Authors: Terri Garey
I was afraid to look at Joe. We hadn’t discussed the particulars of what I’d do to convince Randy that I was the spirit of Michelle, but my instincts told me that the more freaked out Randy was, the better.
What would freak out a guy who’d drowned somebody more than seeing that somebody come crawling out of the water? I prayed that between the freak-out, the darkness and the mud on my face, I’d look enough like Michelle to fool him.
Not that I was going to get all the way into that nasty black pond, of course—that would be too gross—but being all wet and muddy and having my feet in the water would give the illusion that I was dragging myself onto the bank.
And it worked.
Randy took a few more steps toward the pond, and then the bushes were no longer in his line of sight.
I was.
He staggered, visibly shocked. I wasn’t sure which one of us looked scarier—him with his blood-streaked face, or me with my mud-covered one. I borrowed a
page from all the bad zombie movies I’d ever seen, and twisted my lips into a sneer, glaring at him beneath my lashes. Saying nothing, I let my eyes do the talking as I started crawling slowly toward him, digging my nails into the muddy grass surrounding the pond.
“Wha…wha…” Randy was momentarily speechless. His fear did my heart good, and almost made up for the scrapes I was gonna have on my knees.
“Randy,” I whispered hoarsely, giving my voice a coarse, guttural quality that strained my vocal cords. I drew out his name as I kept crawling, very slowly. “Raaaannnndddyyy…did you miss me, lover?”
“You’re not real.” Randy started backing up, away from me.
“He raped me,” Michelle said. I hadn’t seen her reappear since she’d slammed and locked the door, but my eyes had been trained on Randy. “He had me follow him here to the garage, saying he’d patch my tire, but when I got out of the car he dragged me in the back and threw me down on the bed. I screamed and cried, but there was nobody here to hear me.”
“That was so sweet of you to offer to fix my tire,” I rasped to Randy, not having to fake the hatred I was feeling. I didn’t want to come any closer to him, so I
slowly stood up, never taking my eyes from his. Joe’s formerly white t-shirt clung to me, hanging to my knees, heavy with mud and water. “Did you like the way I screamed when you raped me?” I bared my teeth in a ghoulish grin. “Was it good for you?”
Randy was paler than any ghost. He shook his head, wordlessly, eyes as big as saucers.
“When he was done he got off me, and told me to get dressed,” Michelle’s voice was shaking. “I thought he was going to let me go—I was so stupid!” A sob broke from her throat.
I didn’t dare look at her, but every word she said left its mark on my heart.
Poor girl. Poor Michelle.
“I’m never going to leave you, you know,” I rasped maliciously to Randy, wishing I had a shotgun of my own. “Real men like you are so hard to come by.”
“I turned toward the door, and he hit me in the back of the head.” Michelle hadn’t finished her story. “Everything went black. I dreamed about being back in my car and watching it fill with water—I thought it was just a nightmare, a horrible nightmare, until that day at the bridal shop.”
Oh, how I hated being the one who’d woken Michelle from her nightmare. Sometimes the spirits I met knew full well they were dead, sometimes they didn’t; it was definitely easier if they knew, but either way, it was never any fun for me.
But I had more bad news to deliver, and this time I didn’t mind it so much.
“You’re the man of my dreams, Randy,” I lied, holding out my muddy arms. “Now we can be together forever.”
A wet stain appeared on Randy’s jeans, just below
his giant belt buckle. I’d never known how satisfying making someone pee his pants could be. I didn’t have much time to enjoy it, though, because Randy turned and ran for the parking lot.
“Raannndddy,” I rasped loudly, taking a few steps in his direction. “Don’t leave me here, Randy!” I looked frantically at Joe, where he crouched behind the section of tumbledown fence. My vague plan had been to get Randy to confess his crime, but if he took off, this whole muddy episode would have been for nothing.
Joe stood up, but it was too late—Randy’s pickup rumbled to life, and he tore out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, leaving nothing but a spray of dirt and a plume of reddish dust in his wake.
“What do we do now?” I asked Joe plaintively.
Joe shook his head, walking toward me along the wet, muddy bank of the pond. “I don’t think he’ll get very far on these dark back roads without headlights,” he said.
And sure enough, there was a squeal of tires followed by a huge thud, then the tinkle of broken glass.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “I thought
I
played rough.”
There was a hard light in Joe’s eyes—one I’d never seen before. “The bastard put his hands on you,” he said flatly. “And he murdered that poor girl. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“You may have done exactly that.” I was shocked; my gentle, playful lover had a dark side all his own.
Joe shrugged, pulling out his cellphone. “He deserved it,” he said. “I hope he burns in hell.”
Unfortunately, hell was going to have to wait. We could hear Randy’s shouts and groans long before we made it to the pickup, which hadn’t gone very far.
Joe called an ambulance on his cellphone, telling the police dispatcher there’d been an accident in front of the One-Stop Body Shop, then very reluctantly stopped to get his emergency medical kit out of the trunk of his car.
Then we went toward the truck, which, from all appearances, had kissed a tree pretty hard. Branches from the tree covered the crumpled hood and rested on the roof. The one front tire I could see looked pretty mangled—that truck wasn’t going anywhere unless it was on the flatbed of a wrecker.
“Help!” Randy called, from inside the cab. His voice was weak, thready. “Somebody help me.”
Joe took his time, putting his medical kit on the ground and opening it without saying a word. He pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and put them on, a sour expression on his face.
I hung back a little, not wanting Randy to see me. I was still wet and mud-covered, though I’d slipped my half-boots back on when we’d reached Joe’s car.
“Is somebody there?” Randy asked weakly. “Anybody out there?”
I was tempted to stick my head in the broken window and give him another good scare, but I restrained myself. For the time being, I’d let Joe handle it.
“This is Dr. Joe Bascombe from Columbia Hospital in Atlanta,” Joe said, in a clipped tone. “An ambulance is on the way.”
“Oh, thank Gawd,” Randy moaned. “I think both my legs are broken.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Joe murmured. Then he went to the driver’s side door and peered in the window, which was shattered. “Are you injured anywhere else?”
“My chest hurts,” Randy moaned. “I think I hit it on the steering wheel.”
Joe frowned. “Are you having any trouble breathing?”
“No. But it hurts like a motherfucker. Can you get me out of here?” he whined. It was obvious that Randy either couldn’t see Joe very well in the dark, or just didn’t recognize him as the man he’d been brawling with in the parking lot of the Long Branch Saloon.
“Unless you’re bleeding heavily or having trouble breathing, it’s best not to move around too much. You may have spinal or internal injuries and I don’t have the equipment here to handle the level of care required. The ambulance will be here soon.”
Another groan was Joe’s answer.
“I’m going to open the door and check your vitals. Try and stay still.”
I watched while Joe reached in and did something to Randy; I couldn’t see the murdering asshole from my angle, and that was fine with me.
“Your pupils look good. How’s your head?”
“It hurts, man…cain’t you give me something for the pain?”
Joe shook his head. “Nothing until the paramedics get here.” His expression was pure doctor, dispassionate and intent. “Pulse is steady, that’s good. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two,” Randy groaned. “My legs are killin’ me.”
It was like Randy had used the magic word. Joe stepped back, then looked at me. There was a gleam in his eyes that warned me he was up to something. “Yeah, I’ll bet they are. Can’t move, can you?”
“Hell, no. Where the fuck is that ambulance?”
Joe didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his eyebrows at me in an unspoken question, and like a flash, I knew what he was up to.
My nod and my smile gave him the answer he needed. With the flick of a finger, he motioned me to stand behind him, then turned back to Randy.
I got into position, staying back while Joe distracted Randy with more doctor talk.
“That’s a nasty cut on your cheek. Might need some stitches. I’ve got some bandages right here in my first aid kit.” Joe moved away, leaving me with an unobstructed view of Randy, and him with a clear shot of me, framed in the open door of the truck.
“AAAAAHHHH,” Randy shrieked, jerking backward on the front seat. He didn’t get very far, though, his legs like two dead weights dragging him down. His face was pale and blood-streaked, and a bruise was beginning to darken his chin.
I gave him my best ghoulish grin, delighted to be able to terrify the murdering bastard without having to worry about him coming after me.
“Get her away from me,” he hollered, sounding like a little girl frightened by a spider. “Get her away.”
Joe stepped in front of me, his expression unconcerned. “Calm down, big fella. Get who away from you?”
Randy raised a shaking finger and pointed. “Her! She’s right behind you! Get her away!”
Joe turned and looked, but didn’t acknowledge me in any way. “I don’t see anything. There’s nobody here but you and me.”
“I’m tellin’ you, man, she’s right behind you!” Randy’s eyes were popping out of his head with fright.
I raised my hand and gave him a little wave, smiling all the while. “He can’t see me, Randy,” I rasped, “or hear me. Only you can see me. And you’re going to see me every day for the rest of your life, unless you tell
the nice man where to find my body.” I moued him a kiss.
To my surprise, Randy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell over in a dead faint.
“Coward,” Joe muttered. “Not so brave now, are you, Cornpone?”
I heard a girl’s laughter, and it wasn’t mine. Michelle was still with us, and given the circumstances, I was glad she was enjoying the show.
Joe sighed, and went back to his medical kit.
“Is he okay? When I said I wanted to scare him to death, I didn’t mean
literally
.” I couldn’t help but be a little nervous—unlike Randy, I was no murderer. I didn’t want anybody’s death on my conscience.
“He’s fine,” Joe said. “His pulse is good, he’s alert and talking, no dilation of the pupils. Unfortunately, I see this all the time in the E.R. When a person is drunk, like Jethro here, their reactions are slower, so the body doesn’t have time to tense up before impact, which often results in fewer injuries.” Joe shook his head, disgusted. “I’m willing to bet this jerk’s got nothing wrong with him but a couple of bruised ribs, maybe a broken leg. But I think he needs a little more convincing to do the right thing.” He ripped open a packet of something—ammonia, I guess—and held it under Randy’s nose.
Randy’s face twitched, eyes fluttering. When he opened them, his expression was dazed. “Wha…what happened?”
“You passed out, buddy,” Joe said, faking a doctorly concern. “And right before that you were hallucinating. Must be a head injury—if that ambulance doesn’t get here soon I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you.”
“What do you mean?” Randy’s face showed fear of a different kind than I’d inspired earlier.
“Subdural hematoma,” Joe intoned. “Bleeding on the brain. It could be very serious.”
“What?” Randy’s voice cracked on the word. “Am I gonna die?”
Joe hesitated, and I stepped up, coming where Randy could see me over Joe’s shoulder.
“Oh, I hope so, lover boy,” I said, smirking. “Then we can really be together forever.”
Randy gasped, eyes glued to me. He seemed, for the moment, speechless.
“I’m a doctor, not a priest,” Joe said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “But if you have anything you’d like to get off your conscience, now might be the time to do it.”
Randy’s Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed. His eyes moved back and forth, from Joe to me.
“Tell him,” I hissed, deciding to get tough. “Tell him what you did to me, and how you put my body in the car and drove it into the pond.” I was improvising as to the details, but I knew it had to be something like that. “Tell him where I am so my soul can be at peace.” Giving Randy my fiercest glare, I threatened, “Do it, or you’ll never have a peaceful night again as long as you live.”
It was my sincere hope he’d never have one anyway, but I had only one night—this night—to convince him of it.
“You’re not looking so good, buddy,” Joe said to Randy, completely ignoring me. “Stay with me, now.”
“Everywhere you look, you’ll see my face,” I rasped. “Every time you close your eyes, you’ll hear my voice.” I raised my hands, curling my fingers into claws for good measure. “Every time you touch a woman, you’ll
feel my cold, dead flesh instead of hers. Your dick will…”
That did it. I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before Randy blurted, “I killed somebody. I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t!”
I glared at him, knowing a lie when I heard it, but he couldn’t look at me anymore.
He grabbed at Joe, babbling a confession. “It was an accident—I panicked and tried to hide the body. I put her in the front seat of her car and drove it into the pond.” He was frantic now, beginning to blubber, crocodile tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.
“Are you telling me you killed someone? A woman?” Joe’s voice was very calm. The wail of sirens came from somewhere far away.
“Michelle. Her name was Michelle.” His gaze flicked to me but didn’t linger. He stared at Joe, holding tight to one of Joe’s wrists.
Joe drew back, pulling his arm from Randy’s grasp.
“You gotta help me, man,” Randy pleaded.
“You need a lot more help than I can give you,
man
.” Joe’s tone was grim, and so was the look he gave me.
The wail of sirens was a lot closer now, strobe-like red and blue lights flashing through the trees.
Randy saw them, too. “Thank Gawd,” he moaned in relief, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the seat.
Joe jerked his head toward the trees, and I took the hint, ducking low and threading my way into the bushes surrounding the truck.
I was expecting an ambulance, but it was a sheriff ’s cruiser that reached the scene first. Only one deputy, and a pretty hefty one at that. His gut led the way as he
got out of the car, settling his hat over a nearly bald head as he emerged.
“You the guy called nine-one-one?” The deputy took Joe’s measure pretty quickly, eyes flicking over the open medical kit on the ground and the stethoscope Joe wore around his neck as he walked toward the truck.
Joe nodded an affirmative. “I’m Dr. Joe Bascombe from Columbia Hospital in Atlanta—I came upon the scene and was able to offer medical assistance.”
“Looks like Randy Catlett’s truck—he in there?”
Joe nodded again. “He’s in there. He’s banged up, but he’ll survive.”