The Book of Eleanor

by Nat Burns

  Angie

  I peered through the front doors of Grey’s coffee shop. The thick glass was hard to see through, but I saw no light evident anywhere. I strode around the street side and down a small incline, following the sidewalk to the back of the building, a bag with some of Mama’s good cooking in it banging against my thighs.

  The concrete sidewalk ended and turned into a wooden walkway that passed behind the building. I mounted a few steps and there, childlike and beautiful in the gentle glow of the condo streetlights along the water, lay Grey curled in a chair, cuddled into herself, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  I sat on the steps and watched her a long time, the slap of the tide loud in my ears. I hated to disturb her because she was sleeping so peacefully, but I also knew that nights on the water chilled quickly.

  I moved closer and knelt next to the chair. I had picked up a handful of apology flowers from Estella’s shop and I used them now to gently tickle Grey’s chin. She stirred, then woke suddenly. Her first reaction was to smile, but then I suppose she remembered the foolishness of the morning and her face closed to me.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I said, determined to charm her into a new mindset. “You looked pretty comfy there.”

  She sat up, as if annoyed that I had seen her in such a vulnerable position. “I must have dozed off,” she murmured.

  “Can we go inside? I just want to talk with you a minute.”

  She scrubbed her palms on her thighs as if undecided, but finally agreed, and we moved into the kitchen. I walked in behind Grey and slammed bodily into her when she abruptly stopped.

  A low moan sounded. I wasn’t sure at first where it came from, but when I touched Grey’s bare arm to keep myself from stumbling, sheer abject terror washed through me. I peered over Grey’s shoulder and was amazed to see that, over to the left, every cabinet door and drawer in the kitchen gaped open. It was a bizarre sight.

  “Did you leave it this way?” I whispered, already knowing the answer. I moved further into the dining room to gain a better vantage point.

  It was amazing. Each open door of each top cabinet was lined up with unbelievable vertical precision to the one below it. In addition, each drawer was open the exact same amount as the one above and below. I’d never seen anything like it.

  I leaned to close the door to outside while Grey stood as if shell-shocked. I shifted her to a nearby easy chair and moved into the kitchen to start closing cabinets and drawers until normalcy was restored.

  I glared at the cabinets, just daring them to open again as I moved back to Grey’s side. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and saw a large furry cat, jet-black with huge green eyes, perched on the drafting board that dominated the dining room.

  I glanced at Grey. “And who is this?” I asked, indicating the cat. I moved closer and extended my hand so the cat could smell me. He was friendly and butted my hand, seeking affection.

  “Her name is Oscar Marie,” Grey said quietly.

  “Well, hello, Oscar Marie,” I cooed, scratching her ears. I was trying to avoid talking about the issue with the cabinets. I looked down.

  “What’s this?” I asked, lifting the thick sheet of paper. “Do you draw cartoons? I’ve seen this one, this Sassy Suzy, in our local paper. Oh, my God, don’t tell me, you’re that Graham?”

  Grey nodded and lifted her eyes. Suddenly, she was on her feet, taking the paper from my hands. “No,” she wailed. “Oh, no!” She took a step back, the paper still held in her hands. She fell into the chair she’d just left, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Why is she doing this to me?” she whispered, asking the question of me.

  I had no answer, but I was brokenhearted by her tone. I moved close to her. “Who? Mary? What is she doing?”

  She held the overlarge sheet out to me. I took it doubtfully, afraid of what I would see.

  “What? It looks…”

  “Panel three,” she said in a monotone of pain. “I didn’t do that.”

  I looked at the third square. There was a man on the left and a bored looking secretary on the right. Sassy Suzy and her boss.

  Then I saw it. On each side there were phrases printed neatly in capital letters formed into a box format but between them, scribbled haphazardly in black marker was a poem of some kind. I read it aloud.

  My Anna

  You are

  abandoned

  Forgive my lie

  My love lives on

  Yet I weep

  My world is

  Darkened

  Without your

  smile

  I looked at her. “So who do you think did this, Grey? The ghost you told me about? Or Mary? This is so cryptic…it makes no sense.”

  “They never do, really,” she said dully. “I can’t believe I have to do that panel again! And it’s due on Monday.”

  I could tell she was near her breaking point so I quickly replaced the comic strip on the table and knelt beside her. I looked into her eyes, making her see me. “We’ll take care of this,” I told her. “I will take care of this.”

  She pulled her gaze away, nodded, then sighed loudly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

  I glanced toward the kitchen and saw the flowers I had put on the counter. I suddenly remembered the food Mama had shoved into my hands. “Listen, I brought dinner. Let’s get some food in us and we’ll plan a strategy, okay?”

  Grey

  I thought my heart would stop beating when I saw what Mary had done to my strip. She, of all people, knew what my work meant to me. But then that may have been why she chose that particular point of attack. But why was she mad at me? I wasn’t responsible for her death. It had to be because I sold our home and moved. Guilt raged in me.

  Being with Angie filled me with a tempest of mixed emotions as well. On the one hand, I definitely needed her with me. On

  the other, I was still furious at her for trying to make such a huge profit out of my distress.

  Seeing the apartment and my life violated, so openly and completely, placed me into a uniquely vulnerable position. I felt I needed Angie to resolve it. I couldn’t continue living this way. My sanity and now my work was suffering because of the relentless assaults. So I would pay her fee. I had little choice.

  I studied her as she worked the microwave and prepared dinner for us. Her expression was thoughtful and she was fully engrossed in her task. She looked so cute in her baggy cargo shorts and retro cut T-shirt.

  She had taken her hair down. It surrounded her head in an unruly lion’s mane reaching to her shoulders.

  I studied her forearms when she retrieved the dish of pasta. Her arms and shoulders were so powerful. I had felt the extent of that power when she hugged me on the beach. I suddenly realized that I wanted more of those hugs, but scowled and pushed that thought away. Angie might be getting my money, but that was all. We had a business arrangement. I would not make the mistake of believing we were friends.

  “Here we go,” she said, carrying the bowl to the table and placing it on a hot pad. “Some of Mama’s finest, her stuffed manicotti.” She paused to adjust one of the flowers she had arranged into a vase earlier.

  “It looks delicious,” I murmured, the sight and smell making my stomach gurgle in anticipatory delight.

  She brought back a bowl of veggie peppered tossed salad and a trio of hot buttered rolls. I was lost in a gustatory dreamland and my mouth began to water.

  “Can we open this wine?” She held up a bottle of Malbec I’d left on the counter.

  “Of course,” I said. Soon, a glass stood before me. I took a long, necessary drink and enjoyed the spicy heat as the wine traveled to my stomach. I covered my eyes with both hands, willing normalcy to return. I felt Angie slide into the seat across from me.

  “So you’re Graham, the controversial lesbian cartoonist.” Angie made it a statement. “I had no idea.”

  I sat back and looked at her. “That would be me.”

  She took my plate a
nd served me a portion of the manicotti and a heaping serving spoonful of salad. “It’s already dressed with Mama’s oil and vinegar herb mix. Hope you like it.”

  I tasted it. A perfect blend. “It’s wonderful,” I said.

  “So how does one become a cartoonist?” Angie asked, as I had expected.

  “Pure luck. And some connections made at the UTD art program.” I tasted the manicotti, finding it so well prepared that it melted into simple richness in my mouth.

  “Were you always interested in comic strips?” She offered me the saucer of warm rolls and I took one.

  “Yeah, pretty much. I read a lot of comic books and loved the movement and the colors. Then I started scribbling on my own, copying from them into my notebooks. It…it kind of became an obsession.”

  “One that panned out for you in a big way,” Angie said. Her smile was warm and endearing. I hated the verbal reminder of her evident greed. I looked away.

  “And now you are syndicated. That must feel pretty good.”

  “It’s just a job. Like waiting tables.”

  I saw her frown slightly as my subtle jibe hit home. I decided it was probably better to get to the subject at hand so I could be rid of her as quickly as possible.

  “So you’ve seen what this…force here is doing. Do you think you can drive it away?”

  Angie placed her fork next to her plate and entwined her hands together in front of her chin. “I really don’t know. Most of the time, I just find people who are dead and their bodies are missing. I’ve never dealt with a haunting like this before.”

  “How will you proceed?” I felt new doubt swell in me.

  “Usually I touch something that the person I’m looking for has used on a regular basis.”

  I leapt to my feet. “I have one of Mary’s shirts—” I began only to be cut off by Angie’s low whistle.

  “Dinner first, Grey. We’ll need our energy.”

  I sat reluctantly, peeved that I was forced to sit with her. She must have sensed my reluctance since her good mood seemed to dissipate.

  “Tell me about the books again.”

  I told her about the floating tornado of books and how they had been thrown at me.

  “I think I’ll spend the night in the book room, see what energies I can pick up there. I’ll want to have a look at that little book you told me about too. See what info I can glean from it.”

  “Sure. It’s in the bedroom.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Why the bedroom?”

  I shrugged. “Mary did it, not me. For some reason, she keeps forcing this book of poems on me and I have no idea why. It’s not even one we discussed when she was alive. It’s a complete mystery to me.”

  “Poetry?”

  “Yeah, like what was on the strip. Weird, non-rhyming stuff. Very obscure.” I pushed my plate away. I’d had enough of the excellent food.

  Angie sat back in her seat and took a leisurely drink of her wine, twirling the glass when finished. I noted the sure way her fingers gripped the stem. Her nails were short and well cared for, even buffed shiny.

  “So tell me this: why do you think Mary is haunting you? Did you have a good or a troubled relationship?”

  I resented her question and hoped my level gaze told her so. “It was good.”

  “Why plague you with poltergeist activity? Try to hurt you?”

  “Now that’s the question of the day,” I said, hoping she got my sarcasm. I stood and started clearing the table. She stood to help.

  “Maybe it’s not Mary,” she suggested.

  “I thought of that.” I placed the scraped dishes in the sink and looked out the window at the darkened bay. “The woman I saw in the window that evening didn’t really look like her. So I asked Maddy if the place had been haunted before I moved in and she said no.” I looked at Angie. “So it has to be Mary. Who else could it be?”

  “Well, that’s what I am here for,” she said with a sigh as she moved to help me with the dishes.

  I stopped her. “I’m fine here.” I pulled my hands away, enjoying the feel of her skin too much. “Why don’t you go into the Bookmark and have a look around?”

  She looked at my hands as I lifted a dishtowel.

  “I’ll do that. You sure you’re okay here?”

  I nodded. She handed me the serving bowl of pasta she’d brought from the table, and walked out of the kitchen.

  Angie

  There’s something about the smell of paper, ink and glue that is endemic to all libraries, and in this case, a reading room. I guess any place where a large number of books are assembled. I smelled the not unpleasant odor as soon as I stepped into the attractive, comfortable space.

  The artfully arranged furniture had brought a sense of coziness to the large, high-ceilinged room. I was impressed by Grey’s good taste. I walked to one of the small windows set into the side wall and saw a good view of The Fat Mother and the other businesses along that arm of Lighthouse Square, like Estella’s Flowers and More, Maxwell’s Pub, and Penny’s Ice Cream Hut. It was definitely weird seeing all of them from this vantage point.

  I suddenly felt a presence behind me so I straightened my back and opened to it. My opening must have confused or frightened the entity because it vanished almost immediately. I turned, and as expected, saw nothing.

  There was someone here. I knew that now, having felt her. I hadn’t picked up a name but I had felt her presence. She was artistic and sorrowful, but I picked up little beyond that. If only she hadn’t been spooked—I cringed inwardly at the inadvertent pun—I could have discovered more, like what she hoped to gain by haunting Grey.

  I wrapped both arms around myself as I strolled through the reading room. I stepped into the other part and saw a couple of heavy brocade lounge chairs. Two library tables with comfy rolling chairs were toward the front, below the windows that fronted on the street.

  A wide side door was set on the east wall at the back of the room. By peering through the large windows set in that same wall, I saw that the door opened onto an alley between Grey’s place and the art collective next door.

  I walked back into the main room and envisioned it full of readers enjoying coffee served from the two counters on each side in the back. I thought it a great innovative idea for The Point. I’d been to a few reading rooms and loved the relaxed, erudite conversations they engendered.

  I sighed as I opened the door to the apartment. It would be a good addition to the area provided I could get to the bottom of this haunting.

  Grey was finishing up in the kitchen. The food had been put away, and our few dishes washed and left air drying in the dish drainer.

  “It all looks quiet in there,” I informed her.

  “Good. So what do we do now?” She handed me another glass of wine.

  I nodded my thanks. “Now we just wait for something to happen. Can you get me the book that seems to be the catalyst?”

  She nodded and stepped into a hallway next to the kitchen.

  I heard her gasp as soon as the light clicked on. I placed my glass down on the counter, sensing trouble.

  “Leave my things alone!” she shrieked even as I raced down the hall.

  Another strange sight met my gaze. I stopped in the doorway and sighed. The restless spirit had been at it again. The large bed was covered with clothing, obviously Grey’s, and it had been arranged in a series of neat piles, sorted by color.

  “I’m guessing it’s not laundry day?” I asked.

  Grey turned her angry gaze on me. “You think?”

  She stepped to the nightstand and picked up a small book. She slammed it into my belly and shoved me out the door.

  “Just do your damned work and leave me be,” she said, pushing the door shut.

  I stared at the closed door for almost a minute, the book clutched to my body. She was fierce when riled. I almost felt sorry for the ghost of Mary.

  Oscar Marie watched me with cool disinterest when I entered the living room. I switched on t
he lamp next to a Queen Anne chair against the wall and took a seat.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, Oscar Mayer,” I told the cat as I settled in and opened the small volume, a collection of poems by a woman named Eleanor Copeland.

  By glancing through the poetry, I figured out she was one of the Beat poets of the late forties or early fifties. I tapped the book on my chin, pondering. What did this book have to do with the haunting? I stilled as a sudden image formed in my mind.

  She was a slim, pale woman with a thick shock of red hair and soft blue eyes, thickly outlined with black liner. She smiled. I saw that her prominent outer incisors curved inward, giving her a distinctive, impish grin. She faced away from me, but looked back to laugh at me as the wind blew hair across her face. She was young and beautiful, and I loved her. My Annalise...

  I shook my head to clear it even as I realized I was freezing. It was a bone-chilling cold, clammy and distasteful. About the same time, I realized the temperature had dropped. I also realized that I could no longer breathe.

  Cold, hard fingers were clenched so tightly around my throat that no air could get past them. I panicked, intensely confused, and afraid. My body reacted instinctively, thrashing to escape the deadly pressure around my windpipe. I pushed out against thin air, but it did no good. The fingers were relentless. My heels pounded the wooden floor. I finally used my elbows to try and rise from the chair, anything to escape the heavy weight crushing me.

  Light slanted across the room. I spied Grey racing toward me from the bedroom. She was screaming angrily as she grabbed my arms and pulled me from the chair. Only then did the frigid weight move off me. The fingers loosened around my windpipe. Gasping for air, I fell to the floor, whimpering in pain. My throat felt raw and heated now that the coldness had fled.

  “Oh, my God, Angie, please tell me you’re okay. Please…” Grey knelt beside me.