“Black Russians, White Russians, whatever,” Allison said sitting up and grabbing her highball glass off the coffee table. “Here’s to the Cold War.” Allison raised her glass toward Vicky.
“Cheers.”
So Allison and Vicky cut out a cardboard star and wrapped it in aluminum foil. Both of them giggled like pre-pubescent girls as Allison climbed up the step ladder to place the asymmetrical star atop the asymmetrical tree.
“Allison.” A male voice suddenly startled them as they turned to see Kent who had let himself in the apartment, unbeknownst to them. His presence startled Allison so much, in fact, that she turned and fell off the step ladder landing on the floor with a loud crash.
“Shit!” Vicky said hurrying to Allison’s side. Kent slowly made his way over to Allison too, but he seemed more perturbed than concerned.
“Are you okay?” Vicky asked. Allison looked up at Vicky who had a hold of her arm. They exploded in laughter.
“I’m fine. Just help me up,” she said straining to get to her feet. Kent finally took a hold of Allison’s other arm and together they pulled her to her feet.
“From the looks of things I’d say you’re more than just fine. I’d say you’re feeling no pain at all,” Kent said. It was then that Vicky noticed how angry he was. His feigned smile failed to smooth out the stern fixed lines etched in his jaw and around his brow. His controlled tone of voice failed to cancel out the sarcasm that snuck through with every syllable. It was the look and sound of the very angry who try very hard not to look or sound very angry.
”Sorry, love,” Allison said throwing her arms around Kent and giving him a noisy wet kiss on the cheek. “Vicky and I’ve been sharing a little Christmas cheer. You remember Vicky–my neighbor. She tends bar at the River Inn? ”
“Hi, Vicky,” he grunted. “I see you two have been busy,” he said looking at the tree.
“Yeah, we got you off the hook.”
“Off the hook? What do you mean?” Kent asked.
“I just figured you wouldn’t be in the mood after helping your parents decorate their tree.”
“Maybe I wanted to help you decorate it.”
“And maybe pigs are flying outside my window too. You never want to do anything half-way fun or frivolous anymore–at least not with me.”
“Not now Allison,” he said, the feigned smile finally leaving his face.
Vicky almost felt sorry for Kent in that moment. Kent wasn’t a bad guy–just the wrong guy, and that was enough to make a bad guy out of a nice guy. Vicky could tell by the diminishing light that it was getting close to evening.
“What time’s it getting to be anyway?” she asked. Kent and Allison both looked at their watches.
“Four twenty,” Kent said.
“Time to drag my sorry self outta here. I gotta be at work at five,” Vicky said, relieved that she’d managed to stay out of her haunted apartment all day.
Allison walked Vicky to the door where they spoke their parting words in a whisper so Kent wouldn’t hear. Allison urged Vicky not to worry about Bobby anymore, but to file a missing person report as soon as possible and leave the matter in the authorities’ hands. Vicky advised Allison not to go so hard on Kent. When Allison asked why, she said because he loves you. They said their goodbyes, each of them knowing they would not take the other’s advice.
Chapter 15
Christmas Eve night Vicky was jolted awake by the sound of a gunshot, so close it sounded like it was being fired from inside her room. She jumped up and flipped the bedside light on before she had a chance to think whether or not that was the right thing to do. She saw nothing, just her bedroom with everything in its usual place. She heard nothing but the pounding of her own heart. She checked the drawer of her nightstand. Her handgun was there, cool to the touch and undisturbed.
She grabbed her flashlight off the bedside table and in one quick continuous movement rolled off the bed and onto the floor, flipped her grandma’s quilt up and shined the flashlight under the bed. Nothing. Next she checked the closet. Wire hangers scraped noisily against the metal pole as Vicky pushed clothes back and shined the flashlight up and down hidden corners, all the while hollering threats at the unseen intruder. Nothing. She ran to the door, opened it stuck her head out in the hallway. Still nothing. She didn’t see or hear anything peculiar. She felt a peculiarity, however, and it was all around her. She turned all the lights on hoping to dispel the fear that was causing her heart to beat up in her throat and her mouth to go dry.
“Bobby?” Vicky gasped, turning around suddenly as if someone was right behind her tapping her on the shoulder. “Is that you, Bobby? Is that you?” She inquired again and again of the invisible presence that hung in her apartment like thick stagnant air. “Were you trying to tell me you got shot? Is that it?” She heard no reply, nothing but the church bells down the street chime twelve times, followed by a long and loud pealing chorus, bidding worshipers to come to the midnight service.
Vicky had heard about the strange Catholic ritual of going to church in the middle of the night on Christmas. She read the sign on the church’s marquis–something about “Oh, come let us adore Him. Join us this Christmas.” Then it listed the Christmas Mass schedule, beginning with Midnight Mass. She wondered what it was like. She wondered if she should go and debated the question aloud while she paced back and forth in her living room between her hallway and the front door. Vicky did her best problem solving on her feet while pacing and talking to herself.
“I gotta get outta here! I gotta go somewhere. Where else am I gonna go at midnight on Christmas morning? Hell, grandma would think I’d done turned pagan going to a Catholic church. Then again, she might be happy to see me step foot inside any church. Besides, I think they’re Christian. Sorta. Shit, I’m going. Better than hanging around the haunted castle,” she said aloud to herself as she moved quickly down the hallway that led to her bedroom, grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor, pulled them on, and tucked her night shirt into them. She pulled a big sweater out of her dresser drawer and quickly put it on over the night shirt, the electricity from it causing strands of red curly hair to stand straight out. She opened another drawer and retrieved a pair of thick gray socks which she put on one foot at a time while hopping to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom she brushed her teeth, splashed her face, and wiped the remnants of the day’s make up off from under her eyes. “I look like shit,” she said looking in the mirror. “Who cares? Ain’t nobody gonna know me there. Oh, yeah! Bet you see some of your customers. You know how them Catholics are. I believe they drink even more than the Baptists. I’ll just sit in the back and keep my head down.”
Vicky made two more stops before leaving–one to her corner kitchen cabinet to take a couple swigs off a pint of Jim Beam she’d opened an hour or so ago, and another to the front hall closet. She wrapped the red knit scarf her grandma had made for her years ago around her head and neck, put on her brown suede winter coat with the big fake lamb’s wool collar which she pushed up around her ears, and pulled on an old pair of hiking boots she got back in high school. Her grandma thought they looked like Frankenstein monster’s shoes.
She looked around the apartment one last time and sighed. She hadn’t put a tree up. If she’d heard from Bobby she would have. Maybe the greenery, lights, and smell of pine would have cheered her heart. She regretted not putting one up. She turned and closed the door behind her.
Vicky walked to the church through slush and ice and melting snow, muttering all the while how odd it was that she was leaving her apartment in the middle of the night to go to church. She felt she was doing the right thing. The night air lifted her spirits a little. She involuntarily smiled upon entering the church as if she’d stepped from a black and white world into one of color and warmth and light. “Anyways, I’m outta that apartment,” she said pulling the scarf off from around her neck as she stood in the warm vestibule of the church staring at an enormous tree.
“May I help you?” A middle
aged man in a red coat with a Santa tie approached Vicky from the side. She saw from the puzzled expression on his face that he must’ve heard her talking to herself.
“Oh, sorry, I was just noticing your tree. Who are all them gifts for?” Vicky asked pointing to the brightly arrayed packages under the tree.
“The poor.”
“Oh!”
“There’re no seats left but there is standing room in the back,” he whispered leading her into the church. Vicky realized that this must’ve been the man’s job, and she thanked him, and explained to him that she was used to being on her feet and was actually more comfortable that way.
The choir was singing Gloria in excelsis Deo, and the priest was walking back and forth up front swinging around a large silver pot on a chain with smoke pouring out.
“What’s that smoke?” Vicky asked the man in the red coat standing next to her by the door.
“It’s incense.”
“I didn’t think they used that for church,” she said with a chuckle, her only experience of incense had been to cover up the smell of marijuana. She looked around the church. It was so different from the little country church her grandmother took her to–larger and much more modern in architectural style. Had it not been for the Christmas decorations it would’ve seemed almost stark which surprised her for a Catholic church. She’d always heard Catholics had a lot of extras–statues and the like. Then in the right hand corner up front she spied the statues. It was a nativity scene, complete with a large stable and star on top, shepherds, St. Joseph, Mother Mary, and of course baby Jesus in the manger. She smiled at the scene and began to lose herself in the service.
Maybe it was the music or the sweet smell of the incense that made her wonder about the incarnate god come down to earth, and of course she had to admit to herself as the tears welled up in her throat and her eyes that she did still believe. “Help me, sweet Jesus,” she muttered aloud. She looked up. There was one similarity between this church and her grandma’s old country church. It was the ceiling, arching way up and up to heaven trying desperately to reach God. She was too grown up to do what she did as a kid–lay down on the floor and just stare up at that ceiling, so she knelt down instead, right there on the floor in the back of the church, and stared up until her neck ached and the tears blurred her vision. She buried her face in the red scarf and wept. When she left church it was snowing.
Vicky stayed in her apartment all Christmas day, even though she didn’t have to. Allison had invited her to her mother’s house for Christmas, and Eddie invited her to hang out with some of the biker boys at his place and party. She declined both invitations because this was the last twenty-four hours she had to hope for. Maybe Bobby would show up at her door, maybe he would call her on the phone. She had to keep vigil though it was painful to stay in that haunted apartment. Maybe he was waiting until Christmas day to reach her. Why? Who knows, but maybe he had some reason. If she hadn’t heard from him by Christmas night then she’d know he was dead.
She told herself that maybe the sound of the gunshot and the eerie presence that filled the apartment had nothing to do with Bobby. Maybe it was an evil spirit from the bowels of hell sent to deceive her, to torture her, and frighten her, but she wasn‘t sure if she really believed that sort of thing. Her grandma used to cast out demons in the name of Jesus. Vicky wondered if she should try it but then decided it might be blasphemous for the unbaptized to attempt such a thing.
Vicky knew the only way to cope with staying in that apartment all day was to achieve some state of oblivion. So she curled up on the couch under her grandma’s afghan with her best buddy, Jack Daniels, close by her side, a pack of Marlboros, her brown glass ashtray, and the remote control. She flipped the channels on her TV back and forth until she’d seen “A Christmas Carol” and “It’s A Wonderful Life” lap themselves for about the third time. By about eight o’clock she knew Bobby was not coming. She looked out her window into the parking lot but no sign of Allison’s car. She had to get out of that apartment. She threw on her coat and scarf, stuck in her pocket the pack of Marlboros along with her purple Bic lighter which was running low on fluid, and went outside to wait on the stoop of the front porch for Allison to return from all her family festivities.
When Allison finally arrived some fifteen or twenty minutes later, Vicky was hopping up and down trying to stay warm, but she wasn’t going back inside that building unless another human being was with her.
Allison called out to Vicky as she approached the building. “Thank God you’re here. I need a drink from someone who really knows how to fix one.”
“And I need to fix a drink for someone who really needs it,” Vicky called back.
“That would be me. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you. Thank God it’s almost over.” The two women embraced. “C’mon let’s get inside. I’m freezing my ass off,” Vicky said through chattering teeth.
“So what are you doing standing out here on such a cold night anyway?”
“Waiting for you. I been stuck in that apartment all day. I was beginning to feel like a caged lion.” So together they entered Camelot building 3300 and Vicky let out an involuntary sigh at the warmth.
“I told you that you should have come with me today.”
“I couldn’t leave.”
“Did you hear from Bobby?”
“No.” Vicky looked up slowly at the silent Allison who seemed to be trying to find the right words to say.
“So you’re coming to my place, okay? Sounds like you could use a little change of scenery,” Allison finally said.
“I was going to follow you whether you invited me or not. There’s something wrong with my apartment.”
“What!?”
“I’ll explain later. Oh, shit! I forgot something. Wait here,” Vicky said turning around halfway up the stairs to Allison’s apartment. “I hate going back in there but I gotta. Wait for me.”
Allison agreed to wait as Vicky ran back to her apartment, all the way back to her bedroom closet, and pulled a green and gold wrapped package with a gold bow out of a plastic department store bag. She stopped at her corner kitchen cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey, turned, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a can of whipped cream, and hurried out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
“This is for you,” Vicky said handing the package to Allison as she met her halfway up the stairs in one giant bound.
“Vicky,” Allison said as if she was scolding her.
“And this is for you too,” Vicky said presenting the bottle of Irish whiskey. “You provide the coffee. I’ll provide the alcohol.”
“I love it,” Allison said as Vicky charged up the stairs. “So what’s wrong with your apartment?” “I’ll tell you just as soon as we get inside your place,” Vicky said in a whisper.
Vicky made sure Allison had closed the door completely before she told her. “I think Bobby’s ghost is haunting my place.”
“Not again.”
“No, now wait a minute. Hear me out. I went home early from work last night, so I went to bed about ten. Around eleven thirty or so someone fired a gun off in my room. Woke me up, of course, and scared me shitless. This was no dream, Allison. I heard it. I looked all around my apartment but didn’t see nothing suspicious. But, there was someone there with me, as real as you’re standing here now. I couldn’t see or hear no one, but I know someone was there.”
“And?”
“I think it was Bobby trying to tell me he got shot.”
Allison suddenly gasped, her eyes grew wide, and her face blanched.
“What?” Vicky said.
“It was Christmas eve a year ago that the previous tenant shot himself. I just remembered.”
“Shit!” Vicky said dropping into a chair.
“Do you still feel like there’s someone in your apartment?”
“I felt it all last night and today real strong, but as evening wore on I felt it less and less, like he
was leaving. I thought maybe it was Bobby’s spirit come to spend Christmas day with me like he said he’d do. But maybe it was someone else.”
The mood became silent and somber as the space between the two women filled with a paralyzed sort of terror, like Ebenezer Scrooge afraid to pull back the bed curtain.
“Did you ever find out why he killed himself?” Vicky said finally.
“I heard Sally talking about it not long ago. She said it was drugs.”
“Oh,” Vicky said looking down, afraid that Allison could read her thoughts. Bobby came back to warn her once and now the previous tenant had returned from the grave to warn her also. But she wasn’t alone now and she wasn’t in her apartment. She was with a friend and she had a bottle of Irish whiskey and drinks to make. Soon coffee would be brewing and Karen Carpenter would be crooning Christmas carols and she would temporarily forget her troubles. And temporary forgetfulness was better than nothing.
Vicky made Irish Coffee that night and she and Allison exchanged gifts. Allison gave Vicky a new dictionary, noticing that the binding on her old one was coming unstitched and pages were falling out. Vicky gave Allison a gold angel for the top of her Christmas tree. Vicky slept on Allison’s couch, and when she returned to her apartment the following morning the presence was gone. But like the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and yet to come, the warning lived on, causing an anxious paranoia to descend on Vicky’s soul in the coming days just before the arrival of the New Year.
Every time the phone rang she feared it was the police calling to inform her that they had found Bobby’s body and wanted her to come identify him, and, of course, also wanted to question her about his business dealings. She took different routes to work every day, continually looking in her rear view mirror, afraid someone was following her.
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