PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  "Goodness, you'd think I would be used t'that by now," Ruth said, her hand halfway inside her own chest. "This century is awfully crowded, it is. We 'ad many a cold dark corner in the castles t'observe our wards." Ruth sighed. "Them were the days. And all them gowns, robes, powdered wigs, an'-"

  "Okay, cut the reminiscing rant—how are we going to stop this?" Martin asked, tapping a foot in and out of the floor.

  "Godrestyersoul, dear. Don't go gettin' all huffy on me now, will ya. I know it's hard bein' tied t'an old lady like me. But I do come with some healthy experience, that is, and I'd be thinkin' ya'd be needin' it soon enough if y'think y'are goin' t'exorcise that demon o' a ghost out o'that poor boy's body."

  "You know we can't stop Bartholomew when he's inside a host, and I was thinking-"

  "I don't mean t'interrupt, dear, but Sara's workin' that knife, and she ain't lookin' like she's gonna cut 'er salad with it. Shall we at least attempt another intervention?"

  "Honey, she's screaming like this year's second place prom queen. Poor thing, shame our attempts usually end badly."

  Paul squawked, "Oh God! Oh no!" eyes locked on Sara, both hands squeezing his own throat.

  Totally out of the loop, Toni was so absorbed with her date's reaction to her sister's antics that she just held her breath and watched, but then he started choking. "Paul, are you okay?" Toni reached across the table, totally ignoring Sara's cries for help.

  Paul jerked his eyes toward Toni. He tried to smile but his eyes did a little jiggle and they were back on Sara. He pointed to his throat and then grabbed Toni's hands. "Help me! I can't stop!"

  Toni got up and ran around the table.

  "God 'elp'em, we need t'try, Martin! Which one will y'be takin', dear?"

  "I'll take the idiot with the knife," Martin said, and leapt at Sara's table, grabbed for the knife, and fell through the stubby boy, and Sara, and the dishes full of food, then the table, until he hit the floor underneath and lodged himself half-in and half-out of the room below.

  "I told you!" Martin glared at Ruth as she bounced off Paul and evaporated.

  "Yes, well, that y'did, dear, but we 'ad t'try," Ruth's voice echoed as she reformed.

  Paul choked out, "No!"

  Several things happened at once.

  Behind Toni, Sara lost her fight with the steak knife—it sliced through her throat—and blood squirted from her jugular all over the stout guy, and then she promptly fell face first into her salad. Paul let out an anguished cry, grabbed his throat, jumped out of his chair, and staggered back several steps, choking.

  The room sounded like one big gasp.

  Toni pounded on Paul's back.

  Sara's date jumped up, knocked over his chair, and fumbled back a few feet, wiping blood from his face and chest. He lost his footing in the mess on the floor, passed through Ruth, and landed in an ass-cracking fall at her feet.

  At the same time, the knife hit the floor and slid a bloody trail a few feet before it tripped a waitress. She sent a tray laden with food and drinks flying. Two patrons in the path of the tray yelped, slid into each other, and began to do what looked like an inebriated tango as they tried to stay afoot.

  Toni put her hands around Paul's torso and began to administer the Heimlich maneuver. "Will everyone calm down? You're not helping! Someone call an ambulance. He can't breathe!" Toni shouted, face against Paul's back as she made a two handed fist and squeezed his torso.

  Ruth steadied herself, stepped into the stout guy's stomach, and then leaned under the table as the whole bar fell into uncontrollable chaos around her. Several patrons ran through her buttocks on the way to the front door and her rear-end looked like a fluttering sail in the wind. She asked, "Will y'be needin' some help, Martin?"

  Martin growled at her and wiggled out of the floor. He floated up from under the table about the time a fragmented puff of smoke started to rise from Sara.

  "Oh dear, I'm afraid we'll 'ave some explainin' t'do, Godrest'ersoul," Ruth whined, stepping through the table to stand next to the smoke forming into a cloud of mottled pink and white, looking an awful lot like Sara.

  "What the hell? Where am I?" Sara's ghostly image croaked. "Is that me in my salad?"

  "Yes, dear, I'm afraid so," Ruth answered.

  "Sara, help me, dammit!" Toni shouted from across the room as she tried to maneuver Paul around so she could see her sister.

  "Help you?" Sara spat, floating over her dead body. "I'm the one with her face in her salad. You idiot! Let go of the stud-muffin and get your ass over here!"

  "I'm afraid she can't 'ear ya, dear."

  Toni caught sight of her sister and screamed, "Ohmigod! Sara! That's my sister!"

  Paul grabbed Toni's shoulder, gagged, and choked out, "I'm so sorry."

  "Great! Just great!" Martin spat. "Bartholomew did it again. Let's hope incredibly noisy and obnoxiously vain over here can at least give us some information about Old-Navy-Boy over there." His finger pointed from Sara to Paul.

  Martin whipped to one side as Toni ran past, Paul following like a well behaved marionette.

  "Is that blood on my neck?" Sara shrieked, swiping her hand through the cadaver's throat.

  "We 'ave a bit o'bad news, dear," Ruth said, patting the tips of her fingers through Sara's shoulder.

  "You've friggin' got to be kidding me. I'm dead? Dead as in . . . freakin' dead? This has got to be a nightmare!" Sara lunged for her flaccid body and fell right through it.

  "Oh my, now we 'ave t'get 'er out o'the cellar, we do. Come along, Martin," Ruth said, taking a nosedive into the floor.

  Martin tapped his foot in and out of the floor, watching the chaos as lookey-loos congregated around the table.

  Several teens, cell phones filming, were carrying on frantic conversations as Ruth burst through the floor with a screaming Sara in tow.

  Sara erratically hovered over the table and glared at her sister. Toni stood beside Sara's body, with her hands over her mouth, face horror stricken, head moving back and forth.

  "Give me a good shake," Sara said. "Just shake me, Toni! I know if you shake me I'll come back to life."

  Toni wrapped her hands around her stomach and rocked as tears streamed down her cheeks. She gagged, retched, and then vomited all over the table in front of her sister's body.

  Sara's fists streaked through Toni's torso several times as she shrieked, "Uck! Eck! She pukes? She F'n upchucks? That's just nasty! Now I not only have Bleu cheese salad dressing all over my face and a gaping hole in my neck, but puke in my hair!" She tried to grab a handful of Toni's red curls but only made them flutter like leaves in a soft breeze.

  Working up some attitude, Sara slapped her hands into her hips and shook her butt; fists embed in her pelvic bone. "Just kick me—slap me—do something to get my friggin' heart beating again! I need a damn shower!"

  Paul tried to hand Toni a napkin and guide her away from the table.

  Sara shoved her nose halfway into Paul's face. "Oh-no-you-don't!" She turned on her sister. "Stop your blubbering! Grab the napkin! Wipe that shit off my face; I've about had it with you!" Sara kicked her smoky foot through Toni and ended up floating horizontally in front of her.

  "Don't you think we should say something to her?" Martin asked.

  "Godbless'er, I think we should let 'er carry on a bit, love," Ruth said from the ceiling above the table. "Won't be long, it won't. They should be draggin' 'er carcass out o' 'ere soon."

  A chubby man in a white apron ushered patrons out of the dining area and into the bar as the sound of sirens filled the air. Waiters and waitresses took some of them out the front door as an ambulance and police cars pulled to the curb.

  Martin joined Ruth. "She's really quite amusing."

  "That's a wee-bit cruel, dear," Ruth sighed.

  "Is that it?" Sara waved her hand dramatically as she spoke and it passed through Paul's head several times; Paul, none the wiser. "I just let them take my bloody puke covered body away?" She glared at Martin and Ruth. "I
think not!"

  "Well, might I suggest we follow Paul; that's the young man with yer sister? He's possessed by Bartholomew, who made y'cut yerself, 'e did. And it wouldn't 'urt us t'deliberate on what we can do t'keep 'im from killin' anyone else. Namely yer sister, since she seems t'be his person o'interest. So I guess y'll be taggin' along, dear?"

  "What do you mean, he killed me? How's that possible? No one seems to . . . if I remember . . . OH my GOD, I slit my own throat!" Sara gagged and coughed up a cloud of ectoplasmic goo.

  Martin, who had been hovering and listening, suddenly jumped for Paul and of course made contact with nothing but the floor. He leered at Paul. "Come on out you bastard, and fight like a ghost!"

  Several police officers, and two EMTs pushing a stretcher, entered the front door and headed for Sara's body.

  "Can't we do something!?" Sara squeaked.

  "I'm afraid not, dear. But more important we should discuss 'ow y'met that boy standing with yer sister, we should," Ruth suggested.

  "But . . . but," Sara started.

  "Come on, dear, we've got some questions fer ya, we do." Ruth ushered Martin and a reluctant Sara through the wall and into the alley.

  "This sucks! What the hell? I need my lip gloss—I lost my tan—my skin is friggin' gray-ass smoky as shit . . . and . . . and there has to be a better place than this." Sara glared at the ambulance near the end of the alley.

  "Fer all intents and purposes, y'killed yerself and that gets y' a ticket into limbo fer the moment, it does. But eventually y'll move on because Bartholomew didn't make y'murder yer own... Well, never mind, dear. Suffice it t'say, 'e didn't make y'do anythin' that would keep y' 'ere fer an eternity if y'wish t'move on after y'pay yer dues."

  "Back it up and hit rewind, old lady. What dues? When will I move on?—'cause you look like you've been here since the flood." Sara frowned at Ruth.

  Ruth shot Martin a look of warning and addressed Sara. "Well, as fer that, I'm from another century and way back then I committed a horrendous deed, I did. An', well, even though Bartholomew—'e's the ghost who assisted in yer demise, dear—orchestrated it; I'm the one that . . . never mind; I'm afraid I'm 'ere fer an eternity unless I can stop Bartholomew and send 'im on t' a more acceptable place, I am. Martin is sailin' the same ship, but you-"

  "I don't give a rat's ass what Martin did! I want to know what I have to do to get out of here!" Sara glared at Martin, tossing a thumb in Ruth's direction. "What's up? She isn't spelling it out."

  "You'll pass on, sooner or later, but I'm a vampire, honey. Vampires aren't awarded a get out of purgatory ticket either, even though it wasn't my fault," Martin said, all huffy-like. "Bartholomew led me to the immortal that he wanted... Well hell, Ruth and I hooked up because neither of us can move on unless we find a way to get rid of-"

  "Martin!" Ruth warned.

  But Sara wasn't listening. "Go on! Vampire my butt! I'm not as stupid as I look." She frowned at Martin.

  Ruth clucked her tongue. Martin glared at Ruth and then addressed Sara. "Look, Bartholomew jumped inside my body, just like he did with Paul, and made me meet this guy at 'Alternatives', maybe you know the place? A bar in downtown Grand Rapids? No, from the looks of you, probably not. Anyway, I met the guy as instructed, and the next thing I knew I was at his apartment and he was sucking on my neck instead of my-"

  "Yes, well, that's enough, dear," Ruth interrupted. "No need t'get all graphic."

  "Vampires aren't real." Sara tucked her hand inside her hip. "You are not a vamp."

  "Ooo, and the dead chick, turning more transparent by the second, knows this how?" Martin flashed fangs.

  "You probably bought those at Walgreens," Sara said. "How'd you really die?"

  "Well . . . that's a bit o' a sore subject, dear, it seems Martin, Godbless'isplasmaabhorrin'soul-"

  "So what!" Martin immediately got defensive. "So I couldn't suck blood! That's no crime! Is that my fault? Damn right it's not! I just didn't have the stomach for it!"

  "That's such bull!" Sara tried to flip her hair over her shoulder, but her hand passed through. "I mean, if you really were a vampire you could have been-"

  "What? A blood-sucker for an eternity? Over my dead body!" Martin was in a dither.

  "Well, it seems so, doesn't it, dear," Ruth said, guiding them toward the street.

  "Yeah, right, so, like what? Being a ghost doesn't bite the big one?" Sara asked, following Ruth, Martin beside her. "Boy, you got screwed."

  Martin paused, tossed his hand in the air and said, "Oh sweetie, I wish. At least I would have gone down with his-"

  "Blessyerlicentioussoul, that's enough, dear!" Ruth clucked.

  Chapter Three

  "Look Toni, I don't even know your last name; and, well, I'd like to check on you," Paul said, standing with Toni by the back of the ambulance. "Can I get your cell number?"

  Toni whimpered an incoherent reply, eyes on the passing stretcher that held a zippered body bag. She moved aside and rummaged through her purse in a stupor.

  One of the EMTs jumped in the back of the ambulance while the other folded up a set of wheels on the front of the stretcher.

  "Sorry," Paul said, "but, if I don't get it now . . . I just . . . " Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  The second EMT pushed the stretcher halfway into the ambulance, and then reached into his jacket, pulled out a pad and pen and handed it to Toni. "Here, you may need someone to talk to about all of this later. Write down your phone number."

  Toni accepted the pad with a shaky hand, scribbled down her cell number and robotically handed it back to the EMT who passed it to Paul before lifting up the back wheels and sliding the stretcher the rest of the way into the ambulance.

  "She's in shock," the EMT said and helped Toni into the back of the ambulance. "We're taking her to the Mecosta County Medical Center. Her mother is on her way there. She's in good hands."

  Paul nodded.

  "Oh, Sara . . . my sister . . . she's . . . oh God . . . " Toni gagged and the EMT quickly handed her a small curved bowl.

  Paul was staring at the scribbled number when the ambulance doors were pulled shut. "This is bullshit!" he mumbled in a hiss of breath as he turned and took long strides toward his truck. "I was only supposed to read Toni's mind, and you used me to kill her sister. You made me look at her and you pushed my mind to mesmerize her into slitting her own throat! I felt like a goddamned puppet! No one was supposed to die! You said . . . You said . . . "

  A scratchy voice echoed in Paul's mind, "Let's go over this one more time and then I am through taking your requests into consideration. Are you with me, Paul? Because there will not be any more discussion."

  Paul's skin crawled when Bartholomew moved under his flesh, as the ambulance with Toni inside sped past.

  "Toni is special. She has a gift to share with me," Bartholomew mentally pushed. "I know this because it is prophecy, and I have been waiting for her for years. She is very important to me, Paul. I need to know what she is and why I can't possess her body to communicate with her; that's where your mentalist skills come in. You should be able to get that information for me by reading Toni's mind, and hopefully I can strike a bargain with her."

  "Like the one you struck with me?" Paul strutted across the street with his truck keys in hand, thinking of the mess he'd gotten himself into.

  "I set the stakes and you accepted them."

  "I had no choice," Paul growled.

  "That remains to be seen, but I accepted your terms and took it slow. I think I have been very obliging, Paul. It's not my fault you felt . . . well . . . too insecure to ask Toni to go out with you, is it?"

  "I didn't want anyone to die. I . . . "

  "You made the suggestion we manipulate Sara into making contact available for you and Toni."

  Paul shuddered, his flesh itching as though there were ants crawling under his skin. "I can't do this anymore!"

  "Yes you can. And you will. I had thought you would be able to
tell me what Toni is before someone had to die. I asked nicely, several times throughout your little conversation with her to remember our arrangement, yet you didn't respond. I may be able to threaten you into compliance, but I cannot read your thoughts unless you allow me to do so. And when you don't, you anger me, Paul."

  Paul fumbled the keys into the lock. "So you make me kill her sister? You punish me? She had nothing to do-"

  You didn't kill her. I simply used your mind to manipulate her actions, making my point, well, because I could. She was worthless anyway, and very easy to, shall we say, influence. I think her death is enough, don't you? Now all you have to do is give me what I need and I will be done with you."

  Paul opened the door to his Silverado, slid in, hammered the steering wheel and then placed his head against it. He sobbed.

  "You don't even know these girls. Why should you care? Think about your little sister, Paul. Where does your loyalty-"

  "If you even touch her, I'll-"

  "You'll what, my dear boy? Shed more useless tears? If you can't stop me from possessing you, how will you ever stop me from possessing Paddy? You now know what I'm capable of, correct? I believe I've made ramifications for noncompliance quite clear."

  "My sister doesn't . . . isn't a psychic medium like me."

  "Ahhh, and did you think I would be stupid enough not to have figured that out already? Skills like yours are usually inherited, Paul. Paddy was my first choice, and when she proved useless in regards to my immediate needs, I found another use for her.

  "You will now give me the information I want, and if you don't, I will take great pleasure in helping Paddy write a suicide note. I have it all planned. Poor thing just can't live with her deviant sexual needs any longer, so she hangs herself. And, you won't be able to stop me, Paul."

  "No one would believe... My sister embraces her sexuality. Our family supports-"

  "ANSWER me! What special power does this girl have that she should haunt me for years? It's too late for Toni's sister, but it is not too late for yours."

  "I tried to read her mind," Paul whispered, "but I couldn't."