Ghosted

by Phaedra Weldon

  I treat her to a soda for the road as we climb into my rarely used car. She chats between directions and I realize quickly she lives in the more expensive end of town. But I know this. I knew it the moment I saw her.

  Her apartment is a high rise and she directs me into the circular turn where valet parking is a must. I tell the man that opens my door I am dropping off a tenant, but the young man nods and holds out his hand for my key. "I know sir. Miss Black's father insists you join her upstairs."

  Nervousness rests on my shoulders. How could her father know we were there? But Caroline stands by the front. Her hand reaches for mine as she leads me into the revolving door of a building I have never entered.

  Glass and gold assault my eyes. I follow obediently behind Caroline as she waves to the security guard. "Hello Solomon!"

  "Good evening Miss Black. Sorry to hear about your misfortune." Solomon is a large Hispanic man. But not large as in round, large as in tall with wide shoulders. I smile at him but he does not return it. He glares at me instead and I look away as we move to a set of gold elevators.

  They open as she touches the button and a man steps out. "Miss Black! So good to see you!" He steps aside as we enter and then to my surprise, joins us. I watch as he pulls a card out of his jacket and inserts it into a slot above the elevator buttons.

  The small car is fast and my ears pop as it launches skyward. Caroline holds onto me and I hang onto the elevator's oh shit handle. Never believed an elevator would need one of these.

  Once the elevator stops, the doors open into a foyer, that also dazzles in gold and glass, along with cream marble. A flower arrangement as large as a small car sits on a table, or hovers in the air. I am uncertain because I can't see the table. Caroline thanks the elevator man and leads me around the floral car-sized decoration to a set of double doors.

  She releases me and pushes them open. "Daddy!"

  The room is full. I see uniforms there, including one of the officers at the scene of the attack. Men in suits stand from plush, beige chairs and I can smell the charred smoke of a real fire. A tall, daunting man with gray hair comes forward first. He takes Caroline into his arms briefly then steps back as if he realizes others are watching.

  "Caroline, are you all right?"

  "I am thanks to Daniel." She turns and holds her hand out to me. All eyes focus on me and for the first time I wish I were still a ghost. I move to her and she takes my hand. "Daddy, this is Daniel Grant. He's the one that fought my attacker. Dan, this is my dad, Gerome Black."

  I offer my hand to him and he takes it, though the smile on his lips never meets his eyes. They are light blue, colorless, and a voice in my mind says soulless. "It's nice to meet you, Mr Black."

  "Yes. Quite. So…" he releases my hand and I am surprised the suits surrounding him don't offer him Purell. "What sort of reward are you looking for?"

  I frown. "Excuse me?"

  "Reward. For saving my daughter? Though I must warn you, my attorneys have warned me against speaking with you. They believe you might be involved in setting up the attack."

  Caroline's vocal gasp mirrors my internal one. I shake my head slowly, unsure of what I hear. "Sir…I had nothing to do with what happened to your daughter. I was coming home and heard something in the alley." I nod to the officer behind him. "And I plan on giving a full description of the attacker to the police."

  "That's right, Mr. Black," the officer says as he steps forward. "Mr. Grant got a good look at him and he's coming into the station in the morning. I assess we'll catch this guy in the next forty-eight hours."

  "That's…good work, Detective Hernandez." Mr. Black's eyes never leave me. "You must excuse my distrust of people. It comes with my job."

  "No…that's fine." I hear myself talk but I am not fine. This man just accused me of being part of a sexual attack, and did it in front of cops. And though I am sure they didn't believe it—the seed is planted. I pull my hand from Caroline's and clasp it with my other. "I should be going. I'm sure you need to visit with your father. Detective, I'll be at the station bright and early."

  The detective nods. He looks proud.

  Mr. Black offers his hand again and I shake it. "Thank you, Mr. Grant. Her mother will also be happy to hear it."

  Caroline never mentioned her mother and I realize my assumptions were she was no longer in her life, either by death or divorce. I shake his hand and look at Caroline. She looks sad and her eyes are wide. "Do you have to go?"

  "Yes. I have a job I have to report to tomorrow and I'm already going to be late giving my description to the police." I turn to go and she joins me, her hands on my upper arm. She tells her dad she is walking me out and we return to the double doors and the foyer beyond.

  Once the doors close she turns to me, stands on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips. I am unprepared but I return the kiss seconds before reality and healthy fear kick in. I step back and smile down at her as she smiles up at me. "Caroline—"

  "Don't give me that crap about me being in shock and you being the hero and psycho-babble about Florence Nightingale, okay? I took psych in college." She takes my hands in hers. "I like you, Daniel, and not because you saved me, but because you're…"

  "Ordinary?"

  Caroline nods. "There is nothing wrong with ordinary, Daniel." She looks at my hands and runs her fingers over them. Bruises darken her jaw and cheek. The attacker struck her. Repeatedly.

  I reach down and touch that cheek. "But that is all I am."

  "You are much, much more. You're a good man. Good men are hard to find." She leans up again and whispers in my ear. "I left you my phone number here, and my security code in your loft. Please call me tonight."

  She squeezes my hand and walks back to the double doors as the elevator opens. I turn and step inside, my mind little more than a jumble of happy thoughts. I am wary also because my heart carries scars I do not wish to re-open.

  4

  Cold wind ruffles my hair and I stand outside the hotel. I wait for my car to be delivered. The valet assures me the Blacks are covering the bill. I keep my hands in my jeans pocket to keep warm. A black Mercedes pulls into the semi-circular drive. The valets sprint into action. The window lowers and the uniformed guy that took my car converses with the driver of the luxury car. A few head nods and he returns to his station.

  The Mercedes eases around the drive to where I stand. I move behind one of the tall, square columns to ease the brush of the wind. In doing so I see the driver of the Mercedes clearly because he lowers the passenger window.

  There is no mistaking what I see.

  That is the attacker, the one who tried to rape Caroline.

  I stare at him and step further back into the shadows. A luggage trolley sits to my right, burdened with a family's baggage. I hide behind it and watch in surprise as Mr. Black exits the building and strides purposefully to the Mercedes. He bends down and peers through the passenger side window as I strain to hear them and watch through a gap between brown, leather bags.

  "…stupid!" Mr. Black says. "And now you show up here?"

  If the attacker / driver speaks, his voice is lost to me in the ambient noise of the driveway.

  "No but he got a good look at you. He's going to the police tomorrow to give a description."

  Panic increases the beat of my heart as it pounds against my chest. He's talking about me! And it's now obvious to me Caroline's father knows about the attack. And he is a part of it. Anger taints the panic I feel. How dare this man accuse me in front of the police!

  I quiet my inner drama so I can hear Mr. Black's words. He straightens as he looks around the entrance and I duck behind the trolley. I count to ten and look back through my portal.

  "…appear to be here. He's probably already on his way back to his house." He takes something from his jacket pocket and reaches into the open window. "This is his address. Make it look like an accident. And then we try again tomorrow." Mr. Black straightens and turns just as my car is brought into the li
ght.

  There is no mistaking what I hear. Mr. Black is telling this man, this attacker, to find me and make it look like an accident. It doesn't take rocket science to know that it means. He wants me dead because I saw this man in the Mercedes. And even more alarming…I thwarted what I believe now was to be a murder.

  "Sir?"

  The valet sees me behind the trolley and points to my car. Mr. Black stands outside the Mercedes. Is he watching my car? Or am I just paranoid? I am unsure where to go or what to do. I can't go back inside, that would be the equivalent of stepping into the lion's den. I believe this man is trying to kill his daughter and he is doing it in a degrading manner—but I need proof of this. I need my car to escape.

  The valet comes toward me.

  I look from the trolley to my car. If I move, Mr. Black will see me. And I believe he will know I heard him. Not only is Caroline's life in danger, so is my own.

  But I need my car.

  A sports car barrels into the drive. Music blares from open windows and a passenger hangs out the window and gestures to the valet. "Yo—G!"

  As everyone's attention focuses on the disruption I move hurriedly to my car. I keep my head down and do not look at the Mercedes or Mr. Black as I get in. The key is in the ignition. I crank the car as a small crowd of apartment staff step out of the entrance and converge on the disruption.

  I hold my breath as I inch forward and one of the valets clears the traffic of onlookers and cars to allow my passage. I do not know if Mr. Black or the attacker see me leave and I don't look back. I turn right onto the highway and travel in the opposite direction of my home.

  I white knuckle the steering wheel as I wrestle control of my thoughts and try quieting the pounding in my chest. I know on an intellectual level that driving in this direction is pointless, since the police know where I live because I gave them the information. I wonder if I'm not simply blowing things out of proportion. Mr. Black and the attacker never said my name. I have no proof they were talking about me.

  But logic kills my internal attempts to downplay my panic. I saw the man's face when the mask came off. The same face drove that Mercedes. Caroline's father knows him.

  All of these facts terrify me. I make a few turns and head to Chloe's loft. There is the chance they won't find me at first because I'm not registered by that address. I have a PO box for mail. Not because I like to hide myself, but because for years I traveled around and it was easier to have a place for friends and family to find me.

  As I drive I keep my speed even, but not slow.

  I pull into the garage as the door lifts. Once the door is down, anyone passing by won't realize the wooden facade is an actual carport, engineered and made by me for Chloe. I check the alarm—everything is still set.

  I disarm, and then re-arm in dwelling mode so I won't set it off. The place still smells like Chinese food when I enter, but I know that no one else has been inside since Caroline and I left.

  Caroline.

  She needs to know she's still in danger. Will she believe me? I ask myself this as I grab my old duffle bag and shove clothing inside of it. I take the cash I've saved for the past five months as well as my own valuables. I remove anything that connects my name with the apartment. Thoughts of Caroline war in my head with thoughts of escape. Survival.

  I did a good thing and now I'm running for my life.

  As always…no good deed.

  I make plans to find a hotel outside the city and find a way to contact Caroline. I have to warn her. I have to keep her safe. A thought comes to me to call the police and tell them I saw her attacker speaking to Mr. Black. I silence the thought because I am afraid. The Blacks have money…no, the Blacks are money. And I am no one. I'm just ordinary. And ordinary never really has power.

  The thought returns as I pack my car. I think of Detective Hernandez. Of the ones standing in that room, he is my choice. I must reach out to someone, if no other reason to protect Caroline.

  His card is in my jeans and I look for my phone. I placed it in my jacket in the alley. I find the jacket in Chloe's room and my phone on the bed. I dial the card's number and wait.

  "Central Station, Officer Hotes speaking."

  I swallow and take a deep breath. "Is Detective Hernandez available?"

  "He's on duty. But I can route you to his voicemail…unless I can help you?"

  "Voice mail. I can do voice mail."

  "One moment."

  But voicemail does not answer the phone. A woman's voice does. "Detective Pellis."

  I am not sure what to say.

  "Hello? I can hear you breathing."

  "I—I was going to leave a message for Hernandez?"

  "Oh yeah…I picked up his phone. But I'm here. I can take it down."

  I pause again.

  "Look, he'll get it faster if you give it to me."

  "Tell him Dan called…and I saw the attacker talking to Mr. Black. Tell him…tell him Caroline's still in danger."

  "Wow…that's cryptic. You care to elaborate—wait a sec. Mr. Black? The Mr. Gerome Black?"

  I start to disconnect.

  "Hey! Talk to me. I heard about the attack and but I'm benched and I couldn't go check it out. How are you involved? Are you saying he was actually talking to the guy that attacked his daughter?"

  "Yes. Please…we're both in danger. Just tell Hernandez." Time to go. I disconnect and shut my phone off. I tremble as I finish loading the car. At last I am done but I do not know if the one in the Mercedes is close. Chloe's security has cameras, but they are limited in their focus. I turn on the monitors in her room. The front door is clear. So is the garage. But I can't see the back. The alley. I want to leave through the alley in case they watch the front.

  But without knowing, I don't take a chance.

  I get in my car. It cranks easily. I need gas because there is half a tank, and it will take more to reach the border. I lock the doors and press the remote button clipped to my visor. The door opens.

  No one greets me. I wait a few beats before I ease the car forward and onto the street. I watch the door close in the rear view mirror.

  I believe I am safe.

  I have never been so wrong.

  5

  Cold water drips from a wide pipe above me. It strikes the cold ground beside me and I hear its tap. I stare up at the monochromatic sky. I have no memory of the rain, but the clouds look filled with it. My head aches as I reach up to touch it. My skin is hot and my hand, cold. My thoughts center around a series of questions.

  Where am I?

  Why am I?

  How…am I?

  A flash of light blinds me, but I know the images are in my mind. It's a memory. And as I lay watching the sky, more memories return. I see the attacker's face again, only it comes for me. I fight as if my life depends on it—but I fail.

  And now I am alone.

  I sit up and look around. I don't recognize anything at first. It's as if my mind is a blank white table, with only a few pictures here and there. Then slowly as I watch, the table fills and I remember…

  Caroline!

  I'm running down the street and the ditch I woke in is gone. Is this a dream? I have no memory of running out of the ditch to the street. I stand in front of Chloe's apartment. Police surround the building. I see Detective Hernandez and run to him. "Detective!"

  He does not look up at me. He turns as a young woman approaches and hands him a clipboard.

  "Detective Hernandez," I say breathlessly as I stop in front of him. "What's going on? What happened in the apartment?"

  He does not look at me. I reach to touch him—and my hand passes through.

  Hernandez shivers and looks around as if an icy breeze has touched him. I try again, and again, my hand passes through him. My actions make him uneasy and he moves away. I touch another officer in uniform—my hand passes through. He moves back as well.

  I look down at myself. My head aches. The pain is a dull throb that follows me. I still wear the cloth
es I put on to take Caroline home. The sky is still gray. Rain drizzles around us. The officers wear raincoats and plastic on their hats.

  I'm not wet.

  Not a drop.

  I drop to my knees as I realize no one sees me. I'm not really here.

  "Chadwick? Make sure you sweep the owner's bedroom. Her drawers and closet look ransacked, as if someone was looking for something. Oh and make sure to tell Ritz the minute he gets a hit off the kid's cell phone."

  "Hey Jesus?" A tall, thin blond woman in a suit jacket and dress pants strides with purpose towards him. I stand close to him, unsure of what's happening or what I should do.

  Am I dead?

  Am I dreaming?

  Why can't I remember everything? The little pictures on my desk stop when I see the headlights. Was it the man in the Mercedes?

  And if I'm dead…where is my body?

  Hernandez sighs. I hear the frustration and exhaustion in that single exhale of air. "Pellis—what are you doing here?"

  Pellis?

  This is the woman I spoke to before I left. She looks nothing like the vague image my imagination built in our brief conversation. Her features are hawkish, thin like her body. She looks stretched, as if her skin did not keep up with a final growth spirt. Her eyes are so blue they look washed out.

  She holds up her hand. "Don't start with me. I know I'm in violation of my probation, but you're not answering your phone."

  "So?"

  Pellis puts her hands on her hips. "About midnight last night you got a call from a kid named Dan Grant. He wanted to talk to you."

  Her revelation seems to change everything. Hernandez lowers the clipboard. "He called me? What'd he say? Are you sure it was midnight?"

  "Yes. I documented everything. He sounded…upset. Worried. He wanted me to tell you that he saw Mr. Black talking with the guy that attacked Caroline Black."

  I watch Hernandez's reaction. It is surprisingly calm. He puts his hand on her upper arm and drops his voice. "Tell me exactly what he said."

  "He said that Caroline and he were in danger." She frowns at him. "He was supposed to come in and give a description of the attacker, right? But we never got it?"