Corona of Blue

by Berntson, Brandon

  “Honey, can you get us a glass of water over here?” the man says in an authoritative fashion to his wife, taking control of the situation.

  I can’t see anything for a minute. He gently sets me down, my back against the entrance to their hallway. Everything is hazy around the edges. Everything is blurry. He slaps my face. I think it’s funny, because he’s not doing it too hard to anger me, but he’s doing it hard enough to keep me awake. I shake my head and blink several times.

  “Lacey,” I say, but I don’t think he hears me. His wife returns. I imagine her name must be Betty, or Erma, or Margaret, or something. She has curly white hair. She’s wearing casual slacks, but that’s all I can make out.

  “Young lady,” the man says. “Come on. Don’t leave us just yet. Here…drink this.”

  What’s with all the kindness lately?

  I finally seem to come back. I start crying.

  “Miss, do you want me to call a doctor?” the man says. His concern makes me cry even more.

  “Lacey,” I say.

  “Who’s Lacey?”

  And just like that, it hits me! A speedboat collides into my chest, doing eighty miles an hour.

  “Doesn’t Lacey live here?” I say. “Your last name is Little. You must be her parents.”

  I ignore the water. I look at them. They exchange a wide-eyed glance. The woman shrugs. She has no idea what I’m talking about. The truth is coming over me, and I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it! It’s not fair! It’s cruel. It’s a terrible thing to do to a girl like me. It’s very similar to what happened earlier, thinking Junky was dead.

  “Miss,” the woman says. “We don’t know anyone named, Lacey. Are you sure you’ve got the right address? Do you want us to help you find your friend?”

  That’s it. I can’t take it anymore! This is the cruelest thing to happen yet. Janeen has won! It was never real. Lacey was never real? I imagined it all, the drinks, Shakespeare’s, the movies, the stories she told, the cocktails, the talks. How can that be? That doesn’t explain anything. It doesn’t make sense! Before any of this started, I was already mad? My God, what is happening to me? I cry. I cry some more. Lacey is not only dead, but she was never real? I can’t explain what this does to me. My mind reels toward terrible, dark dimensions. The speedboat is backing up and revving to life, pummeling me again. It’s not clicking. It won’t click. I refuse to believe it. I cry some more. I think I scream. I kick, lash out, scream some more. I’m ready for the institution. I’m not sure. Everything’s hazy again. Everything’s a blur. Haven’t we been through this already? I scream and scream and twist and thrash, and I feel ready for the straightjacket!

  Horror girl has been defeated by her own madness. Ghostly vampire is a ghost of herself. Maybe I’m not even real. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe George, Lewis, Junky, Pug, Mom and Dad…

  Maybe none of it…

  Maybe all…

  I fall to the side, overcome, my mind unable to wrap itself around this abominable nightmare.

  I hear the woman say, “Maybe we should call a doctor, Fred.”

  And that’s when the blackness takes me…

  15.

  What I Know About Ghosts

  Confusion unfolds. Somehow, I cannot tell, George and Lewis are both here now along with the old couple who are known as Mr. and Mrs. Fred Little, but that is all I know. Things look blue for a minute. Everything is lighted, and I can’t tell what’s going on. Someone is trying to get me to drink some water. Someone else says something about calling the police or a doctor. I can’t tell. At this point, it doesn’t matter.

  Everything comes into focus, and I realize George and Lewis got worried and decided to come in after me, ringing the bell until someone buzzed them in.

  “Rayleigh,” Lewis says. “How are you feeling?”

  She isn’t real, Carmilla says. She was never real. You made her up.

  I wonder if I imagined the past as well. Realizing I’m mad, that I’m a lunatic does not make me feel any better, although, in some ways, I think it should. I realize today is growing more macabre by the second. I’m not sure how much more I can take. I realize then, for the first time, that perhaps Lacey and Carmilla are the same. I remember a poem I wrote a long time ago. I remember Lacey’s name in a notebook when I was eleven. I wonder if I concocted her then, if Lacey is really an imaginary friend like children have, only my imaginary friend followed me into my adult years. Knowing all of this is a lie, that none of it is real, is exactly like being told Lacey was killed by a drunk driver, a rapist, or worse.

  I swoon again. The darkness gathers. I feel myself going under, but George tells me to take it easy. I finally manage to drink some water, and with it, everything clears.

  “She hasn’t felt well,” Lewis says to the Littles. “She’s been under a lot of strain lately. She thought a friend of hers lived here.”

  The old couple go over the same explanation with him as they did with me. I realize Junky has been left alone in the SUV, and I grow worried for him. It’s mental chaos. It’s spiraling. It’s a vortex, and there is no end in sight. I am going down, going under, and nothing can save me but death, cold steely death…like a grave. Like a ghost.

  Like a vampire.

  ~

  Many apologies follow. I’m apologizing to the old couple, Fred and his wife. I’m apologizing to Lewis and George, and for some reason, they are apologizing to me.

  After some bit of confusion, I manage to say goodbye to the Little’s, I’m sorry, George, Lewis?—can you take me home, just to get us out of sight and back into Lewis’ vehicle.

  I get in the back seat. Lewis closes the door after me. I’m so numb over the events of the day, I can’t say a word. I’m scared to think. I’m scared to speak. Everything happening from this moment on now could be nothing but pretend for all I know. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Nothing but lies and every five minutes, I break out crying, holding my head in my hands, unable to comprehend anything. It’s ridiculous. It’s a nightmare. It’s a crazy haunting, and every diabolical, unfair thing is happening to me. I have no control, and I can’t take it anymore.

  “Rayleigh,” Lewis says, taking a deep breath from up front. “I think we should take you home, get you some rest. You’ve had a traumatic day.”

  George is strangely silent. I grab Junky and put him on my lap. I need his soft, silky coat, his comfort.

  “I need to go home,” I say, and Lewis nods.

  It has stopped raining, at least for the moment. The afternoon is waning. It’s getting darker. The clouds are thick and bleak above.

  Lewis starts the Explorer and George grabs his forearm.

  “Not home,” George says. “Louisville home.”

  Lewis looks at him with wide eyes. I don’t think he believes what George is saying. Lewis looks at me in the rearview mirror, and I nod. He closes his eyes as if the reality of the moment has finally dawned, the nightmare this is turning into. I wonder if he regrets getting involved with me. How can he not after today? Would I stick around? I think not.

  I prepare myself for Lewis giving me the goodbye speech. Maybe he’ll even step out and let George have the keys.

  If there is a speech, he’s saving it for later. He puts the truck in drive, and we back into the street, away from The Hawthorne Establishment. I stare at the building through the window. It looks foreign to me, alien, as if I’ve never seen it before.

  Janeen laughs in my head. I wish I could kill her. I think about how I’ll never see Lacey again, never hear her voice, never touch her hand, unless I make it all up. I cry in defeat, helplessness, and anguish as Lewis drives.

  ~

  We’re soon on the highway, heading home. I’m sitting quietly in the back seat, not saying much. Lewis, I can tell, is trying to grasp the situation. He’s trying to come to grips with a lot of things. I think about his life before, his wife and how he lost her, and suddenly this seems like a very unfair thing to be doing to him.

  J
unky is quiet. He isn’t saying much either. He has settled down to a quiet nap. Suddenly, out of the blue, George starts talking to Lewis.

  “So,” he says. “Lewis,” and it sounds very funny to me, like something made-up. Just as quickly, I banish the thought.

  Lewis looks over at George, then looks at me in the rearview mirror. He’s been doing it for a while. He’s just checking, keeping an eye on me. For the moment, I think the worst is over, even though I know the worst is yet to come.

  “What do you know about ghosts?” George asks.

  I can see Lewis is frightened. His eyes have that glazy stare, his cheeks hollow, face devoid of color.

  The rain is pouring heavily again. The wipers are going crazy across the windshield. The radio is not on, only the sound of the rain, George’s voice, and the hum of the SUV filling the car. Lewis is driving very carefully.

  The night is coming on. During my blackouts, a lot of time has passed. I hope Mom and Dad are making life easy for Pug. I hope Pug is looking better, hope he will get a good night’s rest, and I hope he enjoys his stay at my parents’ house. I think my dad will be caught off guard by the entire thing, my going back home, but I know he will ease into it. If I know him at all, he will worry and give himself an ulcer without saying a word about it to Mother.

  “Ghosts?” Lewis says, as if he can’t believe it.

  “Yes,” George says. “Ghosts.”

  I can see George is not taking his eyes off Lewis. He is, like me, watching him very carefully.

  Lewis takes a gulp. He is searching for the best possible answer. He takes a deep breath and lets it out very slowly. “Rayleigh,” he says. “Do you have a cigarette?”

  I smile in my demented darkness and rifle through my purse. I light one for him and hand it forward. He cracks the window, and the rain and the hum of the truck are suddenly very loud. He takes a deep drag and blows out smoke. I smell a strong odor of tobacco, and suddenly I want one, too, but I don’t trust myself. I’ll probably burn a hole in Junky’s eye.

  “I don’t know very much about ghosts, George,” Lewis says.

  George nods and finally turns, looking at the road. “Ghosts are hungry, Lewis,” George says. He is still staring at the road.

  The headlights cut through the rain, and for a minute, I think I actually see snow. Other headlights come our way from the other side of the road, making Lewis wince as he drives.

  “That’s all you have to know, Lewis,” George says. “About ghosts. They’re always hungry.”

  Lewis nods, but does not reply. He sucks down the cigarette as if it’s the last one he’s ever gonna have in his life, and he wants to enjoy every cancerous lungful.

  ~

  We take the highway, heading west toward Boulder on 36. The drive takes about forty-five minutes normally, but Lewis gets there in half an hour. We get off at the Superior exit, which is close enough to Louisville. I haven’t been here in almost twenty-three years. The town has grown exponentially. I read somewhere years ago that Louisville was rated the number 1 place to live in America, and I thought it must be a misprint. Louisville? The town I grew up? Come on! But that’s what it said.

  It’s all suburbs now, though, but it’s still pretty. Everything is very neat and clean and modernized. The population is roughly 19,000, I think. I could be wrong. Hell, everything else in my life has been a lie, why would I get any facts right?

  I don’t recognize it at all. I tell Lewis to backtrack through town because the only way I can remember to get there is if we’re in downtown Louisville on Main Street and start driving south. I am amazed to see the Blue Parrot is still there. I wonder if the spaghetti is still as good as I remember. I wonder if the arcade is still across the street from the high school.

  Lewis nods at my directions and steers the Explorer through town.

  We turn onto Roosevelt Street. The field to the right where I used to sit under the oak is now a beautiful park, lush grass, swings, a place for the family. Behind all this, but not in sight—somewhere to the west—is Louisville Elementary where I first met Janeen and Ricky. It doesn’t take us long to get to my old house. All I can think is: what if someone lives there? What if they tore it down?

  The street turns familiar instantly. I recognize this one stretch of road, and the memories of my childhood come flooding back, swarming me with meaningless details. I am so much bigger now, and the town looks so much smaller. Despite everything being new, I don’t really see it. It vanishes in the corridors of my brain, and I am in a time machine, going back through the years. The Louisville of my childhood surrounds me. I see the fields, the lack of economic growth. I see the way it used to be. I’m not sure how I’m feeling, slightly nostalgic maybe, numb, completely terrified.

  Ahead, is the fork where Roosevelt Street branches to the left. The other part of the road, heading south turns to dirt. This is where Janeen was taken and killed. She could have been walking down this sidewalk when she was picked up. I don’t know.

  I’m surprised to see its all still here except for the field across the street being a park now. I wonder if the train still runs on the other side. It seemed so much bigger then.

  “This is it,” I tell Lewis, and he slows down.

  “Which one?” he asks.

  “This one on the corner, the brick house. One-oh-one.”

  Several things happen at once. I’m bombarded with memories of the past, and everything that’s happened here: Ricky holding my hand when my mother saw him for the first time; coming home from the funeral; being alone in my room writing poetry.

  The house is dark. If anyone lives here, they’re either gone, or they have retired early. I look at the clock on the dashboard. 8:07 pm. Lewis parks by the curb directly in front of the small, red brick house. It looks like a little red box. Only in the dark, it’s a little black box.

  This is the place where I grew up. This is where the madness started. It is not a fancy house, not a mansion, or a Gothic cathedral. This is a ghost story that took place in the simplest house in the world, the most common and mundane. It is not a Gothic or Victorian ghost story at all.

  The sun is gone. Because of the clouds, it has darkened early. Total silence fills the air outside until a white Subaru Outback drives by with its headlights on. I think of Lacey and feel like crying again.

  “I think this time,” George says, “we should come with you.”

  I don’t say anything. I nod and turn to Junky. “You be a good kitty, kay Junkster? You’ll be safer in here.”

  Junky looks at me, and for some reason lately, he has been acting like a K-9. He cocks his head. He raises one paw and pretends to swat at something in the air, as if he’s trying to tell me something. He meows. The action makes me want to cry, so I lean over and kiss the top of his head. It’s corny and cheesy, but it makes me feel better. I step out of the car and close the door. George and Lewis follow.

  It’s wet outside and slightly chilly. A light mist is falling. It’s quiet except for the sound of distant traffic. We walk across the road.

  “For rent,” Lewis says, and I don’t understand what he means.

  Then I see it. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or terrified Janeen has opened a door for me.

  A red For Rent sign is positioned on the lawn, a phone number, the reason the house is dark. For some strange reason, I wonder if it has been unoccupied for twenty-three years, since me and my parents moved out…an event I cannot strangely recall.

  “This is the place, Rayleigh,” George says, his deep voice blending with the cold night. It smells good out here. I can smell the wet grass and wood-smoke. Despite spring, someone has a fire going, nice and cozy. I can smell the wet asphalt. The wind is blowing, making my ears cold.

  I nod at George and start walking across the lawn to the porch. I walk up the three concrete steps and wrap my fingers around the knob. The door is locked. Of course, it is. I knew it would be. I go to the window, cupping my hands against the glass and peer inside.
/>
  It’s ghostly within. It’s a stupid word to use to describe it, but it’s true. Only the empty gloom of an unfurnished house illuminates the interior. A slight, chalky blue fog hovers in the living room. I think Janeen is going to appear any minute, her dead face pressed against the glass, making me swallow my heart. She will give me a heart attack, and that will be the end of it. Show’s over. I will die. She’ll begin by devouring my friends one by one, and that will be it. Lewis will go crazy next. Junky will claw his own eyes out. She will visit George in his sleep.

  “It’s locked,” I say, turning to George and Lewis. “I’m gonna try the back.”

  The neighborhood, at least so far, is quiet. It’s not busy in this part of town.

  George and Lewis are close to follow as I walk around the house. I wonder what must be going through their minds—this crazy girl chasing the past in the night.

  I feel bad I’ve dragged them into this. I feel stupid they’re here. I wonder what they’re going to think when it’s over (if it’s over), and if either one of them will ever want anything to do with me again.

  There is no fence in the yard. The lawn slopes to my right toward the sidewalk. Someone must be taking care of the place because the grass is cut. I go around the house and try the back door. It’s locked, too. This doesn’t discourage me. If it’s the number 1 place to live in America, the police force must be excellent, but I wonder why I haven’t seen a patrol car yet.

  I look around and notice I can crawl through the bathroom window with some help. The window is open just enough to slip my fingers through if I can pry the screen off. All I’ll need is a boost from Lewis or George. Like a moron, I realize I didn’t bring a flashlight. I wonder if Lewis has one in the SUV.

  I tell them the situation, and Lewis nods.