Final Breath

by Kevin O'Brien

  His mom used to say that he quickly grew tired of his toys. And the Ouija wasn't much different. After a few days, the Ouija board went up on his closet shelf and stayed there.

  Then on the night of July Fourth, when they'd found the front door open and that strange mess in the kitchen, Eli had figured Carl was back. It had been their first unexplainable incident in a while--unless his mother had been keeping something from him. Eli realized the next day--when he'd overheard her and the neighbor lady talking outside--she'd been doing exactly that. Obviously she'd known all along about a suicide in the apartment, but she hadn't told him. Eli wondered what else she was hiding.

  Well, he could keep secrets, too. His mom didn't know about Carl. The whole thing started to make some sense to Eli. The woman who had lived in this apartment years and years ago had lacerated her fourteen-year-old son, Carl, before killing herself. Eli still wasn't sure what that meant, and he casually asked his mother at the breakfast table the other morning.

  "Lacerate?" she repeated. "Oh, it means to tear something up, cut it up."

  "You mean--like cut it with a knife? A knife could give someone a laceration?"

  She nodded over her coffee cup. "That's right. Why do you ask?"

  "No reason. Somebody used the word on a TV show yesterday, and I wasn't sure what they were talking about." He went back to eating his Honey Nut Cheerios.

  Eli wanted to find out more about Carl and his mother. But he didn't even know their last name--or when they'd died. He'd tried to google Tudor Court, Seattle, murder-suicide, but his search results had been a weird mix of real estate listings for the apartment complex and articles about different unrelated murders in the Seattle area.

  He'd thought about asking his neighbors in Tudor Court about the murder/suicide, but he was worried it might get back to his mother.

  Eli hadn't been sure how he could learn more about Carl--if that was indeed the kid's name--until he'd heard Marcella say just a few minutes ago: "Someone dead is communicating with you."

  Her hand was still on his forehead. "I see a person very much like you," she said finally.

  "Is it a teenager?" Eli asked. "Is the dead guy a teenager--like me?"

  She took her hand away, sat back, and sighed. The dog lazily got to its feet, then rested his head on her thigh. She scratched him behind the ears. "It might be you in a past life, Eli. I can't be sure. Do you have any reoccurring dreams? Sometimes, that's your past life trying to communicate with you." She lit up another cigarette.

  "So you're saying this dead guy who's communicating with me is actually me in a past life?"

  Marcella took a long drag from her cigarette and nodded.

  It sounded pretty screwy to Eli. "Well, do you know what my name was in my previous life?" Earlier she'd figured out his name had three letters. Maybe she could tell him something about the name of this dead teenager. "Does his name start with a C?"

  "The answer is in your dreams, Eli," she said cryptically. She set her cigarette in the ashtray, then reached across the table. "Give me your hand again."

  Eli obeyed. He glanced outside the booth. The sun had disappeared behind some clouds. He didn't hear any more speeches from the guest celebrities over by the mega-store. His mom was probably looking for him.

  Marcella set his hand down on the table, palm up, then stroked it. "I usually don't tell people bad news unless they ask to hear it," she said. "In your case, I think I can help you. Shall I tell you what I see here?"

  His mouth open, Eli nodded.

  "You're in danger. I see dangerous forces all around you, Eli. And I'm sorry, but you will face a loss--very soon."

  Eli stared at her. He felt a sudden tightness in the pit of his stomach--like a warning. He tried to tell himself that she was just jerking him around. But lately--ever since the Fourth of July--he'd felt something bad was going to happen. Maybe it had to do with their ghost; maybe not. But the danger was there.

  Even if he didn't want to believe Marcella's prophecy, in his gut Eli knew it was true.

  Sydney tried not to lose sight of the man with the blue 59 T-shirt, but it was difficult. They'd finished up the interview portion of the program, and placed a long table in front of the celebrity guests. This setup gave audience members had a chance to come up on the stage and get an autograph or chat privately with her, Terri, and the Channel 6 weatherman. People kept crowding in front of her on the other side of the table, blocking her view. Then someone would step to one side or move their head a little, and she'd see the swarthy man again--among the audience, just a bit closer to the platform each time.

  The network had sent a stack of her latest 8 x 10 glossies publicizing On the Edge. She signed about a hundred of those. She couldn't believe that some people still had 8 x 10 photos of her from her figure-skating days. She even signed a few old copies of Making Miracles: My Own Story. All the while, she kept an eye on that stranger in the blue T-shirt. He'd been getting closer and closer to the celebrity platform, and now he stood in line right by the platform steps.

  It made her a bit nervous. But what could he do to her in front of all these people?

  "Sydney, can I come around there and get my picture taken with you?" asked a large forty-something woman with honey-blond hair.

  Nodding, Sydney got to her feet. "You bet. What's your name?"

  "I'm Shirley!" the woman squealed. "Oh my God, this is so exciting! I love your Mover & Shaker stories!"

  Sydney shook her hand. "Well, thanks, Shirley. Get on back here."

  While the woman eagerly trotted around to her side of the table, Sydney stole another look at Mr. 59. He was standing on the platform steps now.

  She and Shirley put their arms around each other, while Shirley's friend took three different photos. Shirley asked for an extra autograph for her daughter, who wanted to be an Olympic figure skater. Sydney signed it: To Audrey, Best of luck on & off the ice. Shirley thanked her over and over, then gave her a hug and moved down the line.

  Sydney stole another look toward the other end of the platform. She didn't see Mr. 59 on the steps or in the line of people. She gazed out at the crowd dispersing in front of the store. She tried to catch a glimpse of him. That blue T-shirt should have given him away. But Sydney didn't see him anywhere. It was as if he'd disappeared.

  "Hi, Sydney," a woman was saying to her. "I don't watch your show, but I'd really love an autograph."

  "Um, sure," she said. She scribbled her name on one of the 8 x 10s, then handed it to the woman. "There you go. Excuse me."

  She walked around the table. Several people in line said hello to her. She smiled and nodded back, but she kept glancing out at the parking lot--and beyond. Eli was probably on one of the rides over by the fun fair area.

  Gil had given up the mike and was signing autographs. Sydney asked one of the big-shots with ValuCo if she could use the microphone to make an announcement. "Um, my son was supposed to meet me here fifteen minutes ago," she explained.

  The middle-aged man, sweating in a business suit, nodded. "Help yourself, Sydney."

  She went to Gil's mike, and switched it on. "Eli McCloud!" she said, trying not to sound too shrill. She kept thinking, he's really going to love this. "Eli McCloud, please meet your mother at the platform by the ValuCo front entrance..."

  She repeated the announcement, all the while gazing out at the parking lot for the stranger in the blue T-shirt. There was still no sign of the man.

  Sydney hoped she'd find him--before Eli did.

  "What exactly do you mean?" Eli asked timidly. "What kind of danger am I in?"

  Marcella stroked the palm of his hand and said nothing.

  Finally, Eli pulled his hand away. "You--you can't just tell me something like that, and expect me not to freak out. When you say I'm--facing a loss, do you mean somebody I know might die?"

  Marcella nodded. Her expression was unreadable behind those dark glasses. "Someone close to you," she said. "It may be prevented, though. I know a way to help you."r />
  The German shepherd stirred a bit as Marcella hoisted a big cloth purse off the floor and plopped it in her lap. She fished out a pencil and a notepad. "Write down your address," she said.

  Eli wasn't sure if the woman planned to send someone over to rob them later or what, but he scribbled down their address at Tudor Court.

  "I will create some good luck for you," Marcella said. "But you must help me. In order for this to work, you need something valuable. Do you have a twenty-dollar bill on you?"

  Eli stared at her and blinked. "Um, I'm not sure," he lied. He still had a twenty from the twenty-five bucks his mother had given him.

  "It can work with a ten-dollar bill," she sighed. "But a twenty is better--the stronger the value, the stronger the luck. You don't have to hand it to me, Eli. I just need to see it."

  Reluctantly, he reached into his pants pocket and found the twenty. He showed it to her, folded up. He wondered if she'd suddenly lunge for it.

  Instead she leaned back in the chair, took her cigarette from the ashtray, and puffed on it. "Unfold the bill and show me the front side."

  Eli was obedient. But he balked as she reached over and touched the top right corner of the bill. "Tear that corner off--so the twenty mark is separated from the rest of the bill," she said.

  Eli hesitated.

  "Go on. Do what I tell you. It'll bring you luck. Tear it off, and stick the torn piece inside your pocket. You'll need to keep that in a special place for the next twenty days."

  Eli figured he could always tape it up later. He carefully tore the top right corner from his mother's twenty-dollar bill, then tucked the detached piece into his shirt pocket.

  "Now, let me tear off the opposite corner," she said, reaching for the twenty.

  Eli held the bill very tightly while Marcella ripped off the bottom-left-corner 20 mark. She held that corner piece to her heart for a moment and lowered her head as if in prayer. Eli could see her lips moving. Then she gave him the torn-off little section. "You need to put that in another special place, Eli. Keep it there for twenty days."

  He slipped the second severed corner into his shirt pocket. Something about all this didn't feel right.

  She glanced at his address scribbled on the notepad, tore it off the piece of paper, and slapped it down on the table. "Fold up the twenty-dollar bill, set it on top of this paper, and then fold over the paper so you can't see the bill anymore. The bill needs to be completely covered."

  Eli squinted at her. "Are you going to make my twenty bucks disappear?"

  She sighed. "I'm trying to help you, Eli--"

  He pushed his chair away and quickly got to his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. He shoved the mangled twenty back in his pants pocket. The knot in his stomach got even tighter. "I--I'm not comfortable with this. I've got to go."

  The dog suddenly stood up and let out a bark.

  "Don't put the bill back together for twenty days!" Marcella warned. "It's bad luck!"

  But Eli didn't stop to listen. "I'm sorry!" he called, hurrying out of the booth. He only glanced back to make sure the dog wasn't chasing him. It was all clear; no sign of Marcella or her German shepherd.

  As he turned forward again, Eli almost slammed right into a lean twenty-something man with a dark complexion. He looked Italian or Latino; Eli wasn't sure. "Sorry!" he said.

  But the man said nothing. He wore sunglasses, a baseball hat, and a light summer jacket, which he must have just bought--or stolen--from ValuCo, because it still had part of the sales tag sticking out of the sleeve. It was weird how on this hot day, the guy wore the beige jacket zipped all the way up to his neck.

  "Sorry," Eli repeated, edging past the man.

  He made his way through the crowded fairgrounds toward the parking lot. Eli looked over at the ValuCo store and tried to catch a glimpse of the celebrity stage by the front door. But he was still too far away. Four older teenagers walked past him: two pretty girls and their loud, dumb-ass, cigarette-smoking boyfriends. The girls were holding balloons.

  Eli looked over his shoulder at them. What he saw made him stop.

  The man in the beige jacket stood a few feet behind him.

  The teenage foursome walked past the man. One of the guys popped the girls' balloons with his cigarette. The two loud bangs were followed by a piercing shriek from both girls. Everyone in the area stopped to look at them except for the man in the beige jacket. He didn't turn around at all. He just kept staring in Eli's direction--his eyes shielded by the dark glasses.

  "Who--" Eli started to say. But he couldn't get the words out. He was too scared. He swiveled around and hurried toward the parking lot. Threading through the mob of people, he kept glancing back to see if the man was following him. Eli didn't spot the guy among the crowd, but he couldn't be sure.

  He remembered what Marcella had told him: "I see dangerous forces all around you, Eli." Now he wondered if he should have given her the damn twenty bucks.

  Up ahead in the distance, he saw the celebrity stage platform by the ValuCo store, but a bunch of people were milling around on it, and he couldn't see his mom among them.

  At the edge of the parking lot, Eli paused and looked back again. He tried to catch his breath. He didn't see the weird guy in the beige jacket anywhere, but Eli took another minute to survey the crowd. His heart was pounding furiously.

  Then he recognized his mom's voice coming over the loudspeaker: "Eli McCloud, please meet your mother at the platform by the ValuCo front entrance..."

  He let out a grateful laugh. Ordinarily, he would have been utterly humiliated to have his mother paging him this way. But right now, he smiled at the sound of his mom calling out for him.

  Eli took one last long look at the fairgrounds. The smile disappeared from his face. He saw someone duck behind a phone pole at the edge of the lot--someone in a beige jacket.

  "Leave me alone!" he screamed--with what little breath was left in his lungs. "I can see you! Stop following me!"

  A moment later, a woman in a beige pullover emerged from behind the phone pole. She was waving out a match and puffing on a cigarette. Apparently, she didn't hear him, thank God. She didn't even look his way, though several people in the parking lot did.

  Eli felt like an idiot. But he wasn't any less scared, not after what Marcella had told him.

  His mother made the announcement again. Her words boomed over the speakers posted throughout the parking lot and fairgrounds. He knew she was somewhere on that crowded makeshift stage, calling for him.

  Eli turned and ran like hell toward the sound of his mother's voice.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sydney checked her rearview mirror again.

  She wasn't sure what she expected to see behind her on Highway 167. When she'd pulled out of the ValuCo parking lot fifteen minutes before, at least a dozen cars were leaving at the same time. The man in the navy blue 59 T-shirt could have been driving any one of those cars. If he was following her right now, she wouldn't have been able to recognize his car anyway. Besides, she and Eli were headed home, and the olive-skinned stranger had originally been lingering outside their driveway gate. Trying to elude him wouldn't do any good. He already knew where they lived.

  Her grip tightening on the wheel, Sydney glanced over at Eli in the passenger seat and tried to smile. He wasn't listening to his iPod, for a change. The Moody Blues played on an oldies station on the car radio, and he seemed to enjoy "Nights in White Satin."

  To Sydney's utter amazement, Eli hadn't given her any flack for paging him at the fair. Earlier, when she'd spotted him in the parking lot headed her way, she'd hurried down from the stage and hugged him. He hadn't balked or asked why she was acting so weird. Instead, he'd hugged her back. He'd seemed kind of relieved to see her, too.

  Later, on their way to the car, Eli had dug into his pocket and tried to give her the three dollars and some-odd-cents left over from the twenty-five bucks she'd given him for fun fair rides.

  "Keep the change, honey," she'd told him,
patting his shoulder. "I didn't feel like driving all the way out here by myself. Consider it mommy-sitting money."

  Sydney didn't want to think about what might have happened if she'd left him alone at home this afternoon--what with that man loitering around the place. She would have to warn Eli about this potential stalker character.

  Swell, she thought. The poor kid had enough troubles--what with his parents separating, and living in a strange, new place that was haunted, for crying out loud. Now she had to tell him about this possible nutcase.

  Sydney looked over at him again. Slouched in the seat with his knees on the dashboard, Eli pensively gazed out the windshield.

  "Are you feeling okay, honey?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered listlessly.

  Sydney sighed, then turned her attention to the road ahead. She couldn't tell him about this stalker business right now. Maybe she'd invite Kyle over for a pizza tonight and he could bring one of his DVDs. Then she could break the news to Eli later.

  She glanced over at him once more. "You sure you're all right? I've seen that look before. You're worried about something."

  "Or somebody," he said.

  "Who's this somebody you're worried about?"

  "Dad," Eli murmured. He sighed. "I know you're probably sick of me talking about Dad."

  "I'm not, honey. Go ahead. Why are you worried about him?"

  "Well, I got to thinking earlier. Remember how you used to get all bent out of shape every time he had to work at night on one of his special assignments? I mean, you used to pretend you weren't nervous, but--c'mon, duh--I could always tell you were kind of scared something might happen to him."

  Sydney cracked a sad little smile. She kept her eyes on the traffic.