Haunting Blue

by R. J. Sullivan

  “I’m sorry, sir. I just thought—”

  “Obviously, you weren’t thinking! I ought to put your ass in that costume and send you out for an hour, except we both know you couldn’t fit in it!”

  “I’m sorry, Ted.”

  “Clock out and go home! I’ll call you later and tell you whether you’re coming in tomorrow to work your shift or to just turn in your keys. Get out of my sight!”

  I patted my face with one of the no-longer-cold cloths. I winced. My whole face felt sunburned wherever the towels touched.

  I craned my head to see Kim walk out of the room, but she refused to look at me as she mumbled under her breath.

  I coughed, and my mouth filled with snot—an improvement over the dryness of minutes earlier. I swallowed the phlegm down with another mouthful of water.

  I reached for my sweet tea, still on the table from when I’d watched the videos. I found I actually had the strength to hold my own cup and sucked on that. The sugar-brewed liquid tasted so good.

  The room stopped spinning, and I looked over at Teddy, seated in a chair across from me. His arms were folded across his chest defensively, watching me.

  Worker Stacy had vanished, and I realized I must have zoned out, again. He looked upon me with what appeared to be genuine concern. “How are you feeling?”

  “I think...a whole lot better.” I’d found my voice, so I guess that proved the truth of what I said. I pulled my hands out of the yellow feathered sleeves and struggled out of the body suit. Even through the denim, I felt the frosty air hit my sticky-wet legs as I pulled them free of the chicken legs. The costume fell in a yellow heap next to the staring, lifeless head, looking in many ways like some sort of bizarre mafia murder.

  “Just leave it,” Teddy said, even though I had no intention of cleaning it up.

  Bracing my hand on the chair behind me, I rose onto shaking, wobbly legs and waited for balance to return.

  Teddy rose, watching me closely as I popped open the locker where I’d stashed my denim jacket. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  I nodded. “Just imagine how I feel.”

  “How do you feel? There’s a Med-check down the road if you want me to drive you there.”

  I shook my head. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I took a couple of steps. My legs shook, but I wasn’t in danger of falling, and the second step was easier than the first.

  I turned the corner, spied a hand-washing sink, complete with a small shaving mirror. I gasped at the red-faced horror that stared back at me. I looked as if someone had fired a blowtorch a couple inches away from my face—my entire complexion shone a dull pink with highlights of red around the eyes and lips. I turned on the cold water and splashed my face over and over, trying to placate the screaming nerve endings of my tender skin.

  I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed it over my face, which only scratched and irritated my skin. I stared at the shocked, sick face reflected back at me.

  “You’re welcome to come back Monday after school and finish those videos if you want.”

  I glared at the humbled owner standing nearby. “I like you all right, Teddy, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that happening if I were you.”

  “Take a day to think about it.”

  I nodded and turned my back on him, walking up the aisle. If I said anything more, things might get ugly. He called after me. “Don’t worry about clocking out! I’ll take care of it.”

  Furthest thing from my mind, but I didn’t say that, either.

  “Can I give you a ride ba—”

  “Goodbye!”

  I paused long enough to top off my super-sized sweet tea—the very least they owed me—and I made a beeline for the door.

  I stumbled across the blacktop and into the grass, when I heard someone calling after me.

  “Blue! Wait up!”

  Chip? I turned, and saw him coming up the grass toward me. “Oh, my God!” I reached out.

  “Thank you so much!” As he stepped forward, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on tight. His arms draped and clasped behind my back, and his chin nuzzled the top of my head. “You really saved my ass. I guess that’s two I owe you,” I said into his shirt.

  He planted an affectionate kiss on top of my head. “It wasn’t just your ass I was trying to save. I prefer you all in one piece.”

  Ewww—my hair is still pretty sweaty. For that matter, I was a walking, talking damp rag, but he continued to hold me. Scoring points every second.

  A couple of passing cars honked. I giggled as he flinched. “Oh, let them honk. I’m used to it.”

  We separated, continuing to walk in the direction of home.

  I pressed the cool side of the sweet tea cup to my forehead. My scalp started to itch. My other hand was enfolded in his. “What were you doing there? I mean, I’m glad you were, but did you really hang out for over two hours?”

  “Well yeah,” he said, as if stating the obvious. “I got your text message and wanted to come see you. Wish you luck, that sort of thing. I hung out for awhile and ate lunch. Just when I was getting ready to give up, you came out in the chicken outfit—or I was pretty sure it was you once you waved at me.”

  “Good to know you received my telepathic message.”

  He chuckled. “Something like that. Anyway, I figured I’d better hang out, and I’m glad I did. I kept looking out the window to see how you were doing. After about an hour I told the manager you probably needed to come in, but she said they couldn’t spare anyone while they were so busy.”

  Chip shook his head and released an exasperated sigh. “Stupid bitch.” I flinched. An expletive from the Chipster was a fairly singular event. “Somewhere between one glance and the next, that’s when you fell. I told the manager I was going to get you, and of course she chased after me, suddenly all concerned.”

  The sidewalk dipped sideways and blurred out of focus. I stopped, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. Chip’s hand squeezed tight, and I pressed down to keep my balance. “Take it easy. We’ll take it slow. I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

  I nodded, glad for his support.

  We sorta forgot to release our hands the entire walk home.

  * * * *

  I’d never seen Mom dote before, but she was hovering around me the moment I cracked open the door, guiding me by the shoulders to the recliner. “Oh, my poor baby. I’m so sorry!”

  Okay, who are you and what did you do with my real Mom? I let her seat me, then pull the handle so my legs dangled above my head. I flinched at the sight of a white washcloth lowering toward my face, then closed my eyes as the cold cloth soothed my still-tender face. Aaah, now just leave me alone for the next 10 years.

  Her hand stroked my head in the lingering silence. I had neither the energy nor the desire to ponder my strange day. I’d practically drifted off to sleep when she spoke. “Ted called and told me what happened.”

  I tugged the ends of the washcloth and let it drop across my chest. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want to pursue legal action. I’d rather just let it alone.”

  Mom moved to the couch and turned to face me. “Legal action? Why would you want to do that?”

  I shrugged, assuming a mock tone of deep thought. “Oh, gee, I don’t know. Negligence, endangerment, at the very least they broke one of the super-secret mascot covenants, if not a few laws regarding the safety of a minor. Something there must be actionable, but you’d know better than me.”

  Mom threw her hands in the air. “I told him I was reluctant to have you go back, but he told me he fired the manager responsible for your incident. He’s willing to throw in a 25-cent-per-hour raise if you’ll come back and just forget about it.”

  I shrugged. “A 25-cent raise doesn’t mean anything. Nobody had time to tell me what I was making before sending me out to get slow-roasted.”

  “He’s trying to make it right. He assured me it would never happen again.”

  “Teddy trained the manager on
duty, and best I can tell, he sat hiding away in the office through the entire lunch rush. He’s ultimately responsible for what happened to me.”

  Mom drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch, the thump-thump-thump emphasizing the level of her impatience. “Jobs are so hard to come by, now. I want you to reconsider.”

  “Mom—do you think what happened to me was some sort of fluke? That they never get crowds at lunch time? That some other kid has never been stranded out there? Now that I think about it, those other workers seemed to know exactly what to do to take care of me.”

  Mom released a slow, hissing breath as she considered my words. “So, this is the thanks I get when I try to help you.”

  “Mom—I can’t go work at a place that treats their employees like that. Please. I need you to support me on this. I’ll find another job.”

  I could tell my words had no effect. She’d already made up her mind. Even as she stewed, she was going over the old rant in her head, which I could hear as plain as day. Good for nothing, ungrateful daughter, after all the sacrifices, yadda-yadda-yadda.

  She said none of those things. Instead, she slapped the arm of the couch and stood. “Fine. Quit. I give up!” With that, she stormed out of the room.

  I sighed and pulled the cloth—no longer cold—across my face.

  That makes two of us.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Perionne—November, 1978

  Jim watched Jeff Crimley run from the shelter of the car toward the locked gate of Perionne Amusement Park, using the illumination from the headlights to see through the heavy rain. Crimley fiddled with his maintenance keys until the gate swung open. Jim eased the car forward.

  The car door opened, and Crimley settled into the back seat behind Jim. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw Crimley wiping his hands across his wet face, trying to clear his vision. “Damn. Just our luck.”

  Jim finally asked the one question he’d dreaded voicing all day. “What are we doing?”

  Crimley and Gunther had kept Jim cruising the back roads of town all day. They spent several hours driving randomly and getting nowhere, though they did stop long enough for Gunther and Crimley to break into someone’s tool shed and run off with a couple of shovels. Now, as it crept up on ten o’clock, they directed him to the amusement park. Jim knew he couldn’t deflect Jessie’s suspicions once he returned home. With a tightening in his gut, he wondered about his chances of getting home at all.

  He drove slowly along the walking path. Except for the twin beams of light in front of him, the park remained shrouded in total darkness.

  Jim knew from previous visits that the roller coaster stretched dead ahead. He squinted through the windshield, peering at the blacktop, which now split off in two directions—straight ahead and to the right. He barely managed to keep the car on the footpath.

  “Take the right split,” Crimley ordered.

  He did as instructed. Eventually, his headlights revealed a large, domed, cement structure. He recognized it as the rear wall of the “Pirates of Perionne” boat ride.

  “There.” Crimley pointed to a back doorway. “I can get us in there.” Jim turned the car into the mud, centering the headlights on the plain, metal door.

  Jim fought a growing panic. The memory of all the gangster films he’d ever seen flooded his brain—movies in which the criminal masterminds inevitably decide the hired flunky has outlived his usefulness and must now “disappear”.

  “Okay,” said Gunther. “It’s your plan, Crimley. What’s up?”

  Crimley shifted in his seat. “Relax, Gunther. We can’t be seen with all this money right now, but we gotta make sure no one else finds it.”

  Gunther cackled. “So, we’re going to bury it inside the ride?”

  “I knew you’d appreciate the joke,” Crimley said. “The buried treasure under the buried treasure. No one would ever think to look for it in a place like this. We’ll take enough cash to lay low in Michigan for a few weeks. Then, when the heat cools down and they think we’re long gone, we just sneak back into town and pick it up.” Crimley directed his next words to Jim. “You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  Because I won’t be around to worry? Otherwise, why tell me? They know I can steal the money. As soon as the thought came, Jim knew himself for a coward. He’d never return here, no matter what, but would Gunther and Crimley take that chance?

  Jim drew a deep breath and put on his bravado. “Go on, then. Get your burying done and over with.”

  Gunther reached across his lap for the door handle.

  “Why don’t you come with us, Jim? It’ll go a lot quicker with three people digging.”

  “Hell, no, Gunther. I’m not going to have any part of this. You already got me in deeper than I wanted to be.”

  The fury he’d fought to keep buried pushed forward. Jim twisted in the seat and stared Gunther in the face. “Now, you get your ass in there, and hurry it up. Then, I’m dropping you off, and I don’t expect to ever see you again. Got me?”

  During this exchange, Jim peripherally registered that Crimley had already opened the car door and ran to the building. Now, he struggled with the keys and the maintenance lock to the back door of the ride.

  Gunther shrugged, returning Jim’s glare with a deadly calm of his own. “Suit yourself. I need the keys to get in the trunk. Then, you sit tight. Don’t even think of moving ’til we get back. You got me?”

  Gunther shifted forward, and Jim could see a glint of madness reflected in his eyes. “If you take off and we get caught, we’ll tell the cops all about your part in it.”

  Jim let out a shaky breath. “The one thing on my mind is getting you two out of my life.” He turned the ignition off and handed the keys behind to Gunther.

  The rear door opened, then slammed shut. Gunther’s silhouette moved away from the car. Jim closed his eyes, focusing on the gentle patter of the rain on the roof. Here it comes. One shot through the windshield, and I’m done.

  For the next couple of minutes, Jim calmed his breathing and listened to the rain.

  A flash of red lit the back of his retina, followed by the percussive boom of thunder. Jim’s eyes snapped open, and he shrieked. I don’t want to die. I don’t want this to be my burial ground.

  The car shifted. Gunther had opened the trunk.

  A few seconds later, the car rocked from the sharp slam. There was a knock on the window near his ear. Jim jumped and bit back another whimper.

  Gunther’s angry voice reached him from the outside. “Open the goddamn window!”

  Jim rolled the window down and blinked into the spitting rain.

  “Here!” Gunther dropped the ring of keys in Jim’s lap. “Listen to the radio or something, but stay put!”

  Gunther ran toward the building. He probably knew Jim for the coward he was—knew him with such confidence, he’d let Jim keep the keys to his freedom, positive he’d be too terrified to leave. Perhaps Jim would live after all.

  * * * *

  Gunther stepped through the back door of the ride, carrying the two shovels in his hand. He brushed a sopping forearm across his face, redistributing the wetness just enough to clear his vision.

  He heard a series of loud click-clacks overhead, and then the room lit up, showing the small pirate island before him. He stood on a sandy islet, surrounded on three sides by the now-silent moat-track leading to a set of double doors.

  A wicked-looking pirate mannequin wearing an eye patch loomed close, ready to pivot toward the next boat full of riders. Nearby, a black cauldron sat upon a small and rectangular wood porch in the center of the islet. The rain pounded on the roof of the chamber, creating loud and oppressive echoes within.

  The side door in the back wall opened. Crimley stepped through, jingling his ring of keys. “That should give us the light we need.” Gunther could make out a control room about the size of a broom closet over Crimley’s shoulder.

  Crimley looked grim-faced. “We got some work ahead of u
s. Best get started.”

  Gunther dropped both shovels in the sand. “Here. Help me lift this.”

  Together, they moved the black cauldron and the framework to one side.

  Gunther extended his hook, pointing. “If we bury it right here, and put the black pot back on top of it, we’ll have a perfect marker for when we come back.”

  Crimley nodded. He picked up a shovel and pushed it into the ground. “We should dig down about four feet or so to make sure the money’s good ’n buried.”

  Gunther grabbed the second shovel. He latched his prosthetic hook to the lower part of the wooden handle and pressed the business end of the shovel into the ground, using the strength of his good arm. “I’ll keep up well enough. Don’t worry about me.”

  They dug together in silence for several minutes, until they created a pit large enough for the both of them to stand side by side, burrowing about half a foot.

  Gunther continued digging, even when he saw Crimley stop, sweaty and tired. A surge of minor triumph coursed through him. Another endurance victory for the handicapped man.

  He could sense Crimley’s puzzlement. “Gunther, are you sure draggin’ Jim into this was a good idea? He doesn’t seem up to it. He may be long gone for all we know.”

  Gunther chuckled. “Just leave ole’ Jim to me. I’ve got him under control.”

  Crimley sighed. “You’re some piece of work.”

  Gunther stood to his full height, gripping the shovel in his good hand. “What do you care? I got you the driver just like we agreed.”

  Crimley stared him down, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, you did a lot of things that had nothing to do with our agreement.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  Crimley pointed an accusing finger. “You’ve made us both accessories to murder. That, partner, was not a part of the original deal.”

  Oh, that. He’d forgotten about the killings, and he shrugged off the accusation. “You think I ever robbed a bank before? I just…went nuts when I had the gun in my hand. It’s over, now. We were leaving town, anyway. Now, we’ll have to leave the country. What difference does it make?”