So ended Allison and Frank’s longest and most intimate conversation of the day. They walked along in silence, the cold air making Allison’s eyes water as she exhaled puffs of breath into the bitter night. They passed the Lutheran church where they were married. The full moon peeked out from behind the clouds and shone on the old Gothic style stone structure, with its arched doorway and windows and its tall narrow steeple. They passed by the church without saying a word. Allison deliberately looked down, focusing on her footsteps in the newly fallen layer of snow. Her only thoughts were on the car, the warmth of the heater, and getting there as quickly as possible. One more block to go, she thought keeping her eyes focused forward as they crossed the street. They stepped up on the curb, their car now in sight, parked at the end of the block. On this block were two buildings, a pawn shop and an old store which used to house a very posh women’s clothing shop but now stood deserted, waiting for the wrecking ball to come along and turn it into rubble. A narrow alley divided the two structures built together so long ago.
Frank and Allison walked more quickly down this block, partly because of the cold and partly because this was a dangerous part of town. As they approached the alley between the two buildings, Allison felt a chill, a chill not caused by the cold night air but from something in her spirit. She felt dread and foreboding, like a large hand gripping her intestines. She wondered if Frank felt it too. She’d heard that people who’d seen ghosts often experienced a strange coldness. She dismissed the thought, wondering why she even had it.
She wondered what Frank was thinking. She never knew anymore. His arms were tight at his side, his hands in his coat pockets. Allison stuck her arm in his. She felt him jump at the same time she did when the sound of something crashed to the ground in the alley. Something or someone was in that alley. Maybe it’s just a stray cat, Allison told herself as Frank quickly pulled her away from the building around to the street side.
“Just keep walking, Al. Keep walking,” Frank said in a whisper as he firmly took hold of Allison’s arm. Allison might have been touched by Frank’s chivalry if she hadn’t been so scared. She wanted to tell him she was scared, but she didn’t. She just kept walking, her thoughts and her eyes focused ahead on the car. They were almost at the alley. Just keep looking straight ahead, Allison told herself. Out of her peripheral vision she saw a grey figure emerge from the alley. It startled her more than the noise, causing her to gasp out loud. Frank didn’t jump this time though she felt his body tense up. “Keep moving, Al. Just keep moving,” he said, not whispering this time.
The streetlight shone on the face of a woman. It was a worn face, accentuated by the disheveled and colorless hair which hung in matted rattails. She wore a coat which was ripped under the arm and looked like it was about two sizes too small. The wind blew the wrap open, revealing no lining in the coat, and only a tee shirt and an old pair of jeans worn much too thin to keep anyone warm on such a night. Allison recognized the woman’s brown lace-up shoes as a style from her own high school years. One of them was completely worn through, revealing a socked toe hanging out. At least she has socks on, Allison thought, looking down at her own shoes.
The same wind that blew the woman’s coat open blew the odor of alcohol mixed with dirty clothes her direction. The cold didn’t seem to phase the woman, however, as she staggered toward them babbling incoherently. “You got any money. Gimme some money, man. Just a dollar. That’s all. A dollar for a cup of hot coffee.” Frank looked straight ahead, his hand gripping Allison’s arm tightly, as he pulled her along. Allison shook her head and smiled nervously at the woman as they quickly passed her. She was still behind them, following them, her plea for money becoming more persistent and belligerent. “A dollar for a cup of coffee. That’s all, man. Just a fuckin’ dollar or two. C’mon, c’mon. I’m freezin’ my ass off out here.”
Something compelled Allison to turn around and look at the woman’s face again. It was just a glance, just a moment, and she really didn’t get a good look at her, but she thought she saw a scar on her cheek. There was something familiar around the eyes which stared back at Allison blankly. The light from the street lamp grew dimmer with each step away from it, and soon the woman’s face was lost to the shadows of the night, as was her voice, which called out to them one last time in a gravelly and angry tone. “Bitch!”
The woman ceased following them. Allison turned back one last time to see the shadowy figure standing alone. “Don’t look back, Al,” Frank said to her.
They made it to the car without further incident. After Frank let Allison in, he quickly made it around to the driver’s side, slipped into the seat of their new Lexus and flipped the automatic locks. The click of the locks, the sound of finality, Allison thought; she and Frank sealing themselves off from the dangers of the outside world. They were indeed safe now. The engine started and the car slowly inched away from the curb, the tires making a crackling noise over the ice and snow. But safe from what, Allison wondered. Even if the woman was dangerous, she was too drunk to do them any harm. Allison wasn’t afraid anymore. The sight of the woman had removed her fear and replaced it with pity and revulsion. But there was something else gnawing at her. She reached in her black evening bag until her hand rested on the smooth surface of her cell phone.
“We should call the police, don’t you think?” Allison turned and looked at Frank as she asked the question. He was staring straight ahead. His sad puppy dog look was long gone. He now had the intense look of the vigilante, the strong protector and provider. The primitive man standing in his fur loin cloth outside his cave with club tightly gripped in hand.
“Yeah. Probably so. She’s most likely harmless, but you never know. Better give me the phone,” said Frank, holding his gloved hand out to receive it.
“That’s not the point, Frank.”
“What’s not the point?”
“Whether or not she’s harmless. The point is she’s out there alone in the freezing cold. Poor thing! She’s undoubtedly in some kind of trouble.”
“Poor thing? If that was a man back there you wouldn’t be saying poor thing. You’d be all too willing to believe the worst about him. In your mind he wouldn’t just be some harmless drunk. He’d be a thief, a rapist, a serial killer. But because it’s a woman you automatically leap to the conclusion that she’s in some kind of trouble.”
“That’s because your gender is more prone to violence,” Allison said, wondering why everything between them got twisted into a battle of wits. Their bantering used to be fun, but somewhere along the line it had gotten ugly and tiresome. How funny that it was their mutual fear which connected them just moments before when they passed that alleyway, but now that the incident was over, they returned to their usual status of hostile adversaries.
“I’m calling the police.” Allison pulled the cell phone out of her black evening bag.
“Give me the phone. With your sense of direction you’ll send them to the other side of town.”
“You want the phone? Here!” Allison threw the phone at Frank. He held his arm up in an attempt to block the flying object. It bounced off his arm and landed on the seat beside him.
“Damn! That could’ve hit me in the head and caused me to have an accident.”
After a few moments of hostile silence, Allison saw the shadow of shock and rage leave Frank’s face as he fought to regain his composure. “I thought your gender wasn’t prone to violence.” He smirked triumphantly and picked up the phone.
“Bastard!” Allison’s pride hurt because she knew Frank was victorious. Whoever lost control, lost the battle. That was the unspoken rule they both played by. She blinked back the burning pool of tears which she longed to release in torrents down her cheeks. She was not about to let Frank see her cry.
Frank spoke officially into the phone. “Off of Fifth Street. Between Locust and Sycamore. Yes, that’s correct. In the alley behind that old pawn shop. I’m sure it’s nothing, you know, but maybe she’s in some kind of trou
ble.”
Allison closed her eyes and laid her head against the window as Frank talked with the dispatcher. In her mind she was back home in the warmth of her kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table all alone with a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a bag of chips before her. She could almost taste it as she imagined herself dipping a large perfectly formed potato chip into the cup of hot chocolate. A smile formed on her lips. Her fantasy was interrupted by Frank’s voice.
“Police are on their way,” Frank announced, his no-nonsense tone of voice reminding her of Joe Friday from Dragnet.
Allison let go a contemptuous little chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing you’d understand.” Allison pressed her cheek against the cold window as they drove on in silence through the dirty grey slush which a short while before had been clean, white, and glistening. Nothing stays pure and untainted. She thought of the woman. She remembered her face, the eyes, and the scar on the cheek. Realization struck her at that precise moment. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. Could it?
“Frank, did you...” She stopped herself. She was about to ask him if he recognized the woman. Could it possibly be Vicky? She looked at him. He seemed totally unscathed, completely unruffled. If he did recognize her, he certainly wasn’t letting on. No, he couldn’t have recognized her. He wouldn’t be acting so normal. Did he not get a good enough look at her face or had he blocked it out after all these years? Of course he didn’t recognize her. Allison was surprised she did. It was the sick, bloated face of a drunk, not at all the face she remembered from twenty years ago.
Al, old dear, you’re tired. It’s late. You’re jumping to conclusions. That was not Vicky. That’s why Frank didn’t recognize her. Because it wasn’t her. Just some unfortunate drunk who looked a little like her. Allison’s sensible voice reassured her.
“Did I what?”
“Huh?”
“You were about to ask me a question.”
“Oh, nothing. Never mind.”
“You seem upset.”
“Uh, I, uh, think I forgot to turn the oven off before we left. I had a frozen pizza in there for the kids,” she lied, remembering distinctly switching the dial to “off” and obsessively checking it several times before they left. “I hope Matthew caught it.”
“Great. Now you got me worried.” Frank stepped on the accelerator, the vigilante look returning to his eyes. “Damnit Al, you’ve got to quit this crap. I get tired of rushing home from places only to find out you turned everything off. One of these days you really will leave something on and we’ll find our house up in smoke.”
Allison was only half-listening. She was thinking about Vicky. The woman’s face kept coming to her again and again. By the time they pulled into their driveway, she was convinced. It was Vicky standing out there in the cold cursing them. The ghost who so frequently haunted their marriage had returned.
Chapter 2
January 2006
Vicky
Vicky was lucky tonight. She found an old scrap of carpeting in the alley dumpster behind the pawn shop. It was large enough to wrap around her shoulders—an incredible find in such bitter cold weather. “Eureka” she shouted out loud when she found it. “I got me some insulation.” With carpet remnant in hand, she tried to hoist a leg over the side of the dumpster and propel herself out. Holding on to the piece of carpet made her efforts more difficult, but she refused to let go of the prize possession. She tried again, but fell hopelessly back into the pile of garbage. She lay there and looked up at the night sky. “Oh, fuck it, I’ll just sleep here. Warmer in here anyway.” Vicky had the habit of talking to herself, and it had gotten worse. She didn’t care if anyone heard her.
“I got my blankie,” Vicky wrapped the piece of carpet around her shoulders. “I got a blankie and four walls.” Vicky turned her head to look at the inside of the dumpster which was mostly rusted out. “Needs a paint job. I don’t got a roof over my head. I got nothin’ over my head but clouds. Wish I could see the stars.”
The full moon appeared from behind some clouds. “Got no stars but I got a night light.” The light dimmed as the moon disappeared again behind the heavy veil of white clouds. “Need to get some new light bulbs,” Vicky said staring up at the vast ceiling which was now spinning out of control. “Ah shit!” Vicky rolled over onto her side in an attempt to make the spinning stop. She curled up in the fetal position and stuck her feet and legs under the garbage. The smell reminded her of her high school locker–gym shoes mixed with a brown paper sack lunch, consisting of a bologna sandwich and a banana. Not bad. Maybe it was the cold that kept the smell tolerable or maybe she just couldn’t smell anymore. She wondered whether all of her senses were slowly fading away.
“I like bananas. Haven’t had one in a while,” she said to some strange object she couldn’t make out in the dark, but which she adopted as a surrogate teddy bear. She held the thing close to her until it poked her in the cheek. “What the...?” She examined the object as closely as her dim eyes and the lack of light would allow her. She managed from sense of touch to determine that the thing was a broken umbrella. “You must go,” she said as she hurled it out of the dumpster. “Fuck you!” she hollered at the umbrella and the world as the object hit the ground with a thud. She drew her knees to her chest, curling up again in an even tighter ball. She shivered from the cold, or was it her sickness? She didn’t know which was worse... the pain in her throat and her stomach or the endless chill. Worst of all were her raw nerves: dread, panic, pain, and nightmares. A black shadow of a figure appeared before her each time the sickness got bad. She feared its return and had to think of some way to get more booze soon or she was in big trouble. Tonight she had to rest. She had no choice. She couldn’t go anywhere.
Vicky’s nerves weren’t too bad now, in fact a strange feeling of relaxation and sleepiness came over her as She lay in the pile of garbage, staring at the rusted out wall of the dumpster. She didn’t feel nearly as cold anymore. Not that she was warmer, simply number. She heard that this was how people froze to death. First there was the numbness, then the sleepiness, then slumber from which one would never awaken. “Good. Maybe I’ll freeze to death tonight. Then I won’t have to worry about how the hell to get more booze tomorrow.” She wondered if she was really ready to die. “Shit, I ain’t ready to burn in hell. Too busy raisin’ hell here.” Vicky laughed. “I ain’t ready to die. Don’t let me die. Please.” She didn’t laugh this time. “Who the hell am I talkin’ to? Oh, yeah. Myself.”
Vicky was on the precipice of sleep. Memories flashed before her eyes. None of them painful, mostly just dull. It was like being at a family get-together, being forced to sit through a slide show of some tedious family holiday. “So this is what it’s like to have your life flash before your eyes. Geez, get to the good part.”
She saw herself as a kid again running barefoot through the backyards of her childhood neighborhood in western Kentucky. It was a late afternoon in early summer. Bobby, her cousin and best friend, was breathlessly trying to keep up with her but couldn’t. Nobody, not even the fastest boys, could run as fast as Vicky, even barefoot she’d beat them. The bottoms of her feet were permanently black. “Put some shoes on, girl,” her Mama would call to her as she ran out the back door. “I’m gonna scour them filthy feet with the hottest water and the toughest scrub brush I can find.”
“Won’t bother me none, Mama.” It was true that the bottom of her feet were so calloused she could run over broken glass and not feel a thing, or at least that’s what she boasted of.
“Vicky Lee, stop!” Bobby called out to her. She looked back and he was on the ground. “I stepped on a dern acorn, or somethin’ like that.” Vicky ran back to her cousin.
“C’mon Bobby, don’t be such a dang sissy,” she said to the dark haired boy as he nursed his sore foot – rubbing it, blowing on it, and rocking back and forth. “You’re always remindin’ me we’re over half Indian on the Miner side. So the way I f
igure it, you ought to be able to run barefoot too,”
“Hey,” Bobby said quickly jumping to his feet, “You may be able to run faster than me in your bare feet, but I’m a faster swimmer and a better fisherman ‘n you’ll ever be.”
“I know, I know. And you got the smarts. You’re Tom Sawyer and I’m Huck Finn.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
“C’mon, Chief Tenderfoot, race ya to that tree. Bet I can climb to the top before you can.”
So together they raced each other to the top of a tree amidst giggles and shrill cries of delight.
“I won. I won,” Vicky said weakly from within the dumpster. A weakness and exhaustion overtook her and she felt as if something heavy were sitting on top of her. Even so, the memory lingered in her mind.
She was at the top of the twisted old tree, had scaled to the top like a monkey in her bare feet. Bobby sat on the branch below. There they were, two gangly kids, swinging their legs, laughing, bragging, and alive for the moment–and that moment only–until it was time to come down.
It had happened to Vicky one time before. She tried to get down, but couldn’t. The last time she thought it was only a fluke, but here she was again, paralyzed with fear, even worse than the last time. She tried to look down but couldn’t. The dizziness caused her to grab hold of the tree trunk and close her eyes tight. What was it that caused her to change so much in just one year, she wondered? She climbed up and down trees all the previous summer without giving it a second thought. It must’ve been the winter that did it; the long hard winter, being cooped up inside with her Daddy who was out of work and drank more and more, and had since become mean when he drank.
Bobby, who was halfway down the tree called up to her. “C’mon Vicky Lee! C’mon down or we’ll both be late for supper.”
“I caint, Bobby. I caint.”
She was crying and shaking and holding on to the tree trunk as tight as she could. “This happened to me one other time,” she called down to Bobby. “I don’t know why. I’m just plumb crazy all of a sudden. I’m scared. Scared I’ll fall.”
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