I called Sunny about two and told her not to pick me up. I pulled the old Schwinn off the deck and hit all the critical spots with a good shot of WD-40. In minutes I was pedaling toward the campus and the wheels were spinning like a finely tuned turbine. I parked my fine charger in the bike rack and headed up the steps. I was a little out of breath when I reached her office on the third floor. Mental note: I needed to start back with my daily exercise routine.
Pam was sitting meekly in one of Sunny’s warped chairs. The Diva had transformed back into Miss Mousey. Not a trace of the stunning, vivacious dynamo I had seen clutching the microphone and belting out sounds that could have been made by an inspired demon. Only a smudge of mascara below her left eye whispered of the magic she had wrought the night before. She said hello and again I had to turn my head to hone in on the subdued tones of her voice.
“The professor says I need to tell you the rest of the story. I can, but T.K., don’t hurt me.”
I didn’t like the choice of words. I wasn’t sure I should do it, but I put my hand on hers and squeezed just a bit. She lifted her head and looked at Sunny. The professor nodded while she bit her lower lip. Pam seemed somewhat reassured, but there was still fear lurking behind those blue eyes. Finally she went on.
“Paul’s my twin brother. We’re identical, born only seconds apart. He’s quiet, like me.” She reached into a denim bag and pulled out a photograph. They were maybe twelve or fourteen. The two of them arm in arm somewhere on a beach, smiling and full of love. It was like looking at two puppies snuggling and longing for their momma. She waited for me to be consumed, then went on.
“There’s tons of kindness and a joy that’s sort of hidden beneath the surface, but now he’s lost . . . into the stuff. It was just marijuana at first, then some coke. He finally started shooting. That’s when it became really bad. He couldn’t keep up with the cost. A hundred bucks a day. He started selling. A little at first. Then his habit got more expensive and he hooked up with some major dealers. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t . . . maybe couldn’t . . . listen. Me and Shorty were playing some gigs, but we had to work cheap. The construction business was down and the wallpaper jobs were drying up. That’s when I blew it.”
“What do you mean, Pam?”
“Last year Paul asked for a favor. He knew I’d do anything for him. He’s my brother and my twin. There’s something between us that can’t be divided or broken. He didn’t mean to make trouble for me. Before I realized what I was doing, I was delivering like Federal Express. He’d give me an address and hand me a packet. Tell me who to look for. I just did it. I tried to pretend I didn’t know what was in those brown envelopes. But I did know . . . it was packaged death. He’d slip me a couple of hundred now and then. Hell, it helped make the rent and keep some food on the table. I didn’t tell Shorty. He’d seen too much of that shit already when he was “the next big thing” in the recording business. When we got the steady gig at the HOTEL AUSTIN, I told Paul I couldn’t do it anymore. I thought he would be pissed, but he took my head in his hands and kissed me on the cheek. “No problem, Sis. I don’t want you going down with me.”
She grew silent and covered her face with her small hands. I saw a few drops of crystal escape her fingers and slide over the pale skin.
“So Mr. Panko, the slick one . . . is telling me if we don’t sign with them, maybe my past . . . that’s the way he put it . . . will come back to haunt me. I guess they want me and Shorty bad and if they don’t get us, me and Paul may end up in jail. No telling what might happen to Shorty. So maybe you could talk to somebody . . . Ms. Elgar says you’re smart . . . you can figure things out. And I read about the Ghostcatcher. That’s you. You’ve done it before. Maybe you should talk to Paul.”
Oh yeah, I’d done it before. The bodies piled up and the blood ran. The dead never left me . . . in my waking hours, in my dreams, and in my very soul. The screams never left my lips, but they howled within me, locked into an eternity that was cold . . . where only the dead things moved. The anger in me boiled. I hated the girl. I hated Sunny, but mostly I hated a washed up college professor who could find no release. The blood in my temples pulsed and my hands became fists. I looked at the floor for a minute and when I raised my head, both sets of eyes accused me, but behind the glare was a longing . . . a plaintive voice that begged “make it all right.” I couldn’t, but maybe like Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, the celebrated French existentialists, even if the meaning didn’t exist, the victory was in the attempt to create it.
At that point, Pam deconstructed like a used-up high rise being hammered with a giant wrecking ball. She shook and whimpered like a cur that had been whipped with a belt. I felt nausea creeping into my gut. Sunny leaned over the desk staring straight into my eyes. She was pleading.
“Okay,” I said, “I can try to help, but I can’t promise much. I don’t have the contacts up here and I need more information. I’ll try, Pam. But that’s all I can do.”
I looked at the Diva, the child, the small one who desperately loved her brother. My teeth were grinding and a violent pounding slammed into my head.
“I’ll get into it,” I said. Pam tugged her rag doll body out of the chair and left the office, pulling the door. It closed behind her with a muffled click.
“Okay, Sunny. You got your wish.” I tried to keep the disgusted tone out of my voice.
“The hell with you, T.K. Don’t lay this one on me. She’s a good kid who got into a bad situation. Now she has a chance to do something other than hang wallpaper. She’s got talent . . . and a real live spirit. I told you that you shouldn’t have written those books. I didn’t get you into this situation . . . you did. And you’re damned good at this shit. So don your shining armor, mount your white warhorse, and don’t forget to take the magic sword with you.”