A Ghost of a Chance

by Meador, Minnette

  In that short exchange, however, something else shot into Keenan’s conscience. It was strange, foreign, and when Keenan realized what it was, the violation left him cold. Reggie had planted some kind of seed inside him. It sat in him like a malignant cancer, beginning to unfurl at the edges. He wasn’t alone in there anymore and the thought scared the bejesus out of him.

  He pushed his eyes open and Reggie’s satisfied grin greeted him.

  “What a rush, huh?”

  “Reggie, don’t do this,” Constance pleaded, frantically looking from one to the other. “You don’t need to do this to him. Let him go. You can guide the baby just the way you are; you don’t need to be human to do that.”

  “Shut up, Constance! She betrayed me, left me to rot in Italy. This is payment for her disloyalty. Dabria will suffer for every moment I was without her.”

  Reggie pulled an invisible string that propelled Constance forward. When she stood a few inches from Keenan, she tried to take a step back.

  “I won’t do it,” she whispered.

  When Reggie came up behind her, she crossed her arms and shivered.

  “You will do it or the others go down right now.”

  With a click of his fingers, the ghosts appeared all around them, like a crowd in an arena. They were a frozen mass of ectoplasm.

  Keenan searched the ranks and saw hundreds of familiar faces. It was odd. For the last twenty years he had wanted nothing more than to rid himself of these pesky poltergeists, had counted the days when he might have a moment’s peace, had fantasized about being alone, if only for a minute. But now, as he considered each entity, his heart parked itself in a moment of pathos. These people had been his friends, his entertainment, his life for so long, he couldn’t imagine his world without them. The thought of losing them was crushing.

  The seed inside him shifted and a horrible thought came to him. He glared past Constance at Reggie and tightened his lips. Reggie’s black soul was starting to come into focus.

  “What happens to them when you’ve got what you want?”

  There was the slightest flick of Reggie’s chin and a ghost of a smile dusted his lips. “Nothing, of course.”

  The revelation hit Keenan between the eyes, but he had no idea where it was coming from. Reggie was lying, had been from the very beginning. Keenan took a step back and his mouth opened, but nothing came out. Reggie had no intention of letting any of them go. He wanted the world to himself—no witnesses. The thoughts bombarded Keenan’s brain until he couldn’t breathe.

  In a rush of movement that amazed even Keenan, he jumped back, grabbed the gun out of his belt, and pointed it at Reggie.

  “Let her go!” he demanded.

  Those shark eyes glistened for only a moment. “What are you going to do, old bean? Shoot me?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  Keenan did something then that would never have occurred to him in a million years. He pointed the gun at his own head.

  Reggie stopped dead. The dark eyes sized up Keenan’s courage in a glance. He allowed a relaxed grin to settle over his face and leaned against one leg. “You’re bluffing,” he stated as if he knew Keenan’s every thought.

  It was obvious he didn’t. Keenan had never even contemplated suicide, let alone attempted it, and yet here he was. There was a certain kind of logic in what he was doing. Calm waves of ease took the shake out of his arms and stilled the hand holding the gun. He knew with absolute certainty that he could pull the trigger. The idea was freeing somehow.

  “Don’t bet on it,” he answered quietly. “Let them go. All of them. Amos and Dabria, too. You do that, and I’ll give you this body without a giant hole through the brain. Otherwise, you get it with air conditioning.” A deep laugh came up from the bottom of Keenan’s lungs when the irony became clear to him. “I’d love to see you start all over again, Reggie, so don’t fuck with me.”

  Reggie searched Keenan’s face a long time before answering. “Suicide is a one-way trip to hell, son. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

  “Do you honestly think I care? No, Reg. You miscalculated. You called me a pure soul. Fact of the matter is I’m not that pure. I just don’t like being fucked with. Let—them—go.”

  Reggie tossed his head back and finally threw up his hands.

  “Fine!”

  With a clap, the suspended ghosts became a whirling mass of energy again. The noise from their combined voices was deafening. But they did not move. Instead, they gathered around Keenan and hung suspended high above him, hiding behind arched beams and dark corners. Reggie eyed them suspiciously, but then shrugged and turned his attention to Keenan.

  “Better?” Reggie asked.

  Constance still stood between them, a huddled figure of clanking curlers and drab blue robe.

  “Her, too,” Keenan said.

  “Come now. I think you understand that I need a way to dispatch you without harming the body. That will take a ghost. There is some kind of ironic justice in having it done by my fat little bundle of optimism here.”

  “It’s all right, honey,” Constance said sneering at Reggie and squaring her shoulders. “I’d rather do it so it won’t hurt so much. I think I know what he’s got in mind.”

  Keenan pushed the gun into his temple. “Where are they, Reggie?”

  “I don’t know who you are talking about?”

  “Cut the crap! Dabria and Amos. Where are they?”

  A slow grin spread over Reggie’s face. “They’re here,” he said slowly. With a wave of his hand, Amos materialized as the entity behind him solid in his cloudy mass. “Dabria will be along soon. I’m not about to let go of my prizes until I know for sure you’ll keep your end of the bargain. I don’t know how I can assure you since I’m certain you won’t take my word on it.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how about this? You put down the gun and behave yourself and I won’t mess up your pretty little girlfriend over there.”

  From out of a shadow at the end of the room, a golden light flared suddenly. There in the light, completely still, stood Isabella. Her face was soft, asleep, but in one hand she held the house key Keenan had just given to her.

  “You son of a bitch!” Keenan rushed to her. When he reached her, she collapsed into him, warm and soft in his arms. He tried shaking her, but she was out cold.

  “And just in case you doubt my sincerity…” Reggie wrinkled his nose and snorted a laugh. Isabella stopped breathing.

  “No, no, no,” Keenan whispered trying to shake her again and watching her lips turn blue. He laid her down and tried to get her mouth open for mouth to mouth, but she was as stiff as if rigor mortis had set in. Even when he pressed against her chest, it was like trying to revive a statue. He gritted his teeth and barked at Reggie, “Stop it!”

  “Temper, temper. Do I have your attention now?”

  “Yes,” Keenan hissed wildly. “Let her go…”

  Reggie put a finger to his ear. “And the magic word is…?”

  Keenan clamped her against his pounding heart. “Please.”

  Isabella immediately softened in his arms. Her breath and heart went back to normal, and, with an effort, Keenan slowed his own. Gently setting her on the floor of the old chapel, he rose and crossed to the demon. There was nothing more he could do.

  If he killed himself, he’d go to hell and Reggie would just start over again with another poor schmuck and destroy his friends in the process. If he allowed Reggie to take his body, then he would probably take up with Isabella, find the woman who was carrying Keenan’s kid and take the child away from her, then raise it to be…what? Probably the anti-Christ’s second cousin, for all Keenan knew. If he ran, there would be no place to go. They all knew where he lived. The piece of Reggie churning inside him settled in for the duration. He had to trust what Amos had told him, but it didn’t come easily.

  Keenan lifted his eyes to Constance, where he always went in a crisis. “What do I do?”

 
That profound dark face thawed into an expression that touched his heart. There was a moment when he saw not a ghost, but a human smiling back at him. “You trust in yourself and have faith in the future.” The words were so quiet, he was sure only he had heard them. She put a hand next to his head and smiled. “I’ve always been with you. I’m not going anywhere now.”

  “Good boy.” The satisfaction in Reggie’s voice scraped against Keenan’s anger, but he clamped his teeth down instead of speaking. “Now, drop the gun, turn around, and spread your arms and legs. We’ll do the rest. You’re sure you won’t join me?” The words were now inside Keenan’s head.

  “Fuck off, Reggie.”

  “Too bad. It would have been fun.”

  Keenan spun around and threw the gun as hard as he could across the room where it hit one of the doors and clattered to the ground. He was half hoping the damned thing would go off and put a bullet into his brainpan. No such luck.

  A voice filled the air at the back of Keenan’s head and the next words took the breath out of his lungs.

  “Before he dies, Reggie, you have to tell him the truth,” Constance said.

  “What?” Keenan asked.

  Reggie folded his arms. “If he hasn’t figured it out already, what’s the point?”

  “He has the right to know why you’re doing this.”

  For some reason goose bumps rose on Keenan’s arms. “Why are you doing this?” he asked Reggie.

  The expression that came back to Keenan chilled him to the bone. “She knows.”

  When he nodded behind Keenan, he was almost too terrified to look, but he twisted his neck anyway.

  Isabella stood in the middle of the chapel, her hair flying loosely around her, her arms outstretched. When she lifted her eyes to Keenan, her face was wet with tears.

  A mirage of light danced around her, until he had to squint in the brilliance.

  When the light faded, the succubus stood before him, her face now fully exposed. Keenan’s heart caught in his chest.

  “Isabella?”

  He took a step away from her. Shock sent waves of numb up his legs, into his ass, and along his spine. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Those eyes. The opalescent eyes he had glimpsed in the darkness two nights before. Why hadn’t he recognized them then? Now it seemed as clear as ice.

  “He is doing this to punish me for disobeying him, but I don’t mind now,” she whispered, lowering her arms and floating toward him. “Azazel knew I would try to save you, just as I did centuries ago.” She threw a loving look in the demon’s direction and Keenan’s insides turn to goo. “I can’t remember now why I hid from him. It was foolish of me.”

  Keenan tried to get the words to make sense, but failed miserably. “I don’t understand. You were human.” He looked at his hands and brushed his lips with his fingers. “I touched you… I kissed you… You were real.”

  “She was human once,” Reggie said leering at Dabria. “It is one of the perks of divine forgiveness, don’t you see? Humanity is one of the fringe benefits. Unfortunately,” he added pursing his lips, “something I have never experienced.” A laugh echoed around Keenan.

  Keenan bunched his fingers into fists and confronted Dabria. “Why?”

  “Don’t you see, old bean?” Reggie’s voice filled Keenan’s brain and he couldn’t shut it out. “She has been protecting you from me since the day you died in Italy.”

  Keenan hardened his heart against the lust in Dabria’s face as the monster spoke.

  “When I found you here, I lured Amos from heaven and used him to capture my sweet Muse.” Reggie cast a lascivious eye in Dabria’s direction. She pulled her arms across her chest and lowered her chin. Was she actually blushing?

  Reggie whispered close to Keenan’s ear, “Helping me to get your seed was a test of her loyalty, and she pounced on the opportunity like the wanton whore she is. You must understand, old corker; who do you think gave me the idea of taking your body? A kind of delicious irony, don’t you think? It is in her black nature to betray those whom she seduces; or did you think she loved you?” The throaty chuckle buzzed against Keenan’s eardrum. “She could no more love you than she could love a slab of beef.”

  Keenan could no longer keep his heart in check; it broke against his ribs and sent rushes of pain into every part of his soul. It was like someone had kicked him hard in the nuts. He went to his knees, held his stomach to keep it from escaping, and put one hand on the dusty carpet to stay erect. His world shook when an involuntary shuttering breath finally allowed oxygen into his lungs. A plaintive No escaped his throat, but it did not stop the words.

  Dabria lifted dark eyes to him and a slow smile crept upward. Keenan lost the last glimmer of hope. “You poured into me without a fight, my sweet.” Her words tightened Keenan’s chest forcing hot tears from his eyes. “Men are so pliable.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Keenan whispered. “How could you have set this all up? The office, the police station…?”

  Dabria languidly crossed to Reggie and allowed him to run his fingers down her neck. Keenan watched her shiver under the caress.

  “Your boss owed me a favor,” Reggie said. “It was easy to disguise Dabria and put her in your path. I was going to let nature take its course, but you are the damndest idiot. Every time she tried to lure you, you turned the other way. Bad luck, really. I finally had to have her seduce you the old fashioned way.”

  Keenan balled his fists and struggled to his feet.

  “You tricked me! You bitch!”

  He reached out to grab her, but she vanished and his hands fell through a strange blue smoke. An invisible rope yanked him back and Reggie’s voice insinuated itself into Keenan’s neck.

  “Can’t have you damaging my property, chum. I’ve worked very hard to get us all to this point. All you have to do right now is stand perfectly still. Nothing easier.”

  Numb with betrayal, aching with agony, confusion turning his mind to slush, Keenan spread his arms, threw his head back, and screamed at the heavens. He stared at the skeletal chandelier and waited for it to be over.

  Chapter Twenty

  Past Tense

  Keenan’s mother was never one for nurturing when he was growing up. He spent most of his time with one neighbor or the other while she worked a job or two and put in her allotted three to four hours at the bar each night. There was an array of part-time father figures in his life, even one or two who actually threw a ball to him from time to time. But, for the most part, Keenan spent his hours alone.

  He had never acquired much of a taste for television; not that he didn’t spend hours in front of it, mind you, but there was always a scrap of paper on his lap and a rusty can of crayons, pencil stubs, and discarded pens next to his knee. Keenan’s escape had always been his art. Dragons drawn on old mimeographed school assignments, coloring book backs covered in sketched soldiers with red crayon blasts coming out of gray guns, and gnarled pirates with black conical hats, marching across old newsprint, filled hundreds of tattered Pee Chees when he was growing up.

  When he turned eight, the Carlsons (an engineer, his wife, and their four sprouting daughters) moved in next door and Keenan’s life took its first major U-turn.

  Having used up all her favors with the rest of the neighbors, Keenan’s mom approached the new ones and asked if they’d be willing to watch her “little angel” (which was funny, because that’s not what she usually called him when they were alone). Mrs. Carlson took one look at Keenan’s face, smiled, and said she’d be glad to. Keenan’s mom handed him off like a loaf of bread and ran for the bus.

  Keenan was introduced to two things that day: girls (who he thought were gross at the time and then changed his mind a few years later) and Mr. Carlson’s art studio.

  Matt Carlson was an amateur sculptor and a damned good one at that. His specialty was wildlife: dolphins, eagles, lions, whales, and just about anything else you could think of. Every evening after supper, Mr. Carlso
n would rescue Keenan from the clutches of his adoring daughters. The girls, if not thwarted, loved to give Keenan a nightly “makeover” or some other diabolical plan to keep them entertained through the evening. Telling the females in no uncertain terms that this was ‘man’s stuff,’ he’d take Keenan down to his sanctuary (which was actually a ratty unfinished basement) where he’d throw him a piece of clay and tell him to get to work. Just like that. It was the inspiration of those two years with Carlson that sent Keenan to the art museum, made him study hard for four years to get his degree (on his own), and took him eventually to Florence where he studied for another two years, until his money dried up.

  Mr. Carlson used to say to him, “Keenan, if you want something bad enough, you’ve got to work hard, get it built in your head to the last whisper, and then promise yourself you won’t forget it. Otherwise, your dreams won’t survive beyond your everyday.”

  Keenan had contemplated that statement all his years through school, living abroad, and even the first two years of struggling to be a paid fine artist when he returned to the states. But hunger changed his priorities, a need to sleep out of the rain became an ambition, and life brushed that sentiment, along with many other ideals, under the ragged rug of necessity. The memory slipped away.

  For the first time in many years, Carlson’s deep voice echoed just inside Keenan’s ears as he closed his eyes to wait for whatever it was Reggie was going to do to him.

  …get it built in your head to the last whisper…promise yourself you won’t forget it…

  Keenan wasn’t sure why the memory decided to slam into his skull just at that moment. Here he was about to take a one-way trip to the ethereal amusement park and his head was pondering broken ambitions. Way to go, brain!

  Whatever Reggie had fed him was beginning to expand at Keenan’s center like an inflating black balloon. Keenan knew he should be scared shitless, but he wasn’t. There was a kind of fidgety calm growing from that same place and he didn’t feel nervous at all. More like curious.