Slow Dance in Purgatory(57)

He suddenly didn’t feel like screaming anymore. He felt like sitting down and crying, just like Maggie had done. He turned and walked back toward the door he had come in. He just had one more thing to say.

“Just leave her alone, Johnny. Whatever you are, whoever you are – just go away. Disappear for good, okay? Maggie doesn’t need what you have to offer.”

Shad pushed on the door in front of him, but it stuck like it had been locked from the inside. He fished out Maggie’s key, fumbling to see where to unlock the door, when the hair on his neck started to stand on end. He shivered, glancing furtively behind him, but no ghostly specter was looming. He reached for the door again, and a bolt of static electricity zapped him, sending him stumbling back a step.

Then, right before his eyes, the glass on the door fogged over, like ten people breathing on it all at once. Letters started to appear, then words, like someone was using their finger to communicate a message. Shad swallowed a scream and pushed at the door frantically. Then the message was complete, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words spelled out on the glass pane in front of him.



Take care of her



The door released suddenly, and Shad burst out into the cold December sunlight, panting and wheezing with fright. Jumping on his ten-speed, he wobbled across the grass and bumped over the curb, hitting the street with his legs already pumping harder than they had ever pumped before.

***

Johnny stood by the door Shad had just thrown himself through and watched his message fade to nothing. He’d meant every word, but he’d scared the kid. Served him right. Man, that boy had a mouth on him. Johnny liked him, though. He had guts, and he was loyal. Maggie couldn’t have a better friend. He’d do what the kid said. He’d disappear – as best he could, he’d disappear.





17


“Since I Don’t Have You”

The Skyliners - 1958





Maggie spent most of Christmas vacation trying to be the best niece in the universe. She cleaned Irene’s house from top to bottom, discovering a few unbelievably cool things in the process: old vinyl records, a working record player, clothes and handbags and shoes that would make any little girl – or big girl - squeal with delight. Irene told her she could have anything she wanted, but Maggie realized playing dress-up would only remind her of the blue dress and dancing with Johnny. The blue dress had been relegated to the farthest corner of her closet, tucked away from sight in its protective zipper bag.

She set a few things aside, unwilling to try them on but unwilling to give them away, and organized and catalogued everything else, filling several boxes with items Irene was ready to get rid of. The spring clean reminded her of the locked window seat in her room. She’d never said anything to her aunt about it, obviously. You can’t exactly bring up ghostly apparitions over the breakfast table.

“Aunt Irene?” Maggie asked tentatively, brushing her dusty hands on her faded jeans.

Irene looked up absently from the photo album she was lost in. Her hair was disheveled and there was a dirty smudge on her nose. Maggie started at the resemblance between them…she had only to look at her aunt to see what she would like in fifty odd years.

“Hmmm, dear?”

“The window bench in my room. It’s locked. Is it some kind of chest or something?” Sometimes the direct approach was the best one.

Irene frowned and tilted her head to the side charmingly. “I’m not sure what you mean, sweetie.”

“There’s a lock underneath the cushion. You wouldn’t know where the key is, would you? I wouldn’t mind using it if it’s empty.” At little less direct that time.

Irene smacked the album closed and stood from the old stool she had been seated on. “Show me.”

They made their way down the stairs from the attic to Maggie’s room. Maggie eased the cushion off the seat, pointing to the little lock set in the smooth wood of the bench.

Irene stared blankly at the lock and then looked at Maggie with a puzzled frown marring her pretty face. “I never knew this was here.”

Maggie wrenched up on the lid, wiggling it without success. “Someone locked it…maybe…it was Mr. Carlton?” She said lamely, blushing at her attempt to be blasé and innocent.

Irene raised one eyebrow imperiously. “This is my house….at least for now. I won’t abide secrets. Especially Roger’s secrets.” She huffed out of the room and returned a minute later, slightly breathless and clutching a huge ring of keys.

“These were Roger’s. He kept them on him at all times, even after we no longer owned the businesses or properties they once opened. I almost got rid of them, but ended up shoving them in the back of his desk drawer, worried that I might need them at some point. Looks like I was right.” Irene bent and began trying to fit one key after another into the little lock. Several minutes later she cried out triumphantly.

“We have a winner! Let’s see what you’ve been hiding, Roger Carlton!”

Irene lifted the lid, and Maggie moved up beside her to peer inside. The book she had seen in Roger Carlton’s ghostly re-run lay on the bottom of the wooden enclosure. Next to it laid a thick folder held together with several elastic bands and a brown leather book with a snap closure on the front. Irene pulled each item out, one by one, and then shut the lid. Sitting side by side on the window bench where Roger had likely positioned himself many times before, Irene and Maggie opened the scrapbook that he had painstakingly compiled.