The Devil's Beating His Wife (15 page)

Jimmy moved the paint roller all the way to the ceiling. I didn't think he was going to say anything. Then he turned towards Paul and the iciness in his blue eyes pinned me to my spot. "And how exactly would I have done that?"

The giant laughed again. "I don't know, man. You like to play jokes. Maybe you had a string tied to the end and tugged on it so it would fall?"

"How do you come up with this shit?" asked Ronnie.

The tall man chuckled and slapped Jimmy on the back of the head. "I have a very active imagination. I can't believe you got Daddy to talk about what happened here. He never told me, even though I asked him a million and one questions."

Lily walked into the room, carrying a tray of sandwiches. She placed them on the table near the window. She walked over to the ladder where Jimmy sat, and she glanced up towards the wall. "I simply love this color."

The only color worse would have been blood-splatter red. Then again, I thought a saw a can of that lying in the kitchen. Huffing with outrage, I pulled back my leg and kicked the paint can towards the woman. It spun across the floor, pouring out gobs and gobs of paint.

"Dammit, Lily, you've always been a clumsy one," said Jimmy.

Lily glanced down at the can and looked in my direction. Her mouth hung open. A rosy blush touched her cheeks. She shook her head in disbelief and slapped Jimmy on his thigh. "I didn't do that. I wasn't anywhere near the can."

Jimmy looked down at Lily. As the two stared at each other, the similarities in their faces began to sink into my mind. Jimmy, here, must have been Lily's brother.

Ronnie walked to the can and crouched down beside it. He studied the can for a few moments before glancing down at the floor. His fingers slid across the paint-slick surface. "Fuck, Oliver, the damn floor is uneven."

The tall man, who must have been Oliver, shrugged his shoulders. "Beggars can't be choosers."

Ronnie rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and placed his hands on his hips. After taking a deep breath, he said, "I should have listened to Lily when she said I needed to hire professionals. This is the last time I ask your sorry asses for help."

"It's the last time it's offered," said Jimmy as he climbed down the ladder. He walked around his sister to stand before the window. "This place sure looks a helluva lot better than it did a few weeks ago. You guys should be proud of yourselves. I didn't think this dump had this much potential."

"That's all due to Ronnie," Lily said, slipping her arm around her husband's waist.

Ronnie glanced down at his wife and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "I told you that I'd take care of you and that's what I'm doing."

"Hard to believe what they've done to this place," Baxter whispered into my ear. I smacked at my ear like he was an annoying bug buzzing too close to my head. "I doubt they'll be leaving anytime soon, especially with all the money they done spent on this place. I can't believe how good it looks."

I whipped around in shock. "You sound almost happy."

"It'll be nice to have a little girl running around. Gives me something to look forward to. I mean, you spent all these years pretending that I didn't exist—"

"If only I didn't have to pretend," I snapped.

"Stop being a grouch, will you?"

The living people around us faded into a blur. I could hear them talking about the delicious sandwiches that Lily had made. I could hear them talking about their plans for the yard. I could hear them breathing and living, but my whole attention was focused on the annoying ghost standing in front of me.

"You think I'm being grouchy?" I said.

"I think you're being a tad bit shrewish, if we're being honest."

With that, I curled my hand into a fist and swung at his face. He ducked at the last moment. My fist slammed into the ladder, shaking it. The impact didn't really hurt me, but my mind recalled what pain would have felt like. I held my fist at my bosom and cradled my arm as Baxter laughed.

The tall man yelped in surprise. Jimmy began to choke on the bite of ham sandwich he had just shoved into his mouth. Ronnie reached out and steadied the ladder.

"I'm going to have to tear the floor up and re-do it," Ronnie said.

"It's really not that bad," said Oliver, surveying his handiwork.

Lily stared at the air around the ladder. It was like she was trying to search us out. Unknown to her, both me and Baxter stood just an inch behind her, watching her.

Something ornery took root in me. I dropped my hand to my side and leaned towards Lily. Inhaling deeply, I blew out the air against Lily's nape.

She slapped her hand against the back of her neck and whipped around. Her eyes immediately sought out Ronnie, and I instantly regretted my choice. The woman was already terrorized by her husband. There was no reason to add to that terror.

"You're an evil woman, Spicey." Baxter wrapped his hands around my shoulders and pulled me away from Lily.

"What's wrong, Lil?" asked Jimmy as he stared at his sister. Lily simply shook her head, smiled, and left the room. Jimmy's head swiveled as he watched his sister's swift departure. "What bee got up her bonnet?"

"Maybe she forgot the food in the oven?" Oliver asked, jokingly.

Ronnie stood in the middle of the room. His eyebrows wrinkled as his attention turned inward. I wasn't sure if he was perplexed by Lily's reaction or if he was still bemoaning the uneven floor. I reckoned it was the floor.

Baxter walked to the window and crouched down towards the pane. His nose was nearly pressed against the glass and if the living had been watching close enough, they would have seen the faint marks of his breath. But they weren't. Jimmy was too consumed with eating. Oliver was too focused on bothering his brother, and Ronnie continued to stand in the room, pondering something.

With Lily gone from the room, I felt a bit of boldness return. I crept over to the sandwich tray and stood beside Jimmy. When he lowered his hand to grab another sandwich, I planted my fingers firmly down on the plate and pushed it towards his groin. He dropped the sandwich in surprise and stepped away from the table. He turned around to look at Oliver and Jimmy, but they were too far away to have done anything. Jimmy stared down at the tray for a moment and then he shook his head.

Just when he had apparently convinced himself he'd imagined it, I slipped my fingers under the tray and flipped it upwards, causing all of the remaining sandwiches to fall to the floor.

"What the hell?" asked Jimmy as he leapt away from the table.

"Damn it, you clumsy oaf, you knocked over all of our food." Oliver stomped across the floor and came to stand beside the table. He stuck his long finger out and poked Jimmy in his chest. "You're going to clean that up."

"I didn't do it," complained Jimmy.

I couldn't help myself. I laughed loudly. Jimmy looked genuinely spooked.

"Spicey..." Baxter began, but his voice faded away.

I glanced in his direction and waved my fist. "You shut your mouth, Baxter Bennett. Not just an hour ago, you was talkin' bout how good it'll be having other folk around. Well, you got that right. It's gonna be really good fun having these folks around." As Jimmy and Oliver continued to bicker over the cause of the tray flipping over, I placed my hands on top of the window pane and slammed the window down, causing the glass to wobble.

That got their attention. They both jumped back in fear. Oliver, the bastard, pushed Jimmy towards the window, as if sacrificing his friend.

"Would you two knock it off? I've already got a headache," roared Ronnie from the other side of the room. He was sitting on a loveseat with his head cradled in his hands. I hadn't even heard him move to that spot.

I picked up a bunch of paper and sent the sheets flying into the air. I rocked the table on its legs, which sent the glass bottles rolling off the edge. They shattered against the floor.

Jimmy began to pray. Oliver began to curse. Ronnie began to run from the room.

Admiring my work, since it had been my first try at haunting someone, I spun around in a circle, taking in all of the damage.

"You happy with yourself?" asked Baxter as he watched the other men retreat from the room. From the corner of my eye, I could see him lounging against the wall. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his dark gray trousers.

The momentary elation I had felt left me. In its place were sorrow, anger, and heartbreak. This was the first time that I had been happy in over twenty years.

If I had been alive, the thought would have never crossed my mind to do this to another person. But civility had left me when my heart stopped beating. Maybe if I had been a bit less civil when I was alive, my heart might have still been beating.

"I'm dead," I whispered. I don't know why I said it out loud. It had long been established.

"We're both dead," said Baxter. He pushed away from the wall and stood in front of me. He raised a hand as if he wanted to touch me, but the unsteady look in my eye must have stayed his hand. "We're dead, but we're still here."

My mind recalled the sensation of crying. I could almost feel the tears welling up behind my eyes. I could almost feel my nose clogging with snot. "Why are we still here?"

Baxter shook his head. There was a twinkle in his eye when he said, "That's the wrong question to ask, Ms. Harrell."

I rubbed my fingers across my nose and resigned myself—once again—to my fate. I stared at the man who killed me as he beamed at me with love and adoration.

"The right question to ask is—what are we going to do about it?"

CHAPTER NINE

July 4, 1970, Laurens County

I wasn't sure who the woman was. I had never seen her before, but she moved around the place as if she was one of its owners. She was standing in the center of the living room, staring down at the floor. She raised a hand to her face and brushed away a tear. She seemed sad and lonely. Detached from the celebration happening outside.

Her gray hair had strands of brown running through it. She had it pulled tightly into a ponytail. Her face had probably been pretty at one time, but now it was ruined by middle age and hard living. Her eyes were puffy and dark-rimmed. Her nose was red like that of a drunk. She was an average-sized woman, yet she looked bloated.

She knelt down, grabbed the edges of the hideous mirror, and hoisted it. She placed a knee on the couch and then lifted the mirror onto a hook on the wall. She adjusted its position, making sure it was perfectly centered, and then she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

The woman had just started to clean the glass when she gasped loudly and dropped the cloth. Her eyes were focused on a reflection in the mirror. I shifted my gaze from her to the mirror's hideous surface, and there I was, standing over her shoulder.

She could see me.

I stood there in shock for a moment with my mouth hanging open and my arms dangling at my sides.

Her eyes were wide. Terror filled their depths. She turned around as if to confront me, but she fell over herself when she discovered no one else was standing in the living room.

As she whipped her head around to look back into the mirror, I darted into the hallway. From my new hiding place, I continued to watch her. She looked at the mirror and then looked behind her, expecting to see me still in the room.

"Is there someone there?" she asked, her voice quivering with fear. She glanced outside the window and scanned the crowd. When she didn't see me, she returned to the mirror and continued to gaze in it.

She was breathing heavily. Her hand rose to clutch the front of her shirt. Sweat beaded on her brow.

I braced my arm against the wall and rested my head against my hand. I could see the woman was working herself into a panic, but there was nothing I could do to help her. I just stood aside and watched her unravel.

"Who's the woman?" Baxter asked.

I shook my head. "I've never seen her before."

"Is she having a heart attack, you think?" he asked, leaning against the wall. Baxter was very close to me. The edge of his shirt brushed my elbow.

He had been doing that lately. With each encounter, he would move closer and closer to me. He never touched me, but he made it so that only a whisper separated us. I knew he was trying to wear down my defenses. I figured it wouldn't harm him none if he thought his plan was working.

"If she died, do you think she would be stuck haunting this place with us?" I asked.

Baxter leaned around me to stare hard at the woman. His brow furrowed. Then he closed his eyes and bounced his head against the wall. "This can't be."

"What is it?"

His blue eyes turned on me. "I think I know her." He pushed away from the wall and walked around me. Entering the living room, he advanced slowly and deliberately in the woman's direction.

She was now standing there rubbing her hands through her hair. She was biting her bottom lip. Her eyes were a bit crazed.

Baxter walked to the woman. He leaned down so his face was level with hers. He examined her features and raised his hand as if to touch her. His fingers brushed across her bottom lip, and then he leapt backwards, away from the woman.

"Mary-Alice?"

She was his sister-in-law? The pretty and flirtatious girl that had stolen his brother's heart? Damn. Time had not been kind to her.

He rubbed his palms against his pants as if they were sweaty. He dropped his head and mumbled words I couldn't hear. As his tone became harsher, Baxter raised his hands and shoved his fingers through his wavy, blond hair.

His movements were frantic. The volume of his voice increased as did the rapidness of his words. "What have I done? What is she doing here? Why did she come?" He looked genuinely distressed.

I knew that it shouldn't have, but it worried me. I had never seen Baxter so not in control of his actions. Feeling a bit of sympathy, I approached him and placed my hand on his shoulder.