The Girl In The Glass Part 2

"Adios, Diego," he said. As he walked away there was a crack of thunder, and it instantly started to pour. I glanced up at the sky, and when I looked back, he'd vanished.

"Thanks, Morty," I whispered to the corpse and then leaned over and lightly petted Wilma's hood. I turned away from the coffin and went to sit with a dozen people discussing some intricate con Sch.e.l.l had worked when he was younger. It involved a hansom cab, a cop, and a red balloon filled with helium, but I wasn't able to piece it together. Every once in a while, one of them would call back to Sch.e.l.l, who sat by himself in the last row of chairs, "What was the take on that little mission, three grand?" or, "The bull was McLaren, wasn't it?" and I'd see him force a smile and nod. In another small group, Antony was regaling three women with his exploits in the traveling carnival trade, specifically his act in which he stopped a cannonball with his gut.

I slipped away and went to join Sch.e.l.l. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. Finally, I asked him how long he'd known Morty.

"Long time," he said. "When I was a kid and my father would be gone for days on end, Morty let me come and stay at his place. I'd sleep on his couch, and he'd have Wilma do tricks for me. Sometimes he'd read me a book."

"He was good," I said.

"They're all good," he said, nodding at the a.s.sembled mourners. Time pa.s.sed and people started heading out. Antony approached and leaned over us. "Boss," he said.

"Do you mind driving home? I think I'm gonna stick around and spend some time with Vonda over there."

"Who's Vonda?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"You know," Antony said, pointing backward with his thumb, "the Rubber Lady. We're gonna go and get a few c.o.c.ktails."

"The Rubber Lady?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

"Hey, she's got a friend," said Antony. "You should join us. We can put the kid on a train, and he can catch a cab from the station."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pa.s.s," said Sch.e.l.l.

Antony leaned even closer to Sch.e.l.l and I heard him whisper, "I hear she's a sword swallower." Sch.e.l.l begged off, and soon after, he and I said our good-byes and left. On the long drive home, he said nothing. Later that night, as I lay in bed nodding off to sleep, I heard the strains of melancholic music drifting down the hall from Sch.e.l.l's room.

I was awakened the next morning by the sound of Antony's voice, yelling, "Come off it," and realized Sch.e.l.l must have just informed him that he would be playing Ma Parks. I got dressed and went out to the kitchen.

"This was your doing, you little p.i.s.s n.o.b," said Antony as I entered the kitchen.

"What?" I said but couldn't hold a straight face.

"Old lady Parks," he said.

"Typecasting," said Sch.e.l.l, who looked as if he hadn't slept all night.

"I heard you yesterday, Antony," I said. "You said I was a genius."

"I take it back," he said and got up to get himself a cup of coffee.

"How was the Rubber Lady?" asked Sch.e.l.l.

Antony poured cream and stirred. "My little pretzel? I told her about how I used to let cars run over my head, and she was swept away with me."

"A true romantic," said Sch.e.l.l.

"I spent three hours waiting for the first train out here this morning. Didn't catch a wink. I'm gonna hit it for a while."

"I'll call you at one," said Sch.e.l.l. "We have to go to the Salvation Army and see if we can find a nice dress for you."

"You two are just jealous," he said, leaving the kitchen.

"I have a new makeup for you to try," said Sch.e.l.l. "It glows in the dark." From down the hall, we heard, "I hate hate being dead people." being dead people."

MANY DOORS ARE OPENED.

Pathetic" might just have been an apt description of Parks's existence, for the night of the seance, when we arrived, he informed us that he could find no one among his acquaintances or family who would partic.i.p.ate in it with him. It was to be only Sch.e.l.l and Parks and myself. This then, as it looked from the outset, promised to be the equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel. All the better, as I was somewhat distracted, hoping for another glimpse of Isabel, whom I hadn't been able to get off my mind since we'd been there a week earlier.

We met the tyc.o.o.n in the same room his butler had led us to on our initial visit. After the normal pleasantries, Sch.e.l.l described the rules of engagement for calling forth the dead: breathe deeply and regularly so as not to hyperventilate; do not shout (it might scare the spirits away); keep your distance from any visual or physical manifestation that might coalesce (to make contact with it could possibly be fatal); be solicitous of the dead (humor them); do not leave your seat unless otherwise instructed. Parks nodded eagerly, obviously anxious to get through the preliminaries and on with it. His voice had gone up an octave or two, and he swung his legs back and forth while sitting in his throne. We moved to the room that Sch.e.l.l and I had reconnoitered on our last visit, a small drawing room on the eastern side of the mansion. It was at ground level and had a pair of wide gla.s.s doors that gave a view of a landscaped terrace with faux Greek statuary and a series of waist-high hedges. The room itself was comfortable, not quite as large as we liked but with a nice round wooden table and rafters over which we could toss a line in order to levitate an object.

Before we began, as Sch.e.l.l lit the candle at the center of the table, Parks made a request. "I don't know if this is possible or warranted," he said, "but, please, Mr. Sch.e.l.l, if my wife tries to...come through, please do everything in your power to prevent it."

"I understand," said Sch.e.l.l. "Her death is too close to you right now."

"Something like that," said Parks.

Sch.e.l.l nodded to me, an indication that I should turn off the lights. This I did while he a.s.sumed the mediumistic state. When he went under, so to speak, it was a sight to behold. His entire body trembled, eventually giving way to what appeared to be a kind of living rigor mortis. The eyes turned upward so that the pupils were hidden beneath lowered lids, and his mouth opened wide in a grimace. Parks was entranced by the performance, giving me the opportunity to toss a length of near-invisible thread, a small washer attached to the end to give it weight, up over a rafter. Just as it cleared the beam and began its descent, I took my seat and let loose a string of incomprehensible gibberish. Parks's attention now swung to me, and as it did, Sch.e.l.l caught the end of the line and pulled it down next to him, where it couldn't be detected in the dim candlelight. When Parks turned back to look at Sch.e.l.l, he was again wrapped in his rictus of spirituality.

Before long, there came from out of the darkness a low murmuring, the candle flickered as if caught in a breeze, and sounds of weeping filled the air. Sch.e.l.l, far more expert at projecting his voice than I, covered the murmuring, and I was responsible for the weeping. Parks looked everywhere, up and down, wide-eyed. When I rapped my toe against the bottom of the table, he nearly jumped out of his seat. Sch.e.l.l lifted his arms in the air and said in a low, croaking voice, filled with urgency, "The gates to the other side open," and a dozen pine whites suddenly appeared between his hands. They swarmed in a chaos of pale, fluttering wings above the table and then made for Parks, who'd already been marked with sugar water. The millionaire panicked and began swatting the air in front of him. Sch.e.l.l then had a chance to slip from beneath his jacket and attach to the end of the line a toy bear we'd picked up at the Salvation Army.

"Georgie, Georgie," came a voice from above. "It's me, your mother."

"Mother?" said Parks. "I can hear you." He raked his fingers through his hair, and within seconds his eyes glistened with tears. "Mother," he called, looking around the room feverishly. As Parks looked behind him, Sch.e.l.l blew a few grains of flash powder into the candle flame and there was a tiny, bright explosion in the middle of the table. Parks covered his eyes and when he looked again, the bear hovered in the air five feet above our heads.

"I've brought your bear, darling," said the ghostly female voice. Parks began to stand, as if to grab for the toy, but I cautioned him, "Remain seated, sir. To touch this apparition could mean your life."

He sat back down, but his hands remained thrust upward, the perfect image of a child begging to be carried.

"George, I've been watching you."

"Yes, Mother," he said.

"You've not been on your best behavior."

"I have, Mother. I have."

"No you haven't. If you lie to me I'll go away."

"I'm sorry," cried Parks, "please don't leave."

"Caroline is here with me, George."

Parks groaned.

"She said you were unkind to her."

"I wasn't," he said.

"Good-bye," said the voice.

"All right, yes, I didn't like her. She was too...forceful. I'm sorry."

"That's better, dear. To make up for it, I want you to be kinder to others. Treat the young woman Isabel nicely. She works so hard."

"I'll raise her salary," said Parks.

"That's an excellent start. Be kinder to everyone, George. That way Death will treat you you kindly when it's time for you to make the voyage." kindly when it's time for you to make the voyage."

"Yes," he said, his voice and body trembling.

"I'm on the terrace, dear. Come to the gla.s.s and I will let you see me, but you mustn't open the doors." Parks looked over at me. I nodded. He got out of his chair, and Sch.e.l.l and I also stood. We moved toward the gla.s.s doors, I in front of Parks, and Sch.e.l.l bringing up the rear.

"Behold, sir, your mother's ectoplasmic form," I said.

He stepped up next to me and pressed his face against the gla.s.s. Outside the wind was blowing through the giant oaks that bordered the property. There was a half moon that night, its pale light shining through a very light mist. Standing behind one of the hedges, so that she was visible from the waist up, was the glowing form of Ma Parks, a good deal larger in death than life. She wore a wide-brimmed hat as she did in three of the photos in Parks's parlor, and stared directly at us. Through the gla.s.s, we could hear her repeating the name "Georgie."

Parks lost control and started fumbling with the k.n.o.bs on the doors. I put my hand upon his shoulder and cautioned him not to open them. He paid no attention to me, and I tried to restrain him long enough so that Sch.e.l.l could get a hand on him. But Sch.e.l.l just stood there, staring at the gla.s.s, a strange look on his face, completely immobile. Then Parks rammed me with his elbow and sent me tripping backward onto my rear end.

From where I lay on the floor, I expected to see Sch.e.l.l jump to action, but he didn't. Parks got the doors open and slipped out onto the terrace. He ran toward the apparition, screaming, "Mother!" I scrambled to my feet just in time to see him reach the hedge behind which the ghost stood. Sch.e.l.l finally came to and lunged forward out the door after him. As Parks reached out for the object of his affection, his mother's spirit feinted to the side and threw a right cross. The punch caught him on the jaw and dropped him, unconscious, onto the gra.s.s.

I reached the scene in time to see the ghost of Ma Parks, now grown to something well over six feet tall, lumbering across the perfectly manicured lawn toward the circular driveway at the front of the house.

"Help me lift him," said Sch.e.l.l.

He took the arms and I the legs. There were a hundred questions I had concerning what had just happened, but I knew to keep my mouth shut, not sure as to how deeply Parks was under. We managed to get him inside and lay him on a divan in the drawing room. As Sch.e.l.l tried to gently revive him, I latched the gla.s.s doors and wound up the line we had used for the levitation. I left the bear at his spot on the table, a sort of party favor to make up for the seance having ended with him getting slugged. When I was finished with these small tasks, Sch.e.l.l instructed me to turn the lights on and blow out the candle.

"He's coming around," Sch.e.l.l whispered, crouching next to the divan. I stood at a short distance and watched as Parks surfaced, calling for his mother.

"Lie still," Sch.e.l.l said to him. "You're all right. You've had a physical encounter with the void. Breathe deeply."

Parks's eyes were wild, and he was agitated to the extreme. He flung his legs over the side of the divan and sat up, rubbing his jaw.

"I warned you not to make contact with the materialized forms of the dead," said Sch.e.l.l, "and now you see why."

"The veil must remain intact," I said.

Parks calmed down and winced as he touched his chin. "I'm okay," he said. "I apologize for getting carried away." He couldn't look directly at either of us.

"Window," he said, addressing me. "There's whiskey and a tumbler in that small bar in the corner. Please pour me a drink."

"Ondoo, your excellence," I said as I moved to the task.

Sch.e.l.l stood and backed away from our patron.

"My mother hasn't changed in death," said Parks. "She still packs a wallop."

"One of the most remarkable visitations I've ever witnessed," said Sch.e.l.l. I brought Parks his drink, and he dashed it off in three gulps. He then handed me the gla.s.s and stood unsteadily. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings, but then he saw the toy bear lying on the table. He rushed to it, almost losing his balance in the process. "Look here," he said, "she's left it behind for me." He took it up and held it cradled in his arms like an infant. "You know, Sch.e.l.l, I had absolutely no recollection of this bear until I saw it hovering in the air tonight. Then it all came back to me."

"Yes, Mr. Parks," said Sch.e.l.l, "this is often the way. Many doors are opened when the dead pay a visit."

DUBIOUS RIGMAROLE.

A mile down the road from the entrance to the drive that led into the Parks estate, Antony pulled off the blanket that had concealed him and sat upright in the back seat of the Cord. mile down the road from the entrance to the drive that led into the Parks estate, Antony pulled off the blanket that had concealed him and sat upright in the back seat of the Cord.

"Sorry I had to clip Georgie," he said, removing the powdered wig from his glowing head.

"It was probably for the best," said Sch.e.l.l, the first utterance he'd made since we'd gotten in the car. I could tell before we left the mansion that something was wrong with him. His not having reacted when Parks opened the terrace doors was unthinkable. I was reminded of my statement to him a few days earlier that he never made mistakes and now felt badly, as if I'd jinxed him-a concept Sch.e.l.l himself would scoff at.

"Parks wants us back as soon as possible," I told Antony to a.s.suage his guilt.

"There's something not Jake about that guy."

"That's an understatement," I said.

Sch.e.l.l spoke no more for the entire ride home, and Antony and I both sensed it was better to leave the silence alone. When we arrived at the house, the boss said nothing but left us in the living room and went down the hall to the Bugatorium.

"Is he p.i.s.sed off at me?" asked Antony.

"No," I said. "I think he's upset with himself."

"What happened in there?" he asked. "All I saw was Parks come through those doors like gangbusters."

"Once he saw you done up like the old lady, he knocked me over and was gone."

"Where was Sch.e.l.l?" he asked.

"Standing right there behind him, but it was like he couldn't move."

"That's not right." He shook his head. "I'm gonna get a bath and get this c.r.a.p off me," he said, referring to the phosph.o.r.escent makeup we'd painted on his face, neck, and arms.

Normally, I'd have wisecracked about his dress, but everything was off-kilter. Antony retired to his room, and I went in search of Sch.e.l.l.

I found him in the Bugatorium, sitting at the table amid his plants and beloved b.u.t.terflies, a bridge deck in his hand and a large Taygetis echo Taygetis echo hovering above his head like some dark thought. He was repeatedly doing one-handed cuts with the deck. I sat across from him, knowing full well that he would not speak for a long time. I'd seen him like this before. He fanned the cards, closed the fan, and then subtly crimped one. That card, the jack of spades, kept reappearing in all the tricks he ran through. The graceful flourishing of his hands, and the popping, flipping, and sailing of the cards was hypnotic. Just when I thought he might be winding down, another deck appeared as if out of thin air in his free hand, and he now worked two decks with the facility that any normal sharp might only one. He was completely lost to his thoughts, and I knew I might as well go to bed. Sleep didn't come easily that night, for it was a certainty that something was very wrong. hovering above his head like some dark thought. He was repeatedly doing one-handed cuts with the deck. I sat across from him, knowing full well that he would not speak for a long time. I'd seen him like this before. He fanned the cards, closed the fan, and then subtly crimped one. That card, the jack of spades, kept reappearing in all the tricks he ran through. The graceful flourishing of his hands, and the popping, flipping, and sailing of the cards was hypnotic. Just when I thought he might be winding down, another deck appeared as if out of thin air in his free hand, and he now worked two decks with the facility that any normal sharp might only one. He was completely lost to his thoughts, and I knew I might as well go to bed. Sleep didn't come easily that night, for it was a certainty that something was very wrong.

I was just dozing off when I heard a knock on my door. The door opened, letting in a sliver of light. From the size of the silhouette, I knew it was Antony. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, bringing the darkness back.

"I really botched it this time," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"When I was running for the car, the old lady's hat musta flown off my head. I can't find it anywhere. Can you imagine?"