by Ray Garton
Jenna stopped in front of a bank of shelves that held jars of pickles and scanned them slowly. She knew they were out of bread-and-butter pickles for sandwiches, and she thought vaguely that it might be nice to have a jar of dill pickles in the fridge as well. She took a large jar off a shelf, cradled it in her arm, and examined the label without focusing on it.
When she’d told David that Josh had come down to the basement because he liked the teddy bear, she’d been spouting the first explanation that had entered her mind. But it made perfect sense.
Jenna had held on to Josh’s toys and clothes for those first few months after his death. She could not bear the thought of getting rid of them, or even moving them. But after the silence that had fallen over her family finally lifted, she and David agreed they had to get rid of Josh’s things. To keep them would only worsen their pain. Every time they saw the tiny clothes Josh had worn and the toys he had played with, they would bleed inside. So they’d boxed everything up and taken it to the Salvation Army.
Josh had no toys left. There was nothing to play with in the house, nothing of his own. But somehow, he had discovered that teddy bear. Maybe through Josh’s eyes, the teddy bear looked brand-new. Perhaps through some interdimensional prism, he saw the bear as it had once been, and Jenna, in turn, saw a projection of that.
These are not my thoughts, Jenna thought as she stared, unseeing, at the label on the pickle jar. I can’t believe I’m thinking these things.
At the same time, it all made a kind of gut-level sense that plucked at her soul. Even in the face of her own disbelief, she was asking herself questions that would have made her laugh coming from someone else. But she wanted answers, and she had none.
Jenna had been staring at the jar of dill pickles for a long time, oblivious of the supermarket employee who had spoken to her twice. When the woman touched her arm, Jenna was so startled, she cried out and dropped the pickle jar. It hit the floor with a flat crunch, and pickles, juice, and shards of glass went in all directions.
“Oh, shit,” the woman said, quickly stepping back. She put a hand over her chest and looked at Jenna. “I’m sorry. I mean ... oh, boy.” She smiled.
Her name tag read “Kimberly.” She was in her mid-thirties, plump and bosomy, with full, shiny black hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore the same uniform all the store’s female employees wore: white blouse, red vest, and black pants.
“Are you okay?” Kimberly asked. “You aren’t cut or anything, are you?”
Jenna realized she was crying, and became terribly embarassed. She turned away from the woman and tried to make herself stop.
Kimberly said, “C’mon, let’s get away from this mess.” She took Jenna’s elbow and steered her away from the spill. “You looked awfully interested in that pickle label, and you didn’t hear me the first couple times I spoke to you, so I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jenna fought to stop her tears, but somehow that only made it worse.
Kimberly leaned close and lowered her voice. “Are you on something, honey?”
Jenna surprised herself by laughing. She shook her head as she got a tissue from her purse. “No, no. I’m sorry, my mind just wandered off and ...” She dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, stuffed the tissue back in her purse. “I’ll pay for the pickles.”
“Don’t worry about the pickles. Sure you’re okay?”
“No. I’m not. But I have to be. My husband and son and I, and my mother... we just moved here from Redding, so I don’t really have time to not be okay.”
“Oh? You’re gonna love it here. I’ve been to Redding in the summertime, and it’s like Indian summer in hell. It’s much nicer here, I think. You renting or buying?”
“We’re ... inheriting. From my father.”
“Oh? That’s something you don’t hear every day. My husband’s in real estate. You inherited a whole house?”
Jenna nodded vaguely—her mind was already drifting off again, back down to the basement, to that musical teddy bear.
“Where is it?” Kimberly asked.
“I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“Where’s the house? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Off of Starfish Drive.”
“Oh, it’s very pretty over there. How do you like it?”
Tears welled up in Jenna’s eyes, and she reached for another tissue. “How do I like the house?”
“Yeah. Are you all right?”
Jenna laughed again as she dabbed at her tears. “Like I said, no.”
“How long have you been here?”
“We’ve been in the house a week,” Jenna said, meeting Kimberly’s eyes. “And I think I’ve seen my dead son twice.”
Kimberly’s smile collapsed and her eyebrows rose slowly. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” Another laugh. “Sounds crazy, huh? Tell me, you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find ... oh, I don’t know, a psychic? A medium, maybe? I don’t even know what I need. I don’t know anything about this stuff—I don’t even believe in it. At least... I’ve never believed in it before.”
Kimberly’s head tilted forward. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Can you believe it?”
“You said ... you’ve seen your dead son?”
Jenna felt the heat of embarassment on her cheeks and throat. “Look, I’m really sorry about this mess.” She stepped gingerly around the broken glass as she walked back over to the pickles. “I really was going to buy a couple of these.”
“Don’t worry about it—I’ll get somebody to clean it up. You know, I’ve got three boys. Four, if you count my husband. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of them. I’m sorry about your son.”
“Please don’t. You’ll get me started again.” She chose a jar of dills and another of bread-and-butter pickles and put them in her cart.
Tipping her head down again, Kimberly said, “But... you said you saw him?”
“I’m sorry, I was just babbling. I’m having a bad day, that’s all.”
“Yeah, sounds like a hell of a bad day. I don’t know where you can find a psychic or a medium, but I’m getting off soon. I’d be happy to listen if you want to talk.”
“Are you serious?”
Kimberly smiled. “You got a lot of friends around here?”
“I don’t know a soul.”
“I get off in about fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you out front—we can go to the coffee shop a few doors down.”
Kimberly went off to find someone to clean up the mess, and Jenna continued shopping. She could not believe she had just babbled those things to someone she’d just met. The woman probably thought she was crazy. At the same time, it might feel good to talk to someone, even a stranger—maybe especially a stranger.
The coffee shop a few doors down was tiny and sold overpriced coffees, sandwiches, and pastries. Jenna ordered a regular coffee, the cheapest thing on the menu.
Kimberly had biscotti with her cappuccino and waited patiently through small talk. Finally, when there was a brief pause in the conversation, she said, “How did your son die? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Josh died of a cerebral aneurysm,” Jenna said. “He’d been having headaches off and on for months, and after a bunch of tests, the doctor started treating him for migraines. Nothing showed up on the MRI, so ...” She shrugged one shoulder. “It kind of made sense, because my mother has suffered from migraines all her life. I thought maybe they ran in the family. But... they weren’t migraines.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jenna was surprised that her eyes were dry. She was talking about it without crying. That was a first. She wondered if it was because she’d grown more convinced that she actually had heard from Josh.
Kimberly leaned forward at their small, round, marble-topped table by the front window. “You said you saw him.”
Slowly, Jenna told her about seeing the small figure in the upstairs hallway, and about hearing the music in the
basement and seeing the child again down there.
“The blue jacket he wore,” Kimberly said. “Was it a jacket that Josh owned?”
Jenna frowned down at her coffee as she thought about Josh’s clothes. “He had a blue jacket, but... I don’t remember it having a hood.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about this sort of thing.”
“Neither do I. But I can’t think of any other explanation for it. I know what I saw, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. But I keep wondering ... well, if I really saw it, or if ... if maybe I’m going crazy.”
“I’ve always heard that people who are going crazy never wonder if they’re, going crazy. So I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Jenna smiled. “You mean, you believe me?”
Kimberly took a bite of her biscotti and washed it down with a sip of cappuccino. “One night when I was fourteen years old, about fifteen minutes after I’d gone to bed, when I was just about to fall asleep, my grandma came into my bedroom and kissed me, told me she loved me, and said good-bye. She turned and left my room and closed the door. I was wide awake then, so I had to go to sleep all over again, and I was lying there starting to drift off, when I realized that Grandma wasn’t at our house, she was up in Crescent City with Grandpa in their house, so she couldn’t have come in and kissed me goodnight. The next day,. I found out Grandma had died the night before of a heart attack. About the time I went to bed.”
Jenna sipped her coffee. “Did you ever tell anybody?”
Kimberly nodded. “I told Mom. She cried and hugged me. But she never said whether she believed me or not. I haven’t told anyone since, but I’ve never doubted what I saw. I remember smelling Grandma’s minty breath, her perfume. I felt her hand on my chest, her other hand on the top of my head. Even though she couldn’t possibly have been there, she was there.”
Jenna said, “If you’d told me that story a week ago, I would’ve smiled politely and tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Now?”
“Now ... I don’t know what I believe.”
Kimberly smiled. “It was so easy when we were kids, wasn’t it? We just believed whatever our parents told us. Then we grew up and found out they were desperately winging it.”
“My mother winged it pretty well, and she did it all by herself.”
“Your parents were divorced?”
Jenna shook her head. “They never married. Mom’s never talked about him much, but I know he didn’t want a family. She decided to keep me, but not him. Or maybe it was his decision—I don’t know. He came back here, where he was from, and moved back in with his parents. He lived here with them until they died, then lived in the house alone for the rest of his life. He killed himself there about nine months ago.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“I talked to him on the phone once when I was nine. I thought maybe I’d like to meet him, get to know him. But he wasn’t interested.”
“He said no?”
“No, he said he’d meet me if I wanted, but he made it clear there would be no relationship. So I figured ... why bother?”
“Do you like the house?”
“It needs work. Unfortunately, so does David, my husband. I don’t suppose you know of a garage that’s desperate for a great mechanic, do you?”
“We’re desperate for a great mechanic,” Kimberly said, flattening a palm to her chest just above her generous breasts. “Ours retired last year. We had him for twelve years and we trusted him completely. We haven’t been able to find a good car guy since.”
Jenna smiled. “Then David’s your man. Are you having problems?”
“There’s something wrong with the Durango—it’s idling fast. My Harry’s a sweetheart, but he’s about as handy as a clubfoot at a dance competition. He’s a genius at real estate, but he doesn’t know the first thing about cars. Do you think your husband would be willing to take a look at it for us? We’d pay the going rate.” She reached down and removed a pen and a business card from her purse. She wrote on the back, then handed it over to Jenna. “Here’s his card. That’s our home number on the back. Talk to your husband, then call me this evening.”
The card read simply, “Sand Dollar Realty,” and below that, “Harry Gimble,” with the address and phone number below his name. Jenna couldn’t wait to tell David. It was only a single job, but he needed something, anything.
“Back at the store,” Kimberly said, “you asked if I knew of any psychics or mediums. Were you serious?”
Jenna took a moment to ask herself that question— was she serious? She had always dismissed such people as frauds, sneered at their performances on television or radio talk shows. But if Josh was trying to reach her, if he had something to say to her, Jenna had no idea how to communicate with him. She knew nothing about talking to the dead.
Jenna said, “Why, do you know of any?”
Kimberly shook her head. “Nope. But if you’re interested, I’m willing to help you find one.”
“Really? How? Where?”
“Where else? The Internet.”
CHAPTER SIX
Lily. Saturday, 2:26 P.M.
It had been a busy Saturday at The Crystal Well, but as soon as business slowed down a bit, Lily sent Claudia to get lunch. She came back from Ribisi’s Deli with hot pastrami sandwiches and cream-of-broccoli soup.
“It smells so good,” Claudia said, “I almost dug into it on the way back.”
Lily thought Claudia McNeil could probably use more pastrami sandwiches in her diet. If she were any skinnier, she would look anorexic.
“Mr. Ribisi’s hot pastrami sandwich is one of my many, many weaknesses,” Lily said as she sat on one of the two stools behind the register, took the two bags from Claudia, and placed them on the countertop. She spread napkins out over the counter and set out the wrapped sandwiches and Styrofoam cups of soup. “And another is his cream-of-broccoli soup. What do I owe you?”
“My treat. You bought last time, remember?”
The door opened and two middle-aged women came into the store. Lily smiled and said hello. She recognized them immediately as tourists. One of them wore a white sweatshirt with a picture of Mt. Shasta on the front. They would browse for a while, but probably wouldn’t buy anything. But just in case—
“Can I help you girls find anything?” Lily asked.
The woman in the sweatshirt said, “Do you have any books on the Lemurians?”
“They’re right over here,” Claudia said on her way out from behind the counter.
The Lemurians were one of the many legends surrounding Mt. Shasta—a mythical people believed by some to live inside the mountain. Others claimed the mountain was a regular landing spot for flying saucers. There were a lot of Bigfoot watchers in the area, too. The town of Mt. Shasta, nestled in the shadow of the great mountain, was a melting pot of New Age believers and alleged paranormal activity. The faithful came from around the world to bask in the mountain’s energy and vibrations.
Lily believed none of it, but she provided her customers with a wide variety of it. Although it was a small town, The Crystal Well—which had been left to her by Mrs. Reeder when she died three years after her husband—was only one of four metaphysical book stores in Mt. Shasta. As a result, the store didn’t exactly do a booming business. Several years before, Lily had decided, against her better judgment at first, to do psychic readings to supplement her income. She had done a good deal of writing as well—mostly short fiction—but so far she had submitted none of it, and shown it to no one. She was afraid of rejection, which she felt was inevitable.
By the time Claudia came back to the counter, Lily had the sandwiches unwrapped and the lids off the soup cups. She closed her eyes and took a deep whiff of the sandwich before taking her first bite. The meat was tender, juicy, and aromatic, the pickles crisp. But as she chewed, the pastrami’s rich aroma was overwhelmed by the smell of bananas, and th
e electric-blue flashing in the corners of her eyes made her sit up straight, suddenly more alert.
“What’s the matter?” Claudia said.
Lily put the sandwich down and placed both hands flat on the counter. The banana smell grew stronger. She got off the stool and lowered herself to her hands and knees.
Frowning, Claudia said, “What are you doing?”
Lily lay facedown on the floor seconds before everything was swallowed up by darkness.
A sound in the darkness—the whispering ocean surf. The briny smell of the sea. The plinking music plays again, clearer this time—Brahmss “Lullaby” ringing as if from a music box.
Lily sees a key slowly turning, turning. It sticks out of the back of the filthy old teddy bear. The bear falls away and disappears in the darkness. The lullaby fades.
The house again, without the distortion this time. Its dull-gray paint peels as green ivy crawls rapidly up the walls, clutching at the house like the tentacles of some hungry underground beast. Then it all turns a deep shade of red, as if seen through tears of blood.
The voice of the fat man: “You gonna be a good puppy now?”
The house becomes a smear, blurs like a sidewalk chalk drawing in the rain. It transforms into something else—a face. An attractive woman with long blond hair and graceful cheekbones, mouth open wide, eyes filled with terror, screaming without making a sound. The woman ‘s face dissolves and becomes a man with a square jaw and curly brown hair, eyes wide with fear as he silently screams. Then a little boy’s face, red from crying, filled with terror, his brown hair mussed and spiky, then an old woman’s face, gaunt and pale, both of them screaming, eyes wide. The two faces merge into one blurry blob, then split again into two familiar faces—a man and a woman, both in their late sixties. The man has strong features, a broad, creased forehead, crew-cut white hair, large, prominent ears. The woman’s face is kindly, with silver, blue-tinted hair in a high bouffant, pleasant eyes sparkling through large tortoiseshell-framed glasses, too much makeup. Their faces tremble and their mouths yawn open in soundless screams, then they disappear in a ball of fire. Another face emerges from the flames, and its charred red-black skin slides off the flaming skull.
