End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Manuel needs to see
you,” a gruff voice said. The heavily accented English broke through my
distraction. I looked up to discover I was flanked on either side by two of
Manuel’s enforcers. Jose, the larger of the two, grabbed my upper arm and
started pulling me towards his car. I knew not to resist.

They forced me into the
backseat and within seconds, Jose was peeling out of the lot and heading
towards South Phoenix. The pitcher of Budweiser I drank earlier sloshed around
in my stomach and threatened to erupt. Sweat broke out across my upper lip and
I wiped it away.

Jose pulled into an
abandoned slaughterhouse. The doors had long ago been sold as scrap metal. They
led me further inside the dark building. Decades’ worth of spilled cow’s blood
had soaked into the concrete floors and the metallic smell still clung to the
air. I inhaled sharply through my nose, suppressing the urge to vomit.

I heard the scrape of a
flint on a lighter. Shadows flickered across Manuel’s face as he lit a cigar.
Seconds later, only a smoldering red circle gave his location away. I tried not
to breathe; the heavy fumes caused my stomach to roll. My eyes adjusted to the
darkness and I saw the outline of Manuel’s sizable frame.

“Do you have my money?” he
asked.

“Not all of it. I’m in a
bit of a bind.”

“You’re in more than a
bind, gringo.”

“I got fired today.”

There was silence and Manuel
drew two long puffs off his cigar, which was most likely an authentic Cuban.

“You disappoint me. I
thought you were smart enough not to cross me.”

“I am! You’ll get your
money. I promise!”

“This I’ve heard before.
You keep stringing me along with empty promises. Kind of like my ex. Do you
remember what happened to her?”

Of course I remembered. She
was found mutilated in the desert. Coyotes had torn flesh from her bones
leaving her identifiable only by dental records. Not enough evidence connected
Manuel with the crime, but everyone on the streets knew he was responsible.

Manuel circled around me.
His predatory walk reminded me of the Vietcong. I lowered my head to avoid his
eyes. He stopped and whispered something to Jose who nodded in agreement and
then Manuel walked away.

“On your knees,” Jose
ordered. He pushed down on my shoulders and my legs folded. A click of the
safety being released off of a gun sent a chill over my entire body, yet I
continued to sweat. The deafening bang and searing pain as the bullet entered
my skull were simultaneous. I barely remember crumbling to the floor; new blood
mingled easily with old.  

I didn’t die right away.
I remember being heaved into the trunk of a car and as I lay there, curled up
in a ball, I was vaguely aware of blood seeping out of my head and the movement
of my eyelids when I blinked. I think I also may have pissed my pants.

Time slowed down and I
drifted in and out of consciousness. The last thing I remember, before I died,
was getting tossed onto the side of the highway followed by complete
nothingness. When I regained consciousness, if that is what you call it, I was staring
down at my body. You could tell life had abandoned it and what remained behind
was a shell. Years of drug abuse had ravaged my body. All that was left was a
sack of bones held together by pale, undernourished skin topped with gray,
thinning hair. Had I been able to see myself from this perspective earlier, I’d
probably have done the honors and put the bullet in my head myself.

Next, I realized I wasn’t
alone.

Chapter Thirty-Three

LAWRENCE

It was late at night and
traffic was slow when a dark sedan pulled up onto the clearing with the headlights
turned off. The driver opened the door and I assumed that he, like me so many
years ago, was experiencing engine trouble. Then his passenger got out and they
both walked around to the back and opened the trunk. They argued in Spanish as
they lifted something out and with a collective grunt, tossed it onto the desert
next to the clearing. Juanita translated the argument for us. Apparently they
weren’t getting paid enough for their line of work, but they were both too
chicken to approach the boss for a raise.

The driver climbed back
inside the car, while his partner used a broom to sweep the tire tracks away
before getting in. The headlights flicked on and the car took off up the
highway.

“That was curious,” I
muttered to myself and joined the others who had already gathered around the
dumped object. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?”
Frank answered.

We stood in a circle
looking down at the body. I closed my eyes and focused on gathering up extra
energy before crouching down and checking for a pulse. My fingers were just
dense enough to touch the neck.

“He’s still alive,” I
gasped and pulled my hand away.

“Not for long, not after
losing all of that blood. His clothes are soaked with it,” Georgia pointed out.

“Head injuries tend to
bleed a lot,” Peggy added. “Or so I’ve heard.”

We stood in silence,
unsure of what to do. It wasn’t like we were medical professionals and could
perform emergency surgery.

“Damn it, I hate feeling
so helpless!” Frank started pacing. He ran a hand up and down the back of his
neck as if trying to spark an idea.

The man on the ground
moaned and a red tinged spit bubble formed on his lips. I watched, transfixed,
as it expanded and finally burst sending a fine mist of bloody droplets into
the air. He drew in a final ragged breath, his exhale more of a shudder, before
he stopped breathing entirely. His body relaxed against the hard, sun baked ground,
surrendering any resistance to death.

Frank stopped pacing and
joined us as we waited. The spirit appeared, a mirror image of the man lying on
the ground only like a vapor, more gas than solid. Upon looking down at his
body we saw a myriad of expressions race across on his face from confusion to
awareness to recognition, followed closely by fear. At this moment the human
reaction to seek someone out to witness, to confirm or deny the events
unfolding in front of him, kicked in and that’s when he saw us for the first
time.

His eyes grew wide and he
took a step back only to realize he was moving away from his own body. He
glanced down and then back up, his gaze locking with mine.

“What the fuck is going
on? Am I on a bad trip?”

“A trip? Were you going
somewhere?”

Georgia started to giggle and she moved closer to me. “No Lawrence, he’s talking about
taking some bad acid and he wants to know if this is a hallucination.” Her
laughter faded as she delivered the sobering news. “I’m sorry man, but
you’re…well, you’re dead.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to be
alone?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle so it was barely louder than a
whisper. He paused, unable to stop staring at his body.

Eventually he spoke. “No,
I’ve been alone most of my life and obviously that didn’t work out too great.” He
went to nudge his body with his toes, but when his foot couldn’t make contact
and just passed through, he stopped immediately. He turned towards me. “I’m
Bob,” he said and held out his hand.

I didn’t have time to
muster up enough energy to really shake it, but I still went through the
motions. “Lawrence Cranston.” When our hands passed through each other he withdrew
with a nervous laugh.

“This is going to take
some getting used to.”

“I’ve been here over
sixty years and I’m still getting used to it.”

Bob opened his mouth to
say something and then closed it again. “Shit!” he finally managed.

I introduced him to
everyone else and we shared our stories. When it came time for Bob to tell us
his story he grew silent.

“Bob, come ‘on you show
up with a bullet hole in your head. You have to have a story,” Georgia pleaded.

“Really, who were those
guys? They just tossed you to the curb like a bag of trash,” Peggy added.

Juanita had been quiet
for most of the introductions and her small voice captured our attention. “They
were trouble is what they were. My guess is they were gang members or Mexican
Mafia.”

Bob looked at Juanita
with guarded eyes. “How do you know?”

“I didn’t think it would
grow to be so big, it was still fairly new when I left Mexico, but their
tactics haven’t changed.”

“All right, I’ll tell you
what I’ve done, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Bob, we’re dead and
aren’t in any position to judge. Please continue,” I said.

Bob proceeded to tell us
about the events leading up to his murder. At certain points of the story he
shifted his eyes or his voice went higher and I suspected he wasn’t being completely
honest with us.

“So you were murdered for
no reason? That’s horrible!” Peggy cried and tried to hug Bob.

“What’s the world coming
to when a man can’t go about his business without fearing for his life?” Frank
said. “Bob, you didn’t owe them money or cross any of them?”

Once again Bob’s eyes
shifted to the ground and the corners of his mouth turned up. “You got me,
Frank! I was just kidding. Look at me!” He pointed at his body. “The sunken
cheeks, the skinniness, shit even my hair lost weight. I would have put a
bullet in my own head if I was fully aware of what a loser I’d become.
Honestly, I was too coked up all the time to notice.”

I looked to Georgia for
an explanation, but Peggy answered instead. “Cocaine, it’s a drug and a very
popular one at that.”

“Yeah, which is what got
me in trouble. People expect to get paid for their product.”

“Ah, now I understand,” I
said. I knew about cocaine, I just wasn’t familiar with the term “coked up”.

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not. Back when I was
alive, people killed others for less. I’m sorry your life ended the way it
did.”

“Thanks Larry, but so far
this isn’t so bad,” Bob said and winked at Peggy. “I’ve always liked the color
red.”

Peggy rolled her eyes,
flashed brightly and disappeared. I spotted her a few seconds later by the
guardrail across the highway. She had her back to us. Bob noticed too. “Whoa,
how’d she…”

 “Well, I guess we should
update you on what we’ve been doing. If you’re like us, you’re going to be here
awhile.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

BOB

Larry was right. I did
stick around, not that I had much of a choice. When I was younger, I once hoped
that when I died I’d be reunited with my family. We’d be whole, all of us
finally catching up with my brother. The old man would love me again and my mom
would be happy. For all I knew, my dad was stuck in limbo haunting a pasture
somewhere. I smiled at the idea that the only objects he could experiment
moving were cow patties.

I thought about this as I
worked on moving a rock from one pile to another. I was getting better at
focusing. Peggy was like a drill sergeant yelling at me every chance she got. I
kind of liked it.

Very carefully, I picked
up another rock and carried it the few feet to the other pile. Peggy stood near
the pile with her hands on her hips. She had great curves. The distraction made
me lose focus and the rock passed through my hands, landing with a thud on the ground.

“Damn it Bob, you have
the attention span of a gnat!”

“Well, you’re very
distracting,” I said and winked at her.

“Ugh! Frank, it’s your
turn. He’s flirting again.” Peggy vanished and I knew her enough by now to know
where she’d reappear – down the embankment where her car landed, past the
guardrail and into the “No Bob Zone”. Seconds later, I caught a glimpse of her red
hair through the shrubs and weeds.

Frank’s laughter made me
turn away. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You are. The more she
resists, the harder you try!”

“I may be dead, but damn
she makes me feel alive.”

He smiled and shook his
head. “What, are you going to go on a date? Come on, let’s practice some more.”
 

Frank bent down and
hoisted up a larger rock with both hands. I marveled at his strength and how
much clearer he physically became, more defined, when he concentrated. The
others had been teaching me since I first arrived, which seemed like years
earlier, and I still couldn’t get it. Every plant, animal, even the earth
contained energy that, when we focused enough, we could draw upon. When I
concentrated, I could actually sense the hum or vibration of the energy, but it
was hard for me to hold this focus. I had the same problem when I was in
school.

“Frank, why don’t we just
spell “Help” on the side of the road so cars can see it? They did that once on
Gilligan’s Island. Only their message was to alert airplanes flying overhead. Did
you ever watch that show?”

“I don’t think so, it
doesn’t sound familiar. Remember, I’ve been dead since the fifties and
television was fairly new.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, but
what about my idea?”

“I don’t know. Let’s talk
to Lawrence.”

“Hey Larry!” I called. He
was helping Juanita under the mesquite tree. A few months back she had created
a cross out of stones on the spot where she had died. Since then she has added
to it and spent hours positioning the rocks just right. Blossoms from some of
the blooming cacti were placed in between the cracks.

Georgia was preoccupied
with her own project. A peace sign somewhere in the vicinity of where her life
was taken. With all of this going on, I was surprised I was the first to think
of writing a message intended for the living.

“Larry!” I called again.
He glanced over and instantaneously he was standing in front of me. I didn’t
jump this time because I had grown used to this process. Although for the first
year or so, my tolerance for the sudden movement didn’t exist.

 I ran my idea by Larry
and he listened, giving an occasional nod of his head.

“I’ve thought about it,
but didn’t think it would get us anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“Bob, who can help us?
We’re ghosts. Our bodies are long gone, our families…” His paused and turned
away from me. The pain on his face never faded, whenever he spoke of his family,
no matter how many seasons had passed. “We write the message and then what?”

“I don’t know. A psychic
might be able to help us. It can’t hurt to try.”

“All right, go ahead, but
you do it.”

I set about writing the
four letters. Days were spent finding darker rocks, which would stand out
against the ground. Given the small area I was confined to, this was
challenging in itself. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t the greatest at
moving rocks and it took me close to a week just to create the letter “H”. Back
when I was alive, I’d have given up and gotten high or drunk. My newfound
determination to finish this task gave me a focus I had never possessed. This
was the first time I actively involved myself in anything serious. Tossing
pebbles at geckos sunning themselves on rocks was usually more my speed.

Peggy occasionally popped
over and tried to harass me. Even though I was tempted to harass back and get her
riled up, I ignored her. I was halfway through the “L” when she stopped bugging
me.

In the end, I don’t know
how long it took to complete the word, but when I was done, not only was I
better at moving rocks, but the accomplishment of finishing something made me
want to puff my chest out and thump on it. Now all we needed was someone to
notice the message.