City of Ghosts

by J. H. Moncrieff

  “We have another long day ahead. Man will come get us for bike ride at eight in the morning. You need your rest.” Before she could argue with him, he cut her off. “I insist—you go, I stay.”

  “It’s all right, Kate. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I could see she was angry with Harold for shooing her away like a child, but I couldn’t deal with any more drama. I’d had more than enough for the day.

  “Okay. Good night, Jackson.” With one last look at us, she was gone.

  Once we were alone, Harold focused on me, his phone nowhere in sight. “What would you like to drink?”

  My throat turned dry. The food I’d eaten churned in my stomach. Now that everyone else had left, the mood at the table was uncomfortable, to say the least. “A beer, please.”

  Harold snapped his fingers at a passing waitress and gave her my order in a tone that sounded like he was scolding her. Head bent, she nodded and hurried to the kitchen. I was sorry I’d asked for anything.

  “How is your food?”

  “It’s amazing, thank you.” To be honest, I wasn’t hungry anymore, but after he’d made a special concession for me, I figured I’d better eat. I tasted the fish. It was in a sweet-and-sour sauce that tasted suspiciously of ketchup. It was cold.

  The usual giant bottle of beer-flavored water arrived, and Harold pushed it across the table toward me. I was grateful for it, even though it was lukewarm and flat. I didn’t put it down until it was halfway gone.

  “Do you want another?” My guide’s expression was one of disgust, and I’m sure he thought I was an alcoholic. Harold only drank beer on Saturdays, as he was fond of telling us, and even then, no more than one.

  “No thanks. This is perfect.” I focused on my plate, well aware that he was watching me. The potatoes that had melted like butter in my mouth moments before were now difficult to chew, and nearly impossible to swallow. “So, how long is the bike ride tomorrow?”

  When he didn’t answer, I risked a peek, positive he’d returned to his phone. I was wrong.

  He was glaring at me, making no attempt to conceal his hatred.

  It startled me so much I spooked like he’d hit me. It pissed me off—I hated letting this asshole get under my skin. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t like you.”

  “Well, I have to say the feeling is mutual.” I set my chopsticks on my plate, no longer caring about inconveniencing Harold by taking my time. “You’re the worst guide I’ve ever had.”

  He snorted, rolling his eyes. “And as soon as we get to Hong Kong, you’re going to report me to my boss and try to get me fired. You don’t have to bother. I have already told him everything about you—your chronic lateness, the way you deliberately planned to get left behind on that tour of Hensu. He knows the truth, so it does not matter what you say about me.”

  “What do you mean, I planned to get left behind? I got left behind because of your incompetence.”

  He laughed. “You don’t think I’ve seen guys like you before? Always causing trouble, always interfering. You don’t know a thing about my country. And you don’t belong here.” His upper lip curled into a sneer. I’d never had anyone view me with such loathing before, not even ex-girlfriends or the two guys I’d gotten into a fight with back home.

  “How have I caused trouble? It wasn’t my fault I got left behind. I’ve been late once, but only by a few minutes.”

  “You are dumb, but not so dumb. I think you know exactly what I mean.”

  “Okay, let’s pretend I’m an idiot. Why don’t you tell me what you mean? Say it out loud, Harold. Come on. I’d love to hear it. Why don’t you tell me to my face exactly what the problem is?” My voice had risen to such a level that people in the restaurant were casting anxious glances our way. So much for no more drama.

  “If you cause any more problems on this trip—if you are late by a second, I have my boss’s permission to send you home.”

  There it was, on the table. Harold had played the only card he could. I’d never left a tour early before, and I didn’t plan to start now. I’d saved up for this trip for months, and I’d dreamed about visiting China for years. I wanted to bike through the Yangshuo countryside, which was said to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. I wanted to party with my tour mates in Hong Kong, and I refused to let this little weasel rob me of those experiences.

  “You can’t do that. I haven’t done anything wrong, and you know it. The rest of the group will vouch for me.” Except for Meghan, of course.

  “Or maybe I should call my government friend, and tell him a journalist is in the country illegally. Perhaps that would be better.”

  The restaurant was uncomfortably hot. Back when I was in college, I used to be a member of Amnesty International. It started out as a great excuse to meet girls, but it didn’t take long until I got passionate about helping people. I’d written a lot of emails and signed petitions to free Chinese political prisoners, so I knew what went on in the jails here.

  To say it wasn’t pretty would be a horrific understatement.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I know you are not really a journalist, Jackson. Stop pretending to be one. Then we can both attempt to enjoy what’s left of this shitty tour.”

  Harold waved the waitress over and paid her with the wad of yuan he’d collected from our group. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, our conversation was over. How I ached to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze until something popped. Thankfully, my well-developed sense of self-preservation prevented me. He might have been bluffing, but if he was, he was a much better actor than I’d give him credit for. And even if he was bluffing, I doubted the government would need much encouragement to arrest a journalist, especially one who’d entered the country under false pretenses.

  Harold didn’t resemble our serious-yet-tolerant tour guide any longer, and I realized that the role was an act, a persona he put on in the morning like we slid on our packs. This Harold—the real Harold—wasn’t someone I knew at all.

  “So. We are square?”

  This was a question I’d heard after every meal. It was Harold’s way of making sure each of us had paid in full and gotten the correct change. But this time, it had a very different meaning.

  I gave the expected answer. “We are square.”

  But I wasn’t ready to surrender just yet. Before he could leave the table, I took my best shot. “Why didn’t you tell me you were from Hensu, Harold?”

  He stiffened as if he’d been struck. He hesitated for only a second, maybe two, but it was enough to tell me I was on the right path. “I told you. I am from Xi’an. Not Hensu.”

  Harold left the restaurant without speaking further, and I had no choice but to follow him to the hotel. I stayed a few steps behind, though. There was no way I was going to walk beside him as if he were a friend.

  The man’s tour wardrobe alternated between three different Valiant T-shirts. Not so long ago, I’d thought they were cool. This particular variation struck me as ominous as I trudged along in silence.

  I love changing lives, it said.

  ~ Chapter Ten ~

  I glided through green water like a cormorant, smooth and sleek. It was peaceful under the surface. For miles everything was jade.

  My body relaxed as the water flowed over me. Swimming had never been easier. I fell into a rhythm, feeling the stress and concerns of the past few days disappear with every breath. There was nothing to worry about. All was silent and serene and beautiful.

  Something yanked my ankle.

  Moving my legs faster, not panicking yet, I was confident I’d be able to get away from whatever held me in its grip. It was a plant that had tangled around my foot. Or some misguided river creature that had mistaken me for food.

  I kicked again.

  Now whatever it was pulled me through the water, back the way I had come. My heart filled with dread. I didn’t want to go there. I couldn’t go there. If I did, something terrible woul
d happen.

  Unable to fight any longer, I faced my adversary, shocked to see a girl clinging to my foot. Her dress floated around her like a dark cloud and her face was as white as a statue’s, eerie in the green water. When she saw I’d noticed her, she let go. I was tempted to swim as far away as I could, but something in her eyes stopped me. She lifted a hand, beckoning me to follow her into deeper water.

  It became difficult to see. Particles of sand and dirt coated my mouth until their grit crunched against my teeth. The water was no longer jade, but a murky, sickly gray. And still we went down, down, down.

  My lungs were on fire, even though the water was cool. It had been too long since I’d had air. I needed to rise to the surface, but I no longer knew which way was up. Each time I hesitated, she tugged on my arms, dragging me through the water.

  Come with me. You must come.

  I am dying, I thought. This woman is killing me.

  But still I followed.

  Gradually the water lightened. It was a sweet, pure green again. Glancing down, I saw white light streaming from the riverbed. There was a village below me. At the door of each cottage was a light that shone through the dark.

  I smiled. A village under the river—how many people got to see something like this?

  As we drew near, I saw we were not alone. In each window, a face peered out. A pale and unsmiling face, much like that of the young woman who had guided me here.

  The water turned cold. Freezing. One by one, the lights on the cottages went out. When I tried to ask the woman what was wrong, she was gone.

  I was alone in the frigid water.

  My arms and legs turned to stone, and I began to sink.

  Not far below my feet, the very last light went out.

  * * *

  I woke in a cold sweat, flinching when I heard harsh breathing, like a dog gasping at the end of a too-short leash.

  It took a second to realize it was me.

  Once I’d grown accustomed to the dark, I checked out the bed beside me. The sheets rose and fell with the rhythm of Erik’s breathing. I hadn’t woken him, then. That was good, at least.

  As quietly as I could, I pushed the blankets aside. The room was muggy with humidity, but I was freezing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a disturbing dream, and there was no doubt who deserved the blame.

  Harold.

  I staggered to the bathroom on feet that felt like blocks of ice. How was it possible to be so hot and cold at the same time? I closed the door before turning on the light, not wanting to disturb Erik.

  I hesitated, my hand hovering over the light switch.

  I could feel her in the dark, watching me.

  “I don’t know how you got in here, but you have to leave.”

  “You promised to tell my story.” I’d known she was there, but I was still startled as hell when she spoke. My heart slammed against my chest like an animal desperate to escape. I knew how it felt.

  She followed me. The woman was definitely unhinged, to say the least. I’d have to proceed carefully—the last thing I wanted was to wake up with a knife in my throat.

  “I never promised. I said I wanted to tell your story.”

  “You promised,” she said simply, and maybe to her it was simple. Maybe she lived in a world where there were no shades of gray, where what people said was always what they did.

  “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I can’t talk to you anymore. I can’t help you.” My throat felt cracked and raw. I longed for water, but our drinkable water was in the other room.

  “You must. You must tell my story.” She sounded as if she were crying, and I felt a pain in my chest that had nothing to do with fear.

  “I’m sorry; I can’t.”

  “But you—you are the only one who can. You are a foreigner. If you tell my story in your country, something will be done. People will know what happened to us. People will care.”

  I laughed then, a short, bitter bark, and immediately loathed myself for it. I didn’t want to ridicule her like Harold had done to me. “You think too much of my country. We don’t care about anyone. If you went there and saw the homeless starving on the streets, or the people losing their homes because they couldn’t afford to pay for their cancer treatments, you’d know. You’d get it.”

  “You promised.”

  “You’re really stuck on that idea, aren’t you? Don’t you get it? Even if I risked my life to tell your story, no one would care. Do you hear me? Do you speak English? No one would care.”

  My voice had risen with my frustration, and now I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t woken Erik. The room was quiet. I couldn’t hear the girl, but I could tell she was still there. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “You—”

  I cut her off before she could finish. “Yes, I get it. Okay, I promised. But why is it so important that I tell your story? There are a lot of journalists here. Experienced journalists. People who speak your language. Why not ask one of them? I’m sure they would love to talk to you.”

  “You are wrong. This is a story China does not wish to have told.”

  “So it’s because I’m American, is that it? There are lots of American reporters with more experience than me.”

  “I do not know American reporters. I know that you came to my village seeking a story. And I have one for you.”

  Her words were like a cold draft. I shivered. “I don’t want your story. Ever since I met you, you’ve caused nothing but trouble.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you want my story. My story is yours, whether you want it or not. It exists, and the only way to be free of it is to share. Share it, and I promise to leave you alone.”

  Okay. She’s here. Erik is asleep. What if she tells me her goddamn story now, and I just tell her I’ll share it? Once I get home, she’ll be none the wiser, right? It’s not like she can follow me to the fucking States.

  “It is not enough to hear my story. You must share it. That is our agreement. That is your promise.”

  I was getting tired of women reading my mind. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking. Say I listen to you—you’re only one source. It isn’t enough.”

  “There are others.”

  Feeling a surge of panic at her words, I pictured a dozen sad-faced women crowding into my bathroom. “Hey, I’m sorry if I misled you, but I’m not a journalist. I haven’t written more than an email since college, okay? I’m in IT. If you need your computer fixed, I’d be happy to help you, but—”

  “What you are is nothing compared to what you will be.”

  Said every woman to every guy. “I don’t want to be anything else. Maybe I did once, but that was then and this is now.”

  The air in the room changed. It was as if the oxygen had vanished, leaving nothing to breathe. Rage emanated from her. Keeping my face turned toward the door was chickenshit, but I couldn’t bear to look. I was afraid there would be just enough light to see her face.

  “I cannot accept your answer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  And I was. In that moment, I regretted everything. Staying behind on the tour, having that stupid idea, even coming to China. I regretted it all.

  “I will not accept your answer.”

  This was a woman crazy enough to have broken into my room twice. A woman who had stalked me through several different provinces. A woman who even now might have a knife or some other weapon aimed at my back. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down my spine, and I could feel the imaginary knife pressing into my skin, deeper and deeper.

  “You do not want to give me any ideas,” she whispered. “I may become angry enough to use them.”

  “You can tell me your story, but I can’t do anything with it. Not now. As long as I’m in China, it’s not safe. I think my guide is involved. He’s been acting weird since I met you, and last night he threatened me.”

  The coolness of her response was in sharp contrast to my panic. “There is somethin
g you must do first. You must speak to Hongqi. Tell him you have spoken with me, and he will know the truth. He will help you. You cannot do this on your own.”

  “Hong-who? I don’t know any—”

  “Your guide. You must go to him.”

  “But he’s the problem. If I mention Hensu again, he’s going to have me locked up. He’s going to call the government—”

  She laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh, and I didn’t care for it.

  “He will not call the government. He would not dare. It is an empty threat.”

  I thought of the hatred in Harold’s eyes that evening. It certainly hadn’t seemed empty.

  “Go to him. Tell him I am here, and that I will not leave until my story is told. Until justice has been done, you will never be free of me. And he will never be free of you.”

  Oh yeah, I’m bound to tell him that. I might as well catch the next plane to Minneapolis now, judging by how well that news was bound to go over.

  “It would be a mistake to think you can escape your promise. As long as my story remains untold, you and I are linked. Wherever you go, I will follow.”

  “You don’t get it. You’re not listening. Harold…I mean Hong-whatever…he won’t listen. The man hates my guts.”

  “He does not hate you. He fears you. There’s a difference.”

  Yeah, meaning he’ll punch me in the face before he turns me in. Awesome.

  “I don’t even know your name. What am I—”

  “Tell him you’ve spoken to the girl he dreams of every night. The one he will never forget.”

  “Well, that’s helpful, but I was hoping for an actual na—”

  “Jackson? Are you all right?”

  I stiffened. By the sound of it, Erik was right outside the door. How much had he heard?

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” Only a dumbass would have believed me. Even I could hear the waver in my voice. Part of me wanted him to force the door. Between the two of us, we could take her down, whether she had a weapon or not.