by J. L. Salter
“Whatever.” Tacket snatched the full glass from the surly bartender’s hand and took a big swallow. “You’re dating a hundred year old ghost and the thing you focus on is how she died?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
“Muir, that’s incredible.”
“I know. Every source I’ve consulted says it was suicide.”
“No, the other part. That you’re dating a lady ghost.”
“Well, I thought so too, at first. But since I don’t really believe in ghosts or hauntings and such, I figured it was okay.”
Tacket squinted at his tablemate then shook his head rapidly like that might help clear it. “So what does your teacher girlfriend think about your ghost girlfriend?”
“Uh, pretty jealous, actually. Plus, she’s a spirit chaser and she’s more interested in taking electronic measurements and all that stuff with fancy equipment.”
“What do you do with your lady ghost?”
“Well, we talk and stuff.” Muir decided not to mention their touching and kissing. “Plus she wants my help to get on to where she’s supposed to be going.”
“How are you going to help with that if you don’t even believe in ghosts?”
“Don’t know.” He shook his head. “And the problem is, neither does Danielle.”
“I bet your teacher friend knows how to send that spook on her way.”
“Maybe so, Tacket, maybe so.” Muir took a final swig, leaving a few ounces in the bottom of the glass. Maybe Lucy is the key to the entire situation. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Helping me figure out my situation.”
“Uh, no problem, Muir. And good luck… with both of them.”
Muir blinked his eyes slowly. “I’ll need it. Thanks again.” He rose from his chair but didn’t leave the table. “So what’s the bad blood between the Tackets and the Greggs?”
“Well, actually, it was on my momma’s side, the Harrisons. But there’s a lot of family confusion about what actually happened.”
Muir imagined some sort of land grab or similar chicanery. “How far back?”
“Not sure exactly, but a couple of years before the first World War.” Tacket took another sip. “Momma said it’s one of the reasons granddaddy’s brother went to war, but other family say he was drafted.”
Sounded like a typical southern soap opera. “Well, after two generations, surely the axe has been buried.”
“Sometimes you bury things but they don’t lay to rest.” Tacket nodded sagely but didn’t explain.
“Well, anyhow, thanks again.” Muir extended his hand.
After wiping his own hand on his trouser leg, Tacket shook Muir’s in a firm grasp. “Vets stick together.”
“Certainly should.” After Muir paid the tab, while leaving the dark establishment, he saw Tacket’s reflection in the long mirror behind the bar. The old man was waving his forefinger in a circle at the side of his head as the bartender nodded silently. “Maybe I am nuts… maybe I am,” Muir said to himself as he walked out into the early afternoon sunshine.
When he returned to his apartment, he opened his laptop and accessed a familiar auction site. Typing in the words, “antique music box,” he immediately got 143 hits. To further narrow his results, he added Al Jolson’s name. That brought the total down to three and none had the correct tune. He backed out to the previous search results and added the lyrics, “You made me love you… I didn’t want to do it.”
That resulted in seven hits and he began reading the details.
Saturday evening, Danielle did not appear.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday afternoon, August 24
Danielle hovered within the parlor for several moments, trying to decide whether to visit Mr. Muir one final time or merely to remain inaccessible for the indefinite remainder of his stay in her suite. Her senses detected his application of shaving soap again. Finally, but without any of her customary overtures, she materialized off to his side.
Muir seemed startled even though he was obviously hoping she’d appear. “I wasn’t certain you’d return, Danielle, but I’m glad you did. I feel sure you know about my dream and I want to apologize. Some dark force swept over me. It was not an ordinary dream.”
“Yes I know. However, it was still quite disturbing.”
“I don’t want its, uh, content to change our…” He clearly could not describe their relationship. “Can you forgive me?”
After a moment, she smiled softly. “I hope we should not be held accountable for our dreams, Mr. Muir, however unpleasant they may be to the other party inside that vision.”
“Well, I want you know I would never do something like that to you. I mean, forcing the situation. That wasn’t me.”
“Actually, I’m afraid it was you, Mr. Muir. At least the subconsciousness of you.” She struggled to remember the article she’d read on the work of a popular psychiatrist from Europe. “Certain desires expressed in dreams are often rooted in that person’s real issues.”
Muir looked guilty. Surely lurid carnal thoughts had crossed his mind at some point.
“But what concerns me nearly as much is, in your vision, the images of my entity were basically party to that unfortunate situation.”
“All you did in the dream was share your beauty with me. And a very little bit of it, by the way. I saw less of you than I would from a waitress at the Bama Barbecue.”
“I am unfamiliar with that establishment, but if their female attendants exhibit the upper part of their bosoms to male guests, then I can only imagine what else occurs within its premises.”
“No, it’s a restaurant. I only meant that women these days show a lot more flesh just in their daily comings and goings.”
“And you desired to see that much of my body.”
“I wanted to see more, but I understand I’ve offended you — both in my dream and in our discussion. Please believe me, I didn’t intend to.”
“I am not accustomed, Mr. Muir, to someone so forward, so urgent, so carnal.”
“You’re beautiful and I wanted to see all of your beauty.”
“That, sir, is reserved for a lady’s wedded husband.”
“But we can’t marry, or so you said.”
“Indeed, we cannot.”
“Besides, Danielle, it was just a dream.”
She sighed heavily. “What you fail to realize is that our two realms are often connected — however loosely — through the mechanisms of the unconscious, or subconscious. Perhaps both.”
“I know a little bit about those from my psych classes.”
“But you have also insisted that you do not believe in what I understand many people refer to as the supernatural.”
“Well, I guess I’ve stated it wrong.” He seemed to struggle for the words. “Since I was a kid, I’ve been aware certain things exist which humans don’t and can’t understand, but what I really meant was that I didn’t believe most of the ways those extra-normal situations are presented. You know, ghosts clanking chains, houses being haunted — all the stuff in movies and books.”
“Your skepticism is just as well, I fear, because I now realize we cannot continue our association, not even enough to reach the anniversary next week.”
“What do you mean? What anniversary?”
She responded only to his first question. “I regret I must end things and stop visiting you altogether.”
“Where would you go? What will you do?”
All of the past hundred years, Danielle had been there, in the second floor corner of that building. “I do not possess those answers.”
Muir looked pained. “Tell me the rest of what happened back then. All I know is that it was an accident because your dress got caught. Why were you running across the tracks to begin with?”
“I have told you of Neddy, who courted me, and how Father cruelly ended that relationship. Not long afterward, I had a horrible fight with Father about the engagement he had arranged with the pitiless
Mr. Fairley. It was a terrible match and had nothing to do with affection by either party. After we argued and Father would not relent, I fled on foot, intending to cross the river on the railroad bridge.”
“Where were you heading?”
“At that time, several fine houses stood along the north bank of the river. My aunt lived in one, though it was already a bit run-down by that point. I believed she would give me sanctuary and purchase enough time for Father to cool down and reconsider. I knew, at all costs, that I must not marry the aggressive Mr. Fairley.”
“But you never got that far.”
“No. I did not expect a train at that time of night. But Father had gotten word somehow to Mr. Fairley, who — on horseback — was in close pursuit. Even before he dismounted the horse, it was clear from his vile curses he was furious and I feared he would do me harm. But that anger seemed more about his pride and whatever their business dealings were, than about our betrothal ending.”
“Then the train struck you.”
Danielle nodded somberly but did not reveal the rest of the incident.
“And now you’re intent on leaving me?”
“I fear I must, Mr. Muir.”
“What can I do without you?”
“Though I have significantly interfered to this point, you must again find your love among the living.”
“But I love you, Danielle!”
“You cannot,” she cried. “It was not to happen this way. I was not supposed to ruin your life too.”
“You didn’t ruin my life, you’ve made it better. But I want you to stay with me.”
“But I am a spirit. Is it possible you truly do not comprehend? I do not belong in the human world, even though I am restrained on its periphery.”
Muir’s eyes were moist. “If you can’t stay with me here, then bring me to where you are.”
“Your thoughts are fogged by emotion and possibly still by my interference, Mr. Muir. You do not comprehend what you ask.”
“Would I be with you?”
Danielle was not at all certain. “It is possible, but…”
“Then take me, or bring me. Whatever makes it work.”
She could not respond.
“You made me love you… I didn’t want to do it.” His voice choked. “Isn’t that the lyric?”
Danielle wept and fled, departing so swiftly she did not even leave behind her scent. Had she looked back, the ghostess would have seen the tears of Mr. Muir.
Chapter Fifteen
Monday morning, August 25
Lucy had about nine minutes before first bell, so considerably less to finish her cool lounge coffee and get downstairs to her homeroom. She took a final sip as Muir dragged himself through the door and approached the table. “You look awful, Levi.”
“Thanks. Feel that way too.” He plopped down in the chair beside her.
“I didn’t hear from you all weekend.” She studied his fatigued face. “What on earth happened Friday night?”
No reply.
She’d seen that look before, however. “Are you actually in love with Danielle?”
After a long pause, he said quietly, “She told me not to use that word.”
Lucy peered into his eyes. “You are! Levi, do I have to remind you that she’s a ghost?”
“She’s reminded me, repeatedly.”
“What did she say?” Lucy stood abruptly.
“That I shouldn’t have physical desire for her.”
She clutched Muir and practically dragged him into the farthest corner from the doorway. In a hushed whisper she demanded, “What have you done?” Those words had sufficient volume that several nearby teachers looked at them with obvious disapproval. Lucy repeated her question. “It must have been major if you can’t even respond.”
His words emerged with no celebration whatsoever. “We embraced.”
“Impossible! Not to mention totally crazy! I can’t believe you groped a spirit.”
Muir shook his head sadly. “I know it was wrong, but there’s more than our hug. I also had an erotic dream Saturday morning, and she saw it.”
“She saw it? What happened?”
When he explained the dream, they both blushed. “But that wasn’t me, it was somebody else. Some dark force took me over.”
“This is uncharted territory, Levi. You need to back way off this track.”
“But you’re the one who convinced me ghosts exist. I didn’t even believe in them, remember?”
“Yeah, but I’ve also been warning you not to mix your physical and emotional baggage with her spirit world.”
Muir tried to explain his attraction. “Something had a hold on me and wouldn’t let go. I wasn’t always making my own decisions. But the thing is, I knew it was happening… that somebody else or something else apparently had control of me. But I just let it happen anyway.”
“In your dream.”
He nodded. “And she saw every bit of it.”
“That’s, that’s…” she sputtered so much that flecks of spittle rained on his face. “That’ll probably upset the entire balance of what divides us from them. One more step and you’re talking about making love to a spook.” That final phrase was even louder and more heads turned.
Before Muir could reply, Principal Gull entered the lounge and walked straight toward them in the corner. Someone must have texted her. “Exactly what is so important that you two have to huddle in the corner to discuss it so loudly?”
Muir seemed speechless.
“We were talking about the Majestic, where he lives now. He’s trying to assimilate all the history and legend and such.”
“Well, keep it down.” The principal waved vaguely to the apparently distressed faculty behind her. “You’re disturbing your colleagues and Lord knows they need a few minutes of peace before being thrown back to the Panthers.”
“It was my fault, Mrs. Gull. I should’ve waited until after final bell this evening.”
“Indeed.” The principal turned sharply and strode away.
As they watched her leave, Lucy touched Muir’s arm tenderly. “Levi, you’re an absolute wreck. One more stumble and I’m calling an ambulance to haul you off.”
He slumped to a nearby chair. “I’ve hardly ever let people see my hurt before. We were always taught to walk it off.”
“I can see it.” Lucy waved her hand toward the rest of the lounge inhabitants. “Everybody else can too.”
Muir seemed taken aback, but then sighed heavily and looked up at her. “Yeah, I guess so. This is the first time since pre-separation Army counseling that I’ve even talked about it.”
Lucy could only imagine how much depth or compassion he received from the out-processing military personnel. “Have you discussed any of this with Miss Gregg?”
He nodded. “But it wasn’t necessary. She already knew.”
“Among her other tele-abilities, she must be an empath.”
Muir scanned the lounge quickly and then whispered, “Danielle said she’s not coming back.”
“Hasn’t she used that line before?”
He nodded grimly. “But this time I think she really meant it.”
****
Monday night
After stopping at the gas station on Park Street for a six-pack of refrigerated beer, Muir went back to the Whitecliff Apartments and waited for Danielle, despite a cold certainty she would not appear.
Several times, he called her name, but Danielle made no contact. No puffs of air, no whispers or hummed tunes, and no scent of butterflies.
He waited and sipped beer. No trace of the ghostess who’d been in that suite for one hundred years. Muir went slowly into every room and called her name.
“I’ve ordered a music box to replace the one you used to have, Danielle. It should arrive in a few days. Same melody, but they said it’s Harry James from 1941.”
No response.
“When it gets here, Danielle, I’ll play it for you.”
Nothing.
Not able to return to his regular chair, Muir collapsed on the davenport.
At 9:55 p.m., Muir phoned Lucy. “She’s gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
Friday, August 29
Muir had experienced no contacts from Danielle on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday evenings. Though he held no real expectation that she’d appear, he intended to call out for her every night — from the uncomfortable davenport, in the apartment they’d briefly shared.
By Friday, he’d become certain his ghostess was no longer present at all. However, he knew from things she’d said that Danielle possessed the ability to perceive thoughts and emotions, so it seemed likely she was aware of his misery and grief… but had decided not to interact anyway. Did that make her callous? Or just a steel magnolia? He wasn’t sure.
He’d hardly had a chance to discuss this situation with Lucy at school. Knowing Muir was grieving, Lucy had evidently decided not to crowd him. Except in the parking lot, after all the students were gone each afternoon, she’d given him a long, warm hug. That first hug Tuesday had so taken him by surprise it brought tears to his eyes. After that, he’d spent much of the day Wednesday and Thursday looking forward to their next embrace. Even though they didn’t feel comfortable discussing the matter, those hugs were powerful medicine to his pain.
He’d coped with the students’ occasional misbehavior and had tried to ramp up his own enthusiasm for class sessions, but in the faculty lounge he’d been a zombie. Lucy and Anna — both knowing the situation — had tried light chit chat to cheer him up, to no avail.
Responding to the principal’s unexpected and cryptic note Friday afternoon, Muir entered her office half expecting a pink slip.
Instead, it was the sturdy Mrs. Gull hemming and hawing, seemingly reluctant to move on to the presumed purpose of their meeting. “So we end your second full week of high school English…”
“Yes, and I’m approaching a part of the syllabus I believe the kids will like.” Now he worried she would announce her intention to mentor him. Yikes.
