Ghost Dash
Chapter 2
Four minutes later, still no sign of any aid incoming and I am fuming in an empty waiting room. For that whole time I've been feeling the red stain on my shirt growing large enough that blood dripped of my hem down to the chair and white tiled floor.
Admittedly, I have been mentally working myself up these last few minutes, alternating between trying to rationalize the nurse's decision and calling her a stupid bitch or some such. I mean, there is literally no one here! Why is it taking so long? Is the doctor waking up from an afternoon nap, or some shit? Or still finding the strength to pull out of some hot nurse? I chuckle at my own ridiculousness, and blame it on my lightheaded state. I look around reflexively to see if anyone was judging me to be crazy, before remembering it was just little old me and the cunt nurse.
Wait, why was I the only one here? I mean Amity Park only had about sixty thousand people, but only one big hospital. It was almost impossible for me to be the only one in here at this time of day. I assume. What the hell did I know, anyway? One hospital for a 60k people sounded like too little medical care for me as well, but here we are.
I slowly stand up and started for the nurses desk again. She's staring at her computer blankly, only showing me her profile. Weird. Deciding on the velvet approach even though I'm highly irritated, I grab her attention. "Excuse me Ma'm, My shoulder is really hurting and I've lost a lot of blood. Can you tell me what the hold up is?"
She looks like she's going through the motions of handling papers, not looking at me but still absentmindedly replies to me. "I know you're injured and hurting, but a lot of people are; please sit back down and wait a while."
My shoulder throbs angrily, seemingly conjured by her words, and I lash out. "What do you mean, 'a lot of people are'?" I explode, gesturing wildly. "Have you looked away from your screen lately? There is nobody here but me!"
"Please sit down, sir. A nurse will come and get you shortly."
May the good Lord have mercy on this bitch because I will not. "FUCK NO! I'm done waitin-"
The nurse's head snapped my way, her eyes spread wide and glowing a venomous green. "SILENCE!", she roars at me – drawn out with a reverberating quality to it that made me back up several steps in astonishment and gut wrenching fear.
The nurse stalked through the paneled desk like it was a fata morgana, her eyes still zeroed on me like the red dot from a gun. For the second time that day, I felt the need to get the hell out of dodge. Unlike a little more than an hour ago, I'm not in picco bello, tip-top shape anymore. At least that's what I tell my bruised ego when I trip over my own goddamn feet as I fall between the bolted down waiting chairs. She advances slowly.
"You are in my domain, boy, and you will wait your turn like everyone else!", the possessed woman hisses at me.
That comment actually triggeres me enough that I reply through a haze of fear, while clutching a waiting chair to help my exhausted limbs get me upright. "You stupid cow! There is nobody here but you and me!"
Then I look up in her direction and I blanch like paper while terror clutches my heart and vices my lungs.
Spectral shapes filling the rows upon rows of waiting chairs where earlier there was nothing.
Ghosts who didn't want to be observed with any of the five human senses, couldn't be. It's what made them deadly foes to all but the most cunning and strong of those savvy of the truer nature of this world. And now, the specters who didn't normally show themselves, never mind engage with mortals, suddenly did.
Slack-jawed ghosts, with vacant stares imitating black pits all turn as one to stare at me.
I feel my limbs freeze in fright, not seeing a way out now that I was surrounded by ghosts. Some of the specters had their own wounds and some looked miserable or sick beyond their naturally pale and green complexion. When they start floating towards me from every direction, hands out stretched and grasping, I try to make my limbs obey me.
But I can't manage it. I can barely move my head. Yet I keep struggling, desperate to get away. That's when I remember that a ghosts powers include telekinesis and that killed most of the fight in me. Instead I focus on breathing; to calm myself and regain some energy. My breath fogs up in front of me and I realize it suddenly got a lot colder. Fuck, things are looking grim here. Is this game over? Already? I can only hope to find an opportunity to escape or reverse the situation.
Telekinesis was such a bullshit power man. Like, as a normie, what can you do? I can't even move my mouth to cuss anybody or anything out anymore.
As the nurse approaches she starts to monologue, because of course she does, I choose to engrave her words in my mind and hopefully find out what the fuck was going on with me. I mean fuck man. I just arrived here and ghosts were all of a sudden crashing my new lease on life. Dash never had this problem. Why am I suddenly catnip to these bullshit malevolent apparitions?
"Now, now, no need to be hasty. You're still injured after all. And since you can't seem to wait in silence like a good boy", she said as she suddenly brandishes a syringe with neon green fluid while leisurely walking closer, "you'll have to take a nap." she finished with a sinister grin. What? No-no-no-no-no. The muscles in my shoulders, core, hips and legs start burning as I activate them, trying anything, almost subconsciouslygiving my all to fight the paranormal hold on my form. Still trapped in my own body, I can only follow the needle with my eyes as it enters my arm. As she pushes the plunger down my veins darken as the unknown substance enters me. A silent scream aches to rip out of me, but it is denied along with all resistance. The psychotic grin of the pale faced demon is the burns itself on my retinas, before the curtain falls.
My eyes shoot open in a bland white room with cerulean accents. Looking out the window, it's dark out and the TV is playing the news, though my attention is grabbed by the figure sitting in the chair next to me.
"Dad." I croak out drowsily. The sound of my own voice points out that my throat is sandpaper. I suppose it's been a while since I last drank anything.
Chad Baxter looks at me in silence for a couple of eye blinks, the action reminding me of myself when I had dry eyes from staring too long. "Welcome back, son."
The army man looked like he had been through it. I can only imagine, listening to that message I had sent him. The house might be burnt down and his only child in the hospital. I wonder if he blamed me or even believed my story. If he did, that would make this next conversation hard.
"What happened to the house? And Pookie? And where's Mom?" I rattle off, my voice cracking all the while. Those questions have been bugging me since I got to the emergency room. Wait. The possessed nurse! I start to kick off the sheets before Chad intervenes.
"Now wait just a goddamn minute. Why the hell are you panicking – where do you think you're going? Calm the hell down, son!"
The man had stood up and placed a hand on my chest to keep me in bed. Hah, always the authoritarian, my mind absently supplies. My mind is racing, but I recognize the situation and stop moving. I had to be careful with this. If I were to be branded as someone having a psychotic break or something similar, I could stand to lose a lot. Especially if my guardians in the interest of helping me, agreed with the professional assessment. Last thing I needed was to land in some facility doped up on drugs I can't pronounce and shackled into talking to some Freudian expert on why my paranoid delusion of being haunted by ghosts was a result of my mommy being a M.I.L.F., or some other horse shit.
Although I always championed speaking truth being the best virtue, I realize that I couldn't afford to be naive here. Dash had a reputation with those who knew him best and I make the judgment call to conceal the true nature of my encounters.
And as I make a conscious effort to slow my breathing back down while lowering myself on the hospital bed again, I lament the realization that I'll have to craft a web of lies to explain everything and keep up those lies for a long time to my parents and interested parties. So I resolve myself to do what I felt was needed. I mean look, what happened to the Fentons and even Velma, for Christ's sake. Ostracized from civil society and pushed to the fringes of any social circle but the most marginal. If a web of lies kept me from that I'll be fine. I got a few peeps to confide in, thinking of Velma and Rachid, the cab driver from this morning.
Feeling a twinge in my shoulder as I move into an upright sitting pose, I speak up with some difficulty. "Did you listen to the voice recording I sent you?"
Chad nodded. "Yes, I went home and called the police and the fire fighters."
Looking at Chad, my Dad now, and saw that he looked as if he was skirting around some subjects; holding back on me. So I point it out. The man sighs and lays it on me.
"Son, Pookie is dead. The house is probably gonna be declared uninhabitable by the fire department. The fire starter is still declared as being at large. Your mom came by, but she's currently booking a motel. She spent most of the day, talking to insurance companies, lawyers and police." he says, looking me dead in the eye.
Barbara Baxter, my Mom, was the one who did all the finance at home. She's a Masters at Law, but worked part-time as a paralegal to raise me instead. Mom was a smart cookie and could work as a lawyer, but didn't like to work 60-80 hours a week. She preferred being a mother, because it gave her more satisfaction. Which made her even smarter in my book. Too bad the smarts seemed to have skipped a generation. I got the athletic genes from both of my parents though. Barbara was pole vaulting star in high school and Dash was basically a carbon copy of Chad. And the Chad lived up to his namesake.
She spoiled Dash rotten, though the biggest reason for Dash being a bully was definitely the routine absence of his father. Chad was gone for months at a time all throughout Dash's childhood and current teens. Mommy dearest wasn't the best disciplinarian and gave Dash all he wanted with love and a smile. Chad could correct it by instilling some discipline in the form of sports, but even that had its limits. Dash just took the months Daddy was away to really let loose. He'd steal candy and toys when he was younger, band together with the boys in the neighborhood to cause mayhem when he was a bit older and even tried some weed behind the school gym. Of course being a military man and disciplinarian at home, Chad found out everything from neighbors, mom and officials and set Dash straight again. Dash eventually, slowly... at a snails pace really got into some kind of shape. Bullying flew under the radar though. It helps when you have the teachers on your side. Being a quarterback had its perks.
Seeing I'm not reacting Chad continues. "Dash, the police are going to have a talk with you to get your description of the home invader. They'll be here in in the morning, which is in a few hours."
I curse internally, another thing to add to the list of worries. Not like there was proof of entry. Or DNA. Or testimonies beside mine. Fuck. I felt the irresistible urge to push current problems to future Dash, that deadly procrastination impulse. Not like I can do anything about it anyway. Besides, I was in the middle of a conversation.
"Okay, and did the doctor look at my shoulder and stitch me up or what?" I ask.
Dad nodded, "Yes, they did good job. It was a nasty claw mark, needed about sixty four stitches as a matter of fact." the man looked concerned as he said it. "What the hell happened Dash?"
I might as well think of this as a trial run of the fake story I'm going to tell the police. So I dusted off the creative part of my brain and riffed. I told him in more detail what I had already told him in the voice message. Here's the story I came up with. A man dressed in bear costume entered my room through the door. I had ignored the warning barks from Pookie while I was cleaning up my room getting rid of all the teddy bears. Embarrassingly enough, Chad exclaimed 'Finally!'. The man had a torch and a clawhand weapon in his other. The man was clearly crazy, not making any sense even though I tried to negotiate with him. Then he set my garbage bag full of teddy's on fire and when I tried to escape through the window he slashed my shoulder, causing me to fall from the first story ass over end, tits over heel. Then I ran in fear for my life, called a cab, called the parents, went to the hospital.
Chad had sat his six foot two frame down during my story and was by the end of it clutching the armrest tightly, veins in his large hands bulging and his face carefully blank. That let me know he was angry, but stowing it away for later. Just like he taught me to do. I used my anger on the football field and the gym, mostly. I don't really know what father did with his.
"Dash, do you think you're ready to get out of here?" he asked suddenly.
My heart leaps. Yes! I had been wondering how to insist on leaving. Not like I can tell him the nurse in the emergency room was possessed and injected me with... something. My stomach sinks at the reminder of what I had been repressing and it must of shown on my face as well. "Dash? Son, are you okay? You can tell me if you want to stay."
"No! No." I say emphatically, "Let's get out of here. Can you tell the nurse? The sooner the better."
As Chad went out to get everything in order I stood up and walked over to the bathroom in my hospital gown. I wanted to take a look at the damage. In front of the mirror I peeled the tape and bandages back and looked at the only part of the wound I manage to uncover. My heart skips a beat as my irrational fears returns and I have to repress the hysteria that almost erupts from my throat. Beneath the stitches, the raw wound was...
It was pulsing a glowing green.
In the car on our way to the hotel, Chad rages at me about the nurses. Apparently, it wasn't easy to get me released. The man couldn't lay his finger on it, but they were being unusually uncooperative. Even though I wasn't in any immediate danger, and I could fully recover at home, they had made an issue of it. When Chad the Dad had pressed them for reasons, they basically just pulled the medical authority card. Then he got tired of their bullshit, got the lead medical examiner to come down and make the decision and here we are.
"Those stupid bitches really got on my last nerves. I mean the gall of them, thinking I'll just bend over when they couldn't even give me basic answers to their reasoning. It was probably just a money grab. Trying to squeeze out every penny. Damn, even nurses are cut-throat these days." Chad rants.
You have no idea, man, I think to myself. On the way I had some time to calm down and think about events. Two ghost attacks on my first day here. What the fuck. This is not what I signed up for with the Powers-That-Be. I mean, give me a little breathing room here. I'm just a regular Joe over here, god damn.
We pull up to this hotel a couple of blocks away from Amity Park's Park called The Overlook. And as its name implies, the hotel claimed a great view over the town park, where the Brighthammer Statue boasts as a center piece – an homage to our town's founder. The hotel itself was nice looking, red carpets, gold finishes an white brick in nouveau art style. The doorman receives us and lets us through; we check in and get our own card keys. In the elevator it strikes me that this place is way above our usual budget, but I don't say anything.
Up in room 1408, I'm again blown away. This place is so luxurious and way above my parents' pay grade. Any other thought flees my mind as I see my mother sitting behind her laptop, her elegant glasses suiting her to a T. She was in business mode and hadn't stopped even though it was past midnight. Barbara was a middle-aged woman that habitually dressed younger than she actually was. But she has always been a mature sort of beautiful, so she got away with it without derisive comment.
She shoves chair back and her business facade fell off like a mask as she laid eyes on me. "Oh baby, what are you doing out of the hospital? Are you okay? Feel any pain? I'm so glad you're alive. I love you, I love you, I love you!" She goes through a rainbow of emotions before settling on love. Though I guess it's all love. I hunkered down a bit to return the hug. "I'm fine mom."
My mother holds me at arms length. There is love in her face. Love for me. The sight fills me with a warmth I haven't felt in a long time. We sit down with some warm drinks. I tell my harrowing experiences again and it settles my nerves a lot. Barbara is vocally commiserate in the right places and just listens for the rest. Afterwards, my parents look at each other and communicate without talking. It reminds me that I'm only fifteen here and that they want to keep me from the adult stuff. Which is fine, I guess. I've got my own shit that they're not privy to. Not like I got time to help them with anything. Fuck, I've got a lot of things to do. Suddenly feeling tired, I go to my assigned room and I'm asleep seconds after I turn the light off.
I wake up not even five hours later in cold sweat from a nightmare. Recalling what happened was impossible though, which isn't abnormal so I focus on getting my breathing back under control. Taking a shower to wipe off the sweat I get dressed in a complimentary bathrobe from the hotel. So swanky man. That's an acceptable term for a fifteen year old to use right? Whatever. I'll need some new threads soon, since mine all got burned. A bit inconvenient, but I don't mind shopping unlike most men who found it boring. I don't necessarily like it either but thought of it like taking care of myself. Just like shaving or or cleaning your living space is.
The parents are still asleep so I get to work on my plans. I text Rachid with a few lines to explain what happened after we split. I text Homie Kwan that I'll be skipping school today, because my house got burned down. That should keep the posse off my back. Then I voice message Velma in more depth about the situation and if she'd like to meet up after school.
Tapping away at the device I take a moment to appreciate it. I like my smartphone even though it was an old model. It was amazing that it lasted through the scuffles of yesterday. That was one thing I won't be needing to buy. Another headache. Were we out on the streets now that our house burnt down? And while on the topic, how the hell can we even afford to stay at this place?
Going outside my bedroom to find my one of my parents and get some answers, I find my mom just getting off a phone call with a soft smile on her face that showed off her dimples. A scene like this remind me that my mother really is a beautiful woman. I smile, feeling proud that I share genes with her. A woman who was by all accounts very capable and had chosen a path that sacrificed a career, money and her youth to raise a child with her high school crush. Especially since I knew how driven she was. It takes a hell of of a woman to do that. To willingly take up the supporting role in the relationship, because she had the self-realization that even though she was very capable, she preferred being a mother. The warm feeling from before feels a little more familiar now.
In my previous life you could see that around thirty years old most women who have a highly successful career in a highly competitive market, would look around at where they were and realize something important. Now that they have this view of how life will be like at the last stop of their career path, they realize that it is not what they want. What most women want is to raise a family, instead of competing against others to get more money, assets and power. Not such a crazy thing, if you think about it. At some level of earning money, it loses most of its importance. Especially, when you think about the effort to reward ratio. To do those top 10% high earning jobs, you have to work 60-100 hours a week to get there and then maintain that pace indefinitely for most of your life. If you are a sane person, you don't want to do that. Because there is no balance between taking care of the people you love, and work. Some might say that working is part of care giving, and I would agree, but it is much more than just that. Working enables care-giving, yet care giving is also raising your children, knowing what goes on in their lives and supporting them when necessary and of course, being present. The ministry of presence; being present for the important moments is also part of giving care, showing love and receiving it. Even though it is the least appreciated form of giving care, it is perhaps the most necessary. Kids often go down many wrong roads when they have to choose their own role models in life. A single mom raising a son will have trouble if there is no male role model. If she has a daughter then how will that daughter be able to select a good life partner if she has no good template of what a good man should be like? Different issues occur with single fathers, but no less dire. All of this doesn't mean you are screwed if you're raised by a single parent or are raising someone on your own, but it should come with a warning label all the same.
Dash was raised for the most part by Barbara. She was a constant where Chad wasn't. And although you'd think that had made Dash a mamma's boy, it hadn't. The absence of his father had made him strive to do his ultimate best to impress him, to earn his approval, his interest, his attention, his presence. Because dad was a soldier and had to leave for long periods of time. As a young boy, Dash hadn't understood why daddy couldn't just stay and do another job like the fathers of all the other kids, but he coped in any way he could. He started to idolize his father and his work as a soldier. A patriot. His dad was important, someone who fought evil, provided and protected his family even from across the world. Though much more bitter and jaded as a fifteen year old, many exalted notions concerning his father figure are still there.
"I need some clothes, Ma." I say to my fellow blond.
She smiles sweetly at me and gives me her credit card from her desk, at reached over giving me a one-armed hug. It was a pitch black card with a white spade on it. "Don't lose it. You can spend a grand with it." Giving me a nudge as if to shoo me out of the door, she clacks back to her laptop in her high heels. Why is she wearing high heels while working from home? And she's wearing her business get-up. Women.
"Your Father is still sleeping before he has his night shift, so make yourself scarce for the day. I'll deal with the cops for today, but they might want to talk to you soon. Give that card back at around eight tonight. "
I pocket the card in my bathrobe and sigh at the thought of having to put on my smelly clothes again. "Mom, is everything going to be okay? I mean with the house burnt down and everything."
Her face softens and she walks over to hug me again. She smelled nice, the perfume she always uses. "I'll take care of it honey, we'll be fine. But I need you to stop with the foolishness you get up to every now and again." she admonishes me while holding me. "Just focus on getting good grades at the end of summer and making some pocket money of your own. That's all I ask." she finishes holding my cheeks in her palms.
"Ok, mom." I agree. It fits into my plans, actually. "Can we really afford to miss a grand right now, though?"
She smiles again fondly. "It's taken care off, baby. Don't worry and let the adults handle it."
I nod pensively. Didn't think I'd get a straight answer, really. Being fifteen comes with a host of inconveniences like not being trusted/burdened with certain truths. I suppose it's good parenting in a sense, not burdening your kid with the financial aspect of living - too young.
I leave her office area and pass my parents room where my father is resting. He works two jobs as a soldier and private security guard, along with being a parent. Whatever assurances Barbara, my mom, has given me – I'm not naive. The money has to come from somewhere, and even though we might be good for now, the future has become a lot more uncertain.
So, I had some shit to take care of. First, some breakfast, then some new threads. Can't walk around with bloodstains on all day. People talk in Amity Park.
Then finally, this fucking ecto claw mark of doom. No idea how, but it had to go.
A/N Here you go, ya animals. Review and Favorite like good boys and girls and you might get a present for the holidays.
Kenrovan signing out.