Chapter: 3

I stayed up late that night – until morning light had begun lighting the house – mindlessly flipping through the thousands of channels I paid one–thirty–seven a month for.

Every time I began to feel sleepy, I couldn’t seem to drop off. When I grew too restless and awake, I got up to get something done and then began to feel sleepy again. It was an endless cycle, and eventually I simply headed downstairs to distract myself in some other way.

There were several hundred movies on – most of which I had seen one too many times to enjoy anymore, or I had missed the beginnings. I never had been able to watch a movie from the middle – even if I’d seen it before.

As I sat, my eyes sliding in and out of focus, I found myself inexplicably thinking of Tanya. It was probably because Derek was home – after all, the big old house had only sheltered me for the better part of three years now. Derek being home almost made it feel like home again, and if only Tanya were here…

We could be a family again – even if she didn’t love me anymore.

I couldn’t help but thinking that she would want to know about Jim’s death – after all, he had been a big part of her life, just as much as he had been in mine and Derek’s. I wondered, with a twinge in the region of my chest, if she would be as miserable if I died as she was sure to be when I informed her of the tragic news.

There wasn’t much point in asking that question – not unless I wanted to feel sorry for myself, and in the light of Jimmy’s death, such selfishness seemed worthless and empty.

I had met Tanya in law school, during my junior year, her sophomore. We hadn’t exactly “hit it off” right away, but there had certainly been a mutual interest from the start. We’d gone out on a few dates, fooled around a bit after hours, and then sort of forgotten about each other – for several years. Eventually, we’d become re–associated at a mutual friend’s party and promptly picked up where we had left off.

I realized I was smiling, despite the fact that Schwarzenegger was being messily disemboweled on the TV. The happy years had been our first three together. Derek had been born in our second year of marriage, and everything had been going so well.

In the years following the divorce, I had often categorized the stages of Tanya’s and my marriage into four stages: heaven, easy, rocky, and absolute hell. Things had completely fallen apart on the day of Derek’s tenth birthday, and Tanya and I had nearly screamed out twelve years of regrets in front of our son’s friends. In retrospect, what with something as stupid as getting the right cake for the party being the point of final devolution, we certainly could have worked things out if both of us hadn’t been so selfish.

Tanya was seeing some guy now, I knew – somebody at her firm. A psychologist with an education and a six–figure income. When I had first heard the news, I had been angry and jealous despite the nine years between then and the divorce. But eventually, I had gotten over myself, cooled down, and actually tried to be happy for Tanya.

So long as one of us was happy.

But now Jimmy was gone. My smile disappeared, was replaced by a painful frown. It seemed now that my entire life revolved around my friend, like I’d never lived for anyone but him.

So what do I do now?

I resolved to call Tanya in the morning – to let her know. Because she deserved to know.

Something stirred at the edge of my vision, something coming out of the shadows filling the room. I blinked, craning my neck to see what or who it was that was moving around in the kitchen.

“You want a beer?” Derek called, somewhere beyond my line of vision. But it was Jimmy’s voice that I heard.

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. “Sure,” I replied, letting my head fall back against the headrest of the armchair. All of a sudden, I was tired again, like weariness had been turned on with a switch.

I heard the sharp sound of the refrigerator door shutting, and a few seconds later, there was a creak of leather as Derek seated himself in the armchair across from mine.

I opened my eyes and leaned forward as he extended the bottle of Michelob towards me.

And as my hand touched the cold glass, I saw him clearly. Jimmy’s face was illuminated by the TV – pale, haggard, but alive. He smiled at me as I froze, failing to immediately grasp the implications of a dead man visiting me at four in the morning.

If it had been Jesus, would he have offered me a beer? Somehow, such a question wasn’t relevant at the moment.

“You didn’t think I was really gone, did you?” he asked me, his voice soft and gentle. Somehow, he seemed almost pleased to have caught me so off–guard.

I gaped, mouthed like a fish, and said nothing.

Jimmy sat back slowly, popped the cap off his bottle with a thumb. He didn’t seem to be perturbed by my stupefied silence, nor – for that matter – the fact that he was dead. “There’s so much we don’t understand about life, my friend – supernatural stuff, emotional stuff… Life and death.”

Well, what the hell did that mean?

I continued to stare blankly. My voice seemed to have gone AWOL.

“Listen,” Jimmy said abruptly, scooting forward in the armchair, much like an uncle about to bestow an ancient family secret on his nephew, but without the giddy excitement. “There’s a reason why I’m here. You know that. I wouldn’t bother you if there wasn’t.”

It wasn’t a bother – my best friend was speaking to me from the grave. And yet, if this was just a ghost or a spirit, then how had that condensing bottle arrived in my trembling fist?

He seemed to understand my shock. Maybe being dead gave you greater knowledge of such things. “I know you’ve always looked up to me, Jack, and I appreciate that – I really do. And – in many ways – I’ve always respected you too. I’ve always admired your strength and stability – even through those hard times we went through. You know that I’ve never been one to think negatively, but I always could rest assured that – if something happened to me – I could trust you to take care of Jessie and Sue. So, I guess you’re proving that to me now.”

I sucked in a painful breath, questions exploding in my mind.

How? Why?

“You…” I cleared my throat, then cleared it again. “Jim, you…”

He opened his hands, displaying his palms. “As I said, I’m here for a reason. I can’t tell you what that is directly, because God doesn’t work that way, and you’ve always been one to rely on your own intuition.”

The left corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “You still like puzzles, right?”

Like in the movies. You never get a straight answer.

Yeah, I thought at him blankly. Yeah, Jim. I love fucking riddles.

He regarded the bottle he held. “I know this is a hard time for you, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to be alert. I need you to be thinking, okay? Can you do that for me, Jack?”

Sure, I thought, but the word got lost on its way to my lips. Sure, Jim – anything for you.

But despite my outward paralysis, my mind was already racing. My heart was also pounding, in time with the dramatic musings. How – and what – did it mean?

“Be alert,” he had said. Was there more to the story – the one Jimmy had authored with his life? This certainly wasn’t a real–life version of The Ghost Wore Grey, not some odd twist on Dickens.

What was he trying to tell me?

“Dad? Are you okay?”

I blinked, shook myself, and instantly fell into reality. The room was cold and close, and I shivered in my bathrobe.

Derek was seated in the leather armchair across from me, the right half of his face tinted blue by the TV. He was wearing a t-shirt and boxers, leaning forward in the seat with a worried look in his eyes.

But where had Jim gone? Had he even been there at all?

“Dad?” Derek asked again – more urgently. “Are you alright?”

I inhaled deeply, and then forced myself to nod. “Yeah…” I said unconvincingly, lying but truthful at the same time. “Yeah, Derek – I… I’m fine.”

I’m just going crazy.

He studied me intently, a son concerned for his father. And then he sank back in his seat, raising Jimmy’s bottle of Michelob to his lips. “You scared me – for a moment, it was like you weren’t here anymore.”

Maybe I hadn’t been. Maybe I wasn’t.

Had I been talking to Derek all that time? Had Jimmy possessed him?

It felt like I’d just had a near–death experience. Maybe my life had flashed before my eyes and I hadn’t realized it.

I thought, Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

Absently, I watched Derek upend the bottle and let the alcohol slide down his throat. He worked his jaw, staring at the TV for a long moment, and then he looked back at me again. “So. Didja miss me while I was gone?”

The honest answer was “yes”, but I was so preoccupied I couldn’t respond.

“Dad,” he said abruptly, sounding almost annoyed now. “You’re creeping me out.”

“I – I just…” Just… what? I swallowed hard. “I just, I… I thought…” I looked full into his eyes helplessly, unsure of what to say – unsure of how to explain the supernatural encounter and the questions circling the incident like carrion.

Had I just imagined it? Was I losing my mind?

But some type of confirmation passed over my son’s eyes, and he sank slowly back into the chair. “Was it… Is it him?”

Breathless, I nodded.

“I thought so.” He took another swig and studied the label as though he was some sort of nutrition freak. Beer couldn’t be good for your health at any rate. “I guess I kind of expect it – you being here, but not… I mean, I know he was your closest friend and everything… I just…”

So it was his turn to lapse into silence, shrugging noncommittally.

I cocked my head to the side, finally opening my own bottle of booze. The smell of the alcohol was strong, fresh. I took a tentative sip, and when Derek still hadn’t finished his thought, I spoke.

“What, son? You just what?”

He looked hard at me, trying to gage my reaction. That meant I wasn’t going to like the thought.

“I just worry,” he said slowly, holding my gaze. “About you. I guess… I guess I’m worried about how you’re handling all this.”

“Ah,” I said.

Something resentful snarled deep in my guts as I realized what he was implying – what he was really concerned about. I allowed a venomous reply to drain out of me in the decidedly nonverbal glare which I sent into the depths of the bottle I was gripping so tightly. Licking bittersweet liquid from my lips, I thought about what he had said.

He’s just worried about me – worried I might sink into depression, maybe even suicide – like Jimmy.

I rearranged my face into a more gentle expression, and then fixed my son with a firm stare. My voice and my full speaking capacity seemed to have returned.

“Derek, I’ve been through too much in life to just give up, okay? Sure, I’ve been up and down – especially at times like this – but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it, okay?”

He knew I wasn’t angry, despite my clipped tones, and he nodded. “Sorry, Dad – I just thought you’d like me to be up front with you.”

What a mature response – I never would have managed it at his age.

For a long moment, we were both silent, holding each other’s gazes.

And then I said, “I do, and thank you.”

I allowed a sigh to escape me, and then yawned loudly. In the wake of that powerful sign of weariness, I found my anger, confusion, and resentment were all gone. At the moment, I was actually serene, and close to apathetic.

Besides, I couldn’t be angry with Derek – not now. He had barely been home for eight hours, and we were both suffering enough because of Jimmy’s death. A son had a right to be concerned about his senile pop.

Seized by a sudden and intense rush of emotion, I held out the Michelob towards my son, a placid sort of smile on my face.

“To Jimmy,” I said quietly, “And then I’m going to bed.”

Grinning, he extended his arm, clinked his bottle to mine, and then we drank deeply – for our friend, for our health, and for the future.

And – on my part – this new mystery laid out for me to unravel.

But it could at least wait until morning.