Gheist

by Richard Mosses

“No,” Kat said. “I don’t feel any desire, not even a tiny bit. I look at some guys and I know I’m supposed to find them handsome, or at least I would have, but there’s just nothing there, you know?”

  “Sure, that’s kinda my problem,” said Evelyn.

  Kat moved to a different part of the shop to leave Evelyn by herself for a while. She didn’t want her to feel like she’d been backed into a corner. And there it was. To think she’d nearly given up. The perfect midnight blue dress, long, with a fitted body and a 50s movie star skirt. Now all she needed was some shoes, and maybe a bag.

  “What’s the big occasion that you need a dress like that?” said Evelyn as Kat held it up against her admiring it in the mirror. “You up for an Oscar or something?”

  “That’s the great thing about shopping,” said Kat, reciting something from a TV show. “You don’t need an occasion, just the need to feel good. And I think this will make me feel really good.”

  She disappeared into the changing room before Evelyn could ask any more questions.

  The assistant looked at the limp bills like she’d been passed an old fish. They felt heavy in Kat’s hand and she was already regretting parting with them. She said goodbye to Evelyn and felt very self-conscious riding the bus home with such a conspicuous shopping bag.

  13

  It was now or never. Lurking outside would only raise suspicions and someone would run her through a computer and next thing you know Danton would be down here throwing her off the Strip. Kat wanted a drink, but it would be easy to get carried away with all the free booze flowing inside. She breathed deep and caught a quick glance of herself mirrored in the glass. If she’d looked worth a million in her red dress of shame then she looked priceless in this one. She smiled to see how it looked. She wasn’t feeling nervous or even apprehensive. You know what they say, never gamble what you can’t afford to lose, and she didn’t want what little she’d earned and saved ending up in Danton’s pocket without getting something out of it for her.

  Inside she ran the gauntlet of helpful staff with smiles not quite up to their eyes. She sat down at a poker table and took out a marker for five thousand dollars. Buy in at the table was a hundred, but it always looked good to appear like a high roller warming up for the bigger games.

  Her first hand didn’t go so well. Only a pair of sixes. Kat flagged a passing waitress and asked for a drink anyway. She still sounded like a tourist, but she was sure she was starting to sound more like an American every day. Early on she’d needed to do put on an accent just to be understood. It was incredible how asking for water could become such a trial.

  She glanced down at her watch, it was just after three a.m., and she was used to working a shift at this hour or she’d be barely able to think straight. Where were the guys? They should be here by now. Her second hand went better and she made back her losses. If Clint didn’t get here soon she’d leave and take back the dress tomorrow. She’d left the tag on, just in case.

  A couple of guys joined the table and she could feel the heat coming from them. They looked slightly damp and swayed a little. This was game time, but she had no idea how she’d figure out their tells in their state. If she was lucky they’d be lit up with neon.

  The third hand was an easy win and she started to think she might pull this off on her own, but the guys left unhappy with their early loss and Kat made only a few hundred dollars. Maybe it was time to go to a higher stakes game, or just get up and leave.

  Two couples came along, middle-aged and out to party, they sounded German, but looked like an ABBA tribute act on their night off. The women sat down, with the men standing behind them. This time Kat lost the first hand and the little she’d won already. In the next hand she lost a lot more. This had the right effect. The couples egged each other on in their own language and the stakes got higher. Kat’s cards were right too and she made a few thousand.

  It looked like she was on her own after all.

  Moving between tables, Kat recognised the thrill of the game rising inside her. More than the flicker she’d had when they’d been practising, and not just a memory, it was like her heart was there again, a little distant perhaps but the nervy excitement was real, was edgy and it was what she’d been waiting for these long weeks. She gasped as it got stronger, the arousal was sexual in its intensity. What would happen to her if she won serious money? She couldn’t wait to find out.

  At the next table, higher stakes, a question began to form. Why was she feeling this way at all? Was it just the thrill of the game, or was it possible her heart was nearby? Had Danton stored it in this casino? She could follow this slight tugging back to its source, somewhere in this building, and get it back. She’d just need to find someone to return it back to its proper place.

  Kat smiled. Not the thin one she’d been using to indicate she understood humour was being used, or the other one that covered embarrassment, this was a full open mouthed smile. There was no other word for it, she felt, and what she felt was joy. She could get it back.

  “What are we doing here, man?” said Fingers.

  “I like to come here from time to time, see if it triggers anything,” said Clint. “See if I can remember who killed me.” Clint knelt down on the floor in the bowels of the Monterey. He reached out to touch the concrete, as though the tiny pits and bumps of the surface could be read like Braille and he could learn about the past that was eluding him.

  “Why here?” said Jack.

  “My body is beneath me,” said Clint.

  “Surely you could come here anytime?” said Fingers.

  “There’s too much cement. I can’t get to it.” Clint stood up. “I just have to hunt around, see if I can’t find something, anything, that might remind me. Anything at all.”

  “Come on, mate. We’re here to help Kat,” said Fingers. “This was your idea. You can come back anytime. She doesn’t have forever.”

  “I’m telling you, this is a bad idea,” said Jack.

  They were moving, well, like ghosts, and she almost didn’t see the guys appear. The nightclub crowd was at its thickest. Their timing was good, just a little late. She could smell sweat, alcohol, and perfume; the air was warm and slightly sticky. She wanted to throw Clint a look to ask him where they’d been. He seemed to sense this, shook his head and gestured for calm. The ghosts stood behind her competitors and the croupier dealt the cards from the shoe.

  The first hand went well. Fingers used their code to tell her that the Frat-boy leering beside her had a pair of eights. Jack hung over the shoulder of a lady from Asia, sniffing her long neck. She was slumming it at this low-rent table given the jewels on display. She had nothing. Clint hovered between a sharp American, possibly a local who, like herself, was looking to pick up some easy money from the loose crowd, and a large guy with a neckbeard. Between them they had the makings of a pair and a low straight. As the betting went round, Kat got used to looking at her opponents but seeing her allies, who advised her as the games progressed. Before long she’d improved her winnings into the tens of thousands and seen off a few hardened players. That inner tension tightened just the way she liked it.

  Now they were all working together, and working well, they could stay at this table for a few more hands before the clubbers crashed, or move to the highest stakes tables. In the end the decision was made for them. The floor manager came over and invited Kat through to the VIP suite. Kat’s excitement was starting to be tinged with fear. They could come back another night, hit another casino, and make her money back gradually, sensibly. But she was determined to only feed the monkey on her back this one time, and no more. It was tonight or waiting tables. Besides she felt something good building up inside her and she didn’t want to it to stop. Kat accepted the invite and followed the manager to the elevator up to the exclusive suites.

  Unlike the crush and chaos of the main casino floor the elevator was quiet and cool. Kat and the guys waited beside the pit boss before the glass doors glided open and they were led
along thick carpet, through hardwood doors into a lounge that had all the class missing from downstairs. The people here were more refined, wearing proper evening wear. If Kat had worn her jeans she’d have never been allowed to set foot in here.

  She settled in to a ten-thousand-dollar table and the guys arranged themselves behind the other gamers. With this level of buy-in Kat could only go a few hands despite how well she’d done. She wanted to bite her nails, but instead allowed herself to order a margarita.

  Kat got caught up the ebb and flow of the game. She felt a warmth spreading through her, a pulsing radiating from lower down. A nice bit of team work and once more she was able to bluff herself to win, with a tidy amount too. She was halfway to getting all the money she needed.

  This was great. She had her money and she could feel again. It was like she’d already gotten her heart back and…and she was in danger of floating off in her euphoria. Clint came over and coughed loudly. Kat came back and concentrated on the game riding the waves from her abdomen.

  The Asian woman with the jewels had followed her up to the table; Kat had a full house, kings high to her queens. A guy who might have been a TV actor had the possibility of a flush, his lady friend was throwing chips down, but she only had a pair. She was close, so close. Just a little more.

  Kat noticed the croupier looking at her. Wasn’t she the dealer from the night her life had all gone wrong? Did the dealer recognise her? Did it matter? Danton hadn’t explicitly banned her from his casinos. It seemed like a bad omen even though that sort of thing was nonsense.

  A small crowd had formed around the table. Maybe they’d been drawn to the rugged good looks of Mr TV. One of them turned to speak to Clint, who was turning to face him. Kat could see right through him. And not just him. A number of people in the crowd were also the spirits of the dead. Were they working for the casino – some kind of spiritual security?

  Outside of the church service, Kat had never seen so many together at one time. Some of them were drones, but the others looked angry. They started pulling at the guys, trying to distract them.

  Fingers and Jack were pushing away the ghosts that were grabbing on to them, when all three of them were simultaneously yanked backwards, like someone had pulled really hard on a rope tied round their waists. They tried to hold on to something, but went through patrons and gaming tables, waitresses and pillars. And they vanished, as though the rope had pulled them into invisible holes.

  What just happened? Kat nearly stood up to see, before she caught herself. Her allies had gone, and not voluntarily. Kat was so close. Her heart was beating again, like it was back in her chest. The tension was building to a perfect release. She just had to focus for a few more moments.

  Kat stared at her cards. These ghosts were crowding round her. They started to shout at her. “Lose. Go on, just fold and walk away. You’re a cheat. Cheaters always lose.” One of the nearest kept waving his hands in front of her face while another looked like he was trying to take her cards.

  It took a lot of effort to keep her mind on the game, but she’d had some practice all night ignoring the ghosts in front of her. She felt icy claws along her spine and a thick racing warmth below her stomach. What hand did the TV star have again? His friend kept raising and raising, but she had nothing. The jewelled fox folded and left the table without a glance in Kat’s direction. If Kat folded now she’d still walk away with much more than she came with, but the pot was huge, all she needed and plenty more besides. Kat needed to finish.

  She pushed down the urge to scream shut up at the invisible crowd around her, to shout at the groupie to stop screwing with the game, to ask the croupier if she knew her. Kat kept raising and raising against the actor’s girlfriend. She had to win. Finally the actor called and the betting ended. Kat still had her full house, the actor hadn’t got his flush. This was it, the moment. Time stood still as Kat felt ready to surrender to the feeling that had built up inside her. The actor’s lady friend had a full house too, aces high.

  She crashed down, from the pinnacle to the valley floor. It all ended abruptly and in bitter disappointment. Once again the world fell out beneath Kat.

  When she came to, she was propped up on a couch in the VIP lounge. The crowd of ghosts had gone and the actor was holding her hand, his friend not looking too happy about it.

  When she could walk again Kat left with as much dignity as she could. What had gone wrong? Where had the guys gone to so violently, so suddenly? Once again Kat had nothing except a few hundred bucks and an expensive dress; all her savings were gone and the dead empty hole had returned in place of her heart.

  14

  The alarm wouldn’t stop. For some reason it was at the other end of the bed. Kat opened her eyes to another afternoon. She was lying the wrong way round. She knew she hadn’t had anything more to drink. Shit. She was still wearing the dress, which was all crumpled.

  What was she going to do now? She would have liked to cry, but the feeling wasn’t strong enough. It had all been a huge mistake. She’d been reminded of what she was missing, what she was trying to get back. At least she didn’t have to feel despair, a small mercy.

  And what had happened to Clint, Fingers, and Jack? Had that been some kind of ghost police stepping in? What had Jack had called them, the Commission? Why had they bothered her? Had they known she could see them?

  Kat got up and pottered about her room, putting her dress on a hanger, showering and dressing. No matter how much of a setback last night had been she was determined, now more than ever, to get her heart back. By hook or by crook. While with time her ability to feel was returning a tiny bit at a time, like the drops in a form of water torture, she’d never be whole, never be complete, until this was done. A few weeks ago and this would have seemed impossible. Doing anything besides working in the diner would have been out of the question. This sense of resolve had been missing from her old life too. She’d been drifting for a long time, since she dropped out of uni, maybe even before that. When was the last time she’d picked up a pencil or brush, even used the camera in her phone? She may have wanted to be an artist, but no one had stopped her practising in her spare time, taking evening classes or weekend workshops. Why had she been so… ineffective all these years? Had she lost her heart a long time ago?

  Kat sat down in the grotty seat. Was that really it? A silly childhood romance ending was enough for her to dam herself up? She had been sixteen and studying for her Highers. Billy Pearson was doing sixth year studies and had a car. He was also lurking around the back of the art studio working on his own portfolio. Allegedly he had a provisional acceptance to the Glasgow School of Art. It hadn’t been the quality of his work that attracted Kat; something in his voice melted her spine. He wasn’t as deeply Goth in his dress as some of his pals. No charcoal smudges, pale face and Crow-inspired black nail polish, just dark jeans, long hair and a discography of band t-shirts. She’d liked his smile too.

  Have car, will travel. They must have visited every run-down castle and shambolic ruin in Lanarkshire on warm summer nights, exams past. Watched dozens of sunsets and nestled together as the nights cooled. He was her first love. She thought it was made to last, but summer ended.

  Kat went to uni as planned, however, Billy didn’t go to the Art School, there was something wrong with his grant application, apparently. He spent most of his time at home hunched over his drafting table working on a graphic novel. She should have known by Christmas that something was wrong, but she loved him, trusted him. He started finding excuses not to see her, and when he did he accused her of a string of infidelities with people she’d never met, never mind had to time to dally with. One freezing January evening she watched him drive off, leaving her stuck in the middle of nowhere without a proper coat. She was so desperate she took a chance and hitchhiked home. A college tutor stopped and listened to her sobs. Kat had been too concerned with getting over the chill to think about Billy until the police came round a few days later. His mum was missing him fo
r once; she had more beer left in the fridge at the end of the week than usual. Kat told them what she knew. She knew it was over, but the pain never seemed to go away. She wanted to just drive off and not come back too. Give it all up and go away. Perhaps, in the end, that was exactly what she’d done after all. Looking back, she wanted to slap the silly girl she’d been.

  She’d carried on seeing the same guys since, even Tony. He’d seemed different, but he was just wearing a different suit.

  Kat had been visiting her parents, laying out an old copy of the local weekly paper to stop paint getting on the carpet. They’d dredged Billy and his car from the bottom of a flooded quarry when they’d been looking for another missing kid. She kept telling herself there was nothing she could have done, but for years she kept catching the thought, like a ragged nail on skin, that she should have done something.

  Her head spun. It was getting late. She put on her work clothes. The recollection of events was fairly clear, but the feelings from the time were unreachable. She walked to the bus stop. There had been a lot of anguish, and this was all revisited when they found Billy and it turned out the skelf was still stuck under her skin. But it was easy to look at it dispassionately. A young man was too caught up in himself and his own troubles - she could never have reached him. And this was the corner stone of her life? Was that what it all came down to? This couldn’t really explain her fecklessness. There had to be something more, something substantial. This was too weak, too clichéd. But the clichés, the stereotypes, exist for a reason. They actually happen to ordinary people; people who were addicted to gambling, people who lose all their money, people who work dull service jobs just to make ends meet. People who get their beating hearts taken.

  The regular monotony of the diner was no longer a refuge. Taking orders and wiping tables was just busy work until her real life began. Like a singer in the queue to audition on a reality show, Kat knew it was all going to work out, that fame and fortune was just a few notes of a song away.