Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story

by Glover, Sarah M.

  “Hey, you ever find those ashes you were looking for?”

  Nora! She had totally forgotten about Nora. The living room reeked with the smell of pot, and she panicked with the thought that her ashes might be burning, but then she remembered: Nora was safe on their fireplace mantle upstairs. A lungful of trapped air escaped her, and she stuttered a few unintelligible words, grappling with what she could possibly say to him.

  Well, yes, Dwayne, I did in fact find Nora’s ashes, thank you very much. And I smuggled them out in the business end of your bong—hope you don’t mind.

  From the foggy grin on his face though, Emily was fairly certain Dwayne didn’t miss his bong, as he was busy putting out a recently sparked doobie in his Starbucks cup. But what in the world was he doing in the middle of Andrew’s living room surrounded by his fellow baked comrades in the midst of what looked frighteningly like a séance? It was either that or the most bizarre Goth poker game ever.

  “Emily…it’s Emily, right?” Dwayne asked her on the Q.T. with a whisper in her ear. “Which one of these amigos is named Andrew? Please tell me it ain’t John Lennon over there.” He gestured toward Simon, who had already lit up a cigarette. “Or is it the guy that came in with you to the shop? Now that would be totally awesome. The uptight English dude with the matching palm who owns, like…your soul? No offense, I’m talking, like, metaphysically.”

  “Andrew?”

  “Righteous.” Dwayne waved at Andrew in recognition, then looked back to her with a faraway glaze in his eyes. “Man, that’s one lucky bastard. I wish I had a woman who was put on this earth to be like my number one love slave. Imagine lifetimes of that shit. Yo, it must be like a supernova when you get it on. How do you stand it? Hard wired to want nothing but to sa-tis-fy…Listen, if you ever get tired of him, change your mind or anything, wanna branch out…”

  Andrew stepped forward and clamped his hand on Dwayne’s shoulder. “Not in this…or any other lifetime.”

  Dwayne stumbled back a step or two as Andrew’s tall, black-coated figure loomed over him. “Nice to see you again, man,” Dwayne replied, his soul patch and mustache quivering a bit in apology. “Sorry to be crashing your pad and everything, but dude, you gotta put us out of our misery. Dinesh and I haven’t been able to sleep, like for seventy-two straight hours. Seems there’s a friend of one of your friends here that’s dying—well, he would die if he could—sucks to be him, I guess.” He snorted at his own joke.

  “Dwayne.” The third man of their trio, the one Emily didn’t recognize, chided him. His long black hair shook, and his multiple facial piercings clacked together like beaded curtains.

  “Egan here’s right,” said Dinesh, the musician Emily remembered from the Columbarium. The black-haired man nodded in acknowledgment and shook the sleeves of his flowing purple caftan that was embossed with gold stars. “Don’t dis the sprits, man. Karma is a bitch. You’ll come back as a ’possum or some other shit.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that this spirit is righteously empowered and needs to talk. Gave us directions to your domicile and everything. We were camping out here most of the night and saw C.C. here, I mean Claudia, sorry Mom-lady. Well, we saw her dropped off in a cab, and since your door was already open—”

  “What do you mean our door was open?” Andrew turned to his mother. “C.C.?” His sharply-arched voice rose along with his eyebrows.

  Tall and handsome like a Goya painting brought to life, Andrew’s mother was still standing motionless across the room. Her eyes reflected the candlelight as they flashed away from Neil. Sky blue and surrounded by the same black lashes as her son’s, they blinked wide and questioning. The soft, light-brown planes of her face, again so much like Andrew’s, were framed instead by thick, black waves that had fallen loose from a wide braid at her neck, which her fingers fussed with distractedly.

  “Yes?”

  “The door, Mum?”

  “Andrew, the outside door was unlocked when I arrived—and your door was wide open. I thought you were home, especially after Mr. Cobshib explained his situation.” She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice, a voice that bore a faint trace of a Spanish accent and the lilt of an English one. “Dear, you know how I am with anything to do with the supernatural. And after my dream and then our phone conversation when you sounded so terribly upset, I cut my visit short in New York and rushed out here. He claimed to know you, so I let him in. He, um, looks like the type of person you might know in your profession. A roadie? Is that what you call them?”

  Emily could hear Simon chuckle next to her.

  “Christ, Mum.”

  “Language, Andrew.”

  He scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck and made halting introductions. The guys evidently knew Andrew’s mother well and hugged her warmly, maybe a bit too warmly due to their gargantuan intake of alcohol. She didn’t seem to mind and responded with smiles and ruffles of their hair. Emily was devoutly thankful that Margot and Zoey, given their own inebriated state, merely nodded to her politely. All she needed was for Zoey to launch into a play by play of what had transpired earlier on the hood of the car…

  Finally, Andrew came to Emily.

  “Emily, may I introduce you to my mother, Claudia Hayes. Mum, this is my—”

  It seemed that Andrew was having difficulty in finding his words. “I found her, Mum,” he said softly. “May I introduce Miss Emily Thomas. My muse.”

  Did Emily imagine it, or did Claudia’s eyes widen in alarm at the sight of her? And did Simon actually swear? “Andrew,” she uttered his name in stunned disbelief.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hayes.” Emily went to shake her hand, but Claudia recoiled. Emily looked to Andrew, whose shoulders had tensed, his lips pressed tight.

  “Why do you look so surprised? I told you I was going to find her, and I did.”

  “Andrew—this is—I just can’t—this is…”

  Claudia’s voice trailed off, but she continued to stare. Emily had no idea why Claudia looked at her in such a way; she actually appeared distraught. Had something died in her hair? Did she have love bites all over her neck? She glanced sideways at Andrew, but his sight never wavered from his mother.

  “Oh, Andrew—”

  Something passed between them, and his chin rose in defiance. He was as hurt and angry as Emily had ever seen him. His voice was strangely tight as he stepped to the side and made the last introduction. “Neil,” he said, though he did not look at him, “this is my mother, Claudia Hayes. Claudia, Neil St. John. I believe you two may have met?”

  Met. The word hung ominously over their heads. Claudia looked like she had seen a ghost. Neither of them said a word, and neither of them moved an inch, only adding to the already stifling soap opera vibe in the room. There was nothing quite like meeting your lover’s mother, Emily thought, while his mother’s former lover was standing right behind you. They had to have been lovers; no one would look at another person like that unless they shared a past.

  Neil reached out and took Claudia’s hand. He tried to touch her casually, with a fluid gesture, in an attempt to mask the pure ache in his face and lessen the determined lines near his eyes where the muscles were so tight they lashed the skin across his cheekbones to the edge of his temples.

  “I hate to break up the love fest here, fellow travelers,” the caftan-wearing stoner priest named Egan announced, “but we cannot leave until we have a circle.”

  “A what?” Simon demanded.

  “An open circle, to let the spirit world communicate with us,” explained Dwayne. “Egan here is the best. He usually does closed circles, but he’s doing me a favor to help me get some sleep. Slumming, like.”

  “It’s two-thirty in the morning! Can’t he do his fucking slumming somewhere else? Um, sorry, Mrs. Hayes.”

  “What? Oh, that’s fine, Simon,” Claudia murmured.

  “You mean we’re going to have a séance? A real live séance?” Zoey asked, wobbling tipsily on her chair. />
  “We don’t call them séances anymore,” Egan corrected her. “Please, everyone take a seat. The spirits are restless and may not linger long.”

  “We can only hope,” Andrew muttered and raked his hand through his hair.

  “Can’t we at least have a cup of coffee before we communicate with the great beyond?” Margot begged through a hiccup, her boots clutched in her hands.

  “Caffeine impedes the connection to the spirit world.”

  “Oh, puh-lease. Caffeine is the only damn thing that’s going to keep me connected to this fucking world. Um, sorry there, Mrs. Hayes.”

  Claudia laughed softly and blew the hair from her eyes. Emily heard Neil’s quick inhalation of breath from behind her.

  “An underpinning of non-belief is going to hamper the flow of energy. I detect a strong level of animosity from the ebony-haired one here.”

  “Oh no,” Emily mumbled under her breath. Andrew’s eyes flashed to hers conspiratorially.

  “You have a problem with Dr. Larson, mate?” Simon asked, the tattoos on his fingers visible on his fist.

  Egan stuttered at the barely contained ire simmering before him. “None that I will speak of anymore.”

  Andrew rubbed his hand along the back of his neck again, clearly exasperated with the whole situation. “Well, good. Now give me one bloody good reason why I shouldn’t be falling into bed right now.”

  Dwayne stood. “Noreen Thomas needs your help, dude!”

  “What?”

  “This Noreen Thomas, Nora, you call her, her vibrations are off the map, and she’s in such a highly agitated state that she can’t make contact, so a fellow spirit has stepped forward. Luckily, Egan here is adhering to a pretty strict drug regimen to keep his mind limber enough to absorb all this energy. I can’t do it quite as well. Anyway, this spirit, the one who won’t let me sleep, says he has some info—highly vital info in regards to Emily Thomas.”

  Everyone turned to gape at her.

  “I’m Emily, Emily Thomas,” she mumbled rather thinly.

  “Dwayne,” murmured Egan, “you said she was pretty, not beautiful. I had no idea. And this is the woman with the palm? The eternal concubine?” His eyebrow studs waggled lasciviously.

  Claudia’s breath caught. Emily cringed. Love slave, concubine, what a wonderful first impression she must be making…

  Andrew clasped Emily’s hand more tightly in his, sending death glares at Egan. He lowered his face to hers. “Emily, luv, would you like to do this? Would this help? If you don’t want to we can send them packing. I’d be more than happy to oblige in that regard.”

  She nodded her head firmly. But at the same time, an unexplainable sense of unease began to well up in her, and his eyes darkened as though he was feeling it too. He opened his mouth to speak when Egan cried, “Excellent,” and settled down in a chair, his robe puffing up around him, with his hands held out beckoning for all to join.

  Andrew drew Emily closer to him, tilting his head to her ear. “Emily, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  “Tell me.”

  “Nothing.” She fought to hold her voice steady. Goose bumps had broken out up and down her arms, and her teeth had almost begun to rattle. The exhaustion, the excitement, and the alcohol must have frayed her nerves to make her this irrationally afraid.

  Clearly unhappy, he drew out a chair for her, and across the table, at the exact same moment, Neil drew out a chair for Claudia. Each man observed the other from across the candle flames. Emily took hold of Andrew’s hand and dragged him down into his seat.

  “Thank you for not pulling your gun,” she whispered. He didn’t answer. His eyes were riveted upon the sight of Neil and Claudia’s intertwined fingers.

  Egan announced that they should close their eyes and bow their heads as if in prayer. The room fell quiet as a tomb. Minutes passed. Andrew’s pulse beat steady in Emily’s hand, his grip never lessening.

  “What should we do next?” Zoey’s voice was an insistent whisper. “Aren’t we supposed to say something? I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to say something.”

  “Shhhhhhh!” Egan hissed.

  “Sorry, dude,” Christian apologized, a thinly veiled look of remorse on his face. “But it might inspire confidence if you did say something.”

  Egan scowled at him and then gave a scathing look at Dwayne, who shrugged miserably. A few moments later, Egan began to make an “Ohm” sound, his piercings rattling. The temperature of the room dropped precipitously, causing Emily, already very familiar with the sensation, to shudder. Andrew laced his fingers protectively through hers, knowing what was to come.

  “Love is the vibration of communication in the spirit world. Its presence enables transference to take place. Let us feel the love here between us, about us, above us, below us. From the pinnacle of our scalps unto the finality of our toes.”

  Zoey’s knee banged the bottom of the table, and a rash of giggles choked in her throat. Oh good God. What was she up to now?

  With a loud smack, Egan slammed a book onto the table, startling the living daylights out of everyone. Emily peeked through one eye and with a gasp saw it was The Thin Man.

  “The circle is a safe place, the circle is an open place, the circle is one. We call upon the spirit of Dashol—Dashnel—Dashing—”

  “Dashiell!” Emily hissed. Andrew squeezed her hand.

  “What the lady said. Dashiell Hammett. You have something to tell us, something that this Nora Jones—”

  “Thomas!” Emily seethed, making Christian rock with barely suppressed laughter.

  “Something that Nora Thomas wants to impart.” Dwayne took over. “Yo, spirit dude, writer of books about weight loss, help us in this hour.”

  Zoey toppled over in a spasm of laughter.

  “What? That’s the title,” Dwayne reasoned aloud. “The Thin Man.”

  Zoey used the momentary diversion to stretch out her leg, causing Christian to clench his eyes shut and mutter in prayer. Oh God, she wasn’t doing what Emily thought she was doing. Not here. Not now.

  “Mr. Hammond, sir,” Dwayne continued, “Mr. Hammond, you seem like a talented dude. A writer and maker of organs.”

  With that, Andrew began to laugh, and Emily couldn’t stop herself either. The tension of the last few minutes seemed to evaporate as Andrew squeezed Emily’s hand even tighter, raising it to his lips to kiss. God, I love you, he mouthed silently, using the back of her hand to wipe away his tears. You know the weirdest people.

  Dwayne coughed discreetly and resumed. “Mr. Hammond, join us in this circle and say what you need to say. And let me get some friggin’ sleep, if it ain’t too much to ask.”

  Christian went to open his mouth, sure to launch into some off color comment about organs, when a voice poured from his lips that made the hair on the back of Emily’s neck stand on end.

  “I’ll be right with you, but at the moment I’m enjoying this sweetheart’s most talented toes.”

  Zoey shrieked, and her foot presumably flew from Christian’s crotch as they heard it hit the floor.

  “Hell. It’s been a long time, sister. Hate to offend, but Lillian was never into such feats.”

  Zoey’s face paled as she stared at the hard-boiled voice coming from Christian’s mouth. The room fell deathly still.

  “Nice digs, this place. Always liked this house. Nick and I got drunk in that attic too many times to remember and played that gramophone of his till all hours. If people only knew how much I lifted off that man. They don’t make ’em like that anymore. Not like Mr. Nicholas Chamberlain, that’s for sure.”

  Not one soul bothered to shut their eyes anymore; they were all staring in horror at Christian, who was no longer Christian. Zoey appeared the most on edge, having just given a foot job to a dead man.

  Neil sat up straight, his fingers clenched around the hand of an increasingly stricken Claudia.

  “A heartbreak what happened with him and Nora, though. Now that was some
dame. You could learn a thing or two from her, sweetie.” Zoey recoiled in her chair and crossed her legs. “Nick didn’t stand a chance, no man did around Nora. They were one of a kind, those two. Damn shame though, first the cliffs and then not being able to be together, even in fucking death. Uh, sorry there, Mrs. Hayes.”

  Claudia squeaked in fright.

  “Now, which one of you fillies is Emily? Nora said she looked like a bookish version of Gene Tierney with good teeth, so that would be…” Christian scanned the circle, his expression sharp and shrewd, and his eyes glowed white in the darkness. They stopped dead, fixated on their target. “That would be you.”

  Emily was so scared she couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t look away either. Andrew grasped her hand more fiercely.

  “Hell. It’s true, isn’t it? She told me, and I wouldn’t believe it. It’s happening all over again. Damn,” the spirit muttered.

  “What’s—what’s happening again?” Andrew demanded. The spirit said nothing.

  “He can’t tell us, Andrew. There are rules, right? Nora told me about the rules.”

  “As smart as you are stunning, Miss Thomas.”

  “Is Nora all right? Is she in trouble? What does she need to tell us?”

  “I can’t say much, but I can give you the goods on who will. She’s got it all in spades—all the information you’ll need. But I’ve got to warn you, if you find her you’re in for a world full of hurt.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause she wants you dead, sugar.”

  Andrew launched up from the table. Emily tried to seize hold of him, but he pushed her away.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded through fixed teeth. “Christian, cut this shit out.”

  “It’s not Christian you’re talking to, lover boy. What’s the matter? You want me to move locations?”

  With that, Zoey seized and Christian’s eyes flashed open. “Jesus, I feel sick,” he groaned, blinking in confusion.

  “There, you happy now?”

  Andrew spun to face Zoey. She was speaking in the same exact voice that had come from Christian. He sat down in shock. “How? How are you doing this?”