“I wonder what they’re trying to forget.”
“Maybe they just like alcohol. Or,” Trey said, narrowing his eyes, “they both were involved in killing Coleman and Bryan.” When my eyes widened in surprise, Trey continued, a bit loudly, “What? We’re both thinking it!”
“Shh!”
Hollis and Thornton had both turned their heads our way.
In low tones, Trey said, “You can’t be a ghost without being dead. And if Bryan and Coleman disappeared at the same time, that indicates foul play. And that rumor about Coleman meeting some gal and getting married is pure bullshit. No, Coleman and Bryan were most likely murdered. Even if Thornton wasn’t directly involved, I bet he helped Darryl cover up the crime. At the very least, he hushed the whole thing up and told people that the two simply left town, when he knew damn well that they were dead.”
“And they’re, like, four feet away from us.” My head was buzzing, though. Coleman was trying to tell me something, but all I was really getting from him was waves of hatred. I closed my eyes, feeling a little sick to my stomach.
“So? You want things stirred up, don’t you? I’m sure Coleman would.”
Darryl Hollis’s head jerked up. I was sure he overheard Trey saying his son’s name. The man turned his head slightly, eyeing us with a frown.
But Trey was right. Coleman was pleased with the reaction. I could tell.
THAT AFTERNOON
a nap I was taking was interrupted by a call from Betty Schultz, telling me that Deputy Sheriff Hughes was downstairs and wanted to have a word with me. I thanked her and quickly made my way downstairs. Erin Hughes was standing by the front desk, wearing a heavy coat and a stern expression.
“Shall we sit in the solarium a moment?” she suggested. “I want to fill you in on what’s happening.”
I didn’t feel like sitting, so I perched on the edge of a wicker chair and clasped my hands together tightly to keep them from shaking. Hughes tried a reassuring smile, but she gave up on it quickly.
“He’s out, isn’t he?” I said.
She nodded. “He’s been instructed to come nowhere near you or Trey. He’d been checked in here at the Raven’s Rest, but he’s packed up and left now. Presumably he’s gone back to Rockford. I want you to call me if you see him, or even if you hear from him. Phone calls, anything. Hell, if he leaves you a nasty message on Facebook, I want to hear about it.”
So Kevin had been staying here at the inn. He must have been the guy in the Raven Suite. It chilled me to think he’d been just down the hall. I sighed deeply. “Thanks for telling me.”
“How’s Trey?” Hughes asked.
I managed a smile. “He’s acting like he’s invincible, of course. When people tell him he looks like he’s been in a fight, he answers that they should see the other guy. So he’s being Trey. All five foot seven of skinny badass toughness. Or at least that’s what he’d like people to think.”
“That sounds like Trey. And you?”
I exhaled slowly and sat back. “Oh,” I said, “I can honestly say I’ve never felt quite like this.”
I could tell Hughes didn’t know what to make of this statement. I wasn’t sure myself.
OVERALL, I
felt okay. Weird but okay. Most of the time I could even forget that Coleman Hollis was somewhere in my brain, or wherever he was. I felt a little sluggish, drained, as if I’d just finished some strenuous exercise. My right eye felt funny, like that eyelid was heavier than the left one, and occasionally I found myself trying to use my left hand as the dominant one. Coleman must have been left-handed. And still, when I looked in a mirror, I first saw Coleman’s reflection, which quickly morphed into my own.
I took a long hot bath late that afternoon and lazed in the water as I pondered my situation. I knew I had to tell Trey, or somebody. Yes, he’d tell me I’d been foolish, but I had been. Trey, however, wouldn’t hold it against me like Kevin would. So I’d take my lumps and spill my guts.
After getting out of the tub and toweling off, I padded naked into the bedroom and called Trey to see if he’d like to get together.
“Let me check my busy social calendar,” he answered. “Oh, look. I’m free. What a coincidence. Wrote a new song, by the way. You get to listen to it before we head out and find something to do. If it sucks, don’t tell me.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I assured him before hanging up.
I hadn’t shaved in the morning, not wanting to gaze into the mirror at the time, so I lathered up and scraped a razor across my cheeks. My lip was healing nicely but was still tender, so I took extra care shaving around my mouth. I’d done half my face before I realized I was using my left hand. I stared at it, gripping the disposable razor.
“Coleman, show me what you need to show me and get the hell out,” I muttered. I braced myself and then peered into the mirror. My reflection. My right eye twitched, but that was my only sign from the spirit within me.
In movies, when someone gets possessed, they go around hacking people to death with an ax, or spewing pea soup and doing three-hundred-and-sixty-degree head turns. The original personality is completely dominated by the new entity. I wasn’t finding that the case, thankfully. Not that I thought Coleman was a murderous type.
And what was he experiencing? When I looked in the mirror, what did Coleman’s consciousness see? Did he see himself, foam all over his face, ready to be shaved? Did he see his eyes looking back at him? Or did he see the man who so resembled his old boyfriend, Bryan Finn?
And what had happened to Bryan Finn, anyway? Why couldn’t his spirit be with Coleman?
Maybe Jesenia Maupin would know. I made a mental note to contact her first thing in the morning.
I finished shaving with my right hand and dressed. Jeans, a light blue shirt, and a brown pullover sweater. After donning a heavy jacket, I made my way downstairs, first pausing to listen at the door to the Raven Suite. No sounds came from within. Good.
Outside, Lonnie Schultz was taking down the Halloween decorations. He was trying to stuff a battery-operated witch into an already overstuffed box when he saw me emerging.
“Hey, Mr. C! How are things today?”
“Better than yesterday,” I answered.
“Yeah, heard about that. Exes are a bitch, aren’t they?”
“Truer words were never spoken, Lonnie.” Something clicked in my mind. “That scrapbook you showed me. The one with the pictures of Coleman Hollis in it. Do you think I could see if again?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I don’t think there are any other pictures of Coleman, though.”
“But there are some of the house before it became the Raven’s Rest?”
“Oh, sure. Loads.”
“I’d like to see them, if I may.”
“I can get it for you now, if you like.” I thought any excuse to stop packing up decorations would have been welcome to Lonnie.
I shook my head. “I’m off to see Trey. Tomorrow morning will be fine.”
Lonnie nodded as he picked up a foam tombstone. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, Mr. C. I’ve enjoyed our chats.”
“I’ll still be in town, Lonnie. Just down the street, really. And I’ll be working at the cafe. You can always drop in and see me there.”
“Might just do that, Mr. C. You take care now.”
I went down the porch steps slowly, as I was feeling a bit uneasy. I had nothing to base my fears on other than a niggling at the base of my spine. I’d never been prone to premonitions, but this one turned out to be accurate. When I got to my car in the parking lot, something immediately looked off-kilter, and it soon was obvious that my back left tire was flat. I squatted down and examined it, as if that would help. As if I could will air back into the stupid thing. I sighed and stood up, rubbing the back of my neck to ease the tension building there. The tire was fairly new, and I hadn’t had any trouble with it previously. Had I run over a nail or something? Did that even deflate tires nowadays?
Lonnie must have seen me standing there looking like a damsel in distress because the next thing I knew his voice sounded behind me, startling me a little.
“Damn, man. That is one flat tire.”
I smiled wryly and went to open the trunk. “Well, now we get to see if I can change a tire without killing myself.” I blinked as I looked at the debris in front of me. I saw an empty box that had been there since Christmas, a John Grisham paperback, jumper cables that I’d never used, and some other junk. No tire. “Where is it?”
Chuckling, Lonnie moved me out of the way and shoved the jumper cables aside. “Under here, my man.” He showed me there was a flat of carpeting covering the well where the spare was stored. A frown crossed his face. “Unfortunately, it’s flat as well.”
Now I recalled that the tire that was now flat had been replaced (by Kevin) sometime in the spring and at that time he’d warned me that my spare needed air. I groaned in disgust. “Is there anywhere in town that can fix this?” I asked as I kicked the offending tire.
“Sure, several places.” Lonnie was trying his best to seem encouraging. “Roscoe’s is the closest. I’d have him tow you in, and he can get you fixed up in a flash.”
“Tonight?” I asked hopefully.
Lonnie sucked in air with a wet hiss and shook his head. “First thing in the morning, though. Want me to call him?”
“Please.”
Lonnie spoke to Roscoe himself, but his prediction that I’d have to wait until morning held true. He ended the call and said, “If you need a ride….”
“I’m just going to Trey’s. I can walk.”
Lonnie, still holding a plastic skeleton, seemed dubious. “If you’re sure.”
I wasn’t, to be honest. The flat tire worried me, as I wasn’t altogether sure it was a mere flat tire. Had someone deliberately let the air out or slashed it? I could see no obvious slices in the rubber, but that didn’t mean much. And with Kevin out of jail, anything was possible. It was just the sort of petty thing he’d do. Supposedly he’d left town, but what if he was waiting for me somewhere, such as down the street?
On the other hand, I was anxious to see Trey, and if I got a ride from Lonnie I’d first have to wait for him to go in and let his mother know and get his keys. By that time, I could be halfway to Trey’s house.
“I’m good,” I said, but it wasn’t me who spoke.
My voice must have sounded odd to Lonnie, because he shot me a curious glance. “You got our number if you need anything, right?”
“Sure do.” That was me. Everything was back to normal. But why had Coleman suddenly spoken up?
I began walking and pondered as I went. I tried to search my mind, to sense Coleman’s presence there, but it had retreated just as suddenly as it had emerged. He had wanted me to go on foot, or so it seemed. Why?
Reaching the corner, I began to feel a little less worried. Night was falling and the skies were overcast, but there were lots of lights on in the houses along the way, and every now and then I could see people inside, going about their business. If Kevin was lying in wait, I had options. Just in case, I got my cell phone out of my pocket and kept it in my hand after punching in 911. A touch of the Send button would bring law enforcement officials in a matter of minutes.
I continued to walk, and once again tried to access the part of my brain where I felt Coleman was residing.
Why did you want me to walk instead of accepting a lift?
I asked silently.
There was no direct reply, but I did get a feeling like he was trying to tell me something. He just didn’t have the energy, or maybe he was adjusting to the possession, same as I was.
And then I felt compelled to slow my pace. It was certainly an odd feeling, like my legs suddenly were leaden, and a sharp pain at the base of my neck made me cry out. Okay, Coleman was trying to tell me something, but what? I looked around. On my left, across the street, were modest little houses, most of them lit, as the families within were getting ready for dinner or to settle down to watch some television. On my right was a vacant lot, and slightly ahead of me was an old building that had once been a record store. Now it was derelict, with rotting timbers and broken windows.
No, it wasn’t the building Coleman was trying to draw my attention to. The vacant lot?
It was like a buzzer went off in my brain. Bingo.
But what was there that Coleman wanted me to see? All I could make out was overgrown grass, what looked like a patch where some kids had attempted to make a baseball diamond and given up, and some discarded junk—a tire someone had left, lots of broken glass and bottles, and a rusted bicycle that looked like it had been lying untouched in the dirt for decades.
An image sprang to my mind, a memory. It just wasn’t my memory.
Coleman and Bryan were walking out of Marty’s Record Shop, only now it wasn’t a deserted wreck. The building was painted a deep russet, and there was a lit sign hanging over the door with the shop’s name, promising great deals on the latest releases. Bryan had a slim package in his hands, and the two young men were laughing and jostling each other as they walked. Bryan opened his paper package and pulled out a record album. I recognized the cover as Pink Floyd’s
Dark Side of the Moon
. They were talking, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Coleman pointed to something on the album and made a comment and Bryan laughed.
They were a cute couple, I thought to myself, and they were so obviously in love, but I was a little surprised they weren’t toning down their affection while they were out in public. Surely they were a bit brazen for a small town in the 1980s. They had my admiration, but I couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry for them.
And considering they both vanished without a trace, my concern wasn’t misguided.
They approached the spot where I was standing, obviously not seeing me. It was a vision, after all. I wasn’t really there. But as Bryan came closer, his image began to fade. When the couple was only a few feet away from me, the smiling Bryan—my twin from another era—was barely visible at all. They came abreast of me, and suddenly Coleman was walking alone. He glanced at me—no, at the vacant lot behind me—with a look of unbearable sorrow. And then he too disappeared from sight.