Adelaide Confused (25 page)

He stood, but this time his
knees knocked the table as he got up. It jerked a few inches while
the candles on top wobbled, one toppling over. I couldn’t react,
not to anything, feeling numb and out of sorts. I watched his very
solid body move, hearing the soft swishing of his wool shirt and
the dull thud of his nondescript boots as he moved around the
table. His long fingers gripped the top of my arm, hauling me up
off the floor.

Up close I could see a
light flush on his cheeks. He was no longer that sickly gray in his
solid form, though he still looked pallid like a corpse, but much
less ghastly.

He began to pull me, but I
resisted, seeing the overturned candle dripping wax on Mary’s
doily. Soon it would catch fire. “The candles,” I whispered, trying
to get his attention. The grip on my arm didn’t slacken as he
pivoted to blow out each flame. The light grew dim until at last,
with one simple breath, we were plunged into darkness.

I found that being held by
a ghost, alone in the dark, was not at all to my liking. He
continued to propel me forward, tugging me toward the desk, though
I wasn’t sure why. We both bumped into it, and gripping me by the
waist and thigh as I yelped in protest, he unceremoniously dumped
me over the counter. I hit the desk, landing on my shoulder and
sliding right off where I flopped to the floor.

Upon descent, my legs and
feet had managed to drag a stack of paper off the desk before I
inadvertently kicked the swivel chair. So as I lay with the wind
knocked out of me, prone in the pitch black, I heard the leafy
flapping of scattered pages, the chair’s rotation device screeching
protest as the seat rocked back and forth, and at last the office
door swinging open with an almighty bang as it smashed into the
wall.

Light from the streetlamp
filtered in through the open door, feeble, no brighter than a
moonlit night. I watched the shadows change on the ceiling,
shifting in time with the heavy footsteps. I held my breath as the
intruder moved around.

It could be anyone, Ben, a
late night traveler come in search of a room to rest, or even the
ghost himself. But I doubted it. From his reaction I could
guess—Beagban.

I heard a small sound, and
imagined it was his shins meeting the coffee table. But no muffled
curse followed, not so much as a peep, just footsteps.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Coming closer, then a
pause. The seconds ticked by, a minute passed, then two, and still
nothing happened. Was he standing over me? Could he see me across
the counter? Could he hear my breathing?

So much time seemed to pass
that I began to question if he was really there. My hearing wasn’t
spot on, maybe he left and I’d missed it. Trying to get a sense
with my emotions, I sorted through, but couldn’t feel past the
fear. If it was Beagban my efforts would be fruitless; he’d likely
feel nothing. I exhaled a long, shaky breath before turning to
look. I leaned upward and stretched out my neck to see over the
desk.

A patch of black lunged
forward. There was a meaty thump as he threw his chest over the
counter. I screamed, but no sound escaped as his hands closed over
my throat, squeezing tightly. I kicked my legs, scratching at his
wrists, but he was unhampered by my struggle.

He pulled me at an awkward
angle, my body arched over the counter and desk precariously, my
feet barely able to toe the floor. I’d ceased to struggle because
it hurt, putting too much weight on my neck. In this position I was
at his mercy, and he knew it.

His fingers eased a bit,
but remained firm. I could barely take a breath between the
coughing and hacking. My eyes welled up and I blinked back tears as
I strained to see the man looming over me. From upside down I
couldn’t make out more than the outline of his shape and the barest
reflection of light glinting off his eyes and teeth.

“
Did you enjoy your
afternoon with Wallace?” Beagban inquired. His fingers slackened
further, allowing me to speak.

The situation felt so
surreal. My mind was screaming in chaos and I just couldn’t believe
this was happening again. But I could believe it, because I’d
expected it, prepared for it. Remembering the ring, I forced myself
to stop gripping Beagban’s wrist. It was ineffectual anyway. I
couldn’t stop him from strangling me if he wanted to. So I let my
hands relax, settling on either side of my head, palms up,
seemingly harmless.

Knowing he enjoyed my fear,
I stuttered, “Please don’t hurt me.” It was very convincing, but
then, I wasn’t really pretending. Meanwhile I tried to reach my
thumb over my forefinger, trying to push down the stones. But
one-handed I could barely graze the ring at all.

Beagban laughed, low and
huffing. “Did he reassure you, tell you it was safe?” He found the
idea insulting, growing angrier from his own suggestion. He shook
my neck, losing his temper. “Did he tell you I was
gone?”

“
No,” I blurted while
rubbing my fingers together in hopes of turning the ring around.
“He said to be careful. That you were dangerous.”

“
Afraid of me is
he?”

I was so preoccupied trying
to pry my ring open that I almost missed the ghost solidifying
behind Beagban. The room was hardly more than a black hole, but my
eyes had adjusted and I caught the obscure shadowy flash of the
ghost’s arm as he struck Beagban in the ear. It was a good solid
hit, something I hadn’t expected from the ghost. Apparently neither
had Beagban. He looked flabbergasted, a fitting expression for his
cartoonish features. Shaking off the dizzies, he turned, searching
the space behind him. It was the perfect opportunity and the ghost
took it, smashing him in the nose with a disgustingly fleshy
crunch.

Beagban crashed to the
floor, head swiveling wildly back and forth, searching the
darkness, looking, but unable to find his assailant.

I sat up slowly, rubbing
the blood back into my neck as I squinted to watch. I knew what
freaked him out, and it wasn’t two punches (though they were by no
means measly). It was that he hadn’t predicted them.

“Your combat sense won’t help you here,” I
said. “You can’t predict the dead.”

My prediction on the other
hand was really quite accurate. Beagban was unsettled and afraid.
He didn’t say a word, nor even utter a threat. Just scuttled back a
few paces, jerked upright, and lurched for the door. I crawled over
the counter, coughing and hacking now and again. And only after the
door was shut and locked up tight did I peep through the blinds. A
black pickup truck roared out of the lot, a bulky tarp spread over
the bed.

I wasn’t foolish enough to
think all was well. Beagban was concerned with his reputation far
more than his employer’s. It would eat at him that he’d run scared,
and soon he’d be back. I had just kicked the hornet’s nest, but at
least I was alive.

After flipping on the
overhead I turned around, inspecting the mess. The ghost hovered in
the corner, a shadowy mass. He looked... tired.

“
I guess we’ll finish the
séance later,” I said, gathering up the candles. That was, if
Beagban didn’t kill me first. Packing up the Ouija board and
arranging the coffee table didn’t take nearly enough time, and too
soon I was out of work to occupy me.

My heart was still pounding
away furiously in my chest, the shakes had yet to go, and I felt
very close to retching. These Beagban encounters were taking their
toll. I was so overwrought I didn’t think I’d ever sleep
again.

At fifteen to five Ben
arrived to find me asleep with my head pillowed on my folded arms.
I’d taken a break earlier, just long enough for a snack, but before
I knew it I was being prodded awake with granola in my
hair.

“
The door was locked,” Ben
said, thumping his keys on the counter.

I winced at the noise,
groggily rubbing my eyes as I grumbled a response.

“You locked the office to take a nap!”

“
No, the nap was an
accident,” I croaked.

“Then what’d you lock the door for?”

“I was scared.”

Now it was his turn to
grumble something. I thought I heard Missy’s name, listing her
merits no doubt. The first being her ability to complete a night
shift.

He puttered around behind the counter,
shifting and moving things with excessive force. I took the clamor
as my cue to leave.

I was halfway out the door
when Ben said, “I don’t want to see you back here until you’re
ready to work.”

He wasn’t being choleric,
that was just Ben-speak for: I’ll cover your shift if you come in
late.

And indeed I did.

It was still dark out when
I got home and I had no desire to see the sun rise. But before I
crawled into bed I went to see Lucas. He was gone. I followed my
routine, checking both doors and the driveway just in
case.

His absence didn’t bode
well. I couldn’t help but wonder if he even came home last night.
This was avoidance at its best, and I was going to have to do
something drastic to match it. Something like... I wasn’t sure,
maybe write a note? I cringed at the thought—I was shit at
expressing myself. Maybe the note could wait a little
longer.

I woke just before noon. I
took a nice long shower, even shaved my legs. And after that I
decided I should do some house chores. Living alone in such a small
place left little to do. It was too soon for another grocery run
and I rarely had other errands. I went to the bank every other week
and the post office almost never. But there were always the staple
chores: dishes and laundry.

The ghost dog had returned
from wherever it was that the thing always disappeared to. I called
it Booger, warning that I would hire an exorcist if it ever chewed
on my underwear again. The dog hardly listened, flitting around my
ankles. I never bothered stepping around, letting my feet sweep
through its misty hotdog body. I quickly learned my
lesson.

While carting an armload of
dirty laundry down the stairs I managed to trip over the little
shit. I hadn’t noticed it waiting at the bottom of the stairwell,
the pile of clothes obscuring my view. Therefore I made no move to
shoo it away or sidestep as the thing turned solid. I didn’t even
see it happen, but I felt it. The top of my foot collided with a
hairy dog blob and I went sprawling onto the floor, something of a
habit as of late.

The little spawn, seeing me
prone, seized the opportunity to set its still solid paws on my
shoulder, leaning in to sniff my face. The clothes were flung away
as I jerked upright, scrubbing my cheek. Had I imagined the dead
puppy breath ruffling my hair? Or the sound of wet panting in my
ear?

It was all too much. Having
a pet ghost was one thing, but tripping over it was another. What
next? Was I going to find a puddle of pee on the floor? I shuddered
at the thought, remembering all the reasons I didn’t own an
animal.

Unwilling to wait for an
explanation to present itself, I abandoned the clothes, leaving
them scattered on the living room floor. The ghosts were changing,
becoming more substantial somehow. I grabbed my car keys, preparing
to drive into town and pump Madame Bristow for some
answers.

The weather was pleasant,
the sun having long since dried up the rain from last night. The
tourists and townies were taking advantage. This put me at a
disadvantage as I struggled to find a parking spot, circling around
the grid of busy streets in the heart of St. Simons’ village. My
usual parking haunts were not an option as my Beagban encounters
had left me no longer trusting the tucked away back alleys. Call me
paranoid—I’d take it as a compliment.

Eventually I gave up
altogether and parked at the Crowne Hotel. It was a long walk to
the Parlor, further than I’d intended, but for once the crowded
streets would be welcome. And I moved through them as if I expected
to be abducted at any moment, avoiding secluded areas and
especially white vans. I suppose that was the reason I noticed him,
the man.

I couldn’t pinpoint when
he’d started to follow me. But as I waited (less than patiently) to
use the crosswalk I saw him lurking at a distance, and then again,
the same thing at the next crosswalk. That was when I recognized
the orange baseball cap, knowing I’d seen it before at the Turtle
Center.

I couldn’t recall his
appearance from before either, only the baseball cap stood out.
Today he was a strange mix of business and casual, wearing a white
shirt and blazer, both at odds with his jeans and
sneakers.

I dropped my satchel,
intentionally of course, making sure its contents spilled out over
the sidewalk. Cursing for show, I knelt down, facing backwards to
watch him from beneath the fringe of my bangs while I gathered my
belongings.

He spun away, giving me his
profile as he inspected the fire hydrant as if it was an invaluable
antiquity. The distance that separated us was enough to drown out
the detail, but I was close enough to know he was just your average
joe.

Pale skin and washed out
blondish/brownish hair, he was of an average build and height,
well, maybe on the short side. Any woman who fell in love with him
would easily find him attractive. He had a smooth and even face.
But if you were like me, spotting him from afar, you’d think he was
ordinary, with no remarkable features to appreciate.