Ed McBain - Ghosts

“Where’s Andy now?”

“Search me. I just got in a few minutes ago. You want a madhouse during the holidays? Try Heathrow.”

“You wouldn’t know whether Jack is still in the city, would you?”

“Well, if he was back here, I’d know it,” Marcia said. “He’s the slob of all time. Open the sugar bowl, you’re liable to find a pair of his dirty jockey shorts in it.”

Carella chuckled and then said, “Does he still have that distinctive speaking voice?”

“Old Bearclaw Rawles, do you mean?”

“Sort of rasping?”

“Like a file,” Marcia said.

“You wouldn’t know where he’s staying in the city, would you?”

“Big city, Steve,” she said. “He could be anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Carella said. “Well, look, tell him I called, okay? Nothing important, just wanted to wish him a Happy New Year.”

“Will do,” Marcia said, and hung up.

Carella put the receiver back on the cradle. He debated calling Hawes again to tell him he’d made contact and decided against it. If he knew Hawes, he’d be trying the Boston Police right this minute, even after he got a telephone number for Rawles. A cup of Irish coffee sounded very good just now. He crossed the room and knocked on the connecting door.

“Come in,” Hillary said.

She was sitting dejectedly in an easy chair, the two cups of Irish coffee on a low table before her. She was still wearing the raccoon coat, huddled inside it.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I guess.”

He took one of the cups from the table, sipped at it, and licked whipped cream from his lips. “Why don’t you drink it before it gets cold?” he said.

She lifted the other cup, but she did not drink from it.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Drink your coffee.”

She sipped at it, her eyes lowered.

“Want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said.

“It’s just…I’m so damn ashamed of myself.”

“Why?”

“Fainting like that.”

“Well, it was pretty scary back there,” Carella said, and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m still scared,” Hillary said.

“So am I.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it.”

“My first real manifestation,” she said, “and I…” She shook her head.

“The first time I faced a man with a gun, I went blind,” Carella said.

“Blind?”

“With fear. I saw the gun in his hand, and then I didn’t see anything else. Everything went white.”

“What happened?” Hillary asked.

“He shot me, and I died.”

She smiled and sipped at her coffee.

“What happened was I came to my senses about three seconds before it would have been too late.”

“Did you shoot him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been shot yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you keep doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Police work.”

“I like it,” he said simply, and shrugged.

“I’ve been wondering how I can ever…” She shook her head again and put down the coffee cup.

“Ever what?”

“Go on doing what I’m doing. After tonight I wonder if I shouldn’t simply get a job as a ribbon clerk or something.”

“You wouldn’t be good at it.”

“I’m not so good at this either.”

“Come on, you’re very good,” he said.

“Sure. Fainting like a—”

“I almost didn’t come up those stairs after you,” Carella said.

“Sure.”

“It’s the truth. I almost ran out of that damn house.”

“Yet you’re willing to face men with guns in their hands.”

“A gun is a gun. A ghost…” He shrugged.

“I suppose I’m glad I saw them,” she said.

“So am I.”

“I wet my pants, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“I did.”

“I almost wet mine.”

“Fine pair,” she said, and smiled again.

The room went silent.

“Do I really look like your wife?” she asked.

“Yes. You know that.”

“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Again the room went silent.

“Well,” Carella said, and got to his feet.

“No, don’t go yet,” she said.

He looked at her.

“Please,” she said.

“Well, okay, few minutes,” he said, and sat on the edge of the bed again.

“Is your wife anything at all like me?” Hillary asked. “Or is the resemblance purely physical?”

“Purely physical.”

“Is she prettier than I am?”

“Well…you really look a lot alike.”

“I always thought my sister was prettier than I am,” Hillary said, and shrugged.

“She thinks so, too.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes.”

“Bitch,” Hillary said, but she was smiling. “Shall we order another round of these?”

“No, I don’t think so. We’ve got a long drive back tomorrow. We’d better get some sleep.”

“Yes, we’d better,” Hillary said.

“So,” he said, and rose again. “I’ll leave a call for—”

“No, don’t go,” she said. “I’m still frightened.”

“It’s really getting late,” he said. “We—”

“Every time I think of them I shudder.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “You’re here, and our lady friends are miles from—”

“Stay with me,” she said.

Her eyes met his. He looked into her face.

“Sleep here,” she said. “With me.”

“Hillary,” he said, “thank you, but—”

“Just to hold me,” she said. “In the night.”

“Just to hold you, huh?” he said, and smiled.

“Well, whatever,” she said, and returned the smile. “Okay?”

“No,” he said. “Not okay.”

“I think you’d like to,” she said. She was still smiling.

He hesitated. “Yes, I’d like to,” he said.

“So what’s—?”

“But I won’t.”

“We’re stranded here…”

“Yes…”

“No one would ever know.”

“ I would know.”

“You’d forgive yourself,” she said, and her smile widened.

“Hillary, come on, let’s quit it, okay?”

“No,” she said. “Not okay.”

“Look, I—come on, really.”

“Do you know how my sister would handle this?” she asked. “She’d tell you she washed out her panties the minute she got back here to the room. She’d tell you her panties were hanging on the shower rod in the bathroom. She’d tell you she wasn’t wearing any panties under her skirt. Do you think that would interest you?”

“Only if I were in the lingerie business,” Carella said, and to his great surprise and enormous relief, Hillary burst out laughing.

“You really mean it, don’t you?” she said.

“Yeah, what can you do?” Carella said, and shrugged.

“Well, okay then,” Hillary said, “I guess. ” She rose, shrugged out of the coat, laughed gently again, murmured, “The lingerie business,” shook her head, and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Hillary,” he said.

“Good night, Steve,” she said, and sighed and went into the bathroom.

He stood looking at the closed bathroom door for a moment, and then he went into his own room and locked the door behind him.

He dreamed that night that the door between their rooms opened as mysteriously as the doors at the Loomis house had. He dreamed that Hillary stood in the doorway naked, the light from her own room limning the curves of her young body for an instant before she closed the door again behind her. She stood silently just inside the door, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and then she came softly and silently to the bed and slipped under the covers beside him. Her hand found him. In the darkness she whispered, “I don’t care what you think,” and her mouth descended.