Do Better: Marla Mason Stories

by T. A. Pratt

  Insofar as possible, he didn’t speak to Naomi for months. One day she came to his room and sat on his bed, while he sat stiff at his desk and tried to ignore her. “I’m sorry, brother. I know you think I stole your girlfriend, but Ms. Grove was seriously disturbed. The cops found all these pictures of you in her room, not just the ones you, ah, posed for, but others she took in secret—she’d been stalking you.”

  Joshua spun in his chair. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said. “Melanie didn’t choose me. I chose her. You think she’s the only person following me around, taking pictures of me? Ha. She’s the one I wanted. But now, because of you, because you told, I’m stuck here at home, I’m grounded forever, I don’t see people. At school I was a king, I was a superstar, but for some reason you and mom and dad... it doesn’t work on you.”

  “What doesn’t work?”

  “My powers,” Joshua said, spitting the word.

  Naomi frowned. “What kind of stuff did Melanie fill your head with, Joshua? Powers? What are you talking about?”

  “Everyone loves me, Naomi. They’ll do anything I’ll say. Except for my family, and they’re the ones I’m stuck with. This sucks.”

  “Delusions of grandeur much?” Naomi said. “You sound like one of mom’s research subjects.”

  “I’ll prove it to you,” he said, suddenly seeing an advantage to Naomi’s immunity—she was someone he could brag to and impress in an entirely different way. “Take me to the mall. Tell mom and dad you want to bond with me, whatever. Take me, and I’ll show you.”

  “I think you’re going stir-crazy in here, kid,” she said. “But, sure, I’ll run it by mom and dad.”

  VI

  At the mall, Joshua led Naomi to the best jewelry store in town. Normally people their age were glared at until the sheer force of salesperson disapproval drove them away, but an unctuous manager came over to Joshua and asked if there was anything he needed. “Pick something out, Naomi,” he said. “Your birthday’s coming up.”

  She snorted. “What, you’ve been hoarding your allowance for the last five years? You still couldn’t afford this stuff.”

  He shrugged. “Seriously, sis. Take your pick.”

  “Okay, big spender, I’ll take the diamond-and-ruby bracelet there. It only costs as much as mom’s car.”

  Joshua smiled at the manager with the full force of his personality. He tapped the display case. “That’s a beautiful bracelet,” he said. “I’d love to have it. I’m not sure I have the money right now, but—”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” the manager said, removing the bracelet from the case and putting it in a jewelry box before passing it to Joshua. “I’m sure you’re good for it.”

  “Could I get a receipt though?” Joshua said. “Just in case the security guard stops us on the way out?”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, hand-writing a receipt and passing it over with a flourish.

  “Thank you,” Joshua said seriously. “It means a lot to me.”

  The manager closed his eyes and smiled as if he’d just been blessed by the deity of his choice.

  Joshua strolled out of the store, and Naomi followed him. “This is a gag, right?” she said. “It’s costume jewelry, and you planned that in advance...”

  “Pick your store,” he said. “I can do this all day.” As Joshua walked, he picked up a sort of comet-trail of other shoppers, people of all ages, none pressing in too close, all respecting his space, but all obviously hoping he’d talk to them, or look at them, or even just breathe in their direction.

  They hit a department store, two clothing stores, a book store, and an electronics boutique before Naomi said, “Enough!” and hustled him out to the car with their purchases... none of which had been purchased.

  They got in the car. Naomi had to drive away from the parking lot, because a crowd had followed them out of the mall, but she pulled in at a nearby park and put her head on the steering wheel. “How?” she said at last. “Did you find a mystical jewel? Get bombarded by cosmic rays? How do you make people do what you want?”

  “That’s the thing,” Joshua said, eager to explain. “I don’t. I don’t make them do anything. It’s not like mind control or being a puppetmaster or something. They just want to do nice things for me. Everybody loves me. And I don’t know how, or why. It just started happening.”

  She shook her head. “You’re just a kid. This kind of power... it’s too much for you. And you’re using it to rip off people at the mall! Don’t you realize how many people are going to get fired because of what you did today? Those people stole for you, gave you stuff without paying, and I know you think you’re smart asking for receipts, but when their cash drawers come up short, they’re out of a job, or maybe even going to jail. Jesus. We have to return all this stuff, Joshua.”

  “I never thought of that,” he said. “Next time, I’ll ask them to buy the stuff for me, and that way, they won’t go to jail, and nobody will notice anything.”

  Naomi stared at him.

  “What?” he said.

  “Mom and dad told me you’re not doing so well in home school. They’re afraid it’s their fault. But when you were in regular school, you just got As for no reason, didn’t you?”

  “Well, not no reason. Because the teachers love me.”

  “You don’t see a problem with that?” She put the car in gear and started driving toward home. “Joshua, how are you going to learn anything if—”

  “Why do I need to learn anything? I can get anything I need just by asking for it. I don’t need school anyway.”

  “But you’re using people, don’t you get that? That poor teacher, Melanie, it really was your idea? I thought she was abusing you, but you were abusing her, and now she’s dead, don’t you even care?”

  “That’s your fault!” he screamed. “You did that, don’t you dare blame me! If you’d just listen to me like everyone else does, none of this would ever have happened!”

  “Joshua.” Naomi sped up, as if trying to get away from him, though he was right there in the car with her. “If your power worked on your family, mom and I would want to have sex with you. Did you ever think about that? Maybe this power of yours doesn’t work on us for a good reason—it’s bad biology. I wonder if the onset of puberty has something to do with it? Mom might have some ideas, she’s good at this stuff, maybe it’s pheromones or you produce too much oxytocin or—”

  “Mom?” he wailed. “You’re going to tell mom? She’ll tell dad! They’ll lock me up forever! I won’t have any fun!”

  “Your fun is destroying lives!” she shouted back. “Maybe you deserve to be locked up in your room! What’s wrong with you, Joshua? I know kids can be selfish, but you... it’s like you’re nothing but a void wrapped in a smile. I have to tell mom and dad, it’s for your own good. I don’t want you to become some kind of monster.”

  “No!” he yelled. “Stop, stop, stop, why can’t you listen, what’s wrong with you, why can’t you be like everyone else, stop!” He tried to pull her hands away from the steering wheel, not even thinking, his mind fixed on the future: Naomi would tell his mom and dad, they wouldn’t believe her at first but eventually they’d see the truth, they’d lock him up, maybe his mom would want to study him, and he’d never get to have sex again, he’d never get to have fun again, his life would be over—

  She fought him, tried to slap his hands away, and that made him jerk on the wheel harder, and she lost control. The car swerved onto the shoulder and then off, into a ditch, tilted precariously, tipped all the way, and rolled over twice.

  After a space of gray time, Joshua opened his eyes, looking up at ceiling of an ambulance.

  “Kid’s amazingly lucky,” one of the paramedics, a man, was saying. “He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be okay. His sister, though... just an unlucky bounce, I guess. Broke her neck. At least she didn’t suffer.”

  “As long as he didn’t suffer,” another paramedic said, this one a woman. “He’s too beauti
ful to suffer. If I had the chance to drive him around, I’d be a lot more careful than that stupid dead bitch. What if she’d killed him?”

  “You’re right. She deserved to die for putting him in danger,” the male paramedic said. “She deserved to suffer. I’m sorry she didn’t, now that I think about it.”

  Joshua closed his eyes, but that didn’t keep the tears from coming out.

  VII

  He ran away from home soon after the funeral. Not because his home life was intolerable, although it was—his parents were absolute wrecks over Naomi’s death. But he would have stayed with them, trusting that their distraction and grief would give him the freedom to live as he liked.

  But he had to leave. Because of the ghost.

  He first saw her during the wake, not that he actually attended the wake. Joshua was hiding in his room, claiming he couldn’t handle being around people, but really because he didn’t want his parents wondering why all the guests at the wake were staring and whispering about him.

  His closet door opened, and Naomi strolled out. She was dressed in her field hockey uniform, holding a stick in her hand. “Hi, brother,” she said. “Guess I’m haunting you. This sucks. I wasn’t sure I believed in the afterlife, but I sure didn’t expect this.”

  Joshua whimpered and scooted away up the length of his bed, pressing his body against his headboard.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a baby. I can’t hurt you. I’m dead. I know that much. I don’t know much else, like how come I’m dressed like this, but—wait. What day is it?”

  He told her.

  “I died like three days ago?” she said. “Feels like it just happened. I had a game today.” She tapped the stick on the ground a couple of times. “If I hadn’t died, this is what I’d be wearing right now, I guess. Weird.”

  “Are you real,” he said, “or am I going crazy?”

  She sat down on the bed next to him, but the mattress didn’t move at all, as if she had no weight. “Why can’t the answer be ‘both’?” she said. She sat with him quietly for a minute, then went back into the closet.

  Joshua didn’t sleep all night, and he took a backpack of his things the next morning and slipped out while his parents were still sleeping the sleep of the tranquilized. He walked downtown, stopping every time he saw someone at an ATM and asking them to give him some cash. He went to the bus station and bought a ticket to Philadelphia, because that was the next bus going any significant distance away.

  Sitting in the rear of the bus with his backpack on his knees, he did his best to look inconspicuous, wearing a jacket with the hood pulled over his head. A few people turned and looked at him, but the bus wasn’t crowded, and no one tried to sit next to him.

  Until they were humming down a boring stretch of the interstate. He heard the rustle of someone settling in beside him. “I’d like to be alone,” he muttered.

  “I’d like to be alive,” his sister said.

  Joshua turned his head and stared. Naomi was wearing her slop-around sweats, eating a bagel liberally smeared with cream cheese. She looked so real, right down to the crumbs at the corner of her mouth. “You came with me,” he said. “I thought, if I went away from where you died...”

  “I think I’m haunting you, Joshua. I mean, look. You didn’t mean to kill me. I know that. But it’s your fault anyway, for being such a selfish brat. And you’re still a selfish brat. Mom and dad are going to be heartbroken even worse with you leaving, you know that? Like losing me wasn’t enough?”

  “I didn’t think about that.” He slouched lower in the seat. “But I need to get away. Start fresh. Go someplace no one knows me.”

  “No one knows you back home, either, brother. They just... make up a version of you that lives in their heads. A super awesome guy who deserves their worship. But that’s not you. Nobody knows the real you, except me.” She stood up. “And I gotta say... I don’t like you much. I love you... but that’s different.” Naomi walked away down the aisle farther toward the back of the bus, which should have been impossible since he was in the last seat. But the world was different for ghosts, apparently.

  He was freaked out, but he was more exhausted than freaked, and he slept all the way to Philadelphia.

  VIII

  Joshua didn’t live the life of your typical runaway. He stayed in fine hotels, ate in fine restaurants, picked out whatever clothes he wanted and walked out of the store wearing them, and generally lived the high life. The pitfalls he might have fallen into—drugs, mainly, and the odd STD—were avoided mostly because Naomi would appear, telling him not to be an idiot, at crucial moments. Having your spectral sister appear just as you were about to have unprotected sex with a lingerie model, yelling at you and calling you a moron, tended to make you take precautions.

  Her ghost didn’t appear every day, but he seldom went more than a week without seeing her. She goaded him into going to the library and reading actual books, and bullied him into occasionally using his powers for good—making muggers turn themselves in, wandering down to the courthouse and talking to judges, things like that. He mostly wanted to skateboard, and sleep with gorgeous women, and make people give him cars—Naomi’s ghost taught him to drive when he was 14—but he always gave in eventually.

  He left Philly for Minneapolis until the cold got to him, and went out West for a while, working his way down from Seattle to San Francisco to Los Angeles. L.A. was funny—everyone there wanted to make him a star, but he knew by then his powers only worked when he interacted with people in person. He was a lousy actor, and on video, he was just an ordinary, if attractive, kid. Acting on stage might have been different, but he didn’t really have the acting bug, so he fled to Las Vegas—you could live quite well in Vegas when people gave you anything you wanted—and eventually Chicago.

  He traveled for six or seven years, and the strange things was, Naomi’s ghost grew older right along with him, keeping pace. She appeared in a prom dress once during what would have been her senior year, and went through a variety of styles during her would-be college years: preppy sorority girl, slutty club kid, full-on punk, and slouchy flannel-wearing alternative girl, among others. Her hair changed occasionally, and she gained a little weight, and then lost it, and she got pimples and pinkeye and hangovers and manicures, as if she had a whole life when she wasn’t with him.

  One morning, when she appeared in his hotel room wearing a wrinkled blue cocktail dress and only one high-heeled shoe, complaining of a headache, he said, “What happened to you?”

  They’d been getting along pretty well in recent years, though Naomi still thought he was a selfish jerk 90% of the time, but the look she shot him then was poisonous and full of rage. “I have no idea, Joshua. The only memories I have are of my life before I died and these conversations with you. I know it looks like I’m living a whole life, but I’m not. I think you’re seeing what life I would have had, if you hadn’t run us off the road. I assume I would have gone out dancing and gotten drunk last night, if I wasn’t busy rotting in the ground.” She threw her remaining shoe at him, and he ducked, even though it disappeared before it hit him. Naomi stomped off into the bathroom and didn’t show up again for two weeks.

  Her absence was kind of a relief, but it was also kind of lonely. Fortunately, he could medicate the loneliness with champagne and threesomes.

  When Naomi finally came back, dressed like she was out on an extended nature hike, she acted like their mini-fight hadn’t even happened, and mostly focused on telling him how stupid his new haircut looked, an opinion no one else had offered him.

  IX

  “We call your kind lovetalkers,” the sorcerer said, sipping from a glass of spring water. He wore a severe black suit and had a face so pale and angular it could have been carved from chalk.

  “Great.” Joshua leaned across the table between them and offered his third-best smile. The guy was crazy, thought he was a wizard or something, but he had something Joshua wanted. “Look, like I said, if you could gi
ve me the keys to that beautiful Mercedes you drove up in, I’d be happy to—”

  “Shut up,” the man said, and Joshua flinched. No one had talked to him like that, apart from Naomi’s ghost, in a long time. “Your powers don’t work on me. Your abilities are rooted in emotion, and I sliced away and sold all my emotions to a... certain entity... in exchange for particular powers and favors. I am a creature of pure intellect now, and intellectually... I can see what you are, and what you do, but it doesn’t have any impact on me.” He took another sip. They were in a secluded booth in an upscale hotel bar in Indianapolis, and Joshua had a vodka tonic in front of him. He considered just getting up and leaving—apparently he wasn’t going to get this guy’s car, and there were other prospects in the room—but the novelty of someone immune to his powers had him curious.

  “You say you’re a sorcerer?” he said.

  The man nodded. “My powers were won with difficulty, through effort and study. Yours... comes a bit more naturally.” The man sniffed. “You’re a lovetalker. Sometimes called a ganconer or cancanagh. They were elf-knights, in Irish mythology—they seduced country girls, then abandoned them, leaving the women to pine away and eventually commit suicide.”

  Joshua shifted uncomfortably. Melanie had been the first of his lovers to die that way, hanging herself in prison, but he knew there’d been others. These days, he mostly just let women (and the occasional man) give him blowjobs—his partners, or victims, or whatever, didn’t seem to become truly inconsolable unless he actually slept with them. But once he did, no other lover could ever satisfy them, not even close, and a lot of them had trouble with that. It was one of the few downsides to his power. Finding out people he’d slept with had killed themselves always depressed him, even if it was also kind of flattering. (He didn’t feel guilty. The only death that made him feel guilty was Naomi’s, because he’d done it with his own hands—even if she had forgiven him. He assumed. More or less. Maybe not in so many words.)