Part 11 (1/2)
”I only got a couple.”
”Yeah, but what's the fascination?”
”They just looked interesting,” she said.
He tossed them back onto the couch and went into the kitchen to get a c.o.ke.
”I'm gonna make me and Joey something for lunch. You hungry?”
”Didn't you just have ice cream?” he asked.
”That's not lunch, though.”
”Yeah, make me something, too, since you didn't bring me anything nice back.”
Chapter Seven.
It was Sunday and Liz was trying not to be too excited about tomorrow's blessing. She had prayed repeatedly last night and today that it would work.
Joey was asleep. Jack had gone to the music store.
She pulled a bundle of sheets from the dryer, dumping them into her basket. She put the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer, started a new load of wash, then grabbed the basket and headed upstairs.
She untangled the fitted sheet from all the others in the basket, and shook it out in front of her, trying to find the corner with the tag. She got it, and moved to the side of her bed. She raised the sheet over the mattress and let it glide down over the bed.
It fell and draped over the shape of a man. He seemed to be lying curled up on the mattress.
Liz gasped and moved back. She wanted to run, but couldn't. Was it fear or wonder that froze her? She didn't know.
The man's head rose and turned toward her. She saw no features, just the general shape of a body on its side, legs curled up. It leapt from the mattress in a flash, then fled down the hall, taking the sheet with it. Liz moved to the hall to watch. It moved soundlessly. It leapt up the stairs, dropped the sheet on the landing, and vanished.
She stood alone in the hall, praying again, ”Please G.o.d let it work tomorrow. I can't do this much longer. Please let it work tomorrow.”
While Liz prayed, Jack and Charley perused the guitars on the wall at Westgate Music. Charley needed a new amp cord and Jack just wanted to look.
Charley took a Gibson Firebird down off the wall and looked it over.
”What are you doing?” Jack asked. ”That's the ugliest guitar in the world.”
”Do what? These are cla.s.sics, man.”
”Those are c.r.a.p. That one there,” he pointed to a Flying V a few s.p.a.ces down, ”that's a cla.s.sic.”
”They're both ugly when you look at *em.”
”Yeah, they are.” They moved away toward the ba.s.ses and Charley looked up at a black Rickenbacker 4001.
”Sweet, isn't it?”
”Since when do you play ba.s.s?”
”Not yet, but she's pretty.”
”Yeah. Hey, you wanna come over later on and we'll go upstairs and play?”
Charley didn't answer at first, but finally he nodded and said, ”Sure, okay.”
”Wait,” Jack said. ”c.r.a.p, I forgot, that floor needs re-wired or something. I went up there when we moved in and couldn't get anything to work. Had to settle for the first floor and the headphones.”
Charley took the 4001 down and slapped a few notes. He wasn't very good.
”Man, these strings are like playing the streetlight cables outside my house.” He looked up at Jack. ”You sure it wasn't the ghosts up there keeping it from working?”
”If there were ghosts in my house, sure,” Jack said. He grabbed a Fender Precision and plucked a few notes. He was even worse than Charley. ”Just old wiring. House hasn't been lived in for how many years?”
”Six,” Charley answered immediately. ”Since those kids were killed.”
”Right. Six years. We'll get that re-done as we work up to it. I just hope it doesn't turn out the entire house needs it. Hey, but you can come over anyway, we can take everything out back. I've got a huge back yard.”
”Sweet,” Charley said. ”I got a couple things to do, but I can come over later.”
”Okay. Any time, I'm not doing anything tonight.”
Jack stopped and admired his white acoustic while Charley grabbed the amp cord he'd come for.
It was a couple hours later, while Jack sat watching something on the Discovery Channel and Liz sat at the other end of the couch leafing through one of her books, that Joey started screaming from his bedroom.
Liz dropped the book and Jack leapt from his seat. They darted down the hall and burst into Joey's room, but he wasn't there.
What the h.e.l.l, Liz thought. Is this what it takes to make Jack believe? Don't make it this.
”Joe?” Jack asked. ”Where are you?”
He wasn't on his bed, or on the floor playing with his super-heroes. Liz looked under the bed, but he wasn't there, either. They stood wondering, and Liz finally heard something. Joey was crying, she could hear it clearly, but he wasn't anywhere. Then she saw his closet door was cracked.
She opened it and found Joey sitting against the wall, crying into his hands, his knees pulled to his chest. He looked up at the light, then at Liz and Jack, and started crying again.
Jack pulled him from the closet and Joey struggled, but Jack got him out. He sat on the edge of Joey's bed, his son cradled in his arms, rocking him, trying to calm him down.
”What's the matter, Joe?” he asked. Joey whined, but wouldn't say anything. They stayed with him to comfort him, and they were patient, until he finally stopped crying and just sat silent on Jack's lap, staring at the wall. ”What's wrong, Joe?” Jack asked again.
”You scared me,” Joey said.
”I'm sorry,” Jack said. ”We heard you crying. What were you crying for?”
”Because you scared me, I said.”