Dying on Second

by E. C. Bell

  “Her name is Karen Dubinsky,” I said. “And she’s been missing since 1974. She was nineteen.”

  “Nineteen!” His brow furrowed. “She was so young.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But now that you know her name that should make it easier to talk to her so you can move her along,” James said. “Right?”

  I stared for a shocked second at the cashier, but she wasn’t paying a bit of attention to our conversation, so I glared at James and then grabbed the bags and walked out of the store.

  He followed after a few moments. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We do not talk about moving the dead on in front of the living,” I said. “Did you forget that?”

  “Sorry,” he said. But he didn’t look sorry. Not at all. “I figured it was all right since you started the conversation.” He grinned at me. “Because you did start the conversation, didn’t you?”

  He had me. “Yes,” I hissed. “I did.”

  “So it’s all right for you to talk to me about the dead in front of the living, but not the other way around. Is that Rule 10?”

  “It’s rule 54,” I snapped, “Which lets me know you haven’t been taking any of my rule suggestions seriously at all.”

  He laughed. “All right. No more talking about ghosts in front of people, even if you start the conversation.”

  “And I’ll try to remember my own stupid rules.” I said.

  We got in the car and headed out of the parking lot. “It’s not called moving along, is it?” he finally said.

  “No,” I said. “It’s moving her on.” Then I fell silent. Moving the spirits on was what my mother had called what we do. I touched her old Timex on my wrist and wished, one more time with feeling, that she would magically appear in the back seat of the Volvo complaining about there being no space for her in amongst all the boxes and bags from United Cycle and offering advice on the best way to make the girl on the diamond move on so I could get my sunshine and exercise in peace.

  She probably would have talked about how all ghosts deserve to move on to the next plane of existence and how the girl on second base was no different.

  “Just get to know her,” she would have said. “The rest will fall into place.”

  She couldn’t tell me that, of course, because she was no longer with me. Thinking about her put my mood in the basement. “I don’t know if Karen will even speak to me,” I said. “So maybe I’m wasting my time. Maybe it would be better if I just—”

  “What? Ignore her?” James said. He shook his head. “That worked for one game, but it won’t help in the long term and you know it. Eventually, you’re going to make it to second base, and then you’ll be face to face with her. Better that you try to talk her into moving on—or at least convince her to vacate the premises while you play your games.”

  “That’s actually a good idea,” I said, my mood lightening.

  “If she can leave the area, that is,” James continued. “Do you think her body’s around there somewhere?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “City maintenance has worked on that diamond a ton over the years. Somebody would have found her.”

  “Well then, why is she there?” James asked. “If she didn’t die there, why would she be hanging around?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. Maybe I should find out.

  JASMINE TEXTED ME as we were heading to the batting cages, wondering if I was coming home for supper.

  I made chicken, she texted. Why don’t you invite James, too?

  I looked over at James. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah, kinda,” he said. “Maybe we can pick up a burger or something after practice.”

  “Jasmine’s made her chicken,” I said. “And she told me to invite you. But they’re eating now.”

  James was absolutely in love with Jasmine’s Curry Chicken Surprise. I could almost hear his mouth water as he glanced over at me.

  “You have to practice batting,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “But, James. Chicken.”

  All right, so I loved Jasmine’s chicken even more than James did. And I felt exhausted after our shopping spree. I just wanted to head home, eat, and then curl up on Jasmine’s couch and watch one of her “stories” on TV.

  James thought things over for about a second and a half, then turned the car and headed in the direction of Jasmine’s house and her succulent chicken.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll practice tomorrow.”

  Absolutely, James. Absolutely.

  Karen:

  Making Friends with the Devil

  WE HAD A meeting after the game, and Joanne convinced everyone that her grand plan, her big scheme to drive the girl who could see ghosts away from Diamond Two, would actually work.

  “If she can see Karen she can probably see all of us,” Joanne said. “Which means we can mess with her head. You know, scare the crap out of her so she goes home and leaves us all alone.”

  Rita Danworth, who could actually move physical objects and who figured large in Joanne’s big plan, wasn’t so sure it would work the way Joanne thought.

  “What if it just brings her back,” Rita said. “With her psychic friends? To . . . What did you call that, Joanne? What they could do to us?”

  “Exorcise us,” Joanne said.

  “She doesn’t do that, I don’t think,” I said. Exorcising was something that was done to demons by Catholic priests. None of us were demons. We were just the dead, out for a few laughs.

  “Well, I saw The Exorcist,” Rita said. “Scared the heck out of me. I don’t want that to happen to me.” She shook her head vigorously. “I think we should come up with a better plan.”

  “There isn’t a better plan,” Joanne snarled, instantly ready to do battle, as usual. “If we don’t get rid of this girl, she’ll wreck everything for us. I just know it.”

  Everyone sat back and thought things through for a few minutes. I could see pink tingeing the edge of the horizon and knew that everyone would soon drift off to wherever they went during the day and we would not have a plan.

  “What about us not playing on Tuesdays and Thursdays?” I asked, hopefully. “I mean, just until she quits.”

  “No!” This time it wasn’t just Joanne, but the two umpires who yelled. I knew they’d put up a stink about that idea. They came to the diamond every night, without fail. They would not want their routine messed with, even if it was for the good of all of us. “We are not giving up half the season just because of that girl!”

  “We need to get rid of her,” Joanne continued. “My plan’s the good one.” She pointed at me. “You just do your part. Got it?”

  I could see that the rest of them had fallen into line behind Joanne and, more importantly, behind the two umps. Nobody would even consider crossing them. Not if they wanted to have a close call ever go their way again.

  “Got it,” I said.

  As soon as I spoke, the rest of them started to drift away on the light spring breeze. No sitting around and discussing the minutia of the first game of the season like they usually did. Just everyone floating, like dandelion seeds, to wherever they went when they weren’t here.

  Soon, I was the only one left. I went to second base and waited for that Marie to come back so I could put the first part of Joanne’s plan into action and make her my friend.

  I stared at the sun as it tiptoed over the horizon and wished that it could burn out my retinas so I didn’t have to go through with Joanne’s stupid scheme.

  But dead eyes don’t work like that. More’s the pity.

  I WAS STANDING at second base watching the Monarchs warm up when Marie walked up to her team’s dugout. It didn’t look like the guy who’d come with her for the first game was with her this time, and I hoped that this meant she’d decided to quit and was just dropping off her uniform.

  She didn’t go into the dugout where the other girls were chatting but sat on the lowest bench of the bleacher behind the dugout, disapp
earing from my view. When she reappeared, she was wearing her uniform, plus brand-new socks and cleats.

  So, she was staying. And she was playing. Great.

  She stepped into the dugout and everyone stopped talking until Greg grabbed her in a quick bear hug and welcomed her back.

  “We’re gonna have a good game tonight,” he said. “I can just tell.”

  Marie smiled and nodded, looking supremely uncomfortable, but the rest of the team loosened up, and the chatting resumed.

  There was some bitching when Greg held up the batting order for all of them to see.

  “She only played one game,” Jamie Riverton, the back catcher, said. “Why does she get to bat cleanup?”

  Batting cleanup was a prime spot. For power hitters, mostly. The first three batters were usually fast, and could get on base with some regularity, but the fourth batter was expected to hit it far out in the field, every time, so the rabbits on base could scamper home.

  Jamie had been the cleanup batter for two years, and she obviously wasn’t happy about losing her spot. But Greg put paid to her griping double quick.

  “She got on base twice last game,” he said. “And you didn’t, Jamie.”

  “Once,” Marie said. “I only got on base once.”

  “Your second hit—that was a lucky catch,” Greg said. “One in a million kind of a thing. You got the touch, girl, so you’re batting cleanup. Congratulations.”

  He looked like he was going to give her another hug, but she stepped out of his range. “All right,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Now let’s warm up,” Greg continued, pointing out to the diamond. I looked around and realized that the Monarchs had vacated the premises, and soon I was going to be face to face with Marie.

  I watched her grab her glove and follow the fielders out to centre field, where they were expected to shag some fly balls. Putting Joanne’s plan into place had to happen now.

  I jogged out to centre field and stood beside her, smiling in what I hoped was a fairly friendly fashion. Marie saw me but didn’t say a word. Just tracked the ball Greg had hit to her, caught it, more or less, and threw it back.

  She went to the end of the line of fielders, and then she stared at me. Now was my chance.

  “Hi,” I said. “Your name’s Marie. Right?”

  “Right,” she whispered. She leaned over, pretending to tie her shoe. “And you are Karen Dubinsky. Right?”

  She knew my name.

  I froze, that stupid, insipid smile stuck on my face while I tried to think of something to say. Finally, the obvious popped out of my mouth. “How do you know that?”

  “Missing Persons,” she whispered. The centre fielder lined up behind her, and she stopped talking until she’d fielded another fly ball and taken her place at the end of the line again. “We need to talk.”

  “Stay after the game,” I said. “We can talk then.”

  “All right,” she said. And then she stared at me, hard. “Do you want me to help you move on? I can do that. If you’re ready.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, and I shook my head. “I just want to talk softball. You know, give you some pointers, so you can play right field a little better.”

  “Oh.” She looked surprised. “Oh. All right, I guess.”

  It was her turn to field a fly ball again so she turned away from me. But after she threw the ball in she turned and stared at me long and hard.

  So, I did the only thing I could think of—I turned my back on her and watched the infield warm up. But the whole time I stood there I could feel her eyes on me, like she was trying to read my mind.

  She didn’t want to be my friend, or take advice from me. She wanted to move me on. Whatever that meant.

  Maybe Joanne was right. Maybe we did have to scare her so badly she’d just leave us all alone.

  HER TEAM WON, seven to six, and I heard Greg say, “Let’s go for a beer to celebrate.” Since Marie had hit in the winning run, I was certain she would go with her team and felt a wild burst of relief. I was off the hook.

  I watched them pack up their gear and vacate the premises. Marie left with them, and as I watched her drag her bag to the parking lot and dump it in the trunk of her car, I tried to think up an excuse for Joanne and the rest. We’d have to come up with a better plan than swarming Marie and scaring her off. Thank goodness.

  The relief dissolved as I watched Marie wave good-bye to the rest of her team and come back to the diamond. She scrambled up the bleachers and parked herself halfway to the top. My heart fell. She was staying.

  I could see her looking around. Looking for me. I was still by the fence that separated the diamond from the parking lot, out of her sight, and I wished I could just stay there for the rest of the night. Forget watching the second game. Forget my own game, even though I’d never missed even an inning before. Just let it all go so I didn’t have to go through with Joanne’s ridiculous plan.

  I’d committed, though. I turned away from the fence as the last of Marie’s team drove out of the parking lot and went to talk to her.

  “You’re here,” she said, rather unnecessarily, I thought, as I trudged up the bleachers and sat beside her.

  I didn’t answer her. Just watched the two teams out on the field warm up as the last of the sunset pink washed away leaving nothing but grey and blue and black. The huge lights on either side of the diamond were on and they washed away any chance of seeing the stars. I knew they wouldn’t be visible until the lights were off and all the living were finally gone.

  I loved playing softball under the stars. The darkness wrapped itself around us as we played, like a warm blanket. The light that emanated from us gave us enough light to follow the ball when it was hit and the players as they ran the bases.

  It was actually kind of weird the way we could track the ball even in the dark, but after a while, we quit trying to figure out the why of it all and just played. The women that played before they died used to give the umps a real hard time about their eyesight being even worse now that they were dead, but that wasn’t the truth. They could track the balls and strikes better than they ever could alive, and they hardly ever missed a play.

  Actually, the bright lights the living played under hurt my eyes a little, and sometimes I wished the living could figure out how to play in the starlight. It was a much nicer game, under the stars. But, that was never going to happen. I knew it as well as anybody else.

  “You said you wanted to talk,” Marie said, a little louder this time, as if she thought maybe I was deaf. I glanced over at a couple of the living—Miriam Kendel’s mom and dad—parked at ground level in two lawn chairs, blankets and coats keeping their old bones warm, but they didn’t react to Marie’s words. Which was good. The last thing I needed was more attention from the living.

  “Keep your voice down,” I muttered, pointing at the two figures wrapped in their blankets. “We’ll talk when the game starts.”

  Marie glanced at them, and her mouth snapped shut. She nodded and faced forward, watching the two pitchers warm up.

  Mr. Kelly and Mr. Middleton, the two dead umps, trundled up into the bleachers on the other side of the diamond from us. What were they doing? This was not part of the plan. I silently cursed and glanced at Marie to see if she’d seen them. She did not react.

  She was concentrating on the pitcher closest to us. It was Miriam Kendel, and her rise ball was really working.

  “She’s the best in the league,” I said. “Nobody can hit her.”

  Marie nodded. “So I heard,” she whispered. “She looks pretty good.”

  I snorted something close to laughter. “Wait ’til you see her in the game,” I said. “Wait until you face her. You’ll do well not to wet yourself the first time.”

  I couldn’t read Marie’s face. All she did was shrug and continue to watch Miriam as she threw rise ball after rise ball, harder and harder, until the ball was hard to follow. Just a yellow blur from Miriam’s hand to the catcher’s g
love. A slow throw back, and again, the blur.

  Joanne showed up, followed by Rita Danworth, of tea cup moving fame. They carefully scrambled up the bleachers furthest from us and sat with the two umps. Damn them. I thought the plan was to wait out of sight until this game was over and then jump Marie as she was heading to her car after the living were gone.

  I was sure that was the plan.

  “Excuse me for just a moment,” I said. “I gotta check something out.”

  “You’ll be back, right?” Marie frowned at me for a moment then went back to watching Miriam. She seemed hypnotized by the ball.

  “Yeah. Just give me a second.”

  I scrambled away but kept my eye on her. She didn’t appear to notice where I’d gone. Just watched the ball go from Miriam’s hand to the catcher’s glove and back. Over and over.

  I ducked behind the bleachers and pelted over to the far side where the umps were sitting. Of course, everyone was there, milling around under the bleachers. Their nervous energy translated into light, so it was like somebody had set up a couple of spot lights under the bleachers. I knew most people couldn’t see us, or the light, but I was willing to bet that Marie could see both.

  “You guys can’t stay here,” I muttered. “You’ll scare her off.”

  “But we want to watch the game,” Charlotte, who’d died in 1993 and played on my team, said. “Why can’t we do it from here?”

  “Because she can see you,” I snapped. I pushed my way past them all and to the far side of the bleachers where the umps and Joanne and Rita were sitting.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. My voice was louder than it should have been, and I glanced around the bleachers to see if I’d disturbed Marie. She hadn’t moved.

  “We want to watch the game,” Mr. Kelly said. “We took a vote and decided it would be all right. Just so long as it’s just a couple of us up here.” He pointed at the wood beneath his feet. “The rest have promised to stay below. Nice and quiet.”

  “That was not the plan,” I whispered. “You were all supposed to stay away until after the game. I was supposed to chat her up and keep her here so you could show up and scare the crap out of her. After the game.”