by Tracy Lane
She laughed. “Don’t let me stop you. I checked out some books on the hotel fire from the library and I wanted to read them before bed.”
“When did you have time to do that?”
She ruffled his hair as she passed by on her way inside. “This morning while you were still in bed, sleepyhead!”
Jake shook his hair out, watching her go. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, poked her head in the “editing room,” and then drifted quietly to her own bedroom.
“She’s still not sleeping well.”
Jake started when Frank appeared in the spot where Tank had just been standing.
“I wish I could bring her peace,” he said.
Jake settled back into his chair and sighed. “She’ll find it,” he said, as if he really believed it. “She’s strong.”
“She only looks strong,” Frank said, sitting down across from him. It always made him smile to see Frank do human things, like sit in a chair without falling right through to the floor. The way he explained it, he had reached a “state of being” in which he could be as solid, or as ghostly, as he preferred. “She needs you, Jake.”
“I’m here,” Jake said, a little defensively. “I ask her. She’s never honest enough.”
“Would you be?” Frank asked. “She doesn’t want to appear weak.”
“Weak?” Jake muffled his laugh of surprise in case someone was listening to him talk to an empty chair. “She could pick me up and drop-kick me all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf!”
“Not that kind of weak, Jake,” Frank scolded playfully, gesturing toward the fire pit. “Aren’t you going to turn it on tonight?”
Jake snorted, but he was shivering all the same. Frank always made him feel so cold when he was around. He leaned forward and fiddled with the settings on the propane tank before pushing the red button that ignited the small, crackling fire.
“That’s better,” said Frank when Jake sat back.
“What took you so long at the hotel?” Jake asked, putting his feet up on the edge of the pit.
Frank’s face sobered as he stared into the fire. “It’s a dangerous place,” he warned. Their eyes met over the flickering flames. “I’m not sure your family should go back.”
“What?” Jake scoffed. “We have to go back. That’s our job.”
Frank’s face grew stern, the wide hem of his black fedora shaking with his head. “Some things are more important than work, Jakey Boy.”
“What’s so dangerous about it?”
“I’ve never felt so much anger in my life,” Frank said, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, my afterlife. There is real danger there, Jake. And I’m only one ghost. I don’t…I don’t know if I can protect you all this time.”
Chapter 3
School was out, summer was in full bloom, and with Mr. and Mrs. Weir spending so much time at Scream Studios putting together their first episode, Jake found himself bored, restless and itching to get out of the apartment.
He was used to apartments; that wasn’t the problem. In all their travels, the Weirs rarely rented a house simply because they were never in one place too long. So elevators and stairs and kitchenettes didn’t faze him much – but their new place at the Cathedral Arms was on the 17th floor, and frankly, that gave Jake the creeps.
It was early afternoon when he finally couldn’t take it anymore. Tank was in her room, the door shut tight, but he knocked on it persistently until she whipped it open, red-faced.
He smirked at the bulky headphones covering her ears.
“What?” she snapped.
He held his hands up in surrender and pointed to one ear. She got the hint and moved the headphone over her left ear to one side, though from the spooky narration leaking from the speaker, he could tell she hadn’t stopped listening.
“I was going down to the park,” he explained. “Wanna get some fresh air?”
She shook her head and reached to put the headphone back in place. “You and Frank have fun,” she said, then glanced over Jake’s shoulder as if the ghost might be standing there. He was, of course, but that wasn’t the point.
“You’ve been cooped up all day,” he blurted before she could slip the big gray speaker back over her ear.
“Research for the show,” she said with a quick grin, and slunk back toward the bed where stacks of audiobooks lay scattered like a tiny cityscape. “You should try it sometime.”
“You should try it sometime,” Jake mimicked, turning away and pulling the door shut harder than he wanted to. The slam echoed all the way down the hall. He grabbed a light jacket off one of the barstools in the foyer and walked out into the hall.
“I don’t remember her taking her work this seriously back home,” Frank said as they stepped into the elevator together.
Jake tried not to smirk. He liked to think of Dusk as home too. “She didn’t,” he huffed, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the row of mounted mirrors.
It always felt funny seeing Frank standing right next to him but never reflected in a single mirror. He looked up at his ghostly pal and smiled halfheartedly. “Maybe she feels like she owes Mom and Dad something, you know, for taking her in after her dad died.”
“Guilt is a powerful motivator,” Frank agreed almost wearily. “Makes people do extreme things.”
“Like work nonstop and listen to every audiobook ever about the Balthazar fire?”
Frank chuckled as the elevator hit their floor and they both stepped out onto the marble tiles of the Cathedral Arms lobby. “Now who’s sounding guilty?” he teased as Jake turned down Mott Street and toward the little park two blocks down.
“Hey, I’ve been working on Paranormal Properties since I could pronounce the words,” he retorted without fear of anyone thinking him crazy. Looking around, Jake saw that nobody had even noticed him. The street was busy, and he was just some anonymous middle school kid walking next to his friendly ghost, the one no one else could see.
Frank held his hands up in defense, parts of his body dissolving into cool, fine mist as passersby brushed up against him. Steps later, he was “solid” again.
The sky was blue and the clouds few as they strode into the park, the smell of San Francisco Bay fresh on the air and briny in Jake’s nose. After the spotty haze from tobacco fields and cow turds that filled the air back in Dusk, the heady aroma of the Bay was taking some getting used to.
The park was noisy with scolding mothers and laughing children and barking dogs and the ruffling and fluttering of kites high overhead. Kids climbed on monkey bars and swings and just generally ran around, but Jake preferred to stroll along the quiet paved walk that encircled the park. It calmed him in a way that pacing around the balcony seventeen floors up in their new apartment didn’t. Frank was good company, cracking wise about kids with big ears or runny noses or mothers who looked like old girlfriends.
“Or new ones,” as he liked to joke.
The dog came up out of nowhere. One minute Jake and Frank were just strolling along – Jake occasionally hiding a giggle if Frank cracked particularly wise – and the next this German Shepherd puppy came yelping along, nipping at Frank’s heels.
“Holy smokes,” Jake said, in awe of the puppy’s sheer cuteness.
It came up to about Jake’s shin and had beautiful coloring, rich blacks mixed with soft browns and liquid eyes that looked up into his adoringly. Jake knelt and stroked its fur, expecting at any minute for some frantic mother or college kid to come running over, breathless, to claim the little guy.
“Hey buddy,” said he crooned, ruffling the pointy black ears as the puppy panted happily. “Where’s your owner? Huh? Where’s your owner?”
Frank knelt down as well. “No collar,” he pointed out. “No tag.”
The gangster ghost was right. “Did you run away?” Jake asked, playfully scolding the dog. But the pup had other interests. As quickly as he had attached himself to Jake, he started frolicking in the mist that was Frank’s feet. His awkw
ardly large paws scrambled to climb over Frank’s shiny black and white shoes, soft nails clattering on the cobblestone walkway that surrounded the park.
Frank stood, frowning down as the dog continued to circle his shimmering pale legs, which shifted from mist to firmness and back again with every dance of the German Shepherd’s feet.
Jake tried waving the little dog back and tapping his fingers on the cobblestones to get his attention, but apparently the pup only had eyes for Frank.
“Guess you’ve got a new friend,” he huffed. His eyes were still watching out for the pup’s owner.
“I don’t understand,” Frank murmured. “I’ve never…no animal has ever done this before.”
“Maybe he’s like me,” Jake said with a shrug. “Maybe he can see you too.”
Frank looked over, eyes wide. “You think?”
Jake watched the dog every time Frank spoke. The black ears, too big for his head, seemed to perk up. “Say something,” Jake said. “Something loud.”
Frank nodded and waved down at the dog. “Here boy,” he called, and sure enough, the pup perked up! “Here boy! Here! Here!” By now, the pup was circling Frank’s legs again, chasing a swirl of mist until he sat back down in front of him again.
“Weird,” Jake said.
“Too weird,” Frank agreed. “Let’s find his owner.”
“Good idea,” said Jake, and he got back to his feet.
“Is he yours?” he would ask every time someone stopped to coo and drool over the irresistible third member of their group. “Is he yours?”
After nearly two hours and four loops around the park, no one had claimed the little guy. The sky was growing dark and the park was emptying out.
“We better get home,” Frank said, heading toward the park exit.
“What about him?” Jake asked as the puppy skittered along next to them, still as excitable as he had been when they first met.
Frank scratched his head, scooting his fedora up and down with each movement of his finger. “I guess we can’t leave him here.”
Jake puckered his bottom lip in thought and scanned the area. “Maybe we should just start walking home and see if we find anyone along the way. Someone might be out looking for him.”
Frank shrugged the broad shoulders of his white suit and nodded. “That’s as good an idea as any, I suppose…”
And so they walked, the streets quieter now, neon lights buzzing in the windows as they passed Chinese restaurants and tiny cafes, cozy bookstores and pottery stores. Lots of people stopped to pet their tagalong friend, but no one claimed him.
By the time they were standing in front of the glass doors leading to the lobby of the Cathedral Apartments, the sky was dark and they were alone on the street.
Jake sighed and tilted his weary head back to look at Frank. “What now?”
“He looks hungry,” the ghost noted, and Jake agreed.
“If we bring him up to feed him,” Jake warned, “Tank is never going to let him go.”
“He might cheer her up,” Frank suggested.
“Yeah, but…he’s got to be somebody’s dog. Look how nice and clean he is.”
“Still, we can’t leave him alone out here.”
“We can at least take care of him tonight, right?” Jake asked.
Frank agreed. “We can at least feed and water the little guy.”
Jake opened the building doors and the pup trotted in after him and Frank.
“Then tomorrow we can put up fliers and find out if somebody owns him.” Jake said. He watched the dog skitter across the tile foyer. “What should we call him?”
“We probably shouldn’t name him until we’re sure your parents will approve,” Frank cautioned. He sounded almost fatherly.
Jake shrugged. He’d never had a pet before, but he was pretty sure with all that was going on at the Scream Channel and with their first episode of the show, his parents would be too distracted to care. Besides, they had a whole courtyard where the puppy could run and play all day.
The dog followed them through the lobby to the elevator, and then inside once the doors slid open. His ears perked up as Frank grumbled, “Well, he does seem quite taken with me…”
Jake puffed. “He sure does.”
“So maybe…Marley.”
The elevator creaked up and up and the puppy squirmed next to Frank’s leg.
“Why Marley?” Jake asked.
Frank turned to him and smiled for the first time all day. “You know, like in A Christmas Carol? Scrooge’s old partner, Marley. The first ghost he sees on Christmas Eve?”
Jake sent him a disbelieving look. “You’re naming your dog after a ghost?” Then he snorted, kind of liking the idea.
“Our dog,” Frank replied, before correcting himself. “I mean, somebody’s dog. Someone will want to claim this guy.” Even as he said it, he bent down and tucked their new friend under the chin with a gentle finger. The dog – Marley – sneezed and shook his head.
“Trust me, Frank,” Jake said as the doors opened on the top floor and he ambled toward their apartment. “Marley’s your dog, through and through. I think you’ve made a friend for life.”
As if to prove it, Marley yipped and danced through Frank’s misting legs as the old gangster walked up the hallway. Neither ghost nor dog had ever looked happier, which, for some reason, made Jake happy as well.
Chapter 4
“You could help, you know?” Jake muttered as he stapled one of the last flyers to a light pole on Kelsey Street.
“Wouldn’t that be great?” Frank grunted as Marley leapt around his feet, literally nipping at his heels. “A flyer stapling itself to a light pole.”
Jake grinned. “It is San Francisco,” he joked. “Maybe folks wouldn’t notice.”
They – or rather he – stapled on the flyer and then stared down at the frisky little dog. Jake looked back at the flyer. It had Marley’s picture, his mom’s cellphone number, and a brief description.
“What if someone comes to claim him just because he’s cute?” Frank asked.
Jake nodded. “I guess the only way we’ll know if it’s Marley’s real owner is if he responds to them like he did to you, right?”
Frank’s smile was halfhearted. “I’m kind of hoping nobody shows up.”
Jake shrugged and turned down Grambling Street toward their real destination: the Balthazar Hotel.
It stood deserted and blackened and leaning and alone. Several of the row houses and businesses on the street had burned during the fire, and none of them had ever been fully rebuilt. Now the only building left standing, the hotel looked like an old ghost itself.
“Even I get the creeps around this place,” Frank grumbled.
“You’re not alone,” Jake said. He nodded down toward Frank’s feet. There sat Marley, whimpering quietly, his cute little snout wrinkled and trembling.
“Oh, Marley,” Frank said, his voice softening up.
He knelt down on one knee and ruffled the dog’s head, his fingers turning to mist. Marley seemed comforted by the touch, but still he whimpered, his eyes locked on the hotel’s front steps just beyond them.
Jake followed the dog’s stare, and he gasped. “Uh, Frank?”
There stood a girl clad in a simple black dress with a white apron tied around her slender waist and a small white bonnet cocked crookedly on a head full of blond ringlets. They might have been fashionable in another age – in her age – but now they looked like something out of a silent film, outdated.
She looked like she’d just walked off of an old-fashioned postcard, so ghostly she was almost black and white.
Frank stood beside Jake for a moment, and then he took a step toward her.
“Hello there. I’m Frank,” he said gently, doffing his hat like a regular gentleman. Beneath, his black hair was permanently slicked down and parted in the middle. “Please, don’t be afraid.”
The girl nodded primly, thin hands troubling the sides of her apron. “Pleased to meet y
ou, Frank,” she said, and then smiled shyly. “I’m Clara, fifth floor housekeeper.”
Jake realized she was much younger than she appeared at first.
“And I’m not afraid,” she added, showing a little zest. Jake smiled at that.
Frank took a step closer while Jake stood at a distance, Marley at his side and inching toward him out of fear. Jake crouched down and slowly rubbing the pup’s side, where he could feel the little guy’s heart pounding.
“It’s okay, boy,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
Clara took a step toward Frank, then nodded to Jake. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.
Their eyes met and Jake smiled. “I’m Jake,” he said.
She cocked her head slightly, offering him that crooked smile in return. “Hi Jake.”
Her gaze flicked back to Frank. “You’re new around here,” she said.
He chuckled and set the hat back on over his hair. “I’m from out of town,” he said, and he wasn’t lying.
She looked him up and down, from his shiny shoes to his stiff white jacket. “That must explain the outfit.”
She was right. The Balthazar fire had happened in the 40s, and Frank was a gangster from the 50s. Jake almost laughed. Hanging with ghosts was a lot more complicated than hanging with humans.
“What?” Frank cracked, popping the wide lapels of his jacket. “You don’t like my suit?”
“I like it,” she giggled. “I’ve just never seen one like it before.”
“You stick with me, toots,” Frank said with a wink. “You’ll see plenty of new stuff.”
Jake rolled his eyes.
“When do you get off?” Frank added.
Instead of continuing the banter, Clara suddenly demurred. “I’m late now,” she said, and started creeping back up the steps. “I…it was nice to meet you both.” Her eyes flicked to Jake and then lingered on Frank.
Then she turned and reached for the doorknob, but like Frank often did, slipped into mist and disappeared through the Balthazar’s front door instead.
Jake watched the door for a few moments after she was gone, then turned his attention to Frank; he was watching it too.
