Ghost Program (7 page)

   “You can give me what you have on now,” he replied.

   I pinched his side, and he wheezed.  His face was mostly shadow, but I heard him giggle.  He tickled my armpit, and I squealed.

   “I almost hate to leave in the morning,” he said.

   “The roads are going to be terrible.  Even if they work all night, no way they’ll get them all cleaned up.”  I lay my head on a pillow next to him.

   “I hate to leave you here alone,” he admitted.

   “I’m going to class tomorrow, too.”

   “Is it going to be okay?”

   “I thought about...about what you said about Casper.  I think I’m just going to turn it in for a grade.  I’m too afraid to use it again, you know?  I’d always thought psychics must be blessed.  But is it a blessing or a curse?”  I was leaning more towards the latter.

   Brent giggled again.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I know.”

   “Feel free to use the shower in the morning.  There’s shampoo under the sink.”

   “Gee, I’ll pass.”

   “You know I still have to go in there whether I want to or not.  It’s my house after all.”

   “What do you think of Gregg?” Brent asked.

   “He gets confused a lot.”

   “I think so, too.  He’d almost be useful if he didn’t live in his memories so much.”

   “He means well.  I wonder if that vacuum salesman ever left,” I said.

   “I don’t hear any noise.  Surely we’d hear it if they were still together.”

   “I wish I was staying with you in Seattle,” I said, and I meant it.  “It’s too bad when we finally really got to know each other, it was under such weird circumstances.”

   “At least we did,” he replied.

   Then we were silent, and I listened to sounds of the storm outside.  And I thought no matter how bad the house is, it’s got to be much worse out there under those angry clouds.  My brain was sluggish from the wine, but I thought I felt Brent’s arm touching my side lightly, and the reassuring feeling it left inside me pushed me towards sleep.

   The nightmares came back.

   The room was dark, but white moonlight shone through its grimy windows.  Brick walls lined a dirty cement floor, in the distance I could hear the clack of trains running on a track.  My arms were tied over my head, and somehow I dangled from the ceiling of the old warehouse.  They only had buildings like this in the rough section of town. 

   “Please, is someone there?” My voice echoed eerily against the cavernous room.

   Mr. Breame emerged from a brick, arched doorway holding a bullwhip, a maniacal smile on his face, his eyes brimming over with malicious intent.

   “Your project is late,” he said as he approached.

   “It’s not,” I cried, sobs racking my frame as I looked down and saw that I wore my purple nightie.

   “It is for me,” he said.  “I’ve been waiting
years
.”  He struck me with the whip, and I screamed.  Perhaps someone outside would hear me and come to my rescue.

   “No one can hear you.  These warehouses are abandoned this time of night,” he said.  His pressed, plaid blouse, blue jeans, and bottle-rimmed glasses made him look like a quintessential nerd, while his bulging eyes were open so wide they displayed a lifetime of pent up rage.  I didn’t know what I’d done, but it was obvious that he blamed me for everything that had gone wrong with his life.  He struck me again, and I sobbed, closing my eyes to block out the weird scene.  Then I heard a jazz band start up, opening my eyes only to see mom and the vacuum salesman waltzing around the room as the salesman’s eyes bled red blood, which ran in buckets down his cheeks.

   “Mom!” I screamed in a state of extreme bewilderment.  “Please!  Mr. Breame has tied me up.  Please get me down.  He’s doing weird things to me.”

   Smashing through the dirty glass, splintering wood and hard brick, filling the dismal and malevolent room with its full, piney boughs and thick, heavy trunk, an old growth pine entered the room with a groan, and I cried as the warehouse collapsed around me.

   “Sam, wake up.”  I heard the disembodied voice.  “You’re having a nightmare.”

   Where was it coming from?

   “Sam, come on.  Wake up.” 

   Hands gently shook my shoulders.  I opened my eyes.  “Brent?”

   He let out a quiet, husky laugh.  “Who’d you think it was?  Yeah.  You were crying in your sleep.”

   “It was...I guess it was....”  I left my sentence unfinished.

   “It was just a dream, not real.  Too much wine, I guess.”

   I touched my face, feeling it wet with tears, and I suddenly felt foolish.

   “Am I in my bedroom?”

   “Sure are.”

   “It was Mr. Breame, from community college.  He...he was
evil
.”

   “I’m sorry,” he spoke quietly.  “There’s no one here.  We’re all alone.”

   I peered through darkness.

   “And there was mom with that hatted salesman....dancing....” I felt another wave of panic and began to sob helplessly.

   “It’s been a rough day,” he said and pulled me closer so that my face was buried in his chest.  “For both of us.  But it’s nothing you or I can’t handle, okay?  I promise you that everything will turn out all right.”

   “I have to pee,” I said, sniffling.  “I have to pee.  You have to come with me.  I’m afraid of this house.  I’m afraid of the dark.”

   “Is that all?  Come on, I’ll take you.”  He pushed back the covers and helped me out of bed, taking my hand and pulling me up. 

   I shivered as the cold air touched my skin.  Wind still lapped against the house; I heard its angry wail.  A flash of purple lit the world beyond my curtained window as Brent put his arm around my waist tightly, and we walked into the dark hallway.  It wasn’t just dark, the entire house was engulfed in inky nothingness.  Clearly, the power was still out.  Brent opened the bathroom door, and I gasped.  Only the faintest glint of moonlight shone through the window.

   “I can’t go in there,” I whispered.  “Oh God, I just can’t do it.  It’s so dark.  Anything could be hiding in there.”

   “How bad do you have to go?” asked Brent.

   I couldn’t ignore the urgent feeling between my legs.  “Real bad.”

   “I’ll go in there with you.”

   “What are you gonna do?  Hold my hand while I pee?”

   “Yes.”

   “Won’t that be weird?”

   “Wanna wait to go until morning?” he asked.

   “No,” I admitted.

   “Come on.  It looks scary, but there’s nothing there.”  He gripped my hand tightly, and we walked towards the toilet and bathtub.

   “Nothing we can
see
, anyway.”

   We stopped at the very faint outline of the toilet.

   “Promise you won’t leave,” I said.  “Cross your heart and hope to die.  I’ll die of shock if you leave me alone in here.” 

   Brent still held my hand.  He used his other to gently pat my head and laughed a little.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

   I pushed my nightgown up and pulled my panties down.  Relieving my full bladder felt better than I’d thought it would, and though I couldn’t see Brent’s face in the dark, his hand never left mine as I fearfully squeezed his palm harder than ever.  I grabbed some toilet paper awkwardly with one hand and wiped myself, still listening intently for the sound of his breath, needing to feel his warm grasp as reassurance that he was still there, that I wasn’t alone.  I pulled up my panties.

   “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.  “It’s creepy as hell.”

   I heard his quiet laugh.  “I hear you.  I really do.”

   He pulled me back through the pitch black hallway and into my dim bedroom where I heard rain pound mercilessly on the roof above me.  Brent rolled back the cover and sheets, giving me a brief but forceful hug before he gently pushed me towards the bed.

   “You think you can sleep, now?” he asked.

   I actually didn’t want to.  Who knew what terrifying worlds lay beyond the realm of consciousness?

   “I think so,” I said.

   “That’s my girl,” said Brent.

   He wrapped his arm around my waist and held my hand as we lay together.  I fought sleep for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually it claimed me.

❃
CHAPTER 7
❃

  
I
opened my eyes.  Sunlight streamed through the billowing lace curtains of my window.  Sunlight!  The clouds were gone, and the storm was over!  I sat up in bed only to find myself alone in my bedroom.  A chorus of songbirds caroled in the beautiful, clear morning but I felt alone, discarded, forgotten.

   “Brent?”  My voice sounded as unsure as I felt.

   I pushed my blankets off and stood up.  The table which had surprised me so much yesterday evening by its appearance was gone.  So was Gregg.  Hell, so was everyone.  I noticed something that hadn’t been there yesterday, a letter on my computer desk.  Trying to shake off morning chills, I picked it up.

  
Sam,

   I’m so sorry but I’m going to try the road and see if it’s clear to get to Seattle.  I’ve got to make my classes today and get to work.  I promise to call as soon as possible.

   Love, Brent

   “Damn,” I said.  Well, at least he’d had the courtesy to leave a note.

   I glanced at my alarm clock.  It was only seven.  I’d have time to make it to
my
classes if I got ready now.  I wondered if Gregg was in the room with me.  I thought briefly about turning on Casper, then shook my head.  No, it was my software that had started my family on a path to destruction, and I would turn it in, never to touch it again.  It broke my heart to think that my months of hard work were all for nothing, but I knew Brent was right.  I’d created something evil, something that should have never seen the light of day.

   I rummaged through a dresser drawer and found a pair of black sweatpants, matching them to a baggy black sweater with a turtleneck which hid the purple bruises that lined my neck, bruises from cold, dead fingers.  I pulled on the garments then looked at myself in the mirror and liked the image that reflected back at me. 

   I stood in front of that reflection for a full minute, studying myself while thinking about the events of the evening before, remembering Gregg, thinking of his odd reappearance and demeanor and about my newfound connection with Brent, knowing that I’d never look at my bed again without being reminded of our night together.  In my haunted, stormy house.

   I pulled on Nike running shoes and slipped my Casper thumb drive and typed instruction manual into my backpack. 

   I’d have to take a trip to the bathroom to run a brush through my hair.  I touched the back of my head and felt the stiffness of dried blood there.  Any hope I’d had that I’d imagined yesterday’s events vanished as I felt the spiny sutures on my scalp.

   I took a deep breath and tried to shake the nervousness that ran through me.  Opening my bedroom door, I forced myself to take one step, then another, towards the open doorway of the bathroom.  It should have been easy, but I was afraid, and my breath came out in ragged gasps.

   I reached it and peered inside.  Strangely, the sinister feeling of the room had been replaced with a benign aura.  Mom had decorated the walls with happy paintings of Orca whales, and they now frolicked through the waves as cheery sunlight shone through the small, leaded window.  The whales seemed to grin at me as they chased baby seals through the turquoise sea.  Why did I have to act like such a child?  It was just a bathroom, nothing more, nothing less.

   I stepped in front of the bathroom sink.  Touching the wall, I flipped on the electrical switch, and the sink and mirror basked in warm, yellowish glow.  My toothbrush was in its corner where I’d left it.  I squirted some Crest on it and jiggled it over my teeth.  It wasn’t going to be easy to brush my hair with dried blood on it.  I took a washcloth out of the bathroom closet, wet it, and tried to rub the bloody spot of hair.  I lifted a strand.  It was still streaked with red.  This wasn’t going to work; I needed a shower to wash it thoroughly.

   I briefly thought about skipping classes.  My copy of the police report would likely excuse me from my lab.  But what would I
do
if I didn’t spend the day at college?  I’d be stuck in my awful house where
God knows what
would happen to me.  I
needed
to leave for my own good. 

   “Fuck-it-all, I’ll just put a hat on,” I muttered to myself.  I re-wet the washcloth and washed my face with stinging, hot water, wrung the washcloth out, and set it to dry on the towel rack, then returned to my room and hoisted my heavy backpack on my shoulders.  I still couldn’t bring myself to look at the bathtub, to look behind that forbidding shower curtain.  If mom saw the spilt blood....I couldn’t think about that now.

   In my room I found a purple baseball cap, placed it on my head, and walked downstairs.

   I half expected to find mom laying passed out on the coffee table, surrounded by empty wine bottles and cast aside lingerie, the vacuum man asleep in an armchair, his bleeding eyes staining the blue upholstery scarlet, but the living room was clean and vacant.  A shiny new, stainless steel vacuum cleaner sat in the corner.  The familiar smell of bacon, coffee, and eggs wafted from the kitchen, and eagerly I strolled towards those pleasant and reassuring scents.  Mom was in the kitchen wearing a fluffy white bathrobe and flipping pancakes.

   “Going to class?” she asked.  She seemed in good spirits.  “Sorry I didn’t mention this last night, but your dad had to spend the night in town.  That was some storm!  Glad we still have a roof over our heads.  Our neighbors were nearly killed!  A tree fell straight through their bedroom, missing their heads by only inches.  They called early this morning from their motel.  I just don’t know what I would’ve done if it’d been us.  Really makes you think about how precious life is and how easily it can be lost.  Drive slow out there today, Sam, the roads are murder.”

   “Why were you dancing with that man last night?” I asked.

   “What man?” she asked with a sincere and blank look on her face.  I didn’t think she was acting.

   “Never mind,” I said.  “I’ll take a pancake and some bacon.  I’m starved.”

   “Comin’ right up,” she said and arranged the food on my plate with her spatula.  Grease pooled around the meaty strips, and my mouth began to water.

   I sat at the kitchen table, placing my plate in front of me, grabbing the maple syrup and drenching it on my pancake while using a free hand to pour myself a serving of orange juice.

   “How long do you have left till university?” she asked.

   “Two weeks.”

   “That isn’t long.  Did you find out where you were going to be living when you get there?  You’re not actually going to drive every morning, are you?  Dad said he asked you, but you weren’t sure.”

   “Brent’s gonna let me stay at his place.”  I saw the strange look on her face.  “It’s just till I find something better.”

   “I thought most of your friends from high school were in the sororities,” she said, looking a little worried.

   “I know, mom, but the noise.  I’m a light sleeper, and besides that I like some privacy.”

   “Well, I think you should consider it.”

   “They don’t rush till September, it’s just now the end of April.  I’ll have the summer to think it over.”

   “You could take the summer off,” she suggested.

   “I’m not gonna do that.  I told you, I’ll stay with Brent, and maybe go to the Greek houses in the fall.  It’s not that bad, mom.  He’s a nice guy.”

   “You trust him that much?”

   “I do.  Really, I know you think it’s bad, but it’s not.  He’s just trying to help.”

   Mom shook her head.  I knew that she thought I should be living with other
girls
, but I liked the idea of living with Brent.  I’d have a closer friend in Brent than anyone I’d known in high school or any girl I might meet at university.  Although I hadn’t known him well until recently, as an acquaintance he’d been a reliable and steady personality.  I’d liked him then, and now I felt something more.

   “I just hope you’re not jumping into a relationship without knowing where it’s going,” said mom.

   “It’s not like that, mom.  He just offered yesterday...”  I almost said
when I was attacked
but caught myself.  “Spending the summer in Seattle will allow me to get away for awhile.  It’s a constant reminder....of what might’ve happened when that guy broke in last night.”

    Mom had a strange look on her face as if she knew there was something I wasn’t telling her.

   “And you think it’s safer in Seattle, Sam,” she slowly as if pondering her own words.  Her lips parted slightly, and I could see her white, bleached teeth.  “People get shot
every day
in Seattle.  We came here
because
it’s safe.” 

   I doubted that people got shot everyday in Seattle.  It was Seattle, not Detroit, and mom was prone to exaggeration.

   “How ironic,” I replied.

   That made her smile, and she began to hum as she straightened up the kitchen, washing a pot in the sink and wiping the countertop.

   I finished the last few bites on my plate.  “I’m gonna go to class.  Bye.”  I grabbed my backpack and keys and walked out the door into dazzling sunlight.