Beyond The Ghosts (Legacy Falls Project)

by Jody Pardo

  Christina snoozed softly leaning into my side as I drove back to her place. I parked her car in front of her apartment and nudged her to rouse her from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and she quickly straightened, wiping her mouth as she tried to gain her bearings. Assured there was no drool on her face, she thanked me for driving.

  “How are you going to get home?”

  “I’m just gonna walk.”

  “That’s a long walk.”

  “It’s fine. I have walked a lot further in a lot worse places. I will enjoy the stars.”

  Not putting up an argument, I turned off the ignition and went around to her side to help her out. After clicking the door lock on her key fob, I escorted her to her door. She stood there in front of the door facing me and staring.

  I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation and wasn’t sure if she was going to kiss me again or if she had sobered up and had come to her senses already. When she held her hand out, I realized I still had her keys.

  “Oh, yeah, that would help.” Christina giggled and unlocked her door. She looked over her shoulder at me, and a blush reddened her cheeks.

  “Thanks again, Peter. I had a great time.” She eased her way into her apartment, and I waited until I heard the lock click before starting my walk back to my parents’ house.

  The walk back to my parents’ house was quiet and peaceful. The streets of Legacy Falls rolled up after 7 PM, so at 3 AM, they were absolutely deserted. Crickets and cicadas taunted each other, chirping and clicking in tandem like Morse code.

  Even after a night of dancing, muscle memory took over, and despite the uncomfortable shoes, I found my stride but not my rhythm. With no weapon, Alice belt, or equipment, I felt lost. My hands did not know what to do. I stuck them in my pockets, but it was awkward. I stuck my thumbs in the crests of my pockets, but they were sore after just a few minutes.

  I let my arms hang down to find their swing. It felt unnatural. How could it be unnatural? People do this every day. Finally, I deliberately pumped my arms like when I ran, except slower. It made me pick up my pace and cadences sang in my head, and eventually, out of my mouth, filling the silent streets.

  Around her neck she wore a studded collar

  She wore it in the springtime in the merry month of May

  And if you ask her why the heck she wore it

  She wore it for that soldier who was into whips and chains.

  Whips and chains

  Whips and chains

  Whips and chains

  Whips and chains

  She wore it for that soldier who was into whips and chains.

  Around the block she rode a purple Harley

  She rode it in the springtime in the merry month of May

  And if you ask her why the heck she rode it

  She rode it for that soldier who was into whips and chains.

  In no time at all, I was home; my endorphins kicked in and quieted my screaming feet. I was sure I would be feeling them in the morning, but I felt accomplished. Christina was home safe and sound.

  Mission completed.

  My mother was in her glory having me and my sister home. Even though my sister lived on her own after college, since I got home, she visited nearly every day. I appreciated her company, and more than anything, the liberation from my parents’ house. I didn’t have a vehicle of my own, so I was at my dad’s mercy or playing crash test dummy in my sister’s Beetle.

  My dad was not handing over the keys to his Ford F-250 dually anytime soon—he loved that truck as much as he loved my mother. Some days, maybe more. It was a ruby-red, metallic, four-door, crew cab with a 6.7L V8 turbo diesel under the hood. Just thinking about it made my dick hard. The pecan-colored leather heated seats were soft as butter and like sitting on clouds. While it was essentially Dad's work truck, that didn’t keep him from maintaining the truck regularly and washing and waxing it on the weekends. It had more scratches on it than a rave DJ’s record collection, but he didn’t care. It was his, and like that ugly avocado refrigerator, it was his and paid for.

  My mother never drove a day in her life. She never needed to. My dad took her anywhere she wanted to go, and he treated her like a queen. Even after he lifted his truck, he furnished Mom with a step stool he kept in the backseat floorboard so she could easily get in and out. Her life revolved around our family and the business so she was always with my dad anyways. She didn’t hold a passport, and the first time she flew in an airplane was to my boot camp graduation. I remember Dad recalling the trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get Mom’s state identification card so she would be able to make it through TSA inspection for their flight. Dad said she was impossible and took two whole hours preparing for the picture and then nearly smacked the clerk when he asked her weight. Never ask a woman her weight. Number one, you risk being smacked. Number two, she is gonna lie anyway. My mom wasn’t a fat woman, but my dad said there was no way in hell she was one hundred and twenty pounds, either.

  After forty plus years of slinging meat and side of cow, he could call weight almost perfectly usually within two ounces, and that was the extra he included in every sale just for good measure. He never wanted to be that stickler for exact weights and measures. The customers’ loyalty was always the most important thing, and his customers would bypass two markets and a Wal-Mart and come out on the ranch to Dad’s shop.

  Beth picked me up after she got out of work and we hung at her apartment in the evenings. She had Wi-Fi and cable, two things my parents didn’t, so I was willing to wear my seat belt and hang on for the ride to her apartment.

  Beth’s apartment mimicked a standard college sorority sister’s home. It was merely an extension of her college years. Big, fluffy, floor pillows of varying non-matching colors littered the living room forming some circle of sitting room as an extension of her thrift store three-seater sofa.

  Beth decided on movie night, and it was a marathon of bad B horror movies. We had a stack of DVDs to make our scary movie night complete. We were equipped with big bowls of popcorn and enough candy to keep the local dentist in business. Christina joined us and brought a bottle of Fireball to the mixer.

  “Are you sure Fireball goes with popcorn?” I asked her as she retrieved three shot glasses from my sister’s kitchen cabinet.

  “You never had Fireball and bottlecaps?” Her look of surprise was so great you would think I said I never drank a glass of water.

  “Bottlecaps?” She lifted the sack of gummy candies and tore open the top pulling out one tan and brown piece of candy.

  “You see, you take one of these and stick it in the shot glass. Then, you fill it with Fireball and let them mingle a little bit. When we watch the movie, when the first bimbo trips up the stairs running from the killer or leaves the back patio door open then goes to take a shower, we drink.”

  “I understand the game, but why the bottlecaps?”

  “The cream soda cola candy mixes with the Fireball, and it tastes like a cinnamon roll except smaller and less fattening.”

  “So, your movie snack choices are health driven?” I pressed.

  “Don’t let her bullshit you. She would make cinnamon rolls if we had some but bottlecaps are cheap quick and accessible at the Quickie Mart. She just needs something to soak up the Fireball.”

  Christina turned bright red, and her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “So, you aren’t having any, Beth?”

  “Now, don’t go getting all crazy. I’m all in, I was just saying. Go ahead and line them up, girl.” Beth held half the movies in one hand and half in the other and stuck them behind her back making me choose. She then set the unchosen ones down and divided the movies again until we had our final choice. Paranormal Activity was the first movie up, followed by Scream and Hostel. As she set up the DVD player, I tried to recall the movies in my head as I watched Christina pour Fireball into each shot glass soaking the little cola candies. This is gonna get ugly.

  The first movie rolled, and one big bowl of popcorn later
and only one shot was consumed because it was basically a movie about paranormal activity so their biggest bimbo moment was setting foot into these extraordinarily haunted houses to begin with. By the first twenty minutes of Scream, on the other hand, the Fireball was flowing and the little cola candies didn’t even get a chance to soften never mind mingle with the alcohol as shot after shot went down as the body count went up. My sister tapped out before the long white mask unveiled the killer and was fast asleep on the floor in a Fireball-induced sleep.

  I didn’t want Beth to wake up in pain. As comfy as her floor pillows were, she was not on them and curled into a ball on the area rug. The hardwood underneath was not forgiving and would result in a stiff neck. As the Scream credits rolled, I scooped Beth off the floor and poured her into her bed. She turned onto her side away from me and I covered her shoulder with her quilt.

  When I returned to the living room, Christina was loading the next movie.

  “You ready for Killer Clowns From Outer Space?”

  “Are you? I saw you ducking your head.”

  “Shut up. I was not.”

  “You were too. Don’t worry, I won’t let the big bad guy in the makeup get you.”

  "I thought Hostel was next?" she asked, looking at our lineup.

  "You sure your liver can handle Hostel?"

  "Killer Clowns From Outer Space it is!"

  The movie was more funny and less slasher, and when I looked down, Christina was fast asleep in my lap. Slowly but surely, she had gone from snuggled at my side hiding her face, lower and lower, until she rested with her head on my thigh in my lap. I grabbed the afghan off the back of the couch and covered her curled up body.

  If it wasn’t for the nearly-empty bottle of Fireball and it being close to two in the morning, I might have had developed a complex with two women falling asleep on me. I didn’t want to disturb Christina sleeping, so I settled in, turned the volume down some, and watched the rest of the movie.

  "Hello, ma'am." I looked up from the task of securing power and system lines and saw a young woman standing in front of me. She was holding in her hands a sack and outstretched them in my direction.

  "Thank you. I'm fine. ma'am." She urged me to take it. thrusting her hands inside the sack of bread and rolls, pulling one out to show me a small roll crusted in pine nuts and seeds.

  "Thank you for your kindness." I accepted the sack, careful not to touch her or offend her. She stood in front of me as I sat down with the sack and reached in to try one of the rolls. When I reached my hand inside, pain seared up my arm as a burning and pinching sensation caused me to cry out in pain.

  "What the fuck?" I dropped the sack at my feet, and a flood of camel spiders started crawling up my legs and around my feet, scurrying out of the bread-filled bag. I stomped at them and tried to brush them off my clothing, but they were fast, and another bit my hand again and latched on.

  I looked up at the covered woman who stood there watching as spiders crawled all over me. "You terrorist bitch. I will kill you."

  I lunged at her full throttle, ignoring the burning and biting on my legs, throwing her to the ground.

  “Peter. Peter.” I heard a woman’s voice and my ears rang. The afghan hung around her shoulders and long, sandy-brown hair veiled her face. I wrestled with her, landing on top of her, my knees pinning her shoulders and my left hand fisting in her hair while I reached for my knife from my boot.

  “Peter, stop. You're hurting me. Ow.”

  My knife wasn’t in my boot. Why isn’t my knife in my boot and how does this terrorist know my name? She wasn't talking when she offered me a bag full of fucking spiders.

  I looked down at Christina’s pale face full of horror and fear with my fist still in a firm grip in her hair, cocking her head to the side. I released her immediately and jumped up, backing away from her with my hands up until my back met the wall.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I shook my head trying to erase her frightened face from my sight and memory. She smoothed her hair and rubbed her shoulders.

  “Peter, it's just me. Are you okay?” She raised her hands up and waved them in my line of sight. I tried to focus on her words. “Are you okay?” No. I needed to get out of there.

  After coming home from Dad’s shop, I was relaxing on the couch flipping channels when Beth stormed in and made a beeline to me.

  “What did you do to my friend, jerk face?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I’m sorry.”

  “If you didn’t do anything, why are you apologizing?”

  Ugh, I didn’t want to even begin to get into it with my sister. Especially since I wasn’t even too sure what happened myself. I was asleep.

  “I don’t know. It seemed like the right thing to say.”

  “She says you kissed her and then attacked her.”

  “Whoa, let’s not put the cart before the horse. First of all, your friend kissed me. Secondly, I didn’t attack her. I can’t control what happens in my sleep.”

  “You attacked her in your sleep?”

  “I didn’t attack her, she spooked me. I don’t know what happened. It's all a blur.”

  “How do you kiss someone then hurt them, Peter? Your handprints are on her shoulders.”

  “I didn’t kiss her last night. That was last week at the club, and she kissed me.”

  “She did? I know she comes on a little strong sometimes, but that was no reason to hurt her. You could pluck her like a gnat.”

  “Beth, would you stop? I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Please, just tell her I’m sorry.”

  “She is fine, just a little shaken up. Tell her yourself.”

  “She probably won’t want to talk to me.” Beth reached for my arm, and I pulled away. I didn’t want anyone to touch me. Even though I was fully awake and had been for hours, I was obviously not in control of my reactions.

  “Just talk to her,” Beth whispered. “She doesn't seem to mind. She is more concerned you are mad at her or don't like her. She actually thought it was pretty hot.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” If my knife had been in its home in my boot where it had resided for the last ten years, I doubt Christina would have thought anything was remotely hot. Things could have taken a much different turn.

  “She kinda likes guys that take control. You held her down and flipped her switch.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t feel the same way if we would have fell asleep in my bedroom.”

  “Oh, I'm sure she would have been even happier if she fell asleep in your bed and woke up with you on top of her.”

  “Seriously, Beth, please stop. I cannot believe I am having this conversation with my baby sister,” I pleaded.

  “Oh, my big bad brother can kill insurgents but can't handle a little pillow talk? Wow, there's one for the record books.”

  “Very funny, brat. I’m no good for her. I could have killed her.”

  “Christina is a good girl. I think you just scared her.”

  “She should be scared. She deserves better than a broken soldier.” Her light, playful mood turned somber, and her voice dropped to a small appeal.

  “You came back all in one piece. She would be lucky to have a good guy like you.”

  “Beth, you don't know what I've done. I’m not a good guy. I could have hurt her.”

  “It’s just a bruise. She likes you. You did what you had to do over there, but you are a good guy.”

  "Who is a good guy?" Mom said, bringing a tray of snacks and sweet tea into the living room “New boyfriend, Beth?”

  “No, Mom. Don’t start knitting the booties.”

  “When are you going to settle down and get yourself a man?” my mom pleaded. Thank God for Mom’s grandchild obsession. For once, it worked in my favor. Welcome to the hot seat, Beth.

  “Last time I checked, incest was frowned upon even in the South, and Peter is the only good guy I know,” Beth said with enough sarcasm to cut glass.

 
My mom, obviously a pro at this game with Beth, volleyed back, “What about the Davidson boy from the hardware store?”

  “He only knows how to sell tools, not use them.”

  “Elizabeth Marie. Sometimes I don't know why you say such vulgar things.”

  “Oh, relax, Mom. I didn't say anything bad. I didn't even say penis. But if you were counting on him for grandkids, you are barking up the wrong tree.”

  I nearly choked on my sweet tea and had to cover my mouth to keep from spewing tea all over my mother who swat at Beth with the dish towel always on the ready hanging from her apron.

  “Elizabeth Marie. You are not too old to wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “Oh, please, Mom, you never did it to me as a kid, you aren’t gonna do it now.”

  “You were such a sweet little girl. That’s why. I don’t know what happened.” She turned to me with doe eyes. “At least my sweet Peter didn’t change. You're still my sweet boy. Let me get you some more tea since Beth wanted to exercise her trucker mouth.” I grabbed the last tea cookie off the tray before she took it away to refill the tea decanter in the kitchen.

  “You're still Mom’s favorite,” Beth huffed.

  “Why do you talk to her like that?”

  “Oh, my god, you are taking her side? Don't tell me that whole Stepford Joan Cleaver routine doesn't annoy you.”

  “Come on, it’s just Mom. What else do you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe for her to step out of the ‘60s. I thought the ‘60s was supposed to be the decade of enlightenment?”

  “I don’t know I wasn’t alive. Besides, I think that was the ‘70s”

  “Well, whenever it was, she missed the bus on that one.”

  “One day you will miss Mom’s ways.”

  “Yeah, whatever you say.”