Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

Soon the steady beat of the rain had lulled her to sleep. While outside, Maq and I stood vigil in the downpour, all through the night.

Somewhere along the line, I’d been dubbed “Opie.” It wasn’t my real name, of course, but I’d gotten used to it, and at any rate I wasn’t one to complain. I spent most of my time with an old beach bum that the locals knew as “Maq” (though that wasn’t his true name either). I was Maq’s best friend, and he was mine. We disagreed sometimes, but considering we were never too sure where our next meal was coming from, we got along just fine.

Maq and I know things.

Lately, he’s grown a bit scattered, but Maq can see into the future. No joke. He knew we’d find lunch behind the Versailles Hotel, and that night he had us standing outside the Nitaino for Rain’s reawakening before she even got to the kitchen. When the snake’s golden glow lit up her eyes, we could both feel it from the street—and despite the weather, it warmed us to our bones.

I couldn’t see the future. I could guess at it like anyone. And I had a more-than-decent memory for the past. But my real talent was the present. I knew what was happening—wherever it was happening—now. I knew what was being done. I knew what was being said. I even knew what was being thought. It came in handy, given my line of work, but it’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

Still, that’s why Maq and I made such a great team. We complemented each other. I handled the here and now; he handled the yet to come. Had to be that way. He was (to say the least) a bit vague on the present.

At present, Rain was dreaming. All through the night, she had slept the sleep of the dead. But just before sunrise, rapidly behind closed lids, her eyes began to track back and forth in her skull. She was alone on cobblestone streets. Surrounded by shadows seeking to hem her in. She ran, breathing hard, frightened. Bernie Cohen blocked her course. She tried to slip past, but his garish shirt seemed to swell up to fill the lane, and his increasing bulk forced her away. She stumbled backward, turned, tripped, fell to her knees. Tourists loomed above her. Bernie Cohen, Maude Cohen, Rebecca Sawyer and the shadows of a hundred others she had served breakfast to at the Inn, had carried bait for on the boat.

’Bastian called out to her. Her parents, too. She could barely get her legs and arms to move; she crawled as if through Sycorax Honey, desperate to reach her family. ’Bastian pointed. The armband lay on the ground before her, shining gold. The Key! Just out of reach. She struggled forward, aware she was being pursued. She glanced back over her shoulder. Callahan! Gaining on her with every lightning strike. Gaining; he would catch her. She found her hand grasping the armband. She turned to look. The two golden snakes were wrapped around her biceps. They had come to life, growing, binding, constricting her entire body. The blue-eyed serpent opened wide its black maw, threatening to swallow her whole. She screamed silently at her parents… wordlessly begged her grandfather for help… but they simply nodded their approval…. Darkness.

And then the smallest fragment of light. Glowing white like a frosted Christmas bulb behind her. She turned to find a hand reaching to pull her out. She lunged for it; she couldn’t reach; she couldn’t reach. I can’t reach you! She caught hold. The hand pulled her from the darkness into the frosty light. Into winter snow. I’ve never seen snow! She was in a city. A big city frosted with beautiful lights and snow, black and white, like old movies. It was wonderful. She was so grateful. So grateful. But who had pulled her out? She turned. A woman. A very tall woman with dark hair, dark eyes and a kind smile. She knew this woman. From somewhere. Somewhere.

“You don’t belong back there,” the woman said gently. “Leave it all behind.”

Rain nodded. That’s right. That’s right.

“You have the whole world to explore,” the woman said warmly. “There’s so much to see.”

Rain could only nod. So grateful. So much to see. She wandered forward. The snow was white and warm and glowed softly, quietly. So much to see.

She turned a corner to find Charlie waiting. He cocked his head. “What took you so long?”

She shrugged. So much to see. The snow melted away, leaving a big world in bright warm hues. Tall purple skyscrapers. A bright orange calliope. A red carousel with every horse in the rainbow. Her best friend beside her. And so much to see. This is where I belong. I don’t want to go back.

But in her bedroom—in her bed—she began to stir. Something nagged at her, something that seemed to pull her out of this pleasant dream, this vision of her and Charlie walking through a color-drenched cartoon of New York City. Funhouse music, new surroundings, the arrival of Daffy Duck—none of it could hold her.

There was a man in her room.

She was aware of him watching before she had even opened her eyes. The dream faded to black. Charlie and Daffy disappeared. She caught one last glimpse of the beautiful Tall Woman, and then she was alone with the intruder. He was reaching for her. She tried to pull away but could barely manage a cringe. Did his hand graze her skin? She felt nothing tangible—just a chill that wracked her body like a spasm. She tried to speak, but it took all her strength to move her lips, and no sound came out. Finally, she forced her eyes open. The room was still dark. But he was still there. Looming over her bed. Reaching for her again. Black hair. Broad shoulders. She managed to shrink back against her headboard.

This time she made herself speak, each syllable a massive effort, almost painful. “Who—are—you?”

Dawn came. Rays of morning sunlight streamed in through her window. For just a second, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden glare. She reopened them immediately and thought she caught a glimpse of his silhouette moving fast toward her nightstand. Her head turned to follow the movement, but he wasn’t there. Just her grandfather’s armband, cheerfully reflecting the sun. She scanned the room. Rubbed her eyes. Looked again. There was no man. Awake now in a light-filled space, there was no man. Breathing hard, she leapt to her feet. Stood there in her pajamas, unsure. Then she checked the door. Locked. The windows. Locked. Under the bed. Nothing. With dread, she opened the closet. Jammed with stuff but no bodies. With greater dread now, the bathroom. No one hiding in the shower. And behind the door… absolutely no one.

It had all been a dream. And the dark man, just a remnant of that dream. The ghost of a remnant. She looked at the clock. A good two hours remained before she needed to leave the Inn. She sighed and started her day. She’d shower when she got back from the water, but she washed her face and brushed her teeth without ever letting her eyes stray from the mirror. No ghosts were going to sneak up on Rain Cacique. She brushed her long hair and braided it into the thick rope she favored. Got dressed. She paused over ’Bastian’s armband. If she lost it on the water, she’d never forgive herself. And besides…

She left it on the nightstand and went downstairs. As she walked through the lobby, she remembered the Tall Woman who had checked in the night before. On a whim, she checked the guest register:

Rebecca Sawyer, Hannibal, MO

Mr. & Mrs. John DeLancy, San Francisco

Terry Chung and Elizabeth Ellis-Chung, Cambridge, Mass.

Callahan

Judith Vendaval, New York.

The Tall Woman was from New York. The dream was already fading away, but Rain still recalled the friendly smile and the wintry streets of the city. Had Rain seen Ms. Vendaval sign the book the night before or had she guessed the woman’s home from her sophisticated clothes or was it all just a big coincidence? She shrugged it off and closed the book. Maybe she’d see the lady at breakfast.