After Blake left Melody’s apartment he decided to walk home. It was after midnight and it would be nearly an hour before he reached Nob Hill, but Blake didn’t care. He suddenly felt free of a heavy weight that he had been forced to carry his entire life, and he wanted to relish the feeling.
Not only were the whispers gone, the incessant babbling of a thousand ghostly voices, but the streets, too, seemed to be free of spirits. He would no longer pass the ghost of a dead cowboy on his way to the market or see dead prostitutes beckoning him into deserted alleys. He was free of it all.
Of course, he knew they were still there—they always would be—but he had freed himself from the ability to see and hear them. And Blake willingly embraced the old adage that ignorance is bliss.
Now, he told himself, he could meet somebody without bringing to the relationship all the baggage that came with his former “gift,” and, maybe—just maybe—the relationship would last longer than a couple of months. Joe’s face suddenly flashed in Blake’s mind and a pang of guilt washed over him. No, he told himself, forget Joe. It’s time for a fresh start, unencumbered by the past.
Blake couldn’t even begin to imagine what his mother would say when she learned he had bound his gift. He considered not telling her. After all, why should she have to know? But Blake knew all too well that she would, instinctively. In fact, she was probably leaving him a message right now.
Blake arrived in front of his building forty minutes later, perspiring mildly. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh sea air. Everything around him was still, blessedly still. He walked into his building, happy with the knowledge that the night would hold nothing more than a peaceful sleep.
*
Brian hated hospitals. As a detective he was forced to visit them regularly, whether to question a victim, question a suspect, or visit a wounded fellow cop. How many times had he been in a hospital in the last two years? Twenty times? Thirty? He tried not to think of it, but his real problem with hospitals had nothing to do with his work. More likely they reminded him just how fragile life is, that one day he, too, might end up here or, worse, dead.
Joe was unsuccessfully attempting to reposition himself in his hospital bed when a handsome young cop entered the room. Joe glanced at his visitor. “Would you mind…” he said, motioning to the pillows piled behind him.
While his injury wasn’t life-threatening, the wound—which had pierced his abdominal wall and resembled an appendectomy incision—made moving painful. The cop, who Joe assumed was there to question him yet again about the stabbing, was amiable enough.
“Thanks,” Joe said, settling back into his newly adjusted pillows. “I guess you’re here about the attack.”
“I know all about the attack. And I know that there was no real attempted robbery.”
Joe felt his face flush and his heart began to beat faster. Before Joe could respond, however, the officer smiled reassuringly and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know a ghost possessed your body and stabbed you, and I also know you recently began dating Blake Danzig.”
“Who are you?” Joe asked, startled.
“My name is Brian Cox. I used to date Blake, before I got spooked by the ghosts and left him.”
“Where’s Blake?” Joe asked expectantly. “I haven’t seen him since the night of…well…” He pointed at his stomach.
“He assumes it’s over between the two of you,” Brian’s face was serious, “because of what happened.”
The announcement stunned Joe.
“Is it over?” Brian asked.
“No.” Joe’s face was hot. “Why would he assume—”
“Because of assholes like me. He’s gotten used to guys bailing on him as soon as the ghost thing gets too intense.”
“I’m not like that,” Joe said firmly. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Brian rose from his seat on the edge of the bed.
“The night the ghost attacked,” Joe said, suddenly recalling a lost memory, “it was like I was being held under water…when it was inside of me. I can’t really describe what it felt like, but I do remember Blake telling the spirit that he loved me.”
Brian didn’t reply.
“Anyway, knowing that is the one thing that made this whole ordeal worthwhile.”
“Do you love him?”
“I think so…yes.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because that’s what he needs to hear, especially after what he gave up for you.”
Joe stared at Brian, confused.
“His friend Melody, the witch, cast a spell on him to remove his ability to see ghosts. He asked her to, so he could have a normal relationship.”
“He did that for me?” Joe was deeply touched. “I would never have asked him to do that.”
“You need to tell him that, as soon as you’re able to get out of here.”
“You can bet on it.”
*
As he had predicted, Blake had slept soundly on his first night after performing the spell. Without his powers, no visitors awakened him from his slumber.
That night, however, free of the usual interruptions, Blake dreamed. Unfortunately, the dream was more like a nightmare, probably caused by the binding spell. In it, Blake was sitting beneath a large oak tree and, in the distance, he could see the circus of his youth. As he watched, the circus began moving farther away, sending huge columns of dust into the dry, windy air. Afraid that he would be left behind, Blake got up and ran after the departing circus, all the while shouting for his parents to wait for him. But when he caught up, neither of his parents recognized him.
“But I’m Blake,” he said, looking from his mother to his father. “I’m your son.”
His mother looked at him, expressionless. “This is our son.” She held open the lid to a wooden box.
Blake peered inside and spied a yellow, knotted cord.
He awakened from the dream with a start, drenched in sweat, and had a difficult time falling back to sleep, his mother’s words echoing in his head.
The next morning he woke determined to plunge into his ghost-free life. After initial hesitation, he phoned his producer Marty with the news. Marty’s initial reaction, incredulous laughter, had taken Blake by surprise. “Marty,” he said, calmly, “I’m not kidding. I’m done with ghost hunting.”
“For the love of fucking God, kid, are you trying to give me a motherfucking heart attack?”
“No. I’m trying to give myself a regular life.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Marty bellowed. “If I knew what a goddamned ‘regular life’ was I would have one myself!”
“Marty—”
“You’ve obviously been working too much, kid,” Marty said, surprising Blake by suddenly changing his tone. “Call me in a month and we’ll talk.”
Blake’s news had a similar effect on Donatella, who he phoned after hanging up with Marty. She reacted as if Blake had announced he had just had a wart removed. No longer being able to speak with spirits took nothing away from his abilities as a writer. In fact, she suggested, this latest development could make for another good book, one in which America’s favorite ghost hunter describes the latest chapter in his quest to finally be free of his burdensome “gift.”
His mother, however, did not disappoint. She called him just as he was ending his conversation with Donatella and, as Blake suspected, she claimed to have been visited by him in a dream the night before, asking for her help. Although, she explained, it wasn’t really Blake in the dream, it was the part of Blake that he had gotten rid of…the part that saw ghosts.
“Why on earth would you do this to yourself?” Lila asked, her voice heavy.
Blake knew his mother’s voice well enough to recognize that she had been crying, and he felt like a six-year-old again, in trouble for nicking the blade on one of the sword swallower’s daggers. He decided not to tell her about his own dream.
“Mom,” Blake said, keeping his voice calm, “I could never hope to get into a lasting relationship as long as I was still seeing and talking to ghosts. Most guys just aren’t into that sort of thing. They want to marry a doctor or a lawyer, not spend the rest of their lives with a man who talks to ghosts.”
Lila was silent.
“I did it so I could be happy. Don’t you understand that?”
He resisted the urge to tell his mother that he had actually considered suicide, just to be free of his cursed gift, and suddenly remembered Moe, the old circus elephant. Had Moe’s desperate act of escape been a suicide, his only way of escaping his miserable existence? Blake quickly pushed the unpleasant thoughts from his mind.
“How can you be happy,” Lila asked, “when you’ve lost a part of yourself, something you were born with?”
“People born with illnesses have them cut out, and nobody faults them for that.”
He realized instantly that the analogy would not work on his mother.
“Your gift is not an illness.” Her voice was low.
“Then why did it always make me so unhappy?”
“Because you never met the right young man. It’s that simple.”
Blake was silent and could hear his mother sigh loudly.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I have enough money saved to last for a while. Besides, Donatella assures me that even this chapter in my life will make a good book.”
“Take care of yourself, darling,” Lila said. “I love you no matter what.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Blake’s heart was heavy. “Tell Dad I said hello.”
Blake hung up, more confused than he had been since casting the spell. Nobody could wreck a good mood, could make him question the validity of his decisions like his mother, no matter how well-intended her comments. Was she right? Had he inadvertently banished a part of himself and, in the process, made himself into some sort of half person? And, if this was the case, what good would he be in a relationship as a half person? Afraid that he might have only made things worse in his quest for love, Blake headed for the door. He needed some fresh air.
*
Lila Danzig walked out into the yard where Ben was weeding the garden. He looked up at her expectantly.
“My dream was correct,” she said, solemnly. “Blake did a magic spell to bind his abilities.”
Ben wiped the sweat from his forehead and regarded her for a moment. “It’s his decision.” He carefully weighed his words. “Maybe it’s just a phase he’s going through.”
Lila nodded, seeming to consider this possibility.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Ben said. “Blake’s a bright young man. He’ll figure out the right thing to do.”
Lila crouched down to kiss Ben. He had always been able to say the right words, the words that took the edge off life’s difficult moments. She walked back into the house and began to absently scrub the inside of the oven, even though she had cleaned it only three days earlier. Certainly, Blake’s childhood hadn’t been a typical one, brought up in a circus among bearded ladies and sword swallowers, never staying in one town for more than a week. Perhaps, if he had only been able to have friends his own age, Blake would have turned out different. But for a boy with a mother who was a fortune teller and a father who was a contortionist, Lila doubted that playmates would have made much difference. And while siblings might have helped Blake’s sense of self, well, that had simply been out of the question, too. Life on the road was difficult enough with one child. The idea of more children had been unthinkable, cruel, even. Had they made the right decision as parents? Surely Blake knew they loved him, he had to.
Lila rose from her kneeling position in front of the oven and a sharp, familiar pain surged through her chest. She grasped the counter for support and stood there until the pain subsided.
Six months, the doctor had told her. She knew better, though, even without consulting her crystal ball, something she never did for herself. Not that she was afraid of death. It was just that she wanted her life to unfold before her like a mystery, every day a surprise. Reading other people’s futures was fine, but she preferred not to know her own. Knowing her future would have been like peeking at presents before Christmas morning.
Certain that this most recent episode had passed, she walked slowly into the living room to rest. Yes, she thought, it’s coming, and soon. She only hoped that she had a chance to help Blake one last time.