by Angie Sandro
Clarice answers after several rings. “Hello?”
“Clarice, it’s Landry.”
“Wh-who? Landry…” The pause stretches.
“I can hear you breathing.”
She sighs. “Why are you calling me?”
“I need a ride.”
“Oh, I…A ride? From jail?”
“No, I’ve been released from the hospital. I was injured then the district attorney dropped the charges”—I pause for a moment to swallow the lump in my throat—“isn’t that great?”
Her voice quivers with false gaiety. “Sure. That’s awesome. Fantastic. I’m so happy for you.”
“Are you? Really? ’Cause you’re my best friend and not once did you visit me in jail.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve…my brother…he…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I forgive you. I mean, what else could you think? The evidence looked pretty good. Solid enough to keep me locked up without bail. But I’m innocent, Clarice. I swear.”
“Sure, Landry. I believe you. Where do you want me to—” A muffled voice in the distance comes over the line, then gets louder. “Red, wait. It’s Landry.”
“Asshole. Thought you were in jail—” Redford Delahoussaye barks into the phone.
I stiffen at the sound of his voice. “Thought you wouldn’t still be a jerk after I kicked your ass.”
He snorts. “I went easy on you ’cause Lainey died. Why are you calling my house?”
“I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
“Do you think I’d let my sister go anywhere near you?” His breathing roughens.
“Look, Red, we’ve had our differences, but I’m innocent. Even the district attorney dropped the charges against me. I can go home, but I don’t have a ride. Clarice…”
The silence on the other end is deafening. I’m not sure when he hung up. I drop the phone in the cradle, not bothering to try to reach any of my other friends. I grew up with Clarice and Redford Delahoussaye. Our parents were best friends. If they don’t believe me, nobody will.
It takes hours for me to walk from downtown to my apartment, only to find out from my landlord that it has been rented out to someone else. My asshole roommate kept the deposit and sold my stuff. My truck was impounded as evidence by the Sheriff’s Office. No telling how long it’ll take to get back. By the time I hike clear across town to the suburban neighborhood where my parents live, the sun has set. Across the street, the lights in Dad’s church shine through the stained glass windows. It’s Bible study night. Despite the warmth the church gives off, I bypass it and go straight home.
The key for the front door used to be hidden beneath a potted iris on the front porch, but both the iris and the key are missing. Not to worry, though. Dad’s office window poses no problem to jimmy open. I don’t bother with turning on the lights. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here. After a quick shower, I’ll figure out how to contact Mala. She said she’s staying with Bessie. The detective doesn’t like me, but I’ll brave her wrath if I have to.
The house feels different. I’m not sure why. I navigate through the rooms in total darkness, reminded of all the times I sneaked out in high school. Only now nobody’s here to catch me. I count the steps to the staircase, then each stair. At the top of the staircase, I turn toward my bedroom. I trail my fingertips across the wall. Another ten steps gets me to the door, and I push it open.
I reel back upon entering. The overpowering stench of fresh paint stings my nose. I flip on the light. Pale pink walls with white daisies decorate my once-blue walls. There’s a white crib and changing table where my bed used to be. A huge stuffed tiger snarls at me from the center of the room.
“Where the hell am I?” I back out of the room.
A blood-freezing scream from the other end of the hallway causes me to turn around.
I see the bulky flash of a dark shadow behind me. Instinctively I twist sideways, and the punch he aimed at my face smashes into the wall. I’m trapped against the corner, unable to swing my arms back. My attacker aims a flurry of punches at my head that I somehow manage to block with my upraised forearm, then I lunge forward. My palms connect with his chest, and I shove him backward.
Finally I have enough space to counterattack, but the fucking coward dashes toward the staircase. I hear the heavy thump of footsteps going down. “Stop!” I yell, sprinting after him. The outline of the body looks familiar. I’ve seen him before…if I can just see his face...but the front door slams shut before I reach the staircase.
The whoosh of an object moving through the air is punctuated by a high-pitched shriek from the doorway of the bathroom, and I jerk my head back. A toilet plunger misses my face with only inches to spare. The stink of toilet water fills my nose. My arm rises to protect my good eye as a naked pregnant woman brings back her arm and swings at me again with an eardrum-piercing battle cry.
CHAPTER 10
MALA
Murderous Cur
I burst into the bedroom swinging the branch. A woman standing by the bed leaps back. I try to stop the swing, but it’s too late. The end of the branch passes from the left side of her skull to exit out of the right.
The force of the swing spins me around, and I stumble. My elbow smacks against the wall, and my arm goes numb. “Ow!” I cradle my elbow.
“Malaise Jean LaCroix, you tried to brain me!”
“Damn it, Mama.” My knees get wobbly, and I stagger over to flop on the edge of the bed. “You scared me half to death. Are you okay?”
“Course I’m not okay. I’m dead!” She shifts her glare from me to the flickering television screen.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s my house.”
“But you were at the hospital. How did you get here?”
“Hush up, I’m tryin’ to get caught up on the worldly happenin’s.” She scowls at the news anchor, and my attention shifts from her to the news report.
A picture of Gloria Pearson with the words MISSING fill the tiny screen, and I suck in a breath. “Hey, Mama, that’s Spooky Poca, the ghost nurse that keeps haunting me.”
Mama glances in my direction. “Ah, I thought she looked familiar.”
I blink, and when my eyes open, Mama’s gone. “Wait. Come back.”
Double damn and blast. She’s as squirrely now as when she was alive. Keeping her in one place would take an act of Congress. I stretch out across the bed and lay my aching arm across my stomach. I wanted to ask her about Gloria. Mama spent the last month making friends with the more coherent ghosts in the hospital. Since she’s an ancestor spirit, like Uncle Gaston, she’s not as stone crazy as some of the other ghosts.
The walls pulse, and I sit up with a shriek.
“Calm yourself,” Gaston says, appearing in the middle of the room.
I squeeze my eyes shut and drag in a deep breath. God, I’m freaked. I run shaky fingers across my eyelids, then look at my uncle. I’ve gotten used to his burned features. Now he’s beautiful to me. If I could throw myself in his arms, I would. I’m that happy to see him. “Uncle Gaston, you sure know how to make a dramatic entrance. I didn’t know you were here too.”
“We’re tied to you, cher,” Mama says, walking into the room through the outside wall. “We go where you go.”
“So, if I go to the Piggly Wiggly, so do you?”
“I prefer to only come when you need real assistance. Not help you decide what snack cakes to buy,” Gaston says.
Okay, I guess that makes sense. I glance at the TV again, but the weatherman’s moved on to forecasting another storm blowing in tonight. “Well, I’m glad you’re both here. I wanted to ask you about a spirit who’s haunting me, Gloria Pearson. She vanished the same night Reverend Prince disappeared from the hospital. Do either of you know anything about that?”
Gaston squats down. He cradles his rifle across his lap. “We were all a little busy that night.”
Oh, yeah, I forgot. Reverend Prince escaped the same night Lainey po
ssessed me and got her mother to confess to her murder. If not for Gaston, I might never have gotten my body back. He’s a powerful…ugh, warlock? “How did you keep her from stealing my body for good?”
“We can discuss that some other time. For now, let’s focus on this ghost. You say she’s haunting you?”
“She came to me a couple of times at the hospital. She’s strong and sorta mean.” I toss my braid over my shoulder with a huff. “She went all vengeful on me. If she’d asked nicely, I probably would’ve helped her out like I did Ms. Anne. Instead she showed me some wickedly frightening images.”
Mama shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Me and Uncle Gaston won’t let her come after you no more.”
Gaston has vanished. He’s a man of few words.
Mama stares pensively at the television screen. “If you’re done watchin’ the news, I’d like to see somethin’ more entertainin’.”
I stretch back out on the bed and wave my hand. “Go ahead. I’m beat.” My eyes flutter closed.
“You’ll have to work the remote for me.”
I frown at Mama. “Why can’t you turn channels yourself?”
Mama waves a hand through the television screen.
I roll back over to the nightstand for the remote and flip through the channels. “How about My Swamp Wedding?”
“If I wanted to watch a bunch of hicks getting’ married, I’d haunt the church. Look, a Sex in the City marathon. Hold it here, please.”
Carrie’s legs fill the screen, and I close my eyes again. My mind drifts. I’m tempted to pop over to the hospital and check on Landry, but knowing he can see me now when I’m incorporeal kind of puts a damper on my astral stalking. My cheeks heat. Honestly I spent way too much time at the jail. I blame it on boredom while locked in the mental ward, but part of me acknowledges the truth. I worried about him.
Guilt makes my stomach burn.
Why didn’t I ever pop in on George? He was supposed to be my boyfriend, but not once did I go to his apartment. If I had, I would’ve known Isabel lives with him. And I wouldn’t feel like my heart has been shredded in a meat grinder.
“Mala, I can’t handle these silly women. Turn channels for me again.”
I grab the pillow and stuff my head under it with a deep groan. Ghost Mama’s going to drive me stark raving mad if I have to become her obedient servant and “Yes, Mama” every little thing now that she’s dead.
Time to make some rules.
I punch the pillow and sit up. “This is the last time. I’m going to sleep so make sure the channel is on something you want to watch for a good eight hours.”
Her smile erases the building anger. As annoyed as I sometimes feel about seeing ghosts, I can’t deny how lucky I am not to have lost Mama. Having proof of an afterlife makes me less afraid of my own death.
The remote lands on the bed, and I lie back down. “Hey, Mama.” I roll onto my side to face her. “Something just dawned on me.”
“Well, spit it out. I’m not getting’ any younger.”
“Not getting older either,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes, then glare at the remote. “If you can’t even work the remote…how did you turn on the TV?”
* * *
I run through the house, locking all of the doors and windows. Mama said the television was already on when she popped inside. How long it had been on, I can’t speculate. Maybe Maggie or Tommy forgot to turn it off the last time they came to take care of the chickens. Or I got lucky. The Goldilocks who has been living in my house, sleeping in my bed, and eating my food left before I arrived.
I’m up at the crack of dawn, exhausted and cranky from tossing and turning most of the night. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed about Reverend Prince breaking down my new blue door. I don’t know if the dream was a premonition of danger, but I’m heeding its warning and carrying my gutting knife as I do my chores. If anyone messes with me, I’ll treat them like I do catfish.
My friends did a good job of caring for my place while I was gone. I can’t blame them for the massacre I find in the coop. Dead birds and bloodstained feathers litter the ground. I’d forgotten to padlock the door before crashing last night, and the smart old tom took advantage. That raccoon and I have battled for years. And he’s outwitted me again at my chickens’ expense.
I spend most of the morning cleaning up the mess and plucking feathers. The afternoon is spent cooking a huge pot of chicken gumbo. Half of the soup goes into the refrigerator. The rest goes in the deep freezer with the other two chickens.
The ringing phone catches me while I’m getting ready to curl up on the sofa and watch TV before bed. “Why didn’t you call to tell me you got home safely?” Bessie demands the moment I say hello.
My hand tightens around the phone. “Didn’t George say I made it home?”
“He did. He also said he did a walkthrough of the house. That’s the only reason I didn’t come out to check on you.”
Thank God for my stepbrother’s sudden aversion to honesty. Just thinking about him makes me furious, and I take it out on Bessie. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
“Are you getting smart with me?”
“No, ma’am. I spent the day dealing with a bunch of dead chickens because I forgot to padlock the coop, so I’m just not in the mood for a lecture.”
The line goes quiet but for the sound of breathing. “Are you still there?” I ask.
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“You really think you should be staying out there alone?”
I glance around the room. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m not moving, and you’ve done a great job of cleaning up the damage from…” Mama’s murder. I squeeze my eyes shut and blow out a huge breath. Don’t think about it. Mama’s still with you. It’s okay. “I know you wanted me to stay with you, Bessie, but I can’t deal with a bunch of drama right now. And Maggie and Tommy’s wedding is chaos in the making.”
“Maybe I can move in with you.” Her voice takes on a plaintive tone, and I laugh.
“Is Maggie driving you crazy already?”
“She wants to get married before school starts. One month, Mala. How am I supposed to arrange a church wedding in such a short amount of time?”
We talk wedding plans for another hour. At the end of our conversation, she’s calmer, less likely to take her anger out on the general public while on duty. I put the phone down, but two seconds later it rings. I don’t recognize the number. It had better not be a telemarketer or I’ll jump through the phone and choke them out.
“What?” I snap.
“I need you.”
My thumb hovers above the off button when I recognize the voice. Heat enters my cheeks. “I’m not sure how I should feel about those words, Landry.”
“Take them in the spirit in which they are offered. I need you to pick me up.”
“Oh, damn. I thought they were meant in a completely different way, but I guess I can go with this.” I pull my tennis shoes out from beneath the coffee table and put them on. “You’re being released from the hospital today?” The line goes quiet, and I panic. “Landry?”
His voice sounds weary as he says, “No, I got out this morning. I’m at my parents’ place. Or what used to be their house. Turns out Dad’s church owns the house. And they moved the new preacher and his family in.”
“What about your stuff?”
“The preacher’s wife, Molly, boxed it up and stored it in the leaky-ass shed. What didn’t get trashed by animals or destroyed by the weather, I’ll be using as a makeshift bed tonight.”
A rush of anger flows through me. What kind of preacher lets another person’s property be destroyed? The least they could’ve done was put it somewhere safe. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to calm down. Anger won’t help Landry feel better.
“Is that why you’re calling me?” I tease. “You’re trying to make me feel sympathetic so I’ll offer you a place to stay?”
“No! No, I’d never ask…not with you thinking I murdered your mother and all.”
I sigh. “Now you’re feeling ridiculously sorry for yourself. I know you didn’t kill Mama.”
“Yeah, well, Molly doesn’t feel the same. She threatened to have me arrested for trespassing if I didn’t get off of her property. Course, part of her anger might have to do with me seeing her naked.”
“Naked! What the hell, Landry?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you the story later. It’s pretty messed up, but if anyone can find the humor in it, you can.”
I bite back a curse. “Where are you?”
“I brought the boxes to the church’s parking lot.” His voice lowers. “There’s a lot of people here, Mala. They’re all standing around watching me.”
My heart stutters. A sudden burst of fear for his safety rushes through me. “I’ll be there soon.” I clutch the phone and search for the keys to Mama’s truck. “Stay safe, Landry.”
* * *
Of all nights for Landry to camp out in the church parking lot, Bible Study Wednesday has got to be the worst. Parishioners cluster around their cars, gawking at Landry, who sits on a pile of boxes. His head hangs, and his shoulders hunch forward. Long bangs in dire need of a trim fall over his eyes. My breath catches at how incredibly sexy he looks…and sad.
That man’s in serious need of a hug.
I park as close as possible to where he sits on the lawn. I still have to force my way through the crowd to reach him. Part of me fears they’ll turn their insults on me, and I force my shoulders back and my chin up. Don’t show weakness, Mala.
Displays of fear only empower bullies, and I won’t give anyone the satisfaction. Landry has a lot to learn about being a pariah in this town. Hopefully he won’t have to learn the hard way. People begin to shout condolences as I pass by.
