Ghost Heart

by John Palisano

  Windshield shattered into a million pieces, and I remember the first thing I thought was that it was like when the Millennium Falcon went into warp drive in Star Wars, but it wasn’t Star Wars. I blacked out, and I woke up the next day with a nurse over me. She was shining a light in my eye and smiling. Strangely? Everyone seemed happy. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong at all. Maybe none of them wanted to deal with it, or it hadn’t been their jobs. Who knew? What I do know is that my parents hadn’t picked me up. Instead? Uncle Dave was there with his blue Corvette.

  He drove me down to the beach. Told me I was going to live with him for a while. Then he cried. I didn’t understand at first. Then I did. Just like that. He didn’t have to tell me. My instinct did that.

  I recall going to the lawyer’s office later that day to sign some papers. I hated the smell of the office—it was cold and clinical. That hadn’t changed over any of the following years. I did my best to think of another smell, to get my mind off the looping memories. The first thing I remembered was Minarette’s perfume and the incense in her ashtray. Then I saw her smile, her bright eyes, and heard her voice, sweet as anything in the world.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.

  Her words echoed in my head, over and over. I wanted to be anywhere but inside a lawyer’s office, talking about my long-gone parents. I fantasized that Minarette would be outside waiting for me when I was done, in her little red car, and she’d have another grand adventure planned for us. Instead, Polly knocked me out of my daydream, Lew’s long-time right-hand woman. “He’s ready for you,” she said, both professional and pleasant. I knew the way.

  We said hello and I sat down. We got right down to business.

  “First of all, how are you doing? Okay?” Lew asked. “There have been some extraordinary events happening in your life.”

  “That’s putting it lightly. I can’t really believe it. None of it has sunk in yet, I don’t think. Someone came to my house last night. Broke the window. Threatened me.”

  “Have you contacted the police?”

  “First thing I did. They came over, took a report.”

  “Get a restraining order?” He leaned forward in his big leather chair. I was shocked that he looked almost the same as he had when I was a kid, save for his hair turning nearly completely gray.

  “Not yet,” I said. “That’s a great idea. I was also thinking of keeping a gun by me.”

  He didn’t say anything about the gun, but said, “I can talk to Pat O’Leary about the restraining order. I just need a name.”

  “Damian,” I said.

  “You know this guy?”

  “Not really,” I said. “As far as I know, he just moved to Whistleville a few months ago. Him and several of his friends. He’s the one who killed Mikey.”

  “Why isn’t he behind bars?” Lew asked. “This is crazy.”

  “Well, let me correct that, seeing you’re a lawyer and all. Damian didn’t kill Mikey. One of his friends did. Right in front of me. They bit his neck.”

  Lew put his hands on the table. “Bit his neck? Were they high on meth or something?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “And I have no idea why they seem to be targeting me and my loved ones. Makes no sense.”

  “There’s a few things we can do right away. Freeze his bank account. Arrest him. Pull in his friends for questioning. Give ’em a lot of heat.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s probably a good idea. I just hope there’s not any reciprocal actions.”

  “We’ll put the fear of God into them.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He leaned back. “So, let’s talk about your parents and your uncle.” I nodded. “When your folks passed, they had a few things that your uncle was keeping under conservatorship for you.”

  “All right.”

  “Long story short? The shop is yours if you want it. Along with a substantial sum.”

  It’d be enough for me to never work again.

  If Damian and his goons didn’t kill me first.

  * * * * *

  The roads to Westport were wet and cold, just how I liked them. I kept my windfall to myself and concentrated on Minarette as I drove us.

  “I’m so sorry about Damian and all those guys,” she said.

  “I don’t understand it,” I said. “Why are they bothering me?”

  “You’ve been targeted,” she said. “I bet you probably know why now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your uncle is gone. There’s nothing in the way. Everything is yours. You broke up with Vanessa the day before. She’s pissed.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Everyone talks,” she said. “Small town.”

  “Oh, man,” I said. “That’s horrendous. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you. I just wanted to warn you. So please don’t tell Damian that I spoke to you, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “I appreciate you looking out for me. Why are you even hanging out with a guy like that?”

  She shook her head. “At this point? I don’t have a lot of choices.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not well.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart was breaking. “What can I do to help you?”

  “We’re going to talk about it.”

  After we pulled into a parking lot near the library, we strolled toward the Saugatuck River. It was still drizzling. I didn’t mind because I was wearing my hoodie. “So tell me what’s going on?” I said.

  “Promise you won’t judge me?” she said. “And that we’ll still be friends?”

  “Yup. Of course.”

  She took my hand, held it strong. “I have something called a Ghost Heart.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Not too many people have,” she said. “It does things to you that are crazy. It makes your blood lose its color. Which means, once you run out of red blood cells, you start to fade. Fast. Die.”

  “Jesus. Isn’t there a cure? A transfusion? Something?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing has worked yet. The good thing is, though? For a while, and it depends on the person, but before you get sick, having the Ghost Heart makes you feel like a million bucks. A billion bucks. Billions. All the money in the world.”

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “There’s got to be a way to cure you.”

  She stopped walking. It was only us on the pathway.

  “There’s only one thing that seems to help…to make it go into remission for a little while, but not forever.”

  “What’s that?”

  With that, Minarette was on me. Her lips touched mine and her arms wrapped around me. The world around us disappeared. Time stood still, but expanded. How could this moment be real? Minarette was the most perfect woman I’d ever known, let alone kissed. What the hell did she see in a mook like me?

  Stop thinking. Shut up. Enjoy it.

  I kissed her harder. I kept my eyes shut. Her blonde hair fell on top of my forearm and felt like the fur of a stuffed animal: soft, clean and perfect. Her lips were plush and warm, and her breath tasted clean, and not like she’d recently eaten or brushed.

  Her tongue touched mine and I thought I might die. It was one of the most erotic things I’d ever felt. I’d French-kissed plenty of other girls, but Minarette’s tongue was just exquisite. It was just her—not slimy and not gross. She pushed her tongue inside farther, its tip probing the inner flesh of my cheeks. We worked our mouths, each wanting to be deeper inside the other.

  The tip felt erect and hard, then pointed and sharp. It grazed the flesh, slicing me as if it were a razor. I Immediately tasted blood. My own.

  I pulled away.

 
She did, too, her tongue going back inside her mouth.

  I looked away, held my mouth. The moment was broken. Our bliss shattered. I couldn’t believe it. She was one of those things—those ghouls like the ones that took Mikey. She was just like Damian.

  My heart broke.

  She looked at me, her chin down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help it. That was the one thing that could help I was telling you about.”

  “Cutting people?” I said, through the hand cupped over my mouth. I sounded angrier than I intended.

  “No,” she said. “Not just that. The blood. It’s the blood. I need it.”

  “This is part of the Ghost Heart, then?”

  “It is.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Not long,” she said. “Seven months, maybe?” I didn’t believe her.

  My mouth hurt. “God. It stings. Is it supposed to sting?”

  “I feel horrible,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. I repeated myself often when I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t get it just from that, by the way,” she said. “The Ghost Heart, I mean.”

  “Okay,” I said, but wanted to say good. “How does that happen, though? Getting the Ghost Heart?”

  “Someone has to keep your blood. Someone who’s had the Ghost Heart working in their system for a bit…long enough for it to be strong. They hold it, bring it inside…then it’s put back. Then you change.”

  “Jesus. How long does it take?”

  “Not long,” she said.

  “Then what?”

  “You get high. Best high you can imagine. Your thoughts are focused. Your creativity goes off the charts. You need less and less sleep. You feel stronger. You don’t get tired. You go all day and night. Your body burns off fat. You can eat anything, and your body just gets better and better. It tightens up. Your skin glows. Your hair is thick and rich. You can see so clear. You understand the world like you can’t imagine. It’s amazing.”

  “No wonder you went for it.”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “He attacked me. Drained me almost to death. Put it back in me even though I didn’t want him to. And I was heavy before that. My face never looked right. But I changed. The fat came off. My hair grew. My eyes got life. I got a life I never thought possible. Guys dug me. They really dug me, for the first time in my life. Someone like you wouldn’t have given me the time of day before.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” I said. “Come on.”

  “It’s true, Rick.”

  I held her. Wrapped my arms around her and hugged her. I danced a little. Her hair nearly covered my face. She laughed just a little as I began moving my feet to dance. “Come on. Match my moves,” I said.

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Just feel my body.” I put my right hand on the small of her back, and used my left hand to find her right hand. When I did, I wrapped my fingers in hers, lifted our arms and guided her.

  We danced together, tentatively at first, but soon found one another’s rhythm. “You know how to do this?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “I just remember my mom showing me how to dance, back when I was small.” We made several short steps together.

  “No one’s ever danced with me before, Rick,” she said. “This is absolutely wonderful. You’re a very special boy.”

  “You’re a very special girl.”

  “Thanks for making me feel this way,” she said.

  “Right back atcha,” I said and held her close. “You can have my blood. As much as you need. I’ll be your own personal blood bank.”

  She laughed a little. “Oh, aren’t you silly,” she said. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m offering. I don’t care. I can get needles from a diabetic or something. We can figure it out.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” she said.

  “Come on? You don’t think that’d work? It has to.”

  “Maybe for a little while,” she said. “Not forever.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Can you?”

  * * * * *

  That night, I dreamed. Minarette laughed. We lay down together in the kitchen of her little apartment, which was kind of weird. She’d rigged a bed between the walls, and there was a small flat-screen television just above. She smiled and put an arm around me. There were boxes all over the place. “You sure you’re okay helping me with my Ghost Heart?”

  She was so close I could kiss her. When she spoke, I almost felt her mouth on mine. Yes. Oh. God yes. Please kiss me. Now. Let’s do it. Our breath made steam in the cold air. The heat hadn’t been turned on because she liked the cold. Preferred it. I didn’t mind.

  It happened: the smallest, most tender kiss.

  That was enough. I didn’t want it to turn into multiple kisses, or long ones filled with tongues and hot and heavy hormones. No. Not that time. Just the one, loving, soft kiss was all I needed to prove we belonged together. Just it alone melted me to my core, reshaping my insides so they bled out and off of me and mixed with hers like a psychedelic soup. That’s what I imagined.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They say that people who experience folks close to them dying can often suffer from what’s known as survivor’s guilt—like they should’ve been taken instead those who were. It’s a peculiar sensation, and I never would have expected to feel that way in a million years, but I did. My thoughts returned to Mikey and Jimmy and my uncle. Why them and not me? What made me so special? Jimmy even had a young family. What was I going to tell his wife now? I had some money I could send along. It’d help them get by, but not get through. Losing your father and husband had to be devastating.

  There I was, meanwhile, hooking up with some new girl, escaping and running away from the realities that death was on the offense and had claimed so many good people. Even worse? I was starting to think—to really believe—everything had been all my fault.

  What was left for me? My entire family was gone. My best friend had been taken from me. My relationships were a joke, other than Minarette, and she was…afflicted.

  Maybe I could be afflicted, too.

  Yes.

  I used my tongue to touch the part inside of my cheek where she’d cut me. It hurt, and a spark of pain shot from the slice into my jaw and down to the corner of my neck. I dragged my ass out of bed and went to the bathroom. Of course, I couldn’t really see anything in the mirror, even with the lights on. Pouring some hydrogen peroxide in a cup with some water, I shot it into my mouth. It hurt so bad, I thought I was going to go nuts. Despite that, I swished it around for several seconds and then spit it out. There was blood, but also a good amount of dark little crystals that looked like coffee grounds. I smooshed one with my finger. It cracked, and let loose a deep, reddish-brown substance. What the hell? My first thought was that they were some kind of remnants from scabbing, but I’d never seen scabs like them before. There was something very wrong with what was happening to me. Had Minarette gotten me sick, even though she said she couldn’t have given me the Ghost Heart? She’d definitely given me something.

  I rinsed with water, which was still excruciating. My head spun as if I’d caught a flu. My nose ran. I went back to bed, taking my phone from the bedside table.

  I texted Minarette. My mouth was way too sore to talk, and I wanted to be able to think between talking.

  Hey. Checking in. How’re you doing? Have a Q for ya.

  Took her a minute, but she wrote back.

  TY! Last night was nice. You’re very sweet. Shoot.

  I replied:

  My mouth is still sore, and there were weird little dark things when I rinsed it out.

  Oh, shoot. Sorry. Like d
irt?

  Kind of.

  Oh, no.

  What does that mean?

  You’re probably sick. I’m sorry. She added a sad-face emoji to her reply.

  With the Ghost Heart?

  No. But kind of like that.

  Holy crap.

  You’ll be okay. I’m sorry. It won’t last long.

  If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.

  That’s sweet. But I’m sorry. Can I bring you anything?

  I don’t know. Feels like the flu.

  Coffee and donuts?

  For the flu?

  It’s not the flu.

  I’d love to see you.

  I’ll text before I come. Are you home?

  Great, and yes. Home.

  TTYL!

  And that was that. I put my head down and fell almost instantly back to sleep. Minarette never showed up, and she didn’t answer any more of my texts that night.

  I felt desperate when I woke a short time later. I didn’t want to be alone. I’d checked, and there was a dance night down at the Universe. If nothing else, I knew I’d run into people I thought I’d know, and get the hell out of the house. Staying home and sleeping wasn’t healthy. Honestly? There was a pretty good chance I’d run into Minarette. I was crazy she’d blown me off. It really hadn’t made me feel good at all. I really wanted to see her and spend more time with her again.

  I got in my car, noticed on the way that I needed gas and made a stop.

  Big mistake.

  There were guys who’d followed me there. I hadn’t recognized them. They rode in an older black Cadillac that had certainly seen better days. While I filled up, they pulled behind me. They were loud and obnoxious, but I just ignored them. Whatever, you know? Guys out on the town are like that.

  Someone threw something at my car. Looked like a road sign of some sort. It landed on my trunk. I calmly went over, looked at it and then looked at them. I put it on the ground and went back to pumping my gas. They were laughing. I shrugged it off.