Ghost Heart

by John Palisano

  “I don’t understand how this could happen,” his dad said.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  The funeral director went to speak, but Mikey’s mom cut him off. “He’s missing,” she said. “It seems someone came in and took him. For what? Only God knows.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

  “We can still have the funeral,” the director said. “We’ll just close the casket.”

  “This is too much,” Mikey’s dad said. “Too much.”

  * * * * *

  We eventually sat down in the white folding chairs in the receiving room. There was a shiny walnut casket up front. The surrounding shelves were overflowing with pictures of Mikey. I recognized many of them from his parents’ kitchen. They’d been directly taken off the walls or the fridge. Nothing about it felt right.

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  Anna. My friend. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” I cupped her hand, shut my eyes for a second and nodded. “Didn’t even see you. It’s all such a blur.”

  Ahead, Mikey’s folks sat right up front. His dad’s mouth was open just a bit, but he did his best to guide his wife. She was trembling. My eyes welled up. I couldn’t imagine what they were feeling. Losing your child had to be the worst thing in the world.

  Someone was the cause of this. Some horrible nightmare, walking around free, who could give a damn about any of us, let alone his family. Was probably enjoying it. As sad as I was, I was mad. How would we get justice? I wanted blood. Damian was going to have to pay.

  There was no way around it.

  I thought about the bastards from that night. Pictured them kneeling down by Mikey. What were they doing? Smothering him? Kissing him? He was so pale afterward, like he’d been drained. My mind wandered. Where they what I thought they were? Bloodsuckers. Vampires. Couldn’t be. That was silly—the stuff of movies and books.

  But what if they were people who thought they were vampires? People that got really into Interview with the Vampire and The Lost Boys? Could be. Very well could be. They could be playing out some very real, very deadly delusion.

  At the front, Pastor Taylor from Saint Joseph’s made his way to the side of Mikey’s coffin. He stopped, folded his hands at his waist and said, “Friends and family, we are here today to find comfort as Michael has been called home. Philippians 4:7 reads that And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

  His mom wept.

  “Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted.” The pastor looked like he had a small smile. Was he enjoying the sermon? Was he doing so to show empathy? I couldn’t tell, but it freaked me out. What was I supposed to feel at that point? I wasn’t sure.

  Pastor Taylor went on. “We are gathered here today to seek and receive the Lord’s comfort. Of course our hearts ache with loss. Know that God will minister to our hearts and give us strength as we continue on our walk with Him.”

  I looked around. I didn’t see any of our friends, other than Anna behind me. Where the hell was everyone?

  “Although we want to understand why this happened now, and why Michael was called home to his Lord, we must rely on Jesus to usher us over this difficult hurdle.”

  The rest of the service was a blur. No one else got up to eulogize Mikey. Once the pastor was done, he told us we were welcome to spend time together. I recall hugging his parents. They kept telling me they were sorry. I didn’t know what to say to that. I was more worried about them than me. On top of that, there was the whole situation of Mikey going missing.

  Outside, in my car, I realized I’d forgotten about Anna. I told myself it didn’t matter and drove to work. It was all I could think to do. The routine would be welcome. Something to get my mind off everything. It was needed. Badly.

  * * * * *

  Uncle Dave was nowhere to be found at the shop, even though all three of our bays were full, minus the Jeep, which had finally been picked up. I didn’t even know what the jobs were, so they must have arrived that morning. “What the hell?” I looked over the orders that hung from clipboards behind the main desk. The paperwork read they’d all come in the day before.

  I searched the shop more thoroughly for Uncle Dave, but he was missing. I called his cell and left a message. Called his home number. No answer. Sometimes he’d unplug everything after a long day, just so he wouldn’t be bothered. That was fine with me. Made sense. I understood: if you kept the phone on, it’d ring. You’d never get any peace. Ever. That was all. Especially with a full house. He’d gotten slammed and gotten tired. That was all. So I made myself busy with figuring out what the jobs were and how we were going to get them started.

  Instinctively, I made to call Jimmy to ask him to come in.

  There was no more Jimmy.

  Just Uncle Dave and me.

  I looked at the three cars and gulped.

  That was going to be a lot of work. A lot.

  * * * * *

  “Where’d you go?” Anna said. That’s what she said right after I said hello when she called. Never one to mince words.

  “I had to get out of there,” I said. “You know what I mean? Too damn creepy.”

  “Creepy?” she said. “Mike was your best friend.”

  “I know. It’s so weird. None of this is adding up. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  “Right. I get it.”

  “I didn’t even see Vanessa there.”

  “Oh, God. Her. Why are we talking about her?”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I just think it’s terrible she didn’t go.”

  “When has she ever done anything for anyone other than herself?”

  I thought for a second. “Never?”

  We laughed.

  “So what are we going to do now?” she asked. “With Mikey gone and all.”

  “Someone stole him,” I said.

  “I can’t believe any of this,” she said. “What in the hell is happening? I just want to curl up with someone and cry.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Getting out of here would be a good idea.”

  “We need to do that. Go for a drive. Something like that?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe we can figure out where Mikey is. Someone has to know.”

  “We’re not cops. I don’t want to get involved. Not at that level.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I know lots of cops from dealing with them at the shop.”

  “Go for it,” she said. “Do you still want to hang out afterward?”

  “Okay. I’ll call you.” I thought, Did I say we were definitely hanging out? Damn it.

  I spent the rest of the morning looking over the paperwork and examining the cars in the bays to see what had to be done. One needed a rear quarter panel repaired, and I’d need to spray it. There was a Toyota in the middle with a smashed rear bumper and taillights. It’d need all new parts. We had to replace bumpers that were damaged. The law. That meant I’d have to spray that part, too, although I’d be able to do it alone, so it’d go pretty quick.

  The last car? Well, I didn’t see anything wrong with it. It looked like a perfectly fine mid nineties Dodge Charger. Yellow. Uncle Dave’s slip just said it needed a tune-up and a look-see. Not so bad. I got on the horn, called AAA Auto Parts, told them what I needed, and they said they’d deliver by the end of day. Easy.

  I went about looking up the paint colors for the other two cars. Standard finishes. I had enough in shop to take care of them. We had our own small spray booth, too, so we’d be fine. It’d take me a day or two, tops, to take care of the cars. I wouldn’t need to call in any additional help, and it’d be great to keep myself busy and not think about Jimmy or Mikey.

  Spending the rest of my day searching for parts and prepping the vehicles, the time went fast. I r
emoved any broken parts that needed to be taken care of. The exception was the yellow Charger. That I didn’t need to do much for, and could wait. That’d be the easiest one to take care of, too. So I let it slide.

  The paint booth was ready, of course. I always cleaned it up and prepped it for the next session. I was our main painter, anyway. Jimmy wasn’t a sprayer; he was more mechanical. Worked out well. I could handle most of the mechanics, but he was way better, especially if things were complicated. Thankfully, the jobs weren’t so bad. I could handle them.

  The parts guy came. New bumper. Taillights. Spark plugs, air filter, oil filter for the Charger. Rear quarter panel. The parts arrived unfinished. I’d need to score them with a coarse sponge. That’d insure the primer would stick. Then I’d clean them, making sure they were dust free. Then shoot them with primer, and then whatever color was needed. No problem.

  I got to it. Around seven, I figured I’d had enough. The painting could wait until the morning. They’d be dry by the afternoon and ready for placing. Perfect. I closed up the shop. I liked days like that where I could work by myself, unwatched and not bothered by anybody. It was rare.

  I headed home.

  My night was about to get weirder than I ever thought possible.

  Later I dreamed.

  She will go away, in the end. She will be gone. All I’ll have is the song playing in my head. A memory of a disease called love. The hurt it causes will be all that’s left. The pain will remain to remind me of our dance through the rain. My soul will always be changed. Not the same.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I need someone to go to the city with me,” Minarette said. “I’m looking for a special dress.”

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m outside.”

  “What? How’d you know where I live?” I looked out my bedroom window, toward the curb, where, sure as night, her car idled.

  She’d already hung up. Putting on my clothes as fast as I could, I rushed downstairs and out the door. When I got to her car, she was there, grinning, the little dimples in her cheek showing. I opened the door. “Hi,” she said, drawing it out.

  “Hey,” I said. “This is kind of unexpected.”

  “I like surprises,” she said. “The crazier, the better.”

  I thought that I barely knew Minarette. I mean, it was a great little dream come true for her to show up on my doorstep, but it was also a little bit of a sudden development. What about Damian? I put that thought out of my head.

  “I could really use the distraction right about now,” I said. “This whole town has gone to hell, you know?”

  “Seems that way for a lot of people who are going through so much,” she said. “I think a trip down to New York is definitely in order.”

  I sat down and shut the door. Her car smelled of flowers and perfume. I looked over toward her and she looked so pretty and out of the ordinary. She had long blonde hair, which was not uncommon. However, her face seemed structured and chiseled in a way that was not typical. Her cheeks were angular and distinct, while her eyes were a pale blue. Most of the people I knew carried a few extra pounds and had straight dark hair. I’d been born with curly dark hair, and my friends growing up all said I had more of a girl’s face than a guy’s. Minarette reminded me of myself in that moment. I’m not sure that was necessarily a good thing.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” she said. “Are you sure Vanessa will be okay with this?”

  “She’ll have to be,” I said. “It’s over between her and me. But I really don’t want to talk about her. I just want to forget about all this death.”

  Minarette laughed. “I’ll make you forget,” she said. “Easy.”

  The road was dark and cold. We drove up the hill of my street and made our route toward the highway. She sipped a tea, which she’d brought in a paper cup.

  “Do you mind if I sing?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course.”

  She turned on her music, which turned out to be a midtempo rock song. I wasn’t familiar.

  You’re my dream

  Seems too real to be

  Truer than anything

  Maybe tonight you’ll see

  From the first note I was maddeningly in love. Her voice was pitch perfect. She sang like an angel. My heart raced. My hands went cold. I’d never met anyone who sang anywhere near as good as her, let alone been inside a car with them.

  “You sound amazing,” I said as the song went into an instrumental break. “Wow.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The vocals started up, and Minarette matched them note for note, although she had her own, very distinct, very pretty voice. She wasn’t simply mimicking.

  The song ended. Another played. “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I don’t sing this stuff. My stuff is harder. Heavier.”

  “Stop it,” she said. “You can sing anything.”

  “But I don’t know the words,” I protested.

  “So what? Try anyway. Make up your own. Who cares?”

  Her little red car filled with our voices. Hers matched the song at first.

  Mine?

  Made up.

  Sitting in a car

  With my friend Minarette

  If we go outside

  We’re gonna get wet

  We were both cracking up.

  She went on.

  My friend Rick is very funny

  He likes to ride to the store

  Dressed up like a bunny

  Grandma Jones is kind of gummy

  I had no idea what we were doing or saying, but we were having fun. Before I knew it, we had made it all the way to the toll booths, which always made me feel like you’d crossed an imaginary line and that the wilds of New York were just beyond its border.

  At night, the city seems like it’s never ending. The gloomy night made all of the lights bloom. It was so pretty. Being in New York always made me feel hopeful, nervous, and like anything could happen, and like I could accomplish anything I set my mind toward. Even if that meant kindling a new romance with a beautiful woman like Minarette. She seemed to fit in New York. That’s why she seemed so different in Whistleville. She had the sensibilities of a city person in many ways. There was a confidence to her, complemented with a sense of adventure, that made her tick. The city was her backdrop. She commanded it. She owned it. The city did not control her. I wanted what she had. Plain and simple.

  I kept stealing glances at her. Checked her out. Her movements were so elegant. She really seemed like she came from another time. She was not a tomboy like most of the girls I grew up with. Even Vanessa, who was pretty, drank and often acted more like what I thought a man would. I hadn’t thought about that aspect of Vanessa much until spending time with Minarette.

  She turned down the music.

  “So tell me a little about you and Vanessa,” she said. “She seems really dark. Really angry.”

  I wanted to tell her I didn’t want to talk about Vanessa, which I’d mentioned, but there was a part of me that wanted to vent, too. Truth be told? Deep down, I wanted to send a message to Minarette that even if I didn’t seem available, well, for her, I would be.

  “Me and her break up every other week,” I said. “This week it’s off. I broke up with her. We’re like Sid and Nancy, but without the famous band.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Are you into drugs?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I drink, just like everyone, but it’s no big deal.” I wasn’t lying. “Me and her are just completely dysfunctional.”

  “That’s a big word for a relationship at your age,” she said. “You’re supposed to be having fun, not carrying the weight of the world on your back.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s not any
fun at all.”

  “Let me ask you something,” she said, her smile cocked halfway. “Are you two thinking of being together again at the moment?”

  Minarette was not someone I ever wanted to lie to. I had a feeling lying to her would ruin any small chance I had.

  I said, “I think it’s completely over,” and looked out the window.

  “Oh,” she said. “Okay.” I think I caught some disappointment in her tone, but wasn’t sure why. She’d caught my hesitation.

  “Yeah. She broke up with me. I thought it was over,” I said. “But then we patched it up. Then the other night I caught her cheating on me again. “

  “Sounds like she doesn’t know what she wants,” Minarette said.

  “Right?”

  “Maybe she’s just not ready for the kind of relationship you want.”

  “I don’t even know what that is at this point,” I said.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Sounds complicated. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Just wanted to clear the air.”

  “Okay,” I said, and realized she’d been probing to see if I was attached. Maybe she’d been interested in me. Maybe there was a chance. Think, you idiot. Think. Find a way to tell her you’re interested, and that you’d love to open the door. “I just think I want to be someone’s number one instead of someone’s number none, you know? I want to fall in love. I want to be happy with someone.”

  At that, Minarette smiled. “Well, then, let’s be happy tonight. None of that negative stuff anymore, okay? We’ll have an amazing time.”

  “We will,” I said. “We already are.”

  She nodded, and laughed a bit. “We already are.”

  We hit the first tunnels that led into the city. On the top, there were buildings, and I imaged what it might have been like to live on top of a highway that never stopped chugging along. When we went inside the tunnel, the sound changed from a high-pitched whir of the open road into a bombastic echo.

  “So you have to get a dress?” I said. “Why?”

  “Why not? What else were we going to do tonight? Stay home?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I just was wondering if there’s any special occasion coming up?”