Strange Neighbors (14 page)

   Taking his cock into her body, she moaned with the glorious feeling of him filling her completely. Merry's cavern was so wet, he glided in and out easily as he pumped and she rocked. She closed her eyes and lost herself in sensation.

   After a good long ride, he added a clit rub and she gasped. "Jason, I…" Her orgasm exploded and she lost all control. All power of speech deserted her except to cry out in ecstasy. Soon after, he climaxed too. When each of them had experienced their last aftershock, Merry collapsed on top of him.

   "Are you sure you're the one who's going to die in bed?"

   "Maybe we both will." He chuckled. "But what a way to go."

"Now everybody needs to sit around the table and hold hands. At least that's what I've seen on TV. Isn't that how a séance is done, Shandra?" Dottie asked the medium.

   She chuckled. "Yes, that's how it's done. Everyone gather 'round and have a seat."

   Candles graced the table. Since Dottie had already made sure the electricity was shut off, their glow provided the only light in the chilly apartment. A red oblong tablecloth over a couple of folding bridge tables gave the appearance of one large table, the perfect size for their gathering. Konrad, Morgaine, Gwyneth, Nathan, and Jason surrounded the table and took the vacant seats. Dottie had been with the medium, Shandra, as soon as she arrived and was seated to her right, anxiously awaiting this monumental event.

   She grabbed the hands of Shandra and Jason on either side of her and asked, "What do we do next?"

   "Simply close your eyes and sit quietly," Shandra instructed.

   It was all Dottie could do not to squirm. Shivers seemed to pepper the back of her neck already and nothing had happened yet.

   Shandra took several deep breaths and said, "Spirit, please make yourself known." She waited. Nothing happened. She took several more deep breaths and tried again. "Spirit or spirits, if you are here, please give us a sign."

   Dottie opened one eye. The candles flickered. Nothing unusual about that. Her gaze settled on the medium and she watched her closely. The woman began to heave and straighten, heave and straighten. At last, she jerked, opened her mouth and spoke in a voice that didn't sound like hers at all.

   "Why are you here in my pad? You're intruding where you don't belong," the voice said. It was significantly lower than Shandra's normal voice.

   Dottie murmured, "Pad?" under her breath.

   Shandra's voice returned to normal. "Spirit, thank you for allowing me to channel your voice. We are only here temporarily in order to speak to you, then we will leave you in peace. Do you have any messages to relay? I'm here to help." Her head dropped against her chest.

   A moment later, her chin lifted and the lower voice answered, "Groovy. Make them leave me alone, man. I need my space."

   Groovy? Well, he wasn't from the eighteenth century—unless he picked up conversations and learned some new words.

   "Can you tell us who you are?" Shandra continued.

   "I am the ghost of Christmas past, and I have come to show you the error of your ways." He made some kind of spooky Oooooo… sound and then laughed.

   The medium shook a bit and then spoke in her normal voice. "We mean you no harm. Please let us know with whom we're communicating, so we can better help you."

   They waited silently until Dottie couldn't stand it any longer. "Well, if he won't tell us who he is, what does he look like? Maybe we can figure it out. Can you describe him?"

   Shandra shook her head. "I can only see his shape. He's tall and thin. His hair appears to be in an afro style."

   "Hey, I'm not skinny. I'm fit," said the baritone voice from the medium's mouth. Nathan snorted—or was it just a cough? "I just have a high metabolism—or had, I should say. You want to know what I look like? Well, I'm a twenty-six-year-old black man, wearing a tie-dyed tunic, ripped jeans, and several strands of love beads hanging from my neck. Oh, and I also have a bullet hole in my head."

   One of the participants made a sound like Ugh.

   "Great," grumbled Dottie. "We're being haunted by a hippie!"

   Jason chuckled.

   The disembodied voice answered, "You should appreciate my presence. I may be handy now and then. I can see things the rest of you can't… well, all of you except Gladys Kravitz over there in the flowered moo moo."

   "It's not a muumuu," Dottie protested.

   "I called it a moo moo because it's fit for a cow."

   Morgaine stood and shouted, "Cut the shit, Chad."

   Dottie stood too and gaped at Morgaine. "You know this insulting spirit?"

   She shrugged. "Well, I didn't know him when he was alive. He talks to me once in a while. Mostly when he's lonely."

   "Or bored," Nathan added.

   The rest of the participants opened their eyes and stared at Morgaine and Nathan, alternately.

   The medium seemed to be the only one not surprised. "How long have you been aware of him?" she asked.

   "Since we moved in here. I've lived here eight years," Nathan said.

   "And why didn't you think to mention it before now?" Dottie demanded.

   Morgaine sighed. "Would you have believed us if we had said, 'Oh, by the way, there's a ghost haunting 3A, and he'll drive out anyone you rent his place to'?"

   Dottie crossed her arms. "Maybe. But if he thinks he can get away with tying up an apartment that could be rented, he has another think coming."

   Jason cleared his throat. "Aunt Dottie, let's see what else he has to say first."

   Shandra held up a hand and regained control. "Most likely, he's here because he has unfinished business. Apparently he does know he's dead, but couldn't or wouldn't move on for some reason. We need to ask him why. Can everyone regroup, please?"

   Nathan cleared his throat. "As much fun as this wasn't, I think I'll go back to my 'pad' now." He rose and walked to the door.

   Dottie jammed her hands on her hips. "So, how is it you can communicate with ghosts too?

   "Helloooo… I work in a morgue. Remember? Anyway, I don't exactly communicate with him. He just likes to hang out with me sometimes."

   "Can everyone see and speak to ghosts except for me?"

   "I can't," Jason said.

   "Nor me," Konrad stated.

   All eyes turned toward Gwyneth. "I'm just learnin' how to increase my psychic powers. So far, I can only connect with my dear departed family."

   "What are you? Some kind of weird Pagans?"

"Oh, no!" Gwyneth said. "We're not weird—"

   Morgaine interrupted. "We're kind of interested in anything 'new age-y'. It's something that's interested me for a while, and now my cousin is following in my footsteps."

   Dottie harrumphed.

   Before Nathan left, he turned and said, "Just so you know, Dottie, ghosts can be touchy, and if you try to bully him, be ready for consequences."

   Her jaw dropped. "Consequences? What kind of consequences?"

   Nathan shrugged. "Depends on how creative he is."

   Dottie remembered falling hard on this very floor. She just knew Chad had moved that box into her path somehow. Oh, this isn't good. She grabbed Jason's and Shandra's hands. "What does he want? Maybe we can help him finish his business and then he can leave."

   "Ouch, Aunt Dottie, you're squeezing my pitching hand."

   "Oh, sorry."

   Shandra nodded. "It's possible. The sixties weren't that long ago."

   "Morgaine, do you know what he wants?"

   "All I know is what he already told you. He wants his apartment left vacant."

   Dottie shook her head. "That's not going to happen. Let's find out what that unfinished business is. Shandra, I paid you for an hour, so please continue."

   All the remaining participants held hands; Konrad had to reach a little farther to connect diagonally across the table with Gwyneth now that Nathan was gone, but fortunately he had long arms. Long hairy arms, Dottie noted.

   "You say his name is Chad?" the medium asked Morgaine.

   "Yes."

   "Do you know his last name?"

   "No. I never needed it just to talk to him."

   "Let's see if we can find out more about him. Everyone close your eyes and concentrate on Chad. Try to empty your minds of fear or anger and help him feel comfortable."

   Dottie tried her hardest to comply and only a few moments later, Chad was ready to speak. Shandra took a couple of deep breaths and said in the male voice, "My name is Chad Robinson—that's my pen name. My real name is Charles Washington. I was a journalist and reporter for the Boston Chronicle."

   Dottie took over. "So what's your unfinished business, if there is any? Or are you just being a stubborn ass?"

   A low laugh exited the medium's mouth. "Yes, you could say I have some unfinished business. I was murdered. Assassinated, just as I was about to expose a conspiracy against the Kennedys."

   Dottie gasped. "President Kennedy? I thought that happened in Dallas."

   "No, Herman Kennedy. Of course President Kennedy," he said in a snide tone. "Both Jack and Bobby. This is their home state, remember? A lot of prior meetings and planning took place here."

   Finally, Jason inserted a question. "Wow. So you know who killed JFK?"

   "Yes. Lee Harvey Oswald."

   Dottie rolled her eyes. "Oh for God's sake, we all know that."

   "But I was shot by the men behind the whole thing. I said it was a conspiracy, remember?"

   "Are you sure?" Dottie asked.

   "And how did you discover the conspiracy?" Konrad asked.

   "I had a source."

   Jason piped up, "What's his name? If we can find him, maybe we can learn who the conspirators were."

   "A good reporter never reveals his sources."

   "But I thought you wanted to know who was responsible for this? I can hire a private detective—"

   Dottie jumped in. "Oh, I've always wanted to be a sleuth! Maybe I can go along on stake outs and pick his brain."

   "Drive him crazy, you mean. No, I think you'd better stay out of it, Dottie dearest," Chad said.

   How weird is it to watch Shandra's lips move and hear a male voice?

   "So, you'll let us help you?" Jason asked.

   "I kept his name anonymous the whole time I was alive. I don't suppose I have any obligation to continue if you're willing to locate him and find out who put a bullet in my head."

   "I'm willing," Jason said. "But will you move on to the light or whatever it is you need to do once this is over?"

   "I don't know," he said, sounding honest. "I don't really know how this whole afterlife thing works."

   "Maybe I can help you, when you're ready," Morgaine offered.

   "Thanks, friend. I'll take you up on that. I'm tired of this scene, anyway. Rattling around in an empty apartment is a real drag."

   Dottie cocked her head. "Then why won't you allow…"

   "A roommate? Forget it. I need my own space. So, here's the 411 on my source…"

Merry's phone rang long before she would have staggered out of bed. Must be someone who didn't know her habits or they'd let her sleep until ten a.m.

   "Hello?"

   "Merry? Are you all right?"

   Why did her father sound so concerned? "Of course I am, Dad. Why wouldn't I be?"

   "I received phone calls from several people who spotted your picture in the Boston newspaper. I drove to the supermarket and picked up a copy to see for myself."

   "See what?" she asked, puzzled.

   "Your picture with Jason Falco. Only it gives you a different name in the article."

   "Really? That's weird. Are you sure it's me?"

   "Positive."

   "I wonder when that was taken and why?"

   "Well, you might want to sit down for this."

   "For what? What's going on, Dad?"

   "Okay, the picture shows you all dressed up and kissing Jason. It's a little dark, but you're under a street light in front of a sports car."

   "Yes, that was Friday night. What of it? I told you we were dating."

   "I know, but I just don't want you to get hurt. There's another picture here. Did you know he's dating other people?"

   "Oh, Daddy, that was a one-time thing. He had signed up for a bachelor auction for charity sometime last summer, before he even knew me. He had to take the woman out, but he promised me there wouldn't be a second date."

   "Uh-oh. So it sounds like you think he's dating you exclusively? You're not aware of the other one?"

   "I just told you I was. She's a thin redhead, right?"

   "Uh, yeah. The second one is, but there's a third picture here. A young woman with long brown hair. He's hugging her."

   "Oh. Well, you never know when those pictures were taken, and it might just be a fan or something. Everyone seems to think they know him and they feel like they can walk right up to him and hug him, even though he's never seen them before in his life. That's why he doesn't like to go out in public."

   "Hmm… I hope you're right. Under your picture it says, Live-in girlfriend, Allison Flores, no longer lovey-dovey."

   "Allison who? What rag are you reading, anyway?"

   "The Boston Telegraph. And, um, here's the part you might want to sit down for…"