Authors: Mimi Barbour
“Joey? What the hell is going on? Are you okay?” Possibly a dumb question, considering the man’s actions. A quick glance from Dr. Andrews testified to the fact that he thought it a rather silly query, also.
“No, you idiot. I’m not okay. I’m freakin’ out here, and if you don’t stop me, I’m gonna be shooting you, only it won’t be me, it’ll be Arnie, but he’s me, and there won’t be a damn thing I can do to stop him.”
“You—him? What are you going on about? I don’t get it. Who wants to shoot me?”
Dr. Andrews threw Ash another what-are-you,-dumb? look. The answer was actually pretty clear.
But it was too late. Joey doubled over, shuddered, then sagged. When he stood and straightened, the gun waving around in his hand became visible and menacing. His face had somehow collapsed, and a sneering image took its place.
“Joey doesn’t wanna shoot you, but I do. It’s all I think about. And after I do you in, I’ll be looking to finish off your partner, the ice princess.” The droopy posture and sneering voice identified Arnie clearly. “Thought you’d get away from me, eh? Well, Joker, life has some pretty weird and unexpected twists. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You don’t have to tell us—we know. You’re dead. Your body’s in the morgue, isn’t that correct?” Dr. Andrew’s professional persona took over as he questioned the malicious, volatile man in front of them. Remembering Ashley’s tale of how the nurse had let the cat out of the bag over Arnie’s demise clued him in as to what must have transpired. The last he’d personally seen of the two men, they were tussling near the rose bush, and he was sure an incident had taken place. The anomaly in front of him just proved that death didn’t stop the spirit’s ability to find a new home.
“Yeah, funny thing. My body’s dead, but I’m alive. Reactivated, shall we say, inside Joey. I have to give it to him. The little guy hung in there, stronger than me, until I croaked. Then something mind-boggling happened. I’m able to take over more and more, and pretty soon Joey will have to kiss my ass to get out at all. Hey! I realize you don’t have a clue of what the hell I’m talking about, but that’s okay. I’m just here to shoot you, not shoot the shit.”
Ash kept his eyes pinned to the thug, waiting for his chance to make his move. The girl with the bat held high in her hands, like a pro ballplayer, came into his vision. Would she never learn? She snuck behind the big man on her tiptoes. Ash’s heart stopped beating instantly and started into cardiac arrest, quivering fast and chaotic.
Without further ado, his civilized facade eroded. He grabbed Joey by the throat and shook him like a dust rag. The gun fell to the floor, while the suspended body hung limp, open mouth struggling to breathe. Crystal dropped the bat and ran to Ashley’s side. The doctor reached for him, also. Both pulled at him frantically.
“Ashley, it’s okay now. Stop it, love. Let him go!”
“Ash! You’ll kill him. Stop!” Dr. Andrews blustered, then yelled—then smacked Ash hard on the back.
Ash’s hand opened, and Joey dropped to the floor right on top of where the forgotten gun had landed.
“Calm down, son. We’re fine.” Dr. Andrews’ steady voice coaxed, while Crystal’s hands stroked and patted.
No one paid any attention to Joey’s body. No one except the huge bulldog who’d leapt through the bedroom window, dug under the garden fence, and made his way around to the still-open front door. Just in time, he flew through the air with dripping fangs and mauled the hand holding the weapon now aimed at Crystal.
It took the combined strengths of both men to pull the frenzied animal off his screeching, terrified victim. A soft-spoken command from Crystal brought the dog instantly to heel. He leaned against her thigh but continued a low growl.
“Ash, Crystal, thank God you stopped me, only it’s not me, it’s Arnie. I’m going nuts here. This guy’s been in my head for days now, and I can’t get him out.” Sobs broke free, sounding twice as pitiful rasping from a throat made raw by recent cigarette smoke. “I’d never hurt you guys. You know I wouldn’t.”
Crystal’s soft heart burgeoned with pity for the poor half-crazed man. She understood what it felt like to go through his turmoil. Joey had treated her well, and she mostly liked him. He’d made bad choices sometimes, but on the whole, he’d been a friend when she needed one.
Her earnest, pleading look broke the resistance of both Ashley and Dr. Andrews. “Fine, let’s talk.” The doctor took charge because Ash still remained tense and angry. Protecting someone you love wasn’t an option, but it was highly emotional. He needed time to calm down.
Putting the gun behind lock and key settled everyone, and keeping Joey in the big armchair with his hands tied in front was another precaution. Lastly, small glasses of sherry, passed around by the doctor, helped soothe agitated nerves. Dr. Andrews sat opposite Joey and introduced himself.
“What kind of doctor are you? Can you help me?”
“I’m a psychiatrist. I deal with mental instability.”
“Trust me, Doc. I’m your boy. I’m so freaking unstable my only option is a nuthouse.”
“Actually, Joey, that isn’t your only option. I’m pretty sure I can help you, but we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get started. In the meantime, you’ll stay here.”
“Good. But lock me up. If you could hear the raving lunatic in my head, you wouldn’t take any chances at all.”
“I’ll give you a shot that’ll knock you out so you can get some rest. It’ll shut him off for a while, too.” Dr. Andrews smiled and reached over to take Joey’s pulse. His sympathy increased for the twitching, eye-rolling specimen in front of him.
“Joey, don’t worry. Dr. Andrews is a specialist in this type of psychic phenomenon. He’ll help you.”
“How do you know that?” A slightly sneering note in his voice proved Arnie’s inhabitancy.
“Trust me, I know.” Crystal patted the hand nearest to her.
Joey’s eyes thanked her, but his hand pulled sharply away.
Ash finally spoke, his tone menacing and very firm. “Give him the shot, Doctor. He can remain on two conditions—he stays tied up, and Killer stands guard.”
“Agreed,” said Dr. Andrews. Crystal nodded.
“Your dog’s name is Killer?” Joey’s voice quivered.
“It’s appropriate, don’t you think?”
“I don’t like dogs.” Arnie, mean-voiced, decided to put in his two cents.
“Tough!”
“I don’t like you, either, asshole.”
“Tough!”
****
Within a short time Joey began snoring, and the dog reclined near his feet, watchful, poised for action. With a nod, Dr. Andrews motioned for the two others to follow him.
In the kitchen they gathered around the table, waiting for the coffeepot to perk. The stress of the evening dwindled, allowing all three to settle down.
“What’s your idea, Doctor?” Ash recognized a familiar glint in the older man’s eyes. Experimentation turned him on. Ash had previous experience with this part of the doctor’s personality.
“You told Joey you could help him. How?” Crystal shook her head back and forth. A huge sigh followed. “I wish I understood what went on here. I know it has something to do with the rose bush and thorns. It’s obviously magical in some way.”
“We’ve undergone the miracle a number of times, but this is the first time a person has had a heart attack and died during an incident. It puts a whole new perspective on everything. But I do have an idea.”
Ash’s shoulders lifted while he held his hands out—palms up. “How can we reverse Arnie without a body?”
“Who says we have to use Arnie’s body? Why can’t we use someone else? Or rather, some thing else?”
Ash’s eyes widened. “You mean like a...?”
“Exactly! It’s almost too perfect. After all, their outer appearances match.”
Shocked, Crystal caught on. “You can’t do that to, uh, Killer—he doesn’t deserve it!” She glared at the other two, who waited patiently for her agreement, knowing they would do nothing without it.
Joey’s evident misery pricked her conscience and stirred her to rethink her stance. What other choice did they have? She thought over the doctor’s statement about Arnie’s outer appearance and that of her poor pet. Truly, he did have a good point, there. And how would it hurt the dog, after all? It might even be a good thing for him. She nodded her head finally, in consent, but she still had to make at least a small attempt to stick up for her canine idol.
“It’s mean, comparing poor Killer with Arnie! She hid her mouth behind her fingers, but they could see her lips curving upwards.
“But so true, my dear.” Dr. Andrews answered. A definite twinkle appeared in his eyes.
“I love it!” Ash’s unholy smirk lit his face.
****
The next morning, Joey, despite feeling a bit dopey from his medication, was nevertheless escorted in the wheelchair to the vicarage bench by Crystal, Ash, and Dr. Andrews. Killer shadowed Crystal, and any indirect move towards her by the man in the wheelchair sparked growling displeasure. Joey’s apprehension was obvious. He purposely kept his bound hands under the lap rug.
“Why did you bring me here to this place? Crappers, Doc. Did you know that this is the exact spot where Arnie’s coma began?”
“Yes it is, Joey. This is also the place where you’ll meet the one who’ll save your sanity.”
“Who is it? Another doctor of some kind?”
“No. Just a friend, trust me. It’ll work out fine. Is Arnie giving you a rough time?”
“Not so much since you shot us full of those drugs. He’s kind of dopey. I mean dopier.” Joey chuckled at his own joke while Ash untied him and helped him to sit on the bench.
“Joey, I want you to do exactly as I say. See the thorn on the stem of the rose branch that Ash cut? You must prick your hand with it. Then pass it to me slowly—carefully.”
Joey looked at the doctor first and at the other two standing by. When they all nodded, he shrugged and followed instructions. Dr. Andrews took the branch to Crystal, who kept busy hugging her pet, and getting tongue-washed for her attention. Gently, with Ash’s help, she lifted the dog’s paw and pricked it.
Within seconds, the dog stiffened and pulled away from Crystal’s encircling arms. He shook his twitching body wildly, whining in a spooky tone. Everyone watched in amazement as he wrenched away from her outstretched, seeking hand and loped over to Joey who sat, frozen in place. The giant mutt laid his head on the speechless man’s knee, his bloodshot eyes beseeching.
Joey tried to break away, but the dog became insistent. His large head held the small, bewildered man captive.
Suddenly Joey sat up straight and ignored the animal. “He’s gone. Arnie’s gone. I don’t get it. What just happened? One minute he’s calling me names and threatening me, and next he’s disappeared.”
He lifted his hand carefully past the monster still determined to hold him in place, and rubbed his forehead, back and forth. He appeared to be internally listening for some sign that he’d been mistaken.
The three waited and watched. Finally he spoke.
“Was this some kinda weird, supernatural spell, Doc? It seems to be broken now. I can’t thank you enough. You saved my life.”
He looked up at the three satisfied faces. Something in their expressions stopped him dead.
“Hold it! Where’s Arnie? What did you do to him? Where did he...?” He observed three heads nodding in confirmation as they watched the understanding take over.
“Oh!” Shock replaced his joy. Hesitantly he glanced down and gingerly touched the furry head on his knee.
“Arnie?”
In the dark, early hours of the morning, a man and his large, four-legged shadow snuck towards the vicarage bench with a can of kerosene and some matches. Thinking to do society a favour, he carefully set the flame. As soon as the blaze engulfed the immense bush of multi-coloured roses, the two shadowy figures moved swiftly to fade into the night.
The dog stopped in the next block to leap up with his front paws against a vehicle to stare into the car mirror for a few seconds. Shaking his head sadly, drool flying in every direction, he dropped down to catch up with his master—the man who’d promised he’d take care of him. The very man who wasn’t taking any chances that fate would somehow reverse the nightmare spell he’d suffered during the last forty-eight hours.
Why anyone would want to burn down an old rose bush and the bench in front of it became the talk of the town for weeks.
Some months later, another bench was set in the old spot, but the tiny shoots forming from the living roots of the enchanted rose bush hadn’t begun to appear.
Yet!
(Book four in the Vicarage Bench Series)
Bury, England, 1968
Dani ran up the steps of the ivy-covered house and then hesitated, her courage wilting. Seconds passed while her hand hovered above a brass knocker decorated by the devil’s grinning face.