by E. C. Bell
And then he disappeared.
That brought me up to standing. I hadn’t seen where he went. He just disappeared, and as I leaned over the balcony rail, staring into the darkness that was the cemetery, I wondered if he’d gone into his coffin. To sleep, or whatever.
I didn’t know, right? He could have slept in his coffin for all I knew.
So I was ready to pack it in and go have a nap—I mean, if Roy could sleep, why couldn’t I?—when I saw a vehicle drive up to the entrance of the cemetery and stop.
So I watched a bit more. What the hell, right? That’s what I did, after all.
Three people got out and I was ready to lose interest, mostly because the reason people went to a cemetery at night was to drink too much, screw, or wreck something. But they didn’t look like kids. And then I saw something get out of that car that really made me stand up and take notice.
I saw a ghost get out of that car. Now, I assumed it was a ghost, because it looked a lot like Roy had, when I first saw him. Kind of a dirty light all over him—no, her. It was a female, and the first thing I thought was—this is Roy’s wife.
It had to be.
And then I felt a big frigging chill run through me, because I saw that the car was a Volvo. The same model and year that that prick James Lavall drove.
I looked even harder at the three people who scrambled over the gate and into the cemetery proper. One man and two women.
My mouth suddenly tasted sour, like I was ready to puke. I recognized them. At least, I recognized two of them. Marie, with that asshole James Lavall.
“What the hell are they doing?” I whispered. Then I remembered the stories I’d heard about Marie’s mother.
Hell, everybody knew those stories, but nobody believed them. I always thought she was just one more of the crazy cat ladies who lived in Fort McMurray, right until that moment. I’d never even asked Marie about her mother, and she never offered any information about her, which suited me just fine. I wasn’t one for sharing about family.
But I’d heard the stories. Old lady Jenner could see ghosts.
People had tried to talk the same dirt about Marie, but I hadn’t taken that shit too well, so they’d stopped talking around me.
But there was Marie, waltzing around in that cemetery with the old woman that was probably her mother. Maybe the stories were true.
I felt suddenly excited. What if the stories were true? What if Marie could see ghosts? Would that mean that she could see me? Talk to me?
Be with me?
Had she come here to tell me she was sorry, and that she now wanted to spend the rest of her life with me, just like I’d always planned?
But she was with that shithead James Lavall. If she’d wanted to get back together with me, she would’ve come alone.
But she came with Lavall. And why was she in McMurray with Asshole Lavall? Had they somehow known I was going to be released from Remand? Had they followed me from Edmonton?
Jesus. Marie was easy to manipulate, most of the time. Had Asshole Lavall somehow talked her into eliminating the Arnie problem once and for all?
Had they killed me?
I shook my head. I still couldn’t remember a damned thing about the night I died, but I didn’t for a second believe that Marie would have been involved in my killing. She liked to play hard to get, but she’d never go along with hurting me. No.
If it was anyone, it was Asshole Lavall. So he could have her for himself.
Son of a bitch! What if he’d actually done it? Had actually killed me? If he did, he’d have to pay with his life.
I thought about going down there and kicking that bastard’s ass until I remembered that I couldn’t leave the apartment. Which was probably good, because I couldn’t touch anything at that moment, which meant no shit kicking for Lavall.
And then I really thought about what could happen if Marie—and Marie’s mom—saw me before I had a plan. Marie might leave the area. I needed time to set things up so I could make things right with her.
I hunkered down in Rosalie’s blood-drenched apartment and plotted my next move.
Whatever the hell that was going to be.
Marie:
Roy the Ghost Is a Stubborn Ass
MOM DID HER best to bring Roy out in the open, but he didn’t show.
“He’s always been stubborn!” Laurel called from the gate. “A stubborn ass!”
I hoped that Laurel talking trash about Roy would bring him out, but it didn’t. He remained hidden—or he too had left the area.
Wandering ghosts. You had to love them.
Millie the step-on dog started to whine, and then Mom took a hitching step or two away from Roy’s grave and almost fell.
James sucked wind and grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?” he asked, and then blinked. “You haven’t been possessed, have you?” He looked over at me, and the fear on his face was something to see. “She hasn’t bee—”
“No!” Mom snapped. She pulled her arm from his fingers with some difficulty. “I’m a bit tired. That’s all.”
Then she staggered again, and James grabbed her once more, holding her upright easily, as though she didn’t weigh more than eighty pounds, which, I suspected, she didn’t. “I think you need to sit down.”
“I think he’s right,” I said. “Mom, you’re exhausted.”
“I am tired,” Mom said. “Maybe I should go home. Try this tomorrow or something.”
Her words frightened me more than I could say. Mom never walked away from helping a ghost, no matter how tired she was.
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital,” I sad. “James, let’s take her to—”
“You will do nothing of the kind!” Mom snapped. “I need rest. That’s all. Take me home. Understand?”
“All right,” I said, and grabbed her other arm, then clutched her waist tightly when she more or less collapsed. “James, can you pick her up?”
Without another word, James cradled her in his arms. “You don’t worry, Sylvie. I’ll bring you here as soon as you’ve rested up,” he said.
She nodded weakly, her grey hair bouncing on his shoulder with every step he took.
“But what about Roy?” Laurel asked. “She promised to talk to him.”
“She will, later,” I said as James bundled Mom into the back seat and tossed the little dog in after her. “Are you coming with us, or staying here?”
“I’m coming with you,” the ghost said, then called out, “Shotgun!” and leapt into the passenger’s seat before I could say a word.
Seriously. Shotgun. I climbed into the car and cradled Mom’s head in my lap.
James carefully locked his seatbelt, then looked at me. “Is she—”
“She’s just sleeping,” I said quickly, before he could say anything else. “Let’s get her home.”
“Will do,” James said, and started out, taking it easy so he didn’t jostle her too much.
He didn’t even look at the passenger seat, and he didn’t ask me if there was a ghost sitting beside him on the way home. He might have wondered, but he was smart enough not to ask.
I didn’t enlighten him.
The drive took about fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer. And the traffic was still nasty. Always rush hour, until we pulled down into Waterways, and then to the huddle of trailers clinging to the edge of the Clearwater River.
James pulled the car up onto the gravel pad by Mom’s place and scrambled out of the driver’s seat.
“I’ll carry her in,” he said, and scooped Mom’s scarecrow form into his arms and carried her up to the door. He rattled the knob, but could not get in.
“Key?”
“Right here.” I moved the mat and pulled the key from the cobwebs. Shuddered as I wiped them on my jeans, then unlocked the door and pushed it open for James and Mom.
I had just replaced the key under the mat when Laurel spoke. “You forgot the dog,” she said primly. “In the car.”
I could see Millie’
s little head poking up over the steering wheel. She barked, sounding a little more than pissed. And then she somehow found the horn and danced on it, tearing the quiet of the neighbourhood to shreds.
“Jesus,” I gasped, and pelted down the stairs, expecting at any second for one of Mom’s cranky neighbours to throw open the door and yell at us. Or worse, call the cops. No lights clicked on as I got to the car, so I figured we might be all right, this time. I threw open the door and scooped up the little dog. “Stop that, you ratter!” I hissed.
She licked my chin—her way of saying sorry—and then settled in my arms as I locked up the car and headed inside.
The trailer appeared empty. I guessed James had taken Mom to her bedroom. It looked like the ghost had followed. So I went into Mom’s bedroom, just before the little dog, who was still dragging her leash, which, of course, I’d forgotten to remove.
“How is she?” I asked James, who was carefully pulling a blanket over Mom’s thin frame. I saw her shoes poking out from the bottom of the blanket, tched, and pulled them from her feet.
“Did you take off her coat?”
“No.” James looked at me, worry on his face. “She didn’t wake up, even when I put her on the bed.”
“She’s just tired,” I said, hoping I was telling the truth. I pulled the blanket down and carefully began removing her coat, one sleeve at a time. She didn’t wake up, just snorted a couple of times as though she wanted everyone to just leave her the hell alone.
“See?” James said. “She won’t wake up. Maybe she needs to go to the hospital—”
“I told you. No hospital.” Mom’s voice sounded as wasted as she looked, but she did open her eyes. She struggled weakly with her coat, and I carefully helped her sit more or less upright so we could get it off. Then she fell back on her bed, groaning.
The little dog jumped onto the bed and leaned against her. Mom gave her a pat, and the little dog sighed and plopped down beside her in a tight ball.
“Just let me sleep,” Mom said. And then she was out. Again.
“I’ll stay with her,” Laurel said.
“All right,” I whispered. “Just promise me you won’t harass her or anything. She needs her rest.”
“I promise,” Laurel said. And then she said something that scared me badly. “I didn’t realize she was so close to crossing the veil.”
“What?” James said at the same time, then blinked and looked around like he thought he’d actually see something, and said, “Oh.” He nodded rapidly. “You’re talking to the ghost. Right?”
Even though I desperately wanted to ask Laurel what she meant by the “close to the veil” comment, I spoke to James instead.
“Right,” I said. “I’m talking to the ghost.” Then I pointed at the bedroom door. “Let’s go.”
As I pulled the door shut behind us, I could see Laurel’s weak glow over Mom’s sleeping face. It was peaceful, and for a second, I wished I could go and sit with them both. But I couldn’t.
James would just be bubbling with questions, and I had to find a way to answer them. Somehow.
He was sitting at the teeny kitchen table, staring at the wall, when I walked in.
“Coffee?” I asked. Before he even answered, I put on the kettle and pulled out the instant coffee. “Sorry, this is all she has.”
I spooned the brown crystals into two of Mom’s chipped mugs. Then I realized he wasn’t answering me. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “She seemed so—full of life before. But now, seeing her like that—she really is going to die, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry, Marie.”
I felt a painful lump form in my throat, then leak down into my chest until I almost felt like I was drowning. “So am I,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asked. “Watch TV or something?”
I looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you want to talk?” I’d been so sure.
He shook his head. “You look tired.”
“I am,” I admitted. Then I looked at the couch. “Where did you sleep last night?”
“In your old room. I couldn’t find a hotel room, and your mom said it was all right for me to stay here. She gave me a sleeping bag. The floor’s kind of hard, but it’s okay. I set up my computer in there, too. I’m trying to work through that PI course.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “The course. How’s it going?”
“Slower than I’d like,” he admitted. “And I should work on it for a couple of hours.” He looked around. “Maybe I can set up out here. You can have your room, and—”
“No, that’s all right,” I said. “I’ll take the couch.”
“You sure?”
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
“I take it you’re going to be checking on your mom through the night?”
And talking to Laurel about that “close to the veil” comment. “Yes.”
“Let’s take shifts,” he said. “You sleep first and I’ll check on her. Since I’ll be working on that course anyhow. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.”
“All right.” The kettle whistled, and I shut it off. “Still want the coffee?”
“Sure.”
I made and doped it for him, just the way he liked it.
“This isn’t bad,” he said. “For instant.”
“Thanks. Wake me up in two hours.”
“Will do.”
He disappeared down the small hallway. I heard the door to my old room open and then close, and I was finally alone.
I put my coffee on the coffee table and sat on the couch. Turned on the television, and then lay down. Exhaustion rolled over me like a steamroller, and just as I realized I didn’t have a blanket, my eyes closed, and I was asleep.
I WOKE UP to Laurel’s voice. “Change the channel, change the channel, change the channel—”
“What?” I gasped, and sat upright, my head still a sleep-filled muddle. “What?”
“I want you to change the channel,” Laurel said. “I hate these infomercial thingies. Find me a movie.”
“How’s Mom?” I lurched to my feet, kicked the coffee table, and splashed cold, untouched coffee all over. “Shit.”
“She’s still sleeping,” Laurel said. “Mr. Lavall is in with her. Change the channel, please.”
I ignored her and went to find James.
He was still in Mom’s room. He’d fallen asleep, sitting in the small wooden chair she kept by the door. I touched his arm, and he snorted awake.
“Sylvie?” he said.
“No, it’s me. I’m awake. You can go to bed.”
“All right,” he said, and patted my arm. “Wake me in four.”
“Sure,” I said, but I didn’t think I’d need to. I felt much refreshed, and figured I’d last the rest of the night.
Mom looked peaceful. Millie the dog was still tucked in by her side. She raised her head and glared at me steadily as I walked toward the bed. A tiny guard dog, for heaven’s sake.
I tucked the blanket under Mom’s chin, then hesitantly put my hand near her nose, just to make certain she was still breathing. When I was satisfied, I left her and walked into the living room.
“Change the channel,” Laurel said. She was starting to sound pissy, so I picked up the remote and clicked until she finally said, “Stop,” at a black and white movie. “I love this one,” she said, and settled on the couch.
I sat at the other end and stared at the flickering screen. “What did you mean?” I asked.
“What did I mean by what?” Her eyes never left the screen, and she sighed out the words like I was being hugely intrusive, which I probably was.
“What did you mean about Mom being close to the veil?”
“Oh.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You know she’s dying. Right? I mean, you’re not one of those who tries to fool herself into believing there is even a chance your mother’s going to beat this thing she has. Right?”
“I know she’s going to die,” I said. “The doctor said she’s got six months. Maybe.”
“Doctors are usually optimists,” she said, and sighed. “Your mother is going to die quite a bit before the six-month mark, I would think.”
“Why would you think that?” I wanted, with all my breath, I wanted to scream, “You’re just a ghost! You don’t know anything!” but I didn’t. Because they did know a thing or two about dying and death, now didn’t they?
“She feels—closer to me than to you,” Laurel said. “She’s walking to the veil, and soon she’ll be through. On my side of things.”
“How long?” I whispered. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.
“I don’t know,” she said, and shrugged. “But soon. Make your peace with her while you can.”
We didn’t speak again. Laurel watched her movie, and I went into my mother’s room and watched her as she slept.
Arnie:
Baiting the Hook
I WATCHED FOR Roy from Rosalie’s apartment balcony all night, and then nearly missed him when he slunk to his grave, just before dawn.
“Hey!” I called, leaning over the balcony rail like I was still alive. “Hey! Roy! I got news for you!”
Then, in a blink, I was at his side.
He looked dirty and tired. Actually, he looked filthy and exhausted.
“Where you been, man?” I asked. “You missed some excitement here.”
“I was in the river,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, then shook that off, because I didn’t care. “Guess who showed up here last night?”
“Who?” He didn’t actually sound like he gave a shit one way or another, but I knew I’d have his full attention in a second.
“Your wife,” I said. “Laurel.”
