Dead Man and the Restless Spirits

by Harper, Lou

  "No offense, Ms. Maurell, but—"

  "Layla."

  As she smiled, Denton saw the spider webs of age around her eyes, but she still looked far too young. She had to be in her fifties at least. Must be magic.

  "Ehrm…Layla, I have a hard time believing you can simply conjure up somebody's soul mate."

  She gave her a pitying look. "You ever wonder how convenient it was for you and Bran to meet, considering your talents and peculiarities that you can't share with other people?"

  "It only means we're a good professional match."

  "Well, there's more to it, isn't it? I saw you earlier in each other's arms. Sleeping bodies don't lie."

  Denton flushed hot from his chest to the tips of his ears. Not only had Bran's mother had seen him naked, but she'd seen them in bed together. Suddenly he understood Bran's exasperation.

  Unperturbed by Denton's embarrassment, she chattered on. "I don't believe there's only one soul mate for each of us, but for boys like you and Bran who are more unique, it can be hard to find a compatible partner. And, of course, with Bran's refusal to even try, it was never going to happen. I had to do something. I couldn't let him spend his whole life alone just because of one bad experience."

  Denton's curiosity perked up. "Bad experience?"

  Layla leaned closer and lowered her voice. "He got involved with an older man when he was very young and impressionable. I could've told him a thirty-year-old had no business sniffing around a sixteen-year-old, but teenage boys don't talk to their mothers. Things got ugly when this man humiliated Bran in public."

  "I killed him," Bran said from the doorway, making them both jump a little. They turned to see him there, hands on hips. "And whatever faults Peter had, he didn't deserve that."

  Layla recovered faster. "Honey, you're exaggerating. You didn't kill him."

  "I turned him into a frog."

  Denton's jaw dropped. "You did what?"

  A shadow of pain or guilt, or possibly both, flickered across Bran's face. "I tried to catch him, but he hopped away, straight into the pond."

  Layla clearly had no sympathy for this Peter person. "He deserved it, if you ask me. What kind of a man calls a young boy a freak, especially in front of strangers? At any rate, it's not the same as killing him."

  "He's probably been eaten by an animal or run over by a car by now."

  "Those count as natural causes for a frog. It all happened fourteen years ago. Peter probably lived a far more fulfilling, not to mention useful life as an amphibian. The Lily Pond at Lincoln Park is the perfect place for it."

  "You don't know that for sure."

  Her voice grew sharper. "And you don't know otherwise. You were going to live your entire life like a hermit because of one little mishap. It's not healthy. And neither is suppressing your talents."

  Bran's jaw set stubbornly. "Breakfast is getting cold."

  He marched inside, and they followed him. The tranquility of clattering china and silverware settled over them for a few minutes. Denton shoveled heaps of the omelet into his mouth while also chewing on the fresh information. It wasn't every day you found out your lover could…what was the word they used in the Harry Potter books? Oh yeah, transfigure another person. Pretty cool.

  Curiosity got the best of him. "How did you do it?"

  Bran kept his eye on his plate and remained silent, so Layla filled in the void. "Spontaneous spell throwing is not uncommon for a young witch. When I was thirteen, I made it snow inside our apartment once. You should've seen my mother's face! Puberty is a difficult phase, but once your hormones and talents balance out, these things don't happen anymore. It's no reason to completely suppress your natural abilities." She put a strong emphasis on her words.

  They weren't lost on Bran. "Mother, you've always overestimated my so-called abilities. They are as random and pointless as your moments of clairvoyance. I mean, honestly, what use was it to know Mrs. Samadis would cook lamb on a certain night? They cooked lamb at least once a week."

  She let out a sigh. "Mrs. Samadis was very hospitable and an excellent cook. She also liked her and her husband's fortune being read. Bran, honey, you have the gift, like it or not. It's flowing out of your every pore. Do you think that jungle there is an accident?" She gestured toward the windows and the profusion of greenery surrounding them. "The best gardener can't grow them so healthy and abundant."

  "Maybe I should get a job at the botanical garden."

  Her fork clattered to the plate. "You're as stubborn as a mule." She turned to Denton. "How about you? Are you mastering your skill yet?"

  "Umm… I made a ghost more corporeal instead of banishing it."

  Her eyes lit up. "Really? How interesting. Visible to the naked eye?"

  "Bran could see it. And we had a conversation. Sort of. Will's a bit of a broken record, responds to some questions but then goes off on his own tangent, and it's like talking to a wall. One thing's certain, he's fixated on someone called Gene—he's waiting for the guy."

  She nodded. "That makes sense. Even more visible, it's a spirit shadow, not a complete person. Obsession tends to stick around the most. What do you plan to do about it?"

  "I'll smudge it," Bran said.

  "I doubt you can. Sounds too strong for it now."

  Bran sighed. "Well, then Denton can expel it. He's done it a few times before."

  She hummed in a tone expressing doubt.

  "What's wrong with that plan?" Bran asked.

  "I'm not convinced it'll work either, with Denton not fully in charge of his skills. And if you're not careful, you might make the situation worse."

  Bran threw up his hands. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

  "Well, spirits stick around for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes because they have unfinished business. If you help them find closure, they'll leave on their own. At least that's what my grandmother told me."

  Bran's gloomy expression showed he didn't much like hearing her advice.

  Layla pushed her chair back. "I'm sorry, Denton, for dragging you into our family drama. Please, be patient with my son. He means well."

  Denton grinned back at her. "You got it, Layla."

  "Good. I have to go. Behave yourselves, kids, and Bran, I want to spend some time with both of you before flying back to LA."

  "Yes, Mother."

  Chapter Three

  Denton took the initiative to wash the dishes. He didn't mind, and he much preferred it to cooking. Fair division of labor, he figured. Bran helped with the drying.

  During this domestic tranquility, Denton had a chance to think about their spirit problem. "We should go back and try to question Will again," he suggested.

  "No way. Not till we find out more about him."

  Typical Bran, Denton thought. "Do you ever just do something without making plans first? You know, go with the flow?"

  "No," Bran replied brusquely.

  "I didn't think so. Okay, Captain, what do we do next?"

  Bran pinched his nose. "David from the Historical Society won't be any help here. Finding out who lived at that address forty years ago will be a challenge. According to the real estate agent, it was an apartment building till ninety-six, then converted to condos. So Will was a renter. We can start with finding the original owner on the slight chance they still have records."

  "Ugh." Denton hadn't realized ghost hunting had so many complications.

  They finished the dishes, and Bran wandered back into the living room with a look of consternation on his face and digging his fingers into his trapezius. Denton recognized the signs. "Sit. I'll give you a back rub."

  "I'm fine."

  "No, you're not," Denton said in his take-no-shit voice.

  Bran gave in and settled sideways on the couch. Denton sat behind him and began to knead Bran's neck and shoulders. "You're all knotted up."

  "Having a long conversation with Mother does it to me every time."

  "I like her. She's certainly…spirited."

  "Th
at's one way of putting it."

  Murry trotted into the room and hopped onto the chair across from them. Giving them a bored look, he curled up for a nap.

  Denton's mother would've loved Murry, but then she loved all animals. No wonder when she remarried, it was to a veterinarian.

  "My mom fusses all the time and keeps asking if I've met someone nice yet. Oh, that reminds me—do you think Layla might stay till Thanksgiving? It's only a couple of weeks away," Denton said.

  Bran grew even more rigid under his fingers. "Don't even mention it to her!"

  "What, Thanksgiving?"

  "Yes! She only celebrates pagan holidays. Beltane, summer solstice, that sort of stuff. As a child, it took me a while to realize that half-naked people dancing around bonfires was not how most people celebrated holidays."

  The image made Denton chuckle.

  "Don't laugh," Bran grumbled. "If you bring up Thanksgiving or any other conventional holiday in front of her, you'll get an hour lecture."

  "All right, I won't. Now try to relax." Denton went on smoothing the gnarls and lumps out of Bran's muscles. He knew he had a knack for it.

  Bran thought so too. "Mmm…that's good. A little to the left. Yeah. Harder. You have magic fingers."

  "I've been told that before. And not only in connection with back rubs."

  Bran leaned into his touch without comment. Denton bit his lips to keep himself from saying more and have Bran tense up again. There was an intimate subject he didn't know how to approach. Denton wasn't strictly a bottom. Men tended to assume so simply because of his physique, but in the past, he had disabused many of them of that notion, to mutual satisfaction. He itched to do the same to Bran, but Bran… Well, he was a hard nut to crack. It was unlikely Bran had ever bottomed for anyone. Denton had to proceed with caution and wait for the right moment.

  And that reminded him of a question he had. "Was it because of your tail that guy…Peter, called you a freak?"

  Bran nodded. "Easy guess, right?"

  "Were you afraid it would happen again? That you'd turn someone into something else?"

  Bran pulled away and leaned back on the sofa. "When it happened, I was hurt and angry. More than angry, enraged. I didn't mean to do anything, but all the emotions burst out of me and BAM!" He turned his palms up, fingers stretched wide apart, in the imitation of an explosion. Then he curled them up again and put his hands in his lap. He looked Denton squarely in the eye. "Yes, I was afraid. Up till then, I had no idea of the destructive potential of the thing inside me. I knew I had to get my emotions under wraps and avoid any situation where something similar could happen again."

  "That explains a few things. Surely by now you could control it."

  "That's easy for you and Mother to say. Sometimes I'm scared to death I might hurt you."

  The sincerity of the admission hit Denton in the chest. "You wouldn't."

  "I'm not sure."

  "I am." Denton didn't know what made him so certain, but the conviction came from his gut. You couldn't argue with instincts.

  Bran's expression softened. "That's because you're a nut."

  "Yeah. What's your point?"

  "Haven't you ever wished you were normal like everyone else?"

  "Yes, sure. But I'm not, and neither are you. It's much better to be weirdos together than alone. Your mom's right."

  Bran turned his gaze at the ceiling and said nothing.

  Denton scuttled closer and threw his legs across Bran's thighs. "Hey, do you think our ghost and that Gene guy he's waiting for were lovers?"

  "I got that impression. Although, Will's babble was a bit vague." The weight of his hands felt good on Denton's knees.

  "That could've been because of the times. Did you get a good look at his clothes? So seventies."

  Bran chuckled. "Those flared pants, and that shirt! Very Saturday Night Fever."

  "The hair too. Reminded me of Bo Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard. I loved that show as a kid. Sexy cars, sexy guys—what's not to like, right?"

  "Right."

  Denton laced his fingers with Bran's. "I wonder if Gene looks like Luke at all. Looked." Verb tenses got complicated when talking about the partially departed—which Gene might or might not be. He could even be alive and well, even if elderly.

  Denton tried to picture Gene, but instead, Will's miserable expression kept floating into his mind. The desperation he'd felt when first touching the ghost rose up from his memory, almost as if it was his own. A terrible certainty took over—Gene would never come, and Will knew it. Yet Will waited anyway. Denton squeezed Bran's hand, hoping to use Bran's solidity to chase away the unpleasant feelings, but right then Bran made a strange face—eyes shut, features contorted into a grimace.

  "Are you all right?" Denton asked in sudden alarm.

  Bran lifted a hand in a halting gesture. For several heart-pounding seconds, they stayed there, frozen, while panicky thoughts zapped through Denton's brain, too fast to be recognizable. From the corner of his eye, he saw Murry sit up in his chair and stare.

  Then Bran's features smoothed out, and he let out a long breath. "Five-five-three," he said, opening his eyes.

  "What the hell was that?" Denton demanded to know. "You scared the hell out of me."

  "Sorry. I had an extrasensory episode."

  Denton's heartbeat gradually returned to normal. "You mean a vision?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh? Do you think it has to do with Gene?"

  "Well, I was thinking of him, trying to picture him, so maybe. It's how I had these…visions in the past."

  "What did you see?"

  "Nothing more than jumbled images of a wreckage—twisted metal, fire, that sort of stuff."

  "What about five-five-three?"

  "I don't know. It popped into my head. See, this is what I tried to explain to my mother—completely useless."

  "I dunno…" Denton had another idea—he was unstoppable today. "Let's Google it!"

  "What, you're just gonna type wreckage and 553 in a search engine?"

  "Why not?"

  Without waiting for a response, Denton jumped up, scuttled into Bran's study, and plopped in front of the computer. He indeed typed 553 and wreckage into the search field and hit return. The top result turned out to be an article about a Cessna crashing near Las Vegas. The year —2003—was all wrong. He scrolled past a couple of links and clicked on a promising one. A quick scan of the page revealed it to be a Watergate-related conspiracy theory, but by the third paragraph, he knew he was on the right track.

  "Bingo!" he announced.

  "What is it?" Bran asked.

  "United Air Flight 553 crashed near Chicago on its way to land at Midway. And the date is, guess what? 1972!" He turned and triumphantly beamed at Bran. "This must be it!"

  "Maybe."

  "You're a real wet blanket, you know."

  "I'm merely circumspect. However, this is something David should be able to find information about. Maybe even a passenger list. I'll call him."

  Bran's pussyfooting couldn't dampen Denton's self-satisfaction. "What did people do before the Internet?" he wondered out loud.

  "Go to the library, talk to people, ask questions?" Bran said on his way out the door, jabbing at the keypad of his phone.

  "Sounds tedious."

  "Right."

  Denton kept reading the article. It proved interesting. Among the victims were a congressman, a CBS reporter, and the wife of one of the Watergate conspirators. According to the conspiracists, secret agents swarmed the crash site within minutes. It seemed a bit far-fetched to Denton, and he moved on to check his e-mail. He found a few offers for dog food coupons and male-enhancement products, all of which he swiftly redirected into the spam folder. He opened a message from Joy, but it contained only a selection of ghost-themed lolcats and an assurance about getting the contract for the job soon. Denton Googled a lolcat fairy and attached it to his reply, saying she better be right, because he needed the money. The holidays were comin
g, and he had gifts to buy.

  He found Bran tending to his plants—watering, pruning, and stroking their leaves. He was practically petting them. The herbs were bursting with life, so possibly Layla had been right. Denton decided to keep his mouth shut about it.

  "What's the word?" he asked instead.

  "David will call back tonight," Bran said, turning around. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Denton could've sworn some of the plants stretched their tiny stems toward him.

  "We could try to find out more about Will online till then."

  Bran shook his head. "You can often find out a lot if you have a name, but the results of address searches get unreliable beyond a couple of decades. Plus the sites doing it want money.."

  "You've done this before."

  "Five hours of my life I'll never get back."

  "Maybe you should hire a professional. Gabe's a private detective, you know."

  "He is?"

  "Well, he got his license because he has friends in dubious places, but he's been taking classes."

  "Maybe later. Let's wait to see what David comes up with first."

  "Okay, so what do we do till then?"

  "Shower. Then it's time you learn how to summon a spirit."

  "You think that's a good idea?"

  "Knowing you, you'll probably do it by accident. It'll be much safer for everyone involved if you know the proper procedure."

  ***

  The session started with Bran giving a lecture about summoning in general. Denton was surprised to learn about the variety of rituals and all the different props they used.

  "I don't get it," he said. "What's all the fuss about? You summoned Esther Bernal's spirit easily enough, and there were no bronze daggers or wands in sight."

  "What I performed was a basic ritual. Even then, the presence of Ashley and especially you in the circle boosted the spell's power. Most of all, I didn't conjure the spirit—she was already there. I merely made it move a few feet. You'll need something much stronger to reach Gene."

  Bran went on in excruciating detail about the difference between summoning spirits and demons. "You don't want to accidentally end up with the wrong one. Spirits are only shadows of the once-living. Demons, on the other hand, are creatures with wills and minds of their own, and they are hard to control."