waterworks ceased, I got out of the car, leaned against the right quarter panel and gazed at the tree that had made its way into my dreams. It was so broad, so stately and majestic as it continued to spread itself out over the street and three neighbors’ homes. It was all that I had left of Toby—something spectacular that he loved. Why should I feel so sad? The tree was still here, enriching the lives of everyone who saw it. I should be thankful that Toby thought enough of me to show it to me. I was being uninsightful thinking that the tree was all I had left of Toby. I had all the memories of our talks. I had helped him begin AA and to feel that he was gaining control over alcohol. Most of all, I instinctively felt that he knew that I was his friend. And I knew in my heart that had he lived, developing a friendship with Toby outside of the office was something I would have not been able to deny.

  Someday I would show Christine this tree. If there was an opportunity, I would show each of my children. And the tree would add more people to the list of lives it had enriched. After my initial sadness here tonight, I began to feel joy again for being able to look upon such a powerfully beautiful living thing. Once again, inspiration flowed from the tree into my being. The inspiration was encouragement to be a better man, to be stronger, to broaden my horizons, to conquer my demons and to help others conquer theirs.

  Nine minutes later I was enjoying the apple juice drink that I had fantasized about during the meeting. It was wonderful. Over all, I thought I had a pretty good day. I worked, helped people there, had a great session with Dr. Banderas, attended all AA meeting, did not have a rum and Coke, saw the tree, and was unwinding my day with icy apple juice on my drive home. I was feeling confident that I would enjoy a demon free sleep and wake up refreshed for my Thursday morning run. I was wrong again.

  The first few hours of my sleep were indeed peaceful. Then the devil boldly intruded. This time Lucifer was a cruel Nazi guard and I was a frail Jewish prisoner of war in an unknown concentration camp. Both the devil and I were in a courtyard, completely devoid of any other people. I was locked in a stock, my hands and head sticking out in front of a wooden grate that was latched so I couldn’t escape. The back half of me was on my knees on frozen earth. I was shirtless and shivering as falling snow settled on my back and hair. The devil guard was standing before me with a whip.

  “It has come to my attention that you have sought help from outside the camp in order to fa
cilitate the termination of your imprisonment here.”

  Though it was a dream, I concluded quickly that he was referring to my seeking counseling from Dr. Banderas.

  “Yes I have,” I said as cockily as I could muster.

  “That is unacceptable Prisoner 92719. For that you must be punished. Ten lashes with a whip.”

  Already the cold was unbearable. I felt my eyelashes begin to freeze. Though I had acted cocky a moment before, I wondered how I could possibly endure ten lashes from my jailer. The devil walked behind me sneering. He raised the whip. My body tightened and I clinched my teeth. As the Prince of Darkness began to swing the whip toward my body, I heard a pair of frenzied knocks. “Goddamn it, not now!” I said at the same time the whip lashed my back. Upon the strike, the whip had curled around my ribs and reached the middle of my chest. My skin was torn from me and I could feel the bloodletting quickly from my wound.

  “Why now you asshole?” I yelled at the Two-Knock Ghost, directing more anger toward it than toward my purveyor of pain. “Do you want to come in and join the fun?” I had fallen back to my same old way of thinking.

  A second whip strike. This time my breath was stolen completely from me as fresh skin was ripped from my body again.

  Then came two more knocks. I screamed a blood curdling scream, partly in complete fear and frustration and partly to frighten Two Knock away. My head lowered as far as it could toward the ground as my dream body felt more pain than when the devil began to eat my face many nightmares ago. My soul was crashing into its deepest ever pit.

  “Come in,” I said, barely audible while questioning whether I could live through eight more strikes from the whip, remembering Dr. Banderas’s advice. “I have nothing left with which to resist you. Come in and reveal yourself. If you’re evil, then you can assist the devil and finish me off right here, right now. If you’re a friend, I need you now more than ever.”

  I screamed with excruciating pain as the third strike ripped across my spine. Instead of staying down, my head snapped upward toward the gray sky. Suddenly, a warm wind blew the snow away and a single illuminated and glowing gold and yellow door appeared in the southeastern sky above. I maintained my fixed gaze, fully expecting an army of Satan’s Nazis to come running through it. I knew the devil enjoyed big productions. Why not now? He turned to look, but not as if he expected to see what was happening. The door burst open and a man and woman flew through it with incredible speed. They were dressed in white leotards like the ones Olympic gymnasts’ wear, and they headed straight for the Prince of Nazis. They landed firmly on the ground, their backs before me, and with the rage of angels, began beating the devil unmercifully. Satan was helpless beneath the pummeling. As the onslaught of punches continued, all of the devil’s blood splattered away from the wild couple, so their garments remained pure white during their entire attack. Then the woman bent down and picked up the whip. The man had punched the devil into a submissive position on the earth. He had weakened the demon, enough that he was able to hold it to the ground by forcefully pushing down upon his head. Then the woman began snapping the whip across the earthbound devil’s back. I saw him writhing in agony with every strike, his head raising up enough that I could hear his screams.

  Upon the sixth of the woman’s whip strikes to the devil’s back, buttocks, legs, and feet, the devil Nazi summoned enough power to push himself off the ground and out of his holder’s hand vice. But instead of attempting to fight back, the devil arched his back, throwing his head toward the still open and glowing door and screamed a defeated whale. My imprisoned body actually felt the sound waves from his cry. Then he vaporized.

  The woman dropped the whip and walked proudly to the man. He took her hand as she helped him stand. They embraced as if celebrating a victory, then capped it off with a gentle, slightly lingering kiss. Then they turned and began walking toward me. It was my parents.

  “What the …?”

  “Robert, you finally let us in,” my mother said while flashing her beautiful and long missed smile.

  “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here? I’ve never dreamed about you before. Why are you here now?”

  “We have much to tell you son,” my father said as he opened the stock which entrapped me. “But we can’t tell it all to you now.”

  He lifted my abused body out of the stock and placed me on the ground with my head in my mother’s lap.

  “The place where we come from has very specific rules and we only have a moment here now before we’ll have to leave.”

  “But you only just got here,” I said while acutely feeling the pain of my injuries.

  “We can come back again, Robert, if you’ll only let us in when we knock,” my mother said. She was touching the wounds on my chest and shoulders and when she did so, the torn and battered skin miraculously healed.

  “Let me help you son,” my father said, as he gently turned me over so my mother could heal my back.

  They were younger than I was, in their late forties—the exact ages they were when the drunk driver killed them. And my dream self was fifty-five. The same age as my real self—the dream observer.

  “Did you come from heaven?” I asked as I sat myself upright to the right of my parents.

  “Not exactly,” my father said.

  “We haven’t seen the light yet,” my mother said matter-of-factly. “We know we will, but we’ve got unfinished business with you. When that is completed, we can advance to the next level, whatever that might be.”

  I felt so lucky and safe near them. I leaned over and hugged my mother first.

  “I love you, Mom. I’ve missed you. Thank you for saving me from this nightmare with the devil.”

  “You’re welcome, Robert. That’s what we’re here for. By the time we say our final good-byes, many questions will be clarified for you.”

  I stood up, walked to my father and extended my hand to help pull him upright.

  “You look very handsome and studly in that uniform, Dad,” I said as I hugged him tightly, “Like a superhero.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be that for you, Robert,” he said as he kissed my neck.

  “Is that it now, for my devil dreams? Have you two finished him off?”

  “We don’t know that for sure, Robert,” my father answered. “What you dream about is partly a mystery of nature. No one can ever say for certain what you will dream about tomorrow night.”

  “We can only assure you that we will be back again until we have told to you what we must,” my beautiful mother added. I had forgotten how wonderfully lovely she was and how handsome a couple she and my father were.

  “Just let us in the next time we knock,” my father said with a smile.

  “And stop being afraid when you hear us knock,” my mother said, mock scoldingly.

  “I will, Mom, I promise. But why …”

  “We have to leave, son. We’re being beckoned.” My father always called me son. My mother never did. It was always Robert.

  “Do you have time for a kiss good-bye?” Both my parents said yes simultaneously. My mother kissed my left cheek and I kissed her right. That was our kiss ritual in real life. My lips had never touched my mother’s lips. A moment later, my father kissed me on the left side of my neck where the shoulder starts to jut out. He blew a long and tickling fart sound. Then I kissed my father on the right side of his neck, blowing a loud and tickling fart sound as well. That was our kissing ritual. It saddened me to remember that the last time I had said good-bye to them this way was thirty-one years ago.

  Then they held hands as they turned away and floated upward through a now blue sky to the still golden glowing open door. When they passed through, the door closed and faded away.

  I could not believe what had just happened. Both my dream self and my observer self—the real me—were in shock. The Nazi prisoner was totally woundless. He was wishing he cou
ld have completed the question he was asking when his parents announced their ascension. It was going to be, “But why do you only knock twice when you want to come into my dreams?” But he had not because time did not permit. He stood there wondering about what had occurred. But he felt remarkably soothed by his parents’ appearance and completely hopeful that they would return again quickly. The dream ended and a few minutes later I awoke. Instantly, I felt everything my concentration camp character had felt, not as if it had been a dream, but as if the events had really happened to me.

  I dismissed trying to dislodge my waking self from my dream self. Things were complicated enough and I began the process of sorting through the dream with my conscious questions.

  “Where had my parents come from? Why had they not aged? What more than by combating the devil on my behalf and telling me they loved me could my parents have to reveal to me?” They had been the most open communicative and forthright people I had ever known. My parents were the Two-Knock Ghost?

  The questions, that could only be answered by my parents, kept coming relentlessly. Though they seemed endless and wanted to dominate my day, I had to dispel them and work with my clients and call Christine and Dr. Banderas and tell them what had happened. As I ran this morning, I felt lighter and happier than I had in years. And I thought it odd that I truly believed that what my parents told me in a dream—that they would return and tell me things of import—was the truth, not merely isolated dialogue from a random dream.