by Bobbi Holmes
Walt stood abruptly, preparing to summons an officer, but then a few seconds later he paused, confused and disoriented. He sat back down.
“Are you okay?” Danielle asked gently.
“I…I don’t know. Sometimes things get a little balled up when I try to do certain things.”
“Balled up?”
“You know, confused, fuzzy,” Walt explained.
“Like call for the police?”
Walt stared across the room, past Danielle and gave a little nod.
“Mr. Marlow, when was the last time you left this house? Please think really hard….try to remember.”
Walt closed his eyes, seemingly searching for the answer to her question. Finally he said, “I miss the smell of the sea.”
“Excuse me?” Danielle frowned.
“I can’t open the windows. I stopped trying. They won’t open anymore. I want to smell the ocean.” He opened his eyes and looked at Danielle. Something about him looked so sad, making her grateful that she hadn’t blurted out the truth.
Danielle stood up and walked to a window, pulling open the blind. Her hand went to the window latch.
“I told you, it won’t open.” Walt stood up and walked toward her. Danielle ignored his warning and unhooked the latch. With minimal effort she slid the window open. Walt stood next to her and took a deep breath.
“I don’t smell anything.” He sounded disappointed.
“I can barely smell anything myself,” she lied.
Walt shrugged, then returned to the chair and sat down.
“You still haven’t told me; when was the last time you left here?”
“I don’t know,” Walt said after a few moments of silence. “It’s…it’s rather a blur. I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to my solitude.”
“You mentioned you live here with your wife.”
“Angela. She’s in Portland, visiting her brother.”
“Do you know how long she’s been gone?”
The question seemed to confuse Walt. He shook his head, indicating he was unsure.
“Do you remember the last time someone visited you—aside from us today?”
“I wouldn’t really call yours a visit, as much as a trespass.”
“Fine…but still, can you recall any other visitors? When was the last time?”
“Joanne comes regularly. She came this morning.”
“Joanne? She’s the housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
“Do you…well talk to her? Have conversations?”
“With the housekeeper?” Walt scowled at the idea. “She is the housekeeper, what have we to discuss? Although I occasionally tell her I would like to have something done differently.”
“And how does that work out for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does she do it your way?”
“No,” Walt scoffed. “She’s a stubborn woman. I get the feeling she simply ignores me most of the time. But she does a fair job and I’ve learned to accept her shortcomings.”
“So, you’ve never had a real discussion with her—a conversation where one of you asks a question and the other one gives an answer?”
“No, not really. Didn’t I just say that?”
“I suppose you did. I’m curious, how do you know her name is Joanne?”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Did she tell you her name?”
Walt considered the question for a moment before answering. “When she first came to the house a man brought her, explained her duties. I heard him call her Joanne.”
“Who was this man?”
“I don’t know.” Walt sounded frustrated.
“Didn’t you find it odd that a strange man had a key to your house? That he brought you a housekeeper?”
“I don’t know. That was a long time ago.”
“Anyone else? Any other visitors that you recall?”
“Just the woman with the clipboard.”
“Woman with the clipboard?”
“I’m not sure who she was. Joanne let her in. I tried to talk to her, but her responses made no sense. She wasn’t here long. Just walked through the rooms, taking notes. She wore the most unflattering pair of men’s trousers. Why are women suddenly wearing men’s clothing?”
“You prefer women in dresses, I assume?”
“It is not a matter of what I prefer—it’s simply what women should wear.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“It should be a simple one. I go to sleep every night and wake up in the morning. What about you? Do you go to bed every night?”
Danielle noted Walt’s expression of concentration. He looked perplexed. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t find an answer. She stood up.
“Please take me to the kitchen,” Danielle told him.
“Excuse me?”
“Just do it, please.”
Walt shook his head but stood up and led the way to the kitchen. Once there, Danielle was surprised at the room’s generous size and the pristine condition of the antiquated appliances.
“When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Danielle asked.
“I don’t understand these questions.”
“People need to eat, Mr. Marlow. At the very least once a day. Have you eaten today?”
“No…I haven’t been hungry.”
Danielle marched to the antiquated refrigerator; its door was already ajar. She opened it wider and pointed inside.
“It’s empty,” Danielle announced. After Walt had a look she went to the cupboards and started opening all the doors. There was no food on the shelves, just dishware, glasses and pots and pans.
“Mr. Marlow, you admit you’ve been in this house for such a long time that you can’t remember leaving. There’s no food in the house, and you say you aren’t hungry. Do you have any idea what year it is?” When he didn’t answer she dashed from the room, telling him she would be right back. She ran to the entry hall, where she grabbed her purse. On route back to the kitchen she rummaged through the handbag. When she walked into the kitchen she pulled a pocket calendar from her purse. Opening the calendar she showed it to Walt.
“Look—it’s June ninth, 2014. 2014.”
Dazed, Walt looked from the pocket calendar to Danielle.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this…but you died, Walt Marlow. For whatever reason your spirit is stuck here in your old house. You’re dead. You’re a ghost.”
Chapter Four
Silently, Danielle stood by the kitchen counter watching Walt, who stared blankly over her shoulder. What he was seeing, she had no idea. Since blurting out Walt’s state of being ten minutes earlier, neither party had spoken another word. Danielle had carelessly tossed her handbag and pocket calendar onto the kitchen table, and now stood with her hands folded on the counter, waiting for him to say something.
Walt turned his attention to Danielle, looking first at her face and then glancing down at her hands, still folded on the counter. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had lovely hands—quite elegant really—with long manicured fingernails, each polished in pale pink. On the index finger of her right hand she wore a gold ring with a large aquamarine gem stone. It was the only ring she wore. The feminine hands were a stark contrast to her boyish denim farm pants.
Without saying a word, he reached out slowly and set his right hand atop of hers. Instead of his palm resting on her fingers, his hand effortlessly moved through hers to the countertop. With a quick jerk he withdrew his hand and pulled it back to his chest. His gaze shot up to Danielle’s dark brown eyes. She said nothing as she watched his reaction.
“I think a part of me always knew,” Walt said at last, his voice barely a whisper.
Danielle wasn’t sure how to respond. Should I give my condolences? Gee, so sorry to have to tell you you’re dead.
“I don’t understand. How is it I can’t touch you? My hand moves throug
h yours like vapor. But just minutes ago I opened the door for you. And yet, it is impossible for me to open the window—the front door. How can I be standing here? Why don’t I simply fall through the floor like my hand moved through yours?”
“I don’t claim to understand how all of this works, but your physical form—your body, the clothes you appear to be wearing—is all an illusion. When you opened the door for me earlier it wasn’t your hand that turned the doorknob—it was your energy willing it to open.”
“Why couldn’t I do the same for the window? The front door?”
“I don’t know. Do you remember the last time you’ve been outside?”
“No.” Walt lifted his hands toward his face and studied them, turning them slowly to the right and then the left.
“It’s gone.” He stared at his left hand.
“What’s gone?” Danielle asked.
“The manacle.”
Danielle looked at Walt’s hands. “Manacle?”
“My wedding ring, of course. I don’t remember taking it off.”
“Even if it was there, it really wouldn’t be,” Danielle reminded him. “Remember, your clothes and any jewelry you have on is only an illusion.”
“I should be more…shocked….shouldn’t I?” Walt looked into Danielle’s eyes. “Why am I not more surprised?”
“I suspect because a part of you always knew, just like you said. Let’s try something. Come with me.” Danielle led the way from the kitchen, down the hall and toward the front entry. Standing next to the front door she pointed to the door knob. “Try opening it.”
Without saying a word, Walt reached for the doorknob. His hand slipped through it; in much the same way as it had glided through Danielle’s hands. She frowned then opened the door for him.
“Can you go outside?” she asked.
Unsure, Walt shrugged. With deliberate steps he walked to the doorway and proceeded to walk through it, yet as he did, his body vanished. The only portion of his body still visible to Danielle was that part still inside the house. After taking his last step from the house to the front porch, Walt vanished completely. Danielle rushed outside and looked around.
“Mr. Marlow? Are you out here?” All was silent. Danielle stepped back inside the house and shut the door behind her. Turning around, she was surprised to come face to face with Walt. She let out a little squeal and jumped.
“Don’t do that!” Danielle snapped.
“Do what?”
“Sneak up on me!”
“I didn’t. At least, not intentionally. I don’t think I can go outside.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I stepped through the doorway, I ended up back in this room. I never went outside.”
“Oh…that is bizarre. I’ve never met a ghost who was stuck someplace.”
“You’ve met lots of ghosts?” Walt arched his brow. He sounded amused.
“A few.”
“I suppose that explains your attitude.”
“My attitude?” Danielle asked.
“You seem rather…casual about all of this.”
“You seem rather casual yourself—just realizing you are….umm...”
“Dead?” he clarified.
“That is a rather unpleasant word. Realizing you are a spirit. It has a more…positive connotation.” Danielle smiled up into Walt’s blue eyes. He didn’t look amused. Turning from her he walked to the parlor. Instead of opening the door, he stepped through the wall. Danielle let out a sigh then walked to the parlor door and opened it. She found Walt sitting on a chair inside the room.
“It’s your turn,” Walt told her when she entered the room.
“Excuse me?” Danielle sat down on a chair and faced him.
“Explain why you’re here.” Walt looked up, fixing a steady and serious gaze on Danielle.
“I’ve inherited this house,” Danielle announced.
“You’ve inherited my home? From whom?” Walt scowled.
“From my great-aunt, Briana Boatman.”
“Like I said, I don’t recall any Boatmans. How did this aunt of yours come in possession of my home?”
“She’s not a blood relative. She was married to my grandfather’s brother, Harry Boatman. I really don’t know the history of the house, or how she came to own it. I always assumed it was passed down in her family.”
“I don’t understand; how is that possible? Who is Brianna Boatman to me and why is it I’ve never heard of her? As far as I know she has never been to my home.”
“What’s the last year you remember? I know Brianna was born in 1920.”
Walt considered the question a moment before answering. “1925.”
According to what Mr. Renton had told Danielle, the house had been vacant since 1925.
“Interesting. As for Brianna Boatman, I can’t recall my aunt and uncle ever living in the States. Uncle Harry worked for the government and he and my aunt traveled all over the world. They never had children. I met them a few times over the years. I stayed with them one summer, when they were living in London. He passed away about five years ago, and Brianna eventually settled in Italy. We exchanged letters several times a year—holidays mostly. When she passed, she left me this house and a little money. Frankly, I was surprised. But from what I understand, she had no blood relatives and I was the only member of Harry’s family who made an effort to keep in contact with her over the years.”
“That still doesn’t explain who she is to me. How she came to own this house.”
“According to the paperwork, her maiden name was O’Malley.”
“O’Malley? Brianna O’Malley?” He sounded surprised at the name.
“You know her?”
“I did…her mother…not her really. Kathrine O’Malley was my housekeeper. She had a young daughter named Brianna.”
“You left your estate to your housekeeper?”
Walt didn’t answer immediately. Folding his hands together, he sat on the chair, his back straight, considering the peculiar chain of events.
“No, I left everything to my wife.”
“Your wife? The woman in the portrait?”
He gave a little nod and then said, “Angela. I knew something was wrong…” Walt frowned, trying to sort out his memories. “This is so very odd. It’s like a fog has been lifted. Since the moment you made me aware—aware of my situation—the haze muddling my mind has begun to clear. I’m remembering things I haven’t thought about in years. It’s like I’ve been looking at a blurred photograph, but now it’s slowly coming into focus and I can finally make out the picture. Angela is not here. She should be here with me. Where is she?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to say it—but I imagine she’s been gone for years now.”
“Dead you mean?”
“Umm…yes.”
“But why isn’t she here with me?”
“I don’t know. But, I don’t think in the grand scheme of things you’re supposed to be here. You’re trapped for some reason. Your wife, well, I imagine she has moved on to wherever she’s supposed to be.”
“Perhaps. But this is all so very confusing. The only way Kathrine would have inherited this house was if Angela died before me.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Walt waved his right hand slightly. A thin cigar appeared between two of his fingers. Bringing one end of the cigar to his lips he took a little puff. Red embers blazed on the cigar’s tip, expelling a swirl of sweetly scented smoke. It floated by Walt’s face before dissolving into the air.
“According to my will, Angela would inherit my estate,” he finally answered. “But if she were to die before me, then my estate was to go to my housekeeper, Katherine O’Malley.”
“I find it interesting that you left your estate to your housekeeper.”
“Only if Angela died before me. Shortly before we left on our honeymoon I had my attorney revise my will, leaving everything to Angela. James asked me who I wished to name as heir sh
ould Angela precede me. Angela’s brother, Roger, or my distant cousin in London, who was named heir in my previous will.”
“James, I assume that was your attorney?
“Yes. I was not about to leave it to my brother-in-law.”
“You disliked Angela’s brother?”
“Her twin brother, actually. A four-flusher, but I tolerated Roger for Angela’s sake.”
“Floor-flusher, what’s that?”
“You don’t know what a four-flusher is?” Walt asked.
“Was he a janitor or something?”
“Janitor?” Walt frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
“Well, I don’t know; if he flushed floors, maybe that’s what you used to call janitors.”
Walt laughed. “No, four-flusher. It’s not someone’s occupation, it’s an expression.”
“What does it mean?”
“In Roger’s case, he was a freeloader, a mooch. But he wanted people to think he had money. He was the one that made sure I met Angela.”
“Because you had money?”
“I don’t imagine he wanted his sister to hook up with me for my good looks.”
“I can understand not wanting him to get your money. But you mentioned a cousin.”
“A cousin I had never met. My grandfather had named the cousin’s father as heir if I preceded him. After my grandfather passed away and the estate went to me, I found out the distant cousin had died, but he had a son. At the time I had no one else to leave the estate to.”
“You no longer wanted to include your cousin in the will? I suppose the housekeeper worked for your family for a long time?”
“Kathrine? No, a little over a year. I didn’t really know her that well, but she did a good job and I felt sorry for her. She was unmarried, had a young daughter. She had a difficult time finding a job—her reputation and all.”
“Your wife must have died before you. Which is why my aunt’s mother inherited your estate.”
“No. I would remember something like that. If Angela had died before me, I would know.”
“Do you have any memory of your…your last days?”
Walt stood up and began pacing the small room, considering the question. “I remember the wedding. We had it here, a small affair. Roger gave away the bride, something I was not thrilled with. But she loved her brother and I couldn’t see the harm.”
