Stalking the Dead

by E. C. Bell

  “How far?” he asked.

  He’d caught me off-guard. I was expecting another no.

  “How far what?” I asked.

  “How far to the Jenner home?”

  “A couple of miles,” I said.

  But Roy was shaking his head. Again.

  “I can’t go that far,” he said. “Doesn’t work that way.”

  Fuck.

  “Why can you go to the river?” I asked. “You said you can get there. How do you do that?”

  “It’s where I died,” Roy said. “So I can manage that easily enough.”

  I glanced up at Rosalie’s apartment. Made sense.

  Then I thought, hard.

  “So, how far down the river can you go?” I asked.

  “I dunno,” Roy said. “Far as I want, I guess. I never tried going downriver further than where we wrecked.”

  “Well, Jenner’s trailer is in a trailer park in Waterways,” I said. “Right on the river.”

  It was Roy’s turn to think hard. Then he began to nod. Slowly at first, but then more quickly, and a smile plastered itself across his face.

  “I might be able to do that,” he said.

  Excellent. There was just one more little thing he had to agree to, and then I was as good as at the Jenner trailer.

  “That’s good,” I said. I took a step toward him, and then another. “That’s very good. But I have to go, too. To show you exactly where the old woman lives. You know, so you don’t take a chance on getting lost, or some shit.”

  Roy didn’t even look at me as he nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. Then he surprised me by saying, “You want me to carry you?”

  I didn’t even have to connect the dots for him. He was doing it all himself. Perfect.

  “You can do that?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I can pick up Laurel easily enough. Hold her in my arms. I guess I could do the same with you.”

  I didn’t much like the idea of being held in his arms, but, hey, at least he was thinking about it.

  “Maybe I can try holding on to you,” I said. “You know, like piggybacking?”

  “Huh.” Roy shrugged. “I never tried that with Laurel, but it might work.”

  He turned and held his arms out at his sides. “Jump on,” he said. “Let’s see if it works.”

  All right. Gonna have a ride. Great. Fucking fantastic.

  Marie:

  There’s No Place like Home

  I DIDN’T KNOW how to react to what Dad had told me. Had he spoken the truth? Had Mom actually turned down his offer of financial assistance for the past year? And if so, why?

  Bigger question—why had she made it seem that he wasn’t willing to help her out, if he was?

  Had my mother been lying to us about this?

  Or had my dad just lied to me?

  Now, my dad was a bit of a drunk, he could be counted on to pick a fight way too easily, he spent far too much time away from home, and he had absolutely no luck at the black jack tables. But he wasn’t a liar.

  If he wasn’t lying, then it was my mother. The problem was, she was even less a liar than my father. She spoke the truth, even when it hurt like hell.

  I groaned, and instead of heading to the trailer, I drove down King Street to Manning Avenue, then down Marshall to Golosky. I stopped the car in front of my father’s ramshackle house. I’d spent the happiest years of my life there, but it had been a long time ago.

  I stared at the overgrown front yard. Had I been there since Mom had packed us up and moved us to the little trailer in Waterways?

  I hadn’t.

  It looked so small. And so rundown. As rundown as my dad looked.

  I remembered how I’d cried as Mom packed us up and moved us out, that last horrible night.

  “Please Mom,” I’d begged. “Please, can’t we stay with Dad?”

  I tried to remember what Mom had answered, but nothing came. All I could remember was me crying like a baby as we packed our clothes and left the only home I’d ever known.

  I SAT IN front of our old house for a long time, trying to figure out who had lied to me. Mom or Dad?

  “It was both of them,” I muttered, staring at the bad paint job and the wrecked shingles and the front porch that looked like it was ready to fall off. “She said he wouldn’t help her, and he never told us any different. They both lied.”

  Then I frowned. Had Mom ever said, out loud, that Dad wouldn’t give her money? Ever? Or had I just assumed that’s what she meant when she said she needed money?

  Had I filled in the blanks all on my own? After all, the needing money thing was fairly new. It started—

  “When I moved to Edmonton,” I whispered.

  I remembered how happy she’d been, when I’d told her about getting that job at the cab company. And I remembered that I’d played fast and loose with the truth about how good that job was, so that she wouldn’t worry about me.

  I blinked. It was after I’d gotten that job that she’d started asking me for money. Not much, not really. If the job had actually been as good as I’d said, I wouldn’t have always been so pinched for cash.

  What the hell was going on?

  Arnie:

  Practice, Practice, Practice

  I JUMPED AT Roy—and fell right through him. Felt the cold of him as I did so and wondered if maybe I was biting off more than I could chew.

  He stared down at me. “You’re going to have to hang on,” he said.

  He was a real bright one, now wasn’t he?

  I scrambled to my feet and reassessed. “So, how did you pick up Laurel?” I asked.

  “I thought about her. Thought about holding her, and then I did.” He stepped away from me, and turned.

  “Give it another try,” he said. “And think about hanging on.”

  Fine. I had to think about hanging on to nothing. To light and mist. No problem.

  I focused on Roy’s back, and on the dirty grey light that oozed from him. Pretended it was a bunch of little strings that I could latch onto. Tried not to think about how stupid I was going to look when I fell through him to the ground again, and leapt.

  I felt those strings of ice cold in my hands. I really did. It took me a lot longer to fall to the ground, and that time, I jumped up immediately.

  “Again,” I said. “I almost got it.”

  And it took. I hung onto the bits of light at his shoulders, and wrapped my legs around the light that made up his waist. Tried not to think about the cold, which was pretty hard to take.

  “Walk around,” I said. “See if I can hang on.”

  Roy walked, slowly at first, and then broke into a gentle jog. And I stuck. Figured out how to cling even harder so I didn’t bounce around like a jackrabbit humping a football.

  “You’re cold,” Roy said. “I think I want to—”

  “No!” I felt his arms leave my legs, and clung even harder. “You’re cold, too. Just hang on and head for the river. We gotta save Laurel, remember?”

  “Laurel,” Roy muttered. “Right.”

  His arms tightened on my legs, and he headed out of the cemetery and to the Clearwater River. I felt a pinch of unease, because I didn’t know how to swim, but pushed it aside as the stupidity it was. I was dead. What, did I think I’d die all over again? Wasn’t going to happen.

  Roy stepped into the water, and then hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, ready to be pissed off now that I was so close to actually getting where I wanted to go.

  “This might feel a bit uncomfortable,” he said. “Just wanted to prepare you.”

  “What do you mean, uncomfortable?” I asked. The pinch got harder, turned into full-fledged fear. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not exactly.” He took another step into the water and sank to his waist. The water swirled around me, through me, almost pulling me away from him.

  “Jesus!” I cried. “Be careful!”

  “Hang on,” he said, and then stepped even farther into the river. He
was now up to his shoulders, and then he took one more step, and the water went over his head.

  My head. I was in water over my head.

  “Take me back!”

  I thought I yelled it, but realized I hadn’t said anything. My mouth was full of water, and I clamped it shut before I remembered that I was frigging dead, and I wasn’t going to drown.

  It sure felt like I was going to. Drown, I mean.

  The water pressed on me everywhere. Eyelids, nose, mouth, like it was looking for a way in.

  Jesus, I thought. Get me out of here.

  But Roy kept up his leisurely pace. Like he was on a stroll. Our heads popped out of the water, and even though I knew I didn’t need to do it, I took in a deep couple of breaths. Like I’d actually been drowning, for God’s sake.

  “It gets easier,” Roy said. “With practice.”

  He stepped back down, and the water was over our heads again, and I couldn’t answer.

  Probably a good thing, because there was an excellent chance all I would have done was swear at him.

  After what felt like forever, he turned right and slogged his way out of the river.

  “We should be close,” he said. “That was two miles, more or less. Do you recognize where we are?”

  I looked around, but had trouble figuring out what we were close to. I’d never seen Waterways from the river.

  “Get me up on the land,” I said, so I could see a frigging street sign or two. “I should be able to figure it out then.”

  Roy nodded and walked to the shoreline. I looked around, and suddenly I knew where I was.

  “Head that way,” I said, pointing. “We just have to go up that road a bit. You did good.”

  “Thanks,” Roy said, and hefted me so I was higher on his back.

  “Any chance you can put me down?” I asked. I didn’t like the idea of seeing Marie as I was being piggybacked by somebody—especially another man—and hoped I’d be able to walk into old lady Jenner’s trailer on my own.

  Roy shook his head. “Eventually you’ll be able to go where you want,” he said. “With practice. But not now. You’re too new.”

  So that was a no go. Shit.

  “What about when we get inside?” I said, a lot less hopefully. “Inside the trailer? I should be able to walk around in there. Right?”

  “I don’t know,” Roy said. “You can try, when we get there.”

  I had the sneaking suspicion that if I disappeared once he was near his wife, Laurel, Roy wouldn’t do much to find me.

  In other words, I’d be on my own.

  So, I decided to practice clutching the light strings. I wondered if I could use this newly acquired skill not just on ghosts, but on the living.

  If I could, I’d transfer from Roy to Marie. She could help me stay there while we hashed things out. I figured she owed me that, at the very least.

  But what if Marie wasn’t there?

  There was always old lady Jenner—though she was supposed to have some skills when it came to dealing with ghosts. Maybe it was better to try to stay away from her.

  And there was James the Asshole Lavall. He was in that trailer, somewhere, too. But even thinking about him made rage, white-hot, grow in me.

  That son of a bitch was trying to steal Marie from me. All I wanted to do was get rid of him. I didn’t want to ride him anywhere. I hated that guy.

  And then I wondered if I could cling to the place.

  “Hey, Roy,” I said, hating the way my voice jogged up and down like a little kid’s with his every step. “Do you know how we can stay in a place, once we get there? Anything I can do to make sure I stay—”

  I almost said “with Marie,” but thought, for once, and bit down on her name, spitting out “with the old lady.”

  “Why would you want to stay with her?” Roy asked, which gave me pause. He didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no. He just wanted to know why.

  My guess? We could stay, and it probably had to do with clinging to the light strings, just the way I was doing with Roy.

  “I dunno,” I said, trying for nonchalant. “Just wanted to give you and the missus some alone time.”

  “Oh. Oh, that’s nice of you,” he said. “But I don’t think you need to worry about that. I’ll be happy to help you out while we’re there.”

  And then he did a creepy thing. He tightened his grip on my legs.

  “Just so you don’t slip off,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but I sure as shit didn’t mean it.

  I didn’t want him using me, for whatever reason. I was using him, for fuck’s sake. It had to stay that way. Which meant I had to regain control of this situation before we got to old lady Jenner’s trailer. We were about two blocks away, as the crow flies, so it was time to take a little detour while I worked out this situation.

  “Turn left,” I said.

  “Down there?” Roy pointed with his chin so he didn’t have to release my leg for even a second. And he sounded suspicious, which was no good at all.

  “Yeah,” I said. Then I looked around, like I suddenly wasn’t sure, and said, “No, wait. Maybe it’s right.”

  “Well,” he said. “Which way is it?” He didn’t sound suspicious; he sounded kind of pissed off. Which was good for me, because pissed-off folk made mistakes.

  “Right,” I said. “I’m positive it’s right.”

  Which, of course, was wrong. We walked in silence for a couple of blocks as I tried to figure out a way to loosen his grip on me.

  Slowly, bit by bit, I released his strings of light. Then I began pulling from his grasp.

  Not an easy thing to do, when you have to maintain some kind of a grip, but I managed to do it, more or less. I could feel the cold recede appreciably, so I figured I was almost free. Time to head to the old lady’s trailer, for real, this time.

  “Down there,” I said, pointing to a trail almost overgrown by weeds and bushes.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.

  “Sorry, man,” I said, all apologetic and shit. Kept a smile on my face so if he looked at me, he’d think I was being honest. “I got turned around. This will bring us in through the back. Really.”

  “Fine,” he said, and turned down the trail. “But one more mistake, and I’ll let you go. I figure I can find her myself, if we’re close enough.”

  He sniffed, as though he could smell her on the air. Creepy as shit, I had to say. But I noticed he did not tighten his grip on my legs. He just kept walking down the trail, only stopping when we hit the road that actually led to old lady Jenner’s trailer.

  “Left or right?” he asked.

  “Right,” I said. “Definitely right.”

  And in four more minutes, we were standing in front of old lady Jenner’s trailer.

  “Here we are!” I said, sounding a hell of a lot more enthusiastic than I actually felt.

  “Finally,” he said, and walked up the walk to the white trailer with the red door.

  Marie:

  John J. Fitzsimmons Memorial High,

  I Knew You Well

  I PUT THE car in gear and pulled away from my father’s house. I wasn’t ready to go back to my mother’s trailer yet, because all I had were questions for my mother, and some of them were going to be pretty hard for her to answer.

  So, I turned north instead of south and drove down Gordon to Fitzsimmons Avenue, to check out my old high school. I wasn’t really the high school reunion type, but I needed a little more time to think.

  I drove down the final street and slowed the car, shocked at what I saw.

  The John J. Fitzsimmons Memorial High School was three-quarters demolished. All that was left standing was the gymnasium and the south wing.

  I drove slowly over the cracked and broken pavement of the parking lot, to get a better look at the destruction.

  “Maybe I’ll grab a brick,” I muttered. “You know, as a keepsake.”

  The idea of it
tickled me, so I stopped the car and got out. Walked slowly up the walk, taking in the demolition. It looked like a huge child had had a temper tantrum and smashed it like a Lego tower.

  I realized I was smiling at the destruction.

  “This is what you deserve,” I said, and walked through the destroyed wall that connected the south wing to the gym. Turned left, and headed for the locker rooms, only half wondering if it was safe to walk in what was left of the building.

  I had to see that place. So many ghosts . . .

  I walked to the door of the boys’ locker room, and had a moment of déjà vu that almost knocked me on my ass. The first time I’d been in the boys’ locker room, I’d been pushed against my will.

  I was fifteen years old and had finally started to develop breasts. Developing breasts made school difficult for girls who were shy, and wonderful for girls who weren’t. I was one of the shy girls—and the whole seeing-ghosts-being-a-freak thing that I had going on didn’t help—so I did everything in my power to keep any of the boys from noticing me.

  Mostly, I was able to hide the fact that I had a body at all—outsized sweaters really did help—but that year, I had to take gym class. And that’s when it all changed.

  I didn’t actually have to take the gym class. I wanted to. Yeah, surprise surprise, me wanting to take a class voluntarily, but I liked volleyball and, believe it or not, long distance running. I knew I wouldn’t make any of the after-school teams without some help. I figured that maybe, if I did well enough in gym class, somebody might just ask me to join.

  I know, pathetic.

  I nearly dropped out when I found out that the class was co-ed, but I was desperate to fit in somewhere. Anywhere. So I stayed.

  What I found out was the boys and girls who took gym class were already jocks. Sometimes there was a poor pathetic soul, like me, who thought that maybe she’d get noticed, in a good way for once, but mostly they were jocks.

  Arnie Stillwell was a jock. He played football in the fall and basketball in the winter, and was good enough to make both teams. This made him one of the in crowd. Until he screwed up huge, that is, and the in crowd dropped him like a hot rock.