Perchance to Dream

by Lyssa Chiavari

  The page she flipped to this time held a recipe for a tonic that was meant to be taken to ease the physical symptoms of emotional pain—upset stomachs, headaches, muscle tension. It was irritatingly fitting, and Mel nearly changed her plans out of spite. But she felt her gut tighten at the mere thought of grief, at the barest whisper of her mother’s memory. It couldn’t hurt to try.

  Since there were a couple other people at the opposite corner of the dark room, Mel didn’t turn on the radio like she sometimes did. Instead, she put in her headphones and flipped on her desk lamp. The recipe was water-based, so she filled and turned on the electric kettle on the counter.

  There was a peace in chopping and measuring herbs, sprinkling them into the pot of hot water at regular intervals. One of the plants turned the mixture a chilling blood red, and Mel hastily added the saffron. Soon, the mixture was a pleasant sunset orange, and she poured more boiling water in to raise the temperature. The potion was meant to sit for a quarter hour after the final water was added, so Mel covered her pot, set a timer on her phone, and began to clean up her utensils.

  In the last few minutes before the timer went off, Mel sat quietly in front of the slowly-cooling pot. A reread of the directions indicated that the potion could be drunk as soon as the quarter hour was up, if so desired. She felt another wave of weariness wash over her, tears coming to her eyes and slipping out without a moment’s pause. Some hours everything seemed fine, but sometimes she could barely breathe.

  The timer dinged quietly. Mel set to decanting the potion, filling three bottles with just enough left over to take now. She scribbled labels for the full bottles and put them in her locker before dipping a finger in the remaining liquid. A careful taste seemed safe, so she poured the few tablespoons’ worth into a glass and downed it. It burned going down, and she wished she’d cut it with water, although the recipe hadn’t explicitly allowed it. Perhaps it was best this way.

  Her stomach knots began to untie slowly as she made her way out of the back room, backpack slung over one shoulder. It seemed to be working, but there was only one way to be sure.

  “You leaving for the day?” Hannah asked as she passed by.

  “Yeah, I’m…” She hesitated. “I’m going to visit my mom. Her grave, I mean.”

  Hannah nodded. “Okay. I hope talking to her is helpful.”

  “Me, too.” Mel walked out the door and took a right. The chill wind pushed at her back, urging her along the sidewalk as she made her way to the cemetery. Hannah wasn’t entirely wrong about her going to talk to her mother. But what really drove her was the need to see if the potion could withstand the pain of sitting at the graveside.

  The gate to the cemetery swung open easily, and Mel made her way among the gravestones to the plot where her mother had been buried. There was only a temporary placard at the gravesite; the headstone would be put in later. She sat on the grass, knees pulled to her chest.

  “I miss you, Mom,” she said. The words sounded hollow and insufficient. “Aunt Clara wants to move in and I can’t stand it. I can’t believe she’d try to just fill your place like that. I don’t know why you had to go, but I just… I can’t believe you killed yourself. It’s so cold here.” She grabbed a hoodie out of her backpack and pulled it on. “It’s colder in the ground. I’m going to talk to the detective who filed the report on your death. I’m hoping I can convince her to start an equivocal death investigation, like in your crime shows.”

  The chill no longer seemed to be coming exclusively from the wind. Mel shivered deep in her bones, huddling in on herself. Tears fell from her eyes and slid down her cheeks, leaving frosty trails. “You must have been so cold, lying there on the pavement. I know how much you hated the cold weather. It couldn’t have been you.”

  Mel’s teeth began to chatter, and she could hardly speak. She tried to stand, but her head spun wildly. She hadn’t had a headache before, but now one set in, throbbing and dizzying. The potion. She cursed inwardly, unable to keep her head straight long enough to find her balance.

  I only took a little, she thought. If she stayed sitting, hopefully it would pass without further incident. Then somebody sat down beside her with a plop. Mel started slightly, then nearly fell over when she saw the person’s face.

  “Mom?” She blinked furiously.

  “It’s me.” Her mom smiled gently but didn’t reach out.

  “What…” There was no way to end her question, but it didn’t matter. The chill in her head subsided some, and she was able to stop her teeth chattering long enough to focus on her mother.

  “I don’t have a lot of time. You’ve got to listen to me.”

  “Wait, what do you mean, not a lot of time?”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “Are you… a ghost?” The word came out choked.

  “Something like that. The specifics don’t matter.”

  “But there’s no such thing!”

  The woman laughed. “Mel, you make potions. There’s an intro to spells class at your high school. What makes you think that there can’t be ghosts? Anyway, this has to be quick. I just wanted you to know that you’re right.”

  “I’m… right?”

  “I didn’t kill myself. I shouldn’t be there.” She gestured to the grave. “This wasn’t me.”

  “Who did? Were you pushed?”

  Her mother’s face tightened. “Yes. She pushed me.”

  “Who pushed you?”

  “You know we had always struggled…” The image was beginning to fade.

  “Who?”

  “Me and Clara, of course.” And before Mel could squeak out another word, her mother was gone. The headache returned with a vengeance, and she curled up on the grass. This coldness had to end soon. It had to. It had to.

  ❦

  “Mel? Mel!” A voice rang in her ear, and she started awake. Hannah was kneeling over her. “Mel, are you okay?”

  “I’m… What happened?”

  “I don’t know, you were just… Did you fall asleep?”

  “I must have. Why are you here?”

  “Your aunt called the studio when you didn’t answer her calls and didn’t come home. You said you were coming here, so…”

  Mel sat up and took careful inventory of her body. She seemed to have passed the worst of it, and the heaviness in her stomach was only a result of what her mother’s ghost had said. Clara. It almost made sense.

  “Thanks for checking on me. I think I’m feeling okay now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I just…” Mel sighed. Someone might as well know. “I saw my mother’s ghost.”

  Hannah’s facial expression barely changed. “You did? What did she say?”

  “She said I was right. She wasn’t… Somebody killed her.”

  This time, Hannah couldn’t keep a poker face. “What?”

  “Not ‘somebody’. Clara. My aunt.”

  “Mel, what the hell are you saying?” She reached out and took Mel’s hand. “You feel warmer. Let’s try to stand up, okay?”

  “Okay.” Slowly, the pair rose, and Mel took a few shaky steps. “I think I can walk now.”

  “I came in my car. Come, I’ll drive you home.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once they were in the car, Hannah turned the heat on. “Now talk to me. Your mother’s ghost said that Clara killed her?”

  Mel relayed the story in halting sentences, pausing frequently to catch her breath and her thoughts.

  “Well, that’s quite something,” Hannah said. “I hate to ask this, but do you think seeing the ghost was part of the side effects of that potion?”

  “No,” Mel said emphatically. “I knew her. It felt like her. And she was right—why not? Why can’t there be ghosts?”

  “I’m just a little concerned.”

  “It makes sense, though. Mom never would have committed suicide, not ever—and not like that. And she and Clara have always had a tempestuous relationship.”

  “Is that really rea
son enough to suspect her?”

  Mel shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Just be careful, okay?” Hannah pulled onto Mel’s driveway and shifted the car into park. “I worry about you.”

  “I know you do.”

  ❦

  Mel sat at the dinner table, playing idly with her broccoli. Joseph had been telling a story about his students, but when he finished, the conversation had faltered into silence. It hadn’t been hard to lie to them, to say that she’d just lost track of time and her phone had been on silent out of respect in the cemetery. Clara had seemed to understand, although she was clearly frustrated with Mel for not picking up.

  “So how were your classes today?” Joseph asked.

  “Okay.” Mel shrugged and ate the piece of broccoli she’d been pushing around for the last five minutes. “I mean, it was school.”

  “Anything interesting happen?”

  “Not really.”

  His attempts at conversation having failed, Joseph turned his own attention to the meatloaf in front of him. The ring of Mel’s cell phone cut through the silence. She pulled the phone out. The number on the caller ID was from the police station.

  “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” she said, pushing her chair back.

  “Mel!” Clara scolded. “No phone calls at the dinner table.”

  “Sorry,” she said, then walked out of the room as she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Is this Melanie Daniels?”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “This is Detective Rosen from the Glenwood Police Department. I was told you called regarding your mother’s suicide.” Her words were crisp, but they veiled the same pity that was in everybody’s voice these days.

  “I did. I called because I have reason to believe that her death was not a suicide, and I’m concerned that it wasn’t fully investigated.”

  “What makes you think that?” Now the pity was tinged with skepticism.

  “There’s no evidence to indicate that she was suicidal, and her method wasn’t typical for a woman.”

  “Ms. Daniels, I’m sorry for your loss, but the situation was fairly clear-cut. I don’t think there’s any physical evidence for this death being anything besides a suicide.”

  Mel’s chest constricted, and she fought to keep herself calm. “I understand that it looks that way, but I really don’t think that’s the case. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  The detective sighed. “I can come out on Monday and talk to you, if you’d like. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “Can’t you”—she paused, searching her memory for the words—“do an equivocal death investigation?”

  “We’ll see on Monday. I’ll come to your home around four. Will that do?”

  “Yes, that’s great, thank you!” Mel breathed a little easier as she hung up the phone. This would finally get things in motion.

  When she returned to the dinner table, though, the lightness of her heart vanished. Clara’s face was stony.

  “You know it’s not acceptable to take phone calls at the dinner table,” she said. “Who was it?”

  “Oh, nobody.” Mel knew even as she spoke the words that it wouldn’t work.

  “Clearly it was somebody important, or else you wouldn’t have left the table. Who was it?”

  “Um, the police department.”

  Clara closed her eyes and passed her hand over her face in a gesture of frustration. “The police department?”

  “Yes.” Mel met her aunt’s gaze defensively. If she wouldn’t let Detective Rosen come investigate, that would be proof that her mother’s ghost had been right. “The detective who handled Mom’s case is coming on Monday to begin an equivocal death investigation.” Perhaps it was a white lie, but it seemed necessary.

  “A what?”

  “To see if she really committed suicide, or if she was murdered.”

  “Murdered!” Clara laughed, sharp and humorless. “Mel, what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Mom wasn’t suicidal. She didn’t do this voluntarily. I think somebody pushed her.” She took a few bites of her meatloaf calmly, eyes on her aunt’s face.

  “There’s no reason to think that. Honey, I’m sorry, I really am. What happened to your mom... You’re not the only one who’s hurting. But you can’t make assumptions like that.”

  All pretense of finishing dinner was now abandoned.

  “It’s not just an assumption. There are things that don’t add up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Call the police department back and tell them you’ve made a mistake.”

  “I won’t.” Mel folded her arms. A part of her was aware that she looked like a typical petulant teenager, but her fury ran over her reason. “Mom was murdered. I know it. And I’m going to prove it.”

  “Lord, help me,” Clara said. “I know you’re grieving, but, Mel—”

  “I’m going to prove it, no matter what you want.” Mel stood and carried her plate to the kitchen. She scraped the remains of her dinner into the trash and put the plate in the dishwasher, then walked back to the dining room. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Melanie Daniels!” But it was to no avail. Mel stomped back to her bedroom, ignoring Clara’s calls and locking her door firmly behind her.

  ❦

  The next evening, after a long day at school, Mel waited by the drama classroom for Lea to exit. She came out, spotted Mel, and walked over with a smile.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” she asked.

  “It’s okay. How are you?”

  “Busy.” Lea laughed. “It seems like there’s never any break. Even though we just wrapped Taming of the Shrew, it’s already time to start making decisions about the next play.”

  Mel listened to Lea chatter about her conversation with the drama teacher as they made their way out of the school and toward a nearby coffee shop.

  “In any case,” Lea said, “are you... doing okay?”

  It was clear that her real question was, “Have you accepted that your mom committed suicide yet?” But Mel had had enough of being disbelieved.

  “Better now. I talked to the detective who handled my mom’s case, and she’s going to come over on Monday and maybe start an equivocal death investigation.”

  “Oh, Mel.” She sighed. “This isn’t healthy, you know.”

  “I really believe this, okay? I...” Mel took a breath. “I saw her ghost.”

  Lea stopped walking. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. Come on, I’ll talk to you about it inside.”

  When they entered the coffee shop, Lea went off to find a table while Mel ordered a latte and a black coffee. She carried the drinks over to where Lea was sitting, eyebrows skeptical.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  Mel relayed a shortened version of the cemetery story. “It was really her, Lea. I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t”—Lea gestured, searching for words—“I don’t know, something medical? It sounds like a hallucination.”

  “I’m certain.” Mel sipped her latte. “It was my mom. I know my mom. And she said Clara pushed her.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Is it? They’ve never had the best relationship.”

  “Neither have my brother and I, but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to push Adam off a bridge!”

  “I know, but this is different. Anyway, Detective Rosen will come on Monday and...”

  “And what?” Lea interrupted. “And you’ll tell her that you suspect your aunt of murder because you saw your mother’s ghost? How exactly is that going to go?”

  “I’m not going to tell her that. I’m just going to tell her I don’t think it was suicide. She can figure out who it was for herself—or at least I can start looking for clearer signs.”

  Lea shook her head. “I can’t believe you don’t hear how this sounds.”

  “I know it’s a little unexpected, but some
times I just know things, okay?” Mel’s voice came out higher-pitched than she wanted, as though she was begging Lea to understand. She didn’t want to beg.

  “You’ve said that before, and you’re not always right.”

  “Trust me on this one, okay?”

  “I can’t.” Lea downed the last of her coffee. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, Mel, but this is so beyond reasonable. And I hope the detective tells you that on Monday.”

  “How incredibly kind of you,” Mel snarled. “I so appreciate your confidence in me.”

  Lea stood. “I have to get home,” she said shortly.

  “Fine. Me, too.”

  “Fine.”

  Mel sat at the table for a minute after Lea had left the shop, just to ensure they wouldn’t run into each other, then started down the sidewalk toward home, fuming all the way. At least Hannah believed her. And come Monday, so would the police.

  ❦

  The school day felt like an eternity on Monday. Mel couldn’t manage to focus on any of her classes despite repeated attempts of her teachers to engage her in class discussions. Even Mrs. Irwin got frustrated when she called on Mel for an answer and received a vacant stare and an “I don’t know.” It didn’t matter. She’d get her grades back up in a few weeks. For now, she could think of nothing but the detective’s impending visit.

  Mel nearly sprinted home after school, arriving a full half-hour before Detective Rosen was supposed to come. Neither Clara nor Joseph was home from work yet, and so she sat at the kitchen table and tried to work on her geometry homework. At a quarter to four, the sound of a car on the street outside made her leap out of her seat. A look out the front window showed that it was only a neighbor pulling into their driveway, and she sat back down.

  At four on the dot, the doorbell rang. Mel took a deep breath, noted her thudding heart, and went to the door. Two people stood there, badges out, one of whom was presumably Detective Rosen.

  “Hi, I’m Mel,” she said, holding out her hand to shake.

  The woman stepped forward and took it. “Detective Rosen. We spoke on the phone. This is my partner, Officer Stern.” Mel shook his hand as well and invited them in.