someone says. I turn and see the ghost of an older guy. Maybe late 50’s. He’s wearing one of the old fashioned McDonald’s uniforms. The all brown ones that made them look like beef or feces. Maybe both. “They almost got you back there.”
“I’m smarter than any cop” I tell him and head for the door.
“Not the cops” he says. “The others.” I turn and face him. “You’re too weak to hurt us now. Better be careful. There’re a lot of angry ghosts out there just waiting for the chance to have you join ‘em.”
“You one of them?” I ask him.
“Me?” he laughs. “No. Not me. I’m content flushing toilets while people are still using them. Gives me a good chuckle every day. You take care of yourself.”
“I will, toilet ghost” I tell him and leave. I step out of the bathroom and bump into a cop. He spills coffee on his shirt. “Sorry abut that.”
“Just be careful next time” he says and heads into the bathroom. I start to head out the door when I hear him shout. “Damn toilet's flushing itself!”
That was way too damned close. I start power walking down the street and reach an intersection. I hate intersections both figuratively and literally. I hate making decisions like this. Just a day ago it was so much more simple. I would get up, chase a ghost away, head home, have a beer, and sleep. That was it.
“Really?” a woman asks me. She’s wearing a crossing guard vest. Bright orange. She looks alive except for the sagging shoulder that’s dripping blood that hit’s the ground and vanishes. “Your life was that easy?”
“How did you hear me?” I ask her. “Psychic?”
“You were talking out loud,” she says. I like old Black women. They’re always so sweet. “I heard about what happened with your wife. So terrible.”
“Ex wife” I correct her. “We were getting divorced.”
“Oh, we never really divorce” she says while watching a group of kids cross the street. “Look at that new crossing guard. He ain’t paying no attention to the little ones at the back. Watch them kids! I swear. What was I saying?”
“’Never really divorce‘” I remind her. She nods her head towards me.
“Thanks you. Now, me, I was married about three times. Maybe four. I forget sometimes. Anyway, so after the first one I get married a year later. I couldn’t stand a hair on the first ones head. But whenever I was upset with my second I would think about the first. And when the third would hit me I would pray for the second to come and whip him. We always connected with the ones we say we loved. Whether you want to admit it or not is up to you. When you finally decide to is up to God.” She smiles at me and tries to pinch my cheek. Her hand passes through. “Lookit that! You got your powers back!”
“Good,” I say. “About my ex wife. You know what happened…?”
“Oh, yeah, child” she says. “She ain’t have no business blaming you for what happened to your baby. That child in God’s hands now. She took that baby from someplace she shouldn’t have been in the first place.”
“Where was that?” I ask.
“I ain’t sure,” she says. “But it’s the reason some of us don’t wanna cross over to the other side. We just don’t know where we end up.”
“You believe in God though,” I say. “Why would you be afraid?” She takes a deep breath and a group of nearby pigeons fly away. Yeah, in case you were wondering, most animals can see spirits. Those pigeons you see taking off into the air for no reason are running from ghosts. Usually bad ghost children.
“Even the most God fearing of us are scared, child,” she says. “I been going to church for over 90 years. Don’t laugh. I still go to church. I listen to the Word. But the little things is all you think about once you dead. I hit my boy once when he was 2. Spilled water all over the floor. Just water. Even if I didn’t clean it up it would’ve dried. I stole a candy bar when I was 5. We was poor. All the White kids had chocolate. Why shouldn’t I? Little things. Being married three or more times? Swearing each time in church to my friends and family that I would be with this man for the rest of my life. Please. The time I didn’t give one Sunday bothers me more. The little things are the ones that kill you.”
“Thanks, crossing guard ghost,” I tell her. “I normally don’t do this for free, but if you ask…”
“Don’t, boy” she says and smiles, holding her hands up. “Somebody gotta be here to watch these children. You just save up your strength. Bad things are coming your way.”
“How bad?” I ask.
“Big bad,” she says. “Can you give me a hug?”
“I don’t even know your name,” I tell her.
“Isabelle,” she says. She can't touch me but I can touch her. I hug her tight. She pats my back and lets me go. “I’ll pray for you.”
“Somebody’s gotta.”
Talking to Isabelle made me feel much better about myself. Yeah, the whole abilities coming back helps. I just hope she’s wrong about the whole love thing. I don’t want to think about Louise for the rest of my life. Maybe when this is all over and done I’ll head to a bar and drink her away. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?!
I rush about a mile away to my old AA meeting place. I haven’t been here in a few years. I think the longest I went without a drink was four days. And those were a rough four days. No, I’m not looking for a drink right now. Just a good place to relax for a while. The door is open and no one is at the front desk. This place smells of broken promises. A few ghosts are lingering right now but none bother me. Guess they heard that I’m back to busting them.
My sponsors name was Tim. A good guy once you got a few drinks in him. But sober? A total prick. We’d leave the meetings and get hammered a few blocks away. That all ended when he died while driving drunk. I was never that stupid. I was a drunk walker.
“Hey, Steven,” Tim says. I look at him and shake my head. He is wearing the steering wheel of his car wrapped around his neck. “Everyone else thinks its funny.”
“Everyone else is stupid,” I tell him. “Why are you still here anyway? Do you just listen to everyone share their miserable stories and think about what you should’ve done instead of getting behind the wheel?” He shrugs.
“Not sure,” he says. “Heard about what’s going on with you. Sucks. Everyone knows you’d never kill your wife.” I look at him. “Sorry. Ex wife. You were an asshole, undependable, a drunk, and miserable. But you weren’t violent.”
“Let me grab a pen and write this down,” I tell him. “This is truly some touching stuff.” I walk down the hallway and see an old picture of me and Tim laughing. “What was so funny back then?” I ask him.
“The night before we celebrated my first year of sobriety with a bottle of Jack Daniels” he says. “What a fool I was.”
“Don’t get all retrospective on me,” I tell him.
“I'm dead. What else do I got to do? I remember the first time you told me about what you could do” he tells me. “I thought you were just drunk. Then you told me about my father who had been following me since he died a few weeks after I was born. You described him perfectly and helped him cross over. I never thanked you for it. Don’t act all modest. You really helped.”
“Your dad was bumming me out” I say. “Every time we hung out he would wail. It was harshing my mellow.”
“Have you ever considered taking your gift worldwide?” he asks. “You could make a lot of money doing what you do.”
“I make money now,” I tell him.
“Does it ever get to be too much?” he asks. “Can it ever become addictive?”
“No” I tell him. I’m not sure if I’m lying or not. I decide to change the subject. “You know the biggest problem I had with AA? The whole God aspect of it. ‘Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.’ ‘Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.’ ‘Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.’ ‘Were entirely ready to have God remove all these def
ects of character. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.’”
“Good you still know steps 3 through 7,” Tim says with a huge smile.
“The shit’s burned into my head,” I say. “Bad enough I got it from my parents. I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of a caring God when I am surrounded by all of the death He’s allowed to happen. Like Beth.”
“Your daughter?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Her.”
“I wish you had made it to steps 8 and 9,” he says.
“Sure,” I tell him. “It would’ve been entertaining if anything.”
“Maybe you need some step 12 in your life,” he says before disappearing.
“What was step 12 again?” I ask aloud before leaving.
I can't stay on the run all day long. I need to get into my house and grab some stuff if I’m going to be a fugitive for a while. This is going to take a lot of planning on my part. Which means I am heading over right now.
After a few blocks I'm just walking down the street mad. Who in the hell do they think they are taking over my house? I bet they stole some things. A few ghosts join me. They don’t say anything. They just power towards my house with me. From a block away I can see just one squad car and a van sitting in my driveway. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m halfway there when everyone disappears.
“The hell…?” I ask before something from a tree lands on top of me. I hear every bit of air shoot out my lungs. I open my eyes and a very