The Flip

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “Thanks. Did you hear that? No, I’ll tell you later. Now! Just come.”

  Julie hung up. “Thank you so much. My sister will be here shortly. Do you have shoes? Looks like I need a pair.”

  Julie made her sister buy her a pair of very expensive ballet flats. They were teal blue, just the thing for a cruise, Justina assured her. Justina Long had lived in Cold Spring Harbor her entire life. Her parents owned a great deal of the land there, she told Julie. She knew each and every Hemmings that had ever lived in the house, ad nauseam. Julie enjoyed the cup of orange pekoe tea, served in a dainty cup and saucer with Milano cookies, while she waited for her sister.

  “But, one of the first, you know, Tessa Hemmings, was the most interesting. She was quite the cat, if you know what I mean. Never married, but had dozens of lovers. Dozens. No man was safe from her,” she told Julie with a conspiratorial nod. “She was supposed to marry Gerald Kanning of the Kanning banking family. He died in the war. I guess she waited for him.”

  Heather pulled up in her Volvo wagon, got out, came inside the shop, and paid the exorbitant amount for the shoes while she stared at Julie’s face with worry.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Oh, Heath, I don’t know—”

  “Where’s Brad?” Heather asked, grasping Julie’s elbow firmly to steer her out the shop’s door.

  “Back at Bedlam. In Bedlam. Yes, he’s in Bedlam.”

  “The house?”

  “The nuthouse. I am so sorry I made us buy it. It’s haunted. Brad’s possessed.”

  Heather took her arm as they walked toward her station wagon. “OK, Julie, honey, calm down. The house is not haunted. Did you fall? What happened to your face?”

  “No, Heather. Stop and look at me. Something is wrong in that house. Something evil. It burned down my home. It tried to kill me.”

  “Julie, stop! What are you talking about? I’m calling Brad.”

  Julie grabbed her hand. “You can’t; he’s one of them.”

  “OK, Julie. I’m taking you home with me. We’ll talk about it when we get there.”

  Heather set Julie up on the couch with another bracing cup of tea. This one had a spot of eighty-year-old scotch in it. She wrapped her sister in a fluffy quilt and then quietly called Brad from the kitchen to tell him that his wife was in her house.

  “She’s there!” She heard the relief in Brad’s voice. “I’ll be right over.”

  “Slow down. She was hysterical, Brad. What’s going on in that house?”

  Brad was silent. “Has she told you about her job? She quit her job.”

  “What? No. I haven’t spoken to her since the fire, and she’s been so preoccupied with the damn Hemmings place. What the hell is going on?” Heather demanded.

  “Whoa, Heather. It’s been hectic. She said Mr. Wilson tried to assault her.”

  “What! That bastard. I’ll kill him,” Heather said with venom.

  “Get in line, Heather. I want to rip out his heart,” Brad growled. “Anyway, she quit the job. She’s never going back there, so she’s out of danger. I’m coming to get her.”

  “Give me an hour. Let me calm her down.”

  Brad made a noise. “All right. OK. See you soon.”

  Heather came into the living room, a tray of sandwiches in her hands. “What’s going on, Jules?”

  Julie opened her mouth to say something, floundered, and closed it with a snap. Then she began again. “I’d like to tell you, honest. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning.” Heather punched an overstuffed pillow and sat back with her tea, her eyes never leaving her sister’s face. “Eat a sandwich,” she commanded.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “That’s beside the point. I know you’re crazy. Now, what has been going on?”

  Julie related the last two weeks, leaving out nothing, not even the strange out-of-body lovemaking.

  “Listen, I’d understand sex with a ghost if your husband looked like mine, but Brad’s a hunk.”

  “He wasn’t Brad,” Julie insisted. “And it wasn’t me. It was like I sharing my body with some other person.”

  “Did Brad experience it as well?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it. I mean, it felt too crazy to even entertain, but then his eyes turned red.” Julie shivered.

  “Maybe it was just the light. Look, he’s on the way here.”

  “What? I’m not going back there. I can’t.”

  “You can’t what?” Brad walked into the room, his hair wild, his eyes concerned.

  “They don’t look red to me.” Heather motioned to her sister.

  “They were glowing,” Julie insisted, but she felt the fear leaving her.

  Brad shucked off his jacket to sit next to her, his face worried. “She’s been overwhelmed with the house, her job, the expenses.”

  Heather nodded. “The fire didn’t help.”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Julie said, but the fight was out of her.

  Brad took her hand, kissing the knuckles. “Don’t ever do that again. You’re scaring me, Jules.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m scaring you! I was locked in the room. It was like at the fire. There was a lady trapped in the wall, and when I ran downstairs, you laughed, and your eyes…they—”

  “OK, stop. Come home. You’ll get a good night’s sleep, and things will look different in the morning.”

  “I am not going back there. Not ever,” Julie told him with finality.

  Chapter 19

  1862

  Gerald heard the muffled singing of the escapees under the tarp. He knew they were stifling, and it was dangerous for them to make noise, but they were alone, and he guessed the song brought them some relief from both fear and grief. The roan mare nickered; the sun peeked through the clouds to dapple the trees with color. The air was rich with the smells of spring. He headed up the Jericho Turnpike toward the city and on to Westchester. There was no one out, the road empty, the hour early.

  But it wasn’t long before he had company. He heard the intruders before he saw them. There were four of them; they were lined up before him, blocking the road. He turned his head back slightly, telling the fugitives to be quiet. Gerald put his gun on the seat next to him. He slowed the wagon, his eyes wary. He recognized the bounty hunters from earlier.

  “Can I help you boys?” he inquired politely.

  “We can do this real easy, Lieutenant. You can give up your parcels real gentlemanlike, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerald replied. “I’m on army business.”

  “What kind of business?” the man with the mustache asked.

  “Whatever it is, it’s none of your business.”

  “Don’t reckon so, son.”

  “I’m not your son. Now move out of the way and leave me alone.”

  “I don’t think so, boy. You got some fugitive slaves on that wagon, and my job is to bring them home.”

  “You have no sovereignty here. I am taking supplies to Connecticut.”

  Two of the bounty hunters dismounted and split off, walking slowly to either side of the wagon. The lead man with the mustache flicked back his duster to reveal his sidearm.

  “Don’t threaten me, sir,” Gerald told him, his hand resting on his weapon. “I’m on army business. You’ll hang for this.”

  Their eyes locked. As if in slow motion, Gerald watched the other man’s hand move to his gun. Gerald grabbed his own, raising it simultaneously. Three shots were fired; the acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air. He watched everything tilt and felt his body falling sideways. There was no pain, only a surprising coldness freezing his limbs. From a distance, he saw that his bullet had hit the other man in the arm. He was weaving in the saddle, looking disturbingly large from Gerald’s viewpoint.

  One of the men bent down to touch Gerald’s neck. The other was pulling back the
tarp, exposing the frightened fugitives soon to be made slaves again.

  “He dead?”

  “Deader than a doornail. He never saw it coming. How’s your arm?”

  “I’ll live. You pay his cousin.”

  “Yep, the man earned it.” He spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the dirt, mounted his horse, and grabbed the reins of his partner’s. “Told us the route.”

  “Well, I guess we better head south.”

  The bounty hunter beside the wagon threw the tarp over the escapees, then climbed onto the seat and snapped the reins. They turned, leaving Gerald on the road, a gaping wound in the side of his head, a look of surprise on his face.

  Chapter 20

  “I said I’m not going back there. That house is haunted. There, I’ve said it. It’s a haunted house.”

  “Julie!” Heather protested. “Stop that. You are so much better than this.”

  Brad sighed. “Look, I’ll call Sal. His girlfriend works for that medium you talked about. If she comes with us to the house, will you come home?”

  “It isn’t home, Brad. I thought you hated the house.”

  “I did. I do. Well, it’s been kind to us,” he said.

  “Are you nuts? What are you talking about?”

  “The crap we’ve pulled out of there. We stand to make a considerable amount of money. I feel like the house is sort of saving us. Come home with me, Julie.”

  Julie looked at his face, the lines of worry around his eyes. She put her hand in his, asking, “You’ll call the lady, Georgia?”

  Brad pulled out his phone and dialed Sal. “Hi. Yeah, fine. Listen, Sal, you think you can ask Molly if she can get the psychic out to Bedlam House? Just because. For Julie. OK, call me back.” He turned to his wife. “He’s calling. He said he’s sure he can get her out there. She was interested in the house when he had coffee with her last week.”

  “He had coffee with her?” Heather asked. “Small world.”

  “What should I do?” Julie asked her sister.

  “You know what you should do. You belong with Brad. Go home, Julie. Go confront your ghosts.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I think you believe you’ve had a ghostly encounter. But, honestly, I think you’re just overtired.”

  “Come with us, Heather. Maybe if you’re there, you’ll see it, too.”

  “Just go with Brad. Call me.” Heather kissed her sister. “It will be fun—the psychic—go on.”

  Brad’s phone rang loudly. It was Sal. Georgia Oaken had agreed to visit them tomorrow morning. Everybody was looking forward to it. Sort of.

  Chapter 21

  Marum paced the landing, her glittery eyes serious. “What if she sees us?”

  “She can’t,” her companion assured her.

  “But she’s good. I’ve seen her on television. She communicates with the dead.”

  He stayed her with his white hand. “She’s very talented, Marum, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are not dead. It’s simply unprecedented. She’ll never be able to figure out who we are.”

  “Sten, I have trouble figuring out who we are.”

  Sten held out his hand to take hers. “No, you don’t, Marum. You are reminded of it each and every day we are here. You know just why we are here.” He blinked, and they disappeared into the ether.

  Julie was skittish. Brad almost suggested she take one of the pills the doctor had prescribed after she was burned. They stopped on the way home at the tiny Japanese restaurant in town, splurging like they were still dating and not buried under all their bills. She barely ate the sushi, her favorite. She pushed the tuna around on her plate until Brad reached over and popped it into his mouth.

  “I can’t waste them, Julie. They’re too expensive,” he told her with an embarrassed shrug.

  “That’s why I married you, for your Yankee frugalness.” Julie pushed her plate away.

  “And here I thought it was because of my rugged good looks,” Brad joked.

  “Nope, all wrong,” Julie said softly. “It was the size of that heart of yours.”

  Julie was so quiet; it was doing some strange thing to that big old heart of Brad’s. She remained silent as New England granite, so he gave her enough space to relax. He had wanted to share the news about the lampshade, but decided to keep the information to himself. Until Sal sold some of the items from the house, he didn’t want to tell his wife of their purported worth. He didn’t want to get her hopes up. Brad had stopped thinking of all the stuff as junk after Sal mentioned the value of the lampshade. Brad was a solid-as-concrete, cash-on-the-barrelhead, put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is kind of guy. Until he was positive of something, he wouldn’t commit. Julie was so opposite—flighty, impulsive—and he knew they both shared being headstrong.

  They were opposites, but they do say opposites attract. Julie had come from a comfortable home. She had been pampered. Brad was used to being poor. He had been his entire life. He had lived in rural Maine in a house his great-grandparents had built. He still owned it. He came from a family of fishermen, but overfishing and low profits had put his family out of business just after he finished school. He joined up because it was the only way he could get a job. He stayed because he realized he liked the camaraderie of his brothers in the army. After his second tour, the senselessness of war got to him, and he retired. Willy invited him to New York. Other than his parents’ home, there was nothing except solitude in Maine for him. Jobs were scarce. He met Julie three weeks later and knew he’d never be alone again. He loved her. She could be annoying, aggressive in a way he’d never seen in a woman, bossy, and demanding, but he knew his heart had found a home with her. Once they had a few bucks, he wanted to bring Julie to Maine and restore the old place for summers. It was also on a coast, but not like Long Island. It was wind-whipped and rugged, isolated from the world, a perfect place to enjoy silence. He loved that house and hoped that Julie would love the quiet peace of it, too.

  They held hands as they mounted the steps to the old house. Julie leaned close to him, whispering, “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?” he asked, looking at her white face in the moonlight.

  Julie shrugged her shoulders, hesitant to tell him, her eyes downcast.

  “Tell me.” He shook her.

  “You’re different in there. It’s like I don’t recognize you.”

  Brad knew what she was talking about. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t quite get the thoughts into words. She was asking him to admit that he believed something was going on. The logical side of Brad warred with Julie’s fanciful nature. It didn’t matter that he figured there were explanations; Julie thought it was real.

  “Look, I’ll sit up all night and watch over you.”

  Julie’s rigid stance melted. Brad was her rock. Dependable, reliable, unshakable.

  “You worked all day. I can’t let you do that.”

  “This ain’t my first rodeo, baby. I pulled many all-nighters in the service. If it makes you feel safe, then I won’t close my eyes at all.”

  Julie hugged him, a sob escaping her lips.

  “I promise you, Jules, I’ll keep you safe. If you can’t feel secure in your own home, then where will you ever?” he told her.

  “I thought you hated this place.” She looked up into his face with consternation.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Anywhere you are is my home. Besides,” he said, turning to look at the great hulking shadow of the house, his arm protectively around her, “it’s beginning to grow on me.”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Julie shouted. “I want to go to my sister’s.”

  “And sleep where, between Heather and her husband?”

  She looked up at her husband’s face. He seemed the same, but something was different. He rubbed her arms, warming her, making Julie feel safe. They both stared up at the house, each with a new perception.

  “It’s a nuthouse,” Julie said, seeing the house she loved in a ne
w light.

  Brad stayed true to his word. He tucked Julie in their air mattress and dimmed the lights. She watched him light a fire in the fireplace, taking comfort in the smell of the burning wood. She watched his strong face, limned by the amber glow of the blaze, his eyes narrowed as he tended the fire. The wood popped, sending sparks to light up the dim room like fireflies.

  Brad padded back, his jeans slung low, his shirt unbuttoned. She watched the play of muscle and bone, his shirt taut as it pulled across his shoulder blades while he worked. He threw a bedroll next to her and then reclined on it.

  “Go to sleep.” He reached over to brush the hair out of her eyes. “I told you I will watch over you,” he whispered.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Julie patted the bed next to her. “Come to bed.”

  “You’re not scared anymore?”

  “I’m terrified, but it’s not fair.”

  “Don’t worry about fairness. I want you to rest. Tomorrow, maybe this person, what’s her name—”

  “Georgia,” Julie supplied.

  “Georgia will bring your mind some ease. I promise you, Jules, I will be here all night. You are safe. Safe as houses.”

  “Safe as houses?”

  “Just some stupid homily my mom used to say when I was a kid,” he told her with a gentle smile.

  Julie’s eyes drifted shut. She was exhausted. Brad lay back, watching both his wife and the fire, content and strangely at peace for the first time in the house.

  Tessa’s vaporous form flitted around the room. She dashed from one corner to the other. Gerald watched from above the fireplace. The human didn’t notice her. Tessa got braver. She flew in front of him, disturbing the air enough for Brad to wave his hand as though an insect were bothering him.

  “You’re getting nowhere, Tessa. He doesn’t see you,” Gerald said softly.

  “I had her gone.” She faced Gerald, her visage contorted with anger. “I scared the woman off.”

  “Why, Tessa? Why are you doing this? Didn’t last night mean something to you?”

  Tessa landed next to Brad, running her ghostly fingers down his spine, her face sublime. “You thought that was enough for me? You expected me to run off with you to some dismal eternal place and be satisfied? I used you both. I may be done with you, but I’m not finished with him!” She laughed, her face twisted, turning an ugly shade of magenta.