by Stuart Jaffe
“And what happens then? The Magi Group is every bit as twisted and corrupt as Tucker has made the Hull family business. Right now, the two organizations keep each other in a balanced state. With the Magi Group striking at the Hulls, you’re about to see the equivalent of a gang war. There won’t be drive-by shootings, but there will be plenty of bodies — many of them cursed into eternities of hellish suffering. But I won’t insult you by pretending to care about people. The fact remains that if the Magi Group succeeds, they’ll be too powerful for me to fight, and we’ll all be living under the thumb of Mother Hope.”
Max tried to hold his tongue, but he blurted out, “It’s worse than that for her. If Mother Hope wins, she’ll have decimated the Hulls, leaving nothing worth having for Cecily.”
Sandra kept her eyes on Cecily. “Of course, if Tucker Hull fights off the Magi Group, then you have an ever stronger foe in him. In order for you to win in any of this, you have to get them to find a balance again, if not a temporary peace.”
“Tucker is steeped in using dark magic, and Mother Hope is a witch. I, however, am neither. Which is why I need your help, and I can see that you have always been the real brains of your operation.”
“Flattery, now?”
“Not at all. I’m merely acknowledging the state of your business.”
Max stepped between the two women. “Get rid of her. We’re already screwed up enough with Mother Hope. You cannot seriously be thinking about whatever she’s going to ask of you. Not to mention, she’s a Hull.”
Sandra leaned back. “Are you comfortable enough here? We could always finish this conversation at a diner or something?”
“Okay, okay,” Max said. “I’ll shut up.”
Crossing her arms, Cecily gazed off to the side. “I hardly think a diner would be appropriate. Besides, I should hope we are nearly done.”
“Fine,” Sandra said, also crossing her arms. “Perhaps you could tell me how I’m going to help you stop a war between the Magi Group and the Hull family.”
“Research, of course. That’s what you people are good at, right? I would have preferred your husband for this, but you’ll do.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“This whole thing has been brewing for a long time. I had hoped it would blow over and tensions would settle, but Tucker keeps trying to gain more and more power — mostly of the magic variety. Yet despite all he’s acquired, he has not done anything with it. Small things, sure, but nothing significant. He’s even allowed you to remain. I think the Magi Group smells the weakness. Or perhaps they feared if they didn’t act now, he might strike harder than they were prepared for. Whatever the case, over the last few months, I knew things had taken an ugly turn. So, I employed a woman who knew her way with computers and had her access the Hull family archives.”
“You hired a hacker to hack your own family?”
“They hate me. I’m not even allowed in the main house.”
Max huffed. “I hate her, too.”
With a sharp sniff, Cecily continued, “We were able to pull up Mother Hope’s file. Yes, we have files on everybody we deal with — including you. Unfortunately, the Hull computers are well maintained when it comes to security. Before we could download the files, a countermeasure destroyed our computers — I believe my employee said we had been fried. I did, however, get a glimpse of the file and I wrote down a code — ZSRLH. I think it’s important.”
Sandra bit the inside of her cheek. “Those letters could be nothing more than a filing notation. There’s no reason to think it’s tied to anything of value.”
“I thought so, too. But when I started inquiring for further information, I was shut down. Everybody I contacted about that code stalled or disappeared or, in one case, outright refused to answer. Family that talks to me, employees who have been working for us for years, anybody connected with our archives — not a single person was willing to discuss this with me. Those letters mean something. And they’re the only thing I have.”
“Okay,” Sandra said, typing the letters into her phone. “I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you. Naturally, this must become your highest priority. I don’t know how long we have until Mother Hope or Tucker Hull makes a big move.”
“My fee will have to be higher, considering the time constraints.”
“Of course.”
Cecily offered her hand. Sandra gave a firm shake and watched Cecily walk out. Over her shoulder, Cecily said, “You best get to work right away. Oh, and sorry about your husband.”
Max followed Cecily into the hall. As she walked toward the elevators, he caught sight of Dr. Fremont — the high-heeled spy. Fremont pretended to be studying a medical chart until Cecily left the floor. Then she pulled out her cell and made a call.
Returning to his room, Max found Sandra sitting on the bed and holding his body’s hand. Then she turned to the ghost-Max. “She’s lucky I didn’t strangle her.”
Max ran his fingers along the back of his neck. “Why are you agreeing to work with her in the first place? Especially when you know the situation I’m in. If Mother Hope finds out, I’m screwed.”
Sandra straightened the blanket on Max’s body and tucked him in tight. “Your faith in me is overwhelming.”
“I’m not trying to doubt you.”
“But you do anyway. After all we’ve been through.”
“Please don’t pick a fight. Not now. I am on your side. I believe in you.”
“You don’t show it. Even before all this — at the party. Maybe even before that. What’s going on? We’re supposed to be open with each other.”
Max struggled for the words. He thought about the money troubles looming on the horizon or the way a marriage ebbs and flows or how risking the lives of those he loves had become normal. “I think it’s the lack of control. Not that I have to be in charge of everything, but right now — especially right now — I have zero control over my life.”
Sandra offered a sympathetic grin. “You’re a very silly man. Don’t you know why our marriage works? It’s because life always flies out of control, but we’re there for each other. Right now, I’m here to pick up the pieces for you. As long as you need me to, I’m here. You’d do the same for me.”
“Okay,” Max said. He always felt better when they talked out a problem — even if they didn’t arrive at a solution.
Sandra kissed Max’s forehead before looking at the ghost version. “You better calm down. Just because you’re not fully dead doesn’t mean you’re immune to the properties of being a ghost.”
Max recalled the time Drummond’s high emotional stress had nearly turned him into the kind of ghost that haunts and destroys. “Can that really happen to me?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with one like you before.”
“You do see us all, don’t you?” He thought of the hospital hallway. “How can you stand to be in this place?”
“My husband is lying here in a coma. Where else am I going to be?”
“But, honey —”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s just get you back in the land of the living.”
His chest swelled. “You’re incredible.”
“Don’t start getting all romantic. You’re a ghost and that’s only cool if you’re Demi Moore.” She blushed anyway.
Max did his best Drummond clap. “Okay, then. Let me in on why we agreed to be hired by both sides of this fight?”
“First off, we didn’t. We agreed to work for Cecily Hull, not the Hull family. And we never agreed to work for the Magi Group. We were coerced into that.”
“Isn’t that semantics?”
“Maybe. But if we don’t keep this clear, it’s going to get confusing. The whole point is for us to have the clearest picture — better than the Magi Group, better the Cecily, and most certainly, better than Tucker Hull.”
Max nodded. “And what better way to see the big picture than to have Cecily and Mother Hope feeding us information.”<
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“Exactly. We play on both of these teams until we can see the true situation. Then we decide how it all ends.”
“Like I said before — you’re incredible. Playing both sides against each other.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t get crushed in the middle.”
Chapter 6
The digital clock on his heart monitor read 2:37 am. Max stared at it until it changed to 2:38. The television flickered images of one enthusiastic salesman after another, each getting their allotted time to infomercial their way to riches. Sandra had fallen asleep in her chair with a book on witches open in her lap. She heard none of it.
Not so for Max. No need for sleep turned out to be one of the side effects of being a ghost. His mind didn’t understand, though. He saw the night sky, heard the quiet tones, and his mind told him it was time to go to bed. His ghost form, however, felt nothing — no tired bones or muscles, no heavy eyelids, no weariness of any kind. He was wide awake.
No wonder so many ghosts act the way they do. They’re bored out of their minds.
Earlier, he had wearied his brain, thumbing over the code Cecily had provided: ZSRLH. He tried simple substitution which brought no sensible results. He considered it as a jumble, but it lacked vowels. He wracked his brain for some historical event that the letters might stand for or some long forgotten acronym. Nothing made sense.
2:39 am. He considered tackling the code again, but codes were not his strength. That belonged to the puzzle-fiend he had married. Still, there were only five letters. How complicated could a code be with only five letters?
The clock changed over another minute. Max turned away. He drifted through the door and into the hall. Might as well haunt the hospital with everyone else.
With the living all comfy and asleep, the hallways were much easier to negotiate. Though still crowded with ghosts, their presence did not crowd Max’s sense of space in the same way.
“Or maybe I’m just getting used to it,” he said.
He dropped through the floor a few times until he saw the ghost of a young man staring out a window. The man wore a tuxedo with a top hat as though he starred in some old Hollywood musical. At any moment, Fred Astaire would come tap dancing across the tiled floor.
Max slid up next to the young man. He tipped his hat towards Max.
“How long you been dead?” Max asked.
The ghost remained silent.
“Sorry. Is that a bad thing to ask? I’m new to all this.”
The ghost stared at him but said nothing.
“You got a name or anything?”
The ghost’s brow pulled in tight.
It reminded Max of how frustrated Drummond had been when they first met. Back then, Drummond had been bound to his old office by a curse. He tried to communicate with the ghosts that came near, but few would acknowledge him and fewer would talk. Conversations were difficult.
And now I’m cursed. Max wondered if perhaps the dead had trouble hearing him. Probably. Not only was Max cursed, but he still had a foot in the living. However, Max knew that it was more than difficulty with communications. It was the curse. Ghosts did not like to deal with cursed ghosts. They feared they would be caught under the spell as well.
“Thanks for your time,” Max said with a slight bow. The young man bowed and tipped his hat again, slowly returning to his vigil at the window.
As Max walked away, he thought more about Drummond. Particularly, he wondered why Drummond had yet to return. He was simply going to put out a few feelers, try to get the groundwork laid to find Dr. Connor. Max needed his old friend back. He had a thousand questions about a being a ghost and Drummond was his one surefire source.
Probably why he’s taking a long time.
Dropping a few more floors, Max worked his way to the cafeteria. It was a nice set up — bright and clean with hardwood floors and plenty of open space. Even with the all the ghosts, the area felt uncluttered. Four cash registers had been set up like little islands while all the food stations were along the perimeter like a mall food court. This late at night, a single cashier sat at the ready while half the food stations were closed.
On one wall was a freezer with HERSHEY’S ICE CREAM pasted on the side. Max looked down through the freezer’s glass top. It had been years since he had tasted a chocolate eclair or a strawberry shortcake bar. If only he could reach in and scoop up some of those ice cream treats.
“You can’t do that,” the cashier said.
Max jerked to the side and looked over at the cashier. “You can see me?”
But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on the man walking in through the side door clearly marked EXIT — a pale-skinned man with a long scar from the corner of his eye down to his jaw. The pale man grinned at the cashier, a grin Max had seen right before being run off the road and into a tree. Though he knew it was all in his mind, Max thought he felt his mouth go dry.
As the pale man walked by her, the cashier took a sudden interest in cleaning her station. He never took his eyes away, as if daring her to look up. When he finally headed down the hall, she shook her head and said to a busboy, “They don’t pay me enough to have to worry about people breaking in here through that stupid door.”
“Yeah,” said the busboy. “How long have we been asking them to fix that? And still nothing.”
She went on listing her complaints, but Max no longer listened. The possibility that the pale man had come to the hospital to visit a friend was not a possibility at all. The only reason he could have come, especially at almost three in the morning, was to finish the job.
Sandra was in trouble.
Max jumped into the air and continued upward. As he passed up through floor after floor, he stretched his neck and arms ahead, trying to quicken his ascent. The pale man had avoided the main lobby because he was avoiding being seen by too many people and cameras.
That’s good, Max thought. It meant that there was a strong chance the pale man would opt for the stairwell instead of the elevator.
Another floor drifted by. Two more to go.
“One of you ghosts, go wake my wife!” Max had no belief any of the ghosts would hear him or comply, but it felt good to shout. Maybe Sandra would hear.
When he finally reached his floor, an elevator dinged. Max watched the metallic doors slide open, holding his breath the entire time. A nurse stepped off and quietly headed to the main desk. No pale man. That was a good sign. He must have taken the stairs — unless he was already in the room.
Max zipped through the hall, bumping aside ghosts, and burst in the room. Sandra sat in the same chair, her eyes closed, a soft snore escaping her lips.
“Wake up!”
She startled and her book flopped off her lap. She launched across the room to Max’s body. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she said as she looked over him and checked the heart monitor and IV.
“My body’s fine. But the guy who ran us off the road is here — the Pale Man.” As fast as possible, Max explained what he had seen. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a ghost. He can’t even see me.”
“I mean your body. What if he’s come to finish you?”
“Why would Mother Hope go to the trouble of cursing me and talking to us about finding Dr. Connor and all of that, if she was just going to send somebody to kill me?”
“But maybe she —”
“No time for this. He’ll be here any moment.”
“I can’t leave you vulnerable.”
“Come on,” Max said, wishing he could slam his hand on a table or a wall. “Across the hall. That room’s empty. Go in there now. I’ll stay here, and if there’s a problem for my body, I’ll yell for you.”
Sandra hesitated but finally nodded and dashed across the hall. Max watched her until the door closed. Then he stood by his body.
Moments later, the Pale Man entered the room. His head turned slowly as scanned across the bed, the chairs, and to
the bathroom. He pulled out a large hunting knife.
“Mrs. Porter,” he whispered. “You in there?”
He ducked his head into the bathroom and pulled back fast. When nothing jumped him, he flicked the light on and pulled back the shower curtain. He returned, moving faster now, and crossed over to the window. He leaned his head against his arm and his arm against the glass.
Max shot over to Sandra. “He’s here for you. He knows you’re not in there and he did nothing to my body. You’ve got to move now.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding her head over and over. “Okay.”
“It’ll be fine. Just hold on.” Max stuck his head through the wall to look up and down the hall. “All clear. Go for the elevators.”
Sandra closed her eyes, breathed in, and counted to three. She opened the door and walked the hall. Max followed. She pressed the call button and kept her body facing the elevator doors. Her fingers tapped against her leg.
As the doors slid open, Max saw the Pale Man leave his room. “Go, go. Hurry.”
Sandra jumped into the elevator, pressed ‘L’, and thumbed the Close Door button over and over. The Pale Man hustled toward her. As the doors slid closed, he turned for the stairs. But a second elevator opened and a doctor exited. The Pale Man rushed in and headed down.
Max dropped through the floors. He tried to slow his short, quick breaths, tried to focus on descending faster, but he had a long way to go before he had mastered moving as a ghost. By the time he reached the bottom, the Pale Man already stood in a corner of the lobby, looking all around.
Max liked that — the Pale Man was still afraid to be too public. That might help Sandra. Max floated right by and toward the visitor’s garage. He found Sandra near the Starbucks kiosk (closed for the night). She had stopped at a wall that turned toward the sliding glass doors leading into the garage.
Spotting Max, she said, “Two men are down there.”
Max nodded and flew into the garage. One glance and he knew the two men were trouble. They wore dark clothing, and both had hunting knives strapped to their sides.
“Can’t go that way,” he said to Sandra when he returned.
