CHAPTER SEVEN
Mysterious Marilyn stood looking around. "It's very cold," she observed, drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders.
"Oh, she is good," Ted muttered, and Emmett kicked him sharply on the ankle.
Marilyn looked haughtily down the length of her considerable nose at him. "Honey, you have no idea how good I am." She walked over to the painting sitting on its easel and studied it, manicured finger pressed to her lips. "Interesting," she murmured.
"Is it him?" Justin asked.
Marilyn shook her head decisively. "No. This one doesn't walk; which is probably just as well for you. This isn't a good face, Sweetie."
Justin led her over to the table he and Emmett had set up. "Is this okay?" He'd printed out the letters of the alphabet on small pieces of card and arranged them in a circle facing inwards, with a card bearing the word Yes at the top of the circle and one with the word No at the bottom. A shot glass that he'd swiped from Woody's sat in the centre of the circle next to a candle. The dining chairs loaned from Ben and Michael were placed at the four quarters.
"That's fine, Sweetie," Marilyn told him, moving to the chair opposite the word Yes. She seated herself gracefully and glanced around. "Well, if you'd all like to take your places, then Justin can turn out the lights."
"Why does it always have to be dark to hold a séance?" Michael complained, sitting on the futon and pulling Ben down beside him before crowding against him nervously.
"Apart from making it easier to cheat?" Ted suggested, taking the chair on Marilyn's left.
"Teddy, stop giving off such negative vibrations!" Emmett chided, seating himself to the right. "The spirits will be offended and they won't communicate!"
"Actually, I doubt they give a shit," Marilyn replied. "Anyone got a lighter?"
Justin passed his over and waited until Marilyn lit the tall candle before flipping the light switch and plunging them all into relative darkness. He took the chair opposite Marilyn.
"Here, Michael," Ben said, handing over a small penlight. "Keep this trained on my notebook so I can see what I'm writing."
"Place your hands palms down on the table," Marilyn instructed, "with your fingers touching those of the person next to you."
They all obeyed. Marilyn closed her eyes and leaned back her head, looking more witch-like than ever with the candle casting her angular features into sharp relief. She took several slow, deep breaths and then her eyes suddenly opened and she looked at Justin quizzically. "Something about lunch?" she asked. "Being late for lunch? Does that make sense?"
"Ooh, ooh!" Emmett cried, wiggling with excitement. "That must be the day I came here, when we were going out and you were running late because you wanted to finish your canvas!"
Marilyn frowned. "No, it's a woman's voice I hear."
Justin felt a shiver go down his back. "There's this song I keep hearing," he offered. "It sounds like an old record. Something about some woman who can't make it to lunch … Miss Otis, I think …"
"Ooh, ooh!" Emmett squeaked again. "Miss Otis Regrets! I remember that! My Aunt Lula loved that song! Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, Madam …" he warbled unsteadily.
"Oh, my God! That's exactly it!" Justin exclaimed. "I thought someone was playing it on an old gramophone at first, but then I kept hearing it. What's it about?"
"It's a Cole Porter song, I think," Ben replied, looking up from his notebook. "It's about a society lady who fell in love with a man who then betrayed her. She shot him dead and then got lynched by a mob, I seem to remember."
"Sounds like an opera," Ted grunted.
"Let's see if we can make contact." Marilyn turned the shot glass upside down and placed her right index finger on the base. Everyone else followed suit. "We are trying to speak to the spirit who inhabits this room," Marilyn intoned. "If you can hear me, please make yourself known."
Nothing happened. Justin concentrated on Marilyn's scarlet-painted nail, trying to open his mind to anything that might be lurking in the ether. "Can you tell us your name?" Marilyn asked.
The silence grew heavier.
"Is it me or is it getting colder in here?" Michael whispered urgently.
Marilyn closed her eyes again. "We don't mean you any harm. Can you please try to make a sign to let us know you are with us?"
The only noise Justin could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat. Then Michael hissed, "Listen!"
They all heard slow, heavy footsteps moving along the hall outside the studio, and they looked at each other wide-eyed. There was a long moment of silence: then the door behind them creaked, and every head shot round as it swung slowly open, revealing nothing but the blackness outside. The candle guttered and went out.
"Oh my fucking God!" Emmett shrieked, leaping to his feet and sending his chair flying.
"You called?" Brian answered, stepping into the room.
"You asshole!" Michael screeched, releasing the death grip he'd had on Ben's arm. "I nearly crapped myself, you fucking moron!"
Brian was leaning against the door, laughing hysterically. "Mikey, you are so pathetic. And really, Honeycutt, I haven't heard a top C like that since Debbie caught her tits in the zipper of her sleeping bag on the Liberty Ride!" He wiped his eyes and started unsteadily towards them, still giggling, and Justin realised gloomily that he was either extremely drunk or wasted. Or both.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, getting up to take Brian's arm and guide him towards the table. "You said you were judging the contest at Babylon!"
Brian smiled at him fondly. "Been there, got the T shirt, you could say. The winner has been chosen and suitable prizes awarded. So I figured I'd come over and see how the ghost hunt was going."
"Please tell me you didn't drive!"
"Nope. I got a cab, like a good boy."
"I thought you said this was all bullshit?"
"It is. I just wanted to liven things up so you wouldn't be too disappointed."
Justin thrust him into the chair he'd vacated and looked around for something else to seat himself on, but Emmett was already offering his own chair, glaring at Brian as he did so. "You take my place, Sweetie. I think I'm going to join Michael and Ben. My nerves are a little bit shaken up."
"You," Justin hissed as he re-lit the candle, "sit still and behave yourself."
Brian threw a half-assed salute before reaching out unsteadily to place his finger on the glass.
"Let's try again," Marilyn sighed. She did the closed eyes and deep-breathing thing for a few seconds before asking: "Is anybody there?"
Brian barked a laugh, and Ted snickered.
Marilyn's eyes flew open, blazing. "Do you mind?" she snapped, staring them into silence. "I'm trying to work here, you know!" She composed herself for the third time and then asked: "Does anyone want to speak to us tonight?"
The glass hitched, and then moved slowly to Yes. "Brian …" Justin said warningly.
"Wasn't me," Brian protested with such an innocent look that Justin knew he was lying. He pinched Brian's arm with his free hand, hard.
They settled down again. And just when Justin was beginning to think this really was a complete waste of time he heard Emmett say, "Can anyone else smell lilacs?" and he felt a tiny tremor beneath his finger, as though the glass was vibrating. Suddenly it jerked forward, jerked again, and then began to describe a slow, wobbly circle, grating on the wood as it moved.
"Theodore, stop pushing the fucking thing," Brian demanded.
"Not guilty," Ted replied, his eyebrows riding up as he watched the moving glass.
"I think we're in business," Marilyn said. "Welcome, spirit. Do you have a message for anybody here?"
The glass circled again, then swooped towards the letter B. Ted started calling each letter out so that Ben could write them down.
"B … e … a… u …t … i … f … u … l … s … u … n … s … h …"
"BRIAN!" every voice accused, but Brian shook his head. He was frowning. "It's not me," he protested, sounding perplexed.
"Is that your message?" Marilyn asked as the glass resumed its slow circling.
"No," Ted relayed. "It's spelling again …"
The glass was moving easily now, slipping from letter to letter, and Justin realised that he was actually having difficulty keeping his finger in contact. Brian, who always had co-ordination issues when he was trashed, kept losing touch with it altogether.
"a … s … k … c … h … a … l … m … e … r …s …"
"It's gibberish," Michael said, peering at the letters Ben was writing down.
"Not necessarily," Ben replied. "We don't know where the word breaks are, remember."
The glass started circling again.
"Is that all of your message to Justin?"
"Yes."
"What is your name?" Marilyn asked quietly.
The glass seemed to hesitate, making several false starts before finally spelling out: "f … i … s … h."
"Fish?" Brian repeated. "What kind of a fucking name is that?"
The glass flew off the table and smacked him right on the nose. "Ow … fuck. Ow!" He clapped a hand to his face. "Who the fuck did that?"
"Um … nobody, Brian," Ted answered. His eyes were bugging out.
"Did you see that? Oh my God, did you see that?" Emmett squawked, his arms locked around Michael's neck. Michael was clutching him back just as hard, his mouth open in shock.
"What?" Ben demanded. "I missed it. What happened?"
"Some fucker threw the fucking glass and fucking hit me on the fucking nose!" Brian shouted, making things quite clear. He dabbed at it with his fingers. "Am I bleeding?"
Justin ran to turn the lights on and they all clustered round Brian, gazing at the fat red welt right in the middle of his nose. "Do you think it's broken?" Michael asked, prodding with a forefinger.
"Yours fucking will be, if you don't stop poking me!"
"I've never had that happen before," Marilyn said, sounding a little rattled. "The spirit world isn't usually violent."
"It wasn't a fucking spirit, you silly twat, somebody picked the thing up and threw it at me!" Brian ranted.
"Brian, I'm sorry, but that's not what happened," Ted protested.
"No, Sugar, I was watching and I saw it just fly up at you!" Emmett agreed.
"Then you're both delusional! I'm telling you, some .. body, some fucking body, picked up that glass …"
"Who?" Justin interrupted. "Do you think I would throw a glass at your face? Or Ted? Or Marilyn? We're the only suspects."
"Okay," Ben said reasonably, "how about this for a possible explanation? One of you just leaned on it too hard, and it flipped up. An accident."
Brian stared at him. Then he nodded slowly. "I guess I could go with that."
"Well, I don't!" Michael snapped. "You didn't even see what happened, Ben! It just … flew at his face! I told you this was a fucking bad idea! Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've seen enough. I'm going home … now!"
Marilyn nodded. "I agree, we should call it a night. I'm sorry, Sweetie, but I don't think there's a lot more I can do to help you."
"I'll walk you down," Justin told her. He waited until they were out of the studio before asking, "Well? What do you think?"
"There's a strong presence. I knew that the moment I stepped through the door. It's not a happy spirit … I felt great sadness, and loneliness. But I didn't pick up any hostility … at least, not directed towards you, Sweetie. On the contrary, the spirit seems quite taken by you. The message was for Beautiful Sunshine, remember."
Justin looked at her in surprise. "I thought that was Brian fooling around."
Marilyn shook her head. "I've been in this business too long not to know when someone's pushing the glass. Your man was playing with us when he first sat down, but that message was genuine. I'd stake my next pedicure on it."
They'd reached the end of the hall, and Justin stopped at the top of the staircase. "Be careful in those heels, the lights aren't as good as they should be. You'd better let me go first."
"Quite the little gentleman, aren't you?" Marilyn said, smiling. "What a refreshing change." She followed him down, trailing her right hand lightly along the balustrade to keep her balance.
"So if it isn't hostile, why did it attack Brian?" Justin asked.
Marilyn chuckled. "I'd hardly call it an attack. It could have hit him in the eye, or knocked out a tooth if it really wanted to hurt him. No, I think Brian was just being an asshole and the spirit punished him for it. Like when it poured varnish over his jeans. It hasn't damaged anything of yours, has it? Or thrown anything at you, or even scared you?"
"No," Justin replied honestly. "I always feel really happy here, and welcome."
"That's because it obviously likes you being around. And why shouldn't it? You're creative, receptive, and empathic … not only that, Sweetie, but you treat it with respect. You asked politely for your brush back, and you said thank you when it was returned. You're no threat to it whatsoever."
"Then how is Brian?"
"Perhaps because of you."
Justin gaped over his shoulder at her. "You mean it's jealous?"
Marilyn was silent for a moment. "No. More … protective of you, I would say. I felt wariness towards Brian … perhaps even fear."
They'd reached the first floor: Justin stopped and let Marilyn come up to him. "You don't think there's any danger?"
"Justin, I can't promise you that. But in my professional opinion, no."
"So what do I do?"
Marilyn shrugged. "That's up to you. If you're happy to share your space with someone who's passed over, good for you. If not … well, I'm sure there are other studios in Pittsburgh."
"But what if it wants something? What if it needs to be set free somehow?"
"Then I'm sure it will find a way of letting you know what to do."
Justin led her to the front door, fishing for his wallet. "We said a hundred, didn't we?"
"Sweetie, let's just call it a favour from a friend." Marilyn inclined her head to kiss Justin's cheek. "Thank you for a most stimulating evening. If anything else happens … well, you know where to find me."
Justin opened the door and watched her teeter down the steps and across the sidewalk to the safety of her car before hurrying back up to the studio. On the second landing he met Michael and Ben, carrying two chairs apiece. "Thanks for coming over, guys," he said.
"If our chairs end up possessed, it'll be your fault!" Michael panted as he started down the next flight.
"Uh … thanks, Justin," Ben said, juggling the chairs he was carrying into one hand so that he could give Justin an awkward hug. "It was … fascinating. I left the notes I took on Emmett's table, if you want to take a look at them. Let me know how things turn out."
"Yeah, I'm sure Ma can recommend a good priest!" Michael called up the stairwell, and Ben offered an apologetic smile before hurrying after him.
Back in the studio he found Brian sprawled on the futon, scowling as he gingerly fingered his damaged nose. Emmett and Ted were watching him silently. They turned as Justin came in.
"Is it okay if I leave the table here until tomorrow?" Emmett asked. "I'm going home with Teddy." He looked round the studio and shivered. "Somehow I don't think I want to be alone tonight."
"That's fine, Em," Justin replied. "I'm going to call a cab, then we'll be out of here too."
"I can drop you back at the Loft, it's no problem," Ted offered.
"Fuck that, I'm staying here," Brian said, folding his arms, a mulish expression on his face. "Fucked if I'm being chased out by a fucking ghost! One I don't even fucking believe in anyway!" he added loudly, glaring belligerently around the studio as if daring anything to contradict him.
Justin sighed. He knew better than to argue. "I guess the answer is no, Ted; thank you anyway."
He shepherded them to the door and locked it behind them. He didn't like the thought of leaving the table set up, so he gathered the cards and binned them, and left the glass in the sink before fetching blankets from the wall closet. He held out a hand to Brian and pulled him to his feet so that he could extend the futon, then helped Brian out of his jacket, boots and jeans and got him to lie down, still mumbling wrathfully to himself. Justin covered him with the blankets and then, mindful of the last disaster, folded Brian's clothes and placed them safely on the trestle table before quickly undressing himself, killing the lights and diving under the blankets. Brian's arms went round him, and Justin found himself engulfed in the familiar warm scent of bourbon, Marlboros, and spicy cologne.
"You sure about this?" Justin asked. "Remember what happened last time."
"Huh!" Brian snorted. "Don't believe in fucking ghosts!"
There was silence for a while.
"Fucking Beautiful Sunshine," Brian muttered scathingly. "Fucking ghost can fuck off!" He pulled Justin closer against him.
Justin smiled. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts," he whispered.
TBC