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Cassandra & Johnny
“WHY ARE YOU LOOKING at me that way?” The man asked, smiling.
Cassandra Graystone’s gaze took in the maroon shirt, the shaggy golden hair, and sleepy eyes as the man stood a few feet away from her. He had a charming way about him, too, and would have been the type of man she’d have been attracted to under normal circumstances. But those were the key words: Under normal circumstances.
She looked away, yet as hard as she tried, her face must have shown her feelings of dread. It must have given away a hint of the truth she’d already glimpsed somewhere deep behind her eyes.
The man was going to die very soon.
“Sorry, didn’t mean anything by it. I thought you were someone I knew, that’s all.” She used that line a lot. It usually worked. She shrugged and flashed the man an apologetic smile in the dimness of the lounge.
“I am, kind of. I’ve been here the last three Fridays. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy listening to you and your brother sing.” There was still a smile on his lips. “You two have such lovely harmonies. And your brother’s original songs are really good. Man, can he play that guitar.”
She felt flattered and sad for the man all at once. “Thank you. I’ll tell him what you said. Johnny loves compliments.” Her eyes scanned the room. No Johnny. “He’s around here somewhere. Probably talking to someone or in the restroom. But I’ll tell him you liked his songs.”
“You guys rock.”
Forcing out a smile, she replied, “Thank you. Appreciate you saying so. We can use all the fans we can get.” She closed her brother’s guitar case, snapped the locks, then wrapped the cord around his microphone and placed it in the box with the other equipment.
She wished the man would go away, leave her alone. He’d brushed up against her and she knew he was a walking dead person. And, as always, there was nothing she could do to help him.
Oh, yeah, she’d learned to keep her mouth shut. People didn’t want to know they were going to die–when or how–though she never saw every last tiny detail. People freaked out or thought she was some crazy woman. Having been on the receiving end of that sour tune once too often, she had learned her lesson. She’d been called everything from a bitch to a witch. Once, someone had even slugged her.
Don’t ever tell them what you see. Don’t ever tell them anything. Oh, she’d learned.
“How long have you two been playing together?”
“Since we were kids.” They’d caterwauled on the swing set in the back yard from the time she was ten or so, later in high school talent shows, and out in public for money as soon as they were old enough to drive. Started with folk music, contemporary pop and rock; tossed in a little of the new country and bluegrass for spice. At eighteen, Johnny began to write songs and he taught her how to play guitar, something he’d picked up from his friends in the school band. He could listen to a song on the radio and in minutes would be able to play it. She had a natural ear for harmony. And their singing careers were born.
Lately, for some reason neither of them could explain, they’d taken to throwing in their own arrangements of old-time gospel melodies and Johnny had begun to write songs that were definitely spiritual. Which wasn’t so unusual, since they were both Christians.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you how much I like you two. Your voices sound like they belong together. Like angels.”
Cassandra looked directly at the man for the first time.
“I even like your brother’s lame jokes.” The man chuckled.
“At least someone does.” On stage, Johnny told what she considered to be tasteless little anecdotes and she was always making fun of him for it. But the crowd ate up their ribbing each other. So they’d kept both in the act.
“He can sure make the crowd laugh and your ballads make them cry.”
She felt her face turning red. Unlike her brother, she had a hard time accepting praise of any sort. “Thank you.” Ooh, she wished he would go away. She didn’t want to know him. She’d only feel worse later.
“Someday, I bet, you two are going to be rich and famous. I know it.”
She shrugged. “From your mouth to fate’s ears. But it really doesn’t matter to us. We’re happy the way things are. We get to do what we love and we get paid for it.”
Oh, sure, when they’d been kids they’d dreamed of record deals, of being filthy rich and thought that was the road to happiness – but that was before the fire. Things changed after that. Now merely being together, being with their aunt and uncle, and singing for their supper, rent, and utilities were all they wanted.
“Ah, but everyone needs money.” He shoved a twenty-dollar bill at her. “Here, before I go I wanted to give you your tip in person. Ten for both of you.”
“No, you don’t need to do that.” Cassandra tried to give the twenty back, but the man refused it with a shake of his head.
“Nah, it’s for you. I was really down tonight. Too much bad stuff happening in my life these days. Your music’s really cheered me up. Please, take it.”
She hesitated a second. He seemed adamant and wasn’t going to be talked out of it. “All right. Again, thank you. Johnny says thank you, too.” Of course Johnny would. He forever needed money. Because, maybe, their pay wasn’t quite enough to cover all their living expenses, but tips helped and they lived simply. Or she did, anyway. She rented the upstairs flat of her aunt and uncle’s duplex that faced Forest Park, ridiculously cheap.
But living cheaply wasn’t her brother’s thing. Johnny was good at living high on the hog, even when he didn’t have the hog and couldn’t stay on a budget if he were glued to it. He insisted on keeping his own apartment on the other side of town instead of living with the rest of the family. Said he wanted to go home to his own space at the end of the day. Five months ago he’d gotten this bug up his butt about being independent and being his own man. Ha, a man in debt is what he was. His cupboards were bare and he mooched most of his meals off his friends and family. She often had to lend him money.
Sometimes, Cassandra thought he lived by himself because Aunt Ellie was sick and he didn’t want to be in the middle of it. Didn’t want to be bothered. Then, she’d feel guilty for thinking that. Johnny had a big heart. He liked his solitude or so she kept telling herself. She had a roomy apartment, but he’d had to live on the first floor with the old ones, so she didn’t blame him. Ellie could be...difficult lately.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you,” the man said. “I can see you’re busy so I’ll be going. Say hi to your brother for me.”
“I will.”
“See you next Friday?”
“We’ll be here.”
The man with the invisible target on his face walked away into the thinning crowd. She took one last glance and saw his bright shirt disappear through the door into the night.
With a sigh, she packed her guitar in its case, breathed in the deep polished scent of wood, and looked around for her brother. Time to go home. He was probably outside stealing a smoke, knowing she’d give him hell if she saw him with one in his hand.
The lights were dim. It helped hide the shabbiness. The Red Carpet Lounge wasn’t special in any way except for Morey, a generous man who treated everyone like a friend, who ran the place–and that she and her brother had been singing there three nights a week for the last five months. The money was better than some places. They’d done a lot worse over their careers. If a person could call lounge singing a career.
She’d never planned on singing in bars as a living, but life was strange. A person did what a person had to do to survive. It was as if she’d been waiting for her real life to begin and it just never had. Not so far, anyway. College hadn’t appealed to her (tests made her sick to her stomach) and she’d found nothing else that captured her passion like music. Then again, she and Johnny weren’t office types. They’d have trouble punching in anywhere at eight A.M., being locked up in tight cubicles, or taking orders. Free spirits that they were.
Her eyes searched for her brother, anxious to get home and make sure Aunt Ellie and Uncle George were all right. Just a funny feeling she had.
They’d raised her and Johnny since she’d been nine and Johnny seven, since the fire that had killed the rest of their family twenty years ago.
Once, she’d had three sisters and three brothers, and a mother and a father she’d adored. After the fire ravaged their home and took most of them, all she had left was Johnny and burn scars on her face and leg to remind her of that night. As if she could ever forget.
After the fire, her childless aunt and uncle, her father’s much older brother, had taken them in, loved, and raised them without a look back. Now it was her and Johnny’s turn to take care of them. They were getting old and, though George had his own medical problems, Ellie was becoming more befuddled every day. It affected all of them.
George and Ellie were more like grandparents with the needs of aging grandparents. They were forgetful, had a basket of pills to take each day, and their fragile bodies were home to mysterious aches and pains. They didn’t like their routine changed. George’s eyes gave him trouble, so he wasn’t driving any more, and Ellie was too out of it most of the time to trust behind a wheel. Doctor visits, shopping, and errands had fallen to Johnny and her. Mostly her.
She didn’t mind taking care of them.
All in all it was a good life–except for the sad memories of her dead family and her little curse of seeing things she didn’t want to see and knowing things she didn’t want to know. She hated it when she looked at a face and another visage leaked through skin and bones and, just for a heartbeat, showed her something hideous. That talent had only begun the last few weeks and it had her more upset than she’d admit. It made her doubt her sanity. Made her wonder if she was delusional.
Yesterday, she’d asked her uncle if insanity ran in the family and he’d laughed. “Not that I know of. But, hey, I never did meet any of your mother’s side.”
Great.
Her brother was coming towards her. Smelling like cigarette smoke and looking tired. “Cassie, you ready to call it a night?”
“All packed up and heading for the door. Just waited to say bye. You smell like smoke, Johnny.”
She noticed he ignored her critical observation and the unintentional double meaning. They both knew there was more than one kind of smoke.
“Glad you waited, Sis, because I need to hitch a ride home with you. The junk heap won’t start again. I think it’s the battery. Probably needs a new one.”
“You need to get yourself a new car, Brother. One that doesn’t break down every other day.” Cassandra grabbed her purse and her guitar, a six string acoustic Guild. It’d been her father’s, had miraculously escaped the flames of her childhood home, and was precious to her. She remembered, as a little girl, her father picking around on it. He’d never been real good, but he’d be proud of them now. She didn’t leave her instrument at the bar overnight. It was worth too much to her to chance it being stolen.
“Tell me about it. But you know I don’t have the cash for a new ride. Tomorrow I’ll see what it’d take to patch it up again. Hopefully I can get a few more months out of it.”
“You’ve been jury-rigging that old Sky Hawk for years. It’s sixteen years old, for heaven’s sake, Johnny.”
“Yeah, but you know me. I can’t bear to let go of things.”
Might have something to do with the fire and losing everything he ever had when he was young. “Sometimes there’s nothing else to do but let go. That car is beyond fixing. It’s ready for the junk yard.”
“Nah, it’s not. You’ll see.”
She sighed. She handed him the twenty she’d been given earlier, glad to get rid of it. “Here, a tip. Put it towards the new battery.”
“Thanks, Sis.” Not one to turn down a gift, he pocketed the bill without bothering to ask who it came from. Money was money to him.
“Okay, come on, I’ll drop you off.”
“Good night all.” Johnny spread his fingers in an arc as they walked out. A couple of the regulars, still nursing their last drinks, smiled or returned the wave.
“’Night, Morey, see you tomorrow,” Cassandra told their boss.
“Tomorrow, kids,” Morey muttered, propped up behind the bar, his head cradled in his heavy arms. He didn’t look up when they went out the door. He’d told her earlier he’d helped a friend move that day and was exhausted.
The world was hushed. It was the middle of the night, yet the moon’s lopsided grin cast a pearly shimmer over the empty streets and buildings around them. She used to love this time of night before the strange things began to happen to her.
“Whew,” Cassandra said, “it’s still like an oven out here. I’m sweating already.” And she hated sweating. It ruined her good clothes. “I’ll be glad to get home and bask in my air conditioning.”
“It’s normal for July, though. Summer in St. Louis, don’t you love it? Even the storms haven’t broken the heat wave.”
“At least it isn’t raining. At the moment, anyway.”
“One good thing. I’ve had about enough of those weird storms. Rain’s too heavy. Wind’s too fierce. Too much lightning.”
“It has been sort of freaky, hasn’t it?”
“I’ll say.” Johnny stared upwards as if he were afraid a storm would come out of nowhere and attack them by surprise. Then his eyes went to a commotion down the road from the bar.
Cassandra looked too, she couldn’t help it.
Sirens screeched and flashing lights drew up to the crowd of people on the sidewalk.
“Wonder what’s going on down there.” Johnny craned his neck. “Looks like a meat wagon.”
“Looks like it.
“Come on, let’s go.” Turning her head, she hurried towards the car. Johnny straggled behind her because, as usual, he was gawking at the hubbub, wanting to know what was going on. He should have been a vulture the way he was drawn to disasters.
“What’s going on down there? Aren’t we going to go see what’s happened?” Johnny demanded, not getting in the car. The night breeze ruffled his long hair, his face in silhouette.
“Someone got hit by a car, that’s what,” she snapped a bit too sharply. “Let’s go. It’s really late and I’m really tired.”
“Hold on a second. I’m going to see. Don’t leave without me.” Johnny strode down the street towards the crowd and she had no choice but to traipse after him like some groupie. She dragged her feet on purpose, not wanting to see what she knew she was going to see.
Since the fire, her brother had had a morbid fascination with accidents, death, and she was sick of it. She didn’t want to go down there. She didn’t want to see anything. It’d live in her memory for days like a bad taste. No, it was better not to look. Better not to know.
Johnny was the only one who knew that she saw death before it happened, which made his fascination in horrific events and other people’s demises even more of an irritation. She could have kicked him for dragging her to the accident scene, yet she couldn’t stop him.
She caught up as he stood by the ambulance watching the paramedics load the victim into the back. The crowd surged closer to see more.
“What happened?” Johnny asked the paramedic nearest him.
“Hit and run. Car got him as he was crossing the street here.”
“How is he?”
“Guy is dead. He bled out before we could get to him. Poor sucker.” The man shook his head, shoved the gurney completely in, and closed the doors. To him, it was just another pick-up in a long night. Just another corpse.
In the interior lights before the gurney disappeared, Cassandra glimpsed the maroon shirt peeking out from under the sheet.
Sorrow nipped at her for a moment and ebbed away.
I’m not responsible. I can never stop it. God knows I’ve tried so many times, but it never makes any difference what I do. They always died. Simple as that. She was only a spectator. Don’t, she bit her lip to keep it from trembling, start blaming yourself again.
I should have done something. Said something. Stop it! The way she’d come to see it, if she’d wanted to prevent the deaths she’d have to either convince the victims they were going to die–as if that would ever work–or tail them and physically try to save them in one way or another. Both impossibilities. It’d take all of her time and she’d have to give up her life as she knew it. If she could even save them. She didn’t think so. Ha, and if she began stalking strangers all over town like a berserk P.I., people wouldn’t understand. Heck. They thought she was weird enough the way it was. Not having a regular job, singing all night, and sleeping most of the day. Everyone knew musicians were crazy.
Why, she asked God, had she been given such an insight and what was she supposed to do with it? But he never answered.
Not caring if her brother followed or not, Cassandra walked to her car, got in, slammed the door shut, and stuck the key in. The engine roared to life as Johnny, breathing hard, slid into the passenger seat. She pushed down hard on the accelerator.
“Sorry,” her brother spoke contritely and fell quiet for a block or two. And, as she knew he would, then rattled on. “When I got to the ambulance they were covering up the dude who got hit. He was in the bar tonight. I saw him talking to you.” She knew what he was going to ask next.
“Don’t ask it,” she growled softly. “You don’t want to know.”
Johnny didn’t push it. It meant she didn’t have to knock him in the head.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. She dropped him off at his apartment and five miles later pulled into the driveway below her flat.
Being it was after two in the morning, her aunt and uncle’s lower apartment had no lights on. “Please, Aunt Ellie,” she murmured, “stay in bed tonight. Don’t go wandering out in the yard again.” The night before, her aunt had snuck out of the house and Uncle George had had a heck of a time finding her. Good thing he got her back in the house when he did, because later, one of those fierce storms had blown in. It would have been awful if Ellie had been out in it.
Time to have her aunt checked out again by her doctor. The old dear forgot things and took off, getting lost more often all the time. That wasn’t normal. Aunt Ellie was getting worse. Yet George believed he could still take care of her. All he had to do was try harder. Yeah, sure, he was in denial big time. truth was, Ellie was becoming unmanageable and Uncle George wasn’t spry enough to keep up with her, much less keep her corralled.
Cassandra was still fretting about her aunt’s strange behavior and her uncle’s failing health and what she was going to do about it all, when she bumped into the man.
Only he wasn’t a man.
When her body came into contact with his, she knew something was wrong immediately. Images and feelings she couldn’t understand rushed into her head like vignettes from a horror movie...of dripping blood, dead bodies, and creatures that morphed into other creatures.
What was that about?
Caught off guard and overwhelmed by the images, she blurted out, “What are you? You’re not a remnant, but you aren’t human either –”
The man who wasn’t a man spun around and disappeared into the night’s shadows. Had she completely and finally lost her mind? Now she was bumping into and seeing ghosts, too.
Like a few nights earlier. She’d been driving past a cemetery on her way to work and saw this smoky wraithlike thing resembling a woman flitting around a fresh grave’s headstone. The apparition, floating beneath a willow tree, had stared through the twilight and wiggled pasty fingers at her, wanting her to come nearer.
She’d swerved the car onto the shoulder of the road, her body trembling. An eerie cold sensation sank into the pit of her stomach as she got out of her car. What did it want? But when she stomped up to the wraith, it just wickedly smiled at her and evaporated into the ground mist as if slipping back into its grave. It was the third time that week something unearthly had beckoned, but then refused to speak to her, from a graveyard. It was giving her the willies. This has got to stop. Now, on top of everything, she was seeing spooks. Sheesh.
What next? Vampires?
Shaking her head, she went around to the rear of the house and climbed the steps to her rooms, wishing she’d seen the direction the man had been coming from when he’d stumbled into her, wishing she’d gotten a better look at him.
She wished the encounter had never happened so close to her home.
Pushing the incident out of her head wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. The uneasiness the man had left behind, the sharp whiff of evil that clung to him, wouldn’t go away. She knew evil when she saw or was around it–another side effect of her curse.
It was bad enough she could see death coming. Why was she also seeing these other things? She must be losing it. Big time.
Slipping inside, she locked the door behind her, dropped her guitar and purse on the sofa, and peered out the window between the blinds. The moonlight showed her there was no one outside. The yard and street in front of the house were vacant. Across the road, the familiar outlines of the park’s trees swayed in the night breezes. Nothing was out there that didn’t belong. Her fingers drew back from the blinds as she sighed. She was home. Safe.
She liked her apartment with its private rear entrance. Her aunt and uncle lived below her and were close enough to keep an eye on. The city, noisy and vibrant, surrounded her. Stores and theaters were within walking distance. Lush and beautiful Forest Park sprawled before her. She could meander in the woods under the shade trees or visit the zoo animals on sunny days, though there hadn’t been many of those lately.
A frown settled on her lips. So far it’d been the stormiest spring and summer she’d ever seen, with horrendous heat, lightning storms, flooding, and monster tornadoes. The weather had been exceptionally destructive. So unusual.
She switched on the light and slumped down on the couch. Shutting her eyes, she ran her fingers across the slick fabric. Great couch. It had a bed inside, too; was almost like new, though she’d found it at an estate sale a year ago and had gotten it dirt-cheap.
How she loved a bargain. She looked around her flat with a smug smile. Spacious for a top floor, it had a living room, kitchen, bath, two bedrooms, and a walk-in storage closet that was actually large enough to double, in a pinch, for a small room.
She’d worked hard to make the flat comfortable. Thrift store purchases aside, it did look nice. Fluffy rugs on the floors and original paintings of angels and pastoral scenery in muted colors hung on the walls. The paintings hadn’t cost much, either. Some of her friends were artists, and some were mystics, or crackpots, as her uncle affectionately called them.
One of those crackpots, Sarah, was her best friend. She told fortunes and read tarot cards for a living and wasn’t too bad at either. Problem was Sarah also thought she was a spirit medium. She’d been performing séances for years, but hadn’t heard or seen an actual ghost...yet. She believed it would happen any day. It was only a matter of time and patience.
Yeah, sure, wait until she does see a spook. Ha! It’ll scare the bejesus out of her, too.
What would Sarah have made of that creature out in the street? Hmmm. A grin slipped out. Sarah would have most likely invited it to tea or something. Offered to read its cards. Ooh, she’d like to be at that reading. The thought made her chuckle.
But then, someone else’s take on the encounter might not be such a bad idea. What would Sarah think of the man-who-wasn’t-really-a-man who’d bumped into her?
Undressing, she took a shower, made hot chocolate, and crawled into bed with the cup.
She couldn’t get that strange man out of her mind. The uneasiness wouldn’t go away. Was he out there somewhere watching her? He could be. She had the sudden premonition their paths would cross again. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
Her eyes went to the scorched crucifix on the wall above her head. The wooden cross had been her mother’s and it would protect her from anything evil out in the night. God would protect her. She finished the cocoa and put her head to the pillow.
There was nothing she could do about the stranger out in the street or the way she felt or the things she was seeing. But she could go to sleep and put it out of her mind for the remainder of the night. That she could do.
The gentle cadence of the rain began outside and calmed her.
When she was on the verge of sleep, her cat, Snowball, hopped on the bed, and purring loudly, snuggled into the curve of her body. She cuddled the cat to the sound of the rain and allowed herself to drift away, knowing she was safe.