Lure (3 page)

"I don't like this shit, man," Alton said, refusing to turn off his flashlight. "Something touched me. I think I'm gonna jet. Y'all can finish this without me."

"Whoa. Wait. You can't just go all chicken shit on me. Did it hurt you or something? Do you want me to check you out?"

"No," Alton said, and the light played over his face as he shifted. His eyes darted back and forth, and Sam was pretty certain he wasn't making anything up.

"So what's the matter, then?"

"It felt good," he said quietly.

"What?"

"The way it touched my neck," he snapped. "I liked it. It kinda turned me on, and that is
freaking me out
! I gotta get out of here."

Trying hard to keep from laughing, Sam did her best to persuade him to stay, "Wait, man. Don't go. It's just The Corner Bar, remember? We've eaten lunch here a hundred times and closed it down almost just as many. You have nothing to fear here; you're around friends."

"A little too friendly," Alton said, but at least he didn't look like he was going to run for the door any more.

"It seems there is a female presence here that likes you," Sam said.

"Better be female," Alton replied.

Shells snorted. "Oh yeah, there's a gay ghost haunting The Corner Bar, and it's coming onto Alton. That's friggen' perfect. I should be writing this shit down."

"Shut up, Michelle," Alton said, knowing she hated to be called that.

Shells couldn't keep from giggling, and Sam shot her a dirty look.

"Give us a sign of your presence. Let us know if you are really here."

Silence.

"Move something, make a noise, touch one of us," Sam said.

"Touch one of them," Alton said, and then there was again the soft sound of a mug moving.

"Did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything," Alton said, and then Sam was certain she heard a gulp and then the same sound again.

"Turn on the light," Sam said.

"Uh uh."

"
Turn it on.
"

Relenting, Alton turned on the flashlight and pointed it at Sam and Shells. Shading her eyes, Sam stepped forward and grabbed it from his hands. "Give me that." Then she looked at the mugs, starting with the one closest to Alton, which, though empty, appeared to be sweating, the chalk ring wet and smeared. "Alton."

He just belched in response.

"No more beers during the investigation," she said. Shells surprised them both and kept her mouth shut for a change. "You all right?" Shells remained silent, and Sam moved closer. "Shells," she said softly. "You OK?"

"Something touched me," she said. "Real tender and sexy like. I have to admit, it's kinda freaking me out too."

"Great. I got felt up by a bi-sexual ghost. That's just great. Or wait-"

"Shut up, Alton," Sam said, never taking her eyes off of Shells, and holding the flashlight so they both could see each other.

Sam leaned forward, the neckline of her t-shirt dipping low. Shells' eyes dropped low for a moment before meeting Sam's eyes once again. Sam pretended not to notice, and she even stayed in that position long enough to afford Shells a second glance--it seemed she couldn't resist. For some reason Sam was very proud of herself when she handed the flashlight back to Alton, despite feeling guilty about messing with Shells. She ignored the fact that the mug near Alton now had a quarter-inch more beer in it than the last time she had looked, and she wondered how many refills he'd had.

"Can you tell us your name?" Sam asked the silence, trying to regain her focus.

The only response was a high-pitched squeal that ended with the crinkling sound of a foil bag.

"Did you really think I wasn't going to hear you open that?"

Alton's only response was another belch followed by the sound of him eating chips. From behind her, Sam caught the sound of a mug being placed back on the bar; it was soft and almost imperceptible, as if someone were trying to hide it. Before Sam could even ask, Shells belched.

"Dude, do you think they have any of their sausage links cooking overnight? Isn't that how they make 'em so good?"

"C'mon, guys," Sam said. "I really need this."

"Fifteen minute food break," Alton said with a mouth full of chips.

"I'm checking out the kitchen," Shells said, and Sam sighed. Using her smartphone as a flashlight, Shells navigated her way into the back of the building. Sam had stayed away from the other side of the bar for a reason, but then she heard Shells call out, "Jackpot!"

Leaving the camera on the bar, Alton made his way back to join her. Parting the translucent panes of the vapor barrier, Sam made her way into the kitchen.

"Friggen' jackpot, dude!" Shells stood with sauce-covered tongs in her hands.

"Aw, man. Let me have one of those," Alton said. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

"Did I ever tell you that I was a vegetarian?"

"No."

"Then stuff a sausage in it."

"No need to get testy about it," Alton said as he retreated to the bar. Sam had no doubt there would be a different amount of beer in his mug when she returned.

"Aw, man. Where are those pickled tomatoes and peppers and stuff that they always give you. I gotta have some of those. I've got the wicked munchies."

"Don't take too much," Sam said, despite the fact that she held a plate with a sausage link on it.

"Screw that, girlfriend. I'm throwin' down," Shells said, and she pulled a couple small plastic tubs from the cooler. Sam took one. "When people find out there's a bisexual ghost in this place that likes to get touchy feely, they'll be packing the joint every night. Straight up."

"There really does seem to be something going on here, though, doesn't there? I mean, something really did touch you, right?"

The look on Shells face turned in an instant from happy to subdued. "It was totally freaky, dude. Straight up. No bullshit. And something sure got Alton wound up."

Nothing had touched Sam. Vague noises and second hand tales of personal experiences were all she had. It was nothing. It was worse than nothing. Perhaps never growing up had its consequences. "C'mon. Let's go get some evidence."

"Rock it, soul sister."

Back at the bar, Alton had his rear in one stool and his feet in another. The camera still rested on the bar, just next to a paper plate and napkin covered in tomato sauce.

"You gonna clean that up?" Sam asked.

Alton just snored in response.

"He's friggen' useless. Drunk as shit. I got it." Shells said.

The sound of Alton snoring was momentarily drowned out by the sound of tractor-trailers turning the corner. More were coming, and every one that came by meant contaminated audio. With a shrug, Sam resigned herself to failure and took a bite of pickled tomato with a Crown Royal chaser. It was followed by more; how many she could not say, but when she found herself back in the men's room, looking into that mirror, she wished that she had exercised a bit more self-control. Actions have consequences. Immediately following that thought a flicker of movement caught her eye. In the mirror she saw the shape of a man standing behind her, hovering, lurking. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried to scream, but then there was a loud sound from the bar and alternating blue and red lights flickering through the gap along the bottom of the door. When she looked to the mirror again, the man was gone.

* * *

The flicker and hum of a fluorescent light threatened to relieve Sam of her sanity, even the light it produced was segmented and it throbbed along with her head. What had she been thinking? What had the three of them been thinking?

When the State Trooper who had arrested them and brought them to good 'ol Barracks A walked into the room, Sam braced herself. Trooper Marsh looked like most troopers looked: like a pile of meat stacked on top a massive superiority complex…it was kinda hot. "Ms. Flock," he said without looking her in the eye. Instead, he looked at her record, as if it defined her. One moment spent looking in her eyes and he could have learned more than her record would ever show. He cleared his throat. "You've had a colorful past, Ms. Flock. And while I respect the time you spent in service of your community, that service in no way gives you the right to disregard the law. Am I clear, Ms. Flock?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said, despite her deepest desire. She doubted her time in the Salem Police Department had any positive impact on his opinion of her. The angle of his nose hadn't really changed all that much, as he looked down at her.

"You are being charged with unlawful trespassing, misdemeanor theft, and disturbing the peace."

"We weren't trespassing, and how is three people passed out in a bar disturbing the peace?"

"I had to turn my lights on at o-four hundred hours, and I'm sure that disturbed someone."

Sam shut her mouth.

"Your friends face the same charges. If you will just tell me about how this robbery was all your idea, then I might just be inclined to let them go."

Before the sarcastic remark could even leave Sam's lips, Greg walked into the barracks followed by Johnny from The Corner Bar. Both wore a look of disbelief overshadowed by disappointment. Sam hated that look; it made her feel like a teenager again. But she wasn't a teenager any more.

Another trooper escorted Greg and Johnny to Trooper Marsh's office. "This is the property owner and someone to vouch for the alleged trespassers. Somehow their looks became amplified when aimed at Sam, and she shrunk beneath them. "The rental company listed on the equipment has been called. Since the alleged trespassers abandoned it, they have come and reclaimed the equipment. They will send the alleged trespassers a bill." He seemed to take great pleasure in describing Sam as the alleged trespasser, and she wanted to kick him in the shins.

"I don't want to press any charges," Johnny said.

"You sure about that? This guy hasn't been trying to persuade you, has he?"

It looked as if Greg had turned into stone; no emotion showed on his face, and Sam marveled at his control. She did not possess its equal and cast Trooper Marsh a dirty look. He ignored her.

"I'm certain I don't want to press charges, Trooper Marsh," Johnny said. "I'll add it to her tab. I'm sure she'll be around to pay it real soon. Won't you, Sam?"

"Yes, Johnny. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Things just got out of hand."

Johnny didn't say anything; he just gave her a single silent nod. It hurt. She deserved it, but it still hurt.

"So you want custody of this one and the other two?"

"Yes, sir, Trooper Marsh, sir," Greg said.

"At ease Officer Helms."

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose I can release them into your custody provided we have an understanding that this won't happen again, and that if I even hear about anything like this happening again, I'll come after all four of you. You understand me?"

Greg nodded firmly, "Yes, sir." He wore no expression on his face; no emotion crept through the rigid mask.

"Just as well," Trooper Marsh said. "Saves me the paperwork. Get them out of here and don't let me see them again."

Escorting Sam by her arm, Greg led her to his squad car, while leaning over and practically growling at her, "What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how this looks on me? I can't believe you."

Sam decided to keep her mouth shut. When he loaded her into the back of his squad car as if she were a common criminal, it stung. He even did the hand on the back of the head thing; this embarrassed her more than anything up to that point. Shells and Alton followed in silence, and each shared Sam's shame as he loaded them into the back with no more ceremony.

"Idiots," was the only thing he said.

"Sorry, Greg," Shells said, subdued and forlorn.

"Yeah, sorry, Greg," Alton said.

"Nothing out of you?" Greg asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"You wouldn't hear me right now, and I don't blame you for that, but I'm not going to waste my breath trying to explain myself to you."

Alton and Shells went very quiet, and seemed to be trying to hide as the fight escalated.

"Alton started it," Shells said.

"Oh, thanks a lot," Alton said. "Just let me out here, dude. I'll walk."

Greg kept driving. "So Alton started it. Go on."

"And, uh. Then I, uh, I got thirsty, too. And then like, I found the food, and it was like, on from there." Shells seemed to realize that she'd gotten carried away in her storytelling, and it was not doing her any good.

Alton must not have noticed, "I think that's when Sam started toasting the ghosts with Crown Royal to see if that would get them to come out."

His foot growing heavier with every moment, Greg's squad car roared down Old Kings Highway. The old men fishing from the marsh bridge shook their fists as they left a cloud of dust flying in their wake. Eventually, Greg's sense caught up with his anger, and he rolled slowly to the stop sign at the pointers. It was a perfect metaphor for Sam's life. A choice. Left or right. No way to know what either choice would bring; only knowing that a choice must be made. Her life here was no longer livable, and she had to find a way out. Not for the first time she considered stuffing some clothes into a laundry sack and hitchhiking to Portland, or one of those places where you could live on the streets and make it through a winter.