DEAD EYE: PENNIES FOR THE FERRYMAN
JIM BERNHEIMER

Gryphonwood Press
DEAD EYE- PENNIES FOR THE FERRYMAN. Copyright 2009 by Jim Bernheimer
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright conventions.
Published by Gryphonwood Press  www.gryphonwoodpress.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.
      
ISBN 13:	 978-0-9795738-8-0
Printed in the United States of America
First printing:  May, 2009


Dedication and Acknowledgements
        As with most dedications, I’d like to thank my wife and daughters for putting up with all my foolishness.  Kim is the best thing to ever happen to a bum like me.  Close behind are Laura and Marissa.  My life is so much richer because they are a part of it.  
My sister-in-law, Shannon Farrell came up with this striking cover art.
 Next I have to thank John Cornell.  Originally, this was going to be “by Jim Bernheimer and John Cornell.”  He stepped back saying that he didn’t feel his contributions warranted coauthor status.  I disagreed, but respected his wishes, so I’ll have my revenge by thanking him profusely here for the many hours we spent discussing this project, the long series of edits and rewrites, and some of the rich characterization he helped add to the narrative.  I salute you sir, for you are a great man.
I also must thank Ted and Pam Vinzani as well as Matthew and Lindsey Schocke, for the edits and commentary that helped keep the story flowing. Chris Morton, Mike Skoglund, Mike Fairbanks, Lynda Sappington, Cheryl, Anne Walsh, Beth Hartung, Keith and Dorothy McComb, Tim Joy all get a cheerful thank you for the support they lent.  
Also, my friends at Alpha Fight Club (Sean Melton, Brian Albright, Steven Avery, Dave Smith, Dave Bagini, Ivan, Moses, Charlie, Carson, Dave Waicukauski, Rob Yurkowski, Chris Gibson, Colin, Benny S., Noel, Heather, and any I missed) were instrumental in helping me smooth the storyline and minimize potential plot holes.  Your assistance is greatly appreciated.
I’d like to thank Mr. Wood for taking a chance on my manuscript.  I hope this venture will prove to be more than we ever hoped for.  The folks on both the Gryphonwood Press writer’s forum (especially Ryan) and “The Pit” at Permuted Press require my thanks for all their efforts aimed at making me a better writer.
Finally, I want to thank my small but growing fanbase and the readers of my other stories.  To the folks at DLP and all the people who’ve followed my works from the beginning, thank you.  Hopefully, the day will come when you can say that you thought I was good long before I “made it.”  We’re a long way from there, but thanks for sticking with me so far.
       


Episode 1: Origins

I volunteered for Mr. Bush’s war. A few years later, a roadside bomb selected me for something else altogether. Now, I help people with ghost problems. Occasionally, I help ghosts with people problems. No one really helps with my problems. This is my story.

I didn’t mind driving a Hummer, except for the fact that I was usually the gunner. A change in assignments could sometimes break up the monotony, but today something was bothering me. The lieutenant, freshly minted from OCS, had decided to micromanage our assignments, switching us to different posts. So, I wasn’t up on the M240, I was at the wheel, staring at the back of a truck for the better part of fifteen miles. 
We were “monkey in the middle” with a bunch of trucks in front of us and even more behind us. Personally, I’d have rather been at the front or the back.
“Just another day in paradise, men,” Sergeant Don Hodges said from the passenger’s seat. I was already on pins and needles, and his comments pushed me closer to the edge. Something was just giving me the “heebiejeebies” and I couldn’t shake it. 
Hodges continued, “There’s talk of possible sandstorms moving in from the west. Stay tight and keep a sharp eye out. Porkchop! I don’t want to see you daydreaming up there.” 
PFC Davis grunted an acknowledgment back at Sarge, just before all hell broke loose. The deuce and a half in front of us was brushed by the blast like a toy truck instead of the real thing.
We spun out of control and tumbled. I heard a crunching sound while feeling pain in my head and legs. The engine on the vehicle revved louder and then seized with a violent thrash.  Our Hummer, well technically, the 1st Armored Cav’s Hummer, was on its side and smoking. I reached out and felt something. It was Porkchop’s leg. 
It wasn’t attached.
 My head lolled to one side. A rusty crowbar was embedded in Hodges’ chest. I couldn’t make out his words over the ringing in my ears. I guess it’s just one of those things I’ll probably never know what he was trying to say, because Hodges died seconds later. 
Someone pulled my tattered body out. The Sarge and Porkchop both went home in boxes. Me, I was still under warranty, so they shipped me back for replacement parts, but I turned out to be beyond “fixin’,” so they gave me some lovely parting gifts, the thanks of a grateful nation, some free medical care, and a tiny paycheck I’ll draw for the rest of my life, as they showed me the door.
That’s when my problems began.

Some places have associations that are forever burned in the tracks of my memory. At Fort Hood, it was the oppressive heat and fierce thunderstorms. In Iraq, it was the stench of sweat, sewage, and gasoline combined with charred hair. Back home in Maryland, it was the whispering. 
Nearly eight months after the fateful day I almost lost my life, I found myself catching a Ride-On bus from the Shady Grove Metro station. As my scars fade and my gait is no longer unpredictable, the whispering has receded, but when I’m on the Metro, I still hear people whispering, see adults trying not to stare, and children scolded about pointing. That morning, a solemn young boy, maybe five years old, stared at me for ten minutes before asking, in a loud voice, “Why does dat mans haf a potch?” He didn’t know that these questions were supposed to be whispered. After being shushed by the older woman sitting next to him, I expect that he knows that now. 
I was on a bus headed back to college, medically discharged from the US Army, wearing the aforementioned eye patch. I had just returned from having stitches taken out of my right eye. My body hadn’t rejected the cornea transplant – yet. I’d made it this far, so things were looking up.
Tiny scars crisscrossed the right side of my face. I’d been told they gave me a roguish quality. They were a constant reminder of how close to death I had been that day and how lucky I was to be alive.
My vision was poor but improving. At least with my eye, I was dealing with civilian doctors instead of the jackasses at the Veterans Administration, the ones who couldn’t do anything about the lack of hearing in my right ear. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t kvetching about every little thing. I was quite grateful I didn’t have to use a cane any more.
Returning to the moment, I realized that if there was one thing that I’ve always hated, it’s public transportation. With my messed up eye, I couldn’t drive. Having to take the bus left me feeling like I wasn’t in control of my life. Who knew what kind of day the bus driver was having? There’s also a social stigma associated with people on buses. The Metro trains aren’t so bad – everyone uses them – but buses seem to have a bad reputation. A few years ago, I looked at the slobs getting on the Ride-On buses and thought that life had really kicked those people in the face. Now I know how right I truly was.
Of course, the last time I had been behind the wheel hadn’t turned out to be the highlight of my life. Survivor’s guilt is a powerful thing.
It was tempting to blow off classes and just head back to the couch and the six pack of cheap beer waiting in the fridge. Instead, I got off at the stop for Montgomery College, known affectionately as “MC” by students. I headed toward my English class, bemoaning the fact that years earlier, I had been a classic underachiever in high school, and that in the Army all I wanted to be was a “ground pounder.”
With a slight aptitude towards computers, I enrolled at MC. I was a General Studies major with plans to take as many hardware and software classes as I could. With all the Federal Government jobs in the area, I figured that my time in the Army, coupled with computer skills and disabled veteran status, would translate into money in the bank. That was the plan, but plans change.
The college gig wasn’t bad, but it was strange to be a freshman at the age of twenty-three. I’d been looking for a part-time job to earn some extra money. Everything I’d found I either wasn’t qualified for, or it interfered with my class schedule. Classes came first.
I slid into my seat just as the class started. We were three weeks into the term, so I didn’t really know anyone, though a couple of people called me “Pirate Dude” because of the eye patch and long black hair. Mom wondered if I was going for the Johnny Depp look. My few friends had already graduated college and seemed to be more interested in getting on with their busy lives than spending time with a cripple. I guess my friends weren’t much in the loyalty department – or maybe I just wasn’t much fun to be around.
Jenny Goodman, one of my new acquaintances, sat next to me. She was short, female and decidedly attractive. At five-foot-six, I towered over the cute little brunette with short curly hair and two perfectly functional blue eyes. Fortunately, she was on my left side so I didn’t have to ask her to speak up.
She smiled and said, “Arrgh, matey!”
My attention was drawn to the sling around Jenny’s left arm. She held her pen clumsily in her right hand. “Why the good mood?” I asked.
“I fell and sprained my wrist. As for the good mood and silliness, well, that’s the Vicodin talking.”
“Be careful with that stuff,” I cautioned, knowing full well from my own rehabilitation how tempting that little white pill could be. “Why don’t you let me take notes and we’ll run them through the copier after class?”
She refused at first, but after trying to scribble a few lines with the wrong hand, she gave up in frustration and agreed. Writing kept me from falling asleep from sheer boredom.
Near the end of class, I felt a little twinge in my bad eye, so I pulled my drops out and tilted my head back. The doctor wanted me to keep it moist and covered for the next week or so. I shook my head to swirl the medicated drops around, then returned my head to the normal position. Normally, I would flip my eye patch back over, but something stopped me.
There was a blurry figure standing next to Jenny. I hadn’t seen any older women in this class. Where did she come from? I covered my bad eye to get a better look, but she disappeared. Taking my patch off again, she reappeared!
Something was definitely wrong. I was about to say something when Jenny reached into her purse and pulled out her painkillers. I was too stunned to do anything to help her as she struggled with the childproof cap with her “good” hand.
The older woman reached down just as Jenny managed to get the top off and swatted the bottle from her hand, spilling the contents to the floor.
“Sorry, I’m such a klutz! Would you mind giving me a hand? Mike? Is something wrong?” Jenny completely ignored the screaming woman. I couldn’t hear her either. Her lips were moving, but it was like one of those silent movies. If Jenny wasn’t speaking I might have started wondering about the hearing in my left ear.
I suppose it was a good thing my classmate didn’t say that I looked like I’d just seen a ghost, because I might have lost it. Stammering that there was something wrong with my eye; I quickly pulled my patch back down and helped her retrieve her pills.
Every few minutes, I’d sneak the patch off my eye and look. The woman was still there. If this was a hallucination, it was a damn fine one! The “mirage” looked like she was in her late thirties or early forties. Given the fact that I could only see her with my bad eye, I couldn’t really tell what she looked like. Straining, I could see a bit of a haze around her.
“Mike, are you sure that you’re feeling okay?” The woman drifted away from Jenny, lingering in the corner.
I lied and said I was fine, but I wasn’t feeling very well at all! Who could have blamed me? I’d been a gunner in Iraq. Any number of people had tried to kill me, and I had killed more than a few of them. Was I losing it? Was this some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder? I worried they would be sending the padded wagon for me soon.
Up until that day, I was certain that ghosts didn’t exist. It was just that simple! The supernatural wasn’t real. That’s for stupid kids who dress up and run out to Burkittsville and look for the Blair Witch, or hang out in Goth clubs wearing black, pretending to be vampires. 
Ghosts were for old ladies, desperate to believe their friends and family were in a better place. They believe in the supernatural. I believed in things I could touch; things I could see. Well, that sure put a kink in my position, because I was starting to see things.
Jenny had to remind me that I was supposed to copy my notes for her. Later when she looked at them, she might realize that I didn’t write anything for the last fifteen minutes of class, but going insane was a passable excuse in my book. Sneaking another peek, I saw whatever it was still following Jenny as she walked away. As she approached the exit, it moved right up behind her and pushed her and walked right through the glass! Poor Jenny stumbled into the door with a thud and dropped her book bag and purse.
A guy coming in helped the distraught girl to her feet and collected her stuff. I didn’t imagine that. Whatever that thing I just saw was, it sure didn’t like Jenny.
Notwithstanding what I just said about public transportation, I’d never been so glad to be on a bus full of other people in my life.

Mom’s house here in Gaithersburg, Maryland, is a simple ranch style, three-bedroom type that was mass-produced in the 1960’s and 70’s. It’s almost paid for, thankfully, because property values in Montgomery County are beyond ridiculous these days. Even if I had a full disability check coming in from the Army, it wouldn’t cover an apartment. Medical retirement pay for a Corporal doesn’t cover squat. My check pays for my share of the utilities, most of the groceries, and a few odds and ends.
Thinking about concrete things, like bills and the tiny payments I would receive for the rest of my life, was good for occupying my mind. If I hadn’t run out of hot water, I’d still be standing in the shower. Instead, I dragged my sorry ass out and got dressed.
I didn’t feel like eating, and Mom was headed from her cleaning job at the National Institute of Standards and Testing to Pizza Hut, where she waits on tables. Besides, what would I have told her if she asked how my day had been? It might’ve been nice to talk to Dad, but he picked up and left one day when I was nine and we haven’t seen him since.
Having run out of options, I decided I needed to call my doctor. After begging his answering service, I finally got to speak to him.
“Mr. Ross, are you experiencing any problems?” he asked in a calm, professional manner.
I’m sure I sounded pretty panicked at that moment. “Yes, no, I don’t know. I’m seeing, um, distortions and blurred vision. Do you think I should come back in?”
“Some anxiety is natural after getting the stitches out of your eye. If it’ll make you feel better, come in and we will fit you into the schedule.”
“Doc, I was wondering, where exactly did the donor cornea come from?” Up until then, I hadn’t really cared to know anything about the person whose death I benefited from. It suddenly seemed much more important.
“Most people usually ask that question at some point. I figured you would have asked sooner. I don’t have your file with me, but I think there might have been a waiver release signed by the donor’s family. I can tell you tomorrow.”
A day later, I had a name. Darren Porter of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania – the name really didn’t mean a damn thing to me. The man had signed the release himself less than a week before he died. It was all I had, well, that and a search engine called Google.
Waiting for the web page to load was painful. It’s why I usually went to the library to use the Internet, but basic cable was about the only non-essential that Mom and I could afford. It might come as a surprise to some, but high speed Internet actually is a privilege, not a right. The twenty dollar difference between dial-up and broadband, well, that’ll buy a lot of macaroni and cheese or put gas in a car for a week.
Imagine the look on my face when I learned that my donor was a psychic. He gave ghost tours of the Gettysburg battlefields, according to the few articles I found. His business had a web page, but it was now a dead link. There was a mention of a public access television show where he and a group called “the Eye of Horus” were paranormal investigators. Who the hell were they? Wasn’t the Internet supposed to be able to find damn near anything?
I searched for the name of the group only to find more dead links and precious little information, mostly useless crap. Who really cares that the little floating eyeball that you find on the back of the dollar bills is the “Eye of Horus?” I pounded the desk with my hand. The only real background information I could find on him dealt with his death.
There was an article in the Gettysburg Times about his death. On March 25th, 2006, instead of meeting his tour group, he staggered into the emergency room and collapsed. They pronounced him dead at 4:17pm.
A cold shiver ran down my spine as I read the article. It was probably the first real bit of sheer terror I’d felt since combat and I can assure you it hasn’t been the last. I knew exactly where I had been at that moment. A corpsman was wheeling my battered body across the tarmac at Dover Air Force Base. That was probably the exact moment I had returned to American soil.
When Mom got home, I turned down leftover pizza and told her that I wasn’t feeling well – not a big stretch! I was restless that night. It was a lot like those nights in Iraq, or Germany, or Walter Reed, while I was healing. Back then, a feeling of hopelessness crushed me - my prospects were pretty bleak - but this time it was dread -- cold clammy dread. Was I some kind of freak? I considered not using my drops and hoping my eye would reject the cornea.
I should have been jumping for joy, right? I’d just seen proof of life after death – the eternal question and all that jazz. I was scared; scared like riding in a Hummer waiting for something bad to happen. I thought about a bad movie I’d watched once and concluded that I didn’t like seeing dead people.
At some point, I must have passed out from restless exhaustion. When Mom woke me up, I could smell the coffee and nicotine on her breath as she kissed my forehead. Of course, I probably smelled like cold sweat and body odor, so let’s call it a draw.
Stumbling through my morning routine, I prayed that the stuff I’d read last night was a bad dream. I had no desire to speak to the mental health “professionals” any time soon – not after that dumb bitch working off her ROTC scholarship at Walter Reed gave me my mandatory psychological counseling for my war injuries. She might as well have read from a damn form letter! The military docs were all right, but I’ll be hanged if I can figure out where they get their psychologists.
Unfortunately, what notes I had on Darren were still there. It had been a nice delusion while it lasted. I doubted that I’d run into Jenny that day. Our next class together wouldn’t be until next Tuesday. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I looked in the Yellow Pages, stopping short of actually copying down the address for a nearby psychic reader. My gut instinct told me that if someone actually had any talent like that, they sure as hell wouldn’t be listed in the phone book here in suburbia.
Trying to decide what to do, I finally came to the conclusion that I should prove that this wasn’t a fluke. I could track down Jenny, but her little friend didn’t exactly seem like “Casper the Friendly Ghost.” That meant I probably needed to find someone to talk to. Well, there was one person I wouldn’t mind seeing again. 

All Souls Cemetery in Germantown wasn’t my favorite place. Cemeteries in general have always given me the creeps. Now, I understood why. The man sitting on the ground next to the headstone – twin headstones reading Warren and Melanie Majors – looked as if he was in his early sixties. His wool suit was a little heavy for the warm weather. He stood and greeted me with a wave as I came up to the plot.
I hadn’t come to visit Grandpa’s grave recently. In fact, the last time I’d come up here was that week of leave shortly before my unit shipped out. I tried to ignore the fact that I could now see Grandpa Warren plain as day.
In a way, when Grandpa passed, it was the start of bad times for the Ross household. After his estate had been settled, there was enough money in the bank that a week later dear old Dad emptied the account and decided to make a fresh start for himself, without his wife and son. If I ever catch up with Mr. David Michael Ross, Senior, last known residence Phoenix, Arizona, I’ll have to decide if I’ll spit in his face before or after I beat the shit out of him. Want to really get me going? All you have to do is call me David, Dave, Davey, or especially Junior. It sickens me to no end that I share that SOB’s name.
I looked around to make sure no one was close, before I looked him straight in the face. “Hello, Grandpa. You’re pretty blurry, but I can see you standing right there.”
The ghost in front of me seemed excited and started mouthing words at me, but I couldn’t make anything out.
“I’m sorry. I can’t see you well enough to make out what you’re saying, but it’s good to see you again!” I could tell he was smiling as I held my hand out to him.
When he gripped it, it felt like I was getting an electric shock. It was painful! Almost painful enough to make me ignore that it felt like I was really shaking his hand.
“Damn good to see you too, Michael.”
Stung, I let go, but not before hearing his faint greeting. I looked again and his mouth was still moving, but I couldn’t hear him anymore. There’s nothing like pain to really drive home how surreal a situation can be.
“I could hear you when we touched, but it hurt. Let’s have a seat and we’ll try it again.” Seemed like there actually was an explanation for all those “phantom” pains I experienced in hospitals. Now I really never wanted to set foot in Walter Reed again. I didn’t even want to think about what I might see.
Sitting on the ground, I tentatively reached out for him again, just barely touching his index finger with the tip of mine. This time the feeling was like someone stepping on my hand – painful, but tolerable.
“Can you hear me now?”
Despite the pain, I almost laughed, but knew he probably wouldn’t get the reference. Grandpa never could stand television advertising.
“Yeah, how are you?”
“Dead. Bored. Lonely. Take your pick. Mostly, I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Why? Are you stuck or something? Where’s Grandma?”
“I’ve been waiting and hoping to talk to you. You’ve got a real gift. I need you to tell your mom that I’m sorry for being so hard on her. I was wrong and too stubborn to admit it. You give her that message and I know that I can go on and finally see Mel again.”
“It’s not just this guy’s eye?”
“No. You might not remember, but when you were four, you used to come over to the house, and you’d play with your imaginary friends. One day, you came into the house and were singing a little song. I’d always thought that your mom taught it to you, but no. It was Mel trying to send a message to me – letting me know she was still around.”
Not a lot of memories left in the old noggin circa age four. I just shook my head at him. There was a nice breeze blowing through the park. I tried to focus on it instead of the feeling that someone had my finger in a vise.
Digesting that, I asked, “And what do I do with it? Go give ghost tours? Be Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost?”
“Whoopi who? No need to get short with me, young man! You’ve got a special gift. Far as I know, you don’t gotta do nothing with it. You could just ignore it and put that eye patch back on, or you could be some kind of angel of mercy and help people out. If you’re a no-good mercenary bastard like your dad, I reckon you could help the ones who’re willing to pay you.”
Give Warren Majors some credit; when he was alive, he’d hidden his dislike for my dad pretty well. During his life, he’d been an electrician and a union man first, last and always. From what I remember, he believed in doing right by people and in the value of hard work. He also expected to get paid for that hard work.
I kept switching hands so we could talk. Little red welts and blotches were starting to develop on my fingers. I kept trying to get him to explain what it’s like on the ‘other side’, but he just shrugged and said that it’d be like explaining sight to a blind man and that was only the in-between. Even he didn’t know what was next. After the fourth time, he cut me off and said not to bother asking any more questions about what it’s like. We talked of other things, like what he could do and what he couldn’t do, for the next few minutes. Then, we talked about me and my life. He wanted to know if I was happy, and when I told him I wasn’t, he asked what I intended to do about it.
“Well, that’s what you need to figure out, Michael. Listen, most of us departed can only hang out so long. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it, but I managed to last long enough to deliver my message to you. I can move on now and go find my wife and find out what really is next.”
“What about the ones who are haunting someone? There’s this girl in my class…”
Grandpa Warren just started howling with laughter. I let go, seeing as I wasn’t likely to be getting any information anytime soon.
“Sorry! I don’t really get a chance to have a good laugh out here. There’s always a girl involved, isn’t there? Well, the ones that won’t go away, they done latched on to somebody or something. Getting rid of one of them is tricky business. You either have to destroy or bury the object they’re anchored to, or the person has to free themselves. Is the ghost bothering the girl?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” I explained what the ghost was doing to Jenny.
“Well, you can touch me right? Pick up that stick there. Now, poke me in the leg. Nope, just passes through. Kick me with your foot. Damn! Not so hard! So, I can feel your shoe, but not a stick in your hand. I suppose you could beat the tar out of him and convince ‘em to go away.”
“Her,” I corrected.
“You shouldn’t hit a woman, Michael – dead or not, it’s not right. I was going to recommend you get yourself a nice set of brass knuckles, but I don’t want to hear nothing bout you hitting no woman! You were raised better than that! You’re gonna have to convince that girl to free herself.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I didn’t want to offend his sensibilities. After all, the woman was already dead!
“Well that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? You just gonna have to figure that one out. Looks like I’m done here.”
Sounding like some cheap movie extra, I said, “Wait! Don’t go! I have more questions!”
“There are plenty of people who can answer them – but not me. My time’s up. If you ever manage to convince your mother that you can do this, tell her how proud I am of her. I shoulda told her that more often when I was alive.”
He paused for a moment and chuckled, “She’s pretty grounded in the here and now, so I reckon you’re in for an uphill battle on that one, but she might come around one day. You can mention that I never did punish her for stealing that fifty dollars from me when she was sixteen. I’ll bet she’ll remember that. Take care of yourself, Michael. Hey, see that woman over that way with that big guy jumping up and down next to her screaming ‘The money is in the attic!’ I think you’ve got your first customer.”
I couldn’t hear anything but my Grandpa speaking, but as I looked over at what he was talking about and a sensation passed over me. It was like holding a rope and feeling it go slack. Spinning back, he was gone.
For a brief moment, I was again that startled preteen, who’d just lost his grandfather. Rarely would anyone catch me admitting it, but that was the point that my life hit rock bottom. The bastard listed under the father block of my birth certificate ran off right after that and ever since, it’s been a long climb out of debt and poverty for mom and me.
Swallowing the sudden hurt, I stood and started towards the young black woman crying by a graveside. A portly man was standing next to her looking both ashamed and exasperated. Meanwhile, I was trying to think of a scenario that wouldn’t end with her calling the police.
“Excuse me miss, but I think I can help.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name’s Mike. I want to help.”
“Great! I don’t know how much more help I can stand from you damn crackers! You’re already about to take my house. What the hell else do you want from me?”
I pointed down to my ripped jeans and faded shirt. “Do I look like The Man? Do I have a three piece suit? Am I carrying a briefcase, wearing a tie? I don’t think so. I see a big fat dude looking like he’s throwing a fit and trying to tell you something.” I looked at the headstone and turned to the ghost next to her. “I assume you must be Lamont? Come on over here, Lamont, and let me touch you.”
Lamont looked as shocked as his daughter did, but did as I asked. “Now hold out your hand. Let’s see if this works.” I brush his fingertips and feel a sharp stab of pain. “Ow! Damn, that hurts. Start talking!”
“Tell Denise the money’s in the attic! There’s an old suitcase on the bookshelf. It’s got some old cigar boxes in it. The money’s in there.”
“How much?” I skipped the whole moral dilemma thing. I didn’t plan on cheating people, but I’d be damned if I was just going to give it away! Even ‘Angels of Mercy’ have to eat.
“What?”
“You heard me. You think I’m just going to stand here and let you shock the shit out of me for free? I want a finder’s fee, or I walk. How much money is there?”
He hesitated. “Eight large.”
“Lamont here says there’s a stash of money in the house. He says it’s ‘eight large’, I’ll tell you where it is, but I’m expecting a finder’s fee. Say five hundred?”

Denise took some convincing, and it took several more jarring discussions going back and forth with Denise asking Lamont a question, and me getting the answer, before she agreed to my terms, but I eventually found myself sitting on her porch and waiting for her to come back down from the attic.
I heard the deadbolt click and lock the door. “Hey! What gives?” The mail slot opened and a fifty dollar bill slid out.
Through the door she said in a menacing voice, “That’s all you’re getting! Now get your skinny white ass off my porch before I yell out to the brothers on the corner and have them come beat the shit out of you.”
Considering I was a white guy in the middle of an all-black neighborhood, things didn’t look promising. “Fine, I’m leaving, but I can tell you that Lamont’s not happy with you.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my daddy! I should pop a cap in you right now! You start walking or I start shooting.”
Lamont stepped through the door. He was laughing and pointing at me. I grabbed his arm. “What the hell was that all about?”
He smiled a feral grin at me and taunted me with a wagging finger. “Tough break, whitey! She’s upstairs right now with fifteen large! I never did like your kind no how! Now go on and get outta here!”
I punched Lamont hard, driving my hand into his gut and throwing him down the steps. My hand really stung, but the ghost actually looked hurt. Grandpa was right; brass knuckles might be a good option. With one hand clutching his gut, he started to fade from view, but not before flipping me off.
Walking towards the nearest bus stop with not much to show for all this, I thought about the lesson that Denise and Lamont had just taught me – get my cash up front and don’t expect gratitude. I considered mentioning Denise’s windfall to the surly dudes hanging out on the corner, but I guessed I’d come out ahead, just not as far as I would’ve liked.

I still had twenty dollars left by the time I ran into Jenny again. I’d told Mom I’d done a few “odd jobs” (I just didn’t want to tell her exactly how ‘odd’) and gave her thirty bucks towards groceries. Jenny and I were eating at the poor man’s haven – Taco Bell. Ten dollars there equals dinner for two plus change.
I endured all kinds of questions about my time in Iraq. No, things weren’t as good as the politicians wanted you to believe, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the press said either.
“So now you’ve heard all about me. Tell me something about you.”
“Well, I live with my aunt and uncle. My dad’s a colonel in the Army. He’s in South Korea right now.”
“What about your mom?” I knew the answer already.
“She died a few years ago – car accident. My parents split when I was eleven and she took me back to Roanoke, which is why I still sound like a hick. After she died, I went to live with my dad at Fort Benning, but he’d already gotten the tour in Korea and if those orders got cancelled…”
“The next set would have read Iraq,” I finished for her. I did Advanced Infantry Training at Benning. I wondered if our paths might have crossed back then. She’d have been jail bait at the time since she was barely legal now.
“Yeah, so I moved in with Dad’s older sister and I do my best not to wreck their house.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
A dark expression crossed her face. “Don’t be. She was a hateful woman. She bled my dad dry and did her best to turn me against him. The only reason she even fought for custody was so she wouldn’t have to work any more. I’m still ashamed of her. Oh, hell! Sorry about that, Mike. I didn’t mean to spill my drink everywhere. Here, let me get some napkins.”
I didn’t need to pull back the eye patch to know what just happened, but I did anyway. Her mother was glaring at her.
“No worries. I’ll get you a refill and we can change the topic.” I didn’t see the need to make the spirit angrier. I suspected that fighting with a ghost in the middle of a fast food restaurant would go over real well on the evening news. Despite my best efforts as a teenager, my police record was still clean and I intended to keep it that way.
Frowning, Jenny looked down at the stain all over her skirt. “I need to go change. Fortunately, I live within walking distance.”
“Want company?”
“Are you hitting on me?” she asked, slightly curious.
“For now, just call me friendly.” I couldn’t exactly tell her that we should go someplace private so I could interrogate the ghost haunting her, now could I?
She seemed to not mind the idea of an older guy hitting on her, and she agreed, although she did make an excuse to call her aunt to let her know she was with Mike Ross, that guy from her English class.
Great! If the ghost decides to hurt her, I wonder who will end up taking the blame.
Her aunt’s townhouse was a nice upscale one – probably worth a pretty penny these days. I weighed the options while I waited for her to change. Beating around the bush with her seemed like a good option, except I’d be leaving her with “Mommy Dearest.” I finally had a name for her though, after spotting a framed wedding invitation on the wall for Allen Goodman and Rose Carter.
While examining a nice collection of Hummel angels, I concluded that no matter when I told her, she was going to think I was a whack job. Why waste all the time and effort getting to know her if she was going to freak out on me anyway?
She came back into the living room with Rose close behind. I decided to get this over with. Jenny was grabbing a couple of Sprites out of the fridge when I circled near her mother.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Look Mike, I think you’re a great guy, but let’s not rush anything.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“What? Sorry, I thought you were going to ask me out. Uh, ghosts – maybe. I don’t know, why?”
“Because I can see the one that’s following you around. I think it’s your mom. She’s been pushing you into doors, spilling your drinks and just generally making your life a pain and she’s standing right next to me.” I grabbed the ghost’s arm hard and jerked it behind her back and heard her hiss in pain.
“Let me go!”
“Mike, what are you doing?”
“What do you want from Jenny?” I used my best “tough guy” voice.
“She needs to suffer. She’s an ungrateful little bitch!”
“Seriously, Mike, you’re freaking me out! Quit it!”
The ghost stepped on my foot, hard, but I didn’t let her go. Instead, I slammed the woman’s face down onto the kitchen island, which shook with the impact. I had expected the ghost to pass right through, but contact with me must have made her somewhat tangible.
I grunted, “Jenny, look at me! Did you hear that? Did I ever touch the island?”
Jenny just stood there open-mouthed.
“C’mon! Snap out of it. While I’m holding her, you should be able to feel something here. Just reach out where my hand is.”
That was the very first time I experienced this harsh lesson – a spirit in contact with the person they’re latched onto can draw energy from that person. As soon as Jenny’s hand touched her mom’s head, I experienced the next best thing to being hit by a bolt of lightning. Whatever it was, it tossed me violently into the pantry door, momentarily stunning me.
Shaking the cobwebs out of my head, I saw that Jenny had fallen backwards into the living room and was having some kind of seizure. Though I couldn’t hear the ghost anymore, I could probably guess the murderous intention in her eyes as she grabbed a butcher’s knife from the block on the island.
Maybe I hadn’t felt threatened initially because Rose was a woman. The knife in her hands went a long way toward getting me over my gender bias.
I’d been a wrestler in high school and the time I’d spent in the Army had only improved my hand-to-hand skills. She was a dead woman with a knife. She slashed at me twice before I stepped inside her lunge. Under the circumstances, I hoped Grandpa wouldn’t mind me roughing her up a bit. My fist smashed into Rose’s jaw and sent her flying, literally, through the wall. The knife clattered to the kitchen floor.
Quickly, I knelt by Jenny. She seemed to be coming out of her convulsions, but when I reached down she started clawing at me with her one good arm.
Fabulous! The kitchen’s a mess and now I have defensive wounds on me. I’ll need to start working on my insanity plea.
“Jenny! Stop! It’s me.”
“Get back! Stay away! What was that?”
“I think it was your mom.”
Her eyes were glazed over in terror. “But she’s dead!”
Starting to reply, I was cut off by her gasping in disbelief. Looking over my shoulder, I barely got my arm up in time to block the rolling pin.
Yelping in pain, I kicked her straight in the kneecap. Even for a ghost, that had to hurt. I grabbed an old cast iron skillet and used it to block the next swing of the rolling pin.
Surprisingly, I blocked it below the pin and her arm rebounded off of the skillet. Next, I whipped it around and hit her directly in the head. If she hadn’t already been dead, that would have finished her. She dropped to the floor and slowly sank into the basement.
The next minute passed with me dripping blood onto the floor and wildly scanning the kitchen, holding the small frying pan like an undersized Louisville Slugger.
“Is she gone?” Jenny choked out.
“For right now, yes. We need to get out of here. Can you drive with your arm like that?”
“Not that well. My car’s a stick.”
“You drive, I’ll shift. Where’s your mother’s grave?”
The poor girl looked confused, before whispering, “Roanoke.”
“Then that’s where we’re headed. Give me a hand straightening up.” I wrapped a dishtowel around my bleeding, bruised arm and started cleaning up the blood.
“Why? We need to get out of here!”
“Jenny, think about it. You told your aunt I was here. There’re signs of a struggle. What happens when your aunt and uncle get home? They’ll put an APB out on me and your car. I’ve don’t want to end up on the evening news.”
Giving Jenny some instructions helped her out of her stupor. After five minutes, it didn’t look like a brawl had taken place. The broken dishes were tossed into the garbage and I used a piece of duct tape on the backside of a cabinet door. It should hold it up for a day or two. The frying pan went with us.
Jenny was still in no condition to drive, so I dropped the garbage bag into the trash bin and slid behind the wheel of her Honda Civic. My driver’s license expired while I was in Iraq and there was no way I could pass the vision test now, but it seemed like the best option at the time.
Lucky for us, it was early afternoon, so traffic on I-270 and the Capital Beltway was manageable. We’d crossed into Virginia and I was trying to remember whether I-66 West was a left or right hand exit, when she finally said something.
“Mike, what happened back there?”
“I can’t really say. I haven’t exactly been doing this for long.” I proceeded to tell her about the cornea transplant from a dead psychic. When she had calmed down enough, I convinced her to call her aunt and make up some lie about going out with some friends this evening.
Hanging up her cell phone, she looked at me. “What are we going to do in Roanoke?”
“The ghost is either anchored to you, or to something of hers that you have. Do you have any of her jewelry?”
“No.”
“Crap. Well, I hope there’ll be a ghost in Roanoke that can tell us what to do. You know where the graveyard is, right?”
“It’s been awhile, but I’m pretty sure. So all this time, she’s been doing these things to me. I’m not a klutz. I’m not accident prone.” Her voice trembled slightly.
“No. You’re not. Hey, why are you crying?” I asked.
Okay, so I’m probably not the quickest when it comes to understanding women and Jenny had been through a lot. Anyone who’s ever been in a car with a crying woman can attest to the feeling of helplessness. I patted her arm every now and then and concentrated on staying in the right-hand lane through the thinning traffic as we headed past Manassas, still about three hours from Roanoke.
She cried for a long time and then fell asleep. I kept peeling back the patch and looking for signs of the ghost. Of course, if she was farther than twenty feet away, my messed up eye wouldn’t be able see it. The other thing distracting me was the fact that Jenny had a really nice pair of legs. I didn’t see many nice legs in Iraq.
My passenger didn’t wake until I pulled over near Front Royal and put my last twelve bucks into her gas tank. Having not driven for awhile, the price of gas really shocked me. I hoped she had some money or plastic on her. Otherwise we’d have to explain why we suddenly ran off to western Virginia to run out of gas.
Fortunately, she did have some cash and we went through a drive through. Somewhere on I-81 South, she started talking about her mother and how much the two of them hated each other.

We arrived in Roanoke at about seven in the evening. The sun was already setting and there was nobody in the graveyard —living or dead. Shocking how a couple of days had numbed me to this, but then again, I had just narrowly missed being killed by a dead woman wielding kitchenware.
Fortunately, the graveyard wasn’t gated. Trespassing, along with Breaking and Entering weren’t words I’d like added to my resume.
“So, what do we do now?”
I shook my head.
“You still don’t know?”
I heard the slight panic in her voice. “Grandpa wasn’t too clear on what to do. He only said that you’d have to free yourself. Did you ever visit her grave?”
“I only came here for the funeral,” she replied.
I was at a loss. “Maybe, you just need to go there and say goodbye.”
She laughed bitterly. “The last thing I ever said to her was that I’d dance on her grave.”
“That sounds like a plan. We’ll try that first!” I said.
“Are you crazy?”
“Well, I’ve driven for hours, looking for ghosts, armed with a frying pan. I’m not sure crazy would begin to cover it, but yeah, we’re going to try that first. If it doesn’t work, try just saying goodbye. After that, we may have to find another ghost to help us.”
Things were looking up, or at least I thought so. The moment we set foot in the graveyard, though, I saw three figures climb out of the ground, Rose plus two big-ass rednecks. I grabbed the skillet and resisted the urge to mutter something along the lines of ‘out of the frying pan….’
“Jenny! She’s here and she’s got help. I’ll hold them off!”
I named the “good ole boys” Bo and Luke and figured they wouldn’t be able to really touch Jenny. On the other hand, I was in trouble. Luke got the business end of the skillet and staggered to my left. Unfortunately, that allowed Bo to bum rush me, knocking the pan out of my hands and sending us both towards the ground. I reverted to my old wrestler form.
Using a few moves that would have gotten me tossed from any organized match, I was gaining the upper hand when his buddy leapt on us and added to the free-for-all scrum.
Anyone who’s ever gone down in a pile will tell you that no one comes out clean. Most of the time, your hands are too busy grabbing, pushing, and pulling to be real effective. Elbows, knees, foreheads, and teeth suddenly become just as important as the hands.
Want to know how much pain I was in? Ever wrestle on top of a fire ant hill? My skull was on fire after I head-butted one of them and my teeth were numb after biting the other’s arm. Through it all I could hear Jenny’s screams.
Poking the first one in the eye and rolling free, I scrambled back to my feet. “Luke” caught a foot in the face and went limp, while “Bo” grappled with me.
“You’re not gonna hurt her no more!” he hissed.
“We’ve never hurt Rose. We’re trying to help her cross.” I figured I’d try that line on the first ghost we ran into.
The guy stopped for a second, “What?”
“You know, go on! Pass over. Shit, she’s choking Jenny now!” Not having time to argue the merits of this, I smashed my fist into his solar plexus and left him gasping for whatever it is that ghosts breathe.
With a strength born of fury, I ripped Rose Goodman off of her daughter and began pummeling her. Thinking back, I was probably projecting some of my own unresolved parental anger on the dead woman, but it’s like the bitch at Walter Reed said, when I experience uncontrolled anger, I should find a way to cope and not take it out on a living creature.
What do you know; the idiot was actually right about something!
Rose started to fade into the ground, but I snatched her up and dragged her to her feet. “Oh no, you’re getting a ring side seat for this!”
Jenny was crawling away on her hands and knees, but I got her attention. Choking out raw sobs, she managed to get to her feet. The one remaining ghost was watching us cautiously, but seemed to be making no more threatening movements.
It took five more minutes for Jenny to find her mother’s grave, but when she began to dance, the wind picked up and the ghost in my arms moaned and tried to break free. Muttering obscenities and finally begging for Jenny to stop, Rose faded from view.
There was a long moment of silence as the wind died. There were welts and bruises up and down my arms. My chest felt like someone had shaved it with a dry razor and poured a bottle of rubbing alcohol on it. The one remaining ghost scratched his three chins thoughtfully and approached me looking somewhat ashamed.
“So you help people get to the other side, right?”


Episode 2: Retreat from Gettysburg


I rubbed my aching jaw, “So, tell me why I should help you again?” Standing in a graveyard, looking at the ghost responsible for my aching jaw, I was skeptical.
“‘Cuz I need some help?” The bloated specter said.
“Yeah, I got that part. You realize that you and your buddy were just kicking the snot out of me back there?” I asked. He gave me a blank look, so I decided that was enough physical contact for the time; I was in enough pain as it was already.
“Mike you should help him,” Jenny whined. “It is a him right? You didn’t get beat up by a bunch of women did you?” she asked, moving her hands to her hips as she cocked her head at me.
I frowned at Jenny Goodman, who, despite almost being killed by her long-dead and now just recently departed mother, seemed to be in a good mood. She made her way to my side while I conversed with the “good old boy” that I had “wrassled” with.
“Yes, it is a him. I helped you because you’re a friend. Let’s go, we’ve still got a long ride back to Maryland.”
Jenny didn’t get the hint.
“Well how about we come back next weekend and help him out?” Jenny asked excitedly.
Obviously, Jenny wasn’t satisfied with putting her own foot in her mouth, she was willing to stuff mine in there as well.
The ghost was looking at me all pathetic like. Given that he was an overweight, mid-forties-looking country bumpkin, it wasn’t that hard. I originally called him “Bo”, but after speaking with him I was tempted to go with “Goober Pyle”. Reluctantly, I reached out and touched him, so I could hear him.
“…man. You just gotta help me, please?”
I sighed. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a bad guy, but I didn’t really see any incentive to get involved. Natural inclinations aside, I did have Miss milk-of-human-kindness standing next to me, so I supposed, I should find out exactly what I would be getting myself into. “So what kind of help do you need?”
“The other guy you cold-cocked back there. He’s Mitch …”
“I’m only considering helping you, not Mitch.” I said rather forcefully. What did he think I was doing there – charity work?
“No – ya don’ understand -- he pretty much hangs around to make my time miserable,” the spirit griped.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s complicated …”
This was getting annoying, “Uncomplicate it or we’re leaving.”
“Mitch is haunting me.”
I’ll freely admit that I wasn’t expecting that one. Why would a ghost haunt another ghost? It seemed like a good question, so I asked it.
“Well it was during hunting season two years ago. He was carrying a deer across his shoulders and I couldn’t see his vest; on account of the dumbshit didn’t wear no orange vest! Anyway, I shot that deer and I ended up shooting the idjit holding it too. Then, I kinda panicked and I buried him out there.”
I stopped to fill Jenny in, because she was already pestering me for the details. It was like being back in Iraq, holding stop-and-start conversations with the locals through our interpreter.
“Ask him what happened next.” she prompted.
Back in the Army, there was a saying in the unit – MOTO, or “Master of the Obvious.” In this case, I guess it was “Mistress.”
“Well, him and his wife wuz already havin’ problems, mostly cuz of his drinkin’ and his cheatin’, so I hid his truck down a trail--behind some pine trees--and went on with my life. Most everyone including Emily pretty much figured that he done went ahead and left town, like he kept telling everyone he was gonna.”
I pulled away and explained that I needed to rest my hand from the pain. I never had a brother or sister that would sit next to me when I was on the phone and ask, “What did they say?” all the time. Jenny gave me new respect for anyone out there that does.
Jenny lecturing the ghost on how he should have gone straight to the police and taken his “lumps” amused me, but then I took pity on “Bo” and reached back out with my other hand.
“She don’t shut up much, does she?”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. “Occasionally, but it never lasts.”
She sputtered, “Hey! Are you two talking about me?”
“Of course not, Jenny. Now, what happened next?”
“Things started going wrong in my life. My truck was always breaking down. My alarm clock would never go off and I ended up getting fired. Then one day all that drinkin’ and overeatin’ got to me and my heart gave out. Come to find out that it was Mitch doin’ all those things! I pretty much figure I gotta square things with Mitch before I can move on.”
“How do you intend to do that?”
“Well, I reckon, if you could take the police out to where I done buried him and show them his truck, Mitch’d get a proper burial and all that and then he’d leave me alone.”
“So, you just want me to waltz into the police office and take them to where Mitch is buried and where you stashed his truck?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s to stop them from arresting me for killing Mitch?”
That stumped him and I figured I was home free and heading out of here. Naturally, Jenny found a solution.
“Mike, if it was two years ago, you were either in Texas or Iraq. It’d be easy enough for the police to verify that you weren’t anywhere near here. We can just tell them that you’re a psychic, which I guess you sort of are.”
“Yeah! What she said! That’s one smart little girl you got there! You tell her I said that, by the way my name’s Bobby Joe Lambert, but everyone calls me Bebo.”
“What’s Mitch going to say about all this, Bobby?” I asked. I didn’t tell him that Bebo sounded like some kind of clown name.
“He keeps goin’ on about how I done left him in the woods and all that, so I reckon he’ll be happy. He done told the girl he was seeing on the side that they was through and now he’s angry cuz he done did the right thing by Emily but she thinks he’s a no good cheater who left town and shacked up with some other woman. He wants his name cleared.”
“Fair enough. Look, we can’t do this tonight. I’ve been through a lot and so has Jenny. We need to head back to Rockville tonight, but we can come back down maybe not this weekend, but the next one if that’s okay with Jenny?”
The petite brunette chimed in, “Sure! It sounds like fun, but let’s do it this coming weekend?”
Even Bebo looked at her like she was crazy.

“Well I’m sure if you just explained to Bebo that you wanted to go up to Gettysburg and see if you could find Darren Porter’s ghost he would have understood.”
“I was trying to get out of doing it altogether!”
Jenny looked at me somewhat puzzled, “Why?”
“Because I don’t know if I want to become some kind of freak. I didn’t believe in ghosts and now I see them all the time! It was bad enough when people were looking at me just because of the patch.” I also was beginning to think that we were “safer” with the one-eyed guy and his somewhat expired driver’s license behind the wheel than with me shifting for her, so she could use the uninjured arm to drive. Jenny’s mom might have created her fair share of accidents, but it looked like Jenny was either used to it or had her own particular death wish when she’s driving.
“But you have a gift!” Jenny exclaimed.
“Do you know how cliché that sounds? Gift is a four letter word and not all gifts are good. I’ve got bruises and blotches all over my body. Sure I beat up on those two, but I didn’t exactly come through all nice and squeaky clean. Your mom took a damn rolling pin to my arm!” I emphasized my point by holding up my left arm with the nice deep muscle bruise on it.
Jenny dismissed all my rational arguments. “You’re just looking at the downside.”
“So tell me, what’s the upside?”
“You can talk to ghosts! Think about it! If you went to England and you found Princess Di’s ghost, you could find out what really happened! You could meet up with Kurt Cobain and maybe have him write a hit song from the grave. How cool would that be?”
The little lane changing maniac was scaring me on so many levels it wasn’t funny. I finally asked her to slow down as I sought for a nice way to answer her question. I couldn’t come up with one, so I settled for answering her harshly.
“There are two possibilities to the princess, car accident or conspiracy. If it was a car accident, so what? If it’s a conspiracy, I’m guessing the people behind it might not like me spilling a whole bunch of nasty secrets. As for Cobain, I never liked Nirvana or his skanky wife and my life’s aspiration is not becoming a sideshow freak!”
That seemed to break through her excessively perky outlook on life. She actually looked disappointed.
“So that’s it then? You’ll just go on about your business while all these people are being harassed by ghosts when you’re the only one who can do anything about it?” Jenny asked. She had a great future as a mom; her guilt trips were well refined.
“Jenny, I’m still trying to piece my life back together. I volunteered for one war already and paid the price – a messed up eye, no hearing in one ear, metal rods in my leg, aches whenever the weather changes, and a bunch of scars on my face. Right now, I need to figure out what all this means and get some answers and not go wandering around in the woods of western Virginia looking for a body while simultaneously convincing the police that I’m not a whack job or the guy responsible for the murder.”
People who know me understand that I have a bit of a temper. Jenny didn’t know me that well. Yelling at Jenny was pretty much the equivalent of kicking a puppy dog. She got real quiet for awhile and didn’t say anything. I stared out the window until I heard the first sniffle and I realized that she’d been on an emotional roller coaster tonight as well.
“Don’t cry, Jenny.”
“But you’re mad at me!”
She started to blubber which, given her already dubious driving skills, suddenly decreased my life expectancy. For both our sakes, I tried to reassure her.
“I’m not mad at you. You didn’t give me this and you’re trying to show me all the things I could do with it. I’m just worried what’s going to happen next time and it’s not like I’ve had time to think this through. Let’s just get back home and get a good night’s sleep and things will be better in the morning.”
“Really?”
I borrowed a tired line from one of the Shrek movies, “Really, Really.”

About 10:30 pm Jenny’s cell phone rang. She was safety conscious enough to pull off to the side of the road to answer it. Either that or she knew that driving with one arm and a phone conversation was beyond her limits. What followed was a rather terse exchange with her aunt concerning Jenny’s whereabouts.
Despite Jenny’s efforts to break the sound barrier, we wouldn’t be back until at least 12:30 am. From there, I needed to get home and Jenny couldn’t shift after she dropped me off, so it looked like a late night bus ride for me. In Montgomery County, only the finest characters are found on the buses after midnight. Jenny’s aunt sure didn’t sound like she’d be willing to give me a lift.
“She sounded pretty angry.” It didn’t sound like this was the first time they’d had this discussion before. I heard the phrase, “I thought you had changed, but I see I was wrong,” come out of her phone.
“Yeah, back when I first moved in with them, I was a bit of a wild child. It took me some time to get my act together, by then my grades weren’t salvageable. Montgomery College was about the only school I could get in to.” Jenny confessed before she turned up the radio, apparently pretending that the conversation with her aunt hadn’t happened. I could tell even then, that Jenny was an impulsive girl used to getting her way.
It’s sort of funny, but no one really refers to an eighteen to twenty year old as a “man” or a “woman.” It’s always “boy” or “girl.” I’d never really thought about that before. Although I was only a couple of years removed from that age myself, my own fire and certainty about how I was going to change the world took a beating. My life plan boiled down to enlisting in the Army as a way to claw my way out of poverty, but one bad minute in the Iraqi desert smacked me right back down.
Now, I was important again. I wasn’t just a broken-down soldier. I was special. I could do something probably no one else in the world could do. The question was, what would I do with it?
It was closer to 1:00 am when we pulled into Jenny’s driveway. There was an awkward moment between us where I thought she was going to kiss me. Her aunt barreled out the door, so there wasn’t a whole lot of time for heartfelt thanks.
I escaped with only a cursory interrogation from Shannon Wycheck. She was in her early fifties and I vaguely recalled meeting her in the Montgomery College administration office. It was a good guess that my student file would be opened up, first thing tomorrow.
The bus ride home was everything I dreamt of: a “working girl,” several incoherent bums, a handful of working class schmucks returning from late shifts, a pair of wannabe “gang bangers,” and a nut job who can see dead people.
Jenny caught up to me the next day and said that her argument with her aunt would blow over, eventually. I almost hoped she would tell me that our weekend trip back to Roanoke was off. Sadly, it was still on.

After picking up our ghost, I hoped that it would be a quick and easy afternoon. I’ve since learned to lower my expectations. Our first mistake was going to the Roanoke City Police Department. After explaining our situation to the guy working the desk and getting the expected guffaws and a request for hot lottery ticket numbers, they were more than happy to put a call into the Roanoke County Sheriff’s Department explaining that it was out of their jurisdiction.
I guessed that there was a bit of a rivalry between the county and the city. I later learned that the city and the county are pretty much two completely separate entities. Naturally, Jenny remembered this little tidbit twenty minutes too late to save us from any embarrassment.
About an hour later, I was beginning to give up when a female shaped deputy came in, looking rather flustered. She must have drawn the short straw and been the one stuck with dealing with the crazy Yankees.
I’ve always had a thing for a woman in uniform. Nurses, policewomen, hell, even a meter maid. I hold the firm belief that a gal in a uniform is at least twenty-five percent “hotter” than that same girl without the uniform – unless, of course, she’s naked. That usually trumps my uniform fetish. I will say that it made my time in the Army rather pleasant.
“Okay, I’m Officer McKenna, which one of you is the psychic? C’mon, I ain’t got all day! So, let’s just cut through all this horse…Wait a second! You look familiar. Where do I know you from?” She said in an overly cute southern accent as she pointed at Jenny.
Jenny gave the woman a questioning look. “Candy? It’s me, Jenny.”
“Lil’ Jenny! I haven’t seen you in years!”
“You went into Law Enforcement! Wow, I would have never guessed that in a million years!”
I let this go on for a minute or two before clearing my throat, which got Jenny’s attention. “Oh, sorry. Mike Ross, this is my cousin, Candy McKenna.”
She held out her hand, “I go by Candace now. Nice to meet ya.” 
The strawberry blonde eyed me like a hunk of meat, pondering whether she should salt me before throwing me on the grill. I was already a bit on the self-conscious side because of the whole “psychic boy” thing. Candace was attractive and apparently in her mid-twenties. A quick, furtive check told me that there was no wedding band on her left hand.
On the way out the door, I motioned for Bobby Joe. He hadn’t wanted to hang out in police station any more than I did. Mitch joined him. It was going to be crowded in the car.
Mistake number two was getting into a conversation with the two ghosts about what they can do. I watched as Mitch swiped his hand through Jenny’s chest and then ogling her response to a sudden cold draft. Not to be left out, Bobby Joe gave Officer McKenna the treatment as well.
I was pretty certain that Jenny pieced together what happened, which of course led to mistake number three as she caught me appraising her cousin’s reaction. It was par for the course, the redneck doofuses were behind the ladies waving their hands in the air while I’m the one with egg on my face for sneaking a look.
By the time we got out on the highway things in the patrol car were getting worse. Jenny was in the front seat, which left me in the back with the two ghosts who would occasionally bump me, which of course led to the electric shock that I was becoming accustomed to. Then of course there was the flawed assumption that Jenny and Candace actually were fond of each other. That “honeymoon” lasted all of fifteen minutes before I noticed the claws come out.
I would say I was beginning to regret coming out here, but I was way past that point. Mitch tried to answer some of my questions about what he could do. He could do things like move small objects and if his wife lost something, he could stand next to it and scream and jump up and down. All that commotion would sort of make his widow notice it. Mitch joked about how he’d turned off Bobby Joe’s alarm, hidden his car keys, and knocked the phone off the hook.
This led to a fight in the back seat between the two ghosts, who didn’t get along that well to begin with.
“Goddammit! Stop!” I shouted as the two guys started pushing at each other with me in the middle. Naturally, the officer driving thought I meant her and she jammed on the brakes. 
You know that wire mesh they put up between the front seat and the back seat? It hurts when you smack your face into it. There wasn’t much need to keep count after that. The entire day was one long, continuous mistake!
The second argument between the dead guys started over directions, and stopped just short of a brawl. We ended up going with Mitch’s, because he told me that a ghost can always go to where he is buried. That explained how Jenny’s mom arrived at the cemetery long before we did. 
When we finally arrived at our destination we got out of the patrol car. Candace put away her claws and simultaneously put on her face of intimidation. “Alright, I’ve humored y’all, but you’d better be able to show me something.”
I yelled to the two ghosts. “Hey guys, do you reckon that you could pick me up. Listen, we’re here in the middle of nowhere, right? I don’t have any hidden wires or anything. Ow!” I grimaced in pain as Bobby Joe came up behind me and put me in a full nelson and Mitch lifted my legs off the ground. 
I’m sure it must have looked pretty wild. It was painful enough alright. Both Jenny and her cousin looked suitably impressed. From the looks of things, Officer McKenna was on her way to becoming a believer.
“You were just kinda floatin’ off the ground there. So, there really are two ghosts right there?”
I nodded, though Bobby Joe was back to staring down the deputy’s shirt. Candace handed me a shovel and got out a camera from the trunk of her patrol car. That’s when I realized that I’d just volunteered to dig up the body.
Fortunately, one of my ghostly friends was as lazy when he was living as he was in the afterlife. Mitch’s grave was pretty shallow. When I started finding bones, it kind of hit Jenny pretty hard and she sprinted back to the patrol car. That was enough evidence for Candace. She marked the area and called for the coroner to dispatch a unit.
“So, how long have you and Jenny been dating?” she asked.
“We’re not dating. We go to school together and I spotted her mom making her life miserable.”
Candace didn’t look very surprised as we pushed our way into the little area where Bobby Joe stashed the Ford F-150 pickup with a faded sign on the side for Mitch’s Plumbing. “Aunt Rose? Yeah, I could see her doing that. I reckon when you start headin’ back to Maryland Jenny’s gonna start tellin’ you what a no good little bitch I am.”
I asked her why. She gave me a sly smile, tilted her head, and pulled down her mirrored sunglasses enough for me to see her green eyes, “Because she grew up watchin’ me, darlin’. That’s exactly what I’d do.”
She snapped off a few pictures of the truck and pulled on a pair of gloves. I watched her dust for prints on the steering wheel and so forth. In a way, it was pretty cool watching her do her thing. Another fight broke out between the two ghosts when Mitch found out that Bobby Joe stole sixty-three dollars out of his wallet. Turns out Bobby Joe walked away with the deer Mitch killed as well. 
I wasn’t really tempted to break it up, even though Mitch was beating the tar out of his killer until the fat ghost vanished, leaving the angry plumber in his wake. I was busy describing all this to the laughing deputy.
“I suppose this means that if we’re idiots here, we’re the same idiots on the other side?” Candy asked.
“Looks that way, but none of the ghosts I’ve talked to know what comes next. My grandpa believed he was finally going to be reunited with his wife.”
“Well I guess there are things to look forward to. The good news is that I can put you in for a Crime Solvers reward. It might make your trip down here worth it.”
That was the first positive thing out of what was otherwise a nasty, ugly day. When Candy wasn’t looking, I helped myself to one of Mitch’s cast iron pipe wrenches. As I figured it, it beat carrying a frying pan around and wouldn’t look nearly as stupid if it was dangling from a tool belt. Further conversation was cut short by the approaching lights of several emergency vehicles.
Four hours and a few official statements later, Jenny and I were back on the road, headed north. With some luck there would be a check in the mail from Roanoke County in the next week. Candace slipped me her number in case I was, “ever down in this neck of the woods again.”
Mentally, I was picturing what I would tell my mom, if she asked me what I did today, “Drove four hours, dug up a dead body, answered a few questions, and drove back, so not much. How was your day?” when Jenny started in on Candace. “So, did Candy ask you out?”
“Is that important?”
“Unless you’d like to walk home, yes, it is.”
“Not really, but she gave me her number.”
My driver looked momentarily angry. “You wouldn’t really go out with her, would you? She may call herself Candace now, but all the boys used to call her Candy, because she was ‘sweet, cheap and easy to get,’ if you know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean, but I probably wouldn’t go out with her anyway. She lives over four hours away. I still can’t drive until my vision is good enough to get my license back.”
“Suppose she lived closer?”
“Why are we having this discussion?”
“I’m just curious what kind of girl interests you, Ross.”
A word of caution, it’s never a good sign, when a girl calls you by your last name.
“I don’t think she’s my type, even if she lived closer.”
“Good.” That lie seemed to satisfy Jenny and she put her claws away. She seemed rather pleased with herself after that. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have minded going out with Officer McKenna. I hadn’t been on a real date, since my deployment. There’d been a girlfriend back in Texas, but we broke it off before I left for Iraq. Frankly, if we were matching reputations, I’d wager that Candace from Roanoke would have come out better than Heather from Kileen. She and Don Hodges’ wife, Sonya, used to dance at some piss-hole club near Fort Hood and yeah, there’s a reason mothers warn their little boys to never date strippers, though there are far more reasons that those little boys never listen… 

Jenny’s second trip back to Roanoke went over even better than the first one and despite the fact that her aunt and uncle came up with something that needed to be done the following weekend, she managed to get out of it and drive me up to Gettysburg. 
I hoped one of my buddies from my weekly poker game would be able to give me a lift. Sadly, no one was available and I was reluctant to reveal my new found talents anyway, so that left the irrepressible Jenny Goodman.
Riding with her was the best advertisement for life insurance that I’ve ever sat through. Coming from a recent combat vet that was saying something!
I spent the better part of the previous week emailing and calling several of the “ghost tour” businesses in Gettysburg. I pretended to be a former customer of Darren Porter’s Ghostly Sightings Tour, who was disappointed that he was no longer in business.
One thing that immediately became apparent to me is that the ghost tours were a rather competitive business. The first one I talked to politely mentioned that Mr. Porter had “passed on” and immediately launched into their spiel on how they go to the same sites and began naming the magazines and travel specials they’d been featured in.
By the third call, I struck a small nugget of gold. That company hired one of Darren’s former tour guides, Ian Wells. We were signed up for a tour that evening. Once again, I wasn’t nearly as excited as Ms. Goodman.
“How many ghosts do you think you’ll see, Mike? Thousands of people died there, they’ll probably be all over the place!”
“And something strange happened to Darren Porter. He died rather mysteriously. Either way, I don’t know if it will be as many as you think. From what I’ve seen, most don’t hang around for a long time, and there were only a few in the cemeteries I’ve been to since my operation.”
We ended up parking off of Steinwehr Avenue. For a change, I was actually early getting somewhere. We found the wooden sign indicating where the tour groups form and went inside the nearby tavern to pick up our tickets.
The barkeep was nice enough to point out Mr. Wells, who was reading a copy of USA Today at one of the tables. He was an older and somewhat heavyset, balding man with a striking handlebar mustache, wearing a Union Officer’s uniform. Well, they did promise period dress…
“Good evening.”
“You’re a bit early for the tour. Most won’t show up for another thirty minutes.” He gestured for us to sit down. Jenny slipped away to use the bathroom.
“I was actually wondering about Darren Porter. You used to work for him.”
He set his paper down and sipped at his coffee while looking me over. “Darren died back in March. What would you like to know about him?”
“Was he really a psychic?”
“Yes, I believe he was. I worked for him for a couple of years – nice guy, damn shame too. He’d walk into a room with only a brass divining rod and within thirty seconds he could tell you if something was there. Darren never cared for all the fancy gadgets. He really knew his local history, too.”
“How did he die?” Divining rods? I always thought that was something to do with finding water. Suffice to say, there were some holes in my knowledge.
“They said it was a heart attack, but he was in pretty good shape. He drank a little, probably didn’t exercise as much as he should. Now, why are you asking so many questions?”
Pointing to my eye, I said, “He was an organ donor. I got one of his corneas in a transplant and wanted to know a bit more about him, what he did for a living? Who his friends were and all that jazz?”
Ian paused for a moment to digest all of it. After a moment, he shook his head, “Well, that’s something you don’t hear every day! I reckon you couldn’t make that up, if you tried. I was mostly just an employee. You might try looking up Karla Thompson. She was his girlfriend.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“Afraid not, Karla left town right after the funeral. I’m not really sure where she went.”
My face likely didn’t hide my disappointment. “Did you see him much right before he died?”
“He was talking about how much he’d been enjoying his vacation and that he’d spent it working on a book. I had lunch with him about ten days before and he was fine. Darren seemed really excited too. He said it was going to be a great tour year, but wouldn’t give me any details.”
Jenny came back and she listened to a few Darren Porter stories with me and we learned where he was buried and that one of the local book shops on Baltimore Avenue still sells episodes of his old public access show on DVD and VHS.
I sent Jenny off to buy the videos and then headed off to Evergreen Cemetery while there was still daylight. I’d told Jenny to go ahead and join the walking tour and I’d meet up with her later.
Walking past the imposing archway-shaped gatehouse, I flinched in surprise. The few cemeteries I’d been in were mostly empty with only a few ghosts. That wasn’t the case here.
I saw quite a few ghosts. It was disconcerting, almost like I had stumbled into a reenactment or something. I headed over towards the area where Ian said that Darren was buried.
Closing my right eye periodically, I separated the few living visitors from the ghosts. I acted casual enough and started looking for the grave while pretending not to look at the ghosts. There were three ghosts gathered in this one spot. One of them was actually pacing like he was on guard duty.
A quick look at the headstone confirmed my fears – Darren Austin Porter. I opted to pass by the grave and pretend I was looking for an adjacent one. A fourth ghost rose out of the ground and went to the one with a saber and actually saluted the officer while another one sank into the ground.
I’d have to come back later tonight. There were still too many people around, so I headed back and lucked into the walking tour that was just getting started.
Jenny immediately grabbed me, “Well, what did you find out?”
“His grave is being guarded by some Civil War ghosts.”
“Really?”
That required some kind of smart-ass response, “Jenny, why would I make that up?”
“Um, yeah. I guess you wouldn’t. So what are we going to do?”
“There were too many people and too many ghosts for me to do anything, so I’m going to go back later on tonight.”
“I’m coming too!”
“No. I need you to keep the car nearby so we can get out of here. I’m guessing that even in Gettysburg there are laws against trespassing.”
We rejoined Mr. Well’s tour and followed the route. It was somewhat odd that I could see some ghosts actively watching the tour group. In a weird sort of way, it was like being at the zoo. I was trying to figure out which side of the bars I was on.

Waiting until the lights in the caretaker’s house went off, I slipped back into the graveyard. I needed to find out why there were ghosts guarding Darren, so I crouched behind one of the larger nearby markers and watched them for awhile. Once again, one climbed out of the ground and was replaced. As the ghost walked off, I followed him with my pipe wrench in hand. One thing working for me was that this ghost was shorter than me. Of course, Abe Lincoln was considered a giant during that era and nowadays, he’d have been lucky to land a spot as a shooting guard in the NBA.
We were walking behind one of those mini-mausoleum type crypts and out of sight of his colleagues when I grabbed him.
“What the hell!” I pushed him against the stonework and I could tell that he was shocked that he wasn’t passing through it.
“Keep quiet! Why are you guarding Darren Porter?”
“You can see me! Ow! Ow! My arm!” He could still feel pain and I pulled his arm higher into his back.
I repeated myself, “I can hurt you too. Why are you guarding Darren Porter?”
“Orders. We got orders to guard the prisoner.”
“Who’s giving the orders?”
“Colonel Vincent. Let me go!”
This was a problem. “Is he the one with the sword back there?”
“Yes, now let me go. I’m not telling you no more!”
I tried asking him a few more questions, but he started struggling and raising his voice, so I whacked him with the pipe wrench, several times, until he dropped to the ground. Mitch, back in Roanoke, told me that I knocked him unconscious for several hours. I made certain this soldier didn’t get back up anytime soon.
It was now or never. I was committed to finding out what was going on, so I simply started walking towards Colonel Vincent. I wish I knew more about Civil War history; he was probably someone important.
I slid the wrench into my pocket. They watched me as I approached. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to react. They were complacent. I stood at the headstone. Vincent was on the other side looking at me appraisingly.
“Hello, Darren. I’ve come a long way to see you. I’ve got some questions for a psychic like you to answer if you’ve got the time.”
There was a strange feeling, kind of like a violent chill passing through my body as a guy in a suit burst out of the ground with a soldier hanging on to him. I pulled the wrench out of my pocket and hammered the gawking soldier next to me in the gut and kicked the one holding Darren’s leg in the face.
Drawing his saber, Colonel Vincent stepped through the headstone. My kick smacked into his kneecap and I spun him away before turning to the “man” that I freed.
Darren was a lanky white man in his mid-thirties. Ian described him as soft spoken and somewhat bookish. I’d seen prisoner of war pictures as part of training for the Iraq war. He looked like he’d gotten the crap kicked out of him on a routine basis. I helped him finish off the two that I’d beaten and grabbed his hand.
“Darren, let’s get out of here.” I started dragging him, pain and a sudden weakness coursed up and down my arm. Struggling with his weight, I realized that if a ghost could have an adrenaline rush, Darren just crashed.
“Too weak…I can’t… do it. Ross, I’ve been waiting for you… This is huge… You have to be careful. Get some protections! They’ll come after you like they did me. Find Karla, she has all my notes.”
“Come on! You can tell me all about it later.” Darren shouted something and pushed me to the side. Looking up, I saw the point of the sword coming out of his back as he sagged to the ground. 
Darren moaned before releasing my arm, “Find Karla!”
I scrambled back up to see the wild, angry eyes of Colonel Vincent. He tried to pull his sword back, but Darren rolled away from him. I didn’t need to be touching him to see that he was mouthing “run.”
Screw that! I was angry. Darren was trying to warn me about something. I came at Vincent swinging. The first blow caught him on the shoulder and sent him to the ground where I kicked him. He rolled away from my kick, pulling my leg with him.
We struggled to our feet and grappled. I did some of that kickboxing crap that Hodges and Porkchop used to do in my prior life and drove my knee into his gut.
“Intruder! Send reinforcements!” he roared after he got his breath back. In a way, it was ironic that a ghost still needed to breathe.
I could hear him screaming for help. I wound up, planning to finish him, but he caught my wrist on the downswing. 
“Do you think me beaten? Never!” He punched me in the gut, forcing air out of my lungs and sending me tottering backwards. I lost my grip on the wrench which he easily held in the air.
I knew he wasn’t a run of the mill ghost. He was just as dangerous as Jenny’s mom. I could see shapes moving in the distance. I bumped into Darren’s body and could see it completely fading. There was a look of profound sorrow on his face. A second later only Vincent’s saber remained.
He held my wrench, so I figured that turnabout was fair play. I scooped up the saber in my hands. It felt real enough, and even in the dim light, his eyes widened. I slashed at him and he blocked with the wrench, causing actual sparks where sword met tool. Vincent quickly tried to get close enough to grapple, but I smashed the pommel guard into his face. With a downward slash, I sliced his leg. He fell backwards and turned, diving into the ground like a swimmer.
Snatching the wrench from the ground, I saw others running towards me. Army doctrine says that in these situations, the soldier is to calmly evaluate the situation and determine the best course of action. Yeah, I ran like hell. One came close enough to me to make me worry. I ran him through with the blade and then cracked him in the skull with the wrench.
Vincent came back out of the ground ahead of me, blocking my path. He was glowing brighter than the rest. Almost like the special effects in those Star Wars movies, he hurled a heavy flowerpot at me. It was about at this moment that the stray thought intruded that maybe he was more dangerous than Jenny’s mom. I could admit when I was wrong. 
Fortunately, I was also the best in my gym class at dodgeball – good thing too. Vincent’s glow diminished, but his anger was still there. He dodged my sword slash. I ran right past him. He was just trying to slow me down. 
My big problem was that I needed to run around objects and they could just run through them. On the bright side, I had a sword and no one else seemed to. It made me wonder if there were any soldiers who were buried with muskets; would the guns still fire?
One fast little bugger got close enough and I cut his hand off. By then I was running flat out. I could see Jenny’s car in the distance. She was leaning on side of the car looking bored.
“Jenny! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Graveyard full of ghosts chasing me! We need to leave!” I dived into the car as she started the engine. I didn’t calm down until we were ten miles down the road.
Jenny couldn’t see the saber, but she felt cool when I sat it on her leg. She thought the idea of wielding a ghost’s sword was “utterly cool.” The whole stabbing people thing didn’t seem to bother her.
“Well, they’re already dead, aren’t they? They can’t get any deader, right?”
“I think we need to stay away from Gettysburg for now. The less they know about me the better.”
Jenny got quiet – extremely quiet. 
“Jenny? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You know that dramatic writing assignment for English? I wrote the story of our adventure like a news article. Professor Weathers told me to send it off to the Weekly World News. I got their acceptance letter and a check yesterday.”
“What!”
“How was I supposed to know that you were going to run into some ghost conspiracy? I was planning on splitting the money with you. It’s going in the next issue. Ghosts probably don’t read that thing anyway.”
Somehow her reassurances weren’t all that comforting.
It was a long, cold drive back to Maryland.


Episode 3: Looking for Death in all the Wrong Places

“Mrs. Rosemont,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed, “I really can’t find anything. Are you certain that your furniture is moving around at night?”
“Young man, I may be quite old, but I do know what I see: that paper with the article about you saving that girl keeps turning up near my telephone.” 
Megan Rosemont was an eighty-three year old widow, whom I had already visited twice before. I almost didn’t come back this time, but she was adamant that things were happening in her home in Rockville, Maryland. Thus, I found myself standing in the doorway of her meticulously clean house once more.
I grimaced at the sight of the clipping from The Weekly World News. It featured Jenny Goodman’s hard-to-believe story of how I sort of broke a ghostly curse in her life as an assignment in her English class. She then had the brass to send the story to one of those supermarket tabloid papers, and they bought it!
Despite her offer of a cut of the money, I’d been giving her the silent treatment for about a week now. She didn’t have to answer the phones at the Ross household from the numerous nut jobs. She didn’t have to explain my new-found ability to see, hear and touch spirits to my skeptical mother. She didn’t get a wonderful lecture from that same mother about how I was following in the footsteps of my deadbeat, insurance-selling father, David Michael Ross Senior, who’d made his living by conning people out of their hard-earned money and giving them precious little in return. 
At least I knew why our English teacher kept looking at me funny.
Most importantly, Jenny Goodman didn’t have to worry about the cryptic warning I’d received from Darren Porter, the psychic whose donated cornea dragged me kicking and screaming into a world that I never wanted to believe in. Whoever the “they” were that frightened Darren, I sincerely hoped that “they” don’t read the magazines while standing in line for their groceries!
Instead, Jenny kept saying how I needed to set up a website and go into the “paranormal investigation” business!
Needless to say, I was annoyed at her for the moment. She was cute, curvy and exuberant, but at times she displayed an annoying habit of leaping long before looking. Although, to be honest, while I was peeved at all the whack-job phone calls I’d received since publication of the article, a few of the phone calls brought some much-needed cash into my wallet. 
Money was always tight around the Ross household, ever since I could remember and more things were breaking around the house than were getting fixed. The furnace barely made it through last winter and until there was enough money to get a transmission fixed, Mom’s car was a four door paperweight in our driveway. The only reason I hadn’t taken Jenny’s offer of splitting the money was because I was just as stubborn as I’m poor – not a spectacular combination if you ask me.
Closing my ‘normal’ left eye, I scanned the room for any signs of a ghost and found none. At least, I didn’t need to wear the eye patch as much and my vision was improving. Either someone was messing with Mrs. Rosemont or she was clinging to the hope that a spirit was trying to contact her. Taking her money made me feel guilty.
I didn’t have anything to do that afternoon, so I tried to make myself useful to the pleasant, but possibly batty woman offering me too sweet tea. “No, nothing in here, either – who do you believe is trying to contact you?”
“My granddaughter, Elsbeth passed away in a dreadful car accident a year ago. Her husband, Charles, will be by shortly. Would you like to stay and meet him?”
The image of being berated by the beefy looking monster in his early thirties I’d seen in the pictures on the mantle played across my mind. I didn’t like how it turned out, so I shook my head. The mousy looking brunette woman in the wedding picture dwarfed by the large man must be the late Elsbeth Snowden.
“Well I suppose I should get my pocketbook…”
“How about we just call it a free check up this time instead?” The fifty bucks would’ve been nice, but this wasn’t actually helping with her loneliness.
We were still haggling; Megan wanted to at least cover my bus fare, when there was a knock at the door. Damn, I hadn’t gotten out in time. I hoped that Charles was smaller than he was in the pictures. From the number on his college football jersey, he played offensive line for James Madison University a decade ago.
Those hopes were dashed, as I watched the man literally squeeze his way through the door frame, “Hello, Grandma Meg. I stopped and picked your replacement prescription up as well as some lunch. Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t know you were entertaining.”
“Charles, this is Michael Ross.”
He held out a meaty paw that enveloped my hand, “Charlie Snowden. I’m pleased to meet you. Is there anything I can help you with?”
I put on my best casual smile, “No, we were just finishing up here.”
“What exactly do you do, Mr. Ross?”
I was about to reply ‘Radon Gas Inspections’ when Megan offered, “He investigates the paranormal. Michael has been looking into all those strange happenings.”
Charlie let my hand go rather quickly and gave me a hard stare. Maybe I was being a bit self-conscious about my new vocation combined with the fact that he was almost a foot taller than me, but I’d be damned before I was going to let him intimidate me.  I wasn’t an ex-combat vet for nothing. His big act falls a bit flat in comparison to the uncertainty of living with the prospect of sudden death for months at a time, not to mention my subsequent encounters with the supernatural.
“And what exactly have you found, Mr. Ross?”
“I haven’t found anything at all, Mr. Snowden,” I replied politely. “If there was something here, it’s not here now and it hasn’t left any trace. That’s why I’m not charging a fee for this visit.”
He set the Walgreen’s bag on the counter next to the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. “That’s…very nice of you Mr. Ross. Well in that case, I’ll walk you out; be right back Grandma.”
He was decent enough to hold the door open for me and allowed me to get about ten steps down the driveway before he put his hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Ross, if I might offer some friendly advice, don’t let me catch you around here again. If I do, well, I might call the police after I beat the living shit out of you. She may not be my Grandmother, but I don’t like seeing some piece of shit like you taking advantage of her when she’s getting older and her mind isn’t what it used to be. Now why don’t you just go and find some other stupid mark to steal money from.”
“Like I said, I haven’t found anything here, Mister Snowden, and she was insistent that I come back out and check again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Taking two steps backwards before I turned around, I kept my eyes on his shadow to see if he was going to make a move towards me. I didn’t relish the idea of getting into a fight in the driveway, but I was sure that I could show the ox behind me that I can scrap with the best of them.
The guys in my company always said that I had a clear cut case of ‘short man’s disease.’ It’s always the short guys isn’t it? From growing up on the not-so friendly streets of poor suburbia, to getting kicked off the wrestling team – twice, all the way to street-sweeping and house to house searches with the 1st Cav in Iraq, I’ve never been one to back down. 
My fiery temper was the reason I was a Corporal instead of a Sergeant by the time I was medically discharged – thanks to an ugly little fight in a bar just off of Fort Hood that bought me an Article 15 and cost me a pay grade.
Fortunately, Charlie seemed content with letting me go as I headed down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. I was ten or fifteen yards down the walk when a white hot pain shot down my back. Had the bastard just clubbed me?
I rolled forward and came up ready to kick some ass. Staring at me was the mousy looking ghost of Elsbeth Snowden. She looked a bit frightened of me for a second. Bracing myself for the pain that I knew would come; I reached out and touched her with one finger. This physical contact thing required to hear them and the pain accompanying it were getting old.
Her mouth moved rapidly. “…figured it was just a joke, but you actually can see us. You have to stop him. He’s going to kill her!”
Up until that moment, I thought that day had been a waste of time – instead, it looked like it was going to be a disaster.

I used the short bus ride home to organize my thoughts. Even in death, Elsbeth was terrified of her husband. She wouldn’t admit to physical abuse, but all the signs were there. The ghost, Elsbeth, was indeed rearranging the furniture at Megan’s house to get her Grandmother’s attention. Seems Charlie watched one of those news shows about how a woman was murdered with selenium. He decided that waiting for Megan to ‘kick the bucket’ to sell her house was putting a crimp in his lifestyle.
Twice, Megan refused Charlie’s request to sell her house and move into a nursing home, so the man was moving the schedule forward on his own. Initially, he convinced her to start taking selenium supplements, to start building it up in her system.
Two weeks ago, despite not owning a gun, he drove to a gun show in Virginia and paid cash for some gun bluing solution. Now, he’s just biding his time before he poisons her. 
Somehow, this was now my problem. Fortunately, I had a couple of weeks to figure out how to tackle this particular dilemma – seems he wants to wait a while before giving her a lethal dose. It was quite a bit to wrap my mind around as I walked from the bus stop back home.
A red 2002 Honda Civic sat in the driveway next to Mom’s dead 1998 Hyundai. Mom was at work, driving my Saturn.  Until I got the hang of seeing out of this repaired eye, I couldn’t pass the vision test to get my expired driver’s license renewed.  Sure enough, sitting on the front porch, reading an accounting textbook was Jenny Goodman.
“Hi Mike! I thought I’d stop by and see what you’re doing. Oh come on, I feel guilty enough already! Stop with the silent treatment. If you want, I’ll talk to your mom. I’ve been told I’m very convincing.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was only the male half of the population that paid extraordinary attention to her – Mom would be immune to her charms. 
“I don’t recall your uncle or your aunt believing you. What makes you think that you could convince my mom?”
“But that was three whole weeks ago and since then, I haven’t spilled anything on the carpets, broken any glassware or fallen down in front of them, even once! All of my little ‘accidents’ suddenly stopped after our trip to Roanoke. They’re starting to come around.”
“So I’m welcome back in their house again?”
“Well, that hasn’t really come up just yet – give it a while longer.” Jenny definitely wasn’t the glass-half-full type. She was the kind that would put her head on the table and close one eye, so she could look up at it and say it was closer to two-thirds or three-quarters full.
I debated just going inside and shutting the door on her, but Jenny had that eager to please sugary sweetness that would drive a diabetic into a coma. So, instead of being surly, I held the door open for her and let her in.
Plopping down on the sofa, she immediately started in on me, “So what have you been doing?” I held a hand up to silence her and pushed the play button on our message machine.
The first one was some stupid offer to test our water for purity so someone else could tell us how much we need to pay to have their life-saving filtration system installed. Considering we’re on city water and that I now knew for a fact that there was some sort of life after death, I wasn’t too worried about the quality of our drinking water.
Deleting it, I waited for the second call, “Mikey! It’s me Kenny, I haven’t seen you in a couple of months, but hey, guess what, man? I think I’m being haunted, man! Can you come over and check it out, man?” The rest of the message was that idiot stoner laughing his ass off onto the tape. I shot an accusing glare at Jenny, who had enough common sense to look embarrassed. Finally, I pushed the delete button for the second time.
“Who was that?” she asked sheepishly.
“One of the guys who works with my Mom at her night job – I guess she must’ve said something.” 
“Mike, I’m really sorry. If it means anything, I believe you.” Her voice twanged with that accent that she tries hard to eradicate, most of the time. “You saved my life and I know it. The rest of them can just go fudge themselves!”
I’d learned Jenny doesn’t really swear. ‘Hell’ is about the strongest word I’ve heard her use. It was rather humorous; me, I was a foul mouthed bastard.
“Well, they say everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame. I never pictured it coming this way, Jenny. Don’t sweat it, the guy’s a punkass.”
“Mike, go get changed, “she said in her southern-girl-taking-charge voice. “I’m taking you out to dinner. You won’t let me give you a share of the money, so I’m going to buy you dinner and you can’t stop me!”
Concluding that Jenny was a force to be reckoned with, I replied, “and what if I don’t want to go?”
“I’m irresistibly adorable. Don’t make me use the puppy dog eyes.”
“Fine,” I said grumpily, “but no puppy dog eyes. So, where are you taking me to dinner?”
“Outback? There’s one on Georgia Avenue. Do you like steak?”
The dinner table in the Ross house sees a good deal of left over pizza, and hasn’t seen steak for a couple of years. “Sure, why not? Give me a minute.”
Once on the road, I broke down and told her about Elsbeth Snowden and my small problem with her still-living husband, Charlie, who was about to off his mother-in-law, Megan. Naturally, she went all Nancy Drew on me and started grilling me on all the details. It didn’t help that I should have thought to ask some of the questions she brought up. If she was the brains and the looks, what was I? Oh that’s right; I was the guy with some dead guy’s eyeball!
I stopped her from asking more questions during dinner. Talk of poisoning someone wasn’t particularly good dinner conversation in a public place. Okay, I can be the guy with the freaky eyeball and the common sense. It turned out that the restaurant was near a graveyard – funny how I seemed to notice these things now.
Returning to my driveway, she pulled in behind my Saturn. If Mom hadn’t been home, I’d have invited her in. There was an awkward moment of silence.
“Mike, things will get better with your mom, I just know it! I’ll look up some stuff online when I get home and give you some more questions to ask Elsbeth. When we have enough information, we can take it to my uncle! This’ll be great!”
“Why?”
“Duh! He’s a cop.” Why this didn’t surprise me, I’ll never know.
“Aside from the fact that he doesn’t really like me, why exactly would this be great?”
“You can convince him of your powers!”
“Jenny, I’m not some superhero…”
She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “You’ll always be my hero.”
I was then promptly kicked out of her car, while trying to process what had just happened. Were I a gambling man, I’d have bet that Jenny was as confused as I was right then.
Confused or no, somehow, that little peck on my cheek made my shitty day just a bit better.

Mom was waiting for me when I came in the door. It looked like my day was going to jump back into the crapper. “I was worried; you should have left a note. Where were you?”
“Jenny took me to dinner, to apologize about the article.”
She didn’t even bother asking about a potential date and leapt right into what was on her mind, “I think you should get some counseling, Mike. I won’t pretend to understand what you went through in Iraq, but one thing’s for certain – you’re not adjusting very well. This thing with seeing ghosts … It’s not normal. It’s not right.”
“Mom, I’m not off my rocker. When I said that I spoke with Grandpa Warren, I meant it. Otherwise how would I know about the fifty dollars you stole from him? You never told me, he didn’t like Dad, and I was only nine when he died. He wouldn’t have exactly told me then, now would he?”
“Stop! Stop it! I don’t want to hear it! You need help. Why don’t you make an appointment with the VA? Your medical care is free, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, you get what you pay for. Look, I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on myself; but whether I like it or not, it’s real. All the VA is going to do is make me fill out questionnaires and talk to me about anger issues that don’t exist!” 
It probably would have been more convincing if I hadn’t sounded so angry. Just thinking about the damn VA still pissed me off.
“Don’t take that tone with me David Michael! If you don’t want to talk to the doctors; how about our Pastor?”
“Mom, I stopped going to church when I was fourteen, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll talk to him. Look, Mom, I don’t want to fight about this, not tonight.”
Mom stood up and hugged me, which was as strange as Jenny suddenly kissing me. I could feel her shaking a little. Mom was always a rock. She had to be with a delinquent like me. That worried me more than anything else. It took a lot to get through the hard exterior of Karen Marie Ross. “I just don’t want to watch you go crazy.”
Come to think of it, I wasn’t too keen on losing my marbles either.

The next day, I met with Elsbeth in a park a short distance away from where her husband lived. It seems that as a ghost, she’s anchored to her wedding ring, which he wore on a chain around his beefy neck.
“So he poured a bunch of the bluing solution into an eye drop dispenser and he’s got the rest in the garage in a milk crate covered with old books. My friend’s uncle is a cop. So, I’m going to try and take all this to him. I’m not really sure what will happen if he doesn’t believe me …”
“But you have to stop him! You have to!” Her vaporous form seemed to quiver in anger.
Trying not to look like the guy sitting on a bench and talking to himself, I muttered, “I’m not a cop! I’m doing the best I can. Not a lot of people believe in you folks, you know? What does Charlie do for a living?”
“He teaches Phys-Ed and coaches the track and wrestling teams.”
Great! There went my hope that the guy wouldn’t know any moves if things got physical. He’d likely overpower me while mocking my technique. Well, at least forewarned was forearmed and all that! Of course, some of the things I picked up in hand to hand combat training weren’t ‘common’ wrestling moves, so I was only concerned, rather than being frightened.
Naturally – or supernaturally, I was slightly suspicious of Elsbeth. At that point I only had her word that Charlie was doing all this. What if he wasn’t? What if she was a vindictive ghost like Jenny’s mother? She could be setting him and, by association, me up. 
“I gotta ask, what proof do you have? Why should I believe you that he’s going to kill her? For all I know, you could just be trying to get even with him for being such an ass to you.”
That earned an angry smack from her that really stung. “How dare you!” She tried to do it again, but this time I caught her hand and despite the pain squeezed as hard as I could.
“I can play that game too, Elsbeth. You can hurt me, but it goes both ways! My guess is Charlie used to beat you and that’s why, even now, you’re still scared of him. Trust me, you could be making his life a living hell right now, but you won’t – will you? You’re asking me to risk my life to stop him for nothing in return. Give me a damn reason to believe you!” I let her wrist go violently and watched her clutch it to her chest with what looked like tears in her eyes.
She started talking a mile a minute, but then stopped herself, remembering that I couldn’t hear her unless we were touching. I never was much as a lip reader, beyond the usual phrases that accompanied rude gestures.
“He’s been setting up his alibi by telling his coworkers that she has a weak heart and occasional chest pains. He’s already made two appointments for her to see a cardiologist and cancelled them for phony reasons. Charlie has another one scheduled for the week after he plans to kill her, so he can say that he was trying to convince her to go see someone, but she was being stubborn. He’s even gotten onto her computer and faked emails from her Hotmail account telling him that she’s fine. Grandma doesn’t know the first thing about computers! You could call the Doctor’s office and confirm that the appointments were made and then ask Grandma if he’s been trying to get her to go to one. Is that enough for you? I can pay you, you know.”
Elsbeth let go of me, drew herself up as straight as she could, and walked away – not paying any attention to the massive oak tree in her way. She was headed towards a 7-11 – maybe ghosts have a fondness for Slurpees.
Somehow I was supposed to convince Jenny’s uncle, Brian Wycheck, who already doesn’t really care for me, that Charlie was going to kill Megan. I wasn’t particularly enthused by this job – if it was a job at all.
Elsbeth came back eight minutes later. Evidently it wasn’t the Slurpees. “Six tickets down on the Maryland Cash scratchers is a one hundred dollar ticket – that’s the only way I can pay you right now.”  
And so, questioning my sanity, I went in to the store and spent twelve dollars, making a hundred. As Elsbeth explained it to me, when she ran her finger over the tickets, she could make out what was printed underneath the silvery coating. Honestly, I didn’t feel any remorse. Was it bad karma to ‘use’ the dead like that? I didn’t know, but what I did know is that if I walked away from this, I wouldn’t have to try and convince a cop to believe in messages from beyond the grave. Was a few dollars for my troubles really that much to ask?

I returned from my afternoon classes to find the Reverend Reginald Duncan waiting with my mother in my living room. For as long as I could remember, Pastor Duncan was the pastor of the Maple Street Methodist church. He was a bland fellow, and his reputation among the adults was that while he wasn’t much as a preacher, he was a good pastor, patching together a number of shaky marriages. Unfortunately for the Ross family, dear old Dad split before we realized there was even a problem. Pastor Duncan gave me the warm appraising look that he’d been giving me for the past twenty something years, shaking my hand with a firm, strong grip. He looked to the kitchen, where my Mom had retreated, and then smiled.
“Want to go for a drive, Mike?” he asked. 
I nodded – if we were going to have a private conversation, it wasn’t going to happen while Mom was staking out the kitchen.
As kids, we’d always admired Pastor Duncan’s car – every two years, year in, year out, he’d change to a new-model car – usually a Cadillac. I hadn’t given it a thought when I was a kid, but now that I knew how much they cost, I wondered how he could afford it. Maple Street Methodist didn’t pay him that much, and his wife was a teacher at the local elementary school.
“So, Pastor,” I began, once we were belted in and backing out of the driveway. “How can a preacher pay for wheels like this?”
Pastor Duncan smiled, reaching out to twiddle a knob on the air-conditioning. “When I was a newly minted Minister, back in the dark ages before cable TV and cell phones, I was an assistant minister out in Ohio. I learned then that if you were going to be worth spit in the job, the hours tended to be something other than nine-to-five.”
He paused to turn off the radio, “So, one Saturday night at eight o’clock, when I was hoping to put the final, finishing touches on the next day’s sermon, I took a phone call on our church’s hot-line. The caller was a troubled young man who wanted to die and was looking for someone to talk him out of it. I spent the next eight hours talking to him on the phone. He decided that life might be worth living.  I delivered a pretty vanilla sermon the next day and I didn’t hear from the gentleman for a long time.”
I got the sense that his good deed was rewarded. Pastor Duncan continued, “Three years later, I got a call back from that young man. In the intervening years, he made something of himself and felt that he owed me something, which was ridiculous, but that’s how he felt. He asked me what I was driving then, which was a beat-up old Chevy with too many miles on it. The next morning, he drove up with a new car and a stack of papers – an hour later, he drove away in my old beater, and I owned a new, top-of-the-line Caddy.” 
Pastor Duncan paused and then shook his head. “Every two years after that, he comes by my house, drops off a new car, and drives away with the one he’d delivered two years prior. I pay for tags, title, and insurance – which isn’t bad, given the cost of cars these days.”
By this time we were on the beltway, heading towards the District.
“So, Pastor, do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.
It turned out that Pastor Duncan did believe in ghosts, which wasn’t all that unusual, given his firm belief in life-after-death, but it was refreshing to talk to a seemingly sane person who could take my story in, believe it, and not bat an eye. He stopped the car for a minute, parking carefully before dialing a number on his cell phone. “Mike, there’s someone you’ve got to meet.”
Sixteenth Street in the District is a long, north-south street, and every few blocks there’s a different church: catholic, orthodox, protestant, even a mosque. As you drive further south, the neighborhoods become increasingly gritty and distressed, until you reach the hospital district, where it becomes downright scary. There’s a cluster of hospitals there, including an outstanding rehabilitation hospital. I’d never been there as a patient, but I’d visited any number of my friends, soldiers and ex-soldiers, there. 
One of the by-products of Mr. Bush’s war was an ever-growing network of castoffs trying to make our way back into American society, but I digress. As I said, the neighborhood around the hospital district is a less than inviting place, but Pastor Duncan parked in front of a liquor store, which was three doors down from a storefront bearing the placard “Ebenezer Church of Deliverance.”
Well, just as there was an old-boys-network of soldiers, apparently there’s an old-boys-network for ministers, too. Pastor Duncan and I waited patiently on the sidewalk as the service inside the storefront church let out. More than a few of the people nodded at Pastor Duncan as if they recognized him. I got less polite looks, but as it was obvious that I was with the Pastor, I was given the benefit of the doubt.
The only person left in the church when we walked in was a thin, extremely old black man, playing the piano. He was playing up a storm, moving from hymns that I recognized, to songs that I didn’t, all the while keeping a strong rhythm with left hand while beating out a melody with his right. As we approached he cocked an ear towards us and stopped playing abruptly.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“Your old brother, Silas,” Pastor Duncan replied.
“Pastor Reggie!” he exclaimed with glee. He went back to playing the piano, playing a quick few measures of some tune that brought a smile to Pastor Duncan’s face. He then stopped playing again, closing the cover on the keyboard before turning to us. Introductions were made, and we were five minutes into a three-way conversation before I realized that Brother Silas, as he wanted to be known, was blind, totally blind. “Twenty-twenty darkness” he called it. 
Brother Silas, it turned out, was a twofer – not only was he a member of the old-boys networks for pastors, but he’d lost his sight in the US Army, trying to defuse a booby-trap in a tunnel north of Saigon, which placed him firmly in the old-boys network for broken soldiers. We shared something else in common, beyond a fondness for stride piano and twelve-bar blues.
He could see ghosts too and he could see me as well!
We had much to talk about.
It was four o’clock in the morning when Pastor Duncan dropped me off at my house in the ‘burbs. Mom wasn’t waiting up, but there was a pizza in the fridge waiting for me, which was as about as effusive as Mom was known to get these days.

Days later, I found myself back at Megan Rosemont’s home. Elsbeth had given me the ‘all clear’ that Charlie would be out of town well into the evening, coaching a wrestling match.
“Mr. Ross, so nice of you to drop by again – how are you?” she asked. “Please come in. Can I get you some tea?”
“No thank you, I’m doing fine, ma’am. I figured since I was in the area I would drop in and see if you had any more strange occurrences.” I knew she hadn’t. Elsbeth already grabbed my attention, so there was no more need for the ‘gaslight’ nonsense.
“Goodness, no! You must have scared whatever it was away,” she said with genuine warmth. “Kind of a shame too, somehow it feels lonelier in this old house.”
“Well if it really is your granddaughter, I doubt that I’d scare her away for very long.”
“I don’t know. Elsbeth was a very skittish young woman.”
I asked if she wanted to talk about her granddaughter for something to pass the time. There was no need to look suspicious. After about twenty minutes, I asked if I could use her computer to check my email. Being the gracious hostess that she was, she allowed me to. 
I didn’t have to resort to any of my barely-existent computer hacking skills. She was set up to automatically log into her email account and sure enough, there were a pair of emails in her sent bin that had been saved for the purpose of making her look like a stubborn woman who was refusing to keep her doctor appointments. 
Coming to the conclusion that her ghostly granddaughter wasn’t trying to sell me a bill of goods, I moved on to my final little ‘white’ lie. “Mrs. Rosemont, can I ask you a question?”
The tiny woman in the living room looked up from her crossword puzzle and smiled at me, “Of course dear.”
“It’s my mother; she’s not doing so well, she has these occasional chest pains. Do you happen to know a good Cardiologist?”
“No, I’m afraid not. My Samuel died of heart trouble back in 1995. I think the practice he went to closed down or moved a few years ago. If your mother is having problems, you should encourage her to get checked out.” 
That sealed it! Now all I had to do was figure out a way to get the police interested in this case without getting locked up in the loony bin – piece of cake, really. I thanked her for her advice and continued listening to a few more Elsbeth stories. Honestly, it felt weird listening to someone fondly remembering Elsbeth, when I was still on a speaking basis with her. I guess there was something to this whole weird paranormal thing I had going on.

Jenny knocked on my door the next morning. I resisted the urge to bury my head under the pillows in the hope that she’d go away.
Things had been a bit strained between the two of us, since that kiss on the cheek. She thrust her research in my hand the other day and ran off to one of her other classes without much comment and when I checked the parking lot after my class had let out, her car was already gone. She’d been on my mind more than I’d like to admit. I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since Fort Hood. Thankfully, that relationship petered out when I’d received notice that I was headed for Iraq – it seems that Heather was just looking to get on someone’s benefit plan!
I threw on a shirt and a pair of shorts. In the past few weeks, with the distinct possibility of fighting with dead people looming over my head, I made an effort to start seriously working out and getting more muscle and less fat on the frame. After my leg healed and I didn’t need the cane anymore, I really didn’t give a rat’s ass about regaining my Army physique. As a result there was far more ‘pudge’ on my body than I would have liked; the mostly pizza diet wasn’t helping much either!
“You realize it’s not even seven yet?”
“Elsbeth killed herself.”
“Huh?” That was definitely news to me.
She looked hesitant, which always worried me before replying, “Well, I’m trying to convince Uncle Brian to speak with you, so I gave him some of the background. He looked at the police report of her car accident and said that there were no skid marks at the scene or any indication that she had tried to brake at all!”
“I haven’t asked her about it, but it makes sense. I’m pretty sure old Charlie there was beating her. Either way, the rest of her story checks out. Megan lost her husband to heart problems, and when I mentioned my mom having problems she told me to convince her to go see someone. That doesn’t sound like a person that would ignore their own chest pains.”
“Mike! Your mother isn’t having problems, is she?”
“No…”
“You shouldn’t say things like that!”
“I had to work it into the conversation somehow! I couldn’t just start asking her about her medical problems.”
Jenny sighed, “It’s the principle. You shouldn’t tempt fate like that.”
I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand and ran it through the unkempt mess that was my head of hair. Jenny possessed an exasperating quality to her. “It was the best I could come up with. So, did your uncle agree to see me?”
“Not exactly…”
“And that means?”
“He may have said the words, ‘I don’t want you to ever see that boy again outside of class’ and he may have sent an email to my father.”
Ignoring the fact that I had been called a ‘boy’, I shrugged, “Well, that’s some cheerful news. So, is this the part where you tell me that it’s been nice, but don’t ever talk to me again?”
She looked hurt and wounded, “Mike! That’s not how it is. I’m trying to help. I just don’t want to piss them off either…”
“Fine, I’ll talk to him. Just tell me what precinct he works at.”
She did and I walked her out to her car. I watched her Civic head down the street, as a Dodge Ram full sized truck pulled up into my driveway. Out stepped Charles Snowden. Elsbeth sat at the wheel looking upset, but useless. Well, at least the action decided to start early on this day, instead of waiting for a respectable hour – or breakfast. 
He jabbed a single finger into my chest. “What did I tell you, boy?”
Smacking his finger away, I went right back at him, “I ain’t your boy. If you want to start something right here, I can make sure the police get called. Bet the school where you teach would love to see a pair of uniforms show up to question you about an assault. They might even poke around and start asking some questions. A big guy like you must get his rocks off throwing his weight around. Anyone there got an ax to grind with you, Charlie?”
Oh he looked angry, with good reason. Elsbeth provided some dirt. A few of wrestlers made complaints over the years that never amounted to anything more than a written caution in his employment record, but certainly wouldn’t help if the boys in blue showed up. Even teacher’s unions had their limits. I already knew that he was skating on thin ice.
“Since you’re a slow little shit, I’ll repeat myself. Stay away from Grandma Meg. If I even hear that you’re over there again, I’ll turn your slimy little grifter ass over to the cops. Do you get me?”
“Haven’t charged her for the last two visits and I don’t intend to charge her for any more. Far as I can tell, she’s an old lady who misses her granddaughter. Answer this question for me, Mr. Snowden, how does a bright guy like you leave his truck in neutral?” I gestured towards the Ram that was slowly rolling backwards. 
Well what do you know, Elsbeth grew a pair! Actually, she probably only borrowed them, but I’d take what I could get and it was enough to send him sprinting for his vehicle. He stopped it before it got into the street and glared at me. She should have locked the doors on him! Either way, he drove off after giving me yet another threatening look. 

“Jenny’s a sweetheart. The kind of girl that always brings home strays and jumps on lost causes. How does it feel to be the flavor of the month there Mike?” Brian Wycheck tried to bore his eyes through me. 
I quipped back, “So much for ‘protect and serve’. Jenny also seemed to believe that you were a ‘good’ guy and interested in helping people.”
“You might want to watch that smart mouth of yours, boy. You’re already on my last nerve – coming down to where I work and peddling this bullshit about ghosts telling you about murder plots. My niece, I’ll humor, but I don’t have to put up with walking garbage like you.” 
Pondering whether there was a conspiracy around today to insult me by calling me ‘boy.’ I concluded that this just wasn’t going to be my day. Maybe the stars were aligned against me or some such crap. Brian Wycheck was the kind of police detective that wore his badge and suit like a suit of armor. It allowed him to take pot shots at me, but the moment I dish out a little, he’s shows he can’t take it.
“I figured coming here and talking to you wouldn’t do any good. Well next week, when she does die, make sure to test for metal poisoning. Tell me, if I overheard a conversation between two people about a murder plot, would you be taking me more seriously? I’ve told you when he bought the bluing solution, where he’s hiding it, and when he plans to do it! What more do you need?”
His sneer was mildly disturbing, “Oh I don’t know something other than a cock and bull story. Maybe that would help.”
Jenny put way too much faith in him, “So, you’ll take a tip from a strung out junkie, hooker, or some homeless bum on the streets, but not me. As for wasting your time, did you have something else planned already for that day?”
He leaned forward and hissed at me, “Well, if you’ve got all the answers, why don’t you fill out an official report and go on the record instead of coming down here to talk to me ‘off the record’? I’ll even help you fill out the forms. The reason is that when this doesn’t happen, I’ll drag your ass in here for filing a false report and then we’ll put you in front of a judge who’ll order you into a psychiatric care facility.”
I stood to leave and he grabbed my arm, “Stay away from Jenny! If I catch you filling her head with all this stupid ‘new age’ shit, you’ll wish you were back in Iraq – psychic boy.”

After ‘withdrawing’ another forty-seven dollars from the Maryland lottery system with three well-informed ticket purchases, I sat on the bench and looked at the fuming ghost of Elsbeth Snowden. 
“What are you angry at me for? He didn’t want to believe me! Tell me the truth, Elsbeth, if you were still alive and I came to you with a story like this, would you? Some people don’t think ghosts exist, which means that the only people that are likely to stop Charlie are you and me. You need to do more of that crap like putting his truck into neutral! You’re a ghost! Haunt his ass! Get him back for treating you like shit all these years!”
My pep talk wasn’t doing that much good. She finally owned up to the abuse. Elsbeth obviously wouldn’t stand up for herself in life. Apparently, death doesn’t really change a person’s character - nice to know that I’d be a sarcastic smart-ass in the next life. I started wondering if I could ‘recruit’ some other ghosts, some who might be more willing to help bring a bit of chaos into Mr. Snowden’s life.
The problem is that I still didn’t really know how ghosts operated. The few I’d talked to were pretty tight-lipped about what they could and couldn’t do. Jenny’s mom was angry enough to flat out try and kill the two of us, but trying to talk Elsbeth into tripping her husband and sending him down the stairs wasn’t going anywhere. Most ghosts seemed capable of doing some of the standard poltergeist stuff, but it made me wonder if they could do other things.
Too bad I hadn’t yet found any more homicidal ghosts. Of course, that could make a whole different problem, so maybe that was a good thing. I’d been too scared at what I might find if I went to Arlington National Cemetery. My intuition told me that I really should avoid that place at all costs.
“But what if he finds out and when he dies, it’ll start all over again?”
“Well, you’re latched on to your wedding ring that he wears on a chain around his necklace, right? We stop him and I’ll destroy the ring and you move on to whatever is after all this. Does that sound like a plan?”
She looked terrified, “I have to go!” Breaking contact she fled. Things weren’t looking all that good.

Things looked even worse the next day when Jenny wasn’t in class. Paul, the guy who sat on the other side of her desk, was using one of those Digital Voice recorders to take notes for her. He said she called him out of the blue and told him she couldn’t make it. He said he was surprised that Jenny hadn’t called me to do it.
I wasn’t.
I could have though. I’d just picked up a decent unit, thinking that it would be handy in class, but even though it was like some cliché from every single cop show, some part of me hoped I could trick some kind of confession from Snowden. Trying the thing out and waiting for my next class to start was interrupted by when Elsbeth ran through the door and a pair of students who immediately shivered.
“He’s going to do it tomorrow! He did a ‘practice’ run today and scheduled her next cardiologist appointment.”
“That’s sudden, what changed his mind?” I whispered into my new voice recorder so I could at least look like I was sane.
“His ‘new’ girlfriend told him that she didn’t like the fact that he spends so much time with his dead wife’s grandmother. She thinks it’s creepy. He told her that she’s pretty ill and having heart problems.”
I shooed her way as class started, angry at myself for touching her with my writing hand, but then again, I had a shiny new voice recorder…
On the way to the bus stop, I spotted Jenny’s car leaving the parking lot. Yeah, I was angry the whole ride home.

I was surprised to find myself staring through the door chain at Megan Rosemont. “May I come in?”
“No, I’m afraid not, young man. Charles told me that he looked into your past and you are nothing but a con artist posing as a nice young man.” I hadn’t expected such a subtle move out of the big ox, but then again, I was still ‘new’ at all of this.
I said the first thing that came to my mind, “Elsbeth says that he’s trying to poison you.”
“Why on Earth would he do that? You leave right now or I am calling the police.”
It was tempting to tell her to speak directly to Detective Wycheck. “Wait, hear me out. Elsbeth’s told me things that only you and she would know. How about her rag doll named Mrs. Biscuits? Her favorite book was Charlotte’s Web! She used to make you read a chapter to her every night. She did move the furniture around, but she stopped after she contacted me. “
“You’re just making that up!” I’ll never understand people; she called me hoping that I could connect her with Elsbeth. Give her some validation and what did she call me – a liar!
“Fine, you want some proof that Charlie is up to something call Doctor Morgan’s office. He’s made cardiologist appointments for you in the past and called them back to cancel. He made one for you yesterday. Call them and see if he made an appointment for you for next week. No matter what, don’t drink the large ice tea he brings you today! Don’t dump it out because the police will need to test it.”
“Charles is a good hard working man. You shouldn’t be saying things like that about him!”
“He used to beat Elsbeth! You know it too! You even made her think it was her fault that he was doing it, telling her that if she was a better wife he wouldn’t have to do what he did. Tell me, how I would know that?”
She looked like I had punched her and slowly opened the door. I sat on the couch while she called the cardiologist and found out that she had a long string of cancelled appointments.
I showed her the voice recorder and set it under her newspaper and told her I would wait in the next room to make sure Charlie just dropped off the food and left. Then we could call the police and have them pick up the tainted beverage and later Charlie. It would be nice and easy. 
I should have known better – nothing is ever that simple.

My “oh so clever” plan lasted until Elsbeth came sprinting through the wall.
“The neighbor told him you’re here!”
“Shit!” It wasn’t exactly my most eloquent summation, but seemed to be the most appropriate. Okay, it looked like this was going to go down the ‘hard’ way. “Does he have the poisoned drink?” When Elsbeth nodded, I snatch the phone off the hook and dial 911. Now I just needed to stall until Rockville’s finest arrived.
The front door banged open and I heard a shout, “Where is he? I know you’re here, Ross!”
I walked out of the bedroom, “I’m right here. How are you today?”
“I thought I told you…” He said setting down the bags of food on the countertop.
“I came by because I was worried about Mrs. Rosemont.”
“Get out!” He takes a few threatening steps towards me.
“I’ll leave in a few minutes. Mrs. Rosemont and I were just having a pleasant conversation. If she wants me to leave, I’ll be happy to go – no need to be all unfriendly like.” Mentally, I was counting off the seconds in my head, wondering how long it would take for the call to be processed and a unit to be dispatched. This was a pretty nice part of town, so maybe ten minutes?
“Get out while you can still walk out! I don’t know what lies you’ve been filling her head with …” His eyes drifted down to the phone book opened to cardiologists.
Saying ‘shit’ a second time would be repetitive. He bull rushed me and I threw the nearest vase at him as hard as I could. Then I grabbed the second vase, which I smashed into his head while he drove me into the wall, leaving a Mike Ross shaped dent in the drywall. Well, at least when the cops got here, they’d really find a domestic disturbance.
I didn’t have time for clever commentary as we traded blows at close range. There wasn’t much snap in my punch right at his throat, but it was enough to make him stumble backwards. People like to breathe every so often. Trying to press my advantage I faked a grab at him and kicked at the side of his knee.
Whether it hurt him, I’ll never know because all I saw was stars when that bastard hit me – hard. I held it together and avoided blacking out, but that’s about all I was capable of at the moment. 
I blocked one or two punches, but he got a grip on me and I was in real trouble. Instinctively, I broke his hold on me, but he countered with a better hold, which unfortunately happened to be around my neck.
He scrunched his neck down to keep me from doing the same to him, so I tried boxing his ears, which didn’t work as well as I needed it to. I still wasn’t getting any air.
Already starting to flail weakly, I did the only thing I could think of, I smacked his forehead with the palm of my hand and rammed my thumb into his eye – cheap, dirty, but effective. He dropped me and then he kicked me, but at least I had enough air to scream in pain!
Spitting the blood out of my mouth, I tried to get to my feet, waiting for the next blow. It never came. I saw him collapsed by the mantle. A brass candlestick dangled from Elsbeth Snowden’s hands. 
I wheezed out my thanks to her and look over at Megan, who was staring open mouthed at the floating candlestick, pointing with her finger. I stumbled over and cut off the voice recorder. 
“Is that?”
“Yes, it’s Elsbeth. She finally stood up to him. You can put the candlestick down now, Elsbeth.”

Thirty minutes later a paramedic was checking me. She told me that my throat would be sore and to rest it while checking to see if any of the cuts or abrasions on my head required stitches. Satisfied she let me up and I walked back towards the house to make sure Megan was okay.
“Ross?”
“Oh joy, Detective Wycheck! My day just got a bit better. Make sure you check her ice tea for bluing solution.”
“We already found the dropper bottle in his truck and the lady is backing your story. We’ll take your statement and photograph your injuries. Your voice recorder stays with us until we make an official copy for evidence. Right now, we’re charging him with assault on you, but if you’re right about the drink, it’ll go to conspiracy to commit murder real quick.”
“So we’re friends now?”
He leaned in closer and brushed some of the remaining plaster off my shoulder with a sneer on his face. “Don’t count on it, Ross. I don’t like you. I don’t think I’ll ever like you and I’ll be happy if I never have to see you outside of this case again.”
I felt a bit cocky as I brushed past him, “Aw, where’s the love, Officer? Can’t we all just get along?”
Back inside, Megan sat on her couch drinking what I hoped was a non-poisoned tea. “How are you holding up?”
She looked at me through those monstrous glasses, “Surprisingly well. Is she still here?”
I nodded and walked over to where Elsbeth was pointing. The candlestick blow that felled Charlie was being credited to the 83 year old Grandmother. Evidently that same blow broke the chain around Charlie’s neck. On the ground was a small diamond solitaire. “Here, this is Elsbeth’s anchor - the object she is connected to; if we take it to her grave site we can release her.”
A familiar jolt of pain coursed through my back. “Damn, that stings!”
“I want to stay and watch over her. I can pass on later.”
“Some warning would be nice,” I muttered back at Elsbeth. “Fine, if that’s what you want – stay. Here, if you keep this around, Elsbeth will stay and keep you company.”
Megan sniffled for a moment before clearing her throat. “Thank you very much, Mr. Ross. Now would you be a dear and run down to the market and pick up some groceries for me? I have a list.”
The store was only about a half mile walk; I sighed and took the list and a pair of twenties from her.


And that’s how I ‘got’ Grandma Meg as a fixture in my life – most guys my age were accumulating children and debt, me, I was picking up grannies and ghosts. Go figure.



Episode 4: Battling with Bitches

I never thought I’d be walking a blind preacher around my house and yard on a chilly November Saturday while he does a “proper” blessing of the house, but I’ve learned to be flexible. Eight weeks ago, religion didn’t have a place in my life. Then again, back in September, I didn’t have my own personal window into the afterlife. Trailing after Brother Silas felt as odd and out of place as the small brand-new silver cross around my neck, but as I just said, I was becoming more open minded.
Regardless of my estrangement from organized religion, I knew I needed back-up. The ghost of Darren Porter kindly pointed this fact out right before a bona fide Civil War hero ran him through with a cavalry saber. Even in the afterlife, that had to hurt!
Unfortunately, Darren didn’t really have the time to clarify exactly what “protections” were available and where one goes to acquire such things. Since Wal-Mart didn’t have a supernatural section, I figured that the “traditional” method was a good place to start, considering some of the bizarre suggestions on the Internet.  Although wrapping the house in a layer of tin foil might give it a certain festive look - I decided on something a little less geeky.
Brother Silas Parker seemed to be enjoying the cold more than I was. I hadn’t felt a true winter in several years between the desert in Iraq and the sweltering temperatures of Army bases in Texas and Georgia. Frankly, I hadn’t missed it. My companion’s body, though not quite sixty, showed the ravages of illness and time.  Even so, Brother Silas possessed a wry humor and pleasant demeanor that said a great deal about the man’s character.
“So, do you reckon this is going to work?”
The blind man didn’t move his head in my direction. “I think it will, if you have faith, Mike. Do you believe?”
There’s the rub. I was still a bit of a cynic. It’s hard to believe in a higher power when you’ve had a pretty crappy life, but I couldn’t really whine too much about unfairness to a man who’d lost both eyes to the Viet Cong now, could I?
“Fortunately, I’ve prepared a test.” I waved over to the ghost pacing around on the street. Elsbeth Snowden was a slender woman, just a few years older than me, pretty enough to date, barring the slight problem of her being dead, married, and the trivial fact that I’d just helped put her husband in jail for assault and attempted murder, pending his day in court. Beyond that, we’d make a perfect couple.
Our not-quite-friendship was interesting: she watched over her aging grandmother and I was her errand boy. Still, she’d helped me pick up some pocket money and Grandma Meg was enjoyable enough.
Elsbeth tried to approach, but was stopped right at the sidewalk. She made several more attempts, but was frustrated each time. Silas could sort of “see” her as well. The easiest person to convince that you could see ghosts was someone else who saw them too.
“And it looks like you do believe enough.”
Making certain she was too far away to eavesdrop; I leaned in to Silas and whispered, “Well Elsbeth isn’t exactly much of a ghost, but she is the best I have available on short notice. So, it looks like it’ll keep out the lamb, but I wonder what’ll happen when a lion comes knocking?”
I wasn’t planning on reenacting Custer’s last stand if Colonel Strong Vincent brought the ghosts of Gettysburg down for a visit, but something always beat nothing, which was all I had before.
“I reckon you ought to keep that pig-sticker close to your bed if you’re worried ‘bout that, Mike.”
We’d discovered that Silas could see the ghostly sword that I took from Mr. Vincent. “So what exactly is Pastor Duncan saying to my mom?”
“Oh he’s just telling her about how I have plenty of experience counseling people with war injuries and how I’ll be working with you in the times to come, giving you spiritual guidance. The nice part is every bit of it’s true.”
“So, he’s not in there telling her that I really can see ghosts?”
“She’s your mother, Mike. If she’s going to believe anyone, it’ll be you and only when she’s ready to accept. It’s like the Gospel. You can sit in church and listen. You can read the words from the book, but it won’t truly mean something unless you’re willing to believe it and do something about it. Now you might want to do something about your ghost friend there. She’s looking a bit angry.”
I shrugged my shoulders and walked over to Elsbeth. I’d hoped the preachers were going to enlighten my mom, but instead it looked like that was my battle to fight. Reaching out, I touched Elsbeth.
“It’s about time you came over here! What if my grandmother needs something? How am I supposed to get through this?”
“Good question. I’m not really sure how it works. Maybe it’s like Vampires and I have to invite you in?”
She looked indignant. “That’s stupid. Vampires don’t exist!”
“I find that rather ironic coming from a ghost,” I said. At least there was some humor to be found in my life. “Let’s not be so close-minded, shall we? Elsbeth Melissa Snowden, I invite you onto the grounds.”
She tried the barrier and it didn’t work. I stepped back inside the barrier and tried it again – with the same result. Impulsively, I just reached out, grabbed her wrist and pulled her across. The contact was more painful than usual, but it worked.
“That hurt!” the dead woman cried out, “it was like being shocked.”
“Well that’s what I get to feel during all our conversations, so quit your complaining. See if you can walk out and walk back in.”
Though I let go of her hand, I could tell she was muttering some rather unladylike words as she crossed back and forth across the barrier. It was still painful to her and if it hadn’t been for the slight shimmer as she stepped onto the property, I would have been worried that we destroyed the barrier. I added that to my list of “things I now know about ghosts.” If you make protections, you have to escort any “Caspers” across the barrier. “Caspers?” you ask? Why, friendly ghosts, of course.
“Looks like we have ourselves a winner,” I declared. “Thanks for your help Elsbeth; I’ll be by to do your grandma’s grocery shopping tomorrow.”
The ghost nodded and faded away. She wasn’t anchored to her grave, but rather to her wedding band which was now hanging from a delicate chain around her grandmother’s neck. At least it made her return trip much quicker.
“Thank you for coming out Brother Silas.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet, you see, Reggie and I have a favor to ask of you.”
As usual, alarm bells rang in my head. Cautiously, I asked, “And just what do you and Pastor Duncan want?”
The old man picked up on my guarded tone, “It’s not much, but from time to time, other pastors call us -- when they’ve run into a bit of trouble, you see. Over the years, I’ve acquired a certain reputation for helping out people with unexplainable problems.”
Not being an idiot, I could see where this was headed. “So, exorcism really works?”
Brother Silas laughed. “Young man, it’s called Ebenezer Church of Dee-liverance for a reason, don’t you know. Most times when I’ve gone to someone’s house, it’s been nothing. On those few times that I’ve encountered something, blessing the house works most of the time.”
“And what did you do when it didn’t?”
“Well, unlike you I can’t touch a spirit and I can’t talk to them. So, if I can’t get rid of them through prayer and blessing, I flat out told the living that they should move. You on the other hand have a gift from the Creator that is much more effective. You can actually speak to these spirits and, if necessary, forcefully evict them.”
Favors didn’t pay my bills, but I owed Brother Silas and Pastor Duncan, if for no other reason than the fact that both of them didn’t think that I was nuts. They were fairly up front with me and Silas blessed the house before asking me for my help. The scheming part of me also realized that it wouldn’t hurt that I could use them as referrals for paying clients. “As long as it’s not going to interfere with my schoolwork, I’ll be happy to help.”
Silas smiled and actually looked at me for a change. It’s a bit disconcerting being stared at by a blind man. After his injury and while Silas was doing rehab at the Maryland School for the Blind, he discovered that while he couldn’t see anything in the natural world, he could see things in the spiritual world – but not as sharply as I could see them. He’d explained it as seeing little blobs of light in an otherwise dark room.
He could also see me, which was more than a little creepy. “I figured you would, Mike. Reggie’s inside telling your mother that we plan to take you out occasionally and let you do some volunteer work, build up your moral fiber and all that jazz.”
Making a joke, I replied, “I’m not so certain I need fiber in my diet. Isn’t that for old folks?”
The tall, black man roared with laughter. “You just keep saying that, young man! One day you’ll wake up and smell the Metamucil, just like the rest of us!”
Mom left for work shortly after Pastor Duncan and Brother Silas departed. She seemed rather pleased with my new involvement with her pastor. I’m sure Mom thought that this would lead me back to church. Hopefully Pastor Duncan would be around when her bubble burst and she found out that they’re not really trying to help me cope with my delusions. Must be that ‘moral fiber’ garbage Silas was shoveling.
My evening was booked solid. In other words, I’d scheduled a nice long ride on a beat up old stationary bike that Pastor Duncan and the folks at the church refurbished when I was first discharged from the Army. It was a nice gesture to help with my rehab that I failed to initially appreciate.
Riding a bicycle to nowhere was boring, so I plugged a tape into the VCR. On the TV, I was watching the poorly filmed exploits of Darren Porter and his sidekicks, The Eye of Horus. They were investigating a spiritual disturbance in a Harrisburg cemetery. I kept a notepad and a pen handy to jot down anything useful that they might say. So far it was blank. Mostly, I kept an eye out for Karla Thompson, Darren’s girlfriend. She was certainly pretty enough. It was easy to see that the cameraman enjoyed following her around too. I wondered how much of the footage that wasn’t used was simply her backside in motion.
Karla sported long reddish brown hair and blue eyes. Her build was that of a model, tall and lean. She also had quite the set of lungs on her and was the group’s resident screamer, guaranteed to raise the octaves at least once every episode. Some members of the team, including Darren, seemed to enjoy pulling an occasional prank on Karla, which was certain to produce more angry shrieks.
I was stalking her, not in a creepy sense, but more in a literal sense. Darren told me to find her and that she had his notes and research material. Unfortunately, she dropped off the face of the Earth, so to speak, or at least she was beyond my limited resources. I sure hoped whatever he left with her was useful.
In the past few weeks, I’d taken my workouts very seriously. Getting my ass handed to me by Charlie Snowden was a wakeup call. I planned, when I got enough spare cash, on signing up for some martial arts lessons. No sense in waiting for someone to show up with a haunted dojo or something. Lacking anyone to teach me, I went back through the drills from my wrestling days and practiced the moves the Army taught me for unarmed combat.
Now, nice and limber, after having kicked an imaginary Bruce Lee’s hind side, I began to wonder if I could find a dead martial arts master to teach me. I dismissed this and went to my battered old set of free weights. Mom bought them for me when I made the wrestling team, years ago when I was a long-haired civilian. They hadn’t been out of my closet since I got my diploma. Lifting was just as tedious as riding the bike; I never really liked it. I was finishing my last set of reps and preparing to cool down on the bike when the doorbell rang.
Cutting off the TV, I went to answer the door. It was too late in the day for the bible thumpers or the usual salesperson ignoring the “No Solicitation” sign. Mom’s friends knew where she was Saturday nights, so I was curious. My poker buddies weren’t likely to bother me on the weekend either.
I opened the door and found a rather attractive blonde wearing a leather jacket.
“Oh sugar, don’t say anything for a second, I just want to stare at you – standin’ there lookin’ all hot and sweaty like.”
Without her uniform and with a new haircut, I almost hadn’t recognized her. The moment she spoke, it all clicked: Candy as in “sweet and easy to get.”
“Hello, Officer McKenna,” I said warmly. “What’s a nice lady like you doing in the ‘burbs on a cold day like this.”
I recalled she preferred to be called Candace nowadays as she laughed, probably at the “nice lady” comment and continued to eye me up and down. I was only in shorts and a T-shirt and Candy was clearly enjoying the view. “Well sweetness, if ya invite me in. I reckon that I can tell ya.”
Her “country gal” accent was cute and I decided to let the Roanoke County Deputy into my humble home, shutting the door after her. Other than the clutter of my work-out equipment in the living room, Mom and I kept a pretty neat place. I offered her a drink and she declined, but she asked to use the restroom after her long trip.
The intrigue built. Why she drove all the way from western Virginia to see me, I couldn’t say. Last time I saw her, she slid her card into my hand, the card with her cell phone number written on the back -- in case I was ever down her way again. Candy, Jenny Goodman’s cousin, was anything but subtle.
I hadn’t thought of Jenny in a while. She’d been avoiding me like I had killed her mother or something! Well, come to think of it, that was a bad comparison, as I had sort of gotten rid of her ghost of a mom. Jenny’s paternal aunt, who works in admissions at Montgomery College, pulled a few strings and even after the deadline for switching classes, Jenny moved out of the one class we shared. After that, I tried to approach her once or twice and gotten her best “I’m sorry but this is for the best” routine, before I got the message – she didn’t want to see me anymore. Having hauled the ghostly trash out of her life, I was no longer worth her time.
The crappy part of the deal was I’d still have to see her uncle, Detective Wycheck, since he was running the Charlie Snowden investigation. If there was a choice, I’d much rather eliminate her uncle from my life; I missed Jenny, just a bit.
I pushed that out of my mind as the very friendly, very female police officer who wasn’t avoiding me exited my bathroom. “I like your place.”
She was just trying to be polite. If she couldn’t pick up on the fact the house was my mom’s, I feared for the citizens of Roanoke County.
“So, you were about to tell me what brings you up here on a Saturday?”
“All business, aren’tcha?”
“Well it is nice to see you, Candace, but I’m more than a little curious.”
“Well I suppose we can visit after I do my official business.” Clearing her throat she reached into her purse and removed an envelope. “On behalf of the Roanoke County Sheriff’s Department and the Commonwealth of Virginia, I would like to present you with this here letter of ‘preciation and a check for one thousand dollars for your aid and assistance in solving a certain ‘missing persons’ case. It would’ve been only five hundred, but we found out his family had chipped in another five hundred – so blah, blah, thanks for everything and here ya go.”
I didn’t know how most people lived, but it wasn’t every day that a pretty woman shows up at the Ross household and hands out a check. I probably had a stupid expression on my face, and I’m sure that’s when my normal disdain for the police warmed, just a little. Mr. “Cool Under Pressure” ended up giving Candy a big old sweaty hug.
A few seconds later, the awkwardness set in and I backed off. She smiled at me. “I knew that would be better than just dropping it off in the mail! So, what’re ya gonna do with it?”
It’d take care of that pesky transmission problem on Mom’s car. “I guess most of it will go to bills.”
Candy made a “pooh-pooh” face.  “That doesn’t sound like much fun. Going to have enough left over to treat my cuz to a nice dinner?”
The plot was stirring, or maybe simmering – I never was much on metaphors, “Jenny and I aren’t really talking much anymore, and we never were dating.”
The woman in front of me didn’t look surprised; rather she looked a bit amused. “Do tell; why on Earth not?”
I shrugged, “Long story.”
“In that case, you can buy me that nice dinner and ‘splain it to me.”
I have to admit, I’ve always liked a woman who knows what she wants. “A bit forward aren’t you?”
Giving a throaty chuckle she replied, “I only move in one direction, sweetness; now you go get cleaned up, into some nice clothes and think of where you’re gonna take me.”
I hadn’t been out on the town in a long time. Other than a steak dinner with Jenny, it was even longer since I’d been with anything approximating a pretty girl. Thinking about the room on my credit card, I figured I was entitled to frivolously blow a bit of my reward money. “The Golden Bull is a nice place, with great food and less attitude than some of the other upscale places around here. You like dancing?”
“Line dancing or clubbing?”
“Clubbing.”
“Well, I guess I should go get my LBD outta my car.”
I was a little slow on the uptake, “LBD?” It sounded like a dangerous weapon.
She let out a whimsical laugh, “Little Black Dress, silly.”
“You brought a LBD with you?” I was right. It was a dangerous weapon, of sorts.
“I wasn’t sure where this night would be going. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
The flirting was so blatant that even an idiot like me couldn’t miss it. “And where do you think this night is going?”
“Well that all depends on you now, sugar.”
I hadn’t showered and changed so fast since my days in Iraq.

In between bites of some fine tasting prime rib and relating my paranormal adventures, I asked, “So, just suppose I was dating Jenny. What would you have done?”
Candy laughed, nibbling on her stuffed flounder. “Oh, I didn’t think I had to worry about that. Women in my family generally circle their prey like a shark for a while. I figured she’d still be stringing ya along. Turns out she was dumber than I ‘spected.”
I suppressed any urge to defend Jenny. After all, she’d been the one lacking any spine. Of course that analogy made me bloody meat, floating in the ocean, which was slightly icky. “So why did you stop circling?”
“I smelled blood.” She smirked at me and looked at something over my shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think my li’l cousin just came in the door. Looks like she’s moved on.”
Understandably surprised, I glanced, but made certain to be casual about it. Jenny wore a nice sweater and pants, looking her usual cute and perky self. The guy with her was pulled straight out of the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch ad. He was taller than me, but that describes much of the adult male population. I shrugged and turned back around. The most I’d gotten from Jenny was a peck on the cheek and a bunch of problems. Candy, on the other hand, brought a check – so, advantage to the strawberry blonde in the sizzling black dress.
Turning around, I went back to eating. I could see Candy appraising my reaction. “What?”
“Just checking to see if ya still had a thing for her.”
“Not particularly. From what I see in front of me, it looks like I got the better deal.”
“Oh that’s pretty smooth there, Mike.”
I winked, “Be careful; there might be a hook in this bait.”
She snorted, almost choking on her glass of wine. Fanning herself with her hand she muttered, “Oh that’s bad! We really should stop with the innuendo.”
Jenny and her date were seated a few tables down from us. I liked my odds. I was dressed nicely and Candy looked fabulous. It almost made me rethink my whole thing for “women in uniform.”
While pondering if my date had ever worn, or would consider wearing a French maid costume in the near future, I heard a female voice behind me. “Candy! What on Earth are you doing up here?”
When had the odds ever gone my way?
“Jenny, good to see ya! Isn’t it your birthday soon?”
I turned around and said, “In that case, happy birthday a bit early, Jenny.”
Her eyes went big as she figured out who the clean shaven guy in the dress shirt was. “Mike?”
“Yes?”
The big eyes were replaced with a cold stare and her face seemed to be getting a bit red. “When did you two start dating?”
I gave Candy a quick glance to tell her to let me field this one. “It’s been, what, going on two weeks now, Candace?”
“If it’s been a day, sugar!” It was nice to see she’d attack when she smelled someone else’s blood.
 Jenny wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions. The words, “I see,” looked like they were painfully squeezed out of her mouth.
“And it’s been the best two weeks of my life!” Candy gave the figurative knife another twist. “We were headed out dancing after this if you … oh wait, I’m sorry you’re only turning nineteen. Well maybe next time I’m up here we can do something.”
“Is everything okay?” her date asked, walking up. “I went ahead and ordered your iced tea.” 
“Everything’s fine.” Jenny said through another bout of oral constipation.
“Carlton Binstock.” The guy stated, reaching his hand out to me. Yeah, the name fit just as well as his preppy image. He had a firm handshake though; I guessed either business or law school.
“Mike Ross and this is Candace McKenna.”
The strapping young man shook Candy’s hand while Jenny said, “Candy is my cousin. Mike and I go to college together.”
Carlton looked me over. “You’re a freshman?”
“Got out of the Army last spring. Gotta start somewhere.”
“Naturally. Well thank you for your service to our country.”
Good god, I hated that condescending line! It just sounded so damn fake coming out of most people’s mouths. During my rehab, I heard it all the time, so much I’d gotten sick of it! For people who watch enough of that Sunday morning political garbage, it ends up being some kind of Pavlov dog response the moment anyone in the military comes along. The full line should be, “Thank you for your service to our country, better you than me!”
I fought back the urge to strangle him and instead answered, “Thanks, I appreciate it. So where do you go to school?”
“George Mason, first year in Law.”
I began wondering if I had other psychic powers. Maybe it this whole ghost thing didn’t work out I’d have a future in carnivals guessing people’s weight?
I continued on, “Looks like Candace is the only one of us making an honest living. She’s a Deputy in Roanoke.” I said it with pride.
“Well, I still have to powder my nose. I’m very happy for the two of you!” Jenny spun and walked off, leaving her bewildered date standing there. He begged off moments later.
Candy could barely contain her grin, “You’re one evil, evil man, Mr. Ross.”
I felt cheeky. “Behind every good man is a good woman. Behind every evil man is …”
“Watch it! So, how much did she say about little old me on your trip back?”
“Not much after I said you weren’t my type and you and I’d probably never date.”
“Oh really?” she drawled in reply.
“It got her off the topic and it was a long drive back. Of course I’m probably lower than dirt in her eyes right now.”
“Ya realize that ya just ruined lawyer boy’s night.”
“Yeah, well, that was just a bonus. I’m sure he’ll survive.”
Her look became a tad predatory, “Should I go check on my cuz?”
“Let’s just get the check and go dancing. No need to torment her anymore. That’d just be cruel.” She did the “pooh-pooh” face again as I motioned for our waiter.

I suppose “karma” gets angry when you poke her, or in my case, when I took too much enjoyment ruining Jenny’s night out. It explains why after a few hours of dancing, I stood in my bathroom patting Candy on the back while she emptied her stomach into the toilet.
After returning from dinner, I invited her to come back inside. It certainly was a long way to drive back at such a late hour and I’m supposed to be a gentleman. A hotel was a perfectly good waste of money.
As always, fate had a series of hanging curve balls waiting for me. Strike one consisted of my mom waiting for us; it wasn’t really a strike, but more a foul ball. 
Having a woman in the house still felt a little taboo, which I suppose only added to the awkwardness. Sure I was twenty-three and this wasn’t like when I snuck a girl into my room as a teenager and got caught. I was an adult and contributed to the household. 
Nevertheless, Candy and my mother traded pleasantries for much longer than my liking. Mom didn’t even bring a blanket and a pillow out for me to sleep on the couch. I guess she realized I was growing up, not exactly a Norman Rockwell moment, but then again I wasn’t expecting one.
Nonetheless, I was glad that Mom’s room was on the other side of our house, when she wished us both a goodnight. Candy turned out to be every bit as frisky as I suspected. 
Quite honestly, for the first time since that roadside bomb, I felt like a man again, something a woman could actually desire. After a few hours of dancing, or as I saw it, dry-humping out on the dance floor, my rebuilt leg promised that there’d be hell to pay in the morning. Still, she reminded me how much I’d missed being close to a woman. My useless therapist back at good old Walter Reed would’ve been proud. I’d reached another milestone in my “recovery.”
I thought it was going to be my night to get lucky after a long, long dry spell. I’m not particularly fond of one-night-stands but my morals are rather unrefined; I don’t knowingly date married women, I won’t date two girls at the same time, and jail bait, of course, need not apply.
We were getting quite familiar with each other when she suddenly stopped, pushed me back like I was some kind of deviant, and sprinted for my bathroom. That’s when strike two was called.
Some greasy spoon off of I-81 served her a chicken patty sandwich that hadn’t agreed with her. There’s nothing like a bout of food poisoning to really kill the mood. Kissing her suddenly became much less enticing. Fortunately, we had a reasonably full can of air freshener in the bathroom and could continue our conversation.
At least we could laugh about it, “You know this isn’t doing much for my ego, Candace.”
She laughed hollowly. “Probably the first time I’m certain there won’t be any kissin’ and tellin’ come tomorrow.”
“I gotta ask, ‘What’s so interesting about me, Candace?’ Why drive all this way for me?”
Sitting on the floor of my bathroom, she gave me a rather candid answer. “Besides the fact ya can see ghosts? I like your sarcasm and the way you think. We clicked that day and I kept thinkin’ about ya. Couldn’t get ya outta my system. So when the crime-stopper’s reward came through, I figured it was now or never. If Jenny hadn’t sunk her claws into you, I figured that I’d take a shot.”
I’d gone from a bloody hunk of meat in the ocean to some kind of addictive drug. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. “What makes you so certain Jenny was ever going to do anything?”
“Women in my family can always spot a special guy. Why do you think li’l Jenny’s so upset? Back home, I could see that she was pretty ‘in’ to you and she caved into her aunt and uncle when they told her to stay away from ya.”
I was flattered. It felt good – it was surprising how low my ego had fallen in the last six months. “Nurse Candy” was just what the doctor ordered. “So how come you don’t already have a special guy?”
She gave a throaty reply. “Oh that’s easy. Women in my family are also first rate bitches. I’ve been told that I’m a bit on the high maintenance side. It takes a special man to attract a woman in my family. It takes a really special man to put up with one of us. Those just don’t come ‘round that often.”
It was quite possibly the nicest thing a woman’s ever said to me before heaving her guts out - again. 
I liked Candy, but I was practical, even in light of her rather unusual method of delivering compliments. I passed her a washcloth and said, “With no traffic, we’re four hours away from each other, which really means we’re five and a half hours away. It could be another year before I get my license back. I don’t see how that’s going to help.”
Her reply was equally as practical. She rested her head on my shoulder and sighed, “Mike, don’t think so much. I’m guessing things can only get better from here. Lordy, they can’t get much worse! Let’s just see where it goes. Do you think that I could lay down for awhile?”
Strike three – batter out!


Morning showed up all too soon. I ended up on the couch after all, as Candy and a waste basket occupied my bedroom. Mom was rather amused when she came out in the morning and I related the unfortunate series of events.
I let Officer McKenna sleep in until about nine. Stepping into the room, I was glad that I was going elsewhere today; I’d need to open a window after she left.
Mom already asked if I would be going to church this morning. I told her I was going this afternoon – which was misleading, at best. Pastor Duncan and Brother Silas were planning to take me out to a haunted house for my first “volunteer” session. 
With a sigh I nudged the woman occupying my bed. “Rise and shine sweetheart.”
“Don’t wanna,” she answered squirming a bit before throwing the covers over her head. Obviously, she wasn’t a morning gal. 
A few protests later she finally got up. While she showered, I went out to speak with Mom. I found her staring at the letter of appreciation and the crime stopper’s reward.
The check was something bittersweet for my hardworking mom. She was ecstatic to hear that we could fix her car and get caught up on some of the bills, but mixed on how I managed to solve a missing persons case hours away from here.
I showered quickly. Seeing that my first time back in the “dating saddle” wasn’t all I had hoped, I salvaged a bit of my pride with the knowledge that I scored well in the “kind, gentle and understanding” categories.  When I came back into my room, a pale Candy was dressed in some of my sweats, brushing her hair while using the mirror on my dresser.
“I’m borrowing these. It’s a long trip back and these are comfortable.” She’d already told me that she had the graveyard shift coming up that night and couldn’t stay. Plus, if she left now, she’d be able to get back and sleep for awhile, before deciding whether to call in sick or not.
I walked up behind her and slid my hands into the pockets while playfully asking, “What about your clothes?”
“My stuff doesn’t exactly smell that good right now, Sugar. I’m gonna toss them in the trunk for the trip home. Besides, this just means I’ll haveta bring ‘em back soon and we can try this again.”
Playfully, I replied, “Those army sweats look pretty good on you. Oh, well, I suppose I can part with them for a while.”
Putting on some decent clothes and grabbing my ghost sword and pipe wrench just in case the house out in the boonies was haunted, I went out to rescue Candy from my mom.
Thankfully, we had to leave before Mom could break out the baby pictures. Mom seemed to like Candy, which helped, but Mom never really gave me any crap about any previous girlfriends either, so it wasn’t a great indicator. 
Candy didn’t want any breakfast, which wasn’t all that surprising, given the state of her queasy stomach. She downed a glass of milk and some mints from her purse to freshen her breath. I’m sure I scored a few more points by kissing her, despite reservations. In addition to the big kiss at her Nissan Sentra, Candy gave me her email address and instant messenger handle, since it was much cheaper than a phone call. She explained with a grin that the numbers zero five and zero nine were for her May ninth birthday.
“And why did you pick Fireball?”
Her smile grew wider. “That’s easy, sugar. Fireball, well that’s just ‘Hot Candy’ isn’t it? Bye now!”

As the housing market was squeezed ever so tighter in the sprawl around DC, many people escape towards the Hagerstown area. The sleepy little towns nestled in the hills and low mountains have seen their fair share of growth in recent years. These homes were quickly becoming as ridiculously overpriced as the ones along the I-270 corridor s for people who didn’t mind driving to look for an affordable place.
Fairplay, Maryland was one of these small towns. It was close to, but not quite Burkittsville, so I could spare myself any “Blair Witch” jokes. 
Ben Williams Junior met us at McNamee’s Tavern. He was a software engineer for one of the beltway bandit contractors leeching their lifeblood from the federal dollar. Deciding that the rush of inner-beltway life wasn’t for him, his wife, and his son, he’d convinced his firm to let him telecommute and bought a “fixer upper” out here.
“Thank you for coming.”
Pastor Duncan took the lead, “Tell us a little about what’s going on. Pastor Hancock gave me some details, but I’d like to hear it in your own words.”
“Well, I came out here initially to start on the repairs to the house, while Sarah and little Ben were packing up back in Germantown. Once the house was fit to live in, I brought them out here. Things were okay for the first few weeks.”
“Go on.” Pastor Duncan’s sermons could put the living into a death-like sleep, but he did have a way of getting people to open up to him.
“Ben’s night terrors came back. At first, we thought it was just trauma from the move and we tried to help him through the process. He’s only five. He said he kept hearing monsters and we’d figured he was just hearing animal noises or something. Then he started getting red welts all over his body and screaming about the monsters. We took him to a psychologist and they couldn’t find anything. We tried testing him for allergies and checking the house, but we couldn’t find any explanation. Sara contacted Pastor Hancock and here we are. They’ve been staying at a hotel until we can sort this out and little Ben’s been fine there.”
The man looked a wee bit skeptical. Brother Silas was introduced as someone “sensitive” to this kind of phenomenon and I was his assistant. I couldn’t blame Williams for his concern. We didn’t exactly look like the Ghostbusters, but we followed his Chevy Silverado towards the newly refurbished farmhouse, hoping that we could find what was terrifying his kid.
The place was pretty large and as we got the nickel tour, Ben was proud of how much he got it for. His brother worked for an auction house and picked it up from a federal auction fairly cheap. Pastor Duncan asked Ben to leave and the man was a bit hesitant, but when reminded he was the one who asked for help, the home owner relented.
Nothing seemed out of sorts initially. A few of the rooms were full of unpacked boxes. I led Silas around and we both looked for anything. Silas planned to bless the house, if nothing else to make the homeowner feel better. We were back downstairs when Pastor Duncan asked an insightful question.
“I was wondering, why this house would end up on a federal auction? Banks are usually the first to go after someone’s home, unless they owed back taxes?”
Silas answered, “As much trouble as the IRS has caused me over the years, I wouldn’t doubt it. Although, more and more, you see them selling criminal’s houses.”
The Pastor began preparing for a house blessing as he continued to talk. “Food for thought my friend. In the future, we could do a bit more research on the property. What do you think, Michael?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to do an Internet search against the address or something. Might do a bit of … oh shit!”
“Michael what is it?”
Ice water ran through my veins as I stared out the back window into the yard and my grip on my phantom blade tightened. Gulping, I watched the shapes moving around the backyard. There were five or six of them and one was staring back at me.
Finding my voice as the first one started to move towards the house I said. “I think I know what was going on here.”
“Spit it out, son.” Brother Silas ambled over to me.
I guided his head so he could “look” out the window. He sucked in his breath.
“Oh, looks like someone was fighting dogs out here.”

Three of the dogs were already heading in my direction. “I need room!”
Backing away and clutching the sword, I guessed that the ministers wouldn’t be bothered by the ghost dogs.
I, on the other hand, was in deep dog muck. I never really liked dogs and they didn’t much like me. There was this one time Jimmy Wilkes and I messed around in a junkyard when we were eleven and that big old dog came after us. It was one of the first times I had ever been terrified. Now that I thought about it, it was probably the start of my dislike for dogs. 
The room behind me was empty, except for a few boxes.  Why couldn’t I have stolen a “ghost revolver” or something like that from Colonel Vincent? Why did I have to leave my pipe wrench out in Pastor Duncan’s car?
I thought of every stupid thing I knew about the types of dogs people used in dog fighting. They’d come straight at me.  They wouldn’t use any clever tactics. At least, I could be thankful for that.
The first one charged me was probably certain that I couldn’t hurt it. I couldn’t tell a Pitbull from a Poodle and to be honest, I didn’t care. It ignored the sword in my hand.
Slamming into me and impaling itself on the sword, I felt the weight of the beast, the accompanying pain of touching the paranormal, and my one good ear filled with the dog’s yelps of pain. The force of the impact drove me into the ground and “bowser” snapped at my throat. I jammed my one arm up under his throat and with my right hand; I kept yanking on the sword.  I managed to get some leverage with my legs and rolled it off of me. 
Seconds were all the time I had to savor this victory. I pulled the sword out of it and was about to give it a “for good measure” slash when dog number two chomped down on my leg. I screamed in pain and used my free foot to give the mutt a size nine kick to the head. It growled angrily, but didn’t let go. I gave it a second kick and then whipped the sword around, slicing it along the side.
It let go that time! Injured, it started to back away, but another slash took out its hind legs. Dog number three prevented me from finishing that one off, biting down on my sword arm. I had to drop the sword; clumsily passing it to my left hand. All the while, it was shaking my arm like a rag doll. I fought through the pain and stabbed it through the neck. That one became nothing but dead weight on my arm, although its jaws were still clamped on to me.
I could hear Brother Silas with Pastor Duncan joining in, making noise and trying to attract the attention of the other two dogs as I frantically pulled my aching body around and worked to free my arm from the vice-like grip. The skin wasn’t broken, but it still felt like I should be bleeding everywhere. It was some kind of “phantom” pain like I’d heard amputees talk about. Painful looking boils and angry red welts formed on my skin.
Suddenly the crushing pain let up and the dog faded into mist. I grabbed the sword and went after the one that was using its two front legs to pull itself away in a pathetic attempt to escape. Okay, it wasn’t so pathetic given the state I was in at the moment, but I digress.
Staggering after it, I put the damn thing out of its misery. The other two took this as their cue to bolt through the wall and out into the yard. 
Pastor Duncan, who probably had seen some strange things in his many years, looked pale as a ghost as he helped hold me up. Silas was already over at the window, looking for them. 
“They can’t seem to leave the property, Mike. There’s a third one out there, but it looks tied up with a rope or chain.”
I was shaking, not really sure if it was shock or adrenaline and I was wondering if I might have wet myself – yeah, some hero huh? Nonetheless, I was angry enough to go stumbling out to track those two down. The one on the rope wasn’t your typical fighting dog. It looked like a small female husky that had seen better days. I left it alone. Even in my battered state, I figured out that this was just some kind of “bait” dog that was tied up and used to train the others how to kill.
If I ever caught up to the piece of filth that owned this property before the Williams family, I swore to do some right nasty things to him. 
Silas was right; the other two couldn’t leave the yard. Too bad the “yard” was at least two acres of land. I called to my preachers and since the dogs didn’t know they couldn’t hurt them, I used Pastor Duncan, with Brother Silas calling directions out to him, to help drive the dogs to me. 
Good thing this place didn’t have neighbors near. It would have looked pretty ridiculous. Even with Reggie Duncan’s help, it took fifteen minutes for me to “get” the first one and another ten before I finished off the other one.
Approaching the tied up husky, I looked at it, cowering. Instinctively, I held my hand out to it and it crawled forward, sort of inching, so it could sniff me. It tried to lick me, which wasn’t as painful as my normal contact with the spirits. I patted it on the head a few times and it rolled over to let me scratch its belly – well, her belly. 
“What is it Mike?” Pastor Duncan asked.
“This one’s not a fighting dog. It was just a practice dog.”
“Are you going to kill it?” Silas asked. It seemed like he was waiting for my answer and I could sense he was going to judge me based on what I said.
“Don’t know. It would end the dog’s suffering, but I’m guessing the other ones would terrorize it even in whatever comes after. The rope goes into the ground. Pastor Duncan, could you see if there’s a shovel on the back porch?”
Starting to dig, I saw the husky suddenly begin cowering. I turned to see a large shape running out of the tree line. It was an angry looking man. Why did it always have to be big guys? I dropped the shovel and picked up the sword.
I pointed the tip at the ghost and tapped into my ‘short man’s syndrome’, “I can see you and I can destroy you just like I did to your dogs. That’s right, you damn redneck – you’re this close to getting crossed over! You’ve got one chance to leave and never come back. This property isn’t yours anymore! And another thing, if I hear you’ve been harassing that little boy, or anyone else, I will hunt your ass down and take my sweet time. Do you get me?”
The coward must have seen something he didn’t like in my face and headed for the hills. Pastor Duncan, having only heard my side of it, gave a hearty laugh. “Not exactly the normal wording we use during one of these, Michael, but it seems equally as effective.”
Shrugging, I set the blade down and picked up the shovel. Five minutes of digging later, I found a concrete pad with a metal ring embedded in it, buried under about a foot of dirt. We used a sledge hammer to break the metal ring loose. That seemed to be the husky’s anchor.
I handed Silas the ring and he walked with it pacing the edge of the property and blessing it. After finishing, the dog obediently followed us to the car, while I considered what I would do with a phantom husky.

“Hi, you must be Ben.” The young boy looked up at me from his coloring book. The hotel room the Williams family was staying at looked like they had been there for a while.
“Yes.” Was all the reply I was offered, the boy seemed very skittish.
“Listen, I want to talk to you about some monsters that I found in your home. They are gone now. We took care of them. You don’t have to worry anymore.”
“But no one else ever sees the monsters!” Ben objected.
“That’s why they sent for me and Brother Silas. You see Ben; we are special, just like you. When most people get older, they stop seeing these things. Maybe that will happen to you or maybe it won’t; only time will tell.” 
“How did you get rid of the monsters?”
“Well I have a special sword and scared them away,” I said, not wanting to get into the details.
Ben’s parents were obviously skeptical that I was feeding Ben’s delusions. His father scoffed, “Sir, I’d rather not have that kind of talk around my son. There’s nothing to be served about filling his head with nonsense about magic swords.”
Admittedly, I was tired, cranky and had several very real feeling dog bites on my body. I stood up and went into the bathroom and got several tissues from the little dispenser built in to the counter top. Looking right at Ben’s father and holding up the palm of my left hand, I said, “As you can see Ben, there’s no wound on my hand. I’ll hold it here for a second so you don’t think I went in the bathroom and cut myself just to trick you. In my other hand is my invisible sword. Now, I want you to point to a spot on my palm and I’ll make a little cut right where you tell me with my sword.”
Ben did his part, and using the tip of the sword, I made a small cut on my palm right where he indicated. I then set the ghost sword across my lap and kept the one hand visible so they saw it. The five year old was beaming and his parents were clearly shocked. Maybe I had a future as a stage magician? I could get some Casper to help me and I could guess the card people were holding and make wounds appear on my body? Actually, cutting myself for other people’s enjoyment sounded a bit on the idiotic side, so I squashed that idea.
“That’s what I used to drive off the monsters. They won’t bother you any more, little man. If they ever come back, tell your parents and they can send word, but I have other little boys and girls to help. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” The kid seemed to swell with pride. I could add works well with children to my future resumes.
I used the tissue and wiped the blood off my palm and stood. His father followed us out into the hallway. “How exactly did you do that magic trick? Don’t worry; I won’t spoil it for my son.”
If I wasn’t so tired, I’d have made a stink right then. Fortunately, Silas stepped in and answered for me, “You asked us to come out and investigate the unexplainable. Please understand that the solution to the problem may be equally unexplainable.”

Three extra-strength pain relievers and a few hours later, I soaked in my bathtub. Pastor Duncan drove by Megan Rosemont’s house and dropped off the husky for Elsbeth to take care of, explaining that my mom might object to a ghostly dog in her house. Mom never wanted a live one, so I didn’t expect this to be any different.
Besides, Elsbeth looked like she needed some company. She could use a hobby or a pet. I’d been tempted to put the focus in my yard and incorporate the pooch into my “protections”, but the dog had clearly suffered enough and I doubted that I would pay enough attention to it. The funniest part on the ride home was the dog sticking its head out through the closed car window. Elsbeth actually appeared happy for a change and decided to name the dog Sheba. I thought it was amusing – my pet ghost now had her own pet.
The day wasn’t a total loss; I discovered a new use for cast iron when my pipe wrench brushed up against one of my phantom wounds. It hurt like hell, but it seemed to draw the pain out of the wound. I almost blacked out from the initial jolt, but it lessened with each successive application. By the time I got home, I looked like I only had a bad case of poison ivy instead of second or third degree burns. I tried it next on the saber wound on my palm – that too was painful, but the wound healed up instantly, leaving just a ghost of a scar.
By the time the preachers dropped me off, Mom was out feeding her bridge addiction which left me in a tub filled with warm water easing my aches. I’d helped a little boy with a problem. Supposedly, this was “good” soreness. Oddly, it felt just as painful as the normal kind, but it apparently was the price of admission for the wild ride that my life was swiftly becoming.
I’d thought about giving Candy a call, because she wanted me to let her know how it went and if I found anything, but we didn’t get back until nine and her shift started at midnight. I settled on sending her a quick email asking if she felt better, letting her know that something did happen and that I was “mostly” fine.
Funny how I always hated baths growing up; once I was old enough to use the shower, I never looked back. It was only during rehab that I was exposed to baths again. I discovered that lying around in a bathtub was a good place to get my thoughts into order and just relax. The world made sense in a tub. 
Floating in the bath, I started free-associating, thinking of another tub; a hot tub in Texas to be specific. Heather was very fond of hot-tubs, and I’d been rather fond of Heather. I started comparing Candy with Heather. Beyond the fact that they were both blondes, there wasn’t much to compare. Candy had something upstairs and Heather was, as Don Hodges concluded was “all boobs and no brains.” 
Candy was right. I did think too much.
I was saved from a further self-examination by a ringing doorbell. Given that it was already ten o’clock at night, it was likely to be important. Sighing, I climb out of the tub and opened the drain. Drying off, I grabbed a terrycloth bathrobe while the doorbell rang again and again.
By the time I got to the living room, whoever it was shifted to rapid knocking. Checking to see the chain was latched, I pulled it slightly open. Jenny Goodman stood out there, looking like a tiny ball of fury. I was reminded of high school when Jimmy Wilkes used to do those little cartoons of the “Taco Bell” dog foaming at the mouth with rabies.
“Yes?”
“You lied to me! You said that you wouldn’t date Candy!”
I’d gotten out of the tub for this? I wondered whether she drove by this morning and saw Candy’s car still here. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be seen with me? Did you get your aunt and uncle’s approval for this visit?”
Candy’s comment about the women in her family seemed to be right on target. Reluctantly, I unlatched the door.
“She’s not right for you! She’s just going to use you and toss you away!” Jenny protested.
“Use me for what? My fame? My fortune? Get over yourself, Jenny. You drove all the way over here just to tell me off? Candy drove five hours up here to take a chance on me and didn’t even know if I was dating anyone.”
“That’s because she’s a slut!” Jenny exclaimed.
“If she was a slut, she could have picked up some guy locally and saved herself the trip. Is this about her, or is it about you and me?”
“Bastard!” 
I didn’t argue the point – while the law considered me perfectly legitimate, over the years I’d ripened into someone I wasn’t always proud to be; if she’d gone with “son of a bitch”, I’d have taken issue, though. 
“Grow up, Jenny. Was I supposed to wait around and see if you were going to grow a spine and stand up to your family? You’re not in high school anymore. It’s obvious that you don’t run your life. Come back when you do.”
Jenny maturely gave me the finger and stormed off. I responded by slamming the door. Surprised at the anger in my rant, I stomped back to the couch, blaming my outburst on my injuries and not my confused feelings for Jenny. 
Maybe Jenny Goodman wasn’t the only one fighting self-delusion.



Episode 5: The Big Score

The most successful people describe themselves as “hungry.” They use phrases like “I wanted it bad enough” or “I never stopped pushing myself.”
Well, I wanted it bad enough too. That thousand dollar reward I’d scored in Roanoke gave me just a taste of a better life – one that didn’t involve shopping at second hand stores and where bills could be paid on time instead of playing end of the month roulette. 
I was looking for my big score. I hadn’t found it yet, but not for lack of trying. At the suggestion of the editor at the supermarket rag that had published Jenny’s story, I took a few bus rides to Fort Marcy Park and Rock Creek Park looking to crack some of the unexplained deaths that Washington was famous for. So I went searching for un-living celebrities, namely Vincent Foster and Chandra Levy, who the paper’s editor hoped might be hanging around with a scandalous story or two to tell. Needless to say, they weren’t – hanging around that was. Odds were that if they actually were ghosts, they’d be where their remains were interred.
Since I wasn’t financially equipped for a trip to Arkansas, much less California, those were two cases that would continue to remain unsolved, but that didn’t stop me. I became a reader of the Metro section of the Washington Post. One might say that I was a bit ghoulish, looking for a way to profit off of people’s deaths, trying to collect on outstanding rewards for solving their deaths or disappearances, but I took a more pragmatic approach – either way they were still going to be dead and I needed the money.
It wasn’t exactly your typical win-win situation as evidenced by my failure to win anything. Classes at Montgomery College were out for the Thanksgiving holiday. Rather than join my mom on her annual quest to get the greatest “Black Friday” shopping deal ever, I was standing in a cemetery, trying to talk sense into a dead guy. Sure, it wasn’t my idea of a good time, but neither was being poor.
“I don’t quite understand why you don’t want to talk about it. I’m just trying to help,” I said.
I know that sounded lame, but whoever heard of a ghost that didn’t want help?
The stocky man in his mid-forties glared at me. “For the last time, let it be. I didn’t see who killed me. I’m not sure I’ll ever know! Now, just go and leave me alone,” the ghost exclaimed.
“Kevin, listen, I feel for you, but I’ll be brutally honest. There’s a ten thousand dollar reward for information leading to an arrest in your murder. That might have been chump change for a successful orthodontist like you, but I’m just a broken-down vet trying to get by. I want to solve your case. That kind of money would make a big difference in my life. Your family wouldn’t have offered the reward if they didn’t want your case solved. What do you say? Let’s work together and give them some closure, eh?”
“No! I don’t know anything! Get the hell out of here!”
All puns aside, it was like pulling teeth!
When Kevin McNeil was alive, he was an orthodontist with a thriving practice in Bowie. He disappeared three months ago and recently, his body washed up on the shores of Maryland near Deale. There was no real explanation why an overpaid tooth straightener and father of three from Bowie would end up dumped in the Chesapeake Bay with signs that his wrists had been bound with what the police suspected was bailing wire with a dash of blunt-force trauma to the head.
He was lying. I knew it. He knew I knew it, but still we’d been playing this game for hours. McNeil hadn’t moved on, which is what most decent people do when they die, so he was waiting to do something. Was it apologizing to someone, or needing something done on his behalf? So far he wouldn’t own up to anything except being miserable.
At the moment, that made two of us. It was very tempting to pull that pipe wrench off of my belt and see if I could beat some sense into him. He couldn’t get any more dead unless I ran him through with Colonel Vincent’s saber, which was sounding more and more tempting.
“I’ll come back next Saturday and see if you’re in the mood to talk then.”
“Don’t bother,” he answered, flicking my hand away.
Walking out of the graveyard towards the bus stop with the MARTA bus schedule in hand, I was plotting both my return trip home and my next move. Torturing a ghost for answers just sounded wrong and I’ll freely admit that I wasn’t much in the “subtle” department. I needed someone who wasn’t threatening, someone who he’d open up to. 
In short, I needed my dear friend, Elsbeth.
“No, Mike. I’m not doing it!” She said petulantly.
Obviously, the only person in this life or the next Elsbeth could stand up to was yours truly.
“Look, I’m not asking you to sleep with him or anything. No, don’t even bother telling me. I don’t want to know. I just want you to chat him up a bit. Just kind of wander over into his graveyard and talk to him for awhile. Tell him your story and try to get him talking about how he died,” I pleaded.
“Have Silas talk with him,” Elsbeth said resolutely.
I’d brought the old man by to speak with both Elsbeth and “Grandma Meg.” The three of them had a grand old time. I was forced to play translator and didn’t have nearly as much fun as they did, given the shocking pain I endured to talk to the dead, but the roast beef and the apple pie the elderly woman made for dinner helped to alleviate my complaints.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but my way sounded more effective than standing in the graveyard while my blind, paranormally enhanced comrade wore down Mr. McNeil’s resistance with his witty observations on the human condition. The down side was that I’d have to be there, playing medium for the duration. Under my perfectly fine plan, Elsbeth would wander in, charm him, listen to his sob story and summarize the details for me. Yes, I admit that I was being sneaky, but the Army taught me that I should always be on the lookout for ways to effectively utilize my time.
“What can I do to convince you to help me? I already do your grandmother’s grocery shopping and pick up her prescriptions!” 
Yeah, and thanks to the Maryland lottery and 7-11, I get paid for these services, but I wasn’t intending to be a professional “gofer” for the next few years and I wasn’t exactly living large on the chump change Elsbeth found behind the counter.
“Fine, I’ll help you,” Elsbeth said, “but you’re going to use some of that reward money to send my grandmother to Hawaii.”
“Come again?”
“She’s always wanted to see the islands and she’s never been able to afford it. I think it’d be a nice way to put this whole mess with Charlie behind us.”
I considered telling the lady ghost who was sitting primly on the couch, petting her equally dead husky, Sheba, to quite literally go to hell, but I’d scored already – she’d agreed to help. The reward money was just inches away from being in my pocket. Or not – we’d have to see. 
“Fine, Hawaii it is. Once we get the money, I’ll look around for the best price.”
She reached out and touched me again. “That reminds me, Detective Wycheck was by to speak with Grandmother. He wants you to come down to the station.”
I didn’t want to argue why Meg rates a personal visit while I get to hump my ass down to the Police Department. My problem wasn’t with either of these two women. They weren’t the reason I didn’t like Wycheck – he was. 

Monday afternoon found me in a meeting room at the Police Department. The assistant district attorney wanted to meet with me and discuss my upcoming testimony. It sounded as pleasant as a trip to a dentist chair.
For a change, I wasn’t the shortest guy in the room. The prosecutor was a pudgy and diminutive fellow named George Robbins. He liked me just about as much as Wycheck.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re a psychic. You talk to dead people. This woman’s dead daughter tells you Snowden’s going to off her! That’s what I’m going to hear when I put you on the stand isn’t it?”
I nodded while Wycheck scowls.
“Jesus Christ! The defense is going to eat you alive! I’ll be lucky if the judge doesn’t laugh me out of the courtroom!”
That wasn’t really my problem. “Police use psychics during investigations all the time.” I stated calmly.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only short and temperamental person in the room either. “I’ll tell you what the problem is you little smart ass! Cases are built around evidence. I’ve got a decent amount of evidence, but most of it is linked back to you, and you are going to be presented as a nut job!”
“Would it help if I had a track record?”
“Like what?”
“Like helping Roanoke County solve a missing persons case back in October. I even have a letter of appreciation for it.”
That calmed him down a little. “Okay, we can build off of that, but I’m telling you that Snowden’s attorney is going to come after you like there’s no tomorrow. You’re a war vet right? Still recovering from a head injury right? Your story is told in a supermarket tabloid right? These are all the things the defense is going to toss out there to undermine your credibility and you better be ready for it! That means you don’t lose your cool on the stand!”
“I’ll be fine.”
That draws a snort from Wycheck, “Yeah right, punk.”
I calmly roll my eyes at the dark haired man in his worn brown suit. “See, if an asshat like him can’t wind me up, I’ll be just fine on the stand.”
After thinking about it over the weekend, I’d come to the conclusion that the best way to piss Detective Wycheck off would be to trivialize him. It was actually rather fun.
“You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously, Ross.”
“I’m taking this very seriously, Dee-tective. You weren’t the one getting choked by Snowden. The only thing I’m not taking seriously here is you.” Oh, that got under his skin, nicely.
The attorney interrupted our pissing match before it could really get started. “Enough. Look I don’t really care what twisted, sordid passion is going on between the two of you. I get it, Detective, you think Ross is a punkass and you, Ross, you’re ticked off that you reported this to the Detective beforehand and he didn’t do diddly-squat about it. The two of you don’t have to be buddies. The only thing you need to do is deliver testimony in an assault and attempted murder case. Am I making myself clear?”
Yanking Wycheck’s chain could be set aside for the good of the judicial process, so I nodded. We went through the sequence of events again for clarity and then the attorney excused himself. The two of us were left alone.
The detective looked at me harshly, “You lose this case for us and I will personally make your life a living hell.”
I wondered if it would be worth the rest of the McNeil reward to have Elsbeth try to make Wycheck’s life miserable. Knowing her, she’d refuse on some lofty principle. Making friends with more violent ghosts just to annoy him seemed a bit of a dicey proposition, so I let it slide. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit of professional advice on my latest “case”.
I called to him as he was headed to the door. “Hey Wycheck, suppose you had a crime committed and the victim doesn’t want to help you. Why do you think a guy wouldn’t cooperate?”
Wycheck grunted. “He’s got something to hide. It’s the same old story, happens all the time. Why are you asking?”
“Ghost stuff, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”
“For a change, I actually agree with you.”
As you can see, we were the best of friends. Who couldn’t feel the love in the air as I made my way out of the police station and returned home. Mom and I shared a quick dinner. She actually had a night off, for a change, and one of the Assistant Mangers at Pizza Hut had bucked up the courage to ask her out to a movie. I wasn’t one of those sons who felt the need to cross examine any male interested in my mom.
She’s always had a sensible head on her shoulders, so who was I to say that this person was wrong for her? Jimmy Wilkes meddled in his single dad’s dating life when we were back in high school. The woman he managed to drive off won the Lottery, so my worldly wisdom was grounded in lessons of “Instant Karma.”
Besides, would anyone working around Mom really take me seriously? I was probably her “weirdo son” at that point. By the same token, what did I care about the people working at a restaurant thought of me? They weren’t really a problem.
Solving McNeil’s murder, working through scheduling conflicts with Candy, and locating Karla Thompson – those were my problems.
Once again, I found myself riding the exercycle to nowhere and watching the exploits of The Eye of Horus on VHS. They were south of the Mason-Dixon line this time and were investigating a famous church in Baltimore and making a big deal of the fact that Edgar Allan Poe was buried there. 
Darren was mostly the straight man. Their cameraman and “tech guy,” Russell Milner, was generally the clown and had an obvious fascination with capturing Karla’s backside on the camera. I’d managed to track him down, but in his email response to me, he said he’d been in the Pacific Northwest since 2004 doing documentary work and hadn’t seen any members of their paranormal group since leaving the area.
I hadn’t located the third investigator, Richard Wallace. Richard did the dubbing for the videos. Thus far none of the mightiest search engines on the Internet could find the right Richard Wallace, as there were just too many of them and Mr. Milner had no clue as to his whereabouts either. 
You can only imagine my excitement at watching them set up a table and pull out the Ouija Board in the graveyard. In recent episodes, Darren used the board quite a bit. A few times even someone as easily distracted as I could see the blatant fakery. 
I was tempted to fast forward, but the remote was on the couch. Were I to get off the bike now, I would not be getting back on. So, I continued to watch the festivities.
Russell uses the camera to clearly show the joke hand buzzer, which he shocks Richard with. There’s the usual horsing around that anyone would expect to see on something filmed for Public Access TV.
“Will you children quit!” Karla hisses. “Darren’s still feeling nauseous and you aren’t helping!”
“Getting all creeped out again Karla?” Richard replied, still glaring at the camera.
“Just feels weird out here tonight. I keep getting the chills and Darren’s already vomited twice.”
Russell chided her, “You’re probably just anxious to go to your uncle’s hunting cabin.”
Richard laughed. “Oh yes, dear Karla. Tell our viewers all about your secret love nest in Scranton. Is this the trip where Darren finally makes an honest woman out of you?”
While Karla joked back, “As if!”, off camera, Darren could be heard complaining about his crew not taking things seriously enough and sounded clearly uncomfortable with the direction the commentary was headed. Can’t say I blamed him, as he was being called out on TV in front of potentially several hundred viewers! I caught a confused look on Karla’s face and realized that this episode probably triggered one of their spats.
Now that was something; I hopped off the bike, but it wasn’t to grab the remote. I grabbed my pad of paper and scribbled “Karla, hunting cabin, Scranton PA” on it. It was one of the few useful nuggets of information that I gleaned from the show.
As I settled on the couch, ignoring the bike, I rewound the last minute or two to see if I’d missed anything else. Two minutes later, I was disappointed that I’d wasted that portion of my life. Finally, the group started to get serious – well, as serious as Darren could get them and started using the board.
After a few false starts, the board was moving and they seemed genuinely excited as they asked questions to the spirits that may or may not be around them.
Karla asked aloud, “Why are you here?”
They called out the letters as the little pointer marked them. It spelled, “I wait.”
“Are you waiting for a person?”
“Y-e-s.”
“Who are you waiting for?”
Darren called out the letters, “R-O-S-S. Ross?”
Russell chuckled, “Wonder if he means the guy from ‘Friends?’ Ow!” The camera swung wildly. “Feels like someone just pushed me!”
“Did you just push Russell?”
“Y-e-s.”
Darren cautioned, “I don’t think you want to make it mad, Russ. Is this Ross person still alive?”
“Y-e-s.”
Needless to say, I was on the verge of wetting myself.
“What do you want from Ross?”
“V-E-N-G-E-A-N-C-E. Vengeance! Whoa! Do you want to get revenge on Ross?”
A gust of wind blew their candles out and naturally Karla screamed. Darren collapsed next to the small table and was on his hands and knees dry heaving. After they righted themselves, they tried calling out to the spirit again. I had goosebumps for the next few minutes, but nothing answered them. It felt foolish watching something taped years ago and having my heart racing like I was doing house-to-house searches in Iraq.
Nothing answered them – damn! Other than their sickly leader, they spent the rest of the episode talking about how “cool” that was. Funny, I didn’t think it was very cool. I watched it twice more, but the pattern was typical of anything associated with my power; I was left with more questions than answers and the few things I knew were very disturbing.

“Well from the way you explain it, Mike, I reckon you should steer clear of Baltimore.” Brother Silas summed things up. “Whatever is up there, it either wants revenge on you or wants you to avenge it. Either way, it doesn’t sound good.”
Saturday found me visiting Brother Silas at the Ebenezer Church of Deliverance. “Tell me about it. Do you think I can talk to Pastor Duncan about a ride up to the Scranton area? I sent him an email, but he hasn’t replied. That woman I was telling you about, Karla, might be at a hunting cabin up there.”
“Reggie left town for a few weeks. His sister in Arkansas has taken a turn for the worse. I’m keeping her in my prayers.” I recalled Pastor Duncan mentioning this last week, but hadn’t realized the extent of her problems.
I shuffled my feet, not really knowing what to say. When it comes to the “milk of human kindness,” I must be lactose intolerant. He walked over to his desk and took a package off of it. “I have a present for you Mike.”
Looking at the label, it was from a scholastic supply company. Inside were a dozen little bottles filled with iron filings. They were the kind used in elementary school to demonstrate magnetism. “Okay, how do you think I can use this?”
“It occurred to me when those dogs were after you that you should probably have a way to hurt a spirit before it gets to you. Well, we know the iron in the pipe wrench seems to affect the ghosts. Just like I can see you and the spirits, I can see that wrench when you hold it, but when you set it down it fades after a minute. As I see it, I think you must impart some of your energy to the iron when you’re touching it. Hold one of the bottles in your hand.”
“Okay.” I held up one of the spice sized bottles.
“No, I can’t see it. Pour some of it into your palm. Yeah! I can see it now. Alright, now throw it, up against the wall. Just as I expected, I can still see it. Now what we need is a ghost to throw a little at and see if it hurts them.”
“Elsbeth?”
“Do you honestly want to hurt that young woman?”
“No not really. Still, how is a handful of dust going to hurt one of them?” 
“Mike, the question you should really be asking is, ‘Is it the iron in the wrench or the energy that you impart to the wrench that is harming them?’ It might be no more useful to you than a handful of dirt and other than hitting them in the eye with it and temporarily blinding them; it could only make them dirty. Of course, the other possibility is that the iron is merely a conduit for the energy within you.”
Scratching my head, I say, “You’ve had a lot of time to think about this?”
He laughed in reply, “Everyone was put on this Earth for a reason. I believe that mine is to help people. You seem to need a good deal more help than others and I am uniquely qualified to assist.  In Roman times, fighters used what was called a cestus. We call them brass knuckles today. I’d thought about getting you a pair, but they’re illegal in most states and the pipe wrench does much the same thing without you explaining to a policeman why you have one in your possession. Now, somewhere around here I have an old leather pouch from before my Army days. Don’t ask what I used to carry in it, but now I believe it contains a nice set of rosary beads. Try that top drawer.”
It took twenty minutes of opening and closing drawers, but eventually I found it. Pouring some of the filings into the bag, I opened it for Silas to look in.
“I can see the filings in there. The plastic from the bottle was insulating you. The leather isn’t,” Silas said, happy as a kid at Christmas. I’d become more open to new ideas, if this was my version of “holy water,” who was I to complain? Even if it doesn’t work, I could always throw the bag at the next nasty ghost like a rock. David went up against Goliath with a rock, right? I’ll have a heavy “beanbag,” a wrench, and a sword. Definitely not a Proton Pack from “Ghostbusters,” but I didn’t necessarily have a big movie budget either.
“One thing I do want you to try with Elsbeth, is pour a line and touch it. After you touch it, see if she can cross that line. You may be able to use this to create a temporary barrier.”
“Anything’s worth a try.”
“Now, as to your other problem of getting to Scranton, I may be able to make a call or two and get someone to help you take a trip up there. No guarantees, mind you, but I’ll see what I can do.”

The highlight of the following Monday was encountering the always pleasant Jenny Goodman in the library. I was availing myself of some high speed internet access and looking at the college website. I needed to choose which classes to take next semester. Sadly, “The Paranormal Experience 101 – How to best deal with things that go bump in the night” wasn’t being offered. As she walked by, I happened to look up and our eyes locked.
I’ve always specialized in awkward moments. This was no different. 
“Hello Mike,” she said.
With such a formal tone, I’m surprised she didn’t call me Michael. “Fancy meeting you here, I was just selecting my classes for next term., I can email you a copy to make certain we don’t overlap, or your Aunt will no doubt pull it from my records when I submit it.”
“I’m only taking afternoon classes after the winter semester. I have a job in the mornings. How’s Candy?” she asked. 
I’ve never heard the word “Candy” sound like some kind of disease, but somehow Jenny managed.
Casually I responded. “Busy. We IM each other, but she hasn’t had a chance to get up here since your birthday. Did you have a good time?”
“I had a fantastic time!” She said both a little too quickly and perhaps a little too loudly. We drew a few stares from a neighboring table.
“That’s good. Carlton seems like a nice enough guy.” Pushing her buttons was ridiculously easy. 
“Carlton is a great guy! He is a gentleman and you’re an ass!”
Of course I could make a comment about “Mr. J. Crew” there being my age, going after a freshly minted nineteen year old, but for a change I held my tongue – for all of three seconds.
“Yeah, he looked like a real momma’s boy, probably good for your image too. You just can’t buy that kind of respectability. Well actually, I’m wrong. His daddy can.”
“You’re just jealous that he has one!” 
Jenny probably regretted it the moment she said it, as it’s probably the one really big button I have. Just ask any kid who’s had a parent walk out on them and they’ll know what I’m talking about. I spun back to face my computer screen. This conversation was “officially” over.
Jenny waited there for a good ten seconds before walking away. Things had hit rock bottom between the two of us. 
I didn’t feel like surfing the Internet anymore. Someone probably needed to use the terminal anyway.

After a fitful night of sleep, I woke up to find Elsbeth waiting in my room. Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t mind finding a female was in my room when I woke up, but since she’s dead, it more than qualified as a bit creepy.
I reach out and touch her hand, “What’s the word?”
“I spent the afternoon talking with Kevin. He’s a very nice man. Maybe you should just let it go? I’m sure there are other rewards out there.”
Oh god, Elsbeth had the hots for him! 
“So, he doesn’t want the mystery of his death solved?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she whined.
“That just means he has something to hide.”
“Must you always be suspicious of everyone?” she asked sharply.
I bit back my reply. Harsh words weren’t going to get me any closer to payday and I tried thinking it through. Given that I’d been awake for less than two minutes, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. From an objective, completely hetero standpoint, Kevin was a pretty good looking guy. Also, considering Elsbeth was now asking me to abandon my hopes of “The Big Score” along with the associated vacation for her grammy meant that Kevin must be one sweet talker.
“What did you two talk about?”
“We had a very long and pleasant chat. He talked about going to watch his son’s basketball games and how proud he was of him and his two girls. His oldest is applying to Princeton,” Elsbeth said wistfully. 
“That’s fascinating. What did he say about his wife?”
“We didn’t really talk that much about her.”
“Of course, you two didn’t.”
“Why do you say that?” she sounded defensive.
I switched hands because it was getting irritating, much like leading this “horse to water” and watching her not drink.  Maybe it was time for some harsh words. 
“Because he was flirting with you! You never talk about your ex-girlfriend or, god forbid, your wife to someone you’re sweet talking.”
“You shouldn’t say such things about Kevin. He’s a nice man. Quit being an ass!” Elsbeth said with more than a measure of self-righteousness.
Almost laughing at how remarkably similar she’d sounded to another annoying female who’d recently crossed my path, I continued, “What I see is a guy who was screwing around on his wife.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Did he ask you to come visit him again?”
“Um, yes, but what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that he’s a cheater who hasn’t had an opportunity to score with a willing female in months. So are you going back to see him?”
She looked angry at me. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t the one “playing her,” but even dead people seem to be unable to grasp what’s really going on sometimes.
“What if I am?” she said indignantly. “He’s lonely and I’m lonely too!”
“Fine, go be lonely together! Get naked and make little ghost babies for all I care! However, if you want Megan to see the fiftieth state anytime soon, you’ll realize that the reason he doesn’t talk about his wife is that when he was alive, he was probably diddling someone else. Ask yourself, why he wouldn’t want his murder solved. What’s he got to lose? It’s not one of his kids. It’s probably not his wife. The police ruled them out early on. They were on vacation in Florida when he went missing. Everything I’ve read about him says that he was a ‘well respected family man. That means he’s more interested in maintaining his perfect image than he is in moving on in the afterlife.”
She faded away before I could tell her what I really thought of Mr. “Smooth Talking” Kevin McNeil, but I had a good theory. Now I just had to find the facts that the police had missed.

Two days later, I delivered groceries to Megan. Elsbeth was nowhere to be found. The retiree looked at me through those big glasses of hers; reminding me of that woman Mom always enjoys watching on the “Golden Girls.” I reached down to pet the excited Sheba. It still didn’t hurt that much.
“Elsbeth’s been out a lot lately and her new pet has been a bit lonely. Normally, I ask if she’s here and she’ll make that little bell ring and I’ll talk to her for awhile. Has she been helping you out?”
“Not for the past few days. I think she’s talking to some other ghosts.” I refrained from saying exactly what I thought she was doing. They say it’s not good to speak ill of the dead. Except of course, so many of the dead people I’d met so far deserved it.
“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t begrudge her the opportunity to meet some other people. Charles was very domineering and didn’t allow her to socialize all that much.” She stopped and sniffled for a moment before dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Forgive an old woman, but it seems like I have a better relationship with her now than when she was alive.”
I did my best to reassure her. “It’s obvious that she cares a great deal for you.”
“I know that. Now let’s put this away and I’ll make you some iced tea. Mr. Parker said that you helped a young man out with some spirits and rescued this dog. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me about your adventure?”
For a change, it was nice to talk to a female who wasn’t scolding me. So, I sat down for a nice long chat.  Megan made a point of telling me at the end that it was a very brave thing to do. We were just finishing up when Sheba sat up and looked very excited. Elsbeth walked through the door, apparently laughing, accompanied by Kevin McNeil.
I did mention that I specialize in awkward moments, didn’t I?


Back in the days of silent movies, people were pretty good at picking up the conversation from watching the actors. I was getting pretty good at by necessity, which reminded me that I still needed to look into a lip reading course. What with being deaf in one ear, the VA should pay for it.
From the blatant rage on McNeil’s face, I also needed to remember to bring that sword with me all the time. The only problem was I didn’t exactly swipe Colonel Vincent’s scabbard at the same time. Things were moving quickly on that particular day.
What this all meant was that once again, I didn’t have the sword on me just as things looked like they were about to get “ugly.” I did have that pouch full of iron filings, but they were over in my coat which was hung up in the closet.
Turning to the little old lady on the couch, I said, “Pardon us Megan, but it looks like Elsbeth brought some company over and that company isn’t too happy to see me. Kevin! Buddy! Pal! Long time no see! Oh, I don’t have to be able to hear you to tell that you just said a naughty word.”
If I wasn’t scared of that man-mountain named Charlie Snowden, a slightly pudgy and out of shape dentist didn’t really intimidate me at all. I started walking towards him while Elsbeth seemed to be clutching at his arm and whining that this wasn’t what it looked like.
“Actually Kevin, it is what it looks like. You see, I asked her to figure out why you don’t want your murder solved, but seeing how quickly you charmed her, I’m pretty sure what really went on.”
I sidestepped his clumsy punch and drove my fist into his gut enjoying the whoosh as his “breath” left him. He tried to grab me, but it was the wrong move. A few grapples later, I was free to hurt him and put him into a submission hold. A minute later, my left knee was jammed into his back and his face shoved into the carpet, visiting a bit of pain upon him that I was certain his patients would have appreciated.
“Mike! Stop it and let him go!” Nearly panicked, Elsbeth was smacking at me.
“No thanks. You’ll notice who threw the first punch. I think I’ll talk to him down here. Kevin, how about we start with who offed you?”
“Go to hell!”
“I can’t do that right now, you see I’m still alive. Check back with me after the holidays. Now you can either start talking, or I’m going to round up some of my other ghostly friends and have them start investigating.” 
I was lying of course, Elsbeth was the only “Casper” I knew of at the moment, but there were times when a good bluff was just as effective.
“It won’t help. You won’t find anything! You can’t keep me here forever.” He did sound a bit worried.
“We’ll just see about that. I won’t lie to you. I want the reward money. You’re not protecting your family. I can’t see why you’d be protecting the person that killed you. The fact you don’t want your family to get closure means you care more about your image than you do about them! No, I’m afraid you’re not getting away that easily, Kevin.” He tried to “fade away” and escape back to his burial site. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that when he was in my grip.
“You’re nothing but a money-grubbing soulless bastard!”
Fortunately, my self-esteem was bolstered by Megan’s kind words from a few minutes before. Standing up, I let him go with a warning. “That’s rich coming from man who cheated on his wife and is still lying to himself. Go ahead and leave, Kevin. The truth has a way of coming out. It might not set you free, but as you might have guessed, I don’t really care.” 
He disappeared and I was left facing a fuming Elsbeth. 
“Sorry I ruined your date.”
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone!” Elsbeth raged.
“What can I say? It’s a character flaw.”
She looked at me incensed. “Does the money really mean that much to you?”
“Put yourself in his wife and his kids’ place, Elsbeth. They want to know the truth. They wouldn’t have put up ten large for a reward if they didn’t. If money meant everything to me, I’d have never helped you out in the first place.”
I wasn’t really getting through to her. “He just wants to be remembered as a loving family man and I’m sure your husband wants to be known as a guy who wouldn’t poison his deceased wife’s grandmother, but it’s like what Mick Jagger said about always getting what you want – you can’t!”
“May I say something?” Megan said interrupting our conversation even though she only heard my side of it.
“Elsbeth, honey, you’ve never been good at picking men. It looks like that hasn’t changed either. From the sounds of things, this one certainly isn’t a winner.” 
I was fighting back a smile when she started dressing me down, “Mr. Ross, I’m more than a bit disappointed in you. It’s okay to help people who ask for it. It’s okay to want to use your gift to better your own life. That said; ruining a man’s reputation just for the sake of a reward isn’t something to be proud of, young man! You don’t even know his family, so I find it difficult to believe that you are more concerned about them than you are a financial windfall.”
I looked away suitably rebuffed. It was embarrassing to have your behavior pointed out in such a manner. 
“Why don’t you go home and think about you motivations, Michael? It’s been my experience that money causes just as many problems as it solves. Charles coveted this house because he was obsessed with what he could sell it for after I was gone. Temptation is the way to weakness and I think you’re a better man than that!”
I left for the day properly chastened with my tail between my legs. I didn’t even ask Elsbeth to test out the various as of yet theoretical uses Silas and I came up with for the pouch full of iron filings. 
Most of my life, I’d just been going nowhere - until this power showed up. I was living again, growing and making mistakes. It made me wonder about the person I was turning into, a real Deep Thought in a Shallow Pool kind of thing. It was ironic that I would think of one of my dad’s nonsensical sayings at that time. 
I sure as hell didn’t want to grow up to become him.

Imagine my shock when the next morning I was headed to the bus stop and found McNeil at the edge of the property being held back by the barrier Silas created. That was comforting. Cautiously, and with the knowledge that my pipe wrench was in my duffel, I approached him. He looked downtrodden and I prepared for the sob story.
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. I was ticked off when I left yesterday, but then I spent all of last night at my house. You know how many of my boy’s basketball games I went to before I died?” He asked.
I didn’t answer – knowing that he’d tell me.
“Two in three years. Now he’s a sophomore and getting scouted by some Division Two schools and I’m not there to tell him how proud I am. Tina is probably going to get a full ride to an Ivy League school and I was more worried about going to dental conferences so I could get a little ‘side action’. Whoever said that ‘you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone’ doesn’t know the half of it.”
I didn’t want to debate merits of pop ballads and to be honest I could never remember if it was Poison, Motley Crue, or Cinderella that did that song. 
“You want to talk about what happened?” I asked.
“I suppose that’s all I have left,” Kevin said with resignation. “I was seeing this one patient of mine on the sly. We had some good times, but broke it off well over a year ago and she stopped coming to my practice. Then one day, I’m leaving work in the evening and this guy jumps me and cold cocks me. I wake up, tied up on this guy’s boat and listening to him rant about his wife and all her lovers. Then he kills me and dumps me overboard.”
“Don’t you want to see him brought to justice?”
“They already arrested him for killing his wife. Last month they sentenced him to twenty years. If he confessed, they’d just add a few years on to his sentence. The guy who just won the election is a death penalty opponent. I figured it wouldn’t matter, but last night I really watched my family.”
I had to admit, I was curious. “What did you see?”
“My wife crying in her bedroom. My boy, turning down a date with a cheerleader so he and my youngest daughter can drive down to Deale and pass out flyers at shopping centers, hoping they’ll get lucky with all the Christmas shoppers. I didn’t deserve it when I was alive, but they love me, and they’re still hurting.”
“So what do we do next?”
“I guess we turn him in. My kids find out the bitter truth about their old man and they eventually move on. I guess I move on then too.”
I shook my head, “I don’t think so. If your focus was on avenging your death, you’d have been more interested in revenge. I think your guilt is about not spending enough time with your family. Seems to me you’ve got as much time as you need now,” I said. “You can watch them, and watch over them too.”
Maybe I should take up psychiatry and be a not-stupid, not-evil head doctor. 
Nah, the few I’d met left a bad taste in my mouth.
I ended up late for class after a long phone call with the homicide detective in charge of Kevin’s case. I didn’t really feel like doing the whole “psychic boy” routine, but with the Snowden case coming up, it didn’t hurt to pad my paranormal resume. The ten grand wouldn’t hurt either.
It was one of those odd things, because the dental records of the woman had been pulled for the court case involving the murder.  No one ever made the connection between the dentist who went missing and the wife, who died shortly afterwards. It’s a strange world where the thinnest connections between people are often lost in the shuffle. Those little connections can make all the difference. The police had DNA evidence, but without the connections, they hadn’t a clue what was in the old evidence locker; now they did.
By the time I got to class, I was pretty distracted by the day’s events, combined with the fact that lectures on bubble sorts, quicksorts, and something called hybrid counting sorts could weren’t exactly enthralling. There was a lesson in the life and death of Kevin McNeil. Naturally, a blockhead like me was still puzzling it out. I was sure that Silas would certainly have a pithy saying or two for me when I told him about it. 
Still, enough of it had sunk in that when class ended, I headed towards the cafeteria. Normally, with no class the rest of the day, I’d be headed towards the bus stop. Instead, my quarry was the elusive Jenny Goodman. It was time to be an adult--for a change.
She watched me walking towards her and I could see some apprehension on her face. 
“Hey Jenny,” I said, hoping that it sounded friendly.
“What do you want?” Her tone didn’t make this any easier.
“To say I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry we’re not really friends anymore and that we can’t seem to stop irritating each other.”
She gave me a look of stunned disbelief interrupted with numerous blinks. Sensing she was somewhat speechless, I finished, “Well, that’s all I wanted to say – I hope your life turns out well. See you around.”
Walking away, I felt good about myself, probably better than I’d felt in a long time. Appearances could be deceiving; a guy like Kevin lived a carefully crafted charade, which he was too afraid to let go of even after his death. Me, I was a sarcastic ass who struggled for everything, but I didn’t have to be nasty to everyone.


Episode 6: The Grinch who Stole Karla

I hated the holiday season. Call me pessimistic. I suppose my loathing of all things Christmas stemmed from my dear old dad. When I was a tot, David Michael Ross, Senior opted to clean out the bank account and skip town right before the holidays and shortly after my grandfather’s funeral. Mom and I assumed he was going out shopping.
There’s a saying about assumptions. It applied here, too. There were several reasons for me to be a Scrooge this year. That big reward check for solving the McNeil murder for starters; it made me wonder if there is such a force in the universe as negative karma. First, I lost about thirty-six hundred to taxes right back to the state coffers that just gave it to me. This was puzzling, because Virginia hadn’t taken out the taxes for my earlier bit of detective work.
Come to find out, I would have to claim that earlier reward money as out of state income, come tax season, which already left me several hundred dollars in the hole – hurray for me.
Okay, I could grudgingly accept that – death, taxes and all that rubbish. Trust me, considering what my right eye could see; death wasn’t looking 100% certain. Thank goodness the tax man was there to keep me grounded. Still, with over six grand left, I wasn’t about to start whining … or was I?
Well, twenty-five hundred was destined for Megan Rosemont, even though my ghostly friend, Elsbeth, wasn’t much help when it came to the mystery behind Kevin McNeil’s death. I wasn’t about to deny a sweet little retiree the joys of taking a Hawaiian vacation. Elsbeth admitted that she felt guilty over the whole thing and would find a way to make it up to me. Promises, however, didn’t pay my bills.
How she planned on making it up to me when the majority of her free time was spent in the company of the aforementioned Kevin McNeil was another mystery. Ghosts in love; it sounded like a bad sitcom, which of course meant that my life needed better writers.
It’s rather sad when the ghosts I encountered were better off socially than I was. That really did say something. Candy hadn’t been able to make a return trip. We chatted online and a couple of times on the phone, but being a policewoman during the holiday season meant that my girlfriend of one whole questionable date was pulling double shifts at DUI checkpoints and racking up a considerable amount of overtime.
Candy asked me to be patient until the season was over and that she also would find a way to make it up to me. I spotted a pattern developing.
Even so, I was doing okay. There was still about thirty-five hundred dollars, which is more than I’m used to handling, trying to be a full time college student, part time paranormal investigator, and long running bad luck magnet.
Despite all of this, I tried to get in the Christmas spirit. The previous Christmas, I had been in Iraq. Back then, I was happy for the small things, like a chance to call home, patrols where no bombs went off, and being blissfully ignorant of the supernatural. Since my injury and subsequent discharge from the Army, money was tight, so having three and a half grand meant that I could splurge a little, right?
A new furnace and some replacement water pipes weren’t on my shopping list. My mom’s house was built in the seventies and the furnace installed in the mid-eighties. It gave out when Mom and I were visiting family in Hagerstown. Nothing beats returning to a freezing house and some burst pipes.
Mom ended up dipping into the equity on the house and I coughed up three thousand dollars as my share. At least I bought her present, a gift certificate to her favorite store, and sent Candy some flowers and, uh, candy before the shit hit the fan. Actually, in my life the fecal matter usually bypassed the fan and went straight for my face – less splatter that way.
My ghostly exploits were the proverbial “third rail” of my relationship with Mom. She seemed to believe that I was turning into some kind of flim-flam artist, but pointing out that I helped solve crimes seemed to ease her fears. She also promised to make this up to me.
At the end of all this nonsense, I was still ahead by about five hundred dollars – easy come, easy go. Fortunately, my weekly poker game was small-stakes, as in pennies and nickels otherwise I’d have been in real trouble.
The game was held at a retired Warrant Officer’s house. He’d been the guy that was sort of in charge of the building where I spent some delightful times enjoying the hospitality of Walter Reed Army Medical Center. I say he was “sort of” in charge in that he was recuperating from losing his most of his left arm and in the process of being medically discharged himself. 
In his prior career, Chuck Candlemas ran a bomb disposal unit in Iraq. Ironically, it wasn’t a bomb explosion that paid for his ticket home, but a nasty vehicle wreck in a convoy that cost him half of his left arm. He was the first to point out the humor in being a one-armed bomb disposal technician. It used to be the funniest joke at our weekly gatherings.
That joke was replaced by the one about the veteran that sees ghosts. Just when I thought that tabloid article had run its course, one of the players at the game spotted it in the paper he was balling up for use in his fireplace.
That in turn led to a pleasant evening of humiliation and exceedingly bad hands of poker. Okay, so I was in contact with the editors of that tabloid looking for ways to make some extra money, but blaming Jenny was easier. 
Chuck felt bad, or maybe it was the explosive temper of his wife Peggy, but he had the guys ease up on me. With the help of Kevin McNeil, who swung by that night to help me with a demonstration, there was a room full of believers. Instead of Texas Hold ‘Em, we played an hour of good old fashioned Blackjack and Kevin made me look like a pro.
Naturally, when I suggested that Kevin should take a trip with me to Atlantic City, he developed a moral compass he never possessed when he was alive. Cheating on his wife while he was living hadn’t bothered him, but now faced with the proof of an afterlife, he seemed to be on some kind of post-mortem self-improvement kick. He’d even convinced Elsbeth cut off my lottery earnings.
I could only hope the next ghost I befriended was a bit more interested in helping me make a living. The one good thing that came out of all of this was the Thursday night poker group believed that I was neither crazy nor a publicity whore, and were genuinely interested in my adventures. We usually lingered after the game broke up and I did a bit of storytelling.
Chuck pulled me aside after the last poker night, lifting a box off of his computer table. 
I whipped these up for you, Mike,” he said. “It’s basically a couple firecrackers, wrapped in some cloth with a bunch of iron filings inside of them.”
Through trial and error and some mighty good guessing on the part of Brother Silas, we’d discovered that iron in contact with my body develops some kind of “charge” that ghosts really don’t like. Whatever the energy is, plastic is a pretty good insulator, but it passes through cotton, leather, or other organic materials. Kevin let me toss drop a few of these “charged” filings in his hand one night; he said it felt like a bad bee sting. That was good, but I needed a better delivery system – Chuck was a little too eager to help.   

A phone call to Ian Wells, the ghost tour guide from Gettysburg, provided me with rough directions to the Karla’s hunting cabin and a phone number. Naturally, the phone number was disconnected. Letting my fingers doing the walking was far too simple.
Luckily, Rusty Fletcher, my usual ride to the poker games had some family up in Wilkes-Barre. In exchange for me paying for the gas, he agreed to give me a ride up to Scranton.
Rusty was former Air Force, having lost his hearing by way of an improvised explosive device, and the only member of our poker group younger than me. He’d been guarding an airbase when someone tried to run a truck bomb through the gate. The thick concrete barrier protected him from the blast, but it didn’t shield him from the noise of the explosion. Being a deaf communications specialist didn’t exactly enhance his career. 
He adapted and was working for a company that does fire and burglar alarm installations in office buildings. A cochlear implant did most of the work his left ear used to do for him. 
The doctors evaluated me for one, but determined that my right ear didn’t meet whatever idiotic criteria they used. My left ear worked fine, so I couldn’t complain any more than usual. 
Karla’s hunting cabin was near Lake Ariel, Pennsylvania. The clerk at a Qwik-Mart off of route 590 was a helpful sort and said that Karla was around, though not much lately. After answering my questions, he went back to chewing out his night shift guy for missing inventory.
The cabin was a two story house in dire need of repainting. Rusty commented as his pickup truck struggled in the unplowed driveway, “There’s smoke rising from the chimney. That’s a good sign. I guess we’ll have to walk from here.”
“Hey, Rusty, I don’t suppose that you see a guy in Civil War clothes right by the porch heading towards us?”
“Um, no,” he answered. His voice quavered a little. Hearing about my adventures was one thing. Being in one up close and personal was a completely different story.
“That’s not a good sign. We’ll pretend to be hunters. What’s in season up here?” 
“Bow hunting for deer starts right after Christmas.”
“Okay, we’re considerate hunters, who’re going to ask permission a few days beforehand.”
I grabbed my duffel bag and unzipped it. The ghost sword I’d taken from Colonel Strong Vincent, four bottles of iron filings, three of Chuck’s “ghost-grenades,” and my faithful pipe wrench were inside. The filings went into my pockets and I slid the wrench under my belt at the small of my back. 
“Let’s go. Just follow my lead and call me David instead of Mike,” I whispered. I hated using my first name, but the last time I encountered Civil War ghosts in Pennsylvania things didn’t exactly go my way. 
“Sure thing there, Davey.” 
I gave him the finger and pulled my jacket hood over my head. Combined with a pair of sunglasses, it wasn’t a clever disguise, but like an idiot, I hadn’t come up here expecting any trouble. 
As the ghost got closer, we established our story. “Hey Rusty, do you think the owner will let us out on the property to hunt next week?”
“I don’t know, Dave. We’ll just have to find out. Damn, should have worn my boots.”
The ghost coming towards us heard this and started running back towards the house.  A Chevy Tahoe was parked in the driveway, but all four tires were flat. Inside my pockets, I worked off the caps on the bottles, shaking a fistful of dust into each hand.
“Mind knocking on the door, Rusty?”
My hands were full.
The door swung open and a woman opened the door. I barely recognized Karla Thompson. Her long hair was unkempt and she looked like she’d missed out on the last week or so of sleep.
“Didn’t you see the ‘No Trespassing’ sign? Get off my land!”
“I’m sorry, Miss. The snow must have covered it. I’m Dave Murphy. This is Rusty. We were hoping to do a bit of hunting out this way next week.”
“No! Leave now, before I call the police!” Shapes moved behind her. At least four more ghosts were in the room. One of them stepped through the wall and was looking at us. I did my best not to notice him. Of course, if he grabbed me and realized that I could touch him, it would be all over.
“Hey, no need to be angry, Miss. We’ll just be leaving now.”
“And don’t come back!” She slammed the door. I listened for the locking mechanism, but didn’t hear it.
Considering the Civil War ghosts kept Darren Porter hostage, I should have figured that they would have found Karla too. I needed a plan. I needed to fall back and regroup. A second ghost stepped out onto the porch and I knew that any planning would have to wait. It was Colonel Strong Vincent. My “oh so brilliant disguise” was put to the test. With the sunglasses on, he probably couldn’t see me staring out of the corner of my eye at him.
On the way back, the ghost we’d first seen on the porch started to follow us. I tried to stay in the “Dave” character and talk about other places to get permission to hunt. Rusty played along, though I could see him looking around a little too much.
My problem was – what to do at that point. The sun was due to set in less than one hour. Sunlight was my friend. I was going to think this thing to death; as we reached the car I said to myself, screw it, it was time to act! 
“Hey Rusty come over here for a minute. I want to show you something. You’ll get a kick out of this,” I said enthusiastically.    
With a handful of iron dust in one hand, I reached through the car window to grab the pommel of the good Colonel’s former sword from my bag. “Watch this!”
The cloud of filings went right from my hand into the ghost’s face. Tiny bits of metal sparkled as they hit his skin, silhouetting his head. Instantly, the spirit collapsed to the ground writhing in pain.
Rusty yelled, “Jesus Christ! Was that what I think it was?”
I pushed passed my friend with the spectral sword in my hand. We were outnumbered, but I had several new tricks. I went ahead and ran the ghost through with the sword, reassuring myself that it was better him than me. 
Naturally, Rusty was full of questions as I dumped my remaining bottle of filings in my jacket pocket. “Did you just kill a ghost with that invisible sword you have? Man that’s so cool! For a minute, I thought I could see the thing’s face when you threw that stuff into it.”
“I’m a little busy right now, buddy.” I start stuffing my other pockets with Charlie’s homemade ghost bombs and a lighter. They had nice all-weather fuses, so I didn’t have to worry about the snow quenching them. The wrench went back on the tool belt that I quickly strapped around my waist.
“Oh yeah, right! What do you need me to do?”
“Go ahead and get the truck running. I’ll see if I can drive the other ghosts off.”
The truck had blocked the view from the house of me taking care of the one soldier. I sprinted back up the driveway with the saber and lighter in one hand and a “grenade” in the other. Two of the ghosts come out through the wall, looking at me like I’m crazy.
Lighting the homemade combustible, I hurled it at the first one. “Catch!”
The ghost shook his head at me and fully expected it to pass right through him. Instead it thumped off his chest and fell onto the porch in front of him. 
A second later it went off with a crack that could have been mistaken for a hunter’s rifle or a tree limb giving way under the weight of snow. Most of the closest ghost simply disintegrated in a soundless scream. His partner caught a bit of it and fell to the ground, clutching his leg. My free hand dug for more powder and I poked him with the sword to make certain he wouldn’t be getting up soon - or ever. 
“It’s Ross! Kill him!” I heard Vincent scream.
Part of me was analyzing things – wondering why I could hear Vincent, but I couldn’t hear any of the others. Normally, I’d stop to ponder this development, but the rest of me caught on to the fact that several dead guys were trying to kill me, so that bit of analysis was shoved onto some back shelf for another time.  
Vincent was the real threat. The rest of the soldiers were just grunts, but the most dangerous spirit I’d fought to date was Jenny’s mom. I pushed the door open and ran into Karla’s living room. Two soldiers and Vincent remained.
Clutter was everywhere, which was odd because on the shows, Karla was portrayed as a neat-freak. The closest one held a log from the nearby firewood stack. I blocked his swing with the sword and hurled iron dust at him.
The log dropped to the ground, along with the ghost holding it. Army doctrine taught me to hit hard, fast, and relentlessly. I somehow doubt the policy guys ever gave much thought to indoor combat with spirits, but the concepts were likely transferable. I let the wounded ghost linger for a second; thrashing in pain while I made certain that the two remaining ghosts could see that I really could hurt them.
Never taking my eyes off of Vincent, I stabbed downwards, sending one more ghost on to whatever was next. Vincent, his trademark sideburns framing his face, hissed as he pulled Karla up against him while summoning the fireplace poker from the hearth. 
“It’s nice to see you again, Colonel Vincent,” I said breezily. “Your sword has certainly come in handy.”
“I’d hoped to see you again, too, thief,” Vincent growled. “This time you get no quarter.”
 “Thief?” I objected. “That’s rich coming from a ghost who gets his jollies from holding a woman hostage after murdering her boyfriend. Isn’t kidnapping and torture supposed to be beneath a man of your supposed honor?”
“What do you know of honor or duty, maggot? I have my orders.”
The other ghost feinted at me, swinging a floor lamp. Sparks flew when ghost sword met metal lamp. I chopped through it, leaving him holding the separate pieces. The look on the ghost’s face was priceless. He dropped the pieces of lamp and ran right out through the wall.
Karla was struggling with Vincent, sobbing as she tried to throw him off. Vincent pulled her closer while shouting at the ghost who’d just exited stage right.
“Deserter! Pray I never find you!”
“You’ve got other problems right now, Colonel. Let the girl go.”
“I could easily kill her and you would be the only suspect. Drop the sword. I’ll make your death swift and take no pleasure in it.”
“That’s a tempting offer, but you kill Miss Thompson and I’ll have to head for your grave in Erie. You know the place, don’t you, Strong? That’s where they have a statue in your honor--schools named after you, and think of you as a hero, you know that place?”
His eyes narrowed and he at least looked slightly fearful, “And what would you do there?”
“That’s where your body is. If I’m to be framed for Karla’s murder, what’s a bit of grave robbing and desecration on top of that? I’m still kind of new to this business, but I reckon that’d finish you, wouldn’t it? I’d like some answers, ghost. What’s this all about?”
“Fine, she dies and then so do you!”
I hurled my last big handful of filings at him, but Vincent swung Karla, pushing her directly into the path of the iron.  Stepping to the side, he swung the poker at me with murderous intent. Somehow, I pulled Karla from his grasp, tossing her onto the couch and parried his blow. 
Vincent was fast and skilled, but I’m no slouch either. The hook on the poker ripped into my sleeve and I winced as I felt it dig into my arm. I was out of filings, but he didn’t know that. I faked tossing an empty handful at him, which made him leap backwards and relax his grip on the poker. Pressing my advantage, I jabbed with the saber, slicing his thigh open with the blade. He yelped in pain and went through the wall. I pulled the hook of the poker out of my arm and tossed it to the ground before running out the door after him.  
Vincent’s head start was negated by the badly injured ghost on the porch. That poor slob clutched at Strong’s legs while pleading with him. The Colonel wasn’t in a merciful mood at the moment and punched him before he leaped off the porch.  
I ran after him, but the fresh snow on the ground was slowing me down more than the cut on his ghost leg was impeding him.
Rusty got out of his truck and started towards me shouting, “What’s going on, Mike?”
“Look out!” Granted, it was kind of stupid of me to shout that, considering Rusty couldn’t exactly see what was about to happen. There was a bright flash when the ghost slammed into Rusty, sending him flying ten feet backwards onto the hood of his vehicle. The windshield cracked, creating a spider web effect behind Rusty.  
Vincent looked drained, like he expended a large amount of energy tossing Rusty. Seconds later, he simply ran through the Dakota, causing it to sputter and die. I slipped as I went around the truck and we continued our mad dash down the road. The little voice in the back of my head spoke up – asking me why Vincent didn’t simply disappear, returning to his grave site. Was he trying to lead me into a trap?
At the edge of the property, he stumbled unexpectedly, but managed to crawl out onto the road. I closed with him noticing a haze in the air where the ghost fell. He seemed less defined and appeared considerably weakened. I guessed there were some protections around this house as well!
“Who’s giving the orders, Vincent?”
Vincent managed a thin smile. “Keep wondering, Michael Ross and enjoy your fleeting victory. Powers far greater than I are arrayed against you. Indeed, I truly pity you.”
I tried to run him through, but he disappeared before I could reach him with the saber. No doubt, he would reappear at his resting place in northwestern Pennsylvania, hours away from where I stood. 

“Who is giving the orders? Is it General John Reynolds?” I shouted at the wounded ghost, a Union Private who glared up at me. I’m not one for torture in interrogation, but I needed to know. I tossed a few more filings on him and grabbed his hand again.
He screamed. 
I reached for some more iron filings.
“The General’s in the chain of command, but he’s just like the Colonel.”
“What did he say?” Rusty asked, cleaning my cut with peroxide from a first aid kit.  It was my turn to wince in pain. Karla stood in her doorway staring at both of us. I’d considered her extremely attractive in the videos. Right then, she looked more like a candidate for a loony bin. 
“Reynolds is part of it, but he’s not the top? Tell me who is!”
Over the guy’s protests, Rusty informed me, “Mike, it’s a small wound, but it goes down a ways. Looks like it didn’t get any arteries or veins. We can take you to the nearest emergency room or I can give you the Super Glue treatment – what’s it going to be?”
“It’d be hard to explain where I got this cut. Screw it. Glue me.” Construction workers, backpackers, and more than a handful of us combat vets knew the benefits of using the stuff to seal a wound. I pinched the skin as he wiped away the blood with some paper towels and quickly applied a layer of glue. Again, there was searing pain. As soon as it dried, I released my grip and he covered the patch with gauze and then strips of duct tape to hold it together. Another layer of gauze went over the tape and then another layer of tape. It was quick, dirty, but terribly effective.
Through all of this Karla kept staring around and shaking. It might’ve been from the cold, but more likely from her ordeal. “We’ve got to get out of here! They’ll be back.”
“Calm down, Miss Thompson. We’ve got some time. Darren told me that you had his notes.”
“Is Darren’s ghost here with you? Is he here? Darren! Honey? I’ve missed you so much!”
“I’m sorry, Karla. The ghost who was the leader here destroyed Darren’s ghost, but Darren told me to find you and get his notes.”
“He’s really gone? I – I --” She broke down sobbing.
I motioned to Rusty to handle it. I was too busy questioning the ghost to deal with a crying woman. “Take her inside and help her pack what she needs. We’ll see if we can get her Tahoe running and get her on the road.”
It took some coaxing, but Rusty and I convinced her that she’d be safe enough with us to go back into the house and collect some of her things.
Looking back at the ghost I continued, “Now you were telling me about General Reynolds. What role does he play?”
“The General’s giving the orders, but they ain’t a coming from him,” The Private said, eyeing my bottle of iron filings warily.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know! He’s called Lord Justice. That’s all I know!”
“Where can I find this Lord Justice?”
“You don’t want to find him, boy! He’ll kill you for sure! Even the General and Colonel are scared of him.”
“What do they want me for?”
“They just want you dead and we don’t ask no questions.”
This was frustrating. Other than the seeing and touching ghosts thing, what was so special about me? I learned he was a Private with the 20th Maine, but little else and that their orders were to keep Karla under guard and not let her leave the property. It was no wonder she’d been so scared of them.
Twenty minutes later Karla and Rusty came out dragging several bags. The Private faded away, leaving me with precious little knowledge.
“One of them’s still here, right?” She asked. Her eyes were darting across the porch and front yard like a caged animal. Karla did something with her hair and she looked slightly better, but not by much.
“No. He’s gone.”
“Gone like back to a graveyard or destroyed?”
I answered, “Destroyed.” That sounded more clinical than ‘I blew him up with a grenade and then watched him expire before my eyes.’ He couldn’t just disappear because of something Darren did to the property. I needed to know what it was. 
“Good. Can we leave now?” She replied caustically. 
I wasn’t in a position to judge her, even if she wasn’t exactly showering me with gratitude for rescuing her. Whatever she’d been through, it must have been hard on her.
“Darren’s notes?”
“I’ll give them to you when my Chevy is running.”
It took the better part of an hour to get the tires on Karla’s SUV inflated. The engine wouldn’t turn over, so Rusty and I pushed it down the hill, close enough to where Rusty’s truck could give it a jump start. The ghosts kept her a prisoner on the property for the past six months, so it wasn’t a big mystery that her truck’s battery was completely drained. 
Karla filled in some of the blanks while we worked. Vincent was eager to learn about me and wrote notes to her demanding answers. For once, the fact that my name was really David Michael Ross, Junior was working in my favor. 
She refused to talk about Darren and the days preceding his death, only saying that he showed up at her apartment the night before he died. He gave her all his notes and told her to leave town if anything happened to him. We learned that the missing inventory from the nearby Qwik-Mart was stolen by the ghosts, just enough to keep Karla alive, if not particularly well fed. Every time she tried to leave, bad things happened to her. They herded her like a sheep and always let her know that they were around.
The fun loving woman I’d seen on The Eye of Horus videos was gone, maybe for good. I felt a little better about killing those ghosts – if that’s the right word for dispatching something that’s already dead. As for Karla, my low opinion of people working in the mental health field was well established, but in all honesty, I thought she could use some time with a therapist, looking for her happy place.
With both her vehicle and Rusty’s running, she clambered into her driver’s seat. There were more questions to ask her. 
“Karla, do you remember when you were investigating the graveyard in Baltimore and the spirit there told you it was waiting for Ross? Did it mean me?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I never want to hear about another ghost ever again! Here, take this!” She fished in her purse and pulled out a digital voice recorder and a USB thumb drive. The items were rudely shoved into my hands. “They don’t really understand computers.”
“Where will you go?”
“Far away, out west maybe. If I don’t tell you exactly where, you can’t tell them,” She said, looking more than a little frazzled.
“But what if I need to get in touch with you? Or you need to talk to me?”
 “I won’t want to and you won’t be able to. I’m leaving now. Keep standing where you are and I’ll run you over.” 
Karla drove off, leaving me with some answers in hand and naturally, more questions.
Climbing into the cab, I looked at the sleeve of my ruined jacket and grunted. I’ll need to get a new one unless blood and leather was the new “in” look.
Rusty shook his head gazing at the cracks running across his window. Fortunately, most of it was on the passenger side, otherwise it’d be difficult to drive. “I hate to say this Mike, but I’m going to need some cash to fix the windshield. My deductible is five hundred, so it’ll be easier if we could just pay cash. Sorry, man, but things are kind of tight for me this time of the year. I’ll get you half of it back in a month or so.”
Less than a week ago, I had over six thousand dollars. I suppose if it weren’t happening to me, it’d be hilarious – small wonder I hate the Christmas season. “Ho Ho Ho, easy come, easy go!”


Dead Eye Episode 7: Blood, Sweat, and Fear

The controls on Darren Porter’s digital voice recorder were pretty much the same as those on mine. With a bit of trepidation, I pushed an ear-bud into my good ear and then hit the play button, preparing myself. One way or another, I was about to get some long awaited answers.
March 8, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. I’m doing my best not to begin babbling like a fool, but I saw a ghost today. Unlike prior inquiries, I didn’t have an EMF detector, or temperature probe looking for cold spots, or the gut sensations that I’d been using all my life. I saw this ghost with my own two eyes! He was a Union Private simply walking around town. I spent a good portion of the day following him and watching as he walked through objects. This is amazing! It defies all logic, but somehow, suddenly, I’ve acquired the ability to see ghosts. I don’t have a theory to account for it -- I woke with a splitting headache around two in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep.
It’s not just a single ghost, but many of them! I was stunned, walking onto the battlefield. I counted at least twenty milling around. It makes me wonder what the graveyards look like. Tomorrow, I am going to see if I can interact with them.
I paused the digital recorder. The low battery light was on, and neither Rusty Fletcher nor I had any AAA batteries handy. All I could do was stare at the digital recorder and USB drive until we arrived at his Uncle’s house in Wilkes-Barre. Hopefully I’d be able to cobble something together up there.
Rusty was pretty excited on the drive to Wilkes-Barre. Once the immediate threat had died down, he treated it like a particularly thrilling ride at an amusement park. Me, I ached in several places, and had the after-incident jitters that I’d lived with for years in Iraq. The worst time to let down your guard was after repelling an attack, because the bad guys often came back. I was on edge, looking everywhere, both with my good eye and with my ghost eye. I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean much and I sure as hell wasn’t going to relax any time soon.
Begging off by pretending to be sick and wanting to rest, I went upstairs to the room they prepared. My arm ached from the gash where Vincent tried to gut me with a fireplace poker. My wallet was aching too. Rusty’s busted windshield ate up what little money I had left. At least the patch job on my arm looked pretty good, so I still had my health – whatever that was worth. 
It wasn’t too hard to do the math – Iraq time is eight hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time. Darren’s painful migraine plus the time difference between here and Iraq matched too closely with my worst day in the US Army. On the day that Darren began to see ghosts, I was getting blown to smithereens by a roadside bomb. My army days led me to look very, very suspiciously at coincidences – because many times they hid things, deadly things. 
The poor schmuck would only live another seventeen days, but he sounded like a kid in a candy store. That wasn’t exactly my reaction when I first started witnessing the paranormal. Of course, I hadn’t spent years chasing after things that other people didn’t believe, only to finally be vindicated. Looking at the blank notepad, I jotted a note to myself about Darren’s headache and my war injury. Rusty’s uncle had some fresh AAA batteries, so I fumbled with Darren’s recorder and replaced the dead one. 
March 9, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. I followed that same Union Private. Finally in a fairly secluded area near the monument to the 19th Indiana, I called out to him. He paid me scant attention for the first few attempts, but then realized that I was speaking to him. 
He was rather surprised that I could see him, which actually made two of us. Carefully, I approached him. I tried to get a picture of him with my digital camera, but proximity to him seemed to drain the batteries in my camera, temperature probe, and voice recorder. The only device that didn’t fail was the EMF detector, which provided some very good data considering I was out at the Battlefield with no real sources of electromagnetic energy around.
I’m babbling again. I know it. So anyway I just stood there and asked him a bunch of questions, mostly yes or no stuff. He was a member of the 19th. He died on the first day of battle against Pettigrew’s 26th North Carolinians. I scribbled the alphabet on my notebook and several common words so we could communicate better.
His name is Peter Foust f-o-u-s-t though the Gettysburg records list him as Faust f-a-u-s-t and he died just shy of thirty from a head injury. We talked, with him spelling out words by pointing at my chart for the better part of two hours before he said he had to leave for a ‘muster’ of all things. I asked to come, but he adamantly refused, instead telling me to meet him back at the 19th’s memorial tomorrow. Private Foust was willing to share the details of his life, but somewhat reluctant to discuss his current state of existence. Needless to say, all of this has piqued my curiosity. It appears that I will have to earn his trust.”
I’d borrowed a notebook computer from Rusty’s family and went looking through what was stored on the USB drive. There were backups of audio files from his digital recorder and MS Word documents. I made another note about that on the scratch pad, though I doubted that I would ever hear from Karla Thompson again or that she’d consider giving me his laptop. I started skimming through the text files immediately. The first thing that caught my eye was an organization chart. General John Reynolds and Colonel Strong Vincent were at the top of hierarchy with several question marks grouped together above them. For a change, I actually knew something Darren didn’t. Someone called “Lord Justice” was calling the shots. 
The next day’s recording were Darren asking questions of the Private and repeating whatever the Private’s responses were. Sadly, he seemed to lack my ability to speak directly with them and so the recordings captured the clunky flashcard and alphabet board spelling that Darren had cobbled together on the spot. If I were more academic, I’m certain that this probably would have been thrilling, but I found it a bit annoying. Darren clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice and lacked the ability to summarize things neatly.
Reminding myself that I shouldn’t be so hard on the deceased Mr. Porter, I started the audio again. Again, it was interesting, in a dweeby academic fashion, but I was looking for something that was both interesting and helpful. 
March 11th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. I have ascertained that Peter remains here because he is somehow anchored to a small silver cross that his wife gave him to keep him safe. This object was in his hand on the morning of July 1st, 1863 and, according to him, it is located under some bushes. He says that he can be free to travel on to the next life when this object is recovered and taken to his grave site. Peter refers to it as a focus. It is confirmation that spiritual energy can be tied to a particular object and not just a place or person as some theories have suggested. I have begun to take notes and record data in earnest so that I can write the most important book of my life. Karla is out of town until next week and is unfortunately unreachable by either cell phone or email. 
Peter still remains rather circumspect about the other ghosts that I have seen wandering around. When pressed, he says that I should stay away until after he has been freed and allowed to pass on to the afterlife. I am uncertain as to whether he is being selfish, knowing that others will seek to be released, or if he is wary of the other spirits’ motives. Tomorrow, I will attempt to excavate the silver cross from the bushes.”
Inside the USB drive I found a pictures directory. There were several photos of a dirty, tarnished silver cross, so it looked like he was successful. 
March 12th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. Light rain today. I unfortunately was forced to run several errands, which prevented me from going to meet with Private Foust. By the time I finished, it was already too late to wander out to the battlefield.
March 13th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. Still unseasonably warm, by afternoon it could get up to eighty degrees. Perhaps I should ask the Private his opinion of global warming. I’m heading out to retrieve the cross.
Onsite roughly one hundred yards from the 19th’s monument. The cross has been found! It’s just where the Peter said it would be. In contact with his cross, Peter’s image seems to be more defined. I’ll attempt some digital pictures. 
There is a haze on the camera where he is standing. That’s a very good sign. Holding the focus in my hand, I can hear Peter’s voice, but it’s very faint. I’ll try to see if I can capture it on the recorder if I am holding it against him. The most remarkable result of this is that I can actually feel him, provided that I am holding the cross. 
Finally, something I could use! Next time I was with Elsbeth, I’d try it out, holding her ring and see if I could hear her without all the painful touching. I listened as he tried several questions. To a couple of the questions a faint whispered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ could be heard. Anything longer than a couple of syllables seemed to drop off.
The results are quite promising. I can hear him just fine, but the recorder only seems to pick up tiny bits. I’m back at my house and have brought the cross home with me, after begging Peter to allow me to conduct some non-destructive tests on it. I have purchased a comparable silver cross and will use a multi-meter to determine whether the conductivity is significantly different, though given the impurities and tarnish, it might not tell me a blessed thing. 
I have negotiated a few days for my testing. Peter is quite eager to be allowed to pass on. He accompanied me back to my home for a brief time. I was forced to help him enter into my house. He indicated that there was a barrier here. I suspect this has to do with the numerous blessings performed here over the years.
I’m searching various sites on the internet to see if anyone else has reported powers similar to this. In my euphoria to interact with Peter, I have neglected to investigate the genesis of my newfound abilities. I wonder if I can convince my doctor to give me a MRI. I’d be curious to see what my brain activity is like, although I definitely would be upset to discover a brain tumor.”
Me, I’d had plenty of scans done due to the damage to my head and subsequent reconstructive surgery. If there was a tumor, they’d have found it. No one ever mentioned anything unusual to me, but then again, I’d never been accused of having too much “brain activity” to begin with.
Still, Darren’s ponderings touched something that I hadn’t considered. There were the obvious threats to my life, but the thought that the powers might have a not-so obvious effect on me was just a bonus. Yeah, I was a glass half full kind of person, only given my life; I’ve learned that the water is usually contaminated with untreated sewage.
March 15th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter.  I spoke with Ian Wells over lunch today and let him know that big things were coming soon. We have our first tour of the season booked for March 25th and I am excited.  This could very well be the greatest tour season ever. Imagine being able to take people right up to the ghosts! If I can get a haze with my off-the-shelf digital camera, imagine what I could get with a professional grade HD camcorder. It’s rather presumptive of me, but I could see a network TV show emerging from this. After all, the Sci-Fi channel promotes those Rhode Island folks quite a bit.
I suppose I shouldn’t be thinking too far ahead. I spent all day yesterday examining the cross with every instrument at my disposal. My brass rods seem to point me towards it, but that could just be unconscious on my part. If I can convince Peter to let me hold onto it until Karla returns, I’ll have her hide it and attempt to locate it in an objective test. The cross does seem to have a slight EMF reading to it, thirty percent higher than my comparison cross. I wouldn’t mind bringing in some other people, but Karla deserves to be the first to see this.
March 16th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. With Karla due to return in just four days, I have delayed Peter’s request until she can meet him. Again I approached Peter about what the rest of the ghosts are up to and why he has to ‘muster’ with them. At first, I’d thought that this muster was just a formality that connected him and the others with their former life, but now I am less certain. He again cautioned me against approaching the others.
I walked in the hour before meeting him and spotted the person I believe to be Colonel Strong Vincent of the 83rd Pennsylvania walking near his monument on Little Round Top. I resisted the urge to go and speak with him, partly because of Peter’s numerous warnings and also due to the fact I was uncertain of what to say to an actual hero. No offense to Peter, but he wasn’t exactly famous. The prospect of asking questions to legendary figures makes me giddy with anticipation.  I must confess to already jotting down a few questions that I intend to ask him in the near future.”
The next several days don’t really have much to offer, more experiments and more of Peter avoiding questions.
March 20th, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. Today, with Karla’s assistance, we were able to capture some remarkable footage of Peter. He becomes more visible when I am in contact with him and holding his focus.
Karla hid the cross as I requested and in four out of five tests, I was able to locate it with my divining rods.  We reversed the test and Karla was only able to locate it on two of the five tests with one I can surmise as being a lucky guess.
Karla’s voice interrupts faintly.
It was not! I felt a pull towards it. 
Sure you did. Tomorrow morning, we are going to take Peter’s cross to his gravesite and bury it. This should free his spirit; hopefully, the event will provide some useful data. We’ll set up our equipment and Karla will do the videography. 
March 21st, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. Peter’s gravesite was found easily enough. Burying the silver cross produced a sharp EMF spike on our equipment and several distortions were recorded on our cameras. For my part, I saw a great flash and then Peter began to fade from view. I suppose in my own selfishness, I forgot the most important point – that I should also be using this power of mine to help the ghosts pass on. The flash was enough to capture the attention of a second ghost; a Private from the 7th Wisconsin named Marcellus Chase. He has offered to introduce me to Colonel Vincent and General John Reynolds, in exchange for releasing him to whatever afterlife ghosts experience.
Private Chase denies that he has any anchor or focus – he says that he’s bound by an unperformed act, which he asks me to do on his behalf. His request is reasonable enough. He merely wishes a wreath of flowers left at his mother’s gravesite in Milwaukee, something that he promised to do, but never did before falling in battle himself. I can either contact some friends in Michigan or search the Internet for a paranormal investigator in that region to perform this task for us.
March 22nd, 2006 – Field research notes of Darren Porter. Private Chase came to my house in the morning. Colonel Vincent seems very interested in meeting me and extended an invitation for me to attend ‘evening muster’. Karla is slightly perturbed as the Colonel’s invite was only meant for me. She has contacted the church where Marcellus’ mother is buried and is having FTD deliver a wreath to the church, to be placed at her gravesite.
Needless to say Marcellus Chase is quite excited. He has also been much more forthcoming about his existence. The ghosts here at Gettysburg are engaged in various rituals, the purpose of which appears to be gathering some sort of energy that’s present on and around the battlefield. Just how they gather and store this energy is not clear at the moment, but the top ghost, a General Reynolds, is said to take this energy somewhere south of Gettysburg. There is an apparent hierarchy and Private Chase indicated that while the General is away, the Colonel and an artillery Lieutenant named Blume are in charge of the ‘brigade’. I expect that I’ll learn more this evening.
Notes continued – my EMF detector burnt itself out and failed completely at ‘muster’. I was able to snap three pictures before the camera batteries drained. All my equipment failed within two minutes of seeing all these ghosts. Whatever interference effect drains the electronic equipment, it seems to vary according to locale and with the density of the ghost population. It was a powerful moment in my life, meeting all these departed gentlemen. 
I was greatly impressed meeting Colonel Vincent. He carried himself with a palpable dignity. There was a tingling sensation like those old joke hand buzzers when I touched him. We both could feel it and clearly both of us were surprised. When we were in physical contact, I was able to hear him, in a voice less faint than how I heard Private Peter Faust. Each ghost passed single file by Lieutenant Blume. As they did so, he seemed to draw energy from them. His appearance became sharper and more visible, while the others seemed to fade in contrast.
During our conversation, Private Chase faded from view. One moment he was there and then suddenly, he was gone. I explained to the Colonel how I arranged for Chase’s final wishes to be fulfilled and that allowed him to pass into the afterlife.
Neither of us had expected the chaos my statement would cause amongst the brigade. I was immediately surrounded and everyone seemed to want my attention, which was complicated by the fact that I couldn’t hear any of them speak. Colonel Vincent drew his sword and must have shouted for order.  I watched the Colonel fling one of the enlisted men a dozen feet through the air. That seemed to quiet the men.
Leaving Lieutenant Blume in charge, he came back to my house where we spoke late into the night. Karla stayed with us for as long as she could hold out, but she’d come back from her vacation with a touch of the flu. Karla couldn’t hear him, but remarkably, Vincent was able to make a ballpoint pen move and he answered her questions that way. I’ve photographed these writings for posterity.
Looking through the picture files, I studied their conversation. Vincent “deferred” answering questions about his focus, though my bet was that it was his riding crop – a gift from his wife. I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t likely to earn advanced degrees like Darren Porter, but an old grunt was quite capable of researching the enemy – my life might depend on it, after all.
Skimming through the conversation, Vincent posed questions of his own. First and foremost was how far Darren could trace back his genealogy and whether it could be traced to Edgar Allan Poe. Darren dabbled in genealogy and could trace his roots back to Sarah Royster Shelton, who was engaged to Poe.  The next series of questions on the page disturbed me and I desperately wanted to hear Darren’s perspective.
I pressed play again. 
One of the most fascinating things to come out of this is the fact that I may actually be a blood relation to Edgar Allan Poe. Colonel Vincent explained that older ghosts told him how Poe and his brother William Henry Poe both possessed the ability to communicate as I do, directly with the spirits. I searched the internet and told him that to the best of the world’s knowledge, neither Poe’s brother, nor their sister had any children.
He corrected that notion. According to him, David Poe, Junior (father to Edgar, William and Rosalie Poe) possessed this ability as well and apparently made a number of enemies in the ghost world. He left his family to deal with them. Supposedly, he abandoned his family in 1810 and died a year later, so whatever strategy he was using to deal with the ghosts, it hadn’t been very successful. William Poe stayed with his grandparents; Edgar was fostered by the Allans and Rosalie by the Mackenzies.
Ghosts monitored all three children to see if their father’s gifts were passed on to the new generation, but the three either showed no signs – or they were clever enough to hide it.
According to Vincent, William was a merchant sailor who traveled extensively. He may or may not have sired several illegitimate children in ports around the world. His adventures are mostly unknown by mortals, but William was reviled among the ghosts, though he lived only to his mid-twenties.
Edgar’s legacy must have overshadowed his brother’s. History paints a picture of a man who at times acted irrationally and it is widely stated that he drank excessively and died under mysterious circumstances years before Colonel Vincent died at Little Round Top. Poe took up his brother’s cause with a vengeance, leading to something referred to as The Great Cleansing.
Here is where the Colonel also became circumspect. I began to ask about the structure of ghostly life and where General Reynolds was taking the spectral energy gathered here in Gettysburg and what it could be used for. He told me that it is not a discussion for here and now.
The Colonel left around three in the morning and said he had to speak to his men. I suspected that those above the Colonel would object greatly to my releasing bound spirits into the afterlife.
This picture of the dignified dead hero didn’t match my own experience of the ghost Vincent who guarded Darren’s grave and ended up running the paranormal researcher through with the sword I now possessed. Darren’s words didn’t match up with the ghost who was trying to kill me.
March 23rd, 2006 – Darren Porter’s notes. My second visit with the Colonel leaves me more than a bit concerned. He states that General Reynolds will be back tomorrow. The Colonel and I have developed a theory that Poe fathered children secretly with Sarah Royster Shelton and possibly even the poet Sarah Helen Whitman. He cautioned me that the powers above him may react poorly to any contact with someone of the Poe bloodline and that Gettysburg may not be safe for me.
Rapidly becoming an expert on Poe, I noted that when he was found in a distressed state shortly before his death in Baltimore, he was shouting something about a person named Reynolds. Colonel Vincent is unaware if the General and Poe knew each other. It is widely speculated that he was referring to another writer, but now I am starting to wonder. It also reminds me of the investigation The Eye of Horus conducted at the cemetery where Poe is buried. Who was that spirit? I fished out the tape and watched it again. Who is this Ross person and who did the spirit there want revenge on? 
A look at my family tree shows a marriage between Beatrice Royster Shelton and Michael Edmund Ross in 1870. I have not tracked that branch of my family, but Beatrice was the older of two twin girls that were adopted by Mrs. Shelton around 1850. Were they actually adopted or were they the fruit of some tryst with Poe?  If this power does run in the family, then perhaps the Ross branch has it too? Maybe I’m seeing circles within circles, but this is becoming slightly unnerving.
I will speak with Colonel Vincent and ask his opinion of the Ross connection. I want to know -- Karla is at her apartment and I’ve asked her to look into that branch of my family. I haven’t really clued her in that there may be a sinister aspect to all of this. She tends to be a worrier and I’d rather not burden her. After all, I’ve no intentions of declaring war on the spirit world. I’ve dedicated my life to paranormal research. Even so, I am going to make some arrangements for us to leave town in case things take a turn for the worse and leave Karla with emergency instructions, both to protect her and to safeguard my research.
His notes ended there. I knew that he was scheduled to give a tour the following day. Instead of leading that tour, much like a delirious Edgar Allan Poe, he stumbled around town and into an emergency room looking like he’d been through hell. He died pretty much the exact moment I was rolled off a military transport plane in Dover, Delaware. 

For the next two days, I was exhausted, sleeping poorly, and quite possibly the most miserable holiday guest that Rusty’s family has ever endured. My brain was running in overdrive. I’m not ashamed to admit how this information spooked me. Yeah, bad pun, sue me. With Rusty’s windshield finally repaired, we were scheduled to leave in the morning and I could find Silas or even one of my “Caspers” to help me process all this. Either way, I was certain that no answers were forthcoming, so I might as well try and get some rest. 
As before, my sleep was troubled that night. Still, unless I consciously drool, I must have gotten some rest. All I know was that there was a time when I was drifting in and out and suddenly I was very awake. There was someone else in the room, a suspicion that was confirmed as my eyes settled on a female standing at the foot of my bed. I thought I was dreaming – the first clue being that the girl was naked. Now I’ve had my fair share of dreams involving naked girls, but usually they’re girls that I know; this one was a stranger. 
From the bright aura, she was also a ghost. Obviously the saying, “No rest for the weary” applied here.
I could see her lips moving, but the only things I heard were the sounds that a house makes when the wind is blowing outside, at night. My brain wasn’t functioning on many high levels, but the lower levels of Mike Ross were appreciating the view. The young woman, maybe in her early twenties, moved around the foot of the bed, and shimmered a bit, which helped my muzzy brain confirm that this wasn’t the usual naked-girl dream, and I might actually be awake, looking at a ghost.  The dream ones just didn’t glow like that.
That was a sobering thought. I leaned over the side of the bed and snatched my sword. “I can’t hear you unless we are in physical contact and I’m not letting you near me until I’m certain we’re alone. Let’s do this nice and easy and not wake the rest of the house. Are you here alone?”
The unclothed woman visibly sighed and nodded her head. She honestly looked a bit on the irritated side.
I held my injured arm out to her and lowered the sword to my side. “Just touch my hand. It stings a little, so lightly if you please.”
“Would you like me to fix that for you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Try not to scream. This will likely hurt.” She stuck her finger into her mouth, licked it in a rather disturbing fashion, and then stuck her finger into my non-functional ear. 
The last thing I’d heard out of that ear was the IED blast in Iraq. Right then I heard another pop and a squishy sound like water being poured, but all of that paled in comparison to the pain I was experiencing – it was like the usual ghost electric shock, amplified to Taser levels. I opened my mouth to scream, but the woman placed her other hand over my mouth.
“Are you quite finished, Ferryman?” She commented, shaking the hand where I bit her.  My teeth felt like I’d gone through some deep scaling. Her voice had that I’m-not-going-to-take-any-crap-from-you-tone used by my most frightening teachers from elementary school. It was almost enough to distract me from the fact that she was standing in my bedroom, wearing nothing more than her dignity and self-confidence, which, like the rest of her, was quite impressive.
“I’m sorry for the pain, Ferryman, most of the living cannot sense the almost departed. You are obviously the most sensitive person I have met,” she said. She studied my face, and then noticed that my eyes were flicking down from her face to the rest of her. Grabbing my blanket with her hand, there was a ripping sound, only the blanket remained in my hands. She busily wrapped a ghostly blanket around herself, fashioning it quickly into an under-the-arms wrap, like a bath towel.
“Who are you?” I asked, “And why are you calling me ‘ferryman?’”
“We have not been properly introduced and you are still waving that useless blade.”
“What do you mean useless?”
The woman held the palm of her hand out and touched the flat side of my sword. A look of intense concentration crossed her face and a jolt of what felt like electricity surged through my arm forcing me to yelp and drop it.
She smiled and then primly sat down on my bed.
“As I said, the blade is useless. Against a lesser spirit, I am certain it is quite formidable, but I recommend that you stick to forged iron. As for the name, Charon the ferryman would carry the spirits of the dead across the river Styx,” she explained. “The ghosts from the war between the states have been murmuring about a new ferryman, so I decided that there must be some truth to the rumors. As to whom I am, names are not terribly important, but when I was alive, I was Miss Eva Kutz.”
“Mike Ross. You talked to a ghost from the Civil War?” I asked.
“Yes, he was looking for you and your friend,” Eva replied.
“Then I’ve got to get out of here,” I said, trying to stuff down my panic.
“You are quite safe here,” Eva said authoritatively. “The valley here is a bit of a wonder – no ghosts can get in, no ghosts can get out.”
“How’s that?”
“Again, the answer is iron,” Eva explained. “This was an old mining town – mostly coal, but a bit of iron as well. Every time the Susquehanna floods, it leaves a high-water mark -- a band of mud – rich red-brown mud surrounding the area. That mud contains enough iron to make a ghost barrier that effectively seals the valley.” 
“But iron won’t do it, something needs to charge it,” I protested.
“Oh?” she replied, a look of amusement on her face.
“I’ve done experiments.”
“Yes, as I have done those experiments too – it’s something about the river that charges the iron – you see the Susquehanna as a slow red-brown river – I see it as a ribbon of fire,” Eva said.
And so we began a discussion of everything we both knew about how iron effects ghosts – rather much like a few conversations I’ve had with Brother Silas and later with Chuck Candelmas, except Eva was a lot easier to look at.
“Every ghost I’ve met wears clothes – how is it that you didn’t have any when you showed up here?” I asked.
She smiled again. “I take it you are not in the habit of entertaining naked women in your bedroom, whether living or dead? I know a lot about the Susquehanna for a reason; I died in a flood when the Susquehanna breached its banks in the year 1901. I was asleep at the time, and hadn’t the time to dress before dying.”
I tried very hard at the moment to not think of her sleeping – unclothed, apparently, as I’ve tried very hard to limit my lecherous thoughts to the living. 
“What about your family?” I asked, trying to get fully awake.
“I had no family in Kingston,” she said. “I was a schoolteacher, I lived alone. My little cottage in the valley was the best I could afford.”
What followed after that was one of the stranger conversations I’ve ever had in my short life, Eva sitting on the foot of my bed, me sitting up, a pillow cushioning my back as I leaned against the wall. 
Miss Kutz, was quite the conversationalist, and soon I found myself telling her most of my life story – which is rather depressing when you compress it into a few sentences – being raised by Mom after Dad left us, graduating, barely, from high school, joining the Army and having a so-so stint as an enlisted grunt until I got blown up by a roadside bomb.
She found my tale about going back to school particularly interesting, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the appropriate times as I told her about my new-found discoveries. Eva, it seems, was the black sheep of her well-to-do Philadelphia family. She went to college in an age when few women went to college, refused several marriages that had been suggested by her mother, opting instead to support herself as a school teacher in a poor mining town in Pennsylvania, namely the town of Kingston, which was not far from where I was that day in Wilkes-Barre. 
Like many well-intentioned rich girls, she’d found out that living with the poor was not quite as romantic as it might have seemed when you were living on the proper side of town, but she made the best of her situation. She knew about Poe, but only as a promising American writer of short stories and poems, several of which she’d included in her short teaching career. The Great Cleansing was something that she’d heard about in passing, but predated her by over fifty years. As for my “friends” in Gettysburg, she agreed they were up to something, but she never left the valley.
Eva confirmed what little I knew about how ghosts work, namely that most people die and their spirits pass on to wherever spirits go, but ghosts, for some reason, are stuck. She called them the ‘almost departed’ which seemed witty when she said it. My suspicion that some ghosts were more powerful than others was also proven true. 
My new lady friend couldn’t explain why that was, although she did know that ghosts didn’t particularly care for electricity, as it made them quite uncomfortable, ranging from a mild irritation, to excruciating pain, depending upon the particular ghost. 
Apparently, this meant that I needed to build a house in this valley, one with an electric fence. Then I could have my very own fortress of solitude. Now, all I needed was the cash – an all too common occurrence in my life. 
What Darren Porter’s ghosts called a focus, she called an anchor, but no, she didn’t know how the anchor worked, but did know that if the anchor were destroyed, or placed in the ghost’s tomb, that was usually sufficient to release the ‘almost departed’ to wherever they went next.
She then explained that, in her experience, other ghosts stayed behind because they had some task that needed doing – a family member to protect, a murderer to haunt, or something mundane like a task that in life seemed important, but was never done. When I asked which kind of ghost she was, she smiled and said that she had no anchor that she knew of. 
I noted her avoidance of the question and pressed on, “So, if I were to ask you for your best guess, what would you say that the Ghosts in Gettysburg are doing? They are collecting energy, but for what purpose?”
Her expression darkened, “There’s a third type of ghost, Mister Ferryman Ross, one you’d do well to avoid,”she said earnestly. “The almost departed try to give them a wide berth, and thankfully, there are precious few of them.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.
“They very much don’t want to be dead, and they are very, very afraid of what happens next, when we move on to whatever happens after we stop being ghosts,” she said, “so they try to turn things back.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They possess the living. The gathered energy allows them to stay in control,” she explained, making a face like the notion of that was somehow indecent.
I suppose that was when I fully awake , the suspicious, cynical bastard in me would try to figure out why a pretty, almost naked girl was perched on my bed, having a lengthy conversation about our respective lives, or in her case, her life after death. 
“Okay Eva, I appreciate the warning, but what the hell do you want?”
“Mister Ross, even in your day, it’s not proper to use such language in front of a lady,” she chided, resuming her peaceful stance at the foot of the bed. “Still, I suppose your overly cautious attitude is a product of your recent encounter and you would be correct in assuming that not all ghosts have your best interests at heart. They do not. I assure you that I am no Skinwalker. If I’d been one, I would have taken you before you ever woke up. I am merely a ghost, one of the almost departed.”
Maybe it was the fact that she was brighter than any other ghost I’d seen, I wasn’t buying the “merely a ghost” part.
“As to how I found you, while I don’t have much to do with the nearly departed from the War Between the States, even I noticed a number of them scouting around the edge of the barrier. I questioned them from my side and they asked if I’d seen any strange men coming in to the valley. They’d tracked you two into Wilkes-Barre, but then couldn’t get past the barrier. I told them that I hadn’t seen anything amiss, and they went elsewhere.  You’re rather easy to find, if you know what to look for,” she said.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“The miserable Private at the barrier mentioned the Fletcher family. Well, I know all of the families in this valley, at least those families which have been here for a generation or more, so visiting the three houses where Fletchers reside was a fairly simple task; all I had to do then was look for a living man who shines like a ghost. Your typical, mundane ghost doesn’t pay much attention to the world of the living, unless, of course, their focus is a task that involves the living, such as haunting their murderer,” she began. “We can see the living, of course, but they are usually just something moving in the background to us. You, however, are quite singular – you show up, quite vividly, I might add, in both worlds.” 
“I shine?” I asked.
“Not overly much,” she replied. “I can’t detect you outside of this house, but once I entered this room, it was as easy to see as a candle on a nightstand.”
“You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble to find me,” I growled.
“Oh, not as much trouble as General Reynolds--he has dozens of men scouring the area for you.”
“As to what I want, I happen to be in need of the services of a ferryman,” she said, tugging at the ends of the ghost blanket.
There was a moment of panic just then, thinking that she was going to take the blanket off. As I’ve said before, Brother Silas’ efforts to the contrary, I’m not much in the morals department – I don’t hit on minors, I don’t date two women at once, you know -- the usual things. I made up another rule on the spot – I don’t hit on dead women, even if the ghost in question is still hot more than a century after her death. My sudden moral development was wasted, however. Eva shifted the blanket around so she could twist the ends into a knot of some variety before standing up again. 
“You want help passing over?” I asked.
She smiled. 
“Not yet,” she said. “I still have much work to do in this valley, but there are a number of children who died in the flood of 1901 and the flood of 1948 – their bodies were never recovered, like mine, disappearing into the river and presumably on out into the sea.”
“And you want me to help them,” I stated.
“Yes,” she said with an amused look on her face.
“If that’s the case, do I get my two coins a head?” I asked.
“I should think that regaining some of the hearing in your injured ear should be worth at least two silver coins to you,” she replied, walking towards the door. 
She was smooth and confident – she expected me to follow – she wasn’t going to argue with me, and I was going to be a good little soldier and obey her. 
The only problem, she was right.
I won’t bore you with the blow-by-blow details of what happened next – just another episode of Mike Ross, the go-to guy for ghosts who can’t get it together to pass on. With a little manual labor and a shovel, I poked a temporary hole in the barrier protecting the valley. 
If there was some modicum of “payoff” in all this, it had to be watching a motley collection of ghost children excitedly jumping around Eva and hugging each other. It was probably the kind of thing Darren would have done with this power. Eva was having a difficult time maintaining control of her emotions, as the youngsters began to wink out of existence. Hopefully, I’d just stockpiled a boatload of good karma. Tired, dirty, and exhausted, I used the shovel to plug the barrier and then said my goodbye to Eva. She looked ready for a good cry. 
It took an hour to trudge back to where Rusty and I were staying. No one asked where I’d been and why I needed a shovel. I was just cousin Rusty’s creepy friend and I doubted that I would be invited back anytime soon. I may have worn out Rusty’s welcome as well. We had coffee and sticky buns and an hour later, we were back on the road, looking for the signs for the exit that would take us to I-476.
“Sleep well, Mike?” Rusty asked as he turned his radio on, looking for a country station.
“Not really,” I said, hoping that he wouldn’t ask.
Even with Rusty, who’d seen me battle Colonel Vincent’s troops, hand to ghostly hand, it would just take too long to explain. 
There were lots of questions, a few incomplete answers, and more debt than cash – it sounded like the story of my life.


Episode 8: No Reason to Panic

Everyone makes New Year’s resolutions. Some people want to lose weight or stop smoking; some might want to get into, or out of, a meaningful relationship. The promises we make to ourselves were always the easiest to go back on. For my part, I was in Iraq on New Year’s Day 2006 and my resolution was to make it through to 2007 with all my original parts intact.
Yeah, that went so well didn’t it?
Did anything really changed? It seemed that I was in another war, one where I didn’t understand the end objective, nor who the enemy was, which was rather much like Iraq, just without the heat, the sand and the interesting smells. Oh, and in Iraq, there was lots and lots of backup too. 
Fast forward one year later and I’ve discovered that ghosts really exist. Some of them have banded together with an agenda; one that didn’t involve people that could see and touch them. Outside of an elderly blind preacher, I was the only one equipped for this. The only saving grace was that the bad guys were looking for a guy named Michael Ross, not David Michael Ross, Junior. For once, having my old man’s name was doing something useful, beyond the usual problems with my credit history.
I was supposedly a major player in a struggle that no one really saw fit to explain to me. I’d kill my enemies except for one minor problem – they’re already dead. To make matters worse, my backup consisted of a couple of well meaning preachers, my weekly poker group, and a pair of ghosts who were more interested in exploring each other than any mundane problems that I might have.
Wherever “the enemy” was, I’m sure they were trembling in fright.
Have I mentioned that I was broke again? Unlike the government, I couldn’t go to Congress, pass an emergency spending bill and raise the national debt to finance my war.
On a positive note, I found out that I’m probably distantly related to Edgar Allan Poe and that he and at least his brother possessed this same crazy power and fought the good fight against the paranormal.
The downside to that is that both Poe brothers apparently died in their private little war, William Henry in his mid-twenties. Edgar was depicted as a tortured soul and he couldn’t hold a job or a steady relationship – other than his marriage to his cousin.
None of that fit into my five year plan. Besides, most of my cousins weren’t much to look at – except for maybe Holly, but she’s married already and I’m not that desperate. 
Still all this did have me thinking about dear old dad. Did he have this power as well? Is that why he just up and left one day, or was he just the family-deserting bastard I’d always believed he was? Darren Porter was a ghost enthusiast. I was living proof that some people weren’t too thrilled about the sudden ability to see “the other side”. He’s not-so living proof of being careful what you wished for.
For 2007, I didn’t want to be committed to something that clearly might be outside of my control. This year called for flexibility above all else. I’d regained a bit of hearing in my bad ear, and my eyesight was getting better in my injured eye. With some luck, I’d be behind the wheel again before summer began. So with that in mind, my New Year’s resolution was simply to be flexible and adapt to whatever was coming my way.
I’d just finished sending off an email to my pseudo-girlfriend, Candace, when the phone rang.
“Hello?” 
I picked up the receiver hoping that it might just be the attractive deputy from Roanoke.
“Ross. Bryan Wycheck here.” 
Damn, wrong cop! He definitely wasn’t my type – he probably looked terrible in a little black dress too.
“What can I do for you detective? Have they finalized the court date?”
“It’s cancelled. It gives me great pleasure to say that this will be our last conversation.” 
There was nothing like a condescending prick with a badge. “Why’d they cancel it?”
“Don’t you know these things already, psychic boy?”
“Blow me – I see ghosts, I don’t predict the future.” 
Since he wasn’t being nice, I saw no need to humor him. Plus, with this being our last conversation, I figured I shouldn’t spare his feelings any.
“In that case, watch the TV or pickup a paper, if you can read, you worthless piece of trailer trash,” Wycheck growled.
“Aw did I upset you Officer? I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your ego was so fragile.”
“You got a real smart mouth on you, Ross. One of these days it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble, punk. Of course, since you believe in ghosts, you might want to watch out for old Charlie Snowden,” Wycheck said, going silent all of the sudden.
Obviously, he didn’t know me that well. I didn’t have to wait for one of these days; my mouth got me into trouble all the time.
“He’s dead?”
“And here I thought you weren’t all that quick. Just goes to show…”
I ignored him. “How’d it happen?”
“Some upstanding ordinary decent criminal, a kid who reminds me a bit of you in fact, rammed a shiv into Charlie’s chest last night in jail. Like I said, nothing to worry about, unless you think Snowden’s ghost can actually hurt you.”
Amidst the bastard’s cackling laughter, the receiver went dead. 
Great! I could add someone else to the list of persons I’d need to look over my shoulder for. I called “Grandma” Meg, but she already knew. Kevin and Elsbeth, my somewhat friendly ghosts were off on a date to watch Kevin’s boy play basketball. Meg was more than a bit worried. I told her that I’d meet up with Brother Silas and get her house blessed again as soon as he could.

It was still weeks before Groundhog Day, but two days later I did my best Punxsutawney Phil impression and ventured out of the house for the start of the winter session at Montgomery College. Fortunately, I was only taking a couple of general courses this time around, Sociology in the mornings and History in the afternoon to fulfill the general requirements of my degree. Though, I was a bit more interested in History 201 – Colonial to 1865 then I was six months ago.
I suppose if people could see the sword I held in my hand, it’d be a strange sight, but one of the nice things about my sword, formerly Colonel Strong Vincent’s, was that no one but a ghost could see it, so it was the ultimate concealed weapon. Of course the most I could do with it if I fought with a living person would be giving them a cold chill up their spine.
I was comforted by the thought that at least Charlie Snowden would be difficult to miss. The man was an offensive lineman in college days about six foot five and beefy, but I was willing to bet that a face full of the iron filings from my jacket pocket would cause him a whole world of pain.
Ever have your eyes play tricks on you? That’s what it was like going to the bus stop. I half expected Snowden to leap out at me at any second. Elsbeth and Kevin can do this little trick where they hide in a wall and just barely peek out enough to see what’s coming before they pop out. They think it’s funny--I think it’s creepy.
I knew what ghosts were capable of, the big question was, if Charlie was one and if so, how much did he know about what ghosts could do?
Looking out the window of the bus as it pulled away, I thought I saw someone who looked like him across the street. That’s the problem with paranoia, the more you think about it, the worse it gets. Guys in my company in Iraq called it “shifty eyes”. You’d scan a crowd of dozens of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one that’s really going to try and kill you.
Getting off the bus, I headed into the main building and looked for my class. The irony was it was Psychology and I was feeling like a psycho. Oh well, at least I could still laugh at myself. I concentrated on “normal” things like the syllabus and the professor’s expectations. That allowed me to finally relax.
After class let out, I was sitting in the cafeteria, eating some lunch and idly gazing at my history book. A decidedly female voice interrupted me, “Mind if I join you?”
The voice belonged to Jenny Goodman. She stood holding a tray, looking at me pointedly. Given our history together, this was an interesting development. “I don’t see why not. How’re you?”
“I’m doing okay. I really needed the time off. How about you? Did you have a good break?” She sat down and started nibbling on a chef’s salad.
“I got a call from your uncle the other day. He was as pleasant as ever.” I tossed that out to see how she’d react. Both her aunt and uncle were against the idea that Jenny spends any time with me. 
Jenny made a sour face and rolled her eyes. “I heard the other end of that conversation. He doesn’t like you that much. You get on his nerves.”
“Really? It’s a gift. What can I say?”
“Pretty strange about that Snowden guy getting killed in jail. You’re not worried about his ghost coming after you, are you?” Jenny asked.
“It’s on my list, but it’s not on the top of it though.”
“What is?” Jenny seemed genuinely concerned.
“Where to start?” I rolled up the sleeve of the sweater I was wearing, revealing the scar where Rusty Fletcher patched up my arm. “I ran into Colonel Strong Vincent again. He jammed a poker into my arm.” The scar was easier to explain than distant links to a ghost-battling Edgar Allan Poe and things likely more powerful than Vincent.
Her eyes bugged out and she swallowed hard. “That’s awful! What happened? You didn’t go back to Gettysburg did you?”
“I’m really not in the mood, but the short story is Colonel Vincent was holding Darren’s girlfriend hostage at a cottage in Pennsylvania. I rescued her and drove him off.”
“Did you get the answers you needed?”
“I got more than I bargained for. Mind if we drop it for now?”
She looked a bit miffed. I knew her well enough to know that she wanted to pepper me with questions. “Okay,” Jenny said cheerfully, “how’s my cousin?”
Maybe Journalism or something involving interrogation would be more up Jenny’s alley than Accounting. 
“Pretty good. She’s finally done with the holiday overtime. She’s coming up this weekend, unless something else comes up. I haven’t seen her since you and Chaz bumped into us.”
She looked irritated; it was worth the trouble tweaking her. 
“His name is Carleton, not Chaz.” 
“Whatever. How’s he doing anyway?”
“He’s back at George Mason, but we’ve been out on a few dates.”
If she was looking for some kind of reaction, I wasn’t going to give one. Don’t get me wrong, Jenny was very attractive. She was also a little naïve and only a year removed from all the pettiness that was high school. Oh the television drenched drama of it all.
I took a moment to gnaw on my leftover fried chicken leg. 
“That’s cool. Tell him I said, ‘hey,’ next time you talk to him.”
“Uh sure, okay. I actually have a job in the mornings.”
“Oh, that’s right, good for you. What are you doing?”
“Don’t you remember? I’m working for Carleton’s father, at his law firm.”
“You never really said. So is he an ambulance chaser?”
Now she looked annoyed. “No, he does oil and gas law. Mineral rights and all that stuff.” Her hand motions became more noticeable when she’s agitated. It was actually rather amusing and I needed a good chuckle. I stop short of trying to figure out a way to insult an oil and gas lawyer. Mineral rights? Sounds like the people who show up with the big companies to cheat you out of your land and what’s under it as well.
“So what do you do at a law firm?”
“Just about anything that needs done: invoicing, filing, running stuff down to the courts. It pays decently enough and I’ll see if I can pick up some vocational credit along the way for my accounting degree. What about you? Has anyone else called you from that news article?”
“No, that’s pretty much tapered off, but I solved another missing person case over in Bowie.”
She begged me for details, but I was curious about one thing first.
“Before I tell you the story, I have to know why the change of heart? Last year I was lower than dirt.”
“I thought about some of the things you said to me over the holidays and you were right about not asserting myself. I spent most of my teenage years being a hellion around my mom and giving my dad fits after she died. I took a long look at myself and realized that I’d been overcompensating by trying to be the perfect little angel for my aunt and uncle.” She paused searching for other words and finally continued, “Mr. Binstock offered me the job and I took it over their objections, but considering my GPA is perfect, at this point, they’ve got nothing to complain about. Plus, Mr. Binstock is like my father’s best friend. Something tells me that if I step out of line, it won’t be too long before he hears about it.”
“And how does that explain you sitting here this morning?”
“Well, being assertive means I should be able to choose my friends and not let people dictate who I can hang out with.”
I probably smiled for the first time all day and let out a low whistle. “Well, look who’s become Miss Independent all of a sudden.”
“I know! Isn’t it shocking? Now, tell me, what happened in Bowie?”

One nice thing about chatting with Jenny was it got my mind off things. She’s just like that. Anyone who has ever talked with her can agree. In contrast, Brother Silas Parker was very somber, but he’d gotten the whole story including the revelations from the departed Darren Porter. Rusty seemed rather concerned over the news. This might have been due to his being tossed through the air like a rag doll, courtesy of the good colonel. It made me wonder if he’d volunteer his services next time I needed a ride.
Jenny instead was gushing over Elsbeth’s relationship with Kevin and how they’re both trying to be better people – dead, but still better morally than they were when they were alive. It must have appealed to the Jane Austen or Nora Roberts in her. Me, I wasn’t nearly as impressed with the mousey woman finally being treated like a person, rather than a doormat, or the notion that the serial-cheating dentist was test driving moral fortitude. Still, talking with Jenny was the shot in the arm that I needed against the doom and gloom that I’d been playing over and over in my mind.
History was more interesting than I hoped. The instructor was passionate for it, which was nice. Let’s face it; the material was pretty much the same whether it was being taught here or at George Mason. It boiled down to how much the student wants to learn and how capable the Professor was able to deliver and discuss it. My newly acquired thirst to learn about History would be put to the test, plus there was that old saying about those who didn’t learn from it.
In my case, if I didn’t learn from it, it might kill me.

One thing about the short winter session, it takes a toll on you. I spent most of the evenings reading and writing essays. I quickly realized that I should have only taken one class. Between the coursework and the constant looking over my shoulder, I was exhausted. I even bowed out of that week’s poker game with the guys.
The good thing was no class on Friday, so I had a three day weekend to look forward to. By Thursday I was ready for it. Candy managed to clear off her schedule and we were going to give this dating thing a second shot. It sounded like she needed as much of a break as I did as well. She wholeheartedly admitted how stressful her job was. Over the holidays, Candy worked two fatal car accidents. She wasn’t very squeamish, but the gore got to her. My hope was that I could keep up with the “wild child” that lurked just below her oh-so-attractive deputy veneer.
I salvaged the last fifteen minutes of class. Clockwatching and idle speculation had eaten up most of the last hour, all the tell tale signs of burn out. Let’s face it; Mike Ross was a mediocre student to begin with. There was a reason that the four year schools I’d applied to hadn’t come knocking on my door with scholarship offers. Even my computer courses last term left me struggling. I had an aptitude for the field, but concentrating on things like the OSI model and learning to write basic scripts didn’t hold my attention nearly as much as I hoped.
Maybe I could combine the two fields? Check your home computer for viruses and the rest of your house for ghosts, all in one visit! All for the low price of $79.95! There’d be commercials and everything!
The lights’ flickering caught the attention of everyone in the room. A murmur of anticipation passed through the room, as my classmates suddenly hoped for an early dismissal. It wouldn’t have helped me. The bus wouldn’t get to the stop any earlier. 
The Professor hurried the rest of his lecture. He must have been eager to get started on his weekend too. He dismissed us about ten minutes early, so I lagged behind, not wanting to go rushing out into the cold evening to stand at the bus stop for longer than necessary. I decided a pit stop in the bathroom was in order.
Stepping up to the urinal, I was in the middle of relieving myself when the lights flickered again. There was a feeling like when the air pressure changes just before a rainstorm. That was all the warning I got as a big frame literally burst out of the wall and rammed me backwards into the stall behind me.
Charlie Snowden in a stylish prison jumpsuit, big as life – well sort of, plowed right into me. We bounced into the stall and I tripped over the toilet inside, back into the corner. The only thing stopping me from falling was his hands wrapping around my throat. With a maniacal gleam in his eyes he started screaming, “You’re gonna pay, Ross! I’m gonna kill you!”  
As far as “bad guy” death speeches go, it was pretty lame. Then again, what the hell was I expecting from him – Shakespeare? He hadn’t learned any new tricks since his death. 
Fortunately, I picked up some useful things along the way.
Though my phantom sword sat uselessly on the ground next to my backpack, my right hand came out of my jacket filled with iron filings and I open palm slapped it straight into his face and used my thumb to rub it into one of his eyes. His screams of agony were music to my ears and more than made up for the piss all over my pants. He dropped to one knee making it rather crowded in this tight area. I wrapped my left hand with my right palm and brought both down on him hard.
Snowden fled into the floor, but I got a kick into his back as he dove. Thanks to my nearly departed friend in Wilkes-Barre, I could now hear his howls fade as he fled. I grabbed my stuff and hurriedly splashed some water all over my pants and hit them with the hand dryers for about five minutes before sprinting out to meet my bus. I’m certain the folks on the bus all wondered where that wonderful odor was coming from. Thankfully, it was dark, and I didn’t care that much about what they thought in the first place.
So, Charlie Snowden was after me. The raw iron burns he picked up tonight should make him think twice about trying that stunt again. With some luck, Charlie would be out of commission for the entire weekend and blind in one eye to boot. Odds were that he wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the barrier around my house, but I’d have to be careful out in public. Scolding myself, I remembered this guy came up with a scheme to off his elderly ex-grandmother-in-law and it almost worked.
The bus ride home was uneventful. I strategically used the backpack to cover myself, though the driver shot me a look when I got on.
The people still moving around the neighborhood paid no attention to the prone form sprawled on the concrete of Mom’s driveway. Normally, you’d think that’d attract a good deal of attention.
I set my bag down and acted like I was checking the tires on the car. My left hand shook Kevin McNeil hard. I was rewarded with a low moan. The neighbor’s dog started barking almost immediately. I wondered whether it was a coincidence, or not, as I prodded the out of shape dentist again and rolled him face up.
His face told me what I would have ended up looking like had Snowden gotten the better of me. Charlie must have given his ex-wife’s boyfriend an examination of his own, except with a two by four.
I helped the ghost to his feet and half-carried him over to the front of the house, outside of my bedroom. He mumbled how Charlie ambushed him after his last “date” with Elsbeth. Considering how bad he looked, I was in good shape – comparison always helps things. 
“Just go through the wall here and into my room. My mom’s home and I don’t feel like explaining why I’m dragging you into the house.”
“Sure, I just need to lie down for a minute. Hey? What smells like pee?”
Okay, I probably didn’t have to shove him at the wall so hard.

“What are you going to do about this?” Elsbeth demanded. She’d come over frantic about her missing beau, only to find him recovering on my floor.
“I’ve already spoken to Silas and he was going to call your grandmother and recommend that she avoid leaving the house. We’re going to lay a protective barrier around his gravesite after the funeral. He’s getting buried tomorrow right? So, we can do it in the evening or Saturday morning. Either way, if his body is his focus and he tries to go back to recharge, old Charlie will be trapped and unable to get out. We can send Kevin in with the sword to finish him off. I’m guessing you’d be up for it, right?”
Only one of Kevin’s eyes was able to open at the moment. 
“Damn straight,” he growled
Elsbeth wasn’t satisfied and her fear of the man was getting the better of her. 
“He’s too strong! You should get more help!”
I fought my urge to shout at her. Mom was out watching her shows, enjoying a rare evening off from her second job at Pizza Hut. I kept music playing to mask the sound of my side of the conversation. Our relationship was on enough thin ice without mom getting wind of this. “Calm down right now! This is no reason to panic! Your ex probably looks a helluva lot worse than Kevin does right now. Look. He’s a big strong bastard, but that’s it. I doubt he knows any of the ‘ins’ and ‘outs’ of being a ghost. Unless he has someone coaching him, he hasn’t been dead long enough to really get a grip on what he can and can’t do.”
“You don’t know him like I do…” 
It’s kind of unnerving to see a ghost trembling.
“Elsbeth, look at me. Look at me! He lost the element of surprise. This was his best shot at me and he blew it.” 
Kevin speaks up, “Where do you think he is now?”
“Who knows? My guess is somewhere licking his wounds. Elsbeth, you keep saying how well you know him, so your job is to think of anything he might use for a focus, if he isn’t using his gravesite. Go on back to Megan’s house; you can’t do any more here.”
“But I should stay, for Kevin…” she trailed off. Either she was really being lovey-dovey or she was begging not to go and I knew Kevin wasn’t going anywhere.
“Fine, stay if you want, but when my mom goes to bed, you two go out and stay on the couch. I need to get some sleep.”
Until then, my combat experience, though limited, took over. We didn’t have a lot, but I was certain we had more than our enemy did. The three of us just needed to act smart…
Sadly, my name and the words “act smart” weren’t often used in the same sentence.

“Can you see him,” I ask the blind man. One of my many problems is that from a distance, ghosts look like regular people to me. It was all pretty much a blur beyond thirty yards. Sometimes I can spot a little haze around them, but most times not. Granted that my vision is still a bit suspect, but my last check up showed a decided improvement.
Brother Silas Parker was completely blind, except he could see ghosts, when they’re out in the open. If they’re obscured by a solid object, he can’t. “Other than our friends, there are two of them over that direction, neither of them look to be big enough to match your description, Mike.”
I wondered whether some of the living funeral goers were there simply to make certain Snowden was dead. Elsbeth pointed out who were his students and members of the faculty. She sneered when pointing out his new girlfriend, who, she said; he only dated because she had “big boobs”. Some things don’t change.
Silas and I were pretending to visit a grave; close enough to watch, but far enough to be out of the way. I spend a lot of time in graveyards these days – so I know how to act.
“Mike, don’t you think you ought to cancel your date with Candy?” Elsbeth asks for the third time.
My answer was a bit on the snappish side. Outside of Jenny pulling her head out of her hiney, the last few days hadn’t been a resounding success – I was really looking forward to my often postponed date. “No, I don’t. She’s my girlfriend. She knows about…” I waved my hands around in slight futility, “all this. We’ve had one date so far and it didn’t go so great. I’m not afraid of him and I’m not going to let him run my life.”
From what little I know of people who’ve possessed this ability, they’ve all died early, in poverty, and were generally regarded as mentally ill. Frankly, that’s not a great career path, so I need to make an effort to buck the trend.
Brother Silas took a conciliatory position and addressed her. “I can assume from the tone of his reply, Elsbeth, that you question his desire to live as normal a life as possible. Michael walks a difficult path; we can only help him along the way as best we can, but only he can carry his burden. Ask yourself, if this were any other ghost, say, the elusive Colonel Vincent, would you be so concerned?”
Elsbeth had the sense to look rebuffed and Silas reached out to where she stood and made like he was resting his hand on her shoulder. His savvy approach was another reminder that ghosts were once people too and that I needed to remember to treat them like they’re still alive.
Of course, he wasn’t finished with me yet, “That said, I think it’s a questionable move on your part as well, Michael, but I was young too; a long time ago and you’re going to be moving around in her car so he’d be hard pressed to track you.” Silas paused like he was searching for something else to say, “Has everyone left?”
“Just about.”
“Good, there will be a stretch of time before the workers come back to put the earth back on top of the casket. We should be able to get in and sanctify the gravesite then. Watch the parking lot and tell me when the last car leaves.”
Minutes later, the group of us walked towards Snowden’s grave. Charlie floated out of his casket and glared at us. Elsbeth moved protectively behind Kevin, carried my sword. The pipe wrench was in my backpack, but I was starting to become rather fond of handfuls of iron dust. After all, Charlie’s ghostly face looked like he’d shoved it into a wasp’s nest.
“What’s it going to be, Charlie?”
He hissed back at me, “I’m not going to the other side until you’re dead, Ross. This is all your fault!”
“Sure, blame the guy who stopped you from murdering an elderly woman for her money, not the guy who actually killed you. You’re nothing but a punk, Snowden.”
“Charlie, for the love of God, give it up!” Elsbeth pleaded.
“You’ll get yours, you stupid bitch! After I’m done with shithead here, I’m coming for you and you’re little boyfriend. You thought you could get away from me! I own your ass, bitch, and I always will!”
Elsbeth shrieked and I started moving towards him. “Well come on big shot! You want some of this? No time like the present. Let’s see how tough you really are.”
He wagged a finger at me and put on his best menacing face. “Not today, but soon. I’ll be coming for you very soon. Enjoy your last days…”
With that he dived into the ground and disappeared, while my voice trailed him. “How long have you been practicing that speech, asshole? Kevin, keep an eye out for him. C’mon Silas, let’s get this over with.” The holy man laid gave his blessing around the gravesite, a blessing that I reinforced it with three tubes of iron dust. Snowden’s grave was as good as sealed. If he doesn’t have an external focus, he’ll stay put.
Meanwhile, Kevin convinced a couple of local ghosts to keep an eye out for “big and stupid”.  Naturally, this cost me a promise to help those two find their way to pass on – which made this another one of those times when it really did seem like I was running a charity outfit for misfit ghosts.

Candace McKenna was a sight for sore eyes and let me tell you, my eyes were positively suffering! It was good to be wanted. A woman driving hours just to see me when I offered little except my company was a real shot in the arm. Mom insisted that she wanted to say hello to the deputy. It made me feel a bit like I was still a teenager, but it was nice to see that they were getting along. 
Climbing into her car, she smiled. “Your mom’s very nice.”
I chuckled at her diplomacy, “She tries. You’re the first girlfriend I think she’s really gotten along with. Frankly, it worries me.”
“Well, I am notoriously hard to dislike. It’s an old joke, but who doesn’t like Candy?” Her southern belle accent was tinged with amusement. 
I patted my jacket. Several bottles of filings and a nice little iron chisel that I’d found in Megan Rosemont’s garage were there. Both the sword and the pipe wrench would have been too awkward to carry in good clothes.
Catching me looking around as her car pulled out of the driveway, she chided me slightly and firmly squeezed my thigh, “Ya oughta calm down there, sugar. I don’t reckon, that ghost of yours is gonna be able to follow us.”
I noted the UPS driver stopping at my house as it retreated into the distance. “I’m sure I can take him, but I just don’t want him finding out about the other ghosts that want me dead. Everything I know about him says that he’s the impatient type, so I don’t think I’ll have to wait long.”
We spent a few minutes catching up on the few odds and ends that didn’t come up in our emails or telephone conversations and sensing that I needed the distraction, she went into a lengthy story from her past featuring the antics of a fifteen year old hellraiser and a nine year old tagalong named Jenny. Pulling into the restaurant, she was just finishing up the rather amusing tale including citing what penal codes the two of them violated.
“That’s probably why Jenny was so surprised to see me in a uniform. Everyone always ‘spected that I’d end up spending a lot of time around cops, I figured that I might as well get paid for it.”
There was a pleasant interlude of maybe five or ten seconds of silence which abruptly ended with our lips mashing together like a couple of school kids on their first date. I suppose it would have been funny if I’d thought about it, but I was otherwise occupied at the time.
Several wet, sloppy kisses later and an instance involving my hand finding a particularly ticklish spot on her body, we separated. Candy flashed me a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin and said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and I need to get some fuel for the dance club. Oh don’t give me that face; ya know there’s more where that came from – much more.”
Damn all women who tease. Damn them to hell!


I was more than a bit uncomfortable during our meal. Originally, I’d wanted a table booth in the corner, but considering, old Charlie could come through either the floor or the wall itself, that wasn’t a great plan. After giving the hostess at Red Lobster a fit, we ended up along the window at a table.
Added to my discomfort was the physical presence of Ms. McKenna. Once her nice leather jacket was removed, the dreaded little black dress made another appearance. Ignoring, or perhaps savoring my appraisal, she proceeded to nibble and make small talk with me, all while playing a bit of “footsie” under the table.
Damn all women who can tease – especially when they can multitask! 
I did my level best to ignore her cruel game. Hell, I’d been dancing with her before. It was only going to get worse at the club. Still, I kept the presence of mind to occasionally look for Charlie, who hadn’t made an appearance so far.
“Mike, I wanted to wait until I was face to face with you, but my supervisor was wondering if ya might wanna come down and check out some of the other cemeteries and crime scenes. He’s got one or two cold cases that he’d be pleased as I don’t know what to solve. I don’t think they’d foot the bill for you to stay in a hotel, but I reckon that I can find a place to put you up for a few days.” She smiled sweetly before continuing. “Both have the standard reward, but one has a nice little chunk of change attached to it.”
Okay, so Candy was teasing me, offering me a mini-vacation at her place, and a chance to pick up some cash! It was way too early to say I loved this girl, but I could definitely say there was a lot to like. 
“I should be done with the winter session by the Martin Luther King holiday. I could come down there over the three day weekend and you can show me what a good time in Roanoke is like.” I grinned, giving her a taste of her own innuendo as I reached under the table and ran my hand on the back of her calf.
“Great! I don’t wanna sound all mercenary and what not, but I’m hoping that if ya can help me solve one or two of these here old cases that I might be in line for a little old promotion.”
Most of my ghost work lately was a run of charity cases; I was still smarting over how ten grand of reward money seemingly evaporated overnight. I certainly didn’t mind this offer. “Well, you scratch my back and I will definitely scratch yours, Candace.”
“I’ll do more than just scratch, sugar.”
Did I mention that there was a lot to like about Candy McKenna?

I was in much better shape since the last time I’d gone dancing with Candy. The metal rod in my leg still ached a bit, but nothing a couple of well timed pain relievers couldn’t handle. Still just after midnight, she decided she’d had enough of this standup foreplay and wanted to get onto the main event.
She’d rented hotel room for the weekend to avoid that air of discomfort of being under the same roof with my mom. Instead, we’d be under the same roof with a bunch of strangers.
Our room was on the fourth floor and quite honestly, I wasn’t much interested in the décor. My philosophy is less is better, whether it’s wall coverings, floral arrangements, or Candy’s clothes. Once inside, we went after each other like a pair of dogs in heat until she broke away.
“Why don’t ya just sit back and relax and I’ll slip off to the bathroom and freshen up for a sec?”
I couldn’t argue with her plan. “You’re still teasing me.”
“I know, but you’re a big boy. Besides, the wait is almost over…”
Our witty banter continued for a minute or two until she opened the bathroom door and leaned against the doorway. She was wearing only her earrings and a necklace and silhouetted by the dim light of the bathroom.
Looking anything but innocent, she sweetly asked, “Do ya like what ya see?”
“No complaints here Officer McKenna. Never thought that I’d look forward to the prospect of a strip search.”
As she sauntered across the carpet, I was thinking that this was the perfect end to the perfect night.
Of course, that was right about the time that the fire alarm went off and the sprinklers cut on.
“Shit!” I growled.
Candy let out several colorful expressions of her own, while darting back into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes. I could hear a small horde of angry people in the hallway as well. At least we weren’t alone in our misery. I struggled into my own clothes knowing that the lobby was only so big and there were going to be a whole mess of wet people down there.
She finished just ahead of me and came out with her toiletries and tossed them into her overnight bag. “Shake a leg, Mike.”
When Candy opened the door, the massive frame of Charlie Snowden stood in the doorway. She looked right through him. “I don’t see any smoke. I wonder if they had a malfunction or sumptin?”
“Time to die, Ross!”
I was already pulling the chisel out of my jacket. It was a smart move on Charlie’s part. The sprinklers limited what I could do with the iron filings. The small room prevented me from maneuvering. His size versus my speed; the cards were stacked in his favor.
He rushed through Candy and I could see her shiver. I shouted, “Candy! Get out of here!”
“Mike! What is it?”
Struggling with the ghost, I didn’t have time to answer her. The momentum carried us onto the queen sized bed and then we rolled onto the floor as a singular mass of knees, elbows, fingers and teeth. I jammed the chisel into his shoulder and he yelped in pain. His weight came down on my chest and I felt all the wind leave me instantly. His fist mashed into my jaw and I saw stars, but I jabbed the chisel into his back repeatedly. 
Holding the metal against his flesh was like searing him with a branding iron; he struggled to get off. Snowden rolled away, through the bed, leaving me gasping for breath. I couldn’t afford to wait and let him recover. Ignoring my pain, I scrambled back over the bed and came down on of him as he was coming out the other side. I managed another stab with the tool, but he violently pushed me off and then sank through the floor.
Candy stood wide-eyed having caught most of the action. From her perspective it must have looked bizarre, especially when I was hovering in the air before being tossed like a rag doll.
I pulled myself up using one of the wet chairs. My left leg protested furiously and I was forced to hobble a bit. “C’mon, let’s get out of here!”
She helped me towards the stairwell. We got to the landing of the third floor when Charlie came crashing through the wall and into us. He wasn’t looking so hot either. Wisps of grey smoke seemed to be rising off of him.
Candy caught herself on the banister, but Charlie and I took a tumble down the unforgiving steps. Fortunately, my weight came down on him, but I took at least one hard whack to the noggin. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and felt Snowden’s arm slapping against my back. Confused, I look back at him and saw my chisel jammed into the side of his neck.
He flopped like a fish, screaming for help while he disintegrated before my eyes. Like anyone was going to help that son of a bitch! He faded out of sight and the chisel dropped the few inches to the concrete with a slight ping.
“Oh Mike, just lie still. I’ll go get some help.” Candy said trying to reassure me. Not a problem, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I know I’ve probably mentioned this before, but it warrants repeating, I hate hospitals. According to my original schedule I should have been basking in the afterglow of sexual gratification. Instead, the only glow around was the fluorescent lighting above the bed in the hospital room I’d been moved to. An equally dissatisfied Candace McKenna sat in the chair in the corner, listening while the doctor gave me the run down.
“Well the X-rays on your ankle and leg came back negative, Mr. Ross. It looks like you’re probably looking at a hyper extended knee and a sprained ankle to go along with your concussion. The good news is both the CT and the MRI of your head were normal. The rod in your leg is actually titanium and not steel, but we had to verify that before giving you the MRI. For the ankle, you’ll be on crutches for a few weeks, but all things considered, you could have been hurt much worse. We need to keep you under observation for awhile. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
“Thanks, Doc.” 
That sounded so much more civil than “All things considered my ass!” The two of us were silent until he left.
“Well at least I’ve got proof now that I’m not brain damaged.”
Candy looked momentarily angry before shaking her head, “Any more than ya already are! I spoke to your mom and she’s going to come by after church to keep you company. I’ll stay until then, but I haveta be back on the road this afternoon.”
“You know, Candy, our dates don’t seem to be going very well. I hope that’s not a sign.” 
She got up and came over to kiss me. “Me too, sugar. Hopefully, in a couple of weeks, we can get you down my way and away from all these nasty ghosts and whatnot. If there’s a silver lining to be had, I’m guessing that ya can lawyer up and get the hotel for a chunka change.”
I hadn’t thought of that up until that point, but she had a decent idea. After all, due to some unknown malfunction, the sprinklers went off. I fell out of bed and hurt my knee. Our wet shoes caused me to slip and fall down a flight of stairs. All of this was certainly the hotel’s responsibility.
At least, that’s the way it would read on my claim.

Late Sunday evening, mom drove me back to the house in my Saturn. When she asked, I’d stuck to the slip and fall story. 
“Pastor Duncan’s finally back from Alabama. His sermon was good, but you can sense that he’s sad about his sister passing on. He sends his prayers and told me that Brother Silas would be giving you a phone call tomorrow morning. Are you going to be able to make your classes? I can probably go in a little late if you need me to drop you off.”
I answered her. “That’ll work. I can just get up earlier, so it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anyway, don’t ask how, but there were already two messages from lawyers on the machine when I got back from church, though I think one of them is the folks representing the hotel chain. Don’t let them push you into a settlement. When I’m at my cleaning job tomorrow, I can ask the attorney at NIST what he thinks about your situation.”
I shook my head skeptically and laughed. Maybe it was the pain meds speaking, “Two things to live by, don’t trust lawyers and don’t trust the government. If that’s the case, a government lawyer is the last person I should talk to!”
She seemed offended and proceeded to tell me what a nice man that lawyer was, but I was too tired and jacked up on pain killers to really pay much attention. I simply listened to the easy listening radio station she had on and watched the buildings go by.
It wasn’t until we were approaching the driveway that my drifting attention snapped back into focus. I was surprised to see a man sitting on the curb. Considering what I could do, it was just about as shocking as seeing someone like Abe Lincoln or JFK perched there.
He waved at me as we pulled in. Mom ignored him, “Do you need any help, son? You look a bit pale.”
“No thanks. I spent a good deal of rehab on crutches, just go ahead and grab the door.” I probably could have used the help, but I needed a moment or two with my visitor.
“Oh, in all the mess I forgot to tell you that you got a package yesterday.”
“Really? Who from?” I think I already knew the answer, but I just wanted to hear it from her.
“Sonya Hodges in Texas, your friend Don’s widow. I hope she’s doing well, all things considered. It’s on the counter waiting for you. Take your time, Mike.”
I let her go ahead before slowly swinging my legs out and positioning the crutches to support my weight. I addressed my visitor. “Hey Don, long time no see. How’s Sonya?”
My deceased war buddy sized me up. Don wasn’t the mountain of muscle that Charlie Snowden was, but the Texan was tall, fast, and loved martial arts. His dirty blond hair was replaced with a stark white color – like a bad bleach job. Peering closely, I could still see the faint outline of the tattoos on the back of his hands and the ones visible on the edge of his neck.
“She’s been doing okay. I had to get out of Texas. It’s hard to watch your old lady going out with other guys.”
“Understandable, what brings you up this way?” 
“Saw an article in a tabloid. Wanted to see if it was the truth. Looks like it is.”  
“So, you need help crossing over?”
He laughed at me. “Oh, hell no! I came up to have some fun. You know, live a little? Sorry, bad joke. Say, what’s with this barrier that I can’t get through?”
“Some other ghosts have different ideas of fun. Killing me tops their list.”
Don got a somber look on his face. “Well then, we’ll just see about that won’t we? The first cavalry always takes care of their own, right?”
“Damn straight! Grab my hand. Once I escort you across, you’re good to go.” Considering Don’s unhealthy obsession concerning anything with a blade, I hoped he might be able to show me a few things.
I pulled him through, but with one hand in my pocket full of filings, in case he made a hostile move. He didn’t. Instead, he whacked me on my back and let out a whooping yell causing the neighbor’s dog to start howling again.
A smile crossed my face and I said, “All done now?”
The burly Texan chuckled, matching my grin, “Done? Done? Shit! I ain’t even started! Let the good times roll!” 


Episode 9: Location, Location, Location

People say greed like it’s a dirty word. Greed is simply raw and naked want. What’s wrong with a little want? I suppose too much of a good thing can be bad, but too much of anything good wasn’t a regular occurrence in my life up to that point. The casino I was standing in made a living off of other people’s greed.
Why was it that my greed is a bad thing and theirs was just good business? I’ll admit to having a little advantage – namely an accomplice that only I could see and hear watching the cards. There’s a saying out there that the house never loses. Never? That word was so inflexible. How about, almost never, except when Mike Ross comes to town?
“Hole card’s a four, Mike!” Don’s voice called out. From his kneeling position he enjoyed a great view of the dealer’s cards, as well as her other assets. Unlike Kevin McNeil, another dead friend of mine, my former Sergeant thought the idea of a ride up to Atlantic City was a fantastic idea. As soon as my medical retirement check rolled in, I convinced Rusty, a still living friend, that we both needed a road trip. I’d lost track of Rusty once I got to the blackjack table. My guess was he was either dropping some coins in a slot machine somewhere, or hitting on a couple of NYU coeds who’d come down for the weekend.
As far as I was concerned, it was high time that I started making this paranormal power work for me. 
My hand was a pair of sevens. The dealer held a queen and a four, which meant the odds were in my favor.  “I’m going to split and double down.” More chips go from my sizeable pile and for a guy whose picture is in the dictionary next to the phrase “the chips are down,” I was due for a comeback.
Two casinos and several hours after arriving in Atlantic City with a meager five hundred dollars, there was five grand in front of me and just over two grand in the hotel safe. Occasionally, but not often, it’s good to be me. The dealer hit me and I picked up a jack and an eight for totals of seventeen and fifteen. I stayed at this point. The pretty dealer flips over her four and hits with a king – busted.
My eighty dollars in chips becomes one sixty. I decided to act paranoid and switch tables. Sliding the dealer a twenty dollar chip, I picked up my pot and headed towards a table two down from my current location.  My ankle was still tender from the sprain I’d picked up three weeks ago, but I could manage, even with the extra weight of the chips in my hands.
Two gentlemen in suits were blocking my path. “Pardon me sir, but we’d like you to come with us,” the taller one said.
The last casino I’d been at sent a guy to inspect me, looking for cameras or other hidden devices, before asking me to take my winnings and business elsewhere. It looked like I wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to that very attractive Asian dealer after all.
Oh well, five hundred into seven grand in under six hours. Not a bad little trade off.
“No problem gentlemen.” Don followed along; making faces at the men all the way.
They led me into a fairly stark little room. It was all very quaint. If they were looking to pressure me or something, Don and I knew it wasn’t going to work.
Five minutes later the chief of security strolls in. Not some hulking thug, just a well dressed black man slightly under six feet tall. “Mickey Pitman, Mr. Ross. How do you do?”
“I can’t really complain, Mr. Pitman. I’m on a hot streak.”
He looked at the container of chips in front of me. “That’s a pretty good haul, Mr. Ross. Question is how much am I going to let you leave here with?”
Don peeks out through the wall. “He doesn’t have a bunch of goons out in the hallway, Mike, just let him wave his limp dick in the air and let’s cash out and go somewhere else.”
Scratching my chin, “I’m not certain what you’re talking about Mr. Pitman. I would expect to be able to walk out of here with my winnings.”
“That would be a bad idea,” Pitman says flatly.
“What? Expecting the casino to honor my winnings?”
Pitman looks at me, “No, dipshit. I wasn’t talking to you. I was referring to your friend here’s suggestion that you move on to the next casino. I got your ‘limp dick’ right here boy and I can promise you that you don’t want any part of this.”
A slight lump in my throat formed as Pitman looked at me. “I’m not chief of security for this hotel. I’m chief of security for Atlantic City, Mr. Ross. Now, let me guess, you’re a new Skinwalker with a nice shiny new body and no coin to go along with it? You grab one of your buddies to take your new legs out for a test drive and the two of you decide that you’re going to tap the river of money flowing through this town. How am I doing so far?”
Concentrating, I thought I could see a faint aura around him. He was either alive, like me, or I just met my first Skinwalker. Eva warned me about the Skinwalkers. Deciding to play along with his story, I said, “Pretty good, but what makes you think I’m brand new?”
“Because if you weren’t a newbie, you’d know not to wander into someone else’s territory and pull this kind of rookie wet-behind-the-ears bullshit. I’ll take another shot in the dark, you and fatigue boy here got killed off in Iraq and still haven’t really figured out what you’re going to do with yourselves?”
“You must see this all the time.”
“Once or twice a month; after the holidays, things are busy, Mr. Ross. You’re the third one this week.”
I should have figured it wouldn’t be this easy. It never is. “How’d you catch us, security cameras?”
“I suppose I should give you boys a lesson on staying out of trouble, even though you’re both dead. There are lots of ways. Some places are equipped with thermal imaging and look for cold spots where someone could stand and watch the hole card. Some of the pit bosses are Skinwalkers, but the easiest way is to just watch our dealers. You think just any pretty face gets to be a dealer here? No, we hire sensitive people and then watch for them getting nervous and twitchy. It’s gambling boys and everyone has a ‘tell.’ The one you were at, she kept running her hand through her hair, not that your buddy here would have noticed the way he was ogling her tits.”
As Don and I were processing this, two ghosts floated down through the ceiling. “Twenty three hundred up in the hotel safe Mr. S.” One of the ghosts reports, while I inventoried my options. There were several bottles of iron filings, but they were up in the room. My sword was out in Rusty’s car. Naturally, there was the small problem of Rusty himself.
“Well, you’re the expert Mr. Pitman. How do you normally handle these situations?”
“Nice to see that you’re willing to be reasonable. Let’s see, all and all, you’ve taken about seven large. Which casino did you pick that up at?”
I gave him the names and he looked annoyed, but not at me. “I need to get some better people over there. Alright, how much you need?”
“Five grand.” I shoot for the mid-range.
He laughed. “Nice try. You get to keep the twenty-three hundred upstairs and I’m being generous. I’ll get the front desk to bump you up to one of the suites, you have a nice meal, take in some of the sights and stay away from the tables, and we’ll call it even. Tomorrow, you get out of town and don’t come back until you learn to respect other people’s territories. My last lesson is don’t bother taking this little act to Las Vegas and whatever you do, don’t mess with the Indian casinos – just don’t. There are some things even being dead won’t save you from.”
I really didn’t like the sound of that. “So this is your territory?”
Mickey laughed even harder. “I just work here. If I ran this territory, do you think I’d be wasting my time with a couple of little fish like you?”
Don was curious, “I bet it’s one of the gangsters from the twenties, is it Capone?”
Pitman spit on the ground and growled in anger. “That worthless no account punk, he’s just a little bootlicker out in Chitown. No little boys, this is Diamond Jim Brady’s territory. Always has been, always will be and it’s my job to keep it that way.” From his reaction, I guessed he was a contemporary of Capone’s. I knew as much about gangsters as I did about the civil war six months ago, which was basically nothing. I added that to my list of things I should probably learn - fast.
Mickey scoops up my take and points to one of the ghosts, “Abe here is going to keep an eye on you for the rest of your stay. Don’t try and lose him and I won’t wreck that young little body you have. On behalf of Mr. Brady, I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay here in beautiful Atlantic City. Check with the front desk for your new room key.”
The other ghost left and Abe introduced himself as Abraham Landau. He was a balding Jewish man, not exactly what I’d think of when the word “gangster” came to mind. Of course, my education came from watching the Sopranos and various Hollywood films, so go figure. Still, I was curious, “So, who is Mr. Pitman, really?” 
Abe smiled a spectral grin. “That’s Dutch Shultz himself. You’re lucky you caught him in a good mood. Smart thing to keep your mouth shut and not do anything stupid. Plus, you weren’t after anything important, just a few dollars.”
That surprised me, “There are things more important than money to a Walker?” This sounded useful.
He laughed openly, “You boys really are new frogs. Come on follow me.”   
Looking at Don, I said, “Strange world, Civil War heroes are my enemies and mobsters are being nice to me. Am I still the good guy?”
“Dunno,” he answered, “I’m beginning to wonder if there really are any good guys.”

The suite was pretty impressive, complete with its own pool table and wet bar. A huge plasma screen television dominated one wall and the leather couch alone was probably worth more than I’d ever made in a single year.
Anyone asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up right then would have received the answer – Mobster. Shultz’s assistant was a fountain of information.
“Tell me more about these territories?”
“What do you want to know?”
Where was I going to begin?
“Where are these territories? Who runs them?”
He sat down on the couch and tells me to turn on the TV and flip around. I got to be his channel changer, but at least he was offering something useful in exchange. “Well, you already know that you’re in Diamond Jim’s territory. He and Miss Lillian run the lower half of Jersey. They used to claim up to the Hudson, but the fighting between Boss Tweed and the Roosevelts for control of New York City started spilling out this way and it became more trouble than it was worth, so Diamond Jim decides to pull back to south Jersey.”
“The Roosevelts? Like the President?”
“You got it.”
“Which one?”
“Both I think.”
“No shit?”
Abe shrugs, “Why would I lie to you?”
The dead man had a point. “How about south of here, DC, Philly, and Baltimore?”
“I don’t really leave this area much. I went to Philly once. Some outfit I’d never heard of before runs that place. Not much going on in Baltimore, I dunno, but I hear there’re like somewhere around eight groups trying to control DC.”
That was disappointing news considering my proximity to our nation’s capital. “What are they trying to control?”
“Power, influence, money; there’s a lot of it around DC and everyone wants a piece.”
“You said there’s something more important than money?”
“Energy.”
“What sort of energy?” I remembered Darren’s notes about how the ghosts collected energy in Gettysburg, but wanted to hear it for myself.
He shakes his head at us and laughs. “How did you two ever get this far? Maybe it’s the war; I’d forgotten how bad it was after the war back in the seventies. Spiritual energy, dipshit, it’s what you’re using to keep a hold of that body. That’s how I can lift up things without having a physical body; without it, you’ll lose control of your meat puppet there soon enough.”
“Where do you get this energy?”
“Different ways; some get it by haunting and pull it out of living people’s fear. Me, I walk around the casinos, there’s all kinds of nervous energy and whatnot there. You kind of absorb it. The more people around, the more energy you can pickup. You’re gonna need to figure out where you’re going to get the extra energy to keep that body under your thumb. How long you had it?”
“Only about two weeks,” I said, hoping that I could keep my story straight.
“Started feeling weak, like the host is fighting back?”
“No, not really.”
“The guy, he must be feeble then, which from the looks of people these days don’t really surprise me.” He pointed at the commercial. “Look at that, people these days got it too easy. They got mobile phone and fancy jobs. I was alive during the Depression. You miserable bastards don’t know nothing about hardship. Oh, hey! I forgot this fight was on. Just press that button to charge it to your room. I’ve got a side bet with Jimmy ‘the Wrench’ on this one.”
Obviously, he didn’t “waste” his energy without a reason. Well that sounded like a gangster name if I’d ever heard one. Abe continued, “Too bad you guys didn’t come yesterday; I probably could have gotten you a ticket.” The fight only lasts three rounds and Landau was pleased that his fighter won. The Wrench apparently would have to pay up.
The doorbell rings and I answered it. A very attractive looking hotel employee pushed in a cart with a deli tray and a small cooler filled with six different brands of beer.
“Compliments of Mr. Pitman,” she coos.
I fished a ten out of my pocket and tipped her. Yeah, this was the life! 
Our watcher waltzed over to the tray and breathes deeply using his arms to steer the scent towards him. “I’ve been dead over seventy years, but I still love the smell of kosher meats.” He looks at Don, “Say, you wanna come downstairs with me and some of the boys? The dancers for the show should be in the dressing room in a few minutes. It’s the one thing I miss more than this…”
“What about me?” I ask.
“You, you don’t go nowhere. Wait here, enjoy the food. I’ll make some arrangements. You like blondes, brunettes, or redheads? Break in that new body of yours properly. Never mind, don’t answer, I’ll surprise you. Come on, it’s Hodges right?”
“Yeah. You cool with this Mike?”
“Er, yeah sure. Have a good time. When in Rome…” 
I wasn’t really. Even in the service, I was never really comfortable with the idea of making sex a commercial enterprise. Heather never charged me for anything more than a lap dance.
Yeah, I’ve got some great standards don’t I?
Don followed Abe straight through the floor, leaving me alone in a suite that probably costs per night more than Mom’s mortgage payment. I grabbed a couple of sandwiches, a few expensive imported beers and sat down in front of the mother of all television sets.
One thing was certain; I doubted that it could get any better than this.
The big problem of never really experiencing good things in my life was that I had a slight problem recognizing too-good-to-be-true.
There weren’t many times in my life where I’d woken up hung over and completely out of it. It was the reason I avoided tequila like the plague. While I was trying to put two and two together and spell the word “cat,” the voices around me became more intelligible.
“How long has he been out?”
“Couple of hours. He should be coming around in a few minutes.”
“What about his friend?”
“The living one or the dead one?”
“Who gives a shit about the flesh bag? Where’s the ghost?”
“I had three guys rough him up, he managed to get away, but Jimmy says that Mister Hodges was in a bad way. I’ve got people out looking for him.”
There’s a pause, “Doesn’t matter, he has no idea where we are right now and even if he did, it won’t help his little friend here.”
Okay, I was fully awake now. Adrenaline was doing a nice job of countering whatever they’d gotten me with, must have been something in the beer.
I was lying on a hardwood floor, but there were several pieces of uncomfortable metal under me. Struggling, I rose to my feet looking at the intricate metal design beneath me. Imagine my shock when I realized it was a metal representation of The Eye of Horus. Mickey, Abe, and another ghost were in the room.
Mickey lets out a barking laugh, “Look who’s back in the land of the living? Don’t bother trying to escape. That’s a spirit cage you’re standing in, it’s called an oubliette.”
I played along trying to get my feet back under me, so to speak. “An obi-what?”
“It’s French for you ain’t going anywhere, idiot. You’re stuck in there until we let you out. We’re not letting you out until you give up the body.”
“I’ve become rather attached to it, so no thanks.”
My good friend Abe chimed in, “Boss don’t worry about it. Guy doesn’t know how to collect energy and he’ll run out soon.”
Shultz gives me a cold blooded smile. “He doesn’t? Man, they really are getting dumber by the day.”
The house was a nice new construction type, all brick and hardwood floors. There were a few nice paintings up and several pictures of Mickey Pitman standing with various dignitaries – a true “I love me” wall.
“What are you going to do with it, my body that is?”
“Well, I think I’m going to switch from dark to light meat. I’ve been in this tired old thing for over a decade. Yours looks like some prime real estate, a bit short, but in good health. If you’d come to town wearing an overweight fifty year old balding insurance salesman, I’d have let you walk, just like I promised. Instead, you’ve got a tidy little twenty-something in mint condition and I’m going to take it from you, because I can. I’ll unload Mickey Pitman on the body swapping market and Mike Ross is going to take over my security ‘consulting’ firm.”
That really didn’t sound like a good idea. I guess it was a little flattering that he thought I was such a catch. Though it was a bit disturbing to be compared to a car or a nice set of clothes. No wonder Eva spoke so distastefully about Skinwalkers. “What happens to me?”
“We could maybe make a deal. Most ghosts just fade away – and those that don’t, few make it to being a walker. You might have some potential down the line, even if you are an ignorant little dipshit. Then again, I don’t like competition. I think I’ll just leave you in the Oubliette and let you fade from existence. You can’t absorb any energy in there, kiddo. You’ll just get weaker and weaker. Eventually, you’ll just fade away.”
Okay, I officially reversed my opinion. I didn’t want to be a mobster when I grew up. Reaching out, I feel the barrier. It reminded me of what I tried to do with Charlie Snowden’s gravesite. I could sense the barrier. It felt like a heavy curtain. It might be enough to stop a ghost, but not me. I could push through this, no problem.
“Well, since we’re going to be here for a while, I’m curious, what happens to the host?”
“Depends, ‘walkers keep ‘em in the background. Let ‘em drive the body every now and then. They just think they’re crazy and not in control of their lives. Me, I just eat them. It’s easier that way. Mickey Pitman’s long gone. I hop out of Pitman’s body and he’ll just stand here drooling like a goddammed vegetable. He’d keep breathing for a few days and then the body shuts down. Abe here is going to drive Mickey around until we line up a buyer. Old David Michael Ross, Junior there is about to become one hotshot protégé.”
Here I’d been worried about my career path. This morning, I just wanted a few grand to stave off the bill collectors and get myself back above water. Now I was close to owning a successful security consulting firm. Talk about the American Dream! I’d have to go back to my high school guidance counselor; he said I probably wasn’t management material. Wouldn’t he be surprised!
I shut up for the next half hour, needing to finish clearing my head and hoping that Shultz would send one of the other two away before I made my move.
Pitman sat in front of his laptop for a little while and then walked upstairs to make a few phone calls. I covered my “special” eye to let me see better. He was using the Internet to search for information on me. It was too much to hope for that they’d be as technologically inept as Vincent and his group. My wallet was lying on the desk and my expired driver’s license on top of it. It took me a minute to remember what Equifax was. I’m sure my credit report looked rather disappointing to Shultz.
Deciding I was sober enough, I looked around. Nice fireplace complete with a nice poker. I thought it through. Yeah, it would do nicely. There was a holstered gun over there. Shultz wouldn’t want to hurt this body. I didn’t have any such restrictions, though I didn’t need to watch CSI to know that if this becomes a crime scene, the dudes from Homicide will check his computer and be asking me questions about his death. I decided to save it as a last resort. “Hey asshole, can I get something to eat in here? The body’s getting hungry.”
Landau laughed, “You want another beer?” 
“Jackass.”
“Fat Tony, go get it.” Ghost number three walked to the kitchen.
The aptly named Fat Tony returned, straining to float a bag of bagels in front of him. They drop as soon as they hit the edge and roll in. I move to the edge of the “curtain,” to fetch the carbohydrates. 
“What no cream cheese? What are you, a goddamn moron?”
He leans close to the barrier and answered, “You got a big mouth on you. You know that?”
Stepping right through the Obi-whatever with only a bit of resistance, I smashed my fist into Fat Tony’s four chins, hard. My second punch knocked the wind out of him and I spun and pushed him into the center of the intricate design watching as he hit the other side and slid down it like he just ran into a glass door.
Abe was slow to move and I got to the poker.
He wasn’t impressed. “You think that’s going to help you? You’re dumber than you…”
He never finished that sentence. Ever seen someone take an iron poker across the face? It’s not a pretty sight. “Now who looks dumb, jackass?”
Shultz comes down the steps. “What the hell?” I reached over and pulled the nine millimeter from the holster, leveled it at him, and flip off the safety.
“Nice body there Shultz. Stick it in there.”
He finished walking down the steps. “You got no idea who you’re messing with, boy.”
I smiled. “I don’t really care either. Get in.”
He responded by shimmering and stepping out of Pitman’s body. Dutch Shultz was a balding piece of crap, with a weak little aura. It was dimmer than both the other goons, but that was consistent with what I’d heard about Skinwalkers from Eva. They kept themselves relatively weak to stay inside of the body. “Fine, I’ll just take it from you!”
I flipped the safety back on and tossed the gun behind the desk. Only one body was worth hurting now and that was me.
“Nice trick getting my boys to free you.”
Fat Tony pleaded with Shultz, “Boss, I swear! I didn’t…”
“Shut up! Shut the hell up! I’ll deal with you when I’m done with this punk.”
I started to step forward but Abe must have been playing possum. His hand tripped me and I fell. Then he grabbed my legs. 
“Hold him still and I’ll get in there and drive him out.”
Often, far too often in fact, I am forced to use the words “indescribable pain.” It’s a hazard of my new lifestyle, I guess. Either way, it felt like a trip to the dentist without the benefits of anesthetic. My body was on fire and I felt myself half-crawl and half-roll away from Schultz’s goon, who let go of my ankle.
Not being in control of my body was a strange and painful sensation. I could feel my lips moving. “Where are you, you dirty little bastard?”
Mike Ross might not have had much in this life, but damn it all if I was going to let some ghost take my body. There was a heat and energy building inside of me. It was a raw and savage anger – all my pain, all my suffering, and all my rage coalesced into a tangible force.
My voice let out a blood curdling scream, but I wasn’t the one screaming. I collapsed back onto the ground and convulsed like a person having an epileptic attack. Distantly, I could hear Abe shouting. I vomited as my body joined the fight against the intruder.
Ever fallen out of a tree and have that sudden acceleration feeling followed by the impact on the ground? That’s about as close as I can come to explaining it. Dutch shot out of me and clear through the wall.
I wasn’t a really violent guy by nature, but I felt violated on a level that even a rape victim might have difficulty identifying with. My fingers closed around that poker and I literally saw red. I hit Abe so hard with that poker he screamed and when a noticeably dimmed Dutch Shultz staggered back into the house, I met him by jamming the poker right through him and into the drywall.
He screamed again and thrashed while impaled, darkish smoke pouring out of the wound in his stomach. 
His eyes bulged and I could have sworn the poker was glowing. “What are you?” he gasped already beginning to fade.
“Know what a ferryman is Mister Shultz?”
“No! It can’t be. They’re just a legend!”
“You might be right, Dutch, but my legend is just beginning and yours is over!”
Seconds later the wispy smoke disappeared and I was left staring at a wall with a poker in it. I spun around and looked at Abe and Fat Tony. I don’t know what they saw in my eyes, but whatever it was, it scared them shitless. Landau started to disappear, but I pounced on him before he could. With a strength borne of my rage, I hurled him into The Eye of Horus.

There wasn’t a lot of time to think. Poor Pitman’s body was on the ground. Nothing could be done for him. I snatched my wallet and made sure everything was in it, along with the laptop with all my personal information still displayed on it. The poker and the pistol stayed, though I wiped my prints off of them with a rag. Afterwards, I cleaned up my vomit and dumped some bleach directly on it. It was time, yet again, to tuck my head between my legs and get the hell out of a situation where I was way over my head.
Sadly, it was a reoccurring theme wasn’t it?
Abe and Fat Tony didn’t say a word. Had I not been in such a rush, I would have enjoyed the irony of ghosts being afraid of me, but I was a bit pressed for time.
Shultz’s Hummer sat the driveway. I swallowed the lump in my throat and hopped in. Hopefully, this would end better than my last time driving a Hummer.
I made tracks to the hotel. If I was in luck, I’d be able to get Rusty and get out of there. Otherwise, I’d leave the Hummer at the hotel and catch a bus out of here. Naturally, I wanted that twenty-three hundred dollars from the hotel safe.
As usual, nothing went right for me. Some fat guy next to the desk was screaming into his cell phone to somebody named Cassandra and the receptionist didn’t have any record of me being moved up to the suite. On the bright side, she did have my cash. I used the courtesy phone to call my room, but got no answer. I tried Rusty’s cell phone next, reaching his voicemail.
“Rusty, its Mike, I’ve got to get back home right now. There’s a bit of a problem. I’ll find my own way back.” Rusty was probably having dinner with one of the coeds he’d been chasing.
Turning around, my only hope was that no one was going to Shultz to report. Considering the receptionist was pointing at me and four men all in suits were standing there. It looked like my “winning ways” were continuing. I suddenly wished I’d kept the pistol.
The leader, a tall man in a suit addressed me, “Mr. Ross, Mister Pittman wants to talk to you; we can do this the easy way, or the hard way – your choice.”
Regretting that I didn’t just drive out of state as fast as Schultz’s overpriced guzzler could take me, I followed my “peaceful” escort right back to the holding room where all this started. They didn’t take the laptop, or the cash.
For twenty minutes, I sat there, just waiting. I used the laptop and found it was recognized by the wireless network inside the hotel. Leveraging the mighty power that is Google, I quickly learned the story of Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell.
When the door next opened, I wasn’t terribly surprised to see Mickey Pitman staring at me. He held the door and two ghosts entered. Both possessed that same powerful aura I sensed with Eva. The first was a very attractive woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. Though Miss Russell had died at a much older age, Eva had told me that sufficiently powerful ghosts could choose to appear as they were at any stage in their life. She was quite beautiful and wore a long flowing evening gown and gloves reminiscent of the 1920’s.
Diamond Jim was a small mountain of a man. He was the kind of presence that could really fill a room, both figuratively and literally. He looked to be in his late forties, stylishly attired in a pinstripe suit.
With a rich baritone, Diamond Jim Brady addressed me, “Good evening, Mr. Ross.”
“Mr. Brady, Miss Russell.” I nodded curtly to each of them. 
“Abraham has filled us in on the events of this evening. I must extend my apologies for the behavior of those spirits in my service.” Abe must be “driving” Mickey now. He didn’t appear very happy.
“I don’t hold you responsible for Mr. Shultz’s actions.” 
I figured that I’d be gracious and wait to see if the other foot falls.
Lillian regarded me as if I was a curiosity or some form of carnival act. 
“So, this is a ferryman. Are you certain you’re not just a Skinwalker trying to pass yourself off as one? Wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard such a tale.”
“I’d invite you to see for yourself, but when Mr. Shultz tried it was rather painful for both of us, so I’d prefer not to go that route again.”
She nodded, “Yes, yes. I suppose you are right, dear. It’s just that I’ve never met one before.”
Brady interrupted, “We don’t want any trouble from a ferryman, Mr. Ross. Not in my territory. If it’s all the same to you, we’d like you to leave and go back to Maryland. You’re welcome to stay the night.”
“That was the same deal Mr. Shultz offered me. I’d prefer to leave this evening, if at all possible.”
“Abraham, get Mr. Ross the rest of his money. I understand you were using a ghost to help you. Under normal circumstances, I’d be angry, but as a gesture of good faith, I’m willing to return the five thousand dollars you stole from me in return for the electronic device you have. It has a good deal of information related to my business ventures in the world of the living.”
“I can live with that, Mr. Brady. Schultz pulled a lot of my personal information — something I didn’t want to leave at a potential crime scene. I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that being a ferryman isn’t something that one brings up in polite company.”
Lillian nodded sagely, “You are right to be wary. We heard rumors that there was a new ferryman several weeks ago, but dismissed them out of hand. There hasn’t been a ferryman in these parts in over a century. In our world, some will welcome you; others will fear what you could do to the status quo. I do not envy you.”
They seemed like nice enough folks, though they employed dead mobsters and didn’t mind if the Skinwalkers under them peddle flesh on whatever the hell the “body market” was. 
“Have you heard of other ferrymen active in the world?” I figured if the ghosts could band together, I could get in contact with people like me. Maybe we could start a bowling team or something.
Jim answers. “Only rumors about some among the Europeans. Unlike the living world, our world is not very interconnected. Very few choose to travel beyond the areas where they died.”
“I suppose the exception is the Skinwalkers.”
“Yes, some can’t resist the lure to walk among the living and taste what they once had. Most of them relocate immediately and distance themselves from their previous lives.”
“You hire them.”
He shrugged, “They have their place. I couldn’t run my territory without them and someone else would move in and take over. There’s a saying your generation uses, ‘That’s just the way it is.’ Like I said, it’s just the status quo.”
It felt very feudal and I didn’t want to correct him. Nowadays people say, ‘It is what it is.’ Either way, we weren’t fighting and that was a good sign. I used this opportunity to get more information. “What can you tell me about the neighboring territories? DC, Pennsylvania, and Baltimore?”
“The capital is a dangerous place; people, power, and politics all in one place. Like the real world, no faction can seem to stay on top for long. I’ve heard the ghosts of Arlington have the most influence right now.”
I was right to be creeped out about Arlington National Cemetery. “What about to the west of Washington?  I haven’t met the ghost that claims my territory.”
“Someone affiliated with the Civil War era. He’s a bit of a power broker named Taney.”
The name sounded familiar. “Roger Taney? Used to be a Supreme Court Justice?”
“That’s the one. How long have you been operating in his territory?”
“Since September.” There was a museum for him up in Fredrick. Knowing who my probable enemy was both relieved and frightened me at the same time.
“Unless he’s a fool, he’s at least aware of you and probably looking for you. He brings extra energy into the area and supplies it to those trying to control Washington. He doesn’t take a position in the conflicts, but he’s definitely involved.”
Lillian told me about the Skinwalkers that controlled Philadelphia. Avoiding the City of Brotherly Love sounded like a good idea.
They even mentioned Eva, talking about a matron who controlled an isolated wedge of Western Pennsylvania. I opted not to tell them that I’d met her up close and personal.
“Baltimore,” Jim says, “Most everyone avoids it. They say there is a caged spirit there.”
“Do you know what it is?”
Diamond Jim shook his head. “No. It is only known as The Beast and it existed there long before I died.”
The more I learned about Baltimore, the less I wanted to go there. Between the two, Arlington sounded like a picnic spot.

Once I took my leave of Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian, it took some time to locate Rusty and unfortunately, he was in no shape to drive that night. 
Listening to his drunken snores, I flipped around the television until a haggard looking Don Hodges dragged himself into the room after three in the morning. I was happy to see him. He was equally relieved to see me.
“Mike! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! One of the ghosts told me that things were cool and you were back at the hotel. I thought it was a trap…”
“I met the owners of this territory. We came to an understanding. They want me to leave and I don’t intend to hang around. If you don’t mind, let’s talk about it later. I’m exhausted and need some rest.”
“Sure, no problem buddy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Tomorrow, we need to start talking about Roger Taney. He’s the boss ghost out where I live. Our paths are going to end up crossing sometime in the future and it sounds like the ghosts in Gettysburg work for him. Think you can do a bit of spying on him?”
“Isn’t recon my middle name?”
I chuckled. “I thought it was Peter?”
“Just get some rest. I’ll be on watch for the rest of the night.”
Settling into my bed, I thought about all that I learned. It all came back to greed. Greed made the living and the dead do strange things. People come to Atlantic City for the promise of something for nothing. Greed wasn’t so much a vice as it is a way of life here. The dead fed off that greed and used it to sustain their existence.
Atlantic City was a real eye opener into the dark underside of both worlds.
I’d leave there in the morning with over seven grand and a couple of forms so the IRS could take their cut of my winnings. Where exactly did greed get me? 
I’ll tell you where, possessed, almost killed, and closer to truths I really didn’t want to know. 
Somehow, that wad of money didn’t seem very comforting. I wasn’t going to give it back, mind you, but having it just wasn’t as important as it once was.


Episode 10: Hitting the Fan

My long delayed trip to Roanoke was a tale of ups and downs. The first day there, Don and I found one lousy lead on the oldest cold case, enough to reopen the investigation and hopefully get somewhere. That boded well for Candy’s career. She gave me a smoldering kiss that was definitely leading somewhere when the phone rang. I might not have those types of psychic powers, but I knew something was wrong.


Would it have killed the prisoners in the county jail to wait just two more hours to riot? Did the standoff have to take so long? Did they honestly expect that the police would let them go – or was the riot just a bargaining chip to get a better cable TV package in the jail? Seriously, it seemed like the powers above just didn’t want me and Candace McKenna to spend quality time together - ever. 
So Don and I got to enjoy the sights from Candy’s apartment window and sample the fruits of her sub-basic cable package. Why Candy bothered with a cable package that consisted of six channels and a live feed from the state highway surveillance cameras was beyond me. My girlfriend-less vigil stretched on for the next twenty-eight hours, interrupted by brief pair of phone calls from my “oh so close, but oh so far away” girlfriend. Then her mother stopped by to find an unknown man at her apartment.
That probably could have gone better, but Don got a good laugh out of it.
Considering Melinda McKenna bore a more than passing resemblance to her sister Rose, the very first ghost I’d met, our encounter started on the wrong foot and got progressively worse.  
My run in with Mrs. McKenna reminded me of Candy’s warning that the women in her family were difficult. Normally, I’d have been questioning whether or not this was a bad omen for our relationship, but given the many interruptions to date, I was questioning whether or not it was a relationship or a figment of my very cranky imagination.
Don and I bonded, which was a very poor second place to a frisky blonde. He wasn’t exactly Bruce Lee, but Don was an honest to goodness black belt in three different disciplines. We started working on ideas of what to do about Roger Taney, the ghost in charge of the territory I happened to call home. 
When the poor lass did finally return after restoring law and order from a triple shift, she wasn’t exactly her usual outgoing self. She was more in the dead tired mood. Two hours before my bus was scheduled to leave, she finally roused from bed. I’d considered missing my bus, but that meant failing an exam the next day and I wasn’t doing so hot in that particular class.
There was barely enough time to grab a meal together and get me and my ghostly buddy to the terminal. At least we were able to laugh at our dating misfortunes. I suggested we take a flight to California and wait for the earthquakes to start. She countered, saying that she favored a nice cruise to the Bahamas, thinking it might be prudent to keep our life vests handy.
At least we weren’t two idiots basing our relationship on sex – that would’ve been laughable and pathetic.

“Alright Elsbeth, spit it out. What’s on your mind?” She was obviously irritated. Considering my performance on that exam, I should have stayed with Officer McKenna. Either way, I’d have gotten screwed, but at least I would have been happy. Reaching down, I scratched Sheba’s ears. At least one spirit in the room was glad to see me. Oddly enough, touching the dog no longer hurt at all. If I could ask why that was so, I would, but there’s not a lot of information out there to enlighten the novice ferryman.
“You just up and ran off to Roanoke with barely any warning at all. Right after going to Atlantic City! My grandmother had a fever over the weekend and your friend Jenny didn’t stop by until Sunday!”
“That’s when she said she’d stop by,” I reminded Elsbeth. One blessing was that my repaired hearing meant that I no longer had to physically touch a spirit to communicate with them. Otherwise, she’d be a literal pain instead of just a figurative one.
I thought I was being a stand up guy by getting Jenny to stop in and check up on “Grandma” Meg. I regarded the elderly woman across from me diligently working on her crossword puzzle.
“Elsbeth says you were sick this weekend, are you feeling better?”
She met my gaze with her overly large glasses, “It was nothing. I was just a bit under the weather. When you get to be my age, it happens every now and again. You never really told me how your trip to Atlantic City went. When my Samuel was still alive, we’d go there every few years.”
Ignoring Elsbeth’s accusingly overprotective glare, I told Meg that I enjoyed myself. Alright, that was a flat-out lie but did a soon to be eighty-four year old woman need to hear about spirits that try to possess people and steal their lives? I lived that story and I didn’t want to hear about it. Hell, I hadn’t even really gone into the details with Don.
Meg smiled at me conspiratorially, “Did you win anything?”
“I did okay,” I said evasively.
I downplayed it on purpose. My new policy was to keep my idiotic mouth quiet when it came to money. Considering she was leaving in a few weeks to go on an all-expense paid cruise to Hawaii, all expenses being paid by me, I figured the less I talked about money, the less fate would be tempted to find cruel and unusual ways of separating me from it. 
Picking up her shopping list and some cash, I headed out the door to do Meg’s shopping with Elsbeth dogging my heels. “Ever since your war buddy showed up, you’ve been neglecting her!”
I gave her my best “you’ve gotta be kidding me look” and replied, “I was on crutches for three weeks after screwing up my knee fighting Charlie. Yeah, remember him? Even so, I was able to get over here and do her shopping. What’s the real issue - are you and Kevin on the rocks? Say it isn’t so!”
She reacted poorly to my sarcasm. Oddly, most everyone else does as well. 
“You know damn well that he went with his daughter to visit the Princeton campus!” she said rather tersely.
“So, you stayed home and realized how little you’ve been around lately and decided to take it out on me. Except in this case, you’re both the pot and the kettle. Quit projecting.”
What do you know? That Psychology stuff was coming in handy! Too bad I this didn’t count towards my grade.
She was clearly fuming and I pressed my argument, “I’m tired of being your doormat, Elsbeth. You promised you’d compensate me for helping Meg and then backed out of it because of Kevin’s newfound sense of ethics. That was after getting me to promise to send her on a cruise in return for help that you never gave me!”
“Well why don’t you just go then?”
“If it was just you, I would. Fact is, I happen to like Meg and I don’t intend on leaving her in the lurch just because you’re a bitch. You know this, which is why you let yourself off the hook for your end of any bargains we made. Unlike you, I’m perfectly capable of living up to my promises.”
People like Elsbeth can get under my skin. They use guilt and manipulation to get their way. They try to make you feel bad for not doing exactly what they want, when they want. Freed from the tyranny of her very recently dead husband, she was fast becoming a serious bitch with man-hating issues.
She faded away, going back to her focus not twenty feet from where I stood. It was the quickest way she could exit the argument. Imagine my surprise when she wasn’t there to face me when I returned.

“You were right,” I said.
Don laughed, “Aren’t I always? I know her type – user and abuser. Give her an inch and she’ll take you for everything you got! Makes me wonder if that Charlie guy wasn’t forced into it?”
I wasn’t prepared to justify Snowden’s behavior. After all, the man did try to kill me, twice. Instead, I kept working on the heavy bag I’d set up in the garage. I’d used my Atlantic City windfall to pick up some new training equipment and was determined to make the most of it.
“Was Sonya like that?”
“Oh hell no! She’d just tell me what to do and cut me off if I didn’t.”
“Honestly, your wife creeped me out, Don.”
“Really? Why? Didn’t you think she was hot?”
“No, that isn’t it. Yeah, she was hot, but she creeped me out -- even before you two were married. Lord knows she was better looking than Heather.”
In what seemed like a lifetime ago, Don and I both dated girls who worked at a strip club just outside the Army Post we were stationed at prior to shipping out to Iraq. Don’s girl was Sonya, also known by her stage name of Cassandra. My girl was a sweet but not too bright girl named Heather. They were as different as fire and ice. Don married Sonya, and my relationship with Heather fizzled out when I got orders for the Gulf. Sonya was undeniably gorgeous, but like I said, I never really cared for her. She had this cold and calculating way about her. Heather was a vapid dingbat, certain that she was only going to dance a few more months. Nowadays, I doubt she’d be worth my time.
“Was Heather still dancing there when you left?”
“No, she finally latched on to some guy as her meal ticket. Sonya was her maid of honor. Could’ve been you…”
“Nah, I’d look terrible in heels and I just don’t have the legs for a short skirt.” I played off his words, knowing what he was really trying to say. Considering what a sunny disposition I had during my rehabilitation and the fact that Heather was already a single mom when I knew her, I doubted we would have lasted very long.
“I dunno. I think you’d look good in a dress.” 
Well, I suppose I was asking for that. “So, you all set?”
“Yeah, I reckon. Give me a week or two to scout out this Taney fellow’s powerbase. I’ll keep an eye on his museum and see who’s coming and who’s going. Once we know what we’re looking at, we’ll be able to come up with a plan for how to put the screws to this guy. Just keep these safe.”
Don pointed to his dog tags, resting on the workbench. Every soldier keeps his dog tags, but for Don, it was even more significant. His tags were his focus; they were in the package that Sonya had sent me. He told me it took a few weeks to “influence” her to part with them. I ordered a pair of brass divining rods off the internet and sure enough, Darren Porter was right. I could locate Don’s dog tags every time, no matter where they were hidden. That definitely would come in handy.
“Will do; just remember to wait for me before trying to bust any heads. One thing I’ve learned is that physical power doesn’t always translate once you’re on the other side.”
He didn’t look terribly concerned. I used to refer to it as his “bull-headed Texan mindset.” 
“It’d take more than just some old geezer to whup me,” Don said.
“If he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto this territory, someone would’ve taken it from him already,” I replied. “He’s been a ghost for almost one hundred and fifty years. That’s roughly one hundred and forty-nine years longer than you. Don’t underestimate him or whatever henchman he has. What little Diamond Jim Brady told me about him is that he’s a power broker.”
“You’re right, Mike. People with blood on their hands have people around to wash them. I won’t make a stupid move and if things get sticky, I’ll just reappear right here, unless you want to carry my dog tags around with you?”
“No, they’re safer here behind the protective barrier. It’ll give you a safe place to fall back to. Who knows what trouble I could be in? Wanna take the saber?” I asked.
Don always had a thing for blades. For a guy who had lived on a Sergeant’s salary he’d had a collection that would rival a small museum. 
“Nah, too conspicuous; I do miss my big Bowie knife, though.” 
I ignored the fact that his desert fatigues weren’t exactly suburban wear. “I figured Sonya would’ve buried you with some of your collection. Too bad she didn’t.”
He shrugged, “Reckon she liked them too much to part with ‘em.”

With Don gone, I returned to my student routine and actually had a pretty good day, including lunch in the cafeteria with Jenny. She sat down next to me and immediately inserted herself into what I was doing. “I thought you did History-I during the winter session.”
“I did.”
“So what’s with the book on Roger Taney?”
“Know your enemy.”
She bounced excitedly, “Wow! Really?”
“Yes. Why are you so happy?” I asked.
“It’s just so cool. I know, it’s not cool to you, but he’s like a famous person and I read up on those other ghosts you met in Atlantic City. Did you know that Jim Brady’s stomach was six times larger than a normal person’s?” Jenny gushed.
“I read up on them too. I’ve got a suspicion that if Lillian Russell still requires a focus; it’s got to be that really expensive bike that Diamond Jim bought for her. Right now, I’m wondering what Taney’s might be? You hang around lawyers now, what do you think he’d use? His law books?”
She scrunched her nose, “No, silly. I’ve been to the museum before. They’ve got his gavel in a display case. That would be my guess.”
“It sounds like as good a place to start as any. Thanks. What’s the museum like?”
“It was a trip in high school. I don’t exactly remember. Why don’t we go there?”
It was a good idea, but I didn’t want to go just yet. “Not just yet, but I’ll ask a buddy of mine to go up there.”
“Why not me? I can bring a video camera!”
“Rusty’s better suited for this job.”
Jenny huffed, “It’s because he’s a guy right?”
I leaned next to her and whispered, “No, he installs security systems for a living.”
“Oh, I guess that…wait! Mike? What are you planning?”
I put on my best innocent face. 
“Me, I’m not planning anything, but the less I say means the less you know. What are you up to?”
Jenny wisely let the subject drop, “Well, my job is going really well and Mr. Binstock is really impressed with me. The firm is actually more fun than I expected.” 
She is the kind of person that would say nice things about being a trash collector because she’d enjoy being outdoors or some such nonsense. She slyly mentioned her ongoing relationship with Carleton Binstock. 
“I have to ask, what happens if you and Chaz break up? Does Uncle Seth fire you?”
“I thought I told you to stop calling him that! Since he’s in school, he only clerks there during the summer and this summer is questionable. He’s thinking about going to Europe.”
An effort was required to not make a sarcastic comment. I didn’t need to keep up with Chaz. He and I lived on two separate worlds.
“So, is he taking you with him?”
“Well, if you must know, it’s too early to say. We’re taking it slow and seeing what develops.” It was yet another contrast. The two of them seemed perfectly happy with a slow growing relationship. Candy and I weren’t exactly experiencing that level of bliss. We had an entirely different opinion of the matter altogether.
Still, part of me was happy for Jenny. It was good to see life working out for someone; it gave me a sliver of hope.
“You’re in luck; our company provides security for the museum. The system is an older model,” Rusty explained. “Back in the day, it was pretty expensive. It’s not impossible to get around, just very unlikely. Well that is, unless you know what you’re doing.”
“I assume you do?”
My friend laughed and finished his beer. He was a year younger than I was, but he did know his electronics including damn near everything that could be known about the cochlear implant he’d received courtesy of Uncle Sam.
It turned out that the museum didn’t open for tours until April, but this was a big break in my favor. From his equipment bag, he pulled out a technical manual and flipped through it. He paused at the schematic of the model installed in the Taney house. We went through the sequence to deactivate the panel – several times. “That should do the trick, I’d come along, but there’s this little thing about keeping my job.”
I agreed. “It’s cool. I’m more worried about whatever paranormal defenses Taney might have.”
“Better bring a hammer and chisel just in case. Of course, this is a silly conversation anyway. We both know there are no such things as ghosts, right?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied, “unless you count the one who just walked through the wall over there.” I gestured towards where Don Hodges entered the room. He’d been gone four days and I was more than a little curious what he had to say. 
Rusty started packing up. “Well I’m sure you two have plenty of things to discuss and I don’t feel like sitting here listening to only half a conversation any more than you want to hear me ask ‘What did he say?’ a hundred times.”
“Okay then, Rusty. I’ll see you later. Take care.”
“You too, Mike.”
I waited for Rusty to leave before turning to my ghostly friend. 
“What’s the word Don?”
“I saw that Reynolds character, just like his pictures online. It sounds like the notes from the late Darren Porter were right on. Reynolds only showed up once while I was scouting the area. That means every ten days, Reynolds brings a shipment of ‘spook juice’ down from Gettysburg. We’ve got a week until the next shipment.”
“How does he travel?”
“He was in a car with a living driver. It was daylight, so I couldn’t tell if he had that faint aura around them that the Skinwalker in New Jersey had, but I’d assume he’s one of them. People were waiting for him in the parking lot.”
“What do you think?”
“I say we ambush old Reynolds up near Gettysburg. Get rid of him and the Skinwalker while they’re isolated. If he’s really some type of power merchant, he won’t like his supply line being clipped.”
Don always was an aggressive type. 
“Strike a blow and see if he’s willing to talk then? I might just be provoking him, but then again, his men have tried to kill me more than once. Screw it, we take Reynolds out. Now we just need to track down the car.”
A spectral predatory grin met my gaze, “I just happened to memorize that plate. You wouldn’t happen to be in the mood to call that deputy friend of yours and have her run a plate for you?”
“Sneaky, Sergeant Hodges – very sneaky. I like it.”

One thing I’ve noticed is how life can speed up and slow down on me. February raced by and it was March before we had all the pieces in place. The Gettysburg Battlefield hadn’t opened yet and there was only light traffic. Our target was in the parking area and would be out in only a few moments. I was on edge, a familiar tension that I’d experienced hundreds of times before heading out on a mission in Iraq. For a change, I wasn’t stumbling into a situation and hoping for a lucky break. This battlefield was of my choosing. Don and I had a plan.
Rusty’s truck sat on the side of the road, looking for all the world like a broken down heap. He fidgeted behind the wheel. About a half a mile away, a glowing General John Reynolds was climbing into the back seat of a gold four door Lexus. I had an antifreeze container in my hands as part of the ruse. Instead of antifreeze, it was full of iron filings. I only had a minute or two left of preparation time. 
Walking across the turn lane, I poured the iron out in a heavy solid line. Placing my hands on the pile of dust, I saw a faint glow spread through the powder. Someone was about to get a rude wakeup call when they hit my barrier. I worried that with all that energy Reynolds was carrying that he would break through it. Even so, it should provide enough resistance to knock both the target and the Skinwalker out of the car. Based on the tests Don and I conducted, the driverless car would likely stall in the intersection. Kind of wild that I could make a barrier that could have that kind of effect on an engine. When we’d tried it, the barrier knocked Don out of Rusty’s truck bed when it was rolling forward at five miles an hour.
After charging up the barrier, I looked at Don; only the top of his head and the tip of the sword were visible sticking out of the grassy median. I laid a second line a meter in front of the first one to make certain we separated the General from his steed. Our plan was that Don would take out the ‘walker as fast as possible and I would take out Reynolds.
“Showtime Don. You ready?” 
“Willing and able,” was his reply
I moved over to the curb by the right turn lane and set my jug full of filings next to my pipe wrench. I was about to destroy the ghost of a Civil War general on purpose. As a former enlisted man, it was somewhat difficult to wrap my mind around, but in the end, I could live with it – having survived a few attempts on my life had dampened my scruples. I pulled a pair of cheap white glove inserts onto my hands. I wetted them down with a water bottle and poured a gritty handful of iron into each palm.
As the Lexus made its way towards us, I knelt, acting like I was tying my shoe. I turned and looked at Rusty; he started his truck, ready for a fast getaway. If necessary, Don would hold them at bay and cover our retreat before fading back to Mom’s house.
Luck was on our side. The light changed from green to yellow. The driver sped up slightly to make it through. I closed my normal eye and watched the look on the driver’s face. Our eyes locked for a moment and I guessed he was doing fifteen to twenty miles an hour when he hit that spectral wall. The Lexus sputtered and died, rolling into the intersection as both ghosts were hurled out the back of the car, cracking the windshield in at least a dozen places.
I wasn’t worried about the car. The police could scratch their heads over the comatose guy behind the wheel of a car with a broken back windshield. I was already on the move with my pipe wrench in hand. Don rose up out of the ground like a freaky horror movie scene almost on top of the Skinwalker flopping on the ground.
The general was staggering to his feet when I brought my wrench down two handed, right in the middle of his back. “Hello General Reynolds. We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Mike Ross.” I grabbed him with one hand to keep him from sinking into the ground and rained blows on his head with the wrench.
Had this been something visible to the normal eye, it probably would have been a repulsive scene, worse than those kids beating up that truck driver in the LA riots. I grew up on the poor streets of suburbia and my mean streak worsened while I was in Iraq. Fighting ghosts wasn’t a point-and-shoot affair. It was up close and nasty. Don stopped me after the tenth blow. Reynolds no longer moved and was leaking a glowing vapor.
“Let me in there! It’s only the energy keeping him together and I want that.”
Coming out of my fog, I undid the General’s belt, removing both the scabbard and the sword – time for a bit of an upgrade! I drew the sword. It had a more intricate pommel guard than Vincent’s with a nice balance and heft.
The rapidly dimming Civil War ghost continued to fade as Don siphoned the energy away. Hodges, on the other hand, was beginning to shine brighter than ever. I looked up and saw figures already moving towards us. There was still time, but not a lot. “Company is on the way, Don! You almost done? I don’t want to cut it close.”
“I could drain a little more, but this is plenty. Let’s get while the gettin’s good.” Don used his sword to sever the head of the fading ghost from its body. I grabbed my wrench, the water bottle, and the antifreeze jug and sprinted towards Rusty’s truck.
Climbing in the passenger’s seat, Rusty asked me, “Did it work? I couldn’t really see a damn thing, but you looked like you were handing out a king-sized ass whipping.”
“Yeah we’re good. I’ll let you know when Don’s in the bed of the truck. Get ready…Now!”
Rusty accelerated swerving by the stalled Lexus with the driver slumped behind the wheel. I spared a glance towards the ghosts who were still over a quarter of a mile from us, looking for Vincent, but from that distance with my piss poor eyesight, they were all just a blur.
Three days later, I should have been in class, but negotiating a peace accord in my weird little world seemed more important than my day at Montgomery Community College. So I ended up sitting on a bench near the Shady Grove Metro Station. The location was flexible; I could easily disappear into the lightly wooded area surrounding it, or run into the station and fade into the sea of humanity. Rusty was parked in his truck near the highway if I needed him.
Don located a fairly new ghost and convinced him to walk into Taney’s museum and tell them that we wanted to “meet and reach an understanding.”
Roger Taney, also known as the Lord Justice, was an old, shriveled ghost with a gaunt face and longish hair. He’d emerged from the gold Lexus I’d ambushed a few days ago. His aura was definitely bright enough, though Diamond Jim and Eva seemed much more powerful. Heck, toting all that energy, Reynolds might have been brighter, but it was doubtful Taney would fall for an ambush.
My old buddy, Colonel Strong Vincent stepped out of the vehicle and stood next to Taney. Vincent’s face was a mask of barely contained rage. It probably didn’t help that I was wearing Reynolds’ sword. Having a scabbard made carrying a sword, even a ghostly one, much easier. Some juvenile part of my existence yearned to piss Vincent off, but it felt childish and I suppressed the urge. Besides, the driver of the Lexus was clearly armed; it wasn’t any time to fool around.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Taney,” I said.
“Hello, Mr. Ross. You asked for this parlay. What can a humble spirit clinging to the space between this life and the next do for one such as you?”
“I want to be left alone,” I answered.
“Pardon me for stating the obvious, but you have a rather odd way of demonstrating it.”
“Well, your men have tried to kill me, several times in fact.”
His brow knitted, “Yes, and you decided a display of force was necessary. So, John’s destruction was simply a negotiating tactic on your part?”
“No more than imprisoning and torturing Karla Thompson was your way of making an example. When I first showed up in Gettysburg, I only wanted to understand what was happening. I met the good Colonel there and things went bad, quickly. I don’t intend to lead the next Great Cleansing. You don’t want to go on to whatever is next; hey, that’s between you and the powers that be. I don’t mind helping a ghost cross if they want to, but the pay isn’t very good and the locations stink.”
I only had a vague idea what the Great Cleansing was, but I guessed that Taney was well aware of the Poe brothers and what they did. Let him worry about what I might know. Since I always seemed to be grasping at straws, maybe it was time someone else joined me. 
“I see. Then what exactly are you interested in, Mr. Ross?”
“Living a relatively normal life; one not full of turf wars between factions both living and dead that are trying to control DC.”
Taney held his hands together tapping his two index fingers against each other as I spoke.  “Ironically, that struggle is what prevented me from locating you. Rockville is in my territory, but like a farmer intentionally leaving a field fallow of crop, I choose not to plant roots here. The parties contesting for the District of Columbia respect my boundaries – for the most part. By claiming this area, but not really doing anything with it, I have a buffer zone and make my organization less of a target. You must understand that Ferrymen are a rare occurrence. Mr. Porter’s appearance caused quite a stir in my territory. My dear friend John acted rather poorly and sanctioned Mr. Porter based on superstition and the limited facts available.”
He was clearly using General Reynolds as a fall guy. I wasn’t necessarily buying it. “And now that you have more facts available?”
“I do believe that we can reach an accommodation. I have no real interest in this area. Stake your claim to it, Mister Ferryman. My energy is brought in from the battlefields of Gettysburg and Antietam. The meager offerings here pale in comparison. If all you wish is a simple truce that is more than acceptable. Confine your actions to this city, the south, and east and do not interfere in my dealings to the north and west and I see no reason why we cannot coexist in peace.”
“What about the spirits in DC?”
“I cannot speak for them, Mr. Ross. As they are not privy to our arrangement, it is likely that they would continue to believe this to be my territory; treating it as such. That said, I do not recommend that you provoke them, for surely you would be taking your life into your own hands.”
“And that’s it? You’re fine with that?”
“Yes. The arrangement is acceptable for now. Perhaps in the future we can work on a more amicable relationship, but such things do not occur overnight. I would ask as a gesture of good faith on your part that you return Colonel Vincent’s weapon to him. I believe your friend beneath the roadway is holding it behind that protective shield you have established.”
The barrier hadn’t impeded Taney’s vision. So much for my precautions. He must be powerful. I hoped that he couldn’t spot Don if he was hidden behind my barrier. It wasn’t all bad though; Vincent appeared surprised to learn that I had “reinforcements” with me, so the tactic can work on weaker spirits.
“Come on up, Don.” 
My ghostly buddy rose up through the ground, holding Vincent’s sword. Further demonstrating his supernatural power, Taney pressed his weathered hand against my barrier. His face twisted in concentration and he pushed right through it as easily as I had pushed through the Oubliette in Atlantic City. Taney gestured for the blade. 
I nodded to Hodges and he handed the saber over. Taney was blatantly trying to psyche me out. He wanted there to be no doubt who the boss was. I knew it was posturing and that it shouldn’t get under my skin.
The problem was it did.

The next two weeks were relatively peaceful. Things were actually nice when I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder. With one notable exception, I slept better than I had since the first time I’d gotten a ringside seat to the “wide world of spooks.”
Elsbeth and Megan were out of town, visiting relatives down in Florida. Kevin McNeil was shadowing his family like usual. Honestly, Kevin and I didn’t get along that well without Elsbeth in the equation. It wasn’t my fault he was an asshole. Don continued to train me, but there was a less frantic pace to it. I wasn’t about to pick fights with any of the ghost clans out there. My profits from Atlantic City eliminated most of the bills and, for a change; I still had some left in my account.
Out in the garage, there was a shiny ball of ghostly light. Don discharged the captured energy from Reynolds. We were both surprised that Taney hadn’t asked for it back. It was strange to walk in there and see it. The first night, it stayed in my room, like a big old nightlight. That lasted until it triggered several vivid nightmares. The garage was a much better place for it.
“Weird,” Don said, “I just feel drawn to it when I’m out here. Watch this!”
Don placed his hand on the energy and siphoned off a bit. His aura brightened. Cocking his arm, he struck the heavy bag and it recoiled to his blow. Pushing out with his hands, a fifteen pound barbell zipped off the floor and crashed into a pile of old paint cans leftover from last spring when mom painted the house just before I came home from the hospital for good.
“Hey, easy with the tossing crap around!”
“Sorry, Mike. Didn’t mean to make a mess. Easy to see why ghosts want this stuff.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty wild to look at, but knowing that Skinwalkers use this junk to keep a person under their control makes it feel dirty. How goes the scouting to the south?” 
He shrugged, staring at the orb before him, reminding me of a moth distracted by the bright light.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone, Don? I could put on some slow music? Don, stay away from the light…”
My jokes shook him out of his funk. We’d agreed not to operate anywhere near DC, but due south and slightly west were viable options. 
“Oh yeah, the south! Most of the graveyards don’t have much activity. Haven’t met any murder victims with rewards and whatnot, but there’s a lot of charity cases who want you to play messenger boy for ‘em,” Don said.
“Yeah; maybe when I’m a little more established, I’ll consider more charity work, but do me a favor and keep looking.”
“You’re the boss. So, you’re giving up the helping the living business? I liked that Deadeye Mike website you made.”
He was referring to one of my school projects. Jenny also liked it and started offering all kinds of ideas. “That was just for one of my classes and it is still pretty crude. Right now, I stand less of a chance of pissing anyone off if I approach the ghosts first, looking for those that can pay.”
“Well, we could start by recruiting some of the charity cases and have them ‘buy’ their release by looking through those lottery tickets like that Snowden woman can.”
“You’re not-quite-living proof that not every ghost can do that.” Don was frustrated that he wasn’t able to do it. Elsbeth must have some superior skills after all.
“Yeah, well she’s been dead for a few years. I’m still getting the hang of things, but we can test ‘em and any of the ones that can do it can pay for you helping to release ‘em.”
“Not a bad idea, though I’m worried if I start winning all the time that the State of Maryland might start wondering how I do it. Lord knows who or what might be controlling Annapolis!”
Don laughed, “More than a little paranoid, aren’tcha?”
“My paranoia spotted more than a few roadside bombs in Iraq.”
“Yeah, damn shame you missed that last one. I didn’t want to swap you and Porkchop out, that day, but that new sonuvabitch lieutenant was emphasizing cross training. I should find that bastard and haunt his ass!”
“That reminds me, what were you trying to say to me when you died? I couldn’t hear crap.”
“Oh that, I was probably saying how Sonya was gonna kill me or something stupid like that.”
Don’s admission gave us both a good chuckle. We were both big fans of irony. “So what about you and Candy? Think she might succeed where Heather failed?”
I took a few whacks at the heavy bag. “We have to have uninterrupted dates before we can have a relationship. We’re hoping the fourth time’s a charm.”
“Good luck with that. I could always go haunt Jenny’s boyfriend if you want. She seems pretty sweet on you.”
“Nah, Jenny’s cute, but she’s not mature enough. Besides, she just got done with a ghost wrecking her life in general. She deserves a chance to make up for lost time even if it is with ‘Chaz’ Binstock.”
“You just don’t catch many breaks do you Mike?”
“Nope. So, do you want to get back to training?”
“Sure. Let me see some combinations. Start in close and use fast blows with your hands. Push your opponent back and then use kicks when they’re off balance. You don’t want open with a kick unless you have surprise, otherwise you’re the one off balance.”
Thursday March 15th, 2007 – It was the day my brief idyllic period came crashing down on me. I was on my way to class when Jenny caught up with me.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I asked. She doesn’t have morning classes.
“Do you have any ghosts with you? Do you see any around?” she asked. There was a hint of anxiety in her voice.
“Err, no why?” Having exhausted the lower corner of Lord Justice’s territory and found only slim pickings, Don was headed south by southwest across the state line to poke around in Virginia, being careful to avoid Arlington.
“Good. I need you to come with me.”
Okay, she had my interest. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a ghost in my bedroom and he says he needs to speak with you – privately.”
I was sorely tempted to ask if this was a ploy to get me into her bedroom, but the anxiety in her eyes told me otherwise. “Who is it?”
“Strong Vincent.” 
A chill ran up my spine.
“How long has he been there?”
“Since this morning.”
I gave her my best “tough guy” look. “Did he threaten you?”
“No, but he says that it’s urgent and he asks that you don’t alert the ghost who had his sword.”
Something told me this was more important than the lecture I was headed to. “Okay, Jenny, take me to him.”

Once at her house, I told Jenny to go in and tell Vincent that I was waiting for him outside. If it was a trap, I wasn’t going to walk in to it. If Jenny didn’t come out in a minute I was going in, sword drawn and this would be the end of Colonel Strong Vincent.
Fortunately, Vincent walked out of the wall and down the driveway towards me. He kept his palms open and away from his scabbard. I kept my right hand on the pommel of my sword and my left was filled with iron filings. “There’s a park nearby. Let’s walk,” I said.
He fell into step next to me. “I wasn’t certain you’d come, Mr. Ross.” So far, it was the longest non-threatening conversation we’d had.
“How did you locate Jenny?”
“Some of the non-aligned ghosts around this area knew of her mother and saw the newspaper article. Once I’d narrowed the general area you were operating from, it was relatively easy. I would ask that you extend my apologies to young Jennifer, although she seemed more excited than scared.”
I chuckled at the idea of Jenny peppering him with questions. “It’s her way. She doesn’t … well maybe that’s the wrong word … she chooses not to see the danger. Let’s put the small talk aside. You didn’t come straight to me, why?”
“This visit is not authorized by the Lord Justice.”
“I’d gathered that.”
“You have three serious problems, Mr. Ross. One is immediate, another is just on the horizon, and the final one looms in the distance. Which would you like to discuss first?”
For a change, someone was offering me a choice. It was about the only thing I could find enjoyable about this. “The immediate one first, please.”
“The ghost you are working with, Hodges. Do you know what he’s doing?”
I relaxed. “Don’s just exploring the territory for me and meeting with … what did you call them? Non-aligned ghosts? Yeah that was it. I’m looking for anyone who died under odd circumstances where there’s a reward that can be collected.”
Vincent shook his head. “According to the ghosts I have spoken with, he is trying to set up his own energy gathering network, with promises that you’ll use your powers to help cross them.”
“Hmmm, I didn’t ask him to do that. Don’s always been one to make certain he’s getting a little something for himself. I won’t hold that against him.”
“Do not be so quick to dismiss this. He’s meeting with a Skinwalker.”
“What? How do you know?”
“One of the men in my unit still wears his spyglass. He is an expert tracker. On my orders, he has been keeping an eye on your Mr. Hodges. Three days ago, he reported back to me that your friend met with a female Skinwalker who allowed him to possess the body she was using several times, as if she were instructing him. That is why I did not wish for him to be privy to our conversation.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I regrettably am most serious, Mr. Ross.”
I regarded him skeptically, “You think he’s going to try to take me over? He has to know it won’t work. I’ve already stopped a much more powerful spirit who tried that same shit!”
“I cannot say what his intentions are, but I know that he is not what he seems and yet has a place in your inner circle. You need to be wary of him.”
“Do you have any other proof?”
“None that will convince you, you’re obviously not willing to listen to me on this subject.” He gave me a particular kind of look; one I knew very well from my time in the Army. It was a look of superiority. Being a grunt, we’d catch it all the time from the officers. I hated that look.
Compounding his smug arrogance was the fact that I knew he was a lawyer, so by definition Vincent was full of himself twice over.
“Quit talking to me like I’m an idiot! I get your drift and I’ll keep an eye on Don, but unlike you, he hasn’t tried to kill me yet. You, on the other hand, have tried twice; so forgive me if I don’t take your word over someone I fought beside when he was still alive.”
The Union Colonel nodded. “Very well, I have repeatedly underestimated you, Mr. Ross, and I apologize for doing so again.”
I nodded.
“Mr. Hodges is yours to deal with as you see fit. The Lord Justice is your next problem.”
The thudding noise in my good ear was my heart beating louder. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“He has no intention of honoring the accords you’ve reached. Already, he plots how he can use a Ferryman to his advantage.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“There was a time when I idolized Justice Taney. In law school, I studied his cases and respected the man.”
“Even after the Dred Scott case?”
“I did not agree with it, but I understood why it was necessary to come out that way. Nonetheless, it is that decision and the legacy of it that has twisted his soul. He is not the same man he was when he lived.”
“So why do you serve him?”
“For the first few decades, I was fooled. After I learned his true nature, it was too late; I discovered that I was little more than a slave. Taney has my anchor under his control and I am nowhere near strong enough to take it from him. For that, I need your assistance.”
That was a bombshell. Apparently issues with slavery carried over to the afterlife. “Well if I need to be suspicious of ghosts, why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not trying to stir something up between me and Taney, so that you can take his place? This could all be some elaborate ruse on your part, or even his part, to see how I’ll react.”
He’s either a good actor, or what I said genuinely stung him. 
“I swear on the grave of my daughter what I am telling you is the truth! I give you my word as an officer in the United States Army. Other than my scout, my men and Lord Justice believe that I am in Erie visiting my daughter’s grave. Taney is plotting against you. He will test you soon, to see if you are capable of being an anvil, against which he shall pound his adversaries. Should you turn into a worthy ally, he plans to take a more active role in the unending battle for control of Washington. If that fails, he will attempt to feed you to the beast of Baltimore, which is of course your final problem.”
That set off the alarm bells, “What do you know about the spirit in Baltimore?”
“Darren showed me the footage of his visit to the graveyard. The creature knows of you and I think I know why. You share the bloodline.”
“What?”
“The beast is William Henry Poe, brother of your ancestor, Edgar Allan Poe.” 
Give Colonel Vincent some credit; he knew how to drop some heavy-duty bombshells. 
“No shit!”
“I do not lie. Your family has a long history in both worlds. The Great Cleansing began with William’s death, when he became a ghost. From all that I can piece together, the brothers began their crusade in earnest at that point and were a team until the early 1840’s. At some point William either went insane or was corrupted; I do not really know which, and the brothers fought. Edgar eventually caught up with his brother in Baltimore, and bound William’s soul to that soil, where he has waited for over a hundred and fifty years. It seems that Edgar was not strong enough to vanquish his brother and the act of binding William was ultimately fatal to Edgar.”
“William thinks I can free him?”
“He is bound by blood and power,” Vincent answers somberly. “You have the same blood, and it appears, much the same power.”
“But Darren was also a Poe descendant; why didn’t he use him?”
“Watch Porter’s moving pictures again. Poe attempted to possess him, but your relative was not a strong enough vessel to hold such a spirit. The sickness was Porter’s body rebelling against the control. That is why Skinwalkers limit the power they accumulate. If they gather too much power, they burn out the bodies they inhabit. A strong Skinwalker needs a very strong body - Darren was not powerful enough to contain Poe’s spirit. You on the other hand…”
Vincent didn’t have to finish it. I was much more powerful than Darren ever was. Hell, the fact that we were having this conversation was proof enough, but since the topic of Darren had come up. “How did Darren die and why did you finish his ghost off?”
“I was no party to Darren’s demise. I genuinely liked the man. One of the other officers spoke to General Reynolds before I could. The General took that Lieutenant and several other ghosts over my protest to attack Darren. At one point there was a burst of energy and only Darren and General Reynolds survived that confrontation. The other four ghosts were destroyed and Darren died less than an hour later.”
Whatever Darren did, it must have cost him dearly. Still, it must have been impressive. “And that’s why Taney doesn’t want to outright fight with me? He’s going to test me to see what I’m capable of?”
“Correct. He is wary of you, but knows that he’s in a unique situation, but I am getting ahead of myself. Darren, as you well know, did not cross and seemed to have difficulty adjusting. He became increasingly manic and the Lord Justice ordered that we take him into custody and observe him. Darren became certain that ‘Ross’ was coming. How he knew, I cannot say. My guess is the same way that the spirit of William Poe knows that you are coming. Either way, we kept Darren starved of energy because he was a threat. He spoke of merging with you and enacting his revenge on us all. When you arrived, I think he actually tried to possess you, but only having a rudimentary understanding of the technique and being greatly weakened, he failed. I did what I thought was necessary.”
Again my skeptical side reared its ugly head, “A lot of this isn’t adding up, Vincent. Taney was obviously blaming Reynolds for our ‘bad blood,’ now you’re laying Darren’s death and what happened afterwards on both Reynolds and Taney. How does that explain Karla?”
“I heard Porter’s last words to you as well. Upon reporting to General Reynolds and Justice Taney, it was decided that Miss Thompson should be located and whatever information she held recovered. I was assigned the task as punishment for what they considered as a failure when you first arrived.”
“That doesn’t excuse the way she was treated!”
“No, it does not. Mr. Ross, you were a soldier. There is a vast difference between the soldier of the present day and those that served under me in the War Between the States. The Articles of War in my time could fit in the pocket of your jacket, while your Code of Military Justice is the size of Mister Webster’s dictionary. Things that are considered atrocities in the present day, like looting, were simply tolerated then as a method to keep your forces equipped and on the move. My new command consisted of soldiers who represented the worst my era had to offer – from craven cowards to bloodthirsty madmen. They took liberties with Miss Thompson and enjoyed tormenting her, especially when I was away delivering my reports to the General. The General visited the property several weeks before you arrived and instructed the men that they were to use any and all means to extract the information from her. She was greatly wronged and I am truly sorry for my part in it.”
“And yet, you turned a blind eye to it!”
“I am bound to serve the Lord Justice’s orders for as long as he controls my focus. His orders included obedience to General Reynolds.”
“Did he have the same hold over the General?”
“No.”
“What are Taney’s orders concerning me?”
“To not engage you at this juncture. However, he did not say that I cannot approach you. Justice Taney is a careful and deliberate person. He will consider the best course of action several times before acting, but mark my words, he will act.”

Our conversation lasted long into the afternoon, causing me to miss the rest of my classes, but I didn’t care. Arriving home, I sat on my bed and tried to sort what Colonel Strong Vincent said and how much I was going to believe. Given that he’d twice tried to kill me, I wasn’t exactly about to offer him the title of “Mike’s new best friend,” but even if he was dealing in half-truths, it worried me. My inherent distrust of officers and lawyers didn’t make it any easier.
I wasn’t a great thinker. My brain usually got all tied up in knots when I thought too much. Clarity, when it comes, was often during physical exertion, so I went out to the garage and went after the heavy bag with a vengeance. Don wandered through the wall after about twenty minutes.
“Mike? You’re home a little early. Any problems?”
“No. Just couldn’t get into higher learning today. What’s new and exciting?” Maybe it was just my imagination, but Don did look brighter, though the garage wasn’t exactly well lit to begin with despite the ball of ‘spook juice’ floating in the corner.
“Not really. Most of the places I visited in Virginia were under the thumb of the folks at Arlington National Cemetery. I’ll keep looking. How about you?”
With the adrenaline pumping and my temper flaring, I wasn’t thinking things through. I should’ve followed through with the half-formed plan of getting Elsbeth to meet up with Vincent’s scout and verify the truth about Don. I shouldn’t have said anything without a handful of iron in my hand and my sword at my side.
Instead of “oh not much” what came out of my mouth was, “What are you doing with that female Skinwalker?”
Not one of my smartest moves.
The expression on Don’s face was all the confirmation I needed. He was guilty and now we both knew it. Like a hockey player I shed my workout gloves as he leapt over and started draining the ball of ghost energy. “I didn’t want it to be this way Mikey.”
“What the hell’s going on Don?” I closed quickly while he was glowing brighter. He gestured and several hand weights zipped towards me. I dodged a couple, but a little two pounder hit me smack in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Don was already on top of me with his long reach. I was immediately on the defensive as we exchanged blows. He was fast, strong, and ‘juiced,’ but I wasn’t a slouch either. He used jabs to keep the distance and sent a couple of knee level kicks at my reconstructed leg.
No, he hadn’t given any thought about how to fight me. My leg protested against the blows, but I stepped through the pain to keep him from getting that much force behind his leg. We traded what must have been a dozen punches at close range. After the flurry of blows, he tried to push me away – probably to set up a kick. I grabbed and swept his leg pulling us both to the ground.
Our grunts, groans, and shouted obscenities mixed as we rolled around on the unforgiving concrete. My hand closed on a Phillips head screwdriver and I jammed it into his side. He yelped in pain and I pulled it out to give him the same “tenderizing” treatment that I’d given Charlie Snowden, when I saw Don’s right hand with something in it, filling the corner of my eye. I barely recognized the five pound barbell that close, but knew that it was going to hurt.

What must have been an hour later, I came to. I was groggy and my head throbbed. I couldn’t see the ball of energy anymore. Don must’ve taken it and run. I’d deal with him later. Right now, I needed to get inside and get cleaned up. 
Once inside, I walked straight into the kitchen instead of the bathroom. Okay, maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly. Man, my head was throbbing; add another concussion to my list of injuries.
Imagine my confusion when I picked up the phone and dialed a number. What the hell was I doing? A female voice answered.
“Cassie, Mike caught wind of us. I had to ‘walk him.”
“You dumbshit! The deal isn’t finalized. Damn it to hell! Can’t you do anything right? Shit! Shit! Shit!” the female voice yelled.
“I’m sorry Cassie. What do I do?” 
God, did I really sound that pathetic?
“Okay, make sure to keep him wearing your anchor and with all that extra energy you should be able to hold onto him. Meet me in Baltimore as fast as you can. I’ll start heading there now to finish the negotiations with Poe. Understood?”
“I won’t let you down, sweetie.”
Her tone changed from petulant and demanding to silky sweet in an instant. Though I didn’t recognize the voice, I knew the tone. Don was talking to his wife, Sonya Hodges. 
“I know you won’t, Don. That’s what I’ve always loved about you. You’re so determined.”
I’d been Skinwalked! Don was going to take me to Baltimore!
As Don took me into the bathroom and I got a good look at the bruise, complete with a reverse five shaped impression on my left temple, I did what freed me from Dutch Shultz. I pooled all my anger, pain, and betrayal and forced it through my veins like it was some kind of drug.
My own voice answered me. “Nice try Mikey, but it’s not enough. Not with me wearing my dog tags on your body, juiced with all this energy. Oh I’m sure if you kept it up for a day or two, you’d break free. Problem is, that’ll be too late.”
A damp cool rag wiped at my face. It reminded me of the sponge baths I’d gotten in the hospital. I wasn’t in control! I tried again…and again. Don laughed at me.
“I guess you have a right to know. Cassandra isn’t just her stage name. It’s the real name of the Skinwalker that’s been driving Sonya all these years, Cassandra Von Eckel. Remember how I said she was always into that occult shit? She was preparing me to be a Skinwalker – dying in Iraq just accelerated her plan for me; it’s how I got so powerful so soon after death. When she heard rumors about a ferryman through the Body Market in Philly, she wanted to have a look-see. She came up here and discovered it was you, of all people. Don’t that beat all! Well, since ‘Recon’ is my middle name, she sent me up here to figure out everything I could.”
Don’s explanation wasn’t really that much comfort. It did, however, give me the reason that Sonya always rubbed me the wrong way. All those questions he’d been asking me…the bastard was pumping me for information about myself.
“Man, you’re pissed aren’t you? Want to know something funny? Who do you think killed that Snowden fella? That’s right Mikey! Cassie wanted to see how good you were and I convinced old Charlie there that he needed to kill you. Funny, it wasn’t really that hard. I was standing on the other side of the wall at that hotel, listening to that S.O.B. beg for help.”
Talk about kicking a man while he’s down! Don sent Snowden after me like some kind of damn test.
“Oh don’t be such a whiny bitch, Mike. Anyway, as soon as you told me about the thing in Baltimore, Cassie did some recon of her own while we were in Atlantic City. Man, you wouldn’t believe how ticked off she was when I told her I’d lost you.”
The angry fog lifted long enough for me to realize that in Atlantic City, the guy in the lobby getting yelled at on his cell phone was Don.
“Oh you saw that! I’ll admit it, I’m whipped, but I got someone, Mike. Look at you! You’re such a loser! That Candy chick is hot for you and you manage to screw it up every time. All those plans I was helping you make and you never saw a thing! Way I see it – I’m doing you a favor. You wouldn’t have lasted very long in our world – you’re too weak and way too stupid.”
It was bad enough that he’d stolen my body, but did he have to insult me as well? He’s just trying to beat down my resistance and make me give up. I wasn’t a loser! 
Don finished cleaning me up. I grinned at myself in the mirror. “Close but not close enough, loser. I’m not going anywhere and you can’t make me. Now how about we take ourselves a little ride up to Baltimore? There’s a family reunion waiting to happen and you’re the guest of honor!”
We” walked into my bedroom to change. “If we get there soon enough, I might even let you hit that little hottie Cassie is driving around now before we get to the main event. What do ya say Mikey? One last meal for the condemned man?”
Funny, I didn’t really feel all that hungry at the moment.


Episode 11: A Judicious Use of Force

There’s that old saying about how you need to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. Well, it blows chunks when the “someone else” happens to be me and the shoes were attached to my now-possessed body.
Good old Don Hodges, I’d fought side-by-side with him in Iraq. I was the last person he ever saw alive. Now, he was an invader in my body, turning me into nothing more than an annoying, impotent passenger while he took my flesh and bones out for a ride.
Skinwalkers, I was quickly developing a deep hatred for them. They weren’t particularly powerful in a straight up fight. I’d peg them at about the risk level of Jenny’s departed mother. This lack of power was offset by the critical detail that they could possess a human body and then act in the real world. They inhabited the weak minded or easily manipulated. I’m not certain what that said about me. To my credit, Don cheated and tricked me. The end result was all that counted I guess, as no one was awarding points for style.
“Mike, you’re such a schmuck. Don’t you own any decent clothes?” Don asked with my voice rummaging through the contents of my closet. “I didn’t realize ‘Salvation Army’ was a fashion statement.”
It made me wonder if I sounded that harsh to everyone when I am engaging in my usual insightful commentary. Don evidently wanted to look good for the Skinwalker he’d been married to for several years – Cassandra Von Eckel.
Walt Disney was right. It is a small world! Maybe his ghost is somewhere out there with a story to tell. I didn’t know about Walt, but I knew if I didn’t figure a way out of this mess soon, my story wasn’t going to have a very happy ending.
The angry ghost of Edgar Allan Poe’s brother was waiting in Baltimore to break in this body – previous occupant optional. Normally, I’d give myself pretty good chances, but Don just consumed a whole shipment of ‘spook juice’ so he could ambush and bind me with his anchor. I couldn’t seem to get any traction at all against him. I might as well have been a damn Chihuahua nipping at his ankles – or were they still my ankles? Either way, it sucked.
“Mike? I’m home. They were overstaffed and I got the night off,” I heard Mom at the doorway.
I wanted to scream for her to get out of here. Don was willing to screw an old war buddy over and I didn’t want to think about what he might do to my mother. It made me look forward to all those times Elsbeth was going to say “I told you so” to me. Hopefully, I’d get to hear it at least one time.
Don looked at the pipe wrench for a heart-stopping minute and whispered to me, “See Mikey, that’s the lure of ‘walking. If I want to, I can do anything with no consequences. I could go out there, crack her skull wide open, and whistle while I do it. It’s a beautiful thing when all the rules no longer apply.”
His hand started to reach for the wrench and I fought with renewed vigor. I’d like to think it was my resistance, but it was probably just common sense that stopped him. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t turn this body over with a criminal rap.” He squeezed my cheeks together with my left hand. “Don’t you worry, Mikey. I’m gonna take good care of you for the next few hours.”
“We” walked out into the hallway and saw my mom sitting on the couch with a take home salad. “Mike? What happened? You’ve got a big bruise on your face.”
Don made me shrug, “Tripped and fell out in the garage.”
“Well, other than that, you look nice tonight. Is Candace coming up?” she asked pleasantly. “I guess you don’t need the pizza on the counter.”
“You know something? If I never eat another god dammed piece of pizza in my life, I’ll die a happy man,” Don-speaking-through-my-body said.
What the hell was he doing? Mom looked like I’d slapped her. 
I’d hoped he was done, but he just kept right on, “You know, all this time, I wondered why Dad up and left. Nowadays, I just wonder why he didn’t take me too!”
Don continued and part of me wished he would have just used the pipe wrench; it would have been quicker. I’d say the next five minutes were the worst of my life, but I was just a helpless, hapless spectator. By the time Don grabbed the keys to my Saturn and announced he was leaving for good, Mom was a blubbering mass of sorrow, the likes of which I’d never seen. For the first time ever, she looked like the world had finally gotten the best of her.
Walking out the door, he whispered to me. “See how much fun you can have? Isn’t it great? Time to quit sponging off your mommy, Mike, and go make your way in this world like a man! Clean breaks – that’s what I’m talking about.”
My car was out at the curb. Mom’s repaired Hyundai was in the driveway. I recalled the smile on her face when she got her car back, and didn’t have to use mine anymore. That memory alone reminded me that, if I got the chance, Don was going to pay.
Leaving the house, walking towards the street, I felt the anti-ghost barrier more than I’d ever felt it before. It must’ve been Don’s unwelcome presence. Walking around the car, Don went still for a second and then quickly looked behind him. Colonel Vincent rose out of the pavement. 
“Mr. Ross,” he said in a dead ringer for Vincent Price.
Don reached for the phantom sword at my side. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Forgive the intrusion, but I was hoping you’d given more thought to our conversation.” I was familiar enough with Vincent to realize he was suspicious.
Even in my buried state, I could feel Don’s panic. “Look, I don’t have the time to talk about this now! I’ve got to go.” 
“It will only take a moment of your time. I was hoping to speak further concerning the problems we discussed this afternoon,” Vincent said smoothly.
I could feel Don rummaging around in my skull trying to dredge up anything useful. I sensed his frustration when he came up empty. “Look, screw you and screw your boss. I don’t care about your problems! As far as I’m concerned we have a truce. That’s what we agreed right?”
Vincent stepped back and drew his sword. A grim look settled on his pale face. “I’m not speaking to Mr. Ross right now, am I? Get out of him Skinwalker.”
Don drew my sword. Fortunately for Vincent, Don wasn’t very skilled with a saber. I knew he preferred a knife or a katana. The pommel guard seemed to throw him off slightly. Phantom steel met phantom steel as our weapons clanged. Don was trying to move Vincent towards the barrier, using his size and speed. Vincent fought back using superior technique and was clearly no slouch, but he was fighting defensively and I knew why; Taney gave orders not to engage me!
Don mistook the ground Vincent was giving and aggressively pressed forward. Vincent was wary of the nearby barrier. It was dark out. I was glad, because this scene would have looked really stupid to an onlooker, dueling ninjas meet air guitar I guess. For my part I tried to use this as an opportunity to evict Don or at least distract him enough so that Vincent could take advantage of any opening. 
Strong blows forced the Civil War officer off balance and Don snapped a low kick, catching Vincent’s left knee. That sent the ghost sprawling to the ground.
Don stalked forward to finish Vincent off and I was wondering why Strong didn’t just fade away when the answer hit me – literally. Something crashed into me, hard. Vincent’s scout was here as well. The guy was a little shorter than I was and looked maybe all of sixteen or seventeen, but he was a mass of flailing limbs that Don couldn’t contain. I could feel the blows as we struggled. Don pushed the Private and thrust the sword into the kid.
Vincent, on the other hand, had no problem using a weapon with a pommel guard. He smashed it right into my face, which quite honestly wasn’t doing all that hot. I found myself in the rather unique position of rooting for the guys kicking my ass.
The wounded kid jumped right back in and didn’t give Don a chance to recover. He grabbed the dog tags and yanked. The chain snapped and the vice grip on my body slacked. My limbs started shaking as Don now had to deal with me and I was pissed. Vincent helped the wounded kid to his feet and picked up the dog tags. He skewered one of them on the point of his blade and Don shot out of me like a rocket, rebounded off the barrier, and landed in a heap on the ground before me.
I slid into my body, a blast of sensations and pain before I started striking the ghost before me, inflicting righteous payback for his betrayal. Vincent stepped forward with the second dog tag and Hodges went still.
“Wait! Don’t!” Don pleaded.
“What shall I do with him, Mr. Ross?”
“Mike…” Don whined.
Time stood still for a surreal moment. I saw the wounded Private and the vapors leaking out of where my sword was stuck in him, Don’s face begging me for mercy, and Strong Vincent waiting for my decision. Crossing a nameless bastard was one thing. This guy had been a friend…before he sold me down the river.
“So long, Don. See you on the other side.” There wasn’t a hint of regret in my voice. Vincent skewered the second dog tag on his blade. Don thrashed and I could feel him try to get back into me, but that wasn’t going to happen – not now. He struggled with me right up until he began dissolving. I probably looked like some guy dry heaving on the side of the road. For the second and final time, I watched Don Hodges’s eyes grow wide with fear and finality.
This time Don didn’t utter any last words for me to wonder about. Instead, I told him, “When I catch up to Cassandra, I’ll finish her too!”
Seconds later, he was gone. I staggered to my feet, really feeling all the punishment sustained by my poor body. Turning to Vincent I asked, “How’s your man?”
“Private Griffin is not long for this existence. When we pull out the sword…”
“Sir, I’m scared…”
I owed this kid something. “Griffin is it? What’s keeping you in this life?”
The Private looked at me, face contorted in pain kneeling with only Vincent’s arm holding him up. “I joined up to beat back the rebs. My pa said I wasn’t gonna be no hero and I was just going to get killed. I swore, I’d prove him wrong. Gettysburg…Gettysburg was my first battle. Pa was right. I only fired my rifle once.”
For a second, I searched for an answer and found one. “Griffin, you just helped save me right? You know what I am, don’t you? I’m a Ferryman. Every spirit I help cross after this will owe part of it to you, kid. Every bad guy I put down, you get a little credit for it too. If that’s not being a hero, I don’t know what is.”
The kid looked at me, “You mean it, sir?”
“Yeah, I do. It might have taken almost a hundred and fifty years, but you proved your pa wrong. If he’s there waiting for you on the other side, make sure to tell him that.” 
The vapors stopped and the Private glowed stronger. He saluted both of us and faded away. I reached down and picked up the sword. 
“I apologize to you Mr. Ross.”
“For what?” I was a bit choked up, clearly from my injuries, not anything else, mind you.
He offered his hand to help me up. I accepted despite the minor stinging pain. Hell, it distracted me from all the pain elsewhere. “I once said you knew nothing of honor. I was wrong.”
“Yeah, whatever. C’mon, I’ll escort you’ll across the barrier. We’ll talk inside.” That was right before I remembered all the things Don said to my mom just minutes earlier.

Her eyes bored into me. “It wasn’t me, Mom. There was a ghost possessing me.”
“After what you just said, you waltz back in and feed me this bullshit. You’ve got a lot of nerve!” She bellowed.
She must be pissed. The fresh blood and bruises didn’t even register on her.
“Colonel Vincent, do something impressive and convince her while I go clean up.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the pen on the table lift up and begin writing on the paper in front of Mom while her mouth hung open in disbelief.
“Mike? How are you doing this?”
“I’m not. I’m going to go take a shower. Ask him everything you ever wanted to know about being a ghost.”
I started to head back towards my bathroom, but stopped and went back to the telephone. For a minute, I tried to compose an official sounding statement to the effect that Don Hodges met an unfortunate end after failing to possess a Ferryman. However, my normally biting sarcasm was as pummeled as the rest of my body, so I figured to hell with it and picked up the receiver. Hitting redial, I opted to let Cassandra have the first words. 
“Don? What the hell? Why haven’t you left yet? You’d better get your ass up here now!” Cassandra’s voice was shrill and nagging.
“Sorry Cassandra, Don won’t be going anywhere with my body. In fact, he won’t be going anywhere ever again.”
There was a moment of muted surprise before the ghost I’d known as Sonya Hodges responded, “So, you destroyed him. I thought he was ready…I guess I underestimated you Mike. You’re going to pay, though; I’d invested several years of effort on Don.”
“You want your payment, bitch? Come and get it. This is your one warning, Cassandra; I had no qualms putting Don down after what he did. I liked him; he was a friend. You, I never cared for. Don’t cross my path ever again, Skinwalker.” It was probably “tough” talk from a guy who’d spent the better part of the day getting his ass handed to him in one way or another, but I didn’t care.
She laughed at me, but I sensed a hint of fear in her tone. “Mike, I could cross your path all day long and you’d never know it. I’ve seen a real Ferryman in action. The way I hear it, you’ve got a long way to go. Besides, it’s not me you have to worry about – William is very much aware of you.”
“Maybe you should ask Don how far I have to go. As for your master, tell him to enjoy his prison. Baltimore isn’t in my travel plans anytime soon.”
“Oh, he’s waited all these years. I’m sure he can wait a bit longer. Besides, William isn’t my master. Until Don told me, I wouldn’t have connected you with William. It was just too much of an opportunity to pass up. However, William still has many followers and allies. You can bet they’ll be coming for you. I’ll definitely show up to watch. Sweet dreams, darling.”   
I hung up the phone and looked at both my mom and Colonel Vincent. “She said Poe has other allies. I don’t suppose they’ll respect your the boundaries.”
“Mike, who were you talking to?”
“Another ghost. She was working with the one that was trying to kidnap me.”
“Poe? Like the writer? Mike, this makes no sense. You called a ghost? On the phone?” 
“There’s a type of ghost that can possess the body of someone who’s still alive,” I explained. “This Cassandra I was talking to was Sonya Hodges, Don’s wife. The ghost that just did this to me was my former friend, Don. I’d love to tell you more and I will, but I really have to discuss this with Colonel Vincent, he’s the ghost operating the pen right now.”
The Colonel answered, “No, they won’t respect boundaries and Justice Taney will make no effort to hinder them.”
“What can you do?”
He shook his head. “As long as he controls my focus, I can only offer my assistance and perhaps not even that. My men will not move against him.”
I rubbed my aching head finding a new set of bruises. “So, Taney is an obstacle and you’re certain that he won’t lift a finger?”
Vincent drew himself upright still holding the pen and paper. “When I approached you, it was to see if I could convince you to assist me in retrieving my anchor from Taney’s clutches. I sought only my freedom. In order to assist you, though, I must instead lead a coup and replace the Lord Justice. I have a trump card to play if you need any further reason to act against Justice Taney.”
“Go ahead, a guy who I trusted with my life just betrayed me, I’m guessing it can’t get much worse than that.”
Colonel Vincent sighed, “From my perspective, it is. I will let you be the judge. Justice Taney assumes that because you have bested me on the field of battle that I loathe you. That is, of course, false. I am wary of what you could become, should you be slain, based on what I know of Poe and what I saw in Porter.”
I was perhaps a little rude, “I’m sorry to be abrupt and I know this is leading somewhere, but my head is killing me. Could you pick up the pace a little?” 
“Very well, after learning your full name, Justice Taney made a discovery in his records and brought me into his confidence counting on the notion that I hated you.”
“What did he tell you?” Something warned me that this was going to be unpleasant.
“The Skinwalkers employed by Taney have other duties. They are active suppliers to the Body Market in Philadelphia.”
“What does this has to do with me?”
“It involved a particular transaction involving a fairly powerful body they acquired over a decade ago – a man named David Michael Ross, Senior.”
My world stopped.

How had I not seen it? Dad was part of the Poe bloodline as well! From what little I knew of Skinwalkers, their usual modus operandi was to sever all ties with the rightful owner’s family and skip town, taking whatever they could with them. It was a cold slap in the face and exactly how my father disappeared from my life.
He didn’t leave when I was just a kid. He was taken!
“Mike? Are you okay?” Mom sounded worried.
I ignored her. I needed the whole story. “What did Taney say to you?” My anger was a tangible thing. Everyone in the room could feel it.
“He discovered this and told me that should you prove to be an asset, he would offer this information to you along with possibility of locating and recovering your father, provided it would benefit his organization.”
Vincent was right. I was ready to take the bastard out. “I’m in. We up the timetable and remove Taney now. What happens next?”
“The territory would be thrown into chaos, but I would control the largest contingent. I can spare a few of my men to watch over you and your mother.”
“Deal. What about Poe”
Vincent nodded, “If we can not remove Taney, then we don’t have to worry about the threat from Baltimore. We will need to lure Justice Taney away from his sanctuary. If you propose a meeting to discuss Poe, he will come and likely bring the majority of his inner circle with him. Our assault must dispose of those that remain and destroy his anchor.”  
“Is it his gavel?”
“I believe so.”   
Mom, of course, was only getting half the conversation. “Michael,” she began sternly, “just what the hell is going on?”
It took a minute for me to compose myself. “He just said that these Skinwalkers possessed Dad just like this one did to me. I met one in Atlantic City. He’d been in somebody’s body for a decade.”
Karen Ross was a tough, grounded woman. People who know her always say how much grit she possesses. In my history of juvenile delinquency, I’d seen her irritated and angry. I thought I’d seen it all. Minutes before, she’d been crushed. Now that look in her eyes scared me.
Her voice was calm, but that was misleading. “I think you need to tell me everything.”

The predawn hours of Saturday March 17th, ironically Taney’s birthday, found me near his home. The museum wasn’t open for tours until the beginning of April. I recruited a ghost from a local cemetery and convinced her to set up a meeting that I had no intention of attending. Meanwhile, I was once again tempting fate and trying to avoid a breaking and entering charge. 
Rusty politely declined to come along and shut off the security system, going on at great length about losing his job and any future jobs if he got caught. I also saw that he was a little scared. Oddly enough, I didn’t need to worry too much about cutting the alarm wire; ghosts are pretty useful when it comes to mucking with electronics.
On the good news front, Chuck Candelmas came up with a gizmo made of PVC pipes that were filled with iron filings, attached to a little air charge, the same kind they use in paintball guns. I called it my ghost gun – deadly to the nearly departed, but not likely to get me busted for carrying a firearm. Mom, of all people, was my getaway driver. The family that committed crime together was the family that stayed together.
Vincent entered through the wall and was in the process of disrupting the security panel while I attacked the back door. My lock picking skills were rusty.
Okay, that was a bad pun.
Either way, I managed to get in the door after a minute. Inside, I heard Vincent’s booming voice. “For the last time, where is Lord Justice?”
“He’s not here, Vincent. Go be pompous somewhere else.” 
“Lord Justice left just the two of you here. That’s all?” 
Subtle Colonel – very subtle. Stepping into the room with my sword in one hand and Chuck’s invention in the other, I waited until Vincent sunk into the floor before triggering the air charge. The cloud of iron dust was like a blast from a shotgun. It caught one of them, slicing through him. The other ghost faded into an old fashioned ice box, trying to protect himself.
The thrashing ghost was easy enough to finish off. The second one popped his head out of the icebox which gave me the opportunity to hit him with the second cylinder of filings – it wasn’t pretty.
“Where’s your focus?”
“There’s a locked display case in the hallway. The keys are in this drawer.”
A minute later the old leather riding crop was on its way to my mom’s car. I used the keys on the display box that held Taney’s gavel. 
The lock clicked and I removed the lid. Reaching in, I grasped the gavel. Something was wrong. This didn’t feel right. Unlike any other focus I’d held, I couldn’t feel any energy – it felt like a lifeless hunk of wood. I cursed myself for leaving my brass divining rods out in the car. It was another setback.
“What are you waiting for? Destroy it! We don’t have much time.” Vincent demanded running back through the wall.
A menacing voice interrupted us, “Yes, by all means, destroy it Mr. Ross.”
I turned to face Roger Taney, dropping the useless gavel back into the case – so much for doing this the easy way, but it saved me a trip back to the car.
The grizzled looking specter stared at the two of us with disdain. “I find myself at a loss to explain the scene before me. Would you care to enlighten me?”
I pulled out my pipe wrench, recalling how Eva had thwarted Vincent’s blade once before, but drew the blade as a secondary weapon. Vincent growled, “While I lived, I idolized you and was duped into servitude. I will serve you no longer!”
Taney was unconcerned at Vincent’s blade waving angrily. “Oh, so this is a resignation. That explains your traitorous actions, Colonel, but what of Mr. Ross?”
“David Michael Ross, Senior.”
Taney’s eyes narrowed. “Well played young Vincent. I salute your cunning. I want you to understand that before I unleash my full wrath upon you. As for you, Ferryman, it seems I shall be making a deal of my own with the caged beast of Baltimore. You dare to stand in the middle of my domain and threaten me?”
Throwing caution to the wind, Vincent lunged at Taney, stabbing with his saber. The blade never found its mark, impacting instead against a flaring shield of energy surrounding Taney. Almost lazily, Lord Justice snapped his hand out and a wave of energy blew Vincent through the wall and filled the room with the roar of gale force winds. I struggled towards him as books pelted me with unerring accuracy. My iron dust was useless in this psychic maelstrom. A gesture from his hand and a knife lifted from the counter and headed straight for me. 
I parried it with the wrench. Despite the roar of the wind, I could hear him clearly, “Bravo Ferryman. Let’s see you block this!” Instead of another small item, he banished a chair at me.
Getting hit by a wooden chair was slightly more painful that it looks on all those wrestling shows. I tumbled back into the unforgiving wall, losing all that forward progress and my grip on the saber, which flew out into the hall, beyond my grasp. The wind intensified and more objects were hurled at me: silverware, plates and mugs; I needed to shut it down. Wind in a confined space? I emptied my pockets and the last PVC tube of iron filings adding a little bit of charged “grit” to the air. Seconds later little flashes started appeared around Taney and he winced in pain. I was right! The filings were too small for him to keep track of. As quickly as it had come, the psychic wind subsided.
Wasting no time, I charged forward, brandishing the wrench like a mace. The temperature dropped so fast, I could see my breath in there. Taney dived through the wall as my wrench slammed into the brickwork. I followed him into the hallway, where he touched a whip mounted on the wall beneath a display about slavery. Just like Eva and her blanket, he pulled a ghost image of it and lashed at me.
Ever been whipped?  I’m not talking about kind that kinky people pay some kind of dominatrix for, but the real deal? Yeah, it hurts, but I stumbled through the pain and smashed the iron wrench into the ghost. It was his turn to feel the pain.
He responded by literally throwing me back down the short hallway and drew back to hit me with the whip again. He never made it, though. Instead, Vincent caught the whip and yanked as hard as he could. It marked the first time I was ever truly relieved to see Strong Vincent, even without his sword.
Off balance, Taney spun towards Vincent and leapt. Fueled by adrenaline, I jumped to my feet to keep the pressure on him while wondering how many more concussions I was about to add to my lifetime total.
The two of them struggled, with Vincent quickly being overpowered and forced to his knees. I was in mid-swing with the wrench when Taney swung a new weapon at me – Strong Vincent.
Here I’d been moaning about getting hit by a wooden chair a minute or two ago! Try about a hundred and seventy-five pounds of well aged and seasoned ghost. We collapsed in a painful mess and I lost my grip on the wrench – damn it all to hell!
I pushed the stunned Vincent off of me and into the staircase as the ghost of an eighty-two year old man pounced on me with a supernatural ferocity.
Granted, he was inhumanly strong, but I was in excellent shape. If he’d done his homework, he’d have known that I was a wrestler. I made certain that my touch was every bit as painful to him as his was to me. We grappled in that hallway and I demonstrated every dirty trick I had ever learned, probably in the span of a minute.
Elbows, knees, gouging fingers, and enough biting to make a certain boxer proud were exchanged. In close combat, we were evenly matched. Somewhere along the line, in between the screams, he must have realized that he’d given away the advantage. I’d say it must have hit him like a ton of bricks, but it would be more apt to say that it hit him like a booted foot in the side – a blow delivered by Colonel Vincent. Tag team style, now that’s what I was talking about! After delivering a series of kicks while I kept him pinned, he screamed in agony and I got my first clue.
The house creaked and shuddered. That little gavel wasn’t his anchor. The god dammed house was the anchor! 
“The house Vincent! His anchor is the damn house!” 
I was more than content to play anvil to Vincent’s hammer, but my observation gave Taney that desperate strength people always talk about. The wind picked up again and the hallway rattled. We rolled again and I felt something against my head, the ghostly bullwhip.
“Vincent! The whip! Choke the bastard!” 
Had any of this been caught on tape, I have no idea what it would have looked like, but Vincent wrapped it around our enemy’s neck while I kept Taney’s arms busy. There was a heat bursting inside my veins – it felt like an energy building, it was filling me with strength. Taney was weakening and I was getting stronger.
“Ross! You’re glowing! No! Remember what happened to Porter!” Vincent screamed.
Taney was frantically thrashing about and the house grumbled in protest as its master began losing. I was engaged in a fight of my own to keep the energy that was inside of me from breaking loose.
The feeling like I was about to be sick started deep in my guts. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away and holding it in only seemed to make it hurt more. Time was running out and something was going to happen … something big.
“Run” was all that I could mouth at Vincent – and he did. Taney was starting to smoke where I touched him - the whip around his neck simply melted into nothingness.
“Fool! You’ll kill us both!” Taney shouted. 
“Good!” I screamed back. The glass in the windows and display cases shattered and my entire body felt like it was on fire. My arms shook violently and I felt the overwhelming need to vomit. I don’t know what Taney saw in my eyes, oblivion, or perhaps Armageddon, but whatever it was, it terrified him and he went slack just before my body heaved in a violent spasm.
We were bathed in an all-consuming brightness, so brilliant that it hurt. Somewhere in the middle I let go of Taney and clutched at my chest. He tried to stand and run, but the nova surrounding me made him burst into ghostly flames. 
The house shook violently in the shockwave, clearly in danger of collapsing. I was in a bad way, but I was still alive.  Call me an opportunist, but sacrificing my life no longer held the same allure it did a few seconds before. Crawling, I made it to the front door. It was hanging on the top hinge. Rising to my knees, I pushed my way through it and managed to move another fifteen feet forward while my heart thudded uncontrollably in my chest.
With the roar of the Roger Brooke Taney house and Francis Scott Key museum collapsing and dawn’s light shining, I somehow found my way to mom’s car and fell into the back seat. My last thought before I blacked out was how beautiful the sunrise looked. 

“Can you describe your attackers, Mr. Ross?” A police detective, thankfully not Wycheck asked.
“No, I was just out for a jog this morning. Something hit my head and I don’t know much after that.”
Mom asked from her chair next to my hospital bed, looking every bit like Sally Fields in that one movie with Julia Roberts. “Do you think you’ll be able to catch them?”
Here I’d always thought my ability to tell a bald-faced lie was thanks to the old man. It turned out Mom might really be the source of it. Who knew?
The detective shook her head. “Without any visual identification probably not, though you might remember something in a few days, but with a concussion, it’s doubtful?” She smiled at me and made a small joke, “If I had those kinds of answers, I’d have been in med school and not the police academy. Here’s my card, Mr. Ross and I’ll be back in touch in a few days to see if something does come back to you.”
Mom took me to a hospital and claimed she found me after a mugging near the house. The fact that I was still alive constituted the good news. The bad news was the FBI, the ATF, and several other agencies were combing the wreckage of the collapsed museum.  The local news channels were already speculating that with the 150th anniversary of the Dred Scott decision some radical activist might have detonated a bomb there.
Definitely bad news, but it was offset by Colonel Vincent’s arrival. He took care of my prints on the front and back doors. My pipe wrench and what was left of the PVC ghost gun were safely offsite. The new boss of the ghost territory assured me that the investigation in Fredrick would be sufficiently hampered. The fact that the power went out on that block a few minutes before and the reports of swirling wind gusts caused one of the “weather guessers” to speculate about the possibility of a microburst. I knew that they wouldn’t find any explosive residue and it would likely be attributed to a storm or an old building collapsing. So I wasn’t too worried.
Vincent’s assurance that five of his men from Gettysburg would be here in a few hours to act as my bodyguards took a load off my shoulders. Two were going to watch directly over me and the others would protect the house and Mom. Half the contingent from Gettysburg was coming down to help Vincent assert his control over this territory.
There was one thing that really did worry me and that was my heart. My little explosion, whatever it was, made my ticker palpitate and get out of rhythm. They were keeping me overnight and treating me with medicine, but I was told that they were prepared to shock it and “reboot” me if the medication didn’t work. I knew enough about computers to not really like that analogy.
It sounded eerily familiar to what happened to Porter and what might have happened to Edgar Allan Poe. Both of them were older and lacked my stamina.  Were I not in such good shape, it might have killed me too. Vincent said he was almost a hundred yards away at my Mom’s car and could feel it when everything let loose. He said that he was severely weakened, but would recover. 
Reynold’s scabbard and both our phantom swords disintegrated along with everything else in the vicinity. I apologized for costing him his sword a second time.
“It was a small price to pay for my freedom. I shall endeavor to learn my predecessor’s trick with the whip and find myself a new sword and perhaps something more manageable for my ally.”
“If we have time, we can go up to Susquehanna – I know the ghost who rules the valley. She may have a pointer or two for you.”
Vincent looked surprised. “You know the Witch of the Valley?”
“Witch of the Valley? Oh make sure you’re on the right side of the barrier if you ever call her that, Colonel Vincent!” I chuckled while picturing Eva’s reaction to that title. The trip would be worth it just to see the look on her face.
Rockville was safe, for the moment and I’d triumphed. As soon as Colonel Strong Vincent consolidated his power here, I planned to go looking for the Skinwalker that possessed my father. 
Baltimore? I had neither plans nor desire to go there and nothing William Henry Poe could do was going to make me. He could rot in hell for all I cared.


Episode 12: The Battle of Baltimore

Back in Iraq, the average day consisted of hours of tedium spiced with seconds, minutes, and sometimes hours of fear and panic. It led to a lot of interesting conversations, including the ever popular, “What would you do if you only had one minute to live?”
Yeah, it was morbid, but living in a war zone can do that. If you don’t understand, there’s probably nothing I can say – you just had to be there. 
My answer to this deep question was almost always something stupid, involving a woman or in some cases multiple women. It never involved gasping in pain, lying flat on my back in a muddy graveyard, shaking uncontrollably, or staring up at the night sky while a cold rain pelted my face.
I wasn’t into deep reflection while I was in Iraq – I was too busy staying alive. Here, however, I learned that heroic sacrifice was overrated, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Five full weeks since the Roger Brooke Taney Museum mysteriously collapsed, I looked to be in the clear. After the police found no traces of explosives, the only rational explanation was that the building had a structural flaw that finally gave out during a storm. A myriad of politicians, including the Mayor of Fredrick and a couple of Supreme Court Justices made some nice speeches and talked about the future of the land and whether it would be appropriate to rebuild. 
Me? I personally wouldn’t have minded seeing it paved over and turned into a parking lot.
Still, it had pretty much already faded from the public’s mind. Things like who was ahead on American Idol, next year’s presidential election, and other useless crap were far more important.
What a bunch of sheep! Most of them didn’t have a clue that the dead had any influence over the living. The conspiracy whack jobs who railed about fluoride and black helicopters always talked about shadow governments and the like. Oddly enough, they were not too far off; except they’d never be able to track down the agents of this shadow government because almost all of them were dead.
Few among the living had glimpsed “that man behind the curtain,” so to speak. I happened to be one of the few, but I wasn’t ready to enlighten the masses anytime soon. Still, the powers out there knew that Taney was gone and he’d been removed by a Ferryman.
I’d like to say that my first week out of the hospital was restful, but between keeping up with my college classes (I’d paid for them after all) and helping Colonel Strong Vincent grab control over Taney’s former territory, I was on the move. I was by his side as he negotiated with the contingent of dead soldiers that stalked Antietam’s graveyards. 
A General there seemed to bristle that a mere Colonel was “assuming command.” The fact that Vincent had been promoted to Brigadier General posthumously didn’t seem to assuage Major General Joseph Mansfield’s ego, which makes sense – two stars beating one star and all that.
Like Vincent, this ghost wasn’t buried where he haunted. Mansfield was an older man who had fought extensively in the Mexican-American War, but died in his first real combat of the Civil War from a lucky shot while arguing with his troops. With his winning personality, I’d give even odds that it was friendly fire.
I’m sure he wasn’t at all bitter about that.
The ghosts that showed up that week were mostly Civil War types, but I saw a few wearing uniforms from other wars as well, including the sailor from the USS Cole who was interred in the cemetery back in 2000.
Despite the numbers of ghosts, Antietam gathered less energy than Gettysburg. I asked Vincent why, and the best theory he had was based off of the small population of living folk near the battlefield as opposed to the larger Gettysburg.
Oddly, it led to the conclusion that the dead need the living.

“And how are you doing today?” Jenny Goodman sat down next to me. My two bodyguards rolled their eyes and wandered to the other side of the cafeteria. Sadly, I couldn’t run away … lucky bastards.
“Just trying to get ready for a test. How about you?”
“Mr. Binstock has a pretty important case coming up, so I’ve been running a lot of paperwork around town, but it’s pretty cool. So, are you still wearing the heart monitor?”
Only Jenny could find Oil and Gas law “cool.” I tapped the area over my heart and replied, “Nope, turned it in last week, not that it was going to tell the doctors anything.”
Jenny shrugged, “You just need to avoid fighting really powerful ghosts.”
“I’ll keep that under consideration. What else is new? How are you and Chaz?”
“You really need to stop doing that! I almost called him that on our date last weekend and he spent five minutes asking me what was so funny.
“Sorry, he just looks like a ‘Chaz’ to me.” My test preparations weren’t getting anywhere, so I decided to tweak her a bit. I deserved some entertainment.
“Well he’s not a Chaz!”
“What does he do in his spare time?”
“He’s in his first year of law school. He doesn’t have any spare time.”
Chuckling, I pushed further, because I had visited Chaz’s Myspace page. “What kind of hobbies does he have?”
“Well, Carleton’s really big on fencing. I went to see him play in a match. He’s really good! Maybe he could give you some pointers.”
“Nah, I don’t have the sword anymore. Fencing, you say? That’s certainly not a Chaz sport. What else does he do?”
Jenny was starting to get testy. “He plays sax in a jazz band.”
I left the obvious Chaz plays jazz pun alone. “Where’d he take you on your last date?” This I didn’t know, but I was certain the answer would be telling.
“We saw a play at the Kennedy Center.”
There was a moment of silence while I simply arched an eyebrow at her. She broke a moment later, “Okay! Okay! So he really is a Chaz! I admit it. What’s wrong with being a Chaz anyway?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“Asshole.” It would have stung more if she hadn’t been smiling.
“Is that better or worse than pompous jerk? I need to know if it’s an upgrade or not.”
Jenny reached over and swatted my head, playfully. “Either way it’s more appropriate. So, what did you think about my idea?”
I’ll never understand this girl. We’d already been over this. “A minute ago you said that I should avoid fighting powerful ghosts. Now, you’re telling me that I should open my own ghost removal business.”
“I thought the DeadEye Mike website was cool.”
I wondered if it was more or less “cool” than Oil and Gas law. “Yeah, it was, but a flashy website doesn’t necessarily translate into cash in the bank account. I have enough problems with the afterlife without advertising for more. Why are you so keen on this?”
“I was looking at my accounting courses for my business management track and one of them goes in depth on startup companies. I figured since I’m doing the work anyway, if you wanted to, I’d help run it for you.”
“And how much vocational credit would you get for this?”
She smiled at me, clearly busted. “Probably quite a bit. Did you know the requirements for becoming a private detective in Maryland aren’t that difficult, or if you didn’t want to list yourself that way, you could just list your business as ‘Entertainment’ like the astrologers and tarot card readers do?”
I didn’t know which idea was more laughable. “Me? A private detective? Oh that’d give your uncle a fit. You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t let me push you into something that you don’t want to do.
I had no intention of letting her do that. “I’m still waiting to see how my lawsuit against the hotel pans out.”
“Mike, you’re still pursuing that? Even though you know it wasn’t their fault?” She scolded me.
“Hey, I was injured – on their property. Does a concussion and sprained ankle ring a bell? It’d be more suspicious if I didn’t sue.”
“What’s your ambulance chaser say?” She was needling me for using a questionable legal firm.
“Ask for ten, hope for five, but expect three at the most.”
“I’m disappointed in you.”
“Jenny, I need the money for this summer.” 
“You and Candy have big plans?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m going to Arizona to find my father.”
“Why?”
It was at that point that I realized that I hadn’t bothered telling Jenny bits of crucial information. “Jenny, I’ve lived most of my life thinking that my dad walked out on Mom when I was a little kid. One of the things I learned last month was that one of Taney’s Skinwalkers possessed my dad and then auctioned his body off up in Philadelphia.”
Her eyes were as big as saucers. “They did! Oh my god Mike, that’s awful!”
“Tell me about it. I almost left right after I got out of the hospital, but both Mom and Strong Vincent talked me out of it.”
“Why?”
“A whole slew of reasons. I don’t have enough money tops the list. Mom is still warming up to the idea that he didn’t run off, but at the same time she thinks I need to finish the school year.”
Jenny nodded her head in agreement with my mother’s assessment as I continued, “She admitted that they were having trouble even before he suddenly left. Plus, even if I find him, there might not be anything left.”
“What do you mean?”
“Skinwalkers can manipulate the person inside the body or gradually kick them out all together. Colonel Vincent pretty much told me that I shouldn’t get my hopes up after almost fifteen years.”
“Did he really say that?”
“No, but it was there between the lines. Besides, he’s still taking control of this territory. I can understand why he needs me to stay around a bit longer.” 
Jenny covers my hand with one of hers. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“Thanks. You know, it’s kind of sad, when I’m watching the TV these days and I see a story about someone doing something stupid, I start wondering if they’re being possessed by a Skinwalker who enjoys playing havoc in their lives.”
Naturally, Jenny linked my thoughts to the tabloid trash headline that somehow still dominated the news. “You think Anna Nicole Smith was possessed before she died?” 
“I really don’t care if she was or wasn’t. I was just making a point.”
She immediately calmed down, “Oh, I guess you’re right.”
I decided to change the subject. “Aren’t you going to be in Europe for most of the summer anyway?”
Jenny grimaced, “I keep forgetting. It’s still on, for now, but I did book the ticket as refundable in case things cool off between the two of us.”
My guess was that “Chaz” would have to do something really stupid to lose Jenny. She was sweet on him. It only served to remind me of my struggles in the romance department.

“Congratulations, Mr. Ross. The vision in your right eye seems to have normalized at 20/40.”
A few days later, I was sitting in front of my regular ophthalmologist, Doctor Schocke, as he examined my eye closely. “Thanks Doc. Do you recommend that I go ahead and take my driver’s test now, or should I wait a bit longer?”
“No, you should be fine. I’d still like to see you every six months to monitor your progress, but your recovery is about as complete as I could’ve hoped for, given the nature of your injuries. Just think, in a few days you can be stuck in traffic with the rest of us.”
I thanked the good doctor and promised to stay in touch. Freedom! It was a powerful feeling. Like many people in the area, I’d probably still have to ride the Metro and so forth, but the feeling of being dependent on someone else for rides was getting old.
With the ability to drive, I could go and visit Candy. Rather than flying, I could drive to Arizona and be more mobile – The Ferryman Traveling Roadshow, coming soon to a town near you! Although, with the price of gas these days, maybe it was cheaper to just fly there and then rent a car.
Either way, I was in a good mood on the bus ride home. No more bus riding for me! Walking back from the bus stop, I was even joking with my ghostly bodyguards and was treated in turn to stories about marching all over Pennsylvania from the duo of Corporal Martin Berry and Private Amos Sweet. They were of the firm conviction that people “nowadays” don’t do enough walking. 
Okay, so they weren’t exactly Abbott and Costello, but they were a decent enough company, if a bit on the quirky side. Sweet was conversational in both French and Spanish.  He was trying to teach me and the other four ghosts at Casa De Ross something of both languages. The funny part was that he wanted me to leave the television on one of the Spanish stations when I went to bed. Explaining that one to Mom was amusing, to say the least. Fortunately, Sweet was usually outvoted by the other ghosts assigned to watching my house. They were history junkies who seemed to be crazy for the History and Discovery channels. 
Berry was obsessed with cartography and enjoyed it when I printed out maps for him to look at in the evenings. Like I said, they were a bit quirky, but interesting enough, nonetheless.
“Those Spanish soap operas are much better than the ones in English, trust me.”
I shrugged, “Dunno, maybe if I could understand them, they’d make more sense. Usually there’re a couple of women yacking away, then blam, they start bitch-slapping each other.”
Amos laughed, “That’s the best part!” 
Berry groaned, “Now you know what I have had to put up with on a daily basis for the last century.”
There was a light rain, so the three of us went inside. Mom and her bodyguards weren’t home yet. I went into the kitchen and pulled a bag of chips out of the pantry and fired up the computer to knock out my homework.
Opening my email, I saw the some spam and the usual garbage. It was a reminder that I needed a better mailbox filtering program. Among the ones I wanted to read was an email from Candy sent last night, hopefully scheduling our next unsuccessful date. We had the “try, try again” part of a relationship down cold by this point. Frankly, I was surprised she was still sticking with it. 
Dear Mike,
First let me thank you for the gift--you sweet adorable guy! I’ll snap a quick pic of it with my digital camera and attach it, so you can see me wearing it.
My work schedule is still pretty heavy, but I’ve got a three day coming up and will be expecting you down here to rock my world!
Gotta run, hugs and kisses,
Candace.
There was one small problem with this message – I hadn’t sent her a gift! I opened the attachment. There was a picture of Candy’s wrist with a jade bracelet on it.
Time froze; there was only one person I’d ever seen wearing a jade bracelet like that, and she wasn’t a real person.  Grabbing the phone I dialed Candy’s cell phone and prayed I wasn’t too late. The time stamp on the email was from last night – over sixteen hours ago. I’d been in a rush and hadn’t checked my email that morning.
“Mike! How are you? I was just about to call you!”
“Candy! I didn’t send you that bracelet. If you have it on, take it off! It’s probably the focus of a Skinwalker!”
“But it’s so pretty. I don’t want to take it off.”
“Candy, don’t argue with me. Get rid of it.”
She laughed. It wasn’t her usual style of laughter either. I also noticed that her drawl was much less pronounced. “Oh, Mike, you really should check your email more often.”
“Let her go, Cassandra.”
“I told you that you’d pay. As for letting ‘her’ go, you’ll have to be more specific.”
“What exactly do you mean, Skinwalker?”
“You say ‘Skinwalker’ like it’s a bad thing. Me and the girls are just taking a little road trip. Of course you know Officer McKenna; I’d let you speak to her cousin, your friend Jenny, but she’s resting comfortably in the back of the patrol car. The poor dear thought Candy was dropping by to get her help planning a special date for you. I guess, in a way she is. Care to guess where I’m headed?”
I already knew the answer. “Baltimore.”
“Here I thought you were slow on the uptake. I’m about twenty minutes from there. You’d better get a move on. It’s just after seven and the weather’s awful, if you’re not here by … let’s say, ten, I’ll have to decide which one of these meat puppets is expendable. The short one runs her mouth too damn much anyway.”
My reply was a hiss, “When I catch up with you, I’ll destroy that bracelet and see how much you’re laughing then.”
“That’s funny, Mike, maybe you aren’t all that after all. You think it’s my focus. No, this lovely bracelet is a slave collar. Your little deputy here isn’t a very good candidate for walking, not like Sonya, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve.  Destroying the jade won’t hurt me in the least. Uh-oh, looks like there’s an accident up ahead, I’d better let you go. See you this evening; I assume you know how to get to Westminster. William and I are expecting you. I’d normally say leave your pathetic bodyguards there, but they won’t amount to much, compared to William. Bring them along and we’ll give him a true coming out party. It’ll be glorious!”
She hung up on me and I sent Sweet to alert Vincent at his temporary headquarters while I started filling my backpack with everything I could think of. I’d assumed Poe would come after me directly or my mom and Vincent could only spare so much manpower. 
People always dream of being the hero, running off to save the girl, the day, or whatever. They’re idiots. I won’t lie. I considered not going, writing off Jenny and Candy as casualties of war. The good news was that I’d probably live longer. The bad news was that I’d have to live with myself.
Like I said before, I’m not big on reflecting on the deep issues of life – or death. I fumed for a minute before yelling, “To hell with it! William Henry Poe wants his Ferryman, then that’s what he’s going to get!”

It was tempting to just jump in my car and drive to Baltimore, but in the heavy downpour and with my oh-so-good luck, I’d have gotten into a fender bender with no license.
So, once more, I climbed onboard a Ride-On bus half filled with the soaked and smelly for a rendezvous with my destiny.
Man, I hated riding the bus.
Vincent and his contingent met up with me at the Shady Grove station and the fifteen or so of us clambered onto the Metro to ride to Union Station for the MARC train that would take us to Baltimore. It was amusing to listen to some of the passengers complaining about the cold drafts on such a wet day. I huddled in my seat trying not to speak while Vincent addressed the troops.
“According to Mr. Ross, we will arrive at Penn Station, roughly a mile and a half north of our target, which is Westminster Hall and Burial Ground. We will have roughly twenty minutes to travel from the train station to the battlefield.”
One of the other ghosts spoke up, “What kind of opposition are we expecting, sir?”
“We face an unspecified number of spirits just like ourselves. Our job is to simply get Mr. Ross to the target area and divert enough of the enemies to make his job easier. Unless you cannot avoid it, do not enter the burial yard. The so called ‘Beast of Baltimore’ also known as William Henry Leonard Poe is confined inside and at least one Skinwalker will be with him.”
There were several fearful grumblings as Vincent mentioned Poe. One of the more vocal ones, whose aura rivaled Vincent’s protested, “Why are we going on this fool’s errand anyway? I’ve heard about the beast, his cult drags spirits into that graveyard and watch as he rips them to pieces! Even the Lord Justice was scared of him!”
Yeah, he was one of the reluctant converts from Taney’s cadre of supporters. “True, but Roger Taney should have spent more time being afraid of the Ferryman. We go because Michael Ross is our ally. Has he not, in the past few weeks, helped several of our brethren to cross onto the next?”
Several nodded their heads. A few of the weaker ones were crossed over at Vincent’s request to show that there was a benefit to signing on with the new regime, with the promise that eventually everyone who wanted to move on would be able to.
Neither Vincent’s inner circle nor I really wanted to talk about how two ghosts who were part of Taney’s old guard were forcibly crossed over; it involved being run through with an iron poker while being held down by the others. 
War wasn’t pretty. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently; the battles are brutal, and the mopping up can be just as bad, if not worse. 
Vincent continued on. “We go because our ally needs our assistance. We go because the enemy resorts to kidnapping women and threatening to kill them. We go because free of the abomination that called himself ‘Lord Justice’, we can now act as honor and duty dictates! Most importantly, we go because it is the right thing to do! Every last one of us seeks redemption and atonement in some way, shape or form. Let us take our first step down this path as one! Let us assault the enemy as one and fight like men who would be heroes!”
The colonel saluted me amongst the cheers of his men. I smiled and nodded my thanks to him. No wonder there were several statues in his honor. Hell, after that speech, I was fired up about the prospect of facing death again! It reminded me of a few weeks ago when Rusty Fletcher and I caught that movie about the Spartans. Stupid infantry - I only hoped this wasn’t my final stand; Thermopylae was no better in my book than Pickett’s charge – the grunts were just as dead at the end of the operation.

We exited the train and raced towards the church, heedless of the driving rain on a night fit for neither the living nor the dead. I spotted several ghosts trailing us. They made no move to engage us, but then again, they made no effort to hide their presence either. Cassandra might not have known how we would be arriving, but William’s followers obviously knew their turf well enough.
I ran along the streets, pulling on my gloves, feeling the grit of the iron against my skin. Vincent had a phantom knife in his hand. It was the most he had been able to make so far. Had there been more time, I would have traveled to Wilkes-Barre and begged Eva to come help me. 
Most ghosts couldn’t destroy one another. Vincent wasn’t just any ghost, though. With a weapon, he could injure and “kill” one. The rest of my comrades were just going there to brawl. There was a part of me already resigned to the fact that I’d have to do whatever it was I did to destroy Taney. On the train ride up, the Colonel revealed that it wasn’t demolitions that destroyed the museum in Fredrick, it was the energy released by my body. It was our one and only trump card. Our strike force knew enough to keep one eye on me and to flee if I started boiling off the ghostly powers.
We halted at the corner of Pace and Fayette. I needed to catch my breath and survey what was ahead. The burial grounds were less than a block away and I could barely make out Candy’s patrol car parked in front. Thunder rumbled in the sky; flashes of lightning momentarily brightened the night.
If nothing else, it was like a scene from an Edgar Allan Poe story. Somebody predicted my presence here, on this night. It made me wonder a bit about fate and destiny. From my backpack, I pulled out my pipe wrench, and then positioned a short iron poker as a backup weapon. I opened a small plastic can of Playdoh, mixed with iron filings, and scooped most of it into my free hand. 
Maybe I could find a way to tap into the power that confined the beast. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in spite of the rain. There was a tangible presence ahead of me; I’d felt something similar when Taney or Eva were standing nearby. William Poe was well over a hundred yards away. That didn’t do much to soothe my nerves.
“Are you ready, Michael?” Strong Vincent asked.
“No, but I don’t believe that the universe cares whether or not I’m ready.”
“Nonsense! You are a rare human; blessed or maybe cursed with a unique gift. If you do not matter, then I say that no one does.”
Vincent was wasted as a soldier; he should have been a motivational speaker.
My reply was quoted from another man who lost his life in Pennsylvania, only closer to my time than the Colonel’s.
“Let’s roll!”
Several ghosts eager for a fight charged out through the openings in the metal fence. It made me wonder how much the people that built this place had actually known. Vincent was on my left and Corporal Berry my right as the first group came towards us. I didn’t have any of Chuck’s pneumatic contraptions because they would have looked suspicious, traveling on the train. The poker had been gift wrapped and the wrench was on a tool belt.
Unlike the confined spaces of Taney’s museum, this area was fairly open. There was plenty of room for a fight. The first group headed straight for me. I clubbed the first one with the wrench, which was the sign for fights to break out all along the north side of the street. We weren’t as outnumbered as I feared, but I was still fighting two of them – ghosts who glowed as brightly as Vincent. One was armed with a club and the other wore an Orioles uniform, carrying a baseball bat.
Too bad I wasn’t a fan of the game; I might’ve known who he was. The blob of iron filings in my hand struck him in the chest and the Oriole collapsed to the ground. I blocked the club with my wrench and kicked the ballplayer in the head for good measure. 
It worked before on Vincent, so I faked throwing an empty hand at the club wielder and sure enough he dodged right into a pipe wrench haymaker. I pounded him a second time and grabbed the club off the ground, delivering a blow to the base of my attacker’s skull, knowing that he’d feel that in the morning. I turned to the baseball player, only to see Vincent driving his knife into the ghost and tossing the bat to one of his men. 
I threw him the club and then grabbed the soggy ball of iron-impregnated Playdoh off the sidewalk. Pouncing on one of the ghosts kicking Corporal Berry, I slapped it and my hand between his shoulder blades. He screamed like a little girl and stumbled down the street with the glob of material stuck into his back. One of the others bull rushed me and drove me into the brick wall. He held me there and delivered savage blows to my gut. I grabbed his head with my free hand, burning the ectoplasm while striking his back with the wrench.
He screamed in pain, but fought on as hands reached from behind me, through the brick wall and grabbed at me, forcing me to drop the wrench. My iron laced gloves scalded them and I pushed away from the wall. Grabbing the poker from the backpack, I ran it through the neck of the one still clinging to me. 
“Die!” I yelled. He fell down, leaving me with only empty gloved hands.
Several more jumped through the wall of that building and attacked me. They were brawlers and lacked any training. I fought back with everything the late, departed Don Hodges taught me. I alternated between grabs and rapid blows, the same moves that my traitorous friend made me practice for hours on a Wing Chung dummy.
In short, I was kicking some serious ectoplasmic ass. Between the burning hands and the punches, in ten seconds three more ghosts were on the ground. They weren’t prepared for the likes of me!
I, on the other hand was worrying too much about the ghosts, and not worried enough about the Skinwalker. An intense bolt of lightning illuminated the street and I saw Candy, roughly ten feet away. I spun just in time to see the cruel smile on her face. She carried a taser in her hand.
It was the last thing I saw before my world became a blur.

My capture brought a swift end to the attack. The tide was turned so to speak. So it was that I and several others were dragged unceremoniously through the gate and carried past Poe’s monument and into the back by the Poe family plot.
The taser hadn’t fully taken me out, but I was only slowly regaining control of my muscles. They dropped me, stripped off my backpack, and plopped me next to the sopping wet, very terrified Jenny Goodman. 
She proceeded to smother me in a hug. “Mike! You shouldn’t have come! Thank God you’re here!” Even at a time like that, she didn’t make a lot of sense. I slid my jacket off and draped it protectively around her. I got the feeling that whatever happened next, I wouldn’t need the jacket. Propped up on one arm, I leaned against the marker indicating where Edgar had been originally buried and stared at that which was once William Henry Leonard Poe.
He was taller than I was, but thinner and, aside from his blazing aura, wasn’t much to look at. His face was very pale; he had a full head of hair and a penetrating gaze. Were he still human and he was looking to start trouble, I’d mop the floor with him without a second thought. 
With a voice that somehow growled over the thunder he addressed his groupies. 
“Well, well, well, the night has finally come that the illustrious Michael Ross graces us with his presence and my confinement reaches its end!”
I looked over on the ground and saw Martin Berry leaking vapors from his injuries. He grimaced at me and forced a weary smile.
It was a mistake on our part. Poe saw our exchange and sauntered over to Berry. “Michael, I’m so disappointed in you befriending the dead like that! You were put on this Earth to destroy them! It is your destiny in life!” 
Like a rag doll he snatched the Union Corporal from the ground and held him by his neck in the air. It reminded me of Darth Vader strangling a rebel officer in the first Star Wars movie. Poor Martin, the guy with a fascination for maps, thrashed like a hanged man as even more vapors began billowing out of him.
“Do you not see? Can you not feel it in your soul? The dead are abominations that must all be destroyed!”
Seconds later there was nothing left of Corporal Martin beyond a faint mist left around his hand. Poe had a maniacal expression on his face. 
I used the last weapon left in my arsenal – sarcasm. “In case you haven’t looked at yourself in a mirror lately, Billy, you’re the abomination.”
He spun towards me and I saw only a hint of sanity, coupled with the kind of look you see on those specials where they interview serial killers. They say prison changes a man. In William’s case, I’m guessing he deserved it.
“What better way to destroy them? My brother Edgar didn’t understand. He sat at my bedside and told me I should cross over and that he’d help. He was a fool and I showed him the error of his ways, but he became jealous. He knew that I was a better Ferryman in death than he was in life. My brother was nothing without me! He did not truly believe in our cause! He was not willing to sacrifice as I had! He was unworthy!”
Obviously sanity in the afterlife had its limits, and this guy was far beyond them. I pulled my aching body up. “So what’s it going to be William? How am I supposed to free you from this cage?”
Poe looked back at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
“It’s really simple, Ross, I’m going to possess you and walk right out of here. When my traitor of a brother could not destroy me, he bound me here, using our blood to hold me in one place. You share our blood, so I thank you in advance for opening up the cage, but you also are a vessel strong enough to carry me out of this foul prison. The next Great Cleansing is about to begin!”
Okay, so he was a bit full of himself, but the more he talked, the more time I had to recover from getting tasered. “Still, I sent my loyal followers, hoping that Porter could lead me to the one that could free me and ultimately he did. So now you are here, just as Virginia predicted you would be. She had a gift as well.”
That actually told me something. Poe’s cousin and wife might still be out and about as a ghost. “Is she still around?”
There was a moment of clarity flashing through his malevolent eyes, “I do not know where Virginia is. Once I am free, perhaps I will seek her out and discover what other predictions she has for me.”
“So, all you want from me is a ride out of the graveyard? What happens next? We shake hands and part ways?”
William scowled at me, “You are a crude, insignificant gnat. I made the error of leaving Edgar in a position where he could betray the cause. I will not make that error again!”
“Too bad, I guess I won’t be inviting you to poker night William.” Standing up straight, I flexed my fingers. The gloves were still on my hands and I had half a container of iron impregnated Playdoh in my pocket.
Candy/Cassandra raised the taser a second time, but William waved her away. “The boy wants to test his mettle against me. I welcome the chAllange. Let us see what this gnat is capable of.”
William once was a rough and tumble merchant seaman. I was a former US Army ground pounder and general troublemaker. He closed with me quickly and I delivered a couple of quick strikes and threw him through the side of a nearby mausoleum style vault. 
He emerged from the other side laughing and rubbing his face where I’d caught him. Gazing at Cassandra he said, “You were right about his martial training, Lady Von Eckels. Were I a lesser spirit, I might actually be scared.” Turning towards me, his gaze became a glare, “Fortunately my little Ferrygnat, I am so very much more than that. If that is the best you can do, this will not take very long.”
He used a more cautious approach, but still moved quickly. I blocked his first punch – absorbing the stinging punishment on my forearm. We both punched each other. Mine probably stung him. His sent me staggering ten feet backwards. Holy shit, he was strong! Poe waved his hands in the air like some pro wrestler exhorting cheers from his faithful. Using the delay to get my wind back, I pulled the plastic container out and got the rest of the Playdoh into my hand.
“Look everyone! Our Ferrygnat has tricks of his own! He is so very clever!” Poe thrust his hands out and I felt a tangible push, throwing me off balance.
“Do you not see how I am toying with you? You only touch me when I allow it.”
His next “push” threw me against a few of his cheering section. They caught me and jeered. I stomped on one’s instep and punched the other one. 
“Yes, yes, show us what you can do against my minions! It will make my complete victory that much more impressive.”
I spun away from them and stalked back towards William. “You talk too much, Billy. My guess is that everyone comes here to visit Edgar and talk about his influence and genius. Do you like hearing what a great man your brother was? They moved his remains to the front, so they could pay proper tribute to him. What does the world know of you? Nothing!”
Oh that got under his skin, “Liar! The unwashed masses are not worthy to learn of my greatness.” He thrust his hands out to push me again, but I sidestepped, catching only a slight shove from his power.
I continued goading him. “You’re barely a footnote in history, William Poe. Even to the ghosts I have met, you are merely ‘the Beast of Baltimore,’ the beast chained by the great Edgar Allan Poe; practically no one knows your name.”
“They will know me soon enough, worm!” He charged and I felt tightness in my chest; the first telltale signs that the berserker heat was building up inside my body. Even though I knew what it could mean, I welcomed it. William was stuck in here – there’s nowhere to run, Billy-boy.
Lightning flashed again and the rain picked up as we clashed. I’d be lying if I said I was winning, I wasn’t. I was dealing out some damage, but it wasn’t doing a damn thing to slow him down! His punches, on the other hand, made the worst Don Hodges ever did to me feel like a love tap. 
Our hands locked and he forced me to my knees. I pulled and spun, using his momentum against him. How well could the bastard wrestle? The heat continued to build. I felt him trying to wedge himself inside of me and my arms shook with the effort of keeping him off and out. Poe seemingly ignored the iron – I knew it was scalding him, but he was long past caring. 
Time dribbled on and our struggle continued. At some point, William sensed what I was doing. “No! No! You will not cleanse me! You are not powerful enough and I will not give you the chance!” 
My arms were forced further apart. Pain surged and I was certain one of my shoulders was now dislocated. I screamed and William used that opening in my defense to possess me.
I didn’t fight him. Instead, I continued to build the heat inside of me, even going so far as to try to tap his energy to feed it. I couldn’t get him any closer than he was now – it was twisted, but I had him right where I wanted him.
I heard my voice cried out! “You fool! Stop what you are doing!”
Jenny shouted, “Mike! You’re glowing!”
A look of sudden recognition lit Cassandra’s eyes and she stepped out of Candy’s body, which immediately collapsed. The incorporeal Cassandra Von Eckels was nothing short of beautiful, with long flowing hair and a face that looked like it belonged on magazine covers. Part of me relished her terror as she sprinted away; the part that was William held my hand out and I could hear my voice begging Cassie for help.
I guess Billy hadn’t learned lesson number one – never, ever trust a Skinwalker – loyalty is not a coin they recognize. 
Still others reached out and supported me. I felt the stinging pain as arms helped drag me towards the exit. Edgar’s tomb and the front gate grew closer as the pressure inside of me built. 
“Faster you fools! I need to get off the property and out of this body!”
They pushed and pulled me along and I felt like I was about to burst. We passed his brother’s monument and staggered out the front gate.
Poe immediately tried to leave my body, but I held on, grabbing his essence, keeping him half in and frozen in midair. I croaked, “You’re staying with me, William. Your freedom’s only going to last a second or two.”
“Kill him now!” I felt fists pummeling me and hands around my throat. My attackers screamed as they contacted the energy surrounding me. My grip on William faltered, but I knew I’d tripped past critical mass - I was at the point of no return. Ground zero, or a few feet from ground zero, it didn’t matter.
My words were gurgled, but I managed to choke out, “Time to finally die, Billy.”
The world exploded in a sea of light.

Knowing that there was something after life gave me a morsel of peace. The heat was replaced with a general sense of warmth, a summer breeze through my soul, if you will.  There was a sense of fulfillment, knowing that my death meant something. I was drifting and thought I could hear voices. Straining my ears, I tried to hear what they said.
The floating was nice. I could do it forever. Then something changed. The calmness turned to chaos. The warm breeze changed into a hurricane and a crushing blast rocked my body. Had William survived?
Another blast coursed through my veins, bringing an avalanche of pain with it – very real pain I might add. New voices replaced the previous soothing ones. There was hysteria in their tone.
“Try it again!”
“Charging … clear!” The third jolt hit me.
“Charging …”
“Wait! I’ve got a pulse! C’mon Mike! You bastard, you can’t die on me now!” I struggled to get my eyes open, half expecting to see angels. Instead, I saw the very bedraggled, very wet shape of Jenny Goodman. Angels had more sense – they knew not to be out on a night like this. My last minutes were actually going to be spent with a couple of girls – who knew!
Candy held the paddles in her hand. Her expression was unreadable. She calmly switched off the defibrillator and tossed it into the trunk. “Jenny, get Mike into the back of my car. We need to get him to a hospital.”
Jenny tried heroically to get me into the car. I wasn’t much help. If my head hurt before, slamming into the side of the car didn’t help things one bit. I heard the trunk slam shut. Candy came in through the passenger side door and helped drag me into the seat. Jenny climbed in and was pretty much on top of me as Candy drove off.

Sometime later I was conscious again, once more in a hospital room occupied by Candy. 
“Hello Mike.” Her tone was cool. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Hey Candy. Thanks for saving my life. So, what’s new?” I was too tired to remember not to call her that to her face.
“The official story is that we were in Baltimore looking for ya because ya’d been depressed and run off. Jenny called me and we found ya, but you got hit by lightning.”
Official stories rarely contained a smattering of the truth. It was becoming an all too familiar theme and I started to wonder once more about all those stories that dogged Edgar and his family; being labeled as “crazy” was much easier than the reality.  “I lead one unlucky life huh?”
“You can say that again! I’m sorry, Mike. It was the only story that we could come up with that made a lick of sense.” For the first time a hint of a smile crossed her face.
“Where’s Jenny?”
“She wanted to stay, but her uncle drove by and picked her up. He tried to get up in my face, but I’m used to his type. I told his ass off.”
“Wish I could’ve seen it.” I took a long look at Candy. There was concern on her face and she looked nervous.  I sighed, knowing where this was going, “Go ahead and say it, Candy. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
“Mike, this ghost stuff is just too much for me to handle.  I’m in hot water with my superiors. Not only was I supposed to be at work, but I’m up here with my patrol car! I’ll be lucky to keep my job.”
She wiped a few tears from her eyes. “I don’t want it to end this way, ‘specially with you lying there after saving lil’ Jenny and me, but this is all way too much for me to take. I was doing things and had no control. When that thing was inside of me, I could see all of them! I could see the ghosts, Mike.”
I wanted to say, “Welcome to my world!” but I bit my tongue. This wasn’t her fault and she made it clear that she was supposed to be the “high maintenance” person in the relationship. The price of dating Mike Ross was clearly too high for her. “I understand. We tried … I guess that’s all we can say.”
Sometimes, the hero doesn’t get the girl. Ain’t that a kick in the nuts! I’d just been given a prescription dose of “It’s not you. It’s me, but really it’s you.”
“Maybe we could try again, down the road?” She left the door open a crack, if only to make herself feel better.
“Maybe, but things are probably only going to get worse before they get better. The ghosts out there aren’t going to ignore me – not when I just ‘cleansed’ twenty or thirty of them in one shot.”
She leaned over and gave me a parting kiss. “If ya need something, ya know who to call.”
The only thing I needed, she wasn’t willing to risk. I nodded and answered her fake smile with one of my own. I was pretty depressed and turned on the TV to try and take my mind off it. After finding nothing on, I tossed the remote control away in frustration.
A doctor entered and looked at the remote on the ground. He picked it up and brought it back to my nightstand. “Hello, Mr. Ross. I’m Doctor Morton. How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I guess. What can you tell me about my injuries?”
“Not much I’m afraid. I’m the on-staff psychologist. From the account the Deputy and her cousin gave, you’ve been suffering from depression lately. Your mother is on the way up from Rockville, but in the meantime I’d like to do a preliminary evaluation and see if we can get to the root of any issues before we release you. Doctor Avery will be in later to discuss the extent of your injuries, but from what I’ve been told you’re a very lucky man.”
It was tempting to ask him to define lucky. I choked back an ironic laugh. Candy just sashayed out of my life, but I was finally going to get screwed – thoroughly.


Episode 13: Rolling with the Change

Weeks passed since the Baltimore incident. Other than rehabbing my dislocated shoulder and having a record of mental health problem that might rear its ugly head at an inappropriate time, things returned to what could be called normal in my life.
My lawyer accepted the first settlement offer from the hotel chain for my supposed “accident”. He worried that if it got to a hearing my psychological problems might hurt our case. Yeah, the gift that just kept on giving. After legal fees, I was left with a couple thousand to bankroll my search for David Michael Ross, Senior.
The injury delayed the return of Mike Ross to the highways of Maryland, but for only a few weeks. I was licensed to drive. Let the world quake in fear.
The party in progress was officially the end of my first year of college. Rusty and the rest of my poker buddies were there mingling with Grandma Meg, Pastor Duncan, and Brother Silas. That of course made up roughly half the guests. The others were visible to only two of us present. All said and done, it was a strange gathering.
Colonel Vincent beckoned me to join him in my room.  He rallied his troops and waited for my ‘cleansing’ to occur before returning to the scene. It had taken some time to locate me at the hospital, but by the time the head doctor was done with me, I was reunited with the remainder of the strike force.
“There have been several emissaries from Arlington and other contingents.  My men and I have made it clear that you are not receiving anyone at the moment. On your behalf, I stated that the business in Baltimore was of a personal matter and did not constitute the first battle in a new war.”
My expression darkened. “Even if it does?”
Vincent’s replied, “You’re still worried you didn’t destroy Poe aren’t you?”
“There were too many others around, who forced me to let go. Unlike Taney, I didn’t see him destroyed and I was more than a little preoccupied in the aftermath. You said it yourself, Reynolds survived Darren Porter’s attempt and was only greatly weakened for a month afterwards. I’m a helluva a lot stronger than Porter, but Reynolds was nothing compared to Poe!”
Vincent nodded, “I can only say that I will keep my ears open for any reports of William Henry Poe or, for that matter Virginia Eliza Poe. Should Edgar’s wife turn up, I will do my best to arrange a meeting between the two of you.”
“Thank you.”
“It is the least that I can do for the man that risked everything to win my freedom. Until I fully leave this world, I am in your debt.”
I nodded, the generational gap between the two of us was amusing, “Nowadays, we just say ‘I owe you.’ You’re a bit on the wordy side Strong. I’ll miss that.”
“Are your certain that there is nothing I can do to dissuade you from this journey?”
“Some Skinwalker has my father. He’s somewhere in Arizona or New Mexico. That Skinwalker is going to pay.”
He offered the ghost knife and its sheath. “Take this then. I can make another and am hopeful that I will soon move on to larger objects. Miss Eva is a patient teacher even if our conversations must occur at infrequent intervals and at the edge of the barrier which holds her prisoner.”
I accepted the blade and hooked it to my belt. It was always good to have a backup weapon. I got the feeling that something was going on between Strong Vincent and the Eva, but didn’t want to pry. Kevin and Elsbeth were already enough soap opera for a single guy like me.
Mom cleared her throat, “I’ve accepted that people are there, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing you talk to thin air. Anyway, you have a visitor.”
I followed her down the hallway back into the living room. The rest of my Atlantic City haul got rid of enough bills that she could cut back on her waitressing and look after Grandma Meg on a fairly routine basis. Mom was still slightly skeptical about her husband being possessed and stolen, but she knew I had to do this.
My ruminations were interrupted by the irrepressible Jenny Goodman enveloping me in a hug. “Mike!” 
Over a few good-natured catcalls from the guys in the room, I returned the embrace. “It’s not like we didn’t see each other three days ago.”
She pouted slightly, “Yeah, yeah, but you’re leaving in the morning and Carleton and I are flying out this weekend.”
I fought against the urge to roll my eyes at the mention of Carleton. Good old Uncle Brian already had “Chaz” wary of my influence on Jenny. I didn’t want to ask if either of the duo knew she was here this afternoon. Leading her outside; away from all the nosy guests, both living and departed, we walked down the street enjoying the warmth.
“You know, that’s twice you saved my life. I owe you…why are you smiling?”
“Sorry, it was from something Vincent and I were talking about before. Besides, you and Candy saved me, let’s put me ahead by only one.” Jenny confessed that in the aftermath, she’d been giving me mouth to mouth while Candy broke out the defibrillator. Privately I wondered if that was the “warm breeze through my soul”. She bruised my arm when I asked if I’d gotten any tongue.
“You need to be careful. I’m going to be so worried about you!”
“Go have fun in Europe. Enjoy yourself. Vincent’s lending me Amos Sweet and I’ll be fine. Silas is coming along and Pastor Duncan’s lending me his Cadillac.” The loaner came with a string or two attached, but I agreed to a few stops along the way.
“What if you do that thing with the light again? What if no one’s there to help you?”
“I’ve got no intentions of doing that anytime in the near future.”
Jenny shook her head. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
She found the need to hug me again. I enjoyed it and whispered in her ear. “Keep this up and people are going to start thinking you’re my girlfriend.”
Jenny laughed and pulled tighter. I leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips.
At least it started as a peck; twenty seconds later she pulled back with the widest eyes I’d ever seen. “Mike! That! We shouldn’t … Mike! What was that all about?”
The poor thing was confused and I’ll freely admit that I was as well, but I definitely got some tongue that time. I smiled roguishly. “I’m not sure. Wanna try it again?”
The eyes got even wider. “No! We can’t! I’m with Carleton.”
“Well then make sure Chaz treats you right.”
She looked even more panicked than the scene in Baltimore. “Mike, I’ve got to go. Bye! Have a safe trip. Email me.”
I appreciated her retreating form with a stupid grin on my face before slowly starting after her. The surprise I felt could’ve easily matched hers, but I was more equipped to roll with the changes.
Humming a bar or two of that REO Speedwagon classic, I headed back to my party. The next day, Amos Sweet, Brother Silas, and I would hit the road. There was probably a bad joke in there somewhere. On the way, I’d swing through Texas to look up Sonya Hodges with the hopes of finding Cassandra there. Between her and the one that snatched my father, that was two Skinwalkers who’d crossed me and I was going to get some payback.

Pennies for the Ferryman


Jim Bernheimer


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