the story continues

I don’t want to give too much away in case this is a woman who is looking for child support from the long lost father or she’s somebody’s mother who is looking for child support from the long lost father of her daughter’s kid…or a child looking for support from her long lost father. Ash, you seed-spreading bastard, wear a condom next time!

 

“I need his help. My son is missing. He’s been missing for about three weeks and I need to know if he’s dead.”

 

She blurts this out. She looks horrible, just worn right out and it’s then that I recognize her. She came in to us when we were running the scam, her husband had just died and she needed to talk to him. We set it up and made a lot of money off of her.

 

I felt bad about it. About her. About her loss. She lost her husband and now she’s lost her son.

 

I invite her to the back room and offer her a coffee.

 

“Do you have anything of your son’s”

“Yes I do.” And she reaches into her purse and pulls out a stuffed animal.

“Are you going to take it to Ashley?”

“No, I’m going to do it right here.”

 

She starts to blurt something, but I’m too busy concentrating to bother with her. I call her son, call him from wherever he is, calling him back to us for a moment, to let us know where his body is or who killed him, but I get nothing. Nothing. Not one thing.

 

“He’s not dead.”

 

“How do you know he’s not dead?”

 

“Do you see him?”

 

“No.”

“Then he’s not dead. Now let’s try and figure out where he is.”

 

I called Ash and explained what was going on. He yelled at me, called me an idiot and said we’d probably end up in jail and how he was too pretty to go to jail but I’d probably find true and ever-lasting love there.

 

I waited for him to finish then he sighed, “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

 

Well I actually didn’t know. I mean I was working on an idea to find the kid, but if he was in trouble (which he probably was. Seven year old boys don’t often take off on their own) I was going to need back up. I knew Ash had taken fencing in high school (seriously, I don’t know how he survived) and hoped he might come in handy during a fight. This was long before I knew that Ash would come in handy during a fight.

 

After he showed up I let him and the lady know about my plan. It was this: She’d take me to the last place she’d seen her son. I’d call Linds and ask her to bring forward any deceased who might be in the area. If there weren’t any, or if it didn’t work, we were screwed.

more pages of Rich and Ashley

As they scrambled to write the cheque, I’d bring in the personal item of their dearly departed. Ash would explain that I was there to act as his focal point. To bring him back from the other side if he got too deep into the spirit world. Let me tell you, there were a few times were Ash had a pretty close call but I was able to bring him back. And when you almost don’t come back from the spirit world, people tend to leave a nice tip.

                 

So while Ash faked a trance, I’d stand behind him. Then he’d say something like, “I call forth the spirit of such and such.” And I’d repeat it because it had to be me to call them up. And pretty soon the dearly departed would be in the room with us.

 

Those little reunions would make me uncomfortable. Especially if they were a young couple. There’d be an attempt at an embrace. And since I’m that good when I help the departed manifest there would be an embrace. An attempt at kissing and again, because I’m awesome, there’d be kissing. Then there’d be a disappearance. A cry of “Bring him or her back! Please bring him or her back! I’ll pay more!” And then there’d be more money brought out and their dearly departed would return for a few more minutes and then they’d disappear again. Probably forever. Unless someone could come up with five thousand dollars. If they could come up with five thousand dollars, there would always be another reunion. But that one was the last one.

 

We pulled this scam for over a year before my conscience got the better of me. We’d also made a lot of money which made it easier to quit. Some people might think it’s harder to quit when the money is rolling in, but I wanted to get out before I lost my soul. Oh yeah, we’ve all got one of those. Trust me.

 

The dead we brought forth never protested. They never said, “Hey, don’t give these assholes anymore money!” If they did, I would have just sent them back. They were usually pretty jacked that their loved ones could see them again and I think when you’re dead money isn’t really important anymore.

 

So Ash invested his money into various accounts and investments while I put my money into the shops. We both got richer and stayed in town. We enjoyed a quiet lifestyle, well, I enjoyed a quiet lifestyle, dated Linds, watched Linds die and Ash brought an assortment of women home, sexed them up in my house and watched them leave after breakfast. Practically the same life!

 

Then one day this lady comes into the store. She looks vaguely familiar. And I’m trying to place her face in different scenarios. Different outfits. Not like French maid or naughty nurse outfits, but coffee shop or grocery store outfits. Something that will cause me to understand why she looks familiar.

 

I can’t figure it out and suddenly she’s standing in front of me.

 

“Hello, are you a friend of Ashley Bancroft?”

“I might be.”

 

Three Things

Three Things

 

He has smeared “I WAS BEAUTIFUL ONCE” across the wall in a violent, vile mix of blood, bile, rot, and feces. A dead rat has been smashed into the T.

 

He sits alone in the room. It is filled with urine soaked paper, mould and mildew drip down the walls. He boarded up the windows a long time ago. He looks at the mirror. It is the only thing that hasn’t been destroyed, violated, or defaced.

 

He crawls to it. His eyes are downcast, his hands scramble through debris as he makes his way to it. Things crawl over his fingers, across his calves. When he reaches the mirror, he caresses it, leaving blood on its edges. Blood on new cuts, blood that drips over old gashes. He smashed the windows before he boarded them up.

 

He gathers the courage to look into the mirror. His face does not look back. His own face as it looks now does not stare back at him. His face from before looks back. His face that made women, and some men, swoon looks back at him. His unblemished, angelically beautiful face looks back.

 

“Are you ready,” his other face asks.

“Not yet, I want to, but not yet.”

“Take your time darling,” his other face says, “I will wait for you forever.”

The other face smiles after it says this, then dims and begins to fade away.

 

“Please,” he whines, “Please come back.”

“That was quick. Does this mean you are ready now?”

“No. I remember that you once said you love me. Do you still love me?”

“I do. You’re everything to me. The universe could collapse tonight and as long as I had you I wouldn’t care. You are my breath, my world, my soul.”

“Then why did you do this to me?”

 

A sculpted eyebrow is raised.

 

“I only gave you what you asked for. What you wanted.”

He screams, “I wanted this? This?” and spit flies onto the mirror. It rolls down the glass and puddles on the floor.

 

“What was the first thing you asked me for? The first time we met, I asked you what you wanted and what did you tell me?

 

“A woman.”

 

“And I gave you hundreds.” There is no anger in its voice. It is patient and tender. A tolerant teacher talking to an idiot child. The child who will be lucky if he ever has enough mental acuity to leave his parents’ house.