by E. C. Bell
“Shut up, Eddie.”
Eddie:
All She Has to Do Is Answer a Few Questions. How Hard Can That Be?
MARIE DIDN’T LOOK too good. She sat hunched over with her head on the desk, rocking it back and forth, and occasionally saying, “shit” under her breath.
I wasn’t one to let somebody else’s bad day get in my way though. I had questions for her. And she was going to answer them.
“You ready?”
“Yes.” She didn’t lift her head from the desk, but she had answered me. Good enough.
“Do only the messed-up ghosts need help moving on?”
Marie glanced at me like she didn’t quite understand the question, so I tried again.
“Like me,” I said. “Noreen moved on right after she died. But me, I’m stuck. So, are you like a ghost shrink or something? You help the ghosts who don’t get the whole moving-on thing? Is that what you are?”
Marie laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “Sure,” she said. “Ghost shrink sounds as good as anything else.”
“Cool.”
I’d only had one shrink before. Court-appointed, the last time I’d been caught breaking into a Shell station. They’d decided that no one sane would throw himself through a plate glass window to get at a chocolate bar. Especially since the gas station was open at the time. Looking back on it, I could see why this decision was made, but I hadn’t been ready to give up my life of drugs and crime right then, so the shrink got nothing much out of me. Just enough for him to certify me sane but belligerent. I spent a winter behind bars for that.
At least I was warm.
“So how you going to do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Help me move on?”
She stared down at the scarred wooden top of her desk, as though considering all the potential therapies she had at her fingertips. “I dunno,” she finally said. “Wanna talk about your childhood or something?”
“Really?” I couldn’t quite believe it was going to go this way, but decided to play along. “You want me to lie down on a couch?”
She stared at me, her eyebrows raised incredibly high. “I’d rather you didn’t,” she finally said.
“Oh.”
“Drug use usually stems from childhood trauma. So, let’s talk about your childhood. Did your dad beat you?”
“No. Just left.”
“Oh.” She said the word the same way the prison shrink had.
“Don’t read too much into that,” I replied. “He did leave, but I got it. It wasn’t my fault. It was my mom’s fault.”
“Oh!” Same sound as the shrink, and I almost laughed. They’re always so happy when they think they figure out which parental figure did the most damage. And they all think it’s either mommy or daddy issues.
“I’m shitting you.” I laughed. “They just couldn’t make a go of it. Mom’s a bit fucked-up—come on, you met her, you know what I’m talking about—and Dad had a nice little drinking problem. Since it wouldn’t go away, he did. Mom blamed herself and decided to make up for it by having the cleanest house on the block.”
“But you don’t blame her for everything?”
“Nope. I used to, but then I stopped that.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized she couldn’t help the way she was. You should have met her mother!”
“Huh,” she muttered. “You’re fairly self-aware for—”
“A ghost?”
“No, actually, for a drug addict,” she replied. “So, why the drugs? If you get that your parents screwed up, but you felt they did their best at the time—in other words, if you forgave them for your childhood—why did you resort to drugs?”
“I resorted to drugs before I figured out about my parents. By the time I let them off the hook for my shitty little life, I was well and truly hooked. I couldn’t figure out how to live my life without them.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” I said. “I went to crystal meth, baby. Started there, and stayed there my whole, short, and pitiful life. That shit is a gateway drug to hell. Don’t let anybody tell you any different.”
I sighed, wishing I didn’t have to tell her any of this. It sounded so stupid. Which it was.
“After the last time I was picked up by the cops, I decided to do a little research to try and get off the old meth train.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I couldn’t. Coming off—well, it wasn’t just the physical sickness and then the depression, though that was pretty bad. Nope, it was the realization that my life was a big pile of crap. That’s what kept pushing me back to drugs. My life was so bad, and I had engineered the whole thing. I couldn’t not be on drugs.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” The sympathy in her eyes made me feel sick, so I turned away and walked over to the window. At least when I looked out there, I just saw idiots running around looking for the good life. I didn’t have to see my failure reflected in the eyes of my ghost shrink.
“I don’t understand,” Marie finally said, forcing me to turn back to her.
“What?”
“I don’t understand why you aren’t ready to move on. You should be. You’ve forgiven your parents, understood that your life was designed by you and that it ended up this way because of decisions you made . . . What’s holding you here?”
“I don’t know! Jesus, I’ve confessed all my frigging sins, so why can’t you figure this part out? Why do I have to do it all?”
Marie suddenly laughed, and she sounded relieved. I glanced at her, and she looked like she had a clue. Maybe she knew what it was I had to do.
“What?”
“Holy crow,” she said. “I’m an idiot! The answer was right in front of my face the whole time. You don’t need to forgive anyone. You need to be forgiven. By your mom. Or maybe your friend, Luke.”
“Luke Stewart?”
“Yes.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “You talked about thinking it was your fault he was dead. Could that be what’s holding you here?”
Something thunked in my chest like a big lock suddenly sprang open. “Might be,” I whispered.
“You think about that,” she replied, her voice more gentle than I’d ever heard it. “Because if it’s either your mom or Luke, I might be able to help you make amends.”
“How would you do that?” I felt something—hope, or something close—warm my chest.
She smiled, and the warmth grew. I almost believed she could do something for me. Something real.
“Trust me—” she started, then stopped mid-sentence when the frigging phone rang.
“Ignore it!” I barked.
“It’ll just take a second,” she said, and picked up the receiver.
I could tell by the look on her face it wasn’t going to take a second. It was going to take a hell of a lot longer than that. She was talking to James, and he was giving her nothing but bad news.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” she asked. “How can that be?”
She listened for a moment, and her face went back to looking pinched. “Well, that’s fantastic,” she muttered. “What should I do?” She listened for another minute more, then snapped, “Of course I’m willing to help you! Don’t be an ass!”
“I’ll go check out her apartment,” I said. She ignored me. “I said I’ll go check out her apartment,” I said, louder this time.
She snapped to attention and hastily put her hand over the receiver. “Would you really? Maybe she went back there—”
“Happy to.”
Actually, I wasn’t. That blonde chick creeped the hell out of me, but if Marie was going to do something to help me move on, I could afford to be altruistic and shit, and help her.
“Great,” she breathed, then pulled the receiver back to her ear. “I’ll do what I can from this end. Just keep looking for her. Yes! I’ll be here when you get back!”
She slammed down the phone and shook her head. “Tha
t guy drives me crazy!” Then she turned to me. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said. “I’m going to help you in any case, Eddie. Really.”
“I know,” I said, and when I smiled at her, it felt real. “I want to.”
“Thanks.”
“When I get back—”
“I’ll help you move on.”
“Cool.”
But as I walked out the door, I didn’t know if it was so cool. She’d talked about making amends with Luke. But Luke was dead. The only way I could make amends would be through his father, and that son of a bitch deserved to rot in hell for the way he’d treated Luke. And me.
I hoped she knew what she was doing.
Eddie:
Turmoil at Honoria’s Place
I ALMOST DIDN’T make it to Honoria’s apartment. Took the long route, through the park, and saw a buddy sitting there, high as a kite, and thought, “What the hell, one hit, just for the road.”
Yep. Actually thought that. Would have been so easy. Just had to step in, and I would have been there.
It was the thought of going into Honoria’s apartment again that had pushed me to the addict thought again. I was sure of it. Man, that chick freaked the hell out of me. Every time I was near her, it felt she was looking right into my soul. Seeing right into my soul. Marie—I didn’t get that vibe from her. She could see me, and talk to me, and all that shit. But she did not look directly into my soul. It’s more like one person talking to another with her. I could hide what I wanted. Couldn’t do that with Honoria. She saw fucking near all.
So I went to the park and thought about taking the edge off. Even though I knew it was only my head talking. Didn’t need the drugs anymore. No body, so no physical addiction. But that didn’t stop me from going over there and thinking about it. Long and hard.
Then I gave my head a shake. I wanted to follow Noreen, not this pack of assholes. I’d had enough of this life—and this death. It was time to move on. Moving on meant growing up and doing what I said I would do. So I turned my back on the park and headed over to Honoria’s apartment.
The place was packed with cops. I had a bad minute or two when I thought I heard Luke’s asshole dad, but it was only his voice on a walkie talkie.
I walked through the door and scared the hell out of a police dog who was sniffing around the place. Looked like he’d been looking for drugs before I set his nerves a-jangling. When he leaped for me—crotch-height, what, do they teach those dogs that’s the best place to hit?—I jumped back and squealed like a little girl before I remembered I was fucking dead and he couldn’t do a damned thing to me.
“Jesus, Fargo!” the cop handling the dog gasped as the dog yanked him all over the small apartment. “Sit! Sit!”
There was no sitting on Fargo’s part. Just more leaping around trying to tear me apart, with no luck of course. Finally, the handler lost his temper and pulled the dog up nearly off his feet. Just to get his attention.
“I said stop it right the hell now!” he yelled. The dog finally remembered his training, but by that time, the head cop had had enough.
“Get him out of here,” said the big guy parked over by the kitchen sink.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the handler said, letting the dog’s feet finally touch the floor. “I don’t know what came over him.”
“Just get him out,” the big guy snapped. “We’re not going to find drugs in this place.” He looked around as the handler pulled the whining dog out the door and down the stairs. “We’re not going to find anything in this frigging place.”
“What are we looking for exactly?” Another cop, in plainclothes and harried-looking, looked up from the big pile of old mail on the minute kitchen table.
“Anything that would give us a hint where she might be.” The big guy shrugged. “In other words, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Jesus, I don’t know how she could live like this,” the other cop muttered and turned back to the pile of mail. “What a shit hole.”
I personally thought the cop was being overly critical. All right, the place was pretty small and the furniture was all Sally Ann special, but it was clean, except for the few dirty dishes in the sink. However, the big guy nodded his agreement. Apparently living standards for the police were considerably higher than for people like us.
I glanced over at Honoria’s art table and saw the sketches she’d done. One or two of the church, and that godawful tree. And I felt myself slip . . .
And I was back at the tree.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Honoria sitting on the church steps, drawing on a large sheet of paper lying on the step beside her. Her eyes were closed as her hand holding the charcoal pencil jerked over the page.
I didn’t want to go near her because I hated how I felt when I was in her proximity, but I wanted to see what she was drawing. So I crept up behind her and looked over her shoulder.
She was drawing herself. She looked like she was being tortured. Hung up by her arms, her head bent forward, hair in her face, and I could see her mouth was open and screaming. Didn’t doubt she’d be screaming. Looked like the torture being used was electricity, thanks to car batteries at her feet. Nasty shit, that. I’d scream too.
Something about the place looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Where is that?” I whispered, half-afraid she’d answer me.
She stiffened, opened her eyes, and looked around, like she’d suddenly felt me whispering to her. Spooky shit.
Then she said, “I had to come here, Eddie. The pictures, they never lie.”
God, she was talking to me again. I took a couple of big steps away from her and then, when she turned around and stared at the spot where I’d been, I ran.
I told myself it was so I could get back to Marie and tell her what I’d seen, but it wasn’t that. I didn’t want to spend another second around the blonde. She creeped me the hell out.
Marie:
Can We Keep It Down, Please?
I Can’t Hear the Ghost
I’D NEVER BEEN so glad to see anybody wander into that office as I was when Eddie finally came back. I couldn’t say anything to him, of course, because the place was packed to the rafters with angry book club members. But if I could have, I would have given him a big kiss.
“I am trying to explain a few facts of life to you.” Queen Bea was sitting in my chair behind my desk, directing traffic and generally getting under my skin in a huge way. “And if you’d just get the rest of us our coffees, I’d be happy to show you the small presentation we’ve put together.”
She pointed at my computer. “Can we run the PowerPoint presentation from here? Where do you keep your projector and screen?”
Eddie stared at the throng of women in my office and shook his head.
“I don’t have a projector or a screen,” I said to the book club, even though I desperately wanted to find out what Eddie knew. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d go sit in another chair, Bea.”
“I need the lumbar support,” Bea replied majestically.
“You gotta get them out,” Eddie said. “Now.”
I rolled my eyes, hoping he’d understand that I meant, “I would if I could, but I don’t have a clue how to move them, so I can’t.”
“I know where Honoria is,” he said.
“Where?” I said out loud, before I really thought about what I was doing.
“I’m talking about my back, dear,” Bea replied, looking at me like she thought I was anything but dear. “You do understand, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I muttered, reaching around her for the pad of paper and pen by the phone. I scuttled over to the window, hoping Eddie would follow me.
Of course, every member of the book club shut up and watched me do this. I looked out the window, feeling like an absolute idiot because, of course, Eddie didn’t follow me.
So, I turned around and glared at him, and he finally got the hint.
“She’s at the church
yard,” he said. “Where I was—you know.”
Yes, I knew exactly where he meant. Why was she there? What was going on with that woman? Didn’t she know everyone in the world, it seemed, was looking for her?
“Is there something we can help you with, dear?” Bea called from my chair.
“No.” I walked back into the middle of the room and tried keep the sudden panic out of my voice as I spoke. “I don’t want to see a PowerPoint presentation, and I don’t have all day to discuss your ideas—”
“Investigation, dear,” Bea said haughtily. “We did a thorough investigation.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” I ground my teeth, then tried to smile. “I do have somewhere to be. Do you think perhaps we could set up a time for a meeting when James could be here . . .”
“No, dear, sorry,” Bea replied, shaking her head. Then all the rest of them started shaking their heads and clucking until I felt like I was trapped in a chicken coop with a bunch of broody hens, and I fought the sudden scream that pressed against my lips.
“We gotta go,” Eddie said. “Now.”
I sucked in a quick breath to calm myself. “Give me the gist,” I said, grabbing up the pad of paper and pen and making a great show of preparing to write down every damned word they told me. “But I only have a couple of minutes.”
“Fine,” Bea said. “But you won’t get the full effect if we just tell you who it is without telling you how we came to these conclusions. It’s really quite fascinating.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said, pressing the pen point so hard into the pad of paper I was shocked it didn’t break off and spray black ink everywhere. “But I honestly don’t have the time to listen to everything. Please, just tell me your theory.”
“Fine. Even though our journey of discovery is nearly as interesting—no, I would call it captivating—as our conclusions, here it is. We believe—” She stood, ponderously, and held out one hand for effect. I was sure I heard a couple of the book club members suck air through their teeth in anticipation.
I sucked a little air myself, but just to keep my calm.
