by Alexie Aaron
“If I fail, Wyatt, we’ll wake up to a different world.”
“And we will deal with that world. Mia, you still have friends. You’re loved by the most unusual people and entities. Remember all that they have taught you. Time and time again their words will guide you. Listen and remember.”
Mia whispered into the phone. “When I died, it wasn’t the light that was coming for me,” Mia said. “It was an angel I have never seen before.”
“Raphael?”
“No, I know his green radiance. This was an archangel of such power that my soul burned just being in his presence. I got the idea he was guarding Heaven from me.”
“Azrael,” Wyatt said. “He is the keeper of the light. He has been trying to take you since you were born. His present rejection speaks of the need for you to be with us, to fight for the human herd. Mia, I know you’re angry, bitter, and confused. This is how the council wants you to be. Don’t let them win. Let that big heart of yours open up with love, and understanding will follow. Think of all of whom you have touched. We are very lucky to have met you.”
“Wyatt, tell the birdmen that they are welcome. Warn them of the Others. I’ve dealt with their ilk before. They will not stop until they have achieved their contract.”
“I will. So, Murphy brought you back again. That’s what, three times?” Wyatt said.
“Seems to me, you read more than I thought when you were kicking around in my mind.”
“I’m a fast reader,” Wyatt said. “I know what you’ll do for me, Mia. I don’t take that for granted. I know you’ll succeed, but if fate is against us, I want you to come home, Mia, and be my daughter.”
Mia smiled. “Thank you for the offer. I hope I don’t have to take you up on it. I’ve got to go. If the Others are on their way, I better get a head start.”
“Goodbye, Mia,” Wyatt said.
“Goodbye for now, Altair,” Mia responded and hung up the phone.
Wyatt listened after she hung up, and he heard the mechanisms of the Others. Had he signed Mia’s death warrant with his call, or had he given her the key to succeeding when all seemed lost? Only time would tell.
~
Burt woke to a rain-darkened day. He excitedly held the handle of the empty thermos outside the window, with the funnel he had quickly made, to draw in as much of the rain as was possible. His arm would hurt later from the constant exertion, but it would be worth it. An achy arm was a slight payment for the water that, hopefully, would extend his life. He brought in the thermos and poured the contents into one of the empty water bottles and put the thermos outside once more to collect more rain.
He thought about how long he had been missing from his home and knew that his parents must have notified the authorities. He had parked his car in plain sight. Why hadn’t they searched for him? Surely, someone would have remembered the old asylum? He had to keep up hope that he would be rescued. If he died here, how would that affect the future? Close to home, he supposed his parents would mourn his loss. He would never meet Mike or Ted.
“Damn, Mia,” Burt thought. “Who’s going to be there for you, bebe?”
She had told him many times that he was responsible for bringing her in touch with the good side of her talents. Also, PEEPs was a good fit for her. She wasn’t shy about expressing how much joy she got from working with the other investigators. He had seen her blossom from an introverted social misfit to an outgoing mother of three. Yes, she married his tech - a bitter pill he swallowed every day - but Mia was happy with her choice, and Ted seemed to be becoming more comfortable and less insecure with their relationship. Now there would be no meeting, at least none he was part of.
Would the hollow take over the town of Big Bear Lake?
“Damn, I didn’t think of the consequences of stopping here instead of going on to see Mike,” he said aloud. Why did this happen? If it was fate, was he bait? He pondered these questions as he collected the rainwater. “I feel like bait. I’ve behaved like bait. Just wallowing in my can. Today, I start working on trying to crawl out of my bucket like every other respectable nightcrawler.”
Burt had had a lot of time to study the trap he had fallen into. Was it a trap originally? He saw the markings of crude tools on the ceiling. To him it looked like whomever had his cell before him had tried to find a way out through the ceiling. He or she had gotten as far as the tile underlayment and quit. Time had weakened the remaining boards and supports. It just took his weight to bring it all down.
He thought the ghost had led him into the trap, and it may have happened that way, but now he was seeing that, perhaps, he just assumed there was a sinister plot. Maybe everything that happened was innocent. “I’m a victim of circumstance,” he announced to the debris-ridden cell.
“You’re dead meat,” a voice called down to him.
“And who am I speaking with?” Burt asked.
A swirl of what could only be described as oily fog drifted down into the cell. It made no attempt to cross the salt line. Instead, it manifested into a man, or what was left of a man after years of incarceration in a mental asylum. He leaned heavily on a cane. He wore soiled bedclothes, and he had a week’s growth of beard. His finger- and toenails were long and yellow, and when the creature smiled, Burt could see the man had never had any dental work performed. His body spoke of age, but there were no liver spots to corroborate Burt’s theory. If ghosts had an odor, his would be of piss and rot.
“Who am I speaking with?” Burt asked again. “I’m Burt Hicks.”
“Does it really matter?” the ghost asked, drawing out each word as if he were getting paid by the syllable.
“Yes, I would like to know whom I’m speaking with so that when I get out of here, I can let your people know of your circumstances.”
“I have no people.”
“I’m sure you didn’t just arrive on this earth full grown. There were people. There are always people,” Burt assured the ghost.
The man’s head fell to an angle congruent to the twist of his hips. “Weldon Folkert.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Folkert,” Burt said. “Please excuse my state of dress, but I’ve been ill.”
“So I’ve heard. I’ve been listening to you from up there. Heard you talk into that machine with your little sweetheart.”
“She’s a colleague,” Burt protested.
“Sweetheart,” Weldon insisted. “As I said, I listened to you. I never catered to women sexually. Men either. I just couldn’t see the point of exposing yourself, elbows and knees, squeaky springs, and all that fluid. Disgusting.”
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” Burt said.
“I kept myself contained and pursued other interests. Botany, fungi to be more specific. I experimented with introducing spores to the human body. It’s really amazing what kind of species you can grow out of a rotting corpse.”
Burt kept a poker face. Inside he was screaming. On the outside, he brushed a stray lock out of his eyes. “How did you handle the odor?”
Weldon gave an appreciative smile and answered, “To be truthful, it did bother me. I kept a sprig of wintergreen under my nose and tried to mouth breath.”
“How did you end up in here?”
“I had a hard time keeping up with my hobby. Not many rotting corpses around. I took to the alleys and selected some of the walking dead. Evidently, you don’t do that if you want to stay out of here.”
“There really isn’t a rulebook you can follow.”
“No, there should be. Although, in retrospect, I wouldn’t have followed the advice of a published academic anyway.”
“Do you have a problem with academics in general?”
“My father was one. Funny thing about academics and non-educated folks, they smell the same when they rot.”
“A very good observation. Did I take your cell? It occurred to me that this dark place would be a great spot for fungi.”
“No. Old Melvin was the last to have your spot. He’s the
one who probably got you into the spot you’re in. He was an evil bugger. The doctor tried to break him, but he never gave in. He never even screamed. Not even involuntarily. He just fixed those predator eyes of his on a space in the room and endured.”
“Why was he tortured?” Burt asked.
“According to the doc, the way to sanity is through pain. The way to pleasure is through pain. I believe he was writing a book about the latter when he was found out. Even though he kept his little experiments to the after hours, someone complained. Ruined it for all of us.”
“So, you didn’t want to be relocated?”
“I was never given the chance. I was forgotten in the basement. I died in there. I screamed my lungs out, but no one heard me. I’m sure Old Melvin knew I was there, but he never told anybody.”
“Are your bones still there?”
“Under the mushrooms,” Weldon said.
“Do you want me to bury you somewhere?”
“You’re not getting out of here. I’m just waiting for you to die so I can continue with my work. You’re the first one to die out here in years. There have been a few bums who thought this would be a great place to winter.”
“I intend on getting out.”
“They won’t let you.”
“Who is they?”
“You have seen them. The army of the criminally insane. The doctor also wouldn’t mind you staying. He has some afterlife questions to ask you.”
“Do you mean to creep me out?”
“Son, I’m a creepy kind of guy.”
~
Mia lay there with her head down until her headache went away. She then crawled over the front seat and settled herself next to Mike.
“How are you feeling, squirt?” Mike asked.
“Like someone kicked me in the chest and used my head for a basketball. How much longer?”
“Not much. I think Ma wants to stop at the next diner so we can eat and use the washroom.”
“I think that is very wise,” Mia said. “I can always eat. I’m always hungry.”
“You don’t look like you eat enough,” Mike observed. “Take Cid for example.”
“Be kind, he’s eating his problems. He’ll grow out of it.”
“It must be nice to know the future.”
“It’s a nightmare,” Mia said. “Tell me about what your life’s like. You’ve always been rather closed-mouthed about your high school years.”
“Aside from the ghost that sits on my chest, my life’s not bad. School work is easy. I seem to do well at sports, but not scholarship well. I’m headed to the community college to appease my mother.”
“It’s difficult being an only child,” Mia said.
“You know, it’s very odd talking with you. You seem so wise, and then I turn my head, look at you, and you’re just a goofy kid.”
Mia laughed. “I don’t change much,” she assured him. “Except I’m so top heavy I have a walker to hold my boobs up.”
Mike didn’t know how to react. He just said, “Liar.”
Mia laughed.
“Really?”
“Well, maybe not the walker part. You and I don’t get along in the beginning. I can’t get by the I’m God’s gift to women persona, and you can’t get through your head that I don’t want your job. You think I’m a phony. Oh, and I sleep with your best friend.”
“That would do it. Ted’s not my best friend, is he?”
“No, you don’t like each other. It’s complicated. But in the beginning, Burt and I really hit it off.”
“So, Burt’s my best friend.”
“Yup, two alpha males. You grate on each other, but you’re besties.”
“Who’s your best friend?”
“Murph.”
“You have a ghost for a best friend?”
“Yes. He’s great. In the beginning, he listened to everything I had to say. And he didn’t talk much. Now we actually have conversations, when we’re not fighting.”
“You fight?”
“Like cat and dogs.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I think we’re too different, and I’m stubborn. He’s a prude, and I’m a quarter demon, that would do it.”
“I think it’s chemistry.”
“Whatever.”
“Did you ever leave him?”
“Yes. But I came back.”
“So, Ted takes on you and Murph.”
“Brave man. Could you do it?”
“Not sure. I’d have to think about it. I’d like to think so, but I’m a self-centered son of a Glenda Dupree.”
“That you are. But I’m going to give you another insight into who you are twenty years from now.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“You, above all, understand my son Brian better than any of us. He’s a trial, but you take that all on with an inner calmness. Ted and I are a mess at parenting. Murphy wants to spank him, and you simply sit him down and spend time with him.”
“I’m the favorite uncle?” Mike observed.
“Yes.”
“I like that. Spoil the kid and give him back to the parents.”
After that, they rode in companionable silence.
Murphy studied the two. He knew how different things would have been had Mia and Ted not gotten back together. During Ted’s crisis, it was Mike picking up the pieces. Mike wanted Mia but knew that he didn’t want to be the cause of her heartbreak. He, like Murphy, would wait out the marriage. They had more in common than Murphy liked to think.
Cid turned around and reported, “Mia’s in the front seat, and she’s smiling. She must be feeling better.”
“That girl’s one tough cookie,” Glenda said.
“She’s amazing,” Ted said before returning his focus to the composition book. He was working on an equation that seemed to go on and on.
“What are you doing, Ted?” Cid asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Trying to prove a pocket dimension. Mia’s not lying; it’s possible. She said that an inventor in Tesla’s time turned a house into a machine that would open up a pocket dimension.”
“I find it strange that you just can’t take her word for it,” Glenda commented.
“Mrs. Dupree, he’s not suspicious. He’s just trying to prove the existence of it through science.”
“Still, young man, if you’re going to stand a chance at nabbing that girl, you’re going to have to suspend disbelief now and again.”
Ted nodded. “That’s very good advice,” he said to appease Glenda.
Glenda beamed, thinking she got through to the thirteen-year-old. She was impressed with how attentive he had been with Mia last night. She thought that they had a great future ahead of them. She saw a lot of herself in Mia and knew because of this, the young couple may hit some bumps in the road. If she could impart some wisdom that Ted would take to heart, it may save them heartbreak.
“Five miles to the best piece of pie in Kansas,” Cid read off the sign.
“We’ll stop there. Signal to Mike.”
“Cid’s pointing at the pie sign. I think we’ll be stopping there,” Mike said.
“I’m buying,” Mia said, pulling a wad of cash out of her pocket.
“Oh my god, where did you get that?”
“It pays to have fallen friends in high places.”
“I’ve got fallen in high places,” Mike sang.
Mia listened as the teen riffed on Garth Brooks’s song. His rich voice and ability to change the lyrics at will impressed Mia. It had she and Murphy laughing.
“What can you do to ‘Crazy’?” Murphy asked.
“Ah, Patsy Cline, is there no better singer?” Mike asked.
Mia turned and looked at the teen. “I’m surprised.”
“Mia, look in that box on the floor. That’s where Ma keeps her cassette tapes. You’ll find a Patsy Cline’s Greatest Hits in there… Did you know that Willie Nelson wrote and sang it first? His name was Hugh Nelson at the time.”
“Crazy, I’m crazy for feeling so lonely…”
After the song had finished, Mike said, “Sorry, old man, I can’t destroy that song.”
Murphy smiled.
“Tell me, why is that your favorite song?” he asked the ghost.
“Because it’s about how I feel about Mia,” Murphy confessed.
Mia was floored.
“Well then I applaud you. I had you down for another boring farmer. We have them here in spades, but you, sir, have some soul.”
“Mike, I’m all soul,” Murphy said and tipped his hat and disappeared.
Chapter Seventeen
Glenda looked around the table. The boy’s meals were barely touched. Mia, on the other hand, was already stealing French fries off the plates of all of them.
“Lord, girl, you do have an appetite.”
Mia just brushed it off and took another fry. “I’m feeding the demon,” she teased.
Ted sensed there was some truth to the statement but didn’t press her. The Mia he was seeing today was all wound-up and anxious. He leaned over and said, “Remember, you have all of us to depend on. Share the load, Mighty Mouse, share the load.”
It seemed to strike a chord with her, and she sat back and closed her eyes. “I’m very lucky, very lucky indeed.”
“Whatcha doing?” Ted asked, mimicking her midwestern accent.
Mia’s eyes popped open. “You gave me a fright. You sounded just like a friend of mine. To answer your question, I recently was reminded to concentrate on my memories, that time and time again they would come to my aid. I wanted to remember this moment here with you, so I was placing it in my mind house.”
“Ah, that’s a fib. I heard her snoring,” Cid teased.
Mia laughed.
“How much do you remember?” Glenda asked.
“My memories of my life are intact, but if you’re looking to get ahead of stock trends, I’d say stick with the tech companies. I don’t know details like that because it didn’t interest me at the time. Plus, we didn’t have a television, and my parents didn’t take a newspaper. They had their heads stuck in the past. I can tell you about most ancient civilizations if that helps.”
