The Flip

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “Movies! Some of us were too busy to watch shows.”

  Gerald laughed, “I guess when you’re too busy terrorizing the humans, you don’t need other entertainment.” He was in charity with her once again. Gerald couldn’t stay mad at her. One look at her alabaster skin, her sultry eyes, her plump cheeks, and all his resentment vanished. “Don’t get all irritated with me, Tessa. You know what you did to your descendants. Drove them mad, you did. What did you do to his wife?”

  “Who, Miss Mouse? Nothing.” However, her smile told him it was a bit more.

  “You are asking for trouble, my dear. You know the Sentinels—”

  Gerald was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream from below. Brad raced right through them, leaving them spinning dizzily.

  “It wasn’t me!” Tessa shouted. “It wasn’t me!”

  Brad raced down the steps two at a time. Flashlights illuminated the subcellar. A crowd of workers surrounded a man’s body splayed on the floor.

  “He screamed and then just collapsed,” the foreman took off his hard hat. “I’ll call nine-one-one.”

  Brad fell to his knees beside Willy, who lay spread-eagled. His head moved, and Brad released the breath he was holding.

  “Don’t call nobody,” Willy muttered. “They don’t know we here.”

  “You OK, Will?”

  Willy raised himself on his elbows. “The slave catcher gonna come. We have to leave here, Mistah Hemmings.”

  “What? What? Give him air. Anybody have a bottle of water?” A bottle of Evian was put in his hand, and Brad raised Willy’s head to drink.

  Willy took a swig, then coughed, spitting it out.

  “What is that shit, Brad? You trying to poison me? Don’t nobody got Dasani? You know how I feel about the fancy stuff.”

  “Wow, Willy, what happened?” Brad helped his friend sit up.

  “I don’t know.” He looked up at the other men, who shrugged.

  “All I saw was you grab your leg and go down.”

  Brad examined his leg. “Does it hurt? Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He helped him rise and then placed Willy’s arm over his own shoulder. “Can you manage?”

  “I’m fine, man. Let’s finish the job.”

  Brad shook his head. “They’ll finish the job without you. Come on.” He helped Willy out of the space and up the stairs.

  “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” the foreman called out.

  Brad looked at Willy, who shook his head no.

  The workers shifted uneasily. The foreman, sensing their disquiet, laughed heartily.

  “Come on, fellas. This is one, two, three, and collect our money.” He admitted to himself that the place gave him the creeps.

  Turning in the confined space, the three workers hoisted the rotting timbers. One gasped as he dropped the boards.

  “Did you see that? Did you? There’s a body down there!”

  Seated in the parlor, Willy drank from a bottle of less expensive water.

  “It was like the walls started to close in on me. I had my hands under the support beam, and everything went blank.”

  “You said something about your leg,” Brad told him.

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “What about when you woke up? You talked about a Mr. Hemmings.”

  Willy shook his head. “I don’t remember anything. Just—”

  “Yeah?” Brad questioned.

  “Just a feeling…a really sad feeling. Like I was trapped.”

  They heard the rush of pounding feet, and a fist banged the back door. Brad got up, meeting the foreman by the back porch.

  “We can’t do no more. You got to call the police.”

  “Police? Why?”

  “We found a skeleton. There was a body squeezed under the house.”

  “Shit,” Brad cursed as he dialed the cops.

  Chapter 12

  1862

  “You can’t hide them here.” Gerald grabbed Kurt by the collar.

  “I’m untouchable.”

  “Nobody’s untouchable. The slave catchers are ruthless. They’ll hurt your sister.”

  “She doesn’t know anything. I swear the family is safe. Did you hear that?”

  Two sets of hooves approached the house just as the sun rose in the east. The rays slanted through the dense foliage. They heard the firm steps of someone walking on the dew-laden gravel.

  Gerald struck a match, and the two men casually lit their cigars. The smoke painted their faces blue. Lewis, Gerald’s cousin, walked toward them, buttoning the front of his tunic.

  “Gerald.” He nodded. “Kurt.”

  “What are you still doing here?” Gerald asked. His eyes caught the lace of Tessa’s bedroom window. She peered through the glass, her negligee slightly parted. Their gazes met. Tessa stared at Gerald¸ a smile of contentment on her face. She had something in her hand. She snapped open the fan, languidly fanning herself. Tessa, you are driving me crazy, he thought. Her eyes rested on his cousin, and with a laugh she drifted away.

  “I had an appointment with a lady.”

  He slipped a cheroot between his straight white teeth, waiting for Gerald to light it. Gerald cupped the growing flame, letting Lewis suck on the cigar until the tip glowed red.

  “Three on a match is unlucky,” Lewis said.

  “Only on a battlefield.” Gerald dropped the match and it burned out.

  “What are you boys doing out back here?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” Hemmings replied.

  “Getting some fresh air.”

  “The party ended hours ago, Lewis,” Gerald said impatiently.

  “Only for some.” Lewis smiled.

  The door behind them unlatched, and all three turned to see the large slave stick his head out.

  “I told you to stay put,” Kurt hissed.

  “Cicero bad, suh. He burning up,” the large black man called out.

  “So blows the wind in this quarter. It’s illegal to hide other people’s property, Kurt, or are you so rich that you take whatever you want, regardless of ownership?”

  “That’s enough, Lewis. You are wearing a blue uniform; surely you understand what this is about.” Gerald ground out his cigar with the pointed toe of his boot.

  “I am serving in the army because your father paid me to take your place,” he told Gerald.

  “I joined,” Gerald replied defensively. “You didn’t have to.”

  “Your father was afraid you’d be sent to the front. He gave me five hundred dollars to take your place. When you insisted on joining up, he paid Hemmings to get you a job with McClellan. You thought he did it as a favor—hardly, Gerald. Everybody can be bought and sold. You’ll never see action. Your father has your life mapped out for you. After a few years of playing soldier, you come back, marry Tessa or some other chit, and take over the family business. If I live, he’s setting me up with a branch in Boston.” He turned to Kurt. “You are a total surprise,” he laughed.

  “Please, suh. We need a doctor,” the large man interrupted, his face dripping with sweat.

  They heard booted feet coming up the drive.

  “Get back,” Kurt whispered over his shoulder.

  Three bounty hunters, dirty from days on the trail, met them at the top of the drive. They were leading big roan horses and all were armed.

  “We’re hunting for four fugitive slaves. One female, three males. You seen ’em?” He held out papers for Kurt, who took them with authority. “We will pay for information.”

  Lewis’s eyes gleamed in the early morning light.

  “Kurt Hemmings.” He introduced himself as he scanned the papers. “Surely you don’t think I am hiding runaways.”

  “There’s a safe house in the area. We know it exists. We just left the Friends Meeting House in Jericho.”

  “And?” Kurt looked up sharply.

  “There was nothing there except a bunch of old graves. The trail led us here. It was plain as day. We can take it up w
ith a magistrate and have the house searched.”

  “Why don’t you do just that?” Gerald snatched the papers to hand them back. “There is nobody here.”

  The three men bristled, and one said, “We’d like to take a look.”

  “Bring the magistrate,” Kurt responded. “Is that all?”

  Angrily, they mounted their horses and left, the growing light allowing their eyes to search for more tracks.

  Gerald turned to Kurt. “You have to get them out of here.”

  “Where do they go next? I’ll take them,” Lewis said casually, his eyes silvered with greed.

  Gerald knew he’d turn them over for the reward.

  Kurt shook his head. “It’s my responsibility. I can’t let anyone else do it.”

  “Your father is leaving. You have a house full of people. It will raise questions as to your whereabouts.”

  “No, I’ll take them.” Gerald turned to Lewis. “Alone.”

  Lewis shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.” He pivoted abruptly, leaving them.

  Somehow, Gerald knew, it made a difference—a big difference.

  Kurt pulled a crumpled map from his pocket. “We have to risk you taking them now. We can’t wait for tonight. The next stop is Binghamton, the Zion Baptist Church up there. The deacon is a station master. Once they get upstate, he’ll get them to Canada. I don’t know how we are going to move the wounded man.”

  As it turned out, it didn’t matter. He had died a few minutes earlier. The girl sat on the dirt floor, crying over her brother’s body. They descended into the gloom of the subcellar.

  “He’s dead,” the girl wailed.

  “You have to leave. Now.” Kurt raised her up. “Go with my friend. He will get you to the next station.”

  “My brother?” She looked back at his body.

  “Will stay here. You can’t travel with his body. I will take care of it. Go. Now.”

  They left. Kurt wrapped the body in sailcloth. He rolled the young slave under the foundation of the house, watching silently as his body was absorbed by the darkness.

  From the front porch, Lewis watched the slave catchers leave. He turned to the stable hand and ordered that his horse be brought from the stable. He mounted it, his eyes roving to Tessa’s bedroom window. She was watching him, a smile on her lips, Gerald’s closed fan in her hand. In the age-old language of flirtation, she opened it and started fanning herself slowly, letting him know she wasn’t interested in him. When their eyes met, she sped up, her smile sultry. Her mind was changing, and she was telling him. She deliberately snapped it shut, smacking her palm impatiently. She wanted him; the message was clear. Her intent was written in her next action. She rubbed it up and down, then put it against her lips. He smiled, tipped his hat, and blew her a kiss. He would be back for her, and they would finish the silent conversation she had started.

  Gerald watched Tessa tease his cousin, the fan he bought her now a weapon stabbing him in his heart. Why couldn’t she see how he felt about her?

  Kurt stood next to him and whispered, “She’s a faithless jade.”

  “She’s your sister,” Gerald replied.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that she has the morality of a whore.”

  Gerald grabbed Kurt by the lapels, pushing him against the wall of the house. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  “You should move on, Gerry. She’s not for you. Tessa belongs to no one. You’ll never satisfy her, and she’ll break your heart.”

  Gerald released Kurt with a sigh of resignation. “I don’t have one anymore. She destroyed it years ago.”

  “You could marry her—I know that’s what my father wants—but you’ll never possess her soul.”

  “Can anyone ever possess someone’s soul?”

  “She’s controlling yours,” Kurt stated.

  “Do you think I invite this torment? You think I want this? I can’t tell my heart where to love. My brain knows she doesn’t love me, but my heart has a will of its own.”

  “That may be so, Gerald. Love is for poets.”

  “Hah, you are a poet.” Gerald laughed.

  “No, I am not. I am a realist. I use whatever artifices I need to fulfill my destiny. I will marry Lady Pamela, but not because I love her. I will marry her because it will put me in an office in the government. Between her influence and my father’s money, I will define my life. I will live it on my terms and not the dictates of my heart.”

  “I pity you. I would rather experience the limits of hope and despair rather than a cold, clinical existence where you never feel the depths of passion. Tessa will be mine. If it takes forever, she will be mine.”

  “You’re the poet, Gerald. I hope you don’t waste your life on her.”

  “How could anything like love be considered a waste?” Gerald shook his head. “I’ll be back by tomorrow.”

  The wagon Kurt had arranged for had been brought to the entrance of the drive, the runaway slaves hiding under a tarp.

  Chapter 13

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” Brad repeated one more time.

  “I got bumped worse on the head in Afghanistan. Stop. What did they find?”

  “I’ll tell you after I find Jules.” Brad took the stairs two at a time until he reached the ladder to the attic. “Jules? Jules!” he called out.

  “Here,” she replied, turning to face him with a beaming smile. “This place is unbelievable. I can’t wait to hear what Sal has to say. He may even want to do an estate sale just for all this.”

  Weak sunlight filtered in through a tiny window near the roof of the attic. Julie’s face was framed by a huge red hat, a bright ostrich feather wrapping her cheek charmingly. The sun bathed her in a reddish hue, and Brad blinked for a moment. She appeared taller, her breasts larger, her hips wider. Even her voice seemed deeper. Squinting, he scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest again on his diminutive wife, who seemed to have shrunk, looking like a child trying on play clothes.

  “Whoa, slow down. We have a bit of a problem.”

  Julie pulled off the hat she was wearing and walked toward him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Well, they found a body—”

  “What?” she shrieked. “Where? Eww!”

  “Not quite a body. Bones. We have to call in the police. We won’t be able to do much of anything until they green-light us.”

  “Oh my God.” Julie sank down on a rickety chair.

  Brad got down on one knee and took her hands in his. “You’re supposed to be wearing gloves.” He examined the dirty bandages. Julie shrugged. “I don’t want you to get an infection.” He kissed the dirty palms of her hands.

  Julie pulled his face against her chest, resting her head on top of his. “Who do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know, but the police will want to investigate. They’ll be here in a few. Come downstairs. We’ll talk to them and then we need to make a run to Target.”

  “Target?”

  “Jules, you don’t even have a phone anymore. We need a few changes of clothes, shoes—earth to Julie—we need a few basics. My stuff burned up, too. Are you still woozy?” He searched her face with concern.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” Julie playfully held his face in her hands. “There is a ton of late nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century clothing up here if you’re interested. I’ve been playing Downton Abbey for the last hour.”

  “Jules, our home burned down. You don’t have a job. Are you sure you’re OK?”

  Julie stood, her hand caressing a rack with period clothes hanging from it. “It was covered with dust cloths,” she told him. “Everything’s been preserved, like it’s been waiting for us. I don’t know, Brad. I feel like I am finally home.”

  “Well,” he said, as he rose from his knees, “don’t get too comfortable. We’re going to need a lot of money to get ourselves back to where we have to be. We have miles to go before we get to our destination.”

&
nbsp; Julie watched him leave the attic, thinking she was sure they had arrived at their destination.

  Chapter 14

  Detective Chambers and his partner were in the main salon when Julie came down. They were taking a statement from the foreman of the foundation workers. Then they quizzed both Brad and Julie about buying the house, asking dozens of questions.

  “Well,” the detective said, as he closed his notebook, “the bones look like they’ve been there for a while. The crime lab will be here later today.”

  “You mean like CSI?” Willy asked.

  “Yeah, just like on television. Don’t do any work back there for now.”

  “We are on a tight schedule, Detective Chambers. When you do a flip, moving it fast is vital. Oh, crap!” Brad cursed when a News 12 van pulled up to the house. “Who called them?”

  “They follow our bulletins. You can’t hide from the press.”

  Brad cursed again, long and fluently. “This is going to devalue the house.”

  “Not if we turn it into a haunted bed-and-breakfast.”

  Brad spun on her, his face taut with anxiety. “Julie, stop that already. We are moving the house as soon as we get a buyer.”

  Julie paled, embarrassed by his outburst. She opened her mouth to say something, then pressed her lips into a thin white line.

  They left Willy working on stripping wallpaper in the center hallway. Wordlessly, Julie hobbled to the cab of Brad’s truck. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.” Her tone was one of controlled rage.

  “Then don’t keep nagging, Julie. It ain’t going to happen if you keep bothering me with it.” He looked at her feet. “What are you using for shoes?”

  “I found an old pair of your flip-flops in the back of the truck.” She showed him her small feet in the oversized sandals. “Since when do you make all the decisions?”

  “Since when do you?” Brad shot back.

  Brad backed out of the driveway, causing a female reporter and her camera crew crossing the gravel to scatter. He heard her call out to him, “Mr. Evans. Brad and Julie Evans? Do you want to make a statement?” The reporter was younger than Julie, with long brown hair and a dark trench coat.