Just at the height of their joy, a strange shout came from the back of the room and Keenan’s relief turned to mush.
“Swanson!”
Sergeant Thompson made a beeline directly for the body, got it laid out flat with a quick tug, and started CPR and mouth-to-mouth, shouting at Isabella between breaths to get down on the floor and put her hands on top of her head. Confused, Isabella followed his orders.
Thompson flicked a switch in a blur and continued compressions, shouting into his radio, “I have a man down at the Old Church on Broadway. Get me a unit right now.”
Two more compressions and a fateful miracle exploded under his hands. Reggie’s chest heaved and he rolled over on his side with a coughing fit. Thompson fell back apparently startled the cadaver had come to life. He helped Reggie to sit up and suddenly looked very cross.
“What the fuck now, Swanson? You are one lucky son of a bitch! I’ve called an ambulance.”
“That won’t be necessary, officer.” Apparently, whatever Reggie had put into Keenan’s body was working for him. His recovery was nothing less than miraculous and Thompson scowled at him. “I’m fine, really.”
“You were dead a second ago, buddy. You’re going to the hospital.”
Reggie bounced up from the floor with the grace of an acrobat and performed a full spin for Thompson. “As you can see, I am quite all right, officer.”
Thompson laid one ear near his shoulder and brought those brutish brows close to the center of this forehead.
“What’s with the accent? You ok? Did you knock your head on something? Name’s Thompson, remember? Sergeant Thompson. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Right.” Reggie smoothed his face into an expression Keenan was sure he never had in his life, but it looked like Thompson was buying it. “Sorry, Sergeant.” The accent was perfect. “Guess I must have hit it when I fell. Three fingers.”
Thompson didn’t look too convinced, but he headed over to the door where his service revolver was lying. Picking it up, he inspected it briefly then pointed it at the girl on the floor. “Up, sweetheart.”
Isabella got off the floor and looked like she was going to make a break for it, but Reggie was quick. He darted to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Who’s this?” Thompson asked.
“My girlfriend.” It was an expertly executed lie. He tightened his grip on Isabella and she gasped under the pressure. Keenan was sure the smile she gave Reggie was forced. It confused him.
“The one you were talking about earlier?”
“Yep.” Keenan could tell Reggie was struggling with the accent, but it was coming easier with each word.
“I oughta take you in and throw the book at you, asshole! Just for taking my gun… not to mention my cruiser.” Thompson scratched his head and surveyed the room. “Not sure what happened back there, but looks like maybe you saved my life.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…”
“Shut up, smart mouth! You sure you’re ok?”
“Never been better, offi…I mean, Sergeant. Unless you want to force me, I don’t need to go to the hospital. Maybe the clout to the head knocked some sense into me.”
Thompson snorted and holstered his gun. “I wish.” He pressed the button on his radio. “Dispatch, this is 7-2-2. Cancel last request. We’re all dandy here.”
“So are you arresting us?” Reggie adjusted his grip around Isabella’s waist and whispered something quick into her ear. She touched his cheek and gave him a quick kiss. Keenan bunched his fingers together.
Thompson folded his arms and bent one knee. He glared at the two for a count of ten then said, “I should, but not today. Waste of time.”
“Thank you.”
“You got a lot of explaining to do about that stunt last night. You come down to the station tomorrow and we’ll get it all sorted out. Right now I’m beat.” He rubbed his eyes and adjusted his belt. “You want a ride home?”
Reggie glanced at Isabella and sent a shining smile back to Thompson. From the look on the cop’s face, Keenan figured this whole thing was creeping Thompson out.
“Actually…” Reggie drawled. “…any chance you could take me to a house in the southeast? It’s very close to the station.”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Reggie scanned the room as if searching for something. “Tell you what; I’ll meet you out there in a jiff. I need to find my coat.”
Thompson headed for the door. “Don’t take too long. I’m leaving in five minutes.” He lumbered out the door.
As soon as he was gone, Reggie grabbed both Isabella’s arms and shook her. Keenan had never wanted to hit someone more than at that moment.
“Where are they?” Reggie snarled.
“Who?”
“The fucking ghosts and Amos… Where are they?”
Isabella looked straight at Keenan and it startled him. Were those tears in her eyes?
“Look at me, you bitch!” Reggie shook her hard with each syllable. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“He can’t see us,” Constance whispered in Keenan’s ear.
“Why?” Keenan whispered back, struck for the moment by Isabella’s beauty. It was very distracting.
“Because he doesn’t have your abilities as a human, Kee. He’s blind because he’s seeing through mortal eyes. It’s the best piece of news I’ve had all day.”
“Tell me!” Reggie shouted at Isabella.
“I… I don’t know. They left.” Her lips quivered under his hard stare and her eyes were wild.
“Fuck!” Reggie screamed up at the rafters. He grabbed Isabella by one arm and pulled her toward the door.
Just before they went through, Isabella managed to turn her head. The expression she shot at Keenan before they vanished burned into his heart. Sadness, hope, adoration, all rolled into that face in an instant. Before he could return it, they were gone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Devil in the Details
For some reason, Keenan had always suspected that ghosts were just kind of “born” into the condition, instantly knowing everything they needed to function in an un-living world. Had he realized how difficult it was to adjust to his new surroundings, he would have been much more understanding.
When Constance grabbed his hand and “pulled” him forward with a shouted, “Come on!” everything twisted around him into dark multi-colored blurs. The physical universe melted into the ghostly universe, creating a watercolor world that he flitted through like an oak leaf twirling in the wind. He was flying, or at least that’s what he preferred to call it. It was actually more like creative flapping.
They rushed out of the church so fast Keenan was having a hard time getting his bearings. That coupled with the fact that the world had turned into melting ice cream around him and Constance a bright beam of light, it was no wonder he resisted her pull. She was apparently unaware of Keenan’s plight since it didn’t even slow her down.
“What are you doing?” He didn’t need to shout; there wasn’t any particular sound going on around him. It should have been noisy as all hell so it was a natural inclination.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya, Kee. When Amos went after Dabria at The Hotcake House, I panicked. I was so afraid Reggie might have him grab you, too, and we weren’t ready.” She stopped talking only long enough to swerve around a sharp corner. “This is why we needed you to give up your body, Kee. So Reggie would go to the girl.”
Keenan’s legs were pulling colors off the tops of frosting cars as they flew past. If he still had his head, he was sure he’d have a splitting headache. “What girl?”
Constance’s face materialized out of the bright light to smile at him. “You really need to keep up.”
“Granted.” His feet went through a shining yellow parking meter and got tangled in an old woman’s hair, but bounced back at him instantly, sending out waves like ripples in a cup of coffee. They picked up speed. “I’ve never died be
fore, so my wits are a little scrambled this morning. What girl?”
The light took Constance’s face back and they sped after the cruiser sailing through a ginger bread world. “The vessel… the woman who has been impregnated with your seed. We need to reach her before he does.”
It was as if he had missed every other chapter in a mystery novel. “Ok,” was all he could manage. “And then what?”
“You’ll see.”
The silence that followed was stern, if that was possible. Keenan knew Constance would not answer any more questions.
To entertain himself, he focused on getting things to settle down around him. Cars, buses, houses, buildings, everything manmade had a cake-like texture. A thirty-year-old birthday wish flashed through his skull; he had always wanted to live in a candy world. What a stupid wish! Natural objects, people, animals, trees, grass, and the like all had a golden or red hue around them.
The cruiser stopped abruptly at a street light, and the gang of ghosts collided against itself in a roiling cloud of entities. When it got itself sorted out, Keenan’s universe solidified and everything around him turned normal again. It was disconcerting as all hell. When the cop car fired across the intersection, the mass de-constituted itself and followed like a cartoon swarm of bees. Keenan decided to hitch his ass to the inevitable, as if he had a choice.
When they reached Maywood Park, Thompson took a sharp right onto 102nd and floored it. Six blocks down, he screeched around another right and the group of ghosts almost missed the turn. They caught themselves en-mass and had to bank hard left to make the turn. The cruiser was just pulling up to the house on the right when they got behind it.
Maywood Park, a tiny city within the larger city of Portland, was a triangular neighborhood built between 1920 and 1940. The neighbors had filed for independence when the state threatened to park an interstate highway in their backyards. The highway stayed despite their efforts, but the neighborhood was now an isolated oasis in the middle of concrete, asphalt, and expansion, fighting them all with manicured lawns, clockwork dog walking, and stern refusals to budge. It was a mighty midget amongst municipal giants.
The house they stopped at was typical for the area; small, with a conical tower and a large yard surrounded by a white slatted fence. The grass and hedges were neat and trim, the large front porch clear of debris, and, except for the color, it was a perfect example of Maywood Park’s best. The house was black, all black, from the perfectly placed plywood covering the crawlspace, to the ten-foot high brick chimney spewing smoke against fluffy white clouds. It looked like Dorothy had caught the wrong tornado and missed Oz by at least eighteen hundred miles.
Constance didn’t let Keenan examine it for long. Before he knew it, they had hauled him into the yard and set him in front of the five stairs leading to the railed porch. The black swing bench hanging from black chains rattled once in an ethereal breeze then remained still.
Constance expanded herself to her full size and puffed out massive white wings, a brilliant snowstorm against the black house. Without hesitation, the rest of the ghosts fell into place, linked shoulder to shoulder, facing out, like soldiers standing in a line. When Keenan craned his neck, he watched them click into place like colorful piano keys. They must have extended all the way around the house.
“What’s happening, Cee?” The words came out of Keenan’s mouth a bit tattered, as if they were afraid of something.
Constance’s wings folded around his shoulders and took the fear away. “This is where we finish the fight, honey.”
“Fight?” Keenan watched as Reggie opened his door and pulled Isabella out with him.
Constance pulled on a wayward feather and straightened it. “For thousands of years we have waited for this. It is here we take our stand.”
“Against Reggie?”
Those soulful eyes fired with passion when she turned her head to him. “No, Keenan.” She turned it back, squared her shoulders, and twisted her neck from side to side. “Against hell.”
Keenan swallowed hard, knowing down to the sinews of his soul that whatever happened next he was absolutely unprepared for.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Spirit of the Dead
When Keenan was very small, he had a babysitter (or maybe one of his mom’s boyfriends) who loved to juggle: fruit, balls, toys, dishes, shoes, anything he could get his hands on. One hot summer afternoon, apparently bored and not too bright, this young man decided it might be a hoot to juggle the baby. Young Keenan, barely walking at the time, scooted out of the danger zone as quick as his chubby little legs could carry him. Unfortunately, due to the nature of an eighteen month old body, the exercise was one of futility; a hand the size of a basketball (or so it seemed to the infant Keenan) scooped him up by the bottom and balanced him in midair, while the other hand filled with some kind of fishbowl squished together with a very angry kitten.
Keenan had to admit the initial attempt was an astonishing accomplishment; he flew over the tall man’s head and plopped down onto the opposite hand at the same time the bowl plopped down into the other and the cat remained, for the moment, suspended in the air above the man’s face. Regrettably, inertia and the jumbled contortions of the unfortunate feline were apparently something the skilled acrobat had not contemplated before attempting the feat. With a loud meow and a resounding un-kitten like hiss, the cat lodged itself squarely on the young man’s face, wherein he attempted to dislodge it. The bowl flew up out of his hands to shatter an expensive looking chandelier, and Keenan, for the first time in his life, knew what it was to fly… if only for a moment.
It was that gravity defying emptiness that filled him as he watched Reggie and Isabella enter the gate.
His ghostly existence clarified for him in that moment; the world shot into a reality that was almost painful. Everything looked so… alive. It was the only word he could think of. The trees, the grass, even the houses around them shimmered with a kind of vibrancy that made his ears hurt. The ghosts filed away from him on either side and disappeared around the corner of the house. The glow of each was bright yellow as if some kid had stolen a highlighter and, during the glee of insanity, outlined them all. Behind him, the black house was a midnight sky, full of holes.
It was hard to look at Isabella. So many emotions coursed through Keenan’s blood when he did. He was royally pissed that she had lied and betrayed him, even more so at the fact that she didn’t even try to fight Reggie in the end. That emotion, despite his best efforts, was quickly melting under those angelic brown eyes. Every time he saw her, his blood coagulated into glop and his heart grew twice its normal size. He couldn’t help it.
“You need to focus!” The words screeched against his chalkboard brain. When he glared at Constance a rush of guilt flushed through him. Strain was red in her face. She was working to hold the group together and Keenan had let his mind wander through casual thoughts without a care.
“Sorry.” He forced his head around and concentrated on the couple.
“Are you ready, Isabella?” The words came out of Constance silently and Isabella gave the lightest tilt of her chin. Keenan’s confusion deepened.
Still holding Isabella’s arm, Reggie slammed the gate and gloated at the house. “Come on, lover. It’s time to meet the third sixty degrees in our triangle. Haven’t I always told you what fun a threesome can be?”
Isabella pulled her arm out of Reggie’s grasp and spread her feet on the cement path.
“I don’t think so, asshole.”
Shock parted Reggie’s lips. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m done taking your crap.”
Reggie lifted his hand and pointed a finger at her. “I made you, bitch. I can destroy you!”
“You’re right. You did make me, Azazel, along with a lot of other Muses, but you were as much an asshole then as you are now.”
He balled his fists and shook them. “I loved you,” he hissed through his teeth. “You should have followed me. I was your
father.”
“There is only one Father, Azazel, and you betrayed Him. You got what you deserved!”
Apparently, Reggie was trying to blast her or something with his hands, but he frowned at them when nothing came out.
“Missing something?” Isabella sneered. “You’re human now. Impotent! As limp as you’ve always been.”
Reggie shrugged and the side of his mouth curled. “Yes, well.” In a quick movement, he brought the back of his hand across Isabella’s cheek and sent her flying. She crumbled in the middle of the lawn. “You’re human too, in case you haven’t noticed, my little bit of muslin. I do have my resources. I’ll deal with you when I’m done. Count on it.”
Turning around, Reggie walked toward the stairs leading to the front door of the house but stopped abruptly. His faced tightened and he raised one brow. He was nose to nose with Keenan.
A charge of anger clouded Keenan’s responses. He wanted to punch this guy but hard. It took self-control and Constance’s whispered, “Don’t move,” to keep him still. When Reggie shrugged and moved forward, he pushed into Keenan’s chest. Keenan’s body softened under the pressure, caving in just enough to create a little resistance.
Reggie took a step back, frowned, and tried it again with more force. This time Keenan pushed back harder. Reggie bounced off Keenan’s chest as if it were a rubber mat. He flew back and almost fell. Catching himself, he glared at Keenan without seeing him.
“What the hell?”
Taking a running start, Reggie plowed toward them at full speed. He hit hard this time, making the line of ghosts buckle and Keenan take in a gasp. It wasn’t physical, Keenan had to remind himself, but it still felt that way. The line held, and Reggie went flying this time, propelled upward and back. When he landed on his ass, Keenan cringed a little. That had to hurt, and, still somewhat attached to his body, Keenan knew it was going to leave one hell of a bruise. Pins and needles glanced through his shoulders in empathy.
A Ghost of a Chance Page 20
