"I don't get it. What the hell are you talking about?" Paul asked, glad for the reprieve.
"With my gift came a curse. During my walk on Earth as a human seer, I felt no emotions. Neither pain, sorrow, nor love. But I did see the future, and gave those visions freely to people I trusted; it was my demise."
"Oh, cut the drama, I could care less." Paul pulled his eyes away from the phone and stared at Bartholomew's smoky form. "Bottom line. What the hell do you want with Toni?"
"I want to feel again. Even the horrendous pain I experienced while dying was a gift. I want to know if I can experience fear, hate, ecstasy, love, enjoy the pleasures of an... intimate relationship. I believe Toni can give me what no other human possession has. I intend to live through her."
"How?" Paul inwardly cringed. Just the thought of Bartholomew possessing Toni made him physically sick. "You already know you can't get inside of her."
"Make the call. I want you to meet with her again. We need to find out her family secret, because we are destined to intertwine."
Paul reluctantly picked up the paper and stared at the telephone number. "I don't know if I can do what you-"
"I can see signs that demonstrate physical attraction and I'm willing to share after I gain possession of her," Bartholomew said, floating backward to the wall that led into Paddy's room.
"Excuse me?" Paul jerked to attention, glaring at the seer-ghost. "You think I can touch her knowing you're inside, enjoying . . . while I . . . You sick bastard!"
"I will possess her with or without your help," the seer ghost said, buttocks and thighs embedded in the wall as though he were easing into a comfortable chair. "And if I have to kill you and your family, not only will you bear witness to the event, you will not be able to do anything about it. Make the call."
Paul took a deep breath.
Bartholomew smiled and crossed his boney legs.
I sure as hell can't stop this bastard if I'm dead. But how the hell can I do what he asks? Shit, I'm in way over my head. Paul picked up the phone with shaky hands and dialed the number.
"I would like to hear the other side of the conversation," Bartholomew demanded, pushing further into the wall.
Paul hammered the speaker button and a ringing noise filled the bedroom.
"Hello," a woman answered with a melancholy voice.
"Hey, hi, I was wondering if I could talk to Toni?" Paul asked, hoping the woman would say no.
"There's been . . . Toni is . . . Who's calling?" the woman sobbed.
"I'm Paul, the guy Toni met at Wright's on Hawkins Road. I'm just worried about her. I can call back if this isn't-"
Bartholomew gave him a warning glance.
"We were just...um . . . picking out clothes..." the woman whimpered. "The police officer that was at the hospital would like to speak with you. I'll have Toni give you his telephone number if she . . . Just a minute, I'll see if she wants to talk."
"Thank you. I'll call him as soon as I finish talking to Toni, I promise," Paul said, swallowing hard.
"Paul . . . do you? Did my daughter really...? Did you see it?"
"I . . . I, yes, she-"
"It's all right," Belle choked out. "Sorry I asked. I just can't see Sara . . . Never mind. Let me go see if Toni can come to the phone."
Paul heard her put down the receiver and a few minutes later Toni's voice filtered into his bedroom.
"Paul? We were just headed to the funeral home and I-"
"Are you okay? I'm sorry. That's a stupid question. Of course you're not all right. Can I do anything?" Paul stammered. Just the sound of her voice made his heart accelerate. He glared at his ghoulish houseguest.
"No, but I thank you for calling." Toni let out a long breath.
"Your mom said you had the phone number of a police officer who wants to talk to me."
"Set a date, Paul," Bartholomew whispered, slithering out of the wall.
"I do. It's Officer Dan Delgado. Do you have a pen?"
"Hang on." Paul hopped off the bed and walked over to his computer. He grabbed a pen and turned over the piece of paper with Toni's phone number on it. "Okay, Dan Delgado you said? And his number?"
"555-1313. Did you get that?"
"Yep, and Toni, can I see you again?" He frowned at Bartholomew's smiling face. "I could, maybe, come over to the funeral home later. I just want to see you. I feel so bad."
The line was quiet for a few seconds. Bartholomew's milky eyes were riveted on the phone.
"I don't know. I don't have anyone I can . . . I mean, without Sara . . . there's just my mother and . . . " Toni's voice hitched and Paul heard her breathe caress the receiver. "I guess it'll be okay." She sighed. "It's the Golden Chapel Funeral Home in Reed City. We were just getting her clothes ready, and I really need someone to talk to; you were there."
"I know where it is. I'll head over in about a half an hour. Okay?" Paul could feel his pulse racing, palms sweating, body vibrating.
"Sure . . . thanks . . . and don't forget to call Officer Dan." Toni sounded out of breath and Paul smiled in spite of himself.
"Right now," Paul answered. "See you in about thirty minutes."
"Okay," Toni said and broke the connection.
"Well now, you did a fine job." Bartholomew said, and as he stepped into Paul's body, the boy shuddered.
Chapter Seven
Toni hung up the phone and stared at it, legs all rubbery, stomach roiling. What am I thinking? My sister is dead and I just invited Paul to the funeral home! She thought as she swiped tears off her cheeks and ran upstairs.
When she entered Sara's bedroom, the first thing she noticed was a frilly powder-blue dress with chestnut colored flowers all over it, clutched in her mother's hands. It had been a gift for Sara on their seventeenth birthday last year, and Toni had received a pale green one just like it. The Walmart tags still hanging from the collar of Sara's dress flashed a memory; Sara wearing disgusted look as she tossed the dress in the back of her closet while flippantly stating she wouldn't be caught dead in it. An unexpected burble of amusement threatened as Toni's mother laid the dress on the bed.
"Mom, I don't think that dress-" Toni grabbed her mouth and swallowed back a manic giggle. Caught dead in that dress? Right? I have to stop Mom. "Sara would die if she knew-" Ohmigod! That just fell out of my stupid mouth! What's the matter with me? Forcing a deep breath, Toni worked at being more reverent. "Sara's had that dress for a year and she's never even worn . . . Oh God." She choked out a sob. "I can't believe our eighteenth birthday is less than two weeks away and she won't be here. Oh, Mom, I miss her."
Her mother set a pair of white patent-leather pumps on the bed beside the dress. "I bought that dress . . . the flowers . . . they're the same color as her, well they were before she . . . " She brought her hand to her mouth and took in three short breaths through her nose, a soft moan deep in her throat.
Toni stared at the shoes in speechless horror.
"The dress will bring out her eyes."
I hope not! They better be sewn shut. What a macabre thought.
"Sara has such beautiful eyes, doesn't she?" her mother mumbled.
"Um, Mom, Sara doesn't dress like that. I'm sure she wouldn't want her friends to see her in something . . . " Toni's voice hitched a burble of insanity. "I have an idea; how about her favorite jeans and the coffee colored blouse she just bought? And are those your shoes, Mom?" Okay, so that was more than a little insensitive.
"My daughter will not be buried in jeans!" Her mother sobbed all the way to the closet, and then wiping her nose on her wrist, pulled a green sweater off one of the hangers and held it up in front of her.
Ohhh, that is definitely not going to work with the dress. "Mom, I don't think Sara will need a sweater." Do I ever think before I speak? "Um, I mean, maybe I'll just pull out a few of Sara's favorites and you can choose from them. Okay?"
Her mother held the sweater to her nose, eyes closed she inhaled deeply, and then stared at Toni through tear glazed
eyes. "I'm going to pick out the clothes my daughter will be put to rest in. I don't want to talk about it anymore! Do you hear me? No more! She's wearing that dress. Maybe it's God's will she hasn't worn it yet." She lifted a large tote bag off the floor and placed it beside the dress.
I have got to do something! Think, dammit! "Okay. What about makeup?" Toni asked, frantic now. She watched her mother toss the white pumps in the tote and take the dress off the hanger. "Why don't you go get her favorite lipstick and eye shadow while I put the clothes in the tote for you?" Toni eyed the dresser where she knew Sara's jeans were kept.
"The mortician at Golden Chapel assured me they could handle the makeup and told me I didn't need to bring anything but clothes and a picture of Sara. Can you go get the eleven-by-fourteen from the package of school pictures on the kitchen counter?"
Toni gulped. "Can you go get it? Please, Mom. I just can't... I'll finish packing the bag." I'm not going anywhere until I unpack that bag!
Fifteen minutes later, as Toni and her mother backed out of the garage, Sara, Martin, and Ruth arrived in front of the Farrell house.
"Oh! Oh hell no! Well shit! Ugh! Great! Just great! You had to head over to Paul's first, didn't you Ruth? You info-ho!" Sara spat sarcastically. "They're on their way to the funeral home already. And if I'm not wearing my skinny jeans at the viewing, you are in, oooh, so much shit!"
"Now, now dear, I'm sure yer cadaver will be dressed out properly, it will. And I'm thinkin' the conversation I overheard should take precedence, it should. We have to clarify yer sister's powers, and put a stop-"
"So Bartholomew's a seer. Big deal. I got it. We should have come here first, 'cause my mother sucks when it comes to fashion and I will not be-"
"Yes, dear, that's true by the looks o' 'er, it is, but Bartholomew is in need o'yer sister's body because-"
"This feels like Christmas morning," Martin squealed, clapping his hands which made no noise, but flapped in and out of each other. "They'll open the casket and surrrpriiise!"
Sara rolled back vaporous lips and bolted for the car as it headed down the street.
After an unpleasant flight through town, Martin and Ruth followed Sara through sheer taupe curtains hanging in front of a window in the lobby of Golden Chapel Funeral Home.
Sara immediately put her hand into her hip. "I've got to get into the clothes. I refuse to be buried in Walmart crap!"
"Well, aren't you yesterday's bling bitch," Martin quipped.
"Now, Martin, don't get 'er all worked int'a shilly-shally. We should stay focused, we should. I know why Bartholomew chose yer sister, dear, 'er being a necromancer and all. I'm thinkin' it best we leave well enough alone 'ere and head over to yer-"
"It's not like Toni's gonna go all necro on us tonight. Whatever that is. She has to have sex, remember? Ain't happening; knowing my sister, it isn't ever going to happen. So hold your water, I'm not leaving until I see the clothes."
"Hold my water, dear?"
Toni and Mrs. Farrell entered the lobby and the large tote her sister was carrying caught Sara's eye. She flew at the tote, passed her hands in and out of the zipper across the top and screeched, "I can't get the thing unzipped! Somebody do something."
"You're such a drama queen." Martin rolled his eyes.
Toni's nostrils flared and she though, Where is that God-awful smell coming from? And with no knowledge of her sister's attempts to reach into the duffle bag she held, Toni turned toward a long hallway and the tote-bag passed through Sara's face. Sara yelped and tried to fluff smoky wisps of hair around her face.
A tall, skinny man with dark brown, slicked-over hair, and coke bottle glasses that covered black eyes the size of jaw-breakers, walked into the room wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and black shiny shoes, looking very funeral parlorly.
Toni wrinkled her nose. Maybe he had broccoli for dinner, sheesh. She covered her nose and tried not to act disgusted.
The man steepled long fingers in front of his jacket and plastered a look of empathy on his face. "You must be Mrs. Farrell. I'm Clarence Bean, the director." He stretched out an arm and gave Mrs. Farrell's hand a three fingered, sympathetic shake.
"Yes, and please, call me Belle, its short for Jezebel."
Martin looked amused. "Oooo, I could have a field day with that acknowledgement."
"Are those the clothes for the deceased, Mrs., um, excuse me, Belle?" Clarence pointed at the tote-bag.
"Yes." Belle squeaked a sob.
Toni pinched the bridge of her nose and handed him the tote. My eyes are watering for goodness sake. He took it with two fingers and held it away from his chest.
Sara looked livid as she tried to pull it out of his grasp.
Ruth had concern written all over her face.
"Will we be picking out my daughter's . . . " Belle paused, wiping her moist eyes.
"How ya doin' Sara?" Martin guffawed.
Sara shot him an unamused look.
"That's enough, Martin, Sara's clearly upset," Ruth said, "and that poor woman's devastated, she is. And to think Bartholomew wants to possess 'er other daughter just to feel carnal pleasures, well, it's horrid, it is."
"Say what?" Sara said.
"Oh my, how tawdry," Martin said, placing his finger into his chin. "I meeean, can you just imagine? This is sooo good. And we get to watch."
"Godrestyervoyeuristicnature, Martin, y'just took another step closer t'Hell, y'did."
"Do you stock caskets right here?" Belle's eyes wandered around the reception area. "Oh, Toni, this is too hard," Belle whimpered, tears running mascara rivers through heavily painted cheeks.
"Of course not, we have catalogues." Bean looked appalled.
"I know it's hard, Mom." Toni stared boldly at Mr. Bean.
Sara flew into the tote and came out the other side, between the bag and Bean. "It's dark in there, and I can't feel anything." She flung her hands around as she talked and they passed in and out of Clarence's chest.
The director reached behind him, plucked a box of tissue off a table, and tilted his head to the side. A thick uni-brow crinkled on the center of his forehead. He bit his lower lip and with a plastic turned-down smile, handed the box to Mrs. Farrell.
Toni stared at her mother and then the tissue box. You can do this. Just take a tissue, Mom.
"I'm going in." Sara dive-bombed Clarence, bounced off, and then glared at Martin and Ruth. "What the hell? I can't get inside of him! What's up with that?"
"It seems our little vaporous phenomenon is not all she's cracked up to be," Martin bantered through a big smile.
Sara flew at Clarence again and wrapped him in a puff of disorganized smoke that echoed, "Oh, this is so wrong."
"Just as well, dear. I'd think you'd've learned yer lesson anyway, what with the disorderly calamity at the hospital, and all," Ruth tried.
Toni's mother whimpered, "I just can't believe—I can't believe-"
Clarence shook the box up and down, nostrils flaring as his nose pulled in air.
I wonder if he can smell himself. How can he stand it? Toni touched her mother's elbow. Come on, Mom, take a Kleenex.
"I'd really like to wipe that fake face off his morbidly dressed shoulders." Sara leered at the director.
Belle snatched four from the box and touched the corner of her eye with a fistful of tissue. "Will we be picking out the casket tonight?"
Clarence nodded with a practiced look of bereavement. "Yes, I'll just take this downstairs and then we can look at the models we have available."
"Yessss!" Sara shouted. "Finally I get some choices! I mean, I am the one that's gotta be stuck in it for eternity."
"I'm thinking pink leopard, lots of tulle. You?" Martin said.
"And I assume you want a viewing as soon as possible?" Clarence asked.
"Whatever you think," Belle whimpered, blowing her nose.
"Sure, let's just throw the kid in the ground, ASAP!" Sara glared at Clarence.
"There's coffee in the w
aiting area." Mr. Bean pointed to a set of French doors covered with the same taupe curtains as the front windows, and then placed the box of tissue back on the table by the doors. "I'll only be a moment."
Toni put her arm around her mother and guided her through the doors, closing them behind them.
Sara buzzed down the hall. "I'm stickin' with Beanie-boy. You guys coming?"
The director shook his head, furrowed his massive brows, and brushed his ears while Sara flitted around his head.
"Godrestyerinappropriatesoul," Ruth said when Sara wrapped herself around Clarence's chest, hands flapping at his comb-over. "Move away from the undertaker, dear."
"Girrrl," Martin giggled. "you do amuse me."
The director patted ten perfectly combed-over strands of hair with one hand, the tote in the other, and continued down the hall.
"Let's not encourage 'er, Martin," Ruth warned.
Martin rolled his eyes. "She's such a scandalous little pepper-pot."
"Well yes, dear, she is that, but I'm thinkin' it's time we leave, it is," Ruth said.
Sara grinned back at Ruth. "Sorry, going with the tote, dear."
Down in the morgue, Sara stood by the sheet covering her body as Clarence handed off the tote to a man dressed in a white lab coat. "Let's just pray these clothes are presentable. The mother is quite a number. Can you say, 'seventies trollop'?"
"What a jerk!" Sara said. "He can't talk about my mother like that!"
"That bad?" the man in white asked. He looked at the tote through humorous gray eyes, and then set it down. "Well, it's not our problem."
"Aren't you curious?" Clarence asked, toeing the tote.
"Yesss! Open that baby, mortician-boy!" Sara anxiously hovered in front of the blond man in white.
"No, and I won't be dressing her out until the day of the viewing when Carol gets here to do her makeup. Don't be catty, Clarence. Like I said, it's none of our business."
"Oh-hell-yes it is!" Sara said, and plummeted into the blond man only to find she wasn't able to get inside him either. "Okay, we need to talk. I should be able to get inside of these guys. I did it at the hospital with Mom and Jessica. What's the problem here?"
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