by Reyna Favis
Cam stood up and grabbed Rory be the collar. “Young man, you should go now or I promise you, there will be tears before bedtime.” He gave a shove and sent the grommet off towards the exit. “Get on with you. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
Lucas did a quick side step to avoid the fleeing Rory as he walked back to the bar. “What was that all about?”
“Asshole. That’s what that’s all about.” Lenora pointed towards the closing door as Rory departed. “But my grandson, he do me proud. I raised that boy.” She patted her chest and nodded.
“And you did a wonderful job.” The rabbi looked towards the dance floor and Lucas followed his gaze. “Father Garrett and I run a group home for young adults with Down’s syndrome. We take the kids for a night out twice a year. It’s something they really look forward to. I’m glad your grandson stepped up and saved the night for Suzie.”
“Ron’s a good guy,” Lucas murmured, his eyes scanning the bar until he found the other people from the group home, huddled near the dance floor watching Suzie. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me towards the group. “Let’s go find some dance partners.” The rest of our group followed and we made some brief stops in the crowded bar as Lucas enticed other people to make the night out special for these kids.
I wasn’t much of a dancer, but my partner was so delighted by the chance to show off his moves that I forgot my self-consciousness and enjoyed the moment. Cam, with his long limbs, looked like a spider on a hotplate as he danced, but he was completely uninhibited, grinning and really enjoying himself. Lenora shuffled with her cane, but kept good time with the music and JoJo, with all the metal in his body from the motorcycle crash, still managed to look like a bouncing sheepdog. The Ganders showed the kids how to groove old school and I tried to imitate how they just flowed with the music. I should have been utterly exhausted by now, after the experience with the Lenape family and my dip in the stream, but something about the joyous atmosphere was recharging my batteries. I danced with several of the kids from the home until the tempo of the music drifted into something mellow.
Lucas grabbed my hand and pulled me into a slow dance. “This was an interesting interpretation of a date.” He was smiling, so I could tell that he wasn’t upset.
“What, you expected one on one time? I’ll have you know that is third date stuff. The priest and the rabbi told me so.”
“Lucky me, more dates.” He pulled me in closer and I didn’t hear the rabbi or priest object, so I melted into his arms and put my head on his shoulder as we swayed to the music. Inhaling his scent, a different type of intoxication gripped me and my head swam with his nearness. As I turned to look up into his eyes, the glaring stench of ammonia suddenly filled my senses. I stiffened and my eyes went wide.
“What’s wrong?” Lucas stopped dancing and held me at arm’s-length to make sure I was okay. His eyes were full of concern and his hands held me gently.
I cursed silently and decided that I’d better create some distance between us before the situation elicited poltergeist activity. There were too many people on the dance floor to even consider this possibility. “I’m sorry. I got a little lightheaded.” Stepping away, I let him see the regret in my eyes. “I better go outside and get some air.”
Seeing Suzie, I grasped her hand. “Would you like to finish this dance with Lucas?” When she smiled and nodded, I walked off the dance floor, assured that he wouldn’t follow me.
I ordered a bottle of coke at the bar and then went out the door to sit on the concrete wall at the entrance of the building. The cool air felt good after all that dancing and I greedily sucked down the sugar-charged caffeine to relieve my thirst.
Picking at the label on the empty bottle, I finally allowed myself to feel upset about Hannah’s interruption. As I pondered exactly what could be done about her constant presence, I sensed someone walking towards me out of the darkness. When the figure stepped into the light of the parking lot, I recognized Rory weaving through the parked cars. He was drunk, holding a bottle in one hand and using the other to keep himself upright. Seeing me, he pointed and screamed something incoherent before staggering towards me.
The dead hand flipped the bottle so that it was holding the neck. Raising it up, I realized it was about to break the bottom of the bottle against the concrete to create a jagged-edged weapon. “Don’t…you…dare.” The dead hand stopped its action and then lowered the bottle, once again flipping it to grip the wide bottom. I considered going back inside, but I was still afraid of what Hannah might do, so I sat there and tried to look calm when he reached me.
“Hey! Hey, you bitch!” He was all up in my face and he reeked of alcohol.
I put my left hand on his chest and moved him back, making sure the dead hand was peacefully grasping the bottle. “What Rory?”
“I saw you dancing with them. You’re just trying to make me look bad in front of Gander.” His speech was slurred and his bloodshot eyes burned with hate.
“You made yourself look bad in front of Gander. Honestly, there’s nothing I could do to make you look worse.”
“You bitch!” He grabbed the neckline of my shirt, trying to haul me to my feet. I had no idea what he’d do if he succeeded, maybe try to drag me to the dark side of the building and – my mind stopped the thought as the dead hand shot up and buried the neck of the bottle in the armpit of his outstretched arm. The neckline tore as he crumpled to the ground, still grasping the fabric. He lay there gasping, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he began retching and vomiting.
“I guess you don’t need our help.” Ron looked dazed for a moment as he stared at the suffering Rory. “We didn’t like you being out here alone…”
Lucas stood there and blinked a few times, stunned and silent. I looked away and started adjusting the ruined neckline, trying to tuck the edges under my bra straps to keep it up. I heard Lucas’s voice from a distance. “He won’t be using that arm any time soon.”
Others were approaching, but I didn’t look up. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but my cheeks burned with shame and tears threatened to spill from my eyes. One night out was just too much to ask for.
“Eww, grommet’s gerbering everywhere. He dickfaced?”
“Yeah, dickfaced and Fia jammed a coke bottle up his armpit.” Ron said this like he was proud of me.
Goose raised his eye brows. “Smooth move, Fia. Bastard had it coming.”
“Fia, are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Angela bent down and looked up into my eyes.
“I’m all right.” I stood up and she stood with me, brushing my hair out of my face and adjusting my shirt so it wouldn’t fall.
Goose looked at Ron and Lucas. “Second time now that this eggo waffle tried something on her.”
“Second time?” Lucas and Ron spoke the words simultaneously and then glowered at Rory, who lay curled into a fetal position. For a moment, I thought they’d kick him to the curb. For another moment, I was pretty sure I’d let them. I stopped my violent fantasies before the dead hand got any new ideas and took a deep, steadying breath.
“I’m going home.” My voice was dull, my heart was heavy and I was done. This wasn’t how my night out was supposed to end. Grabbing my phone, I called for a cab as I walked to the driveway entrance, leaving the others to clean up the mess.
CHAPTER 4
“So, he grabbed you and the dead hand leapt to your defense. Why isn’t this a good thing?” Cam refilled my mug with more coffee and then sat down opposite me at the card table. Zackie circled near the table and then lay down. After a restless night, I had finally called Cam just as the sun rose and asked him to come over. I didn’t want to have this private conversation in front of Ron and Lenora. To me, talking about the dead hand was like talking about venereal disease.
“It could have killed him. It was going to smash the bottle and cut him with it.” I held up the dead hand wearing the neoprene diving glove, as if it were exhibit A, and then slapped it down on the table. Zackie yawned and sm
acked her lips before resting her chin on the floor, blinking lazily at me. I caught the gist of what she said and then compressed my lips and looked her in the eye. “I am not overreacting.”
Cam shook his head and his brow creased. “But it listened to you when you told it to back off.”
“And then it acted on its own when it jabbed him with the bottle.” I rubbed my face with my left hand. “How is this supposed to be reassuring?”
“The way I look at it, it went after Rory twice, both times when he did something threatening.” Cam leaned forward and tapped his forefinger on the table. “It didn’t do anything when you were dancing with Lucas, so these defensive actions have nothing to do with people just being near you. It’s only reacting when it thinks you’re in danger.” Cam sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m starting to like this dead hand.”
I gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m bloody serious.” He took a breath and glanced away, squinting his eyes. “How do I explain it to you…” After a moment, he lifted his chin and looked back at me. His eyes were alight with mischief and a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve got it.”
I sat back and shook my head slightly. “I’m not sure I want to hear it. You’re way too amused by this.”
“No, just hear me out.” He sat forward and pointed at the offending hand. “This dead hand is like having a badly trained Rottweiler. He’s not too sure about other people, but he’s completely devoted to you. It’s up to you to keep him out of trouble and to train him how to respond appropriately to situations.”
“So, I’m a hand trainer now?” I made a rude noise. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” I pointed to the dead hand as it lay on the table. “Stay, hand…good hand.” I cocked my head at Cam. “Am I supposed to give it a treat now?”
Cam rolled his eyes and Zackie sneezed loudly at me. “It’s an analogy, Fia.”
“Look, I know it understands me because it didn’t cut Rory into little pieces with a broken bottle.” I rubbed my brow with my left hand and forced the bangs out of my face. “But it’s not like it really listens to me. In the end, it just used the bottle in a different way.”
“You didn’t tell it not to.”
“Cam, it was too quick. One moment, I was trying to figure out what Rory’s next move was and the next thing I knew, it was over.”
“And no one died and no one was bleeding. I’d call that a success.” Cam arched a brow, widening his eyes as if he couldn’t believe I was this dense. “I think it has your best interests at heart.”
“I’m not so sure. Just because it’s attached to me doesn’t mean it gives a damn about me. All the reactions to perceived danger might just be for its own self-preservation.” I bowed my head and let my shoulders slump. “It’s not like it ever does anything when Hannah goes after me.” I slanted a look at Zackie. “And it’s not like you ever do anything either.”
Zackie flicked an ear and didn’t bother to lift her head. After a dramatic sigh, she made a grumbling noise that felt to me like a warning to stop whining, grow up and deal with life.
Cam nodded. “You know it’s not Zackie’s purview to move them along. Zackie will take them if they want to move on. At the moment, Hannah will not leave Lucas.” He took a sip of coffee and his eyes wandered the room. “The dead hand doesn’t react to Hannah because it doesn’t find her to be a credible threat, that’s my take on it.”
“You can say that after she dumped that tray on me in the restaurant? After she pushed me at Peyton’s place?” I sat up, incensed that he wasn’t taking my side.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like she threw a steak knife at you or pushed you down a flight of stairs.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Yes, these were warnings to keep your distance from Lucas, but they were still on the level of pranks. These were not threats.” Cam’s eyes bore into mine as he traced a finger along his temple, just where the scar ran along my own hairline. “You know what a real threat looks like.”
I swallowed hard and looked away, remembering the blood and the traUma. “Okay, I’ll concede that what’s going on with Hannah and the dead hand do not constitute emergencies – yet. But things could easily escalate with either of them. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“And that is a reasonable fear.” Cam leaned forward and jabbed his finger at the table top. “But be proactive and get in front of the problem. Prevent the escalation.”
I heaved a sigh and tried not to feel persecuted. “So, what do you recommend? How am I supposed to get in front of the problem?”
“Communicate with them. Try to understand – ”
I burst out laughing, but the sound was bitter. “Are you serious? Don’t you think things might be just a little awkward with Hannah?”
Cam had the grace to look abashed, but then he rallied. “Well, yes, if you go to her asking permission to bed her husband.” My face grew hot at his words and I stared at him open-mouthed. Zackie took that moment to declare she’d had her fill of my petty problems. Getting up, she shook herself and grumbled something before heading to the bedroom. A flash of light announced that she had departed through the portal. Cam shrugged and continued. “The conversation you need to have with Hannah should center around why she feels compelled to stay with Lucas when it’s long past time for her to move on. It’s not like he feels her presence in any way and is giving her a reason to stay.” Cam pointed to the dead hand. “As for the dead hand, you know it’s capable of writing. Why don’t you try communicating through writing, so it’s not a one-way conversation? I know we’ve talked about this before…”
I decided to focus on the dead hand and avoid any acute embarrassment that might result if we pursued the topic of Lucas. “It wrote stuff in the past, but nothing of consequence, just a ‘thank you’ as I was writing a shopping list.” I shook my head. “Since then, I’ve had the incident with the burnt paper and knife. Why didn’t it leave me a note instead of giving me these hints of something that I can’t interpret?” I clenched my good left hand into a fist. “And nothing has changed since the last time we had this conversation – how can I trust anything that it might say?”
“I disagree. A lot has changed since the last time we had this conversation.” Cam sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “The dead hand proved itself useful by finding Lummie’s journal in North Carolina. Without this help, we would not have been able to fill in the gaps to solve the haunting by Parmelia and Bodean’s ‘Anomaly.’” He paused and let that sink in. “The dead hand has protected you twice now with Rory, whether or not you appreciate it. And whatever it is trying to say with the burnt paper and knife, I think you’d better figure it out and listen.” Cam rubbed his jaw. “In my opinion, the evidence in its favor is mounting.”
I wanted to argue, but I wavered when he confronted me with the facts. I retreated to the one inconsistency. “Why doesn’t it just write me a note instead of leaving these half-assed clues?”
Cam widened his eyes and angled his head to the side. “Why don’t you ask it?”
“Fine.” My jaw clenched as I got up and found a blank piece of paper and a pen. Sitting down at the card table again, I removed the neoprene glove and then held the pen in the dead hand over the paper. My throat felt tight, but I swallowed my misgivings, took a deep breath and then asked my question. “Who are you?”
The dead hand scrawled a name. Lummie Sinclair. The cramped handwriting was familiar to me from her journal. Sitting forward, I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the hand lifted and then set down a new line. William. This time, the script was flowing and ornate, what I’d seen on very old documents written on parchment. I shot a look at Cam and his face had gone white. Was this his lost William, the same dead William he loved so much that he was compelled to send him to the other side? While I stared at Cam, the hand lifted again and this time it inscribed a symbol that looked like a heavy cross on the paper. Of the next twenty
names, most were not familiar to me, but interspersed among these were Amy Turpin, Peter W. Parke and John Lewis Luckenbach – spirits we had helped to cross over. The hand was writing too fast for me to keep up, but the names continued to flow, written in block letters, graceful calligraphy and jagged script. There were symbols like the cross and symbols that I’d only seen on clay tablets in museums. There were names written with non-English lettering that may have been Arabic and Sanskrit and Korean. When the page was nearly full, as the hand lifted again and began to descend to write a new line, it wavered and appeared to struggle, waving the pen above the paper. At last, it made contact, and in a new script, the words ‘We are many’ appeared on the paper. The hand threw down the pen and fell to the table, where it twitched and spasmed.
“Jesus Christ,” I rasped. My eyes watered and I thought I would vomit.
“No, I don’t believe He’s signed, but then again, I don’t know what Aramaic looks like.” Cam’s eyes were huge and his breath came in short hitches.
I looked at Cam, my face drained of blood and frozen in a horrified rictus. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to get my numb lips to form words. In the end, I said nothing and just stared at the page for several long minutes.
Jarring me out of this state of shock, Cam held the neoprene glove in front of my face. “Here, put this on it.” My good hand shook as I took the glove and maneuvered the quaking dead hand into the thick covering. The hand quieted after this and I concentrated on breathing.
“You think it was lying about that?” Cam’s eyes flicked towards the paper. He looked gray and drawn, but a corner of his mouth curled a bit.
Still unable to speak, I sat hunched over and sluggishly shook my head. I stared at the sheet of paper out of the corner of my eye and a slow, but seismic shift in my thinking coalesced into a glimmer of understanding. Swallowing hard, I took another few moments for the words to organize themselves. “It’s all of them, Cam. Everyone who ever passed through the portal.” My stomach threatened to erupt like Mount Vesuvius and expel all the coffee I had drunk.
