LLOYD, PAUL R. (8 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“Bruised my ribs?”

“I better call nine-one-one.”

“Let’s wait a bit, okay?”

“Why?”

“I don’t like institutions.”

“You could have internal injuries.
I’m calling.”

Micah appreciated Denise’s short skirt
as she stood up. She reached into her handbag and snatched her cell phone.

Micah removed the soggy bag of green
beans and opened his right eye. The light stung. A sharp, burning sensation
penetrated the area around the eyes. With both hands palm down on the floor, he
succeeded in pushing up to a sitting position, despite the extreme left side pain.
The wall next to the staircase served as a back support.

Denise pulled her cell phone away
from her ear. “They’re on their way.”

“Thanks.”

“You sure you want to sit up?”

“I’m okay. My ribs feel like
they’re bruised but I’m breathing okay.”

Denise pointed to the kitchen. “Can
I get you anything? A glass of water?”

“To be honest, I really have to
take a leak.”

“You need help?”

“Maybe a hand to stand up. The
powder room is right over there. I should be able to manage once I’m up.”

Denise grabbed Micah’s arm and
helped while he pulled his one-hundred-eighty-pound frame to a standing
position.

Micah held his hands against the
wall to rest. “This is tougher than I realized.”

“Will you make it?”

“Yeah.” Micah took a few tentative
steps toward the powder room, opened the door and stepped inside and closed it
behind him. By the time he finished, he could hear Denise admitting the
paramedics. He opened the bathroom door.

“You okay?” one of the paramedics
asked.

“Yeah, except I’m about to pass
out.”

“Here, take my
arm. Let’s ease you down onto the cot.” Micah’s freedom slipped away as the
paramedics took his vital signs and prepared him for transport to the hospital.
He saw the pioneer woman pass by, but if anyone else noticed, they didn’t
mention it. As the ambulance door closed him in, Micah struggled to hold back a
scream.

***

Micah sat up without pain. No sore
ribs, no burning eye pain, no bumps and bruises. “Something to be grateful for
at least.”

“Who are you grateful to?” The sweet,
young voice came from behind, so Micah turned around. A teenage girl stared at
him. She wore a silky white blouse and short dark blue skirt.

The girl struck Micah as special as
though he had seen her somewhere before. “Excellent question.”

“It’s important to know who you are
grateful to.”

“Who are you grateful to?”

The girl’s socks came above her
knees. She wore black pumps. “You.”

Micah allowed the surprise to wash
over him for moment. He gazed into the girl’s eyes. “Why?”

The girl giggled while placing her
hand over her mouth.

Micah heard a cell phone chime. As
the girl reached into her purse, she shimmered and faded away. The cell phone rang
again. He opened his eyes to encounter the darkness of his bedroom. He grimaced
against the pain of his bruised ribs as he reached around on the floor for his
cell. “Hello?”

“Micah?”

“Yes.”

“It’s me, Bob.”

“Hi, Bob.”

“How are you doing now that you’re home
from the hospital?”

“They treated me as an outpatient.
I have lots of bruises including my ribs, but no broken bones. And I have the
biggest black eye ever.”

“Nothing too serious?” Bob asked.

“My pride hurts.”

“So don’t sit down for a few days.
You’ll get better. Meanwhile, I have the information you wanted.”

“What information?” Micah swung
over the edge of the bed to put his feet on the floor while wincing at the pain
in his sore ribs.

“The census records.”

“You mean for Denise Appleby?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything interesting?” Micah
forced himself to stand.

“In the latest census, she reported
she was born in eighteen-eighty-three and has lived in the house since nineteen-oh-nine.”

“Curious.” Micah fumbled around for
the switch to his bedroom lamp.

“More than curious.”

Micah rubbed his forehead while
blinking against the light. “She was twenty-six when she purchased the house in
nineteen-oh-nine, and today she admits to being in her late twenties, ten years
out of high school. That would make her about twenty-eight. Not bad. How’d you
like to age two years in a century?”

“Now you know why everyone believes
she is a hag.”

Micah sat back on the bed and
reached for a blanket. “Could be they never transferred the title to the
descendants and kept reporting the same person to the census takers. Could be a
family joke they’ve been playing.”

“A family joke extended over four
generations without telling anyone outside the family?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, it’s a stretch. But we don’t
know that they never mentioned it to anyone. It’s just that no one has
mentioned it to us.” Micah tugged at his blanket but it was stuck.

“Another stretch is the census
information reveals no one else has lived in the house in all these years.
Denise Appleby never married and never had any children. Assuming you need a
new Denise Appleby every generation, where are they?”

“And why hasn’t she gotten rich off
her fountain of youth? She could make a mint selling whatever her secret is.”
Micah rolled over. He tugged at his blanket which snapped up to his face.

“Micah, I did this research to show
you that you are dealing with a dangerous, evil person.”

Micah sat up. He rested his elbows
on his knees. “Evil? Isn’t that in the eye of the beholder? It’s not like she’s
a vampire or troll or some other figment of an overzealous religious bigot’s
imagination.”

“She’s a hag and it’s no religious
person’s figment. I’m religious, but I’m not into figments. Too many calories.”

“I’ll ask her about it. I didn’t
know witches live any longer than anyone else.”

“Hags!” Bob shouted. “She’s not
Wicca. She is an evil Satan worshipper. And they don’t live any longer than
anyone else. She’s found a secret spell or formula or potion or pack with the
devil or something.”

Micah rubbed his head again. “Pack
with the devil? Isn’t that a bit medieval? You don’t expect me to believe you think
the devil exists, do you? Aghhh!”

The ghost of the pioneer woman floated
across the room.

“There’s more to this world than
you think, Micah. I don’t care how skeptical you are.”

“You may be right.” Micah stared as
the ghost stopped, folded her arms and glowered at Micah.

“Check the facts and make your own
decision, but don’t deny the facts because you don’t think something exists. Wait.
Did you say I may be right?”

“Yeah. Do you believe in ghosts?”
Micah asked.

“No.”

“I’m gawking at one.”

“You understand your house is
supposed to be haunted, right?” Bob asked.

“First I heard of it, but I’ve seen
her often.”

“Ghost of Mary O’Dare. Died in a
fire in the eighteen forties. Story goes that she started the fire by accident.
Her family burned to death. She feels so much guilt that she can’t leave the
house until she is forgiven, but with her family gone, there is no one left who
can forgive her. The other version of the story is simpler. Supposedly nobody
told her she died, so she keeps on with her thing. But if you want to know what
I think, then what you are seeing is not a dead person. It’s an evil spirit
masquerading as a ghost.”

“Here we go with demons again.”
Micah grimaced as the ghost shook her head no.

“People have believed in evil
creatures for thousands of years for a reason. There’s a reality behind those
beliefs.” Bob’s voice had an edge of anger.

“Tell me something. If Mary O’Dare
and her family died in a fire back in the eighteen forties, how come my house
is still standing?”

Bob chuckled. “The house didn’t
burn down. There was significant damage, but the fire was contained to the
parlor, your living room today. I don’t know the details, but I guess either
the family somehow was trapped in the room with the fire or they may have died
of smoke inhalation in another part of the house. But when the old people pass
down the story, they like to say the family burned to death. More dramatic that
way. Who knows what actually happened?”

“You’ve given me plenty to think
about,” Micah said. “I’ll ask Denise about her home ownership when I see her.
In the meantime, be careful around Ahlman Brown.”

“Ahlman Brown? He’s an angel. Why
would I worry about him?”

“He’s not an angel.”

“Sure he is.” Bob said.

“Everyone I’ve met since coming to
Naperville has told me Ahlman is an angel. Why do you suppose they use that
word? No one ever says he’s a nice guy or a good guy or calls him a saint. They
say he is an angel. You even say it. Why is it?” Micah asked.

“Because it’s true.”

“So you believe he is a spirit who
has come down from heaven and taken human form?” Micah stood up, stretched,
winced in pain and sat back down on the bed.

“Yeah, could be. Hadn’t thought
about it until you brought it up. Yeah, I guess he may be an angel for real.
He’s so much more than a nice guy.”

Micah lowered his back to the
mattress. “Do you believe it’s possible you and other people in Naperville
could be drugged or hypnotized or whatever to believe Ahlman is an angel?”

“And somehow you’re the only one
who hasn’t fallen under his spell?” Bob asked.

“I know he’s no angel.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for
someone to put the whole town under a spell. Too many good, religious people live
in Naperville for everyone to succumb to some evil force. It would make Ahlman
out to be a liar and he’s not. He’s an angel.”

“Okay, why did you just now call
him an angel?” Micah asked.

“I did?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I don’t know. Force of habit? He
is an angel, Micah.”

“Literally an angel, a spirit from
heaven?” Micah scratched his head.

“We’re going around in circles. You
still see the ghost?”

“Yeah, but your angel beat the
living crap out of me the other night.”

“Not possible. Ahlman is an angel.”

“Your angel friend almost killed
me.” Micah waved at the ghost.

“Micah, I can’t have you insulting
Ahlman. He’s an angel.”

“I’m hanging up now, Bob.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“You called me, remember?” Micah looked
at the ghost and pointed to his cell with a “what’s he talking about” grin on
his face. The ghost stared like a statue in white alabaster.

“I called you? Why would I call
you? You’re the town pervert,” Bob said.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

“See you in the coffee shop.”

“You won’t be welcome.”

“You’re saying that with a smile,
right?” Micah shrugged his shoulders at the ghost.

“Peevy hates your guts.”

“But you like me, right, Bob?”

“Sure I do. I love Ahlman. He’s a
perfect angel.”

Micah clicked
off his cell phone, waved to Mary O’Dare and closed his eyes against a growing
sense of madness.

***

Micah bent forward, took a bite and
leaned back against the wall in his living room. “Outstanding sandwich.”

“Thanks.” Denise sat next to him on
the floor. She unwrapped her sandwich and bit into it.

Micah winced as Fritz ran across
his lap with claws out. “How’d Fritz get in here?”

“Are you in pain, Micah?”

“Some, but I’m getting better. Pain
isn’t the issue. According to the census, one person has been living in your
house since nineteen-oh-nine, a woman named Denise Appleby. No family. No
children. Would you mind explaining?”

“It’s a family joke. We do it every
census. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.”

“Meowr.” Fritz stretched his paws
towards Micah’s pants.

“Scat, cat.” Micah pushed Fritz
away before he could shred his pants. “Where are your parents?”

“My father’s dead. Mom’s in Florida
with Grandmom.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“How long?” Micah asked.

“Not that long!” Denise slammed her
sandwich down on her lap.

“Who was the Denise Appleby who
purchased your house in nineteen-oh-nine?”

“Denise Appleby.”

“Is she the same lady who completed
the nineteen-fifty census?” Micah asked.

“Not sure. She may have been. She
was my great grandmother. She lived to the late fifties or early sixties. It
was before my time.”

Micah rubbed his sore side. “Who is
the Denise Appleby who was interviewed for the nineteen-seventy census?”

“Probably my grandmother. My mother
would have been a young girl at the time, but I’m not sure.” Denise took a bite
of sandwich.

“And the nineteen-eighty census?”

“My grandmother? They’re both still
alive so I guess it could have been either one of them.”

“Don’t the women in your family
change their last name when they get married?” Micah asked.

Denise dropped her sandwich and folded
her arms across her chest. She glowered at Micah. “I suppose they would if they
ever married.”

“Meowr.”

“Go away, Fritz.” Micah stood up
and placed the cat on a chair.

Denise grabbed Fritz from the chair
and cuddled him. “You don’t like Fritz, do you?”

“He scratched my lap.”

“Poor baby.” Denise kissed Fritz on
the top of the head.

“Is never getting married like your
little family secret?” Micah took a bite of sandwich.

“It would have been a bit dicey for
my grandmother and great grandmother. Maybe even my mother. We never talked
about it. Today nobody cares, but back then it was strictly 23 skidoo.” Denise
dropped Fritz to the floor and picked up her sandwich.