August: A Ghost Story

Then I slammed the phone to the floor and, clutching Frank's baseball bat, I went through the kitchen and the solarium, out the back and around the house.

A three-quarter moon gave off enough light as I rounded the side of the house walking toward the barn. It looked even spookier at night with its faded red paint turned an odd peeling purple in the blue glow of the single halogen bulb at the apex of the roof.

I sneaked around to the back where I found the black sedan parked, its engine still letting of little clicks and pings. Through the slats in the wood I could see lantern light and, as I came up along the side of the structure, I could hear hushed voices and hushed laughter. I crouched low and looked through one of the cracks.

It was dark save for a little circle of light toward the back of the barn. Three figures were silhouetted in the light of the kerosene lantern. They were all men, from what I could tell. Two were standing, the third was on the floor. I put a hand over my mouth as I recognized the one on the floor was Frank. His feet were tied together and his hands were tied behind his back -- tape covered his mouth. He appeared to be moving, if only barely. I watched in horror as the larger of the two men pulled back and kicked Frank hard across his jaw, much to the amusement of the smaller man.

The smaller man's laugh was maniacal, tinged with drunkenness. I knew that laugh.

I clutched the bat close to me and looked off across the fields toward the main road. I heard another loud thud and then something rattling. I looked back through the door to see that the larger man had thrown a chain over a beam and attached the chain to the ropes binding Frank's hands.

"That's right, string him up," the smaller man, Rodger, said. "You fucked with the wrong man's wife, handsome."

"He can't hear you," the bigger man said. "Unconscious."

"Wake him up then! Fuck." Rodger walked over and fiddled with a bag by the lantern. "What am I paying you for?"

The big man reached into his pocket. There was a small snap and then he pushed something up under Frank's nose. Frank's head pulled back and in the glow from the lamp I could see his head loll back. He groaned in pain.

Rodger walked back in front of Frank carrying what looked like a backpack. There were two metal tanks of some kind in it and he was holding what looked like a welding torch. He set the pack on the ground and said, "Ah, that's better." He held up the torch and said, "I can't have you just passing out whenever you feel like it, Frankie Boy. It isn't as fun when you aren't awake to see what I'm planning."

There was some sort of spark and the light in the room changed, growing more orange and then blue. Rodger held up the torch for Frank to examine. "Couple thousand degrees, that ought to hurt when applied to human flesh, don't you think, Frankie? But from what I understand it's not really the actual pain of the flame that hurts but the nerves dying. Now I wonder where we should start. Any suggestions?"

He peeled the tape away from Frank's mouth so he could speak. Frank's face was horribly mangled, but I could make out a perverse smile. It was made stranger as I heard Frank's laughter filling the barn.

"What's so funny?" Rodger held the torch a little closer. Frank did his best to move his face away from the heat.

"You," Frank said over his laughter. "I find you very funny, Mr. Hawkes. Tell me, how small is it and how many times can't you get it up? I mean, a man who freaks out like this has got to be packing a major inferiority complex."

The tough, off to the left, laughed despite himself.

Rodger turned, holding up the acetylene torch. "You think that's funny?"

"No," said the big man. "Ballsy, though."

Rodger turned. "Yes, a little too ballsy. Perhaps that's where we'll start, huh, Frankie? A little soft tissue."

"Stop calling me Frankie. I'm not Italian and I don't ride surf boards with Annette Funicello."

Rodger and the bigger man both laughed at the joke. Rodger letting his laughter go on a second too long. "You know, I like you, Frank. That is okay, isn't it? Frank? Is that what the preacher's daughter calls you?"

Frank's expression fell.

"Yeah, that's right. Garvey here, he didn't even have to watch the house to know about her. Been coming out here since you moved in and, before that, she came by your place in town, that house you shared with the real estate woman. What is it? She comes over does a little extra credit sometimes?" Rodger turned to the larger man and laughed. "Hell, he's shown me pictures. I wouldn't mind cutting off a little slice myself even if it is a little green."

Frank lashed out with his tied feet and kicked Rodger right in the stomach. Rodger almost dropped the torch but recovered surprisingly well. "Ooh, struck a nerve there, did I, Frank?"

"You stay away from her."

"Well, all this insistence makes me want to look her up. Maybe I could steal from you what you stole from me, huh?"

The anger surging through Frank and the words Rodger was saying seemed to fuel me somehow. I stood then and moved quickly around to the open barn door. I wasn't afraid. I walked right in, brandishing the bat, taking up a confident stance in the doorway.

"Let him go."

The two men turned to me. Frank looked up, shocked. "Lily? What are you doing? Run! Go get help."

I smiled, the big goon next to Rodger I recognized as the man I'd seen in the bar in town, the one with the neck tattoo. I looked from the two of them up at Frank. "They're on the way. Less than two minutes, I'd guess."

The big man's eyes widened at this information. "Shit, we better get. I got priors, you know?"

Rodger turned the torch on the man. "Not until I get what I came for."

The big man backed away, holding up his hands. "Okay, whatever. Just, hurry, will ya?"

Rodger turned and smiled at me. "It's better that you're here to watch anyway. He turned the blue flickering flame and held it up to Frank's abdomen. Frank let out a piercing scream and I rushed in, swinging the bat and screaming. I missed Rodger but hit the torch he held and, in that instant, there was a loud flash and the whole barn was suddenly aglow with orange light.

The big man was thrown aside in the sudden eruption of fire. The hand that Rodger had been using to hold the acetylene torch was gone. His arm, up to the shoulder, consumed in flame. He was screaming. I rushed up and swung the bat hard against his head and watched him fall back onto the ground. I undid the chain and Frank fell to the floor, unconscious. The skin along one side of his torso was badly burned and blackened. I grabbed him under one of his shoulders and pulled. He was nothing but dead weight.

I tossed the bat aside and gripped him under both arms, pulling him away from the fire that was enveloping Rodger's body. The larger man wasn't getting up or registering pain as the flames licked at his body. I wasn't sure, but they both seemed dead.

I pulled Frank again, only to move him half a foot. He was too big for me to drag by myself. It was then I felt hands join mine. I looked up to see George, his eyes looking up at the burning loft, as he took hold of Frank's arms and helped me pull.

We were twelve feet from the door when a beam gave, blocking the exit. I looked around at George who pointed behind me. I turned and saw it -- the car. The tarp had been thrown off and four new white wall tires were on its wire spoke wheels. Together we began dragging Frank to the passenger door.

"I take it back," George shouted, over the roar of burning timbers.

"What?

"The burning to death thing. I don't want you to find out about it. It's not pleasant!"

"Now isn't the time. Get the door!"

Chapter Fifty-Five:

Once the door was open, George helped me lift and together we pushed Frank into the passenger seat. I went around and climbed in behind the wheel as George disappeared in the flames. I reached for the key only to find that there was no key. I turned to Frank and shook him. "Frank! Frank, baby! Come on wake up." I turned to see the fire behind us raging out of control. The bodies of Rodger and the big bartender were lost in the flames.

I punched Frank in the arm and he groaned awake. "Frank, Goddamn it! How do you start this fucking thing?"

He rolled onto his side and reached under the dashboard. "Open gas valve."

I reached under and found a little valve which I turned. "Okay, now what?"

"Push up on the timing lever."

"Where the fuck is that?"

He reached a hand toward the steering wheel and I found the lever and pushed it up all the way.

"Now push the other lever down."

He reached out and turned a knob on the dash. "Now press the throttle button, on the floor by the clutch, and hit the gas and then pull down on the first lever."

"Why the fuck did they make these things so hard to start?"

I pressed my foot on the little button and did the rest. The engine coughed and sputtered as if it were about to die but Frank reached out and turned the knob on the dash again and suddenly the engine caught. I put the car in gear and it chugged forward on its new wheels. "Oh, shit. Hold on, Frank!"

The wooden slats of the barn wall gave easily and we crashed through to the outside. I turned the wheel and screamed as the roof of the barn caved in behind us and I yanked the steering wheel to the left, stomping on the brakes to skid to a stop in the middle of the circle drive.

I coughed and turned to Frank as the engine coughed and died. He wasn't breathing. I climbed out of the driver's side and ran around to open the door and pull him out onto the ground. "Frank?"

I could hear sirens and I looked up to see the lights of several police cruisers turning onto the long gravel drive.

"FRANK! Oh, don't, come on! Hold on, Frank!" I rolled him over and put my lips to his, breathing into his mouth and then putting my hands together on his chest. "Don't die, please! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

I finished the count and leaned forward to breathe for him again. I felt him retch and I pulled away just as he commenced coughing and groaning with the pain of the burns on his stomach. "Ahh," he hacked. "Oh, God!"

Despite myself I leaned in and kissed him, holding his face in my hands. "If you hadn't made it... I wouldn't... I don't know."

"Oh, God..." he groaned, finally pushing me back, I was smothering him with kisses.

"I'm alright. I'm okay. Just stop acting like such a girl." He took one of my hands in his and we both laughed slightly before I helped him sit up.

The police cars swerved into the circle drive along with a fire engine. The pandemonium ensued almost before even the first car had come to a complete stop. The police and firemen teamed up, busying themselves with unfolding the hoses and attaching them to various things on the fire engine despite the fact that it was useless.

The barn was destroyed and the two men inside were already dead.

I don't think either Frank or I registered the voice at our side until the sheriff nudged me on the shoulder. We both looked up at him.

"Is there anybody else in the barn?"

Frank squinted. "Yeah, two men. They started it. We were lucky to get out."

"EMS is on the way. What happened?"

Frank smiled. "I'm not really sure." He looked at me. "But somebody saved my life in there."

I cradled his head in my arms and smiled at the sheriff as the EMS van rolled up the drive at top speed. "With a little help from Henry Ford..."

THE PAST

Chapter Fifty-Six:

The rain pattered on the rooftop of my Mustang. The car was my graduation gift. Mom and dad had hunted through used car lots all over Illinois for the car that matched the one in the poster on the wall of my bedroom back home. It was the perfect car.

Marlboro red, fully rebuilt 302 V8 engine with duel exhaust. Even the interior was perfect; two-tone black and red leather 2+2 seating with driver- and passenger-side bucket seats.

My father had driven it down with my mom following in the Volvo. I'd cried when he gave me the keys. Frank had been there, begged me for a ride around the block. I'd obliged.

It had been a happy day.

Now, less than a month later I sat in the car, impatiently waiting through the bottom half of my third hour. The windshield kept fogging over and I kept having to use my hand to wipe away the fog to see. I had to see. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.

The motel was on the north side of town, across the Kaw where everything was auto repair shops and seedy bars. A squat cinder block of a building in the center of a large courtyard parking lot served as the office. I'd parked the car beside it so that I could see the motorcycle clearly. It was parked under the awning in front of unit seven.

Twice I'd gotten out of the car, letting the rain soak me as I crossed the parking lot to look at the Harley and the glowing light behind the shade in the window of unit number seven. I'd thought about knocking, I'd thought about screaming at the door until he came out and saw me, half drowned and half crazy, wrapped in his leather jacket, angry and demanding an explanation.

I'd thought about knocking over his stupid old bike, doing some serious damage to it with a baseball bat.

Now I sat in the car, thinking about the argument that had sent him off, without a word, for three whole days.

My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles growing whiter and whiter until once more I would have to let go and de-fog the window with the sleeve of his leather jacket. I eventually started hugging myself. With the engine off the chill of the early fall was free to seep into the car and make me feel on the outside as frozen and forgotten as I felt on the inside.

I was aware of movement, my eyes focused, I wiped at the windshield and saw her. She waited, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as he pulled the door shut and locked it with the key. They both ran across the parking lot using the blanket as make-shift protection from the rain. Frank said something, the girl laughed and stumbled against him, putting her hand up in a familiar side hug. I felt sick, I wanted to open the door and vomit but just then they were passing into the office and opening the door would have caught their attention.

I didn't want them to see me. That would have been too pathetic. I waited a few minutes until they re-emerged; Frank juggling a few canned sodas, the girl using her teeth to try and open a bag of vending machine issued potato chips.

They went back, Frank unlocking the door, letting the girl pass through before following and closing the door behind him.

I started the car, shifted it into drive, feeling suddenly very calm. I finally realized I'd been a sucker. He'd said it at the beginning and I'd failed to pay attention.

The trick was, you had to hate them, passionately, and then, once you did that, you were insulated

If you fall in love, you're open to pain.

I pulled out of the parking spot beside the office and pulled a U-turn in the courtyard, to circle back around. I signaled and waited for traffic to clear enough to let me turn left. I was resolved. I would not give him the satisfaction of causing me pain. He wouldn't get that from me. He wouldn't get anything from me ever again.

THE PRESENT

Chapter Fifty-Seven:

At the hospital in Emporia I was faced with a dilemma. I eventually broke down and asked for a phone book from the nurses' station. I dialed the number listed for J.H. Wilson and was pleased when Maggie answered the phone. I explained the situation and told her to have her mother bring her as soon as possible.

I called the Peters' house next. Dae answered the phone and I told her to tell Gene to call whatever numbers Frank had listed at the school for his mother and sister in Oregon.

I waited in reception for half an hour before Maggie and her mother showed up. Maggie ran to me and hugged me, asking if they'd said anything. I told her the last I'd heard he was critical, but that he'd been talking all the way up in the MedEvac. Evelyn walked over and coolly shook my hand and then all three of us sat down and waited.

An hour had passed when Maggie said she was going to use the bathroom. She left reception and then it was just Evelyn and me.

We were silent for a moment and then, she turned to me. "Are you the same Lily he knew at the University?"

I blinked, "Y-you... how do you know about that?"

"When he first came to town, back when I was in high school, it was all he talked about." She looked down at her hands, folded neatly over her purse in her lap. "I remember him working on that stupid car, me sitting on the fender mooning over him..." She let out an almost wet sobbing laugh. "God, I was so in love with him, I wanted to choke him for not shutting up about you. Shit, he even named the car after you so I'd have to listen to him talking about it as if it were you."

"Why are you..."

"Because, if he dies, I'm going to blame you for it," she said, not looking at me but across the room at the vending machine. "If he dies and Maggie loses him the way I had to lose him, I will never forgive you for it." She turned to let her eyes bore into me. "You understand? He is -- despite being the most uncanny, incorrigible, irredeemable man -- the only father that she ever wanted. I hate him for being so damned good at it."

I nodded, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Maggie coming back. "If he dies," I said, "I don't know what you could do to make my life worse after that."

I smiled as Maggie joined us and sat between us once again. It was all I could do not to choke on a stifled sob at the idea of Frank not being around anymore.

After a minute I excused myself, taking my purse with me to the ladies' room. Upon entering, I locked the door and set my purse on the sink. I could feel a sense of loneliness growing inside me and I cringed at the thought that perhaps Frank was slipping away somewhere in that big hospital. I ran some water over my face and looked up at myself reflected in the mirror. I half expected to see someone else reflected standing behind me, but of course there was no one, just the green tiles, the empty stalls, the unnatural florescent lighting. I took my phone out of my purse and walked over to sit in one of the stalls.

I dialed and listened to the phone ring three times before someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Mom?" I sobbed.

"Lily, dear. Are you alright?"

"I-It's Frank." I choked out, letting it all come out in a burst.

Sixteen years, I thought. If he dies, I will have wasted 16 years I could have spent with him.

Epilogue:

I stood looking down at the gravestone, sucking my bottom lip.

I was studying the dates under the name and wondering if it was really necessary to put flowers on it. I looked to the grave beside it, the wild rosebushes had grown thick this spring and were snaking their way close to both markers.

I felt the presence behind me more than saw the movement, and I turned to find Frank standing there. He smiled down at me.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he said. "Stop asking."

He didn't have his cane. He hadn't needed it much over the past few weeks. He was in a nice blue button-up shirt that Maggie had bought him for Christmas. I smiled as I looked down to see the brown-leather cowboy boots on his feet.

"Going native?"

"Shut up," he said, sticking out his jaw in mock scorn. "She's my daughter. I have to wear them when she's around."

"Happy Memorial Day," I said, walking over to put my arm around him. "It's their anniversary next week, you know?"

He nodded, "What it says on the stone, ain't it?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could make it a special day by giving them some good news."