by S. E. Harmon
I asked you to kiss me, not kill me. “Better,” I croaked.
Chapter 6
From the look of the Zappa fairgrounds, no one had been there for quite some time. Everything was both strange and familiar, leaving me with an undeniably eerie feeling. I traced my finger across a broken-down sign, the exact one from my dream. The déjà vu of it all sent a chill down my spine.
“I knew you’d come.”
I turned to find Joseph standing there, looking much different than the last we’d spoken. His wild dark curls had been tamed and tucked neatly behind his ears. Any traces of blood were gone, and his previously deteriorating clothing was neat and clean. His shirt was a green plaid, and his trousers were brown. He smelled faintly of a cologne reminiscent of the one I used to wear in high school.
“You didn’t leave me much of a choice,” I said cautiously.
“I thought it would be appropriate,” he said a little bitterly. “This is where I ended. It seemed like a good place for a new beginning. A good place for our first date in a long time.”
“Date?” I couldn’t see my face, but I was pretty sure my eyes were as big as fifty-cent pieces. “This is not a—”
“God, Alex.” He scowled. “It’s like you don’t remember anything at all.”
I pointed at myself. “Not Alex, remember?”
He blinked at me for a few moments, taking in my appearance from head to toe. “You’re really not, are you?”
“No,” I said, hoping without hope that it was finally sinking in. “I’m not Alex, but I am here to help you.”
“To help me with what?” He frowned at me. “I lived. I died. The end.”
That’s certainly a minimalist approach to an autobiography.
“Life is too short and precious to waste time on things that don’t matter anymore. Come with me.” He caught my hand. “We haven’t even ridden the carousel yet.”
I glanced at his earnest face and then at the ride. Like everything else on the fairgrounds, it was dilapidated and faded, the once gleaming, proud animals chipped and weathered. I sighed. If sitting on a broken-down old horse helped him be more forthcoming, then so be it.
I tugged back my hand unobtrusively. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
As we walked toward the ride in silence, I pretended not to notice him sticking a little closer to me than necessary. Our shoulders bumped a few times, and he murmured an apology. I cleared my throat before things could get too awkward, or before I had to acknowledge I was indeed on a first date with a ghost. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“What is there to say?”
Something about who killed you? I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here. “Anything. Your likes, your dislikes, your friends, your childhood….”
“I had a great childhood,” he said with a frown. “My father wasn’t in the picture, but my mother was great. She had a full-time job and still managed to hold it all together.”
“That must’ve been difficult.”
“Yes,” he said simply, his eyes shadowed. “But as I said, she was a great lady.”
“And what about Alex? When did you meet him?”
“A foreign film assignment for one of my college classes. I went with a few of my friends, but they were just there long enough to get credit. Alex came in late and wound up sitting next to me. We connected immediately like we’d been friends forever. It was….” He looked a bit bashful. “Magical.”
“How long were you together?”
“Five years. He broke up with me on what should’ve been our anniversary.”
Happy anniversary, sweetheart, and by the by, I’d like to see other people. I winced. “Did he tell you why?”
“No, but he didn’t have to. His parents were always controlling Alex’s life, and they didn’t approve of our relationship. They wanted him to marry the right woman and have perfect grandchildren, and they fought over it often.” He sighed. “Eventually, he caved.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’re you gonna do?” He lifted a shoulder. “We were so perfect for each other. I’m just sorry he couldn’t see that.”
We reached the carousel, and he waited for me to choose my animal first. I clambered on a fierce-looking lion, and he climbed on the black horse next to me. He rubbed the nose fondly. “I think I’ll call her Thunder.”
Silently, I named mine Simba. “What do you remember about the last day of your life?” I asked. “Did Alex have anything to do with your death?”
“Alex would never hurt me. At least, not physically.” He winced as if assailed by more memories and rubbed his head again. The bracelet on his wrist fell forward, and he looked at it as though he’d never seen it before. He frowned at the thin circle of silver, lightly touching the delicate cross inlaid in the links.
After a moment, he unclasped it and held it out to me. “I want you to have this.”
I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less. “I’m not big on jewelry.”
“Please. It doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me.”
I felt a little sorry for him, looking so forlorn with the bracelet dangling from his fingertips. It probably wouldn’t hurt for me to play along. Reluctantly, I held out my wrist. He fastened the clasp gently, the energy transferring between us buzzing like angry bees. The bracelet fell beneath my watch, the tiny links sparkling in the sun.
“It looks good on you,” he said, with a satisfied sigh.
“Joseph—”
“Joey,” he said warmly, reaching for my hand. His gaze was full of fondness that I knew was for his beloved Alex. “All my friends called me Joey.”
“Joey, then,” I said. “I can’t help you, if you don’t—”
Our hands touched, and suddenly the ride lit up like a Christmas tree, dazzlingly bright after the abject gloominess of the abandoned park. The canned carousel music began, loud and harsh in my ears. Joey laughed in delight as the ride started with a low, alarming groan and then began its slow circuit.
“I knew you were the key,” he said happily. “I knew we were meant to be together.”
I pulled back my hand circumspectly, staring at his excited face, even more uneasy than before. I decided not to address the whole you’re kind of dead thing and tried another tack. “I’m already involved with someone,” I said.
“So?”
“So, I’m not interested in anyone else.” At his blank stare, I added with a note of finality. “Ever.”
His chin jutted out stubbornly. “So you don’t like the way I look?”
“What? No, I just—”
“If you’re determined to have me in his form, then I can do that.” He frowned. “I’ve been watching at a distance. I’ve seen how you are with him. We could have that, too.”
I struggled to stay calm, but my heart began beating so rapidly, I could hear it in my ears. This was just a taste of my own medicine, a little of what Danny had to put up with. Now I knew what it felt like to have someone you loved threatened by something you couldn’t control.
“This isn’t about him,” I said carefully. I purposefully didn’t speak Danny’s name. “This is about us.”
“Us.” He sighed happily. “I knew you felt it, too.”
My jaw tightened. I wanted to correct him, but his attention was off Danny and that was most important. What did it matter if he was fixated on me?
“Thunder,” he cried, rubbing his horse’s nose. “All these years of sitting around has made you fat and slow. Let’s go!”
As our lazy circuit became a lot less lazy, the sounds of the old ride creaking and gears grinding had me gripping the bridle on the lion tightly. I looked around nervously, wondering if this ride, which hadn’t been maintained in almost forty years or more, could sustain speeds it was never built for. The smart money was on no.
I glanced over at Joey to tell him to slow it the hell down, and my heart went into overdrive again. Instead of the faded, plastic horse, there was a beautiful th
oroughbred in its place, regal and majestic with dark and dangerous lines of beauty.
Welcome to level six of Jumanji, the You’re Probably Gonna Die edition.
Thunder snorted, sending a puff of heated air across my face as an elephant trumpeted nearby. If the animals were coming to life, then… my brain struggled to put two and two together. There was a sudden jostling between my thighs and a loud chuff.
I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. Sometimes only the phrase “Oh shit” would do. This was definitely one of those times, so I muttered it repeatedly.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to realize the lion underneath me was no longer plastic. I could feel his sides expanding and contracting with each heavy breath. The feel of his fur beneath my fingertips was coarse and soft, all at the same time. He threw back his head and let out a mighty roar that made my ears ring. I didn’t speak lion, but I translated the sound as, “Bitch, I’m the king of everything, and you’re trying to ride me?”
Joseph’s eyes glowed brightly. “Isn’t this just the best date you’ve ever had?”
“Um, I’m more of a dinner and a movie type of guy, to be perfectly honest,” I managed. “Joey, maybe we should—”
“Let’s go,” he cried.
One of the majestic horses on the other side of me broke free of his restraints with a loud whinny and thundered off the ride. I glanced around at the chaos of animals and realized I had to make a quick choice. A.) I could hope I knew how to ride a lion who, quite frankly, seemed nothing like Simba. Or B.) I could jump off into the dirt and hope he didn’t maul me to death just because.
Huh, I was pretty sure there was supposed to be a good option in the either-or scenario. I squinted as I reviewed my choices again. Yeah, no, those really were the only fucking options.
I dived off his back, landing headfirst in the dirt. I only had a few seconds to rejoice in not breaking my damned neck before the lion leaped, too. He landed in the dirt gracefully with a heavy thud, puffs of dust rising around his giant paws.
I got to my feet gingerly, trying not to make any sudden movements, my gaze locked with his golden, glowing eyes. He reached out with his paw then, almost like he was messing with his prey, and I took a step backward. He turned his head to the side, looking as though he was considering my very existence.
I saw the decision in his eyes as he gave me the proverbial Nero’s thumbs-down.
I turned to run just as he reached out again; his claws caught in the back of my shirt, ripping the fabric like it was made of tissue paper. I stumbled as he roared, deprived of his prey. I ran like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. Actually, the hounds of hell would probably be an upgrade.
Don’t look back, I chanted, my gaze fixated on the car. I fumbled with the key fob in my pocket, hitting the unlock button at least twenty times. You know the rules, Christiansen. Don’t ever fucking look back.
When I reached the car, I had to do my “girl running in high heels in the woods” thing. I risked a glance over my shoulder and nearly tripped… only to find nothing behind me. No man-eating lion. No wild animals running about. I stumbled to a stop and turned completely. The carousel was dark and still, the faded and chipped animals frozen in suspended animation.
I’ve done it, I marveled. I’ve finally out-crazied myself.
My mouth opened and closed a few times involuntarily as I looked about. Maybe… maybe I’d imagined the whole damned thing. I knew the ghosts were real—there was no question about that. But I still didn’t fully understand all they could and could not do. Had the wild carousel ride been nothing more than a ghostly parlor trick?
A dull, throbbing pain caught my attention, and I frowned, reaching around awkwardly to touch my back. My questing fingers found rumpled and ripped fabric, and I stilled. I turned around in the mirrored surface of the car window and craned my neck to get a better look. My shirt was ripped beyond repair, giving me a perfect view of the three long, angry red scratches scored down my back.
Joseph’s wild laughter danced in the air. I told you I’d show you a good time.
Replace good with terrifying, and he hit it on the nose. There was a little resistance as I tried to open my car door. His voice drifted through my mind again. Stay, Alex. We haven’t even ridden the Ferris wheel yet.
Not bloody likely. I couldn’t even imagine what he had in store for an encore. Maybe me trapped on the Ferris wheel, rolling down the street like a human sprinkle on a giant metal donut.
I yanked on the door—hard—and it finally opened. I slid inside and slammed the door. I couldn’t start the car fast enough. I don’t think I took a deep breath until I reached the main road. I didn’t glance in the rearview even once, leaving the haunted fair behind.
Chapter 7
I made a quick pit stop at a gas station for a fill-up.
While the gas was pumping, I rooted around in Danny’s trunk for an extra shirt. I found one among enough tactical gear to put him on an FBI watch list. I got a few curious stares from the woman one pump over, but I couldn’t blame her. Thanks to my encounter with the anti-Simba, the back of my shirt looked like someone had run me through a woodchipper.
It wasn’t long before I was back on the road, right in the thick of stop-and-go traffic on the causeway. I headed for the University of Miami’s campus, intent on seeing a snarky little guru who could be as annoying as he was helpful.
It was hard to classify my relationship with Dakota Daydream. On the surface, it wouldn’t seem like we had much common ground. He wasn’t a cop; he was a graduate student. I lived for a good mystery, while he was the flip-to-the-end-of-the-book-and-ruin-the-suspense type. He was empiricism, I was rationalism. But we did share a paranormal link, and that was more than enough to bridge the gap.
I’d figured out that he was some sort of plant whisperer when I caught him bringing a plant back to life with just a touch of those slender fingers. He clammed up about the topic, so that was all I knew. He kept insisting that’s all I needed to know.
I tried quite a few gurus before Dakota, but he’d been the clear front-runner. He liked to combine the supernatural with the intellectual, which spoke to me on a cellular level. He was also smart, and an excellent sounding board who never talked more than he listened. Oh, and now and again, he had good advice.
He was also a bit anal about life in general. He’d emailed me a copy of his class schedule at the beginning of the semester, so I knew exactly where he’d be. I parked my car right outside his class window, where he would hopefully see me. Then I got out and leaned against my car, arms folded while I waited. A few moments later, I got a mean face emoji on my phone.
I smiled and texted back, Hurry up already. For Christ’s sake, the class was Applied Skills in Bioinformatics. I was doing him a fucking favor.
He came out a few minutes later, pushing his glasses up on his pert nose. He was a slightly built ginger with an earnest, trust-worthy looking face—one youthful enough that he’d probably get carded for the rest of his life. He was wearing khaki shorts, a shirt emblazoned with a science pun I didn’t understand, and thong sandals that flapped against the sidewalk as he walked.
“You have ten minutes,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Professor Grant was just getting to the role of plants in the modern world.”
“Sounds fascinating.”
“Nine minutes.”
I huffed. “Fine. I need your help. Or at least your opinion.”
“So what else is new?”
I started pulling my shirt over my head, and his eyes went wide. “I thought… I thought we weren’t doing this.”
“Doing what?”
He pushed his glasses up on his nose again. “I mean, of course I’ve thought about it, even fantasized about it a little, if I’m perfectly honest.”
I shrugged out of my shirt, squinting at him. “What exactly do you think is going to be happening here?”
He ignored me, wringing his hands. “But you were in a relationship, so I knew nothing
could ever happen. Besides, it would be disrespectful to Danny, and he’s such a great guy.” His eyes got even bigger. “Oh, God, does he know? He’s going to kill me—”
I smacked his arm. “Will you stop babbling and listen to me? I have a problem here.” I spun around so he could get a good look at my back and the scratches.
He inhaled swiftly. “My God.” His fingers were gentle as he traced the injured skin between my shoulder blades. I glanced in the car window again to take another look. The marks had already faded a bit, vivid pink lines now rather than bloody scratches. If they continued disappearing at their current rate, by nightfall, I doubted they’d be there at all. “Who… or shall I say what in the hell did this to you?”
I faced him as I put back on my shirt. “Would you believe me if I said a man-eating lion?”
“We’re at the point where I believe pretty much all the weirdness you throw at me, Christiansen.”
The worry in his voice made me realize that maybe I was sharing a little too much. I usually enjoyed dumping my ghostly problems on Dakota’s lap because he generally took everything in stride. But we had forged a friendship over the past six months. Maybe he wasn’t as objective as he’d been back then.
“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked. “From the beginning.”
He listened quietly as I talked, a furrow etched between his brows. He digested my story in relative silence, head cocked thoughtfully. I knew that expression. It was his my wheels are turning, so don’t interrupt face. But all this silent thinking shit was cutting into my ten minutes, so I eventually cracked.
“So?” I prodded.
“So, I think you were the lion.”
I thought about the scratches on my back, the ones Danny was going to have an actual fucking fit over. No, I was certainly not the lion. Because if I was the fucking lion, then I wouldn’t have tried to maul myself.
“No, I was me. The lion was the lion.”
