The Flip

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “Are you going to stop?” Julie asked icily.

  Brad didn’t answer as he shifted the car into drive and hit the gas, barely missing the cameraman who was intent on filming the two of them. “I don’t owe them anything. Nothing good is going to come out of this.”

  “They’re going to knock on the door,” Julie said as they barreled down the street.

  “Oh, I think Willy will handle them fine,” Brad said grimly.

  They spent the next hour in Target in stony silence. Julie was able to stock up on basic groceries. Brad picked up a counter-sized fridge and made sure he got enough beer to fill it. It was looking to be a long evening ahead of them. Brad refused to let her load the car, making her take a seat while he packed up their supplies.

  “Look,” she said, as he lifted himself into his seat, “I don’t want to fight with you. In fact, I don’t know why I am.”

  Brad groaned. “It’s like you’re someone else or something, Jules.” He leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips. “Just stop. We’ll figure it out. I promise you.”

  His phone rang, and Brad pressed the button. Sal’s greeting filled the car.

  “Where are you? You didn’t show up yesterday.”

  “Long story,” Brad said.

  “Yeah, really long,” Julie added.

  “Hi, Julie. I have some time today. I’ll swing by around four. Will you still be at the Bedlam House then?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be there,” Brad responded.

  They got back with lunch to hear a rich baritone filling the house. “Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. I looked over Jordan, and what did I see—”

  “Willy? Will, is that you?” Brad called out.

  They found him on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.

  “What the heck are you singing?” The words died in Brad’s throat when Willy looked at him, his eyes a fiery red. “Oh shit!” He dropped the bag he was carrying, eggs slamming onto the floor.

  “Whatsa matter with you?” Willy lumbered to his feet.

  Julie cried out, “Brad!”

  “I just finished that part of the floor.”

  “Willy?” Brad took a deep breath. “You OK?”

  “Are you?” Willy asked him with annoyance.

  They carried the bags into the kitchen, which had been put in some semblance of order by Willy. Brad started taking out cans and packages of food from the bags and putting them on the countertop. Julie ran her hand appreciatively across its pitted surface.

  “Did you see anything strange when we walked in? Jules,” he urged, “did you?”

  “Um, no…why?”

  “I…nothing. You didn’t see anything?”

  “Brad, what are you talking about? Isn’t this counter beautiful?”

  “It’s all abused and tired-looking. Hey, how come our old countertop was a mess and this one is just as bad, but you think it’s OK?”

  “This one is an antique. It has character.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s junk.”

  “You can’t tell me what to like and what not to like!” Julie rounded on him with hostility.

  “Cool your jets, Jules. I’m just making an observation.”

  Julie sniffed loudly, ignoring his last remark, and turned her back to put the rest of the food away in silence.

  Brad walked into the parlor to find Willy giving him the silent treatment, too, while he cleaned up the broken eggs. Brad heard him humming the old slave song again, sending chills dancing up his spine.

  “Will. Willy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You feel strange?”

  “Nah. Why?”

  Brad cleared his throat. “You’re acting kinda strange.”

  Willy shrugged. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you. You as nervous as a tick on a bull.”

  “A tick on a bull? What the heck are you talking about? Willy, did you hit your head?”

  Willy took the rag he was using to clean up the broken eggs and threw it, hard, hitting Brad in the center of his chest. “Clean up your own damn mess.” He stalked out of the room.

  Brad looked down at the dripping yolk on his shirt, wondering what was going on in this house. Why were they all fighting with one another?

  Sal hopped up the steps to the house a few minutes later. “What a dump.” He reached out to shake Brad’s hand.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Brad frowned. “Julie’s in love with the place.”

  “You can’t tell a heart where to love.” Sal shrugged. “Nice chandelier.” He pointed to the many-armed lighting fixture in the salon. “I could resell it.”

  Brad looked up. “I don’t want to strip the house. We’ll have to replace those things. We’ve got these boxes.” He laid a hand on the shortest of the many stacks. “I’ll ask Jules to go up to the attic with you. I think at this point, you should take it all to your place and go through the boxes there.”

  “Sure, whatever you need. Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”

  Brad shuffled his feet. “This place. It’s strange.”

  “Depressing.”

  “More than that. All we do is fight. Julie’s, like, obsessed with the house.”

  “Women,” Sal observed.

  Brad nodded as if that explained everything.

  Tessa took this moment to rub up against Sal. He was a chubby one. She wrapped her arms around his thick middle, running her agile hands up and down his sides. The large man shivered, making a guttural sound that stopped Brad in his tracks.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Sal shook his head like a dog. “This place is creepy. I felt like someone was dancing on my grave.”

  “Dancing on a grave!” Tessa shrieked, flying into a rage.

  Gerald laughed from his seat on the chandelier where he observed her failed seduction. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”

  “Oh, you think so?” She flew up to him, her face purple with anger. “Watch this.”

  She spun down to come up against Brad. Her long arms started to encircle him, when a darkness fell across the room. Both men looked up, seeing nothing but feeling the oppressive presence. Tessa felt the power of the Sentinels as they gathered her none too gently and removed her from the room.

  “Feels like all the air got sucked out of the room,” Sal said as he glanced around.

  “You felt that, too?” Brad met his eyes. He had a ringing in his ears. He noticed Sal had stuck his pinky into his own ear and was shaking it.

  Sal gulped. “Weird, right?”

  “Like we’re on the set of Dark Shadows or something.”

  “Dark Shadows. Brad, man, you’re funny.”

  “Yeah, a regular barrel of laughs,” Brad agreed grimly.

  Julie relieved Brad to help Sal go through the boxes in the attic. She was strangely subdued, and Brad was worried about her. He stopped every so often, just to look at her white face.

  “You’re sure you’re OK?”

  “I told you I’m fine!” she snapped.

  “Hands sore? Ankle OK?”

  “I’ll let you know if they’re not,” Julie said impatiently.

  “Forgive me for caring,” Brad retorted, but really what he thought was, Well, screw you, too. He jumped down from the ladder, calling out, “If you need me, I’ll be working in the dining room.”

  “What’s the matter with you two—honeymoon over?” Sal laughed. “Hey, Julie, that doll, hand it here.”

  Julie held up a doll she had taken out of faded tissue paper. “Catch.”

  She hefted it, and Sal screamed, “No! It’s porcelain. Hand and feet intact. Mint condition.”

  “I’m only kidding. What’s it worth?”

  “Two grand, no sweat. It’s German.”

  Julie looked at the doll in its nineteeth-century gown, a lovely taffeta, complete with a reticule and tiny booted feet. “She is beautiful. Maybe I’ll keep her.”

  “You want to keep e
verything,” Sal laughed.

  “Yes, she does, but it’s mine,” Tessa said morosely.

  The Sentinels had deposited her there, thankfully. It was a sight better than their usual place. She was seated glumly in an old rocker. Watching the young woman touch all her things gave her the chills. Talk about feeling like someone was dancing on your grave. She began rocking, humming a waltz, the chair swaying in time to the melody.

  Julie stopped what she was doing, looked up, and saw the rocker moving back and forth. Her fascinated gaze traveled to the side of the chair, settling on an abandoned ladies’ fan. She walked to it and reached down to grab it, when a force slammed into her while a very feminine scream of “Mine!” echoed in her head. She landed hard on her hip, the wind knocked out of her.

  “You OK, kiddo? Maybe you’re not ready for all this work.” Sal looked up at her over the rims of his bifocals.

  “Did you hear anything?” She looked at Sal.

  “Just your ass hitting the floor. Take a break. I’ll get my guys up here to start loading. I think you’re going to make a nice few bucks, Julie. The china alone is worth about ten grand. It’s a complete set of Wedgwood. There’re fifty place settings. There must have been some gigantic parties here at one time.”

  “I think he was a railroad baron or something. I keep meaning to google Hemmings, but alas”—she held the fan to her head dramatically, then fanned herself furiously—“I don’t have a laptop anymore.” Julie fluttered her eyelashes, her gaze cloyingly sweet.

  “She doesn’t even know how to do it!” Tessa sneered, her eyes glowing red.

  Tessa, wild with fury, watched the girl paw through her possessions. Floating around the room, she spun faster and faster as her agitation rose. With dizzying speed, she banged into Julie again, her laughter bouncing off the wooden walls. Julie swayed, feeling dizzy. Maybe she was working too hard.

  Sal took a call and told her, “My guys just got here. They’ll take over. Sit down and let them cart this stuff out of here.”

  Julie sat on the rocker, holding the pretty doll, letting the peace of the moment wash through her. The fan hung on her delicate wrist as though it belonged there. Two workers started carrying out the boxes, and soon all she saw was the dust motes drifting in the weak sunlight coming through the strangely shaped windows. Builders called them eyebrows because usually a house had two of them in the vicinity of the attic. They even looked like eyebrows on the front of the house. Resting her head against the wicker of the chair, she rocked gently, lost in thought. Her eyes drifted shut. Minutes later, she felt the momentum change. The rocker moved faster, its curved wooden rails lifting higher and higher. Her hands gripped the arms, her feet trying to stop it, the movement slamming her hard against the medallion back of the rocker. She opened her mouth to call Brad, when abruptly the air was sucked from her lungs. Her face purpling, Julie gasped for air; her chest felt as though an elephant were sitting on it. Her arms were plastered to her sides, held by invisible shackles. Wheezing, she tried to squeeze air into her lungs, her eyesight becoming pinpoints of white light. Just as suddenly as it had started, relief came. In an instant, the pressure was gone. Julie pulled great gulps of air into her starved lungs, her eyes tearing, her hands suddenly free to stop the manic rocking of the chair.

  She stood on shaky legs, looking around the room. The porcelain doll lay broken in a heap on the dirty floor, the beautiful face cracked in half. Julie whimpered as she bent to pick it up, her eyes cautiously darting around the layered shadows of the room.

  This time when the Sentinels removed Tessa, she was put in the very dark place she didn’t like.

  Gerald went after her, sharing her imprisonment despite her resentful silence. Tessa shook her foot impatiently, her eyes scanning the deep cavern.

  “How long do you think they’ll keep us here?”

  Gerald shrugged. It was devoid of noise, an airless space, with no walls to confine them, yet Tessa was confined.

  “I said, how long do you think they’ll keep us here?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know, Tessa. I don’t communicate with them. They don’t tell me their plans. They just do. This is what happens when you cause trouble.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means”—Gerald stood to float around the blank space—“that I never have a problem with them.”

  “Because you’re invisible.” Tessa flicked a red-gold lock of hair defiantly. “You were invisible while you were alive, and you’re just as invisible now that you’re dead.”

  Gerald grabbed Tessa by her arms. They levitated, their feet dangling, weightless in space. Tessa rigidly pulled away, but Gerald gripped her chin, kissing her in a combustible mixture of frustration, anger, and finally his devastating love. Tessa fought him, her hands pushing at his shoulders.

  “Get away from me!” she shouted. Tessa shoved him with both hands. “I can’t stand you. No matter how much you wait, I’ll never love you. You can’t make me love you. I wish you weren’t here. I want a real man, even if he’s dead. I want one who makes me feel like a woman,” she told him, aiming all her resentment toward his ever-ready shoulders. Usually, he would soothe her, try to negotiate to get her out of there.

  Gerald backed up, his chest heaving. “Have it your way, Tessa. I have waited long enough for you.” He winked out, and she was left with blankness.

  Tessa blinked into the darkness. Nothing but the blackness stared back at her. She could hear the jumbled thoughts in her head. She floated, her hands splayed, sometimes spinning into an aimless vortex and rotating until she lost all her bearings. It was so quiet it hurt; the lack of light hurt, the loneliness hurt. He had left her. She had finally pushed him far enough, and Gerald, who had said he’d never leave her, had simply abandoned her to this void. It was cold. She was freezing. There was no one to comfort her.

  Reaching out, she called, “Gerald? Gerald?” She drifted; there was nothing to latch on to, an absence of light, the silence of the vacuum filling her head. Tessa was alone. Completely and utterly alone. “Gerrrrald!” she screamed into the darkness.

  Willy left when the sun set, his good humor restored with the promise of breakfast and his return the next morning. He had made short work of the reporter and her crew. He recounted the story to Brad; it was a simple matter of confusing doublespeak. Frustrated, they left, vowing to return. The forensics guys came and went, taking the bag of bones for study. They told Willy the bones were really old, maybe a hundred years or more. The thighbone was broken, a lead ball nearby. This confirmed the remains were from the last century. A report would follow, they promised. Brad, Julie, and Willy could work on the house, but they had to stay out of the subcellar until the case was closed. Willy waited until they were alone before handing Brad a huge machete.

  “What’s this for?” Brad held up the deadly knife.

  “There’s some bad mojo here. I don’t know, brother, but you got to be prepared.”

  Brad considered the weapon. “You’re not buying into any ghost crap, are you, Will?”

  “Let me just say that this place gives me the willies.” He laughed. “So I think I got to give a little Willy’s back.”

  Brad stuck the large knife in a corner of the main salon, behind boxes of bottled water. He then stepped out onto the porch, looking to make sure no reporters were camped out on the street. Briefly, he thought of brandishing the machete, just to get a rise out of the reporters. He smiled evilly, thinking of the pleasure of screwing with them, but it seemed they had finally given up. Satisfied that they were alone, he shut off the outdoor lights and locked the large double doors with a strange feeling of domesticity. He walked through the house, turning off lights, finally coming into the main salon that was serving as their bedroom. The fire he’d lit earlier warmed the room with a honey hue. Julie was fast asleep, a half-empty glass of milk next to her on the floor.

  Silently, Brad stripped, sliding in beside Julie’s sleeping form. He noticed the fan l
ying on the bed beside her face. It was a queen-size mattress, large enough to make each feel lonely on his or her side. The house settled, and with a strange feeling of ownership, Brad identified the squeaks and rattles he was beginning to recognize. Pipes clanged, radiators hissed, and he watched his wife’s hunched shoulders. Scooting over, he spooned with her. Julie wiggled against him, letting him feel right at home. She turned into his embrace, fitting neatly under his chin, with a satisfied sigh of relief. He looked down and saw that her eyes were open. They glittered in the darkness. She held the fan above them and expertly snapped it open, the fretwork of the spines letting in the moonlight from the window. She stared at the painting of the Asian ladies, touching the images with her forefinger.

  “It’s pretty,” she whispered.

  Brad kissed her and rumbled, “Like its new owner.”

  Julie snuggled into him, the fan slipping to the floor beside the bed. Sleep gentled them, Brad’s soft snores comforting Julie while she rested. Their arms twined, and when their eyes opened, both reflected a red glow.

  Gerald blinked in surprise, taking in a deep breath, his lungs filling with air. It bubbled in his chest, his nostrils flaring. His eyes widened as he lifted his hands to stare at the pads of his fingertips, then caressed the velvet softness of the body next to him. Gerald touched his lips against Tessa’s startled mouth, as if asking permission. She made a sound between a whimper and a whisper, but he heard her say yes. Tessa’s fingers stroked his hair, creating rivulets of shivering pleasure. She held her body against his, drinking in the contact, her hands embracing his back so that they touched everywhere. He heard her murmur, her deep voice vibrating against his chest, the whisper of her breath feathering across his collarbone. He knew he spoke but couldn’t remember what he said, as his mouth traveled over her petal-soft flesh. She was all rose and milk, her flesh vibrant and alive, her body responding to his touch with delight. He pressed his nose to the soft skin between her shoulder and neck, drinking the dewy moistness that pearled on its surface. Tessa gasped with wonder, opening her body without reservation, the sensual delight of flesh against flesh awakening ancient memories. She placed their hands palm to palm, open and defenseless, completely giving herself to him. Their bodies touched again and again, feverishly reaching new heights, not wanting the night to end. Both exhaled in an explosion of pleasure; Gerald’s borrowed heart beat furiously in his chest. Slick with sweat, he lay still, holding Tessa, who clung to his wide shoulders, a single tear escaping her luminous eyes.