Brown Eyed Ghoul

by H. P. Mallory

  “So when will it end, Peyton?” Ryan asked, his voice going low and soft, while his eyes stayed fixed on mine. “There’s always gonna be someone new wantin’ your help! With Trina’s big mouth, we both know that Jill and Ada won’t be the last people askin’ you for help.” Ryan looked straight into my eyes. “So tell me, Pey. Where does it end?”

  The expression on his face made me anxious, and I wondered if he were giving me an ultimatum. I looked down at my hands, deciding what to say.

  “Peyton.”

  I swallowed and looked back up at his face, dreading what came out of his mouth next. For myself, I couldn’t say anything.

  “I want us to be together.” He brushed back a strand of my hair. “That’s what I want.” His hand fell to his side. “But sometimes, I have to wonder if that’s what you want.”

  “Of course I want that!” I answered quickly as my pulse raced and my hands went sweaty. The past couple of months with Ryan were amazing beyond words. He was thoughtful and kind, ambitious with his own dreams and equally supportive of mine. Too many times to count, he came over late at night and stayed up with me to discuss antique furniture and early twentieth century woodwork. Or popped in the library while I was studying to take me out to eat, only to return me to my books with a smile afterwards. And besides that, he was so damn gorgeous! Sometimes, like when I saw him first thing in the morning, his blond hair tousled, his bare, broad chest lying on my sheets, I’d think, How is this man mine? The thought of losing him filled me with apprehension and made my stomach churn with anxiety.

  “Ryan…” I started, trying to think of what to say to ease his mind. “I know you don’t like having Drake around but it’s…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “temporary.” As much as I couldn’t bear to lose Ryan, I couldn’t imagine being without Drake either.

  Ryan frowned as he watched my face. Jill coughed in the front room, reminding us of her presence.

  “Look,” I said as I gazed up into his eyes. “I want to help Jill and her mom. And I need Drake to do that.”

  He was quiet for a moment until he asked, “And then what?”

  Thoughts clashed in my brain, but I centered on just one. Ryan wasn’t saying it outright, but making it very clear all the same: eventually, I had to choose between them. Ryan. Or Drake.

  Drake wasn’t alive, only a spirit. Naturally, I couldn’t sacrifice the relationship I had with a very real, wonderful, amazing, flesh and blood human who was standing in front of me! Not for a voice in my head that was only that—a voice.

  But every time I entered a dreamscape with Drake, felt the carpet under my bare feet, smelled the spicy, masculine cologne when I got close to him, and heard the way his movements filled the room that was somehow not real, I had to wonder: what if? My mind would only go that far, because I dared not let it go any further. I couldn’t. Not when I had Ryan and I knew that Drake was very much dead. But the implication remained: what if Drake were alive?

  I shook my head, clearing the thoughts away. It was stupid to think things that could never come true.

  “Then…” I said slowly, my voice going softer as I looked at Ryan. I had to force the words from my lips. “Then Drake leaves.”

  Ryan studied my face, but finally said, “Okay.”

  THREE

  I told Jill and Ada that I had to meet some contacts who were more familiar with the supernatural than me before deciding if I could help them or not. We said goodbye with the promise that I would call them soon with an update. Ryan, still grumpy from our discussion about Drake, left soon afterwards to go to work, even though it was the weekend. He had a big job and a tight deadline, and after running into a problem late last night, he was off to fix things. However, he insisted on being present when I met with Lovie.

  I sat tucked into the corner of my couch, my legs curled underneath me as I scrolled through the article I found on Dorothy Arnold. I kept trying not to think about what I’d agreed to concerning Drake. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him about it yet. But it was always in the back of my mind, especially during the moments when I felt thankful for Drake’s presence, whether it was to advise me on an antique or just to keep me company.

  Drake and I didn’t really talk about him being a resident in my body very often. We’d gotten too comfortable with our arrangement, and it was almost hard for me to remember what it was like before he took up residence in my head.

  Are you listening, mon amour?

  “What?” I sat up straighter, trying to pull myself out of my thoughts.

  I finished reading the page. Are you still reading?

  “Oh, sorry, I zoned out.”

  Is everything all right?

  I bit my lip, trying to think of how I should start when my phone vibrated. Somewhat thankful for the interruption, I picked it up and swiped the screen. It was a text from Jill.

  I just wanted to let you know, Mama doesn’t have long. She’s back in the hospital again. Treatment bought her some time, but not much. We would really appreciate your help with this.

  Drake sighed dramatically. He’d read the text too.

  I sighed too. What could I say to that?

  I hesitated, but texted back: I’ll do everything I can.

  “I shouldn’t waste any more time,” I said to myself rather than Drake. I brought the article about Dorothy back up on my phone. It was time to focus.

  The case was baffling. Dorothy was from a well-to-do family, the daughter of a U.S. Senator. She disappeared on a sunny day in mid-December, 1910 in broad daylight, in the heart of Manhattan while on an all-day shopping excursion. Several friends and family members spotted her that day and stopped to chat with her, although none of them noticed anything wrong. Two weeks later, on Christmas Eve, Alice, Jill’s Memaw and presumably, Dorothy’s baby, would be abandoned at a hospital in Brooklyn.

  The resemblance is unmistakable, Drake said when I scrolled past a picture of Dorothy.

  “Yes,” I agreed, glancing at the picture Jill provided of Alice in her mid-twenties for comparison. The women had the same dark hair, wide and large dark eyes and pointed nose. Then I read more of the article. “She had a boyfriend, and spent a week with him in Boston during the summer. Several friends reported seeing them together that week. Dorothy told her parents she was visiting one of her girlfriends. Some of the friends who saw Dorothy and her boyfriend, George Griscom, said she eagerly disclosed they had recently gotten engaged. However, there was never any official announcement of it.”

  In June, I see. She could have conceivably gotten pregnant then, although the child would have been born a few months early.

  “Seems plausible.”

  And it’s quite possible that he wooed her to his bed with the promise of an engagement as was common practice during that time…

  “Was it really common practice, or just common practice for you?” I retorted with a laugh.

  I would never resort to such ghastly tactics, but then again, I didn’t need to.

  I snorted in response, but I knew he wasn’t stretching the truth or even bragging. Drake was just stating a fact. The ghost was dark and handsome, with chocolate brown hair and deep brown eyes to match. When he was alive, he was a police officer, and his broad, well-defined chest must have been quite an asset to the job. In addition to his drool-worthy appearance, he was quite the charmer. Yes, I was well aware of all Drake’s assets. And so was he.

  But back to the article. Although Dorothy’s disappearance was thoroughly investigated, and her boyfriend meticulously questioned, no trace of her was ever found. Her boyfriend told an investigator that he was away on a family holiday when Dorothy disappeared, but the detectives later discovered that his parents left for the trip without him. He didn’t join them for several days. When he was subsequently questioned again, he told the police he’d been at home, sick. Many people, including the police, suspected he was directly involved with Dorothy’s disappearance but no evidence was discovered that could have indic
ted him. A neighbor later corroborated the boyfriend’s story, saying that he came by to check on the family’s house plants, and found George at home. He also claimed that George appeared to be ill.

  Assuming Dorothy was pregnant with Alice, it seems like the boyfriend had to know something…

  “Yes,” I agreed. “His story is suspicious for sure.” I took a breath as I thought of something else. “If no one knew she was pregnant, George could have conceivably gotten rid of her, that is, of course, assuming he didn’t want to marry her.”

  Drake sighed. Perhaps her father murdered her, or had her killed after he learned of her pregnancy.

  I felt my mouth drop open at the very thought of her father killing her. “Drake, what kind of monster would have his daughter, who was pregnant with his grandchild, murdered?”

  It happens. He was a state senator, building a career on his projection of a perfect image. I remember a similar incident that occurred when I was a lawman.

  “I don’t know. It seems a bit far-fetched, but I guess it’s a possibility. Maybe no one killed Dorothy and she just died during childbirth? Maybe those who knew about it covered it up to protect her honor. But regardless of all that, we still have no idea where she died. And that’s a problem. We can’t contact her spirit without knowing where she is.”

  Hopefully, the priestess, Lovie will tell us more about that tonight.

  “Yeah,” I said, as I scrolled back up to the picture of Dorothy. As I looked at her youthful face, I wondered where her spirit could be, and why she couldn’t communicate with Memaw Alice. If she had died during childbirth, and was stuck “reliving” her last moments of death over and over again, I couldn’t think of a more horrible existence. If that turned out to be the case, what would I tell Jill and her mom?

  I know you wish to help, mon amour, Drake said softly, but some things are beyond our control, and this might be one of them.

  I recalled the picture of Dorothy from my memory. “Even if she is stuck…” the thought slowly unfurled in my mind. “Maybe we could somehow…”

  Even if you do face Guarda again, which as you know, I vehemently oppose, but even if you do, and you travel back in time, history cannot be altered, ma minette.

  “I’m not saying that I would dare try to alter history, Drake,” I said, swallowing with a gulp as if he’d handed me a bitter pill. “My main interest is why; why is she stuck? Remember that article we read a while back, the one about the type of spirits who are trapped and doomed to relive the events of their death over and over? It’s usually because they’re obsessed about something, remember?”

  Oui, I recall.

  “Maybe if we dig a little and find out what happened to her, and what she was obsessing over, we could help her…” I didn’t finish the statement, and my voice trailed off. We couldn’t intervene on any level, I reminded myself. Tampering with any events of the past was an absolute no-no as it could potentially change the future.

  We will see what the priestess has to say.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to ignore the stark lack of hope in his voice. “We’ll see what Lovie says.”

  ***

  I rehashed the story in its entirety: Memaw Alice had an obsession with finding her biological mother, who turned out to be Dorothy. Memaw’s death was followed by her daughter, Ada’s near death experience while undergoing the removal of a brain tumor. Ada’s temporary “death” allowed her to talk to her mother beyond the grave, and now, Ada and her daughter, Jill were requesting my help. I recounted the tale to Lovie, and everyone else sitting at my kitchen table, including the information Drake and I read about Dorothy. The boyfriend and his sketchy answers during the interrogation. The timing of Alice’s birth and Dorothy’s disappearance. The location where Dorothy was last seen and the place where Alice was found.

  Now I sat watching every flicker of emotion on Lovie’s face, while anxiously hoping she would have a solution to make things right.

  Lovie was clothed in her usual bright garb: a vivid, orange turban wrapped tightly around her head, a purple, flowing top under a fat belt made of wispy fabric covered in tiny, tinkling bells, and a floor-length skirt decorated with lilac and orange geometric shapes. Though she was nowhere near as powerful as Guarda, Lovie was the most experienced priestess I knew of in New Orleans. And Lovie offered another advantage, two magical beings for the price of one. That was because Lovie worked closely with a local warlock named Christopher, who was well-acquainted with the spiritual world. Christopher was about as far from friendly as he could be, but he was still very capable in the field of witchcraft and that was good enough for me.

  Lovie folded her hands and rested them against her lips as her deep brown eyes focused on me.

  “So what do you think?” I finally prodded her when the silence stretched on. Ryan was studying her with quiet intensity.

  She looked at Christopher’s darkly painted lips as they drew into a thin line. He stood leaning against the entrance to the kitchen with one hand tucked under his elbow as he examined his painted black fingernails on his other hand. Like a cat, he always seemed disinterested in everything around him. He was a master at projecting ennui and he stressed it with each movement he made. His appearance never changed. A long, black cape hung down straight behind him, almost touching the floor and he always wore the same jet black ensemble: suit, pants, cape, and impeccably shined shoes. Whereas Lovie radiated warmth and friendliness, Christopher was the polar opposite.

  I wondered if he had to have his cape dry-cleaned.

  “If Alice couldn’t contact Dorothy, there’s really no question. That means Dorothy is just spiritual energy, trapped forever in her moment of death,” Christopher announced. I expected him to yawn, he looked so bored. As usual, he was unmoved and maybe even mildly annoyed as he straightened up and brushed off his pants. He acted as if we were wasting his time.

  “Spiritual energy?” Ryan asked. “You mean to say… she’s not even a spirit? She’s just energy?”

  “But Jill said Memaw Alice knew it was Dorothy,” I pointed out. “So how could she just be energy?”

  “Some prefer to think of these types of spirits as nothing more than energy, since they seem to be incapable of thought or interaction,” Lovie said gently. “But technically, they are still spirits.”

  “That’s debatable,” Christopher said with a shrug.

  Lovie looked back at me, her eyes heavy with sadness. “Either way, I don’t think there’s much we can do.”

  “What about when Samuel was blocked? What if it’s something like that?” I asked, still looking for any means in which I could help Jill and her mother.

  Samuel was Lovie’s familiar. A strange creature, he traveled between the spirit realm and the physical world to provide Lovie with information. As Lovie’s companion, I could see him but only when I opened myself up to the spiritual world, using my connection through Drake. As far as Samuel being blocked, that happened when the demonic Axeman suppressed Samuel, rendering the familiar incapable of any communication with Lovie.

  “Samuel was in the spirit world trying to connect to me in the physical world,” Lovie explained. “That is already a barrier in an’ of itself. But Dorothy an’ Memaw Alice were on the same side o’ things. If Alice couldn’t interact with Dorothy, there’s very little chance that we’d be able to.”

  Christopher cleared his throat and we all looked up at him.

  He glanced at Lovie, his eyes lacking any interest. “We would probably not be able to talk to Dorothy, but it isn’t completely outside the realm of possibility for someone to connect with her. Or it.” He stared at Lovie.

  Lovie paused for a moment as she stared back. Her face angled down as she considered Christopher’s words, then she took a deep breath and straightened before looking back at me. “We have heard, although not entirely from reliable sources…” She glanced at Christopher and turned her attention to me again, “…of certain spirits that were caught in a state of trapped obsession disa
ppearin’.”

  “Disappearin’?” Ryan interjected.

  “Yes,” Lovie said, continuing. “Disappearin’… completely.”

  “What do you mean, ‘completely’?” Ryan asked slowly as he leaned forward.

  Christopher answered for her. “There’s no trace of them, not here or in the spirit world. Like they just blinked right out of existence altogether.” Christopher snapped his fingers for emphasis.

  “Maybe they moved elsewhere?” I suggested. “You know,” I waved my hand in the air, “beyond the light?”

  Christopher prompted Lovie to speak with his imploring eyes. Clearly he wasn’t in an explaining mood.

  “That’s what some people have speculated, but usually, when spirits move on, tryin’ to connect with them exposes you to all the energy of the universe. That’s because they’ve joined the energy of our mother, the universal energy we all carry. You can sense when they’ve moved on. In the cases we’re talkin’ about, the spirits just disappear. When you try to reach out to them, you get nothin’! No energy, no sense of passin’, nothin’ at all!”

  At times like these, I am happy to be safely tucked inside you.

  I felt the same way. The idea of Drake suddenly fizzle-popping out of existence wasn’t anything I wanted to consider.

  “So what’s happening to them?” I pressed, looking from Lovie to Christopher.

  “We don’t know,” Lovie answered.

  “Who would?” I asked.

  Christopher said only one word. “Guarda.”

  Ryan leaned back in his chair.

  “It’s sort of a shot in the dark, but she’d most likely have the right explanation,” Lovie said quietly. “She could also be the only one who’s capable of pullin’ those spirits free.”

  Free? That doesn’t sound like the right word, Drake said.

  “Wait, are you saying you think Guarda is the one who’s making them disappear?” I asked, leaning forward as I stared at Lovie.