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Bonnie Dyle's house was a small one in a suburb. The garden looked unkempt and the building was barely bigger than a trailer.
Carl rang the bell and waited, looking around a little uncomfortable – the street looked a little too much like the one he'd grown up in and tried so desperately to forget.
I'm already time-traveling in my past, do I really need to dig deeper?
The door opened and the blonde girl smiled, recognizing him. "Hi! How did you find us?"
Stunned, Carl stared at Bonnie's friend. "Bonnie lives here?" he asked, a little uncertain.
"Yep, I'm a guest." The blonde beamed. "Come on in!"
Inside, the house was small – and messy, the mess of a fully lived-in house with no maids, no cooks and no butlers. The blonde let in Carl – a small living room with kitchenette that reminded him of his mother's house.
"Uh... Is Bonnie in?" he asked, barely stepping into the house.
The blonde checked a clock on the wall. "No, but her shift ends about now. Would you like to wait for her?" She stared at him with a hopeful smile.
"Sure," he decided.
"I'm Cindy, by the way," she said, offering her hand.
He shook it, stepping forward.
"Bonnie allows me to sleep on the couch until I solve some problems," she continued. "Take a seat!"
She pointed him to the couch and he sat, looking around with distaste. The place looked too much like his past.
"How long have you and Bonnie been friends?" he asked, staring at Cindy with curiosity.
"About fifteen years." She shrugged. "We met through Slaughter International – we were both huge fans back then."
"Never heard of them." He shook his head. "Where are you from?"
"Toledo, Ohio. The first time we met was at their show there, back in 1998."
"And how old were you back then, eleven?" he asked, surprised.
She giggled. "Fifteen, actually. She's been like an elder sister ever since! She took me to the show when my mother refused, can you believe it?"
"Yeah, well, she's a nurse, she loves to help people," he commented, trying to remember what Bonnie was like in high school. Quiet, shy. She must have changed too.
Cindy sighed. "If only people helped her back as she deserves..."
She stared at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"Never mind." She averted her eyes.
He followed her gaze and saw some drawings on the wall.
He stood and went to look at them. The drawings were pencil-made medieval scenes, with modern faces on medieval-like clothes.
"Do you like them?" Cindy asked.
"Interesting works." Not what you'd find in an art gallery or on his walls, but... He looked for the signature.
"Bonnie does them," she said as he discovered it.
He didn't remember Bonnie having drawing skills, so it was a pleasant surprise.
"She's got talent, why is she a nurse?" he wondered.
"She'd never make a living as an illustrator," Cindy answered sourly. "She's not talented enough. So she keeps it as a hobby."
"I'm not an expert, but these look pretty good..."
"She's the queen of tracing." She grinned, putting a hand on his arm to catch his attention. "Promise you won't tell Bonnie what I'm going to show you."
He stared at her, puzzled. "Uh... sure...."
She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bedroom – a queen-sized bed and a closet, no clothes hanging around, but the little desk under the single window had papers and bills on it.
Cindy guided him to a narrow wall by the window and pointed at two framed drawings. He recognized the pictures from the yearbook enlarged and done in color – long-haired teen Carl and all-American-boy Warren.
Carl stared at both faces, speechless. The pencil drawings brought back more ghosts – his teens, his friends.
"That's Warren Bratt!" he said at last. "Most handsome guy in school."
Cindy nodded, thoughtful. "Bonnie says you were friends back then."
"Yeah! I mean... I guess..."
"Those two drawings are the best, aren't they?" Cindy said. "She enlarged the yearbook pictures and traced them... You haven't changed that much."
He smiled ruefully and turned to leave.
By the door he saw another portrait – him again, from a more recent picture, probably the one Bonnie had taken herself. Her hobby was still a favorite, then. Probably drawing helped her relax after her nurse duties.
They went back to the living room and Carl sat on the couch, lost in thought. He saw pictures of Bonnie and Warren together, smiling at him from a nearby shelf.
He was about to ask the obvious when Bonnie came in through the front door. She didn't look surprised to see him.
"Hi," she greeted. "That was fast."
"What?" he asked.
"Your visit." She smiled, dropping her purse and her keys. "Miss Templeton called me at the hospital."
"Oh. Guess she called your first, so I took Pamela by surprise."
"You visited Pamela Lynch as well?" she asked with a frown, slumping on the couch next to him and taking off her shoes.
"Yeah, I owed her an apology," he said.
"You owed her?" she protested. "I think she owes you more than you ever will!"
"What for?" he asked, puzzled.
"She turned you down," Bonnie grumbled, averting her eyes.
He smiled. "We were just kids. It was a lifetime ago."
She shrugged. "Anyway, you can surprise Warren, if you wish," she said more brightly, pointing at the pictures of Warren and herself. "We've been living together for ten years now."
His heartbeat accelerated, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What did he expect. Everybody had moved on. Everything is under control.
His tone was neutral when he spoke again.
"Congratulations," he said. "When will you get married?"
"If and when we have kids," Bonnie answered. "We don't need no piece of paper."
"I thought I was the rebel!" he retorted.
"I certainly don't want any journalist at my wedding," she replied. "But then, who on earth would care anyway?"
"Congratulations on your wedding, by the way," Cindy said. "Your wife is really beautiful."
Carl lowered his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered.
"So, are you happy with your life?" Bonnie asked.
Control. Carl put on his "winner" mask again.
"Yes. I'm exactly where I want to be. I earned my first billion, have a beautiful young wife..."
"But do you love her?" Bonnie asked bluntly.
"Who needs love?" he snapped.
Cindy gasped, too shocked to comment. Bonnie pondered.
"You were desperately in love with Pamela Lynch," she said.
"Says who?" he retorted. "Besides, that guy is dead."
Bonnie shook her head. "I think your heart just tried to send you a message about that."
Carl touched his chest. The discomfort still loomed somewhere, and the fear of the next heart attack wouldn't let him sleep well.
"It doesn't seem to agree with your choices," Bonnie continued, serious. She pointed at his chest with her chin.
He composed himself. "I know exactly what I need to be happy," he declared.
"Of course." She half-smiled. "It's your life. And your heart."
Warren came in at that point, still handsome at forty. He stared surprised at the guest.
"Hi, honey, look who's visiting us from the good old days!" Bonnie said as Carl stood.
"Carl?" Warren brightened and gave him a bear hug. "I thought you'd be a picture in the paper forever! It's good to see you here!"
Cindy rose from the couch. "I'm going to fix some dinner while you guys catch up."
Warren sat near Bonnie, putting one arm around her shoulder, but couldn't stop staring at Carl, who sat back. His eyes kept wandering in the room, unable to stop on anything.
So, this is the present of these ghosts. Is it better than mine?
Bonnie and Warren looked affectionate to each other as they related their lives. The discomfort inside him came back, spreading from chest to throat, blocking his speech so he had to answer or comment with monosyllables.
Anguish ate him from inside and he checked his watch.
"I better go," he said quickly. Enough tormenting himself with useless chatter from his buried past.
"You're very pale," Bonnie said. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah." He stood too quickly and his head spun.
"I'll take you home," Warren suggested.
"No, thank you," he snapped, jarred.
All stood, and Carl stumbled on his way to the front door.
"You're sick," Bonnie said.
"Call a taxi, please," he grumbled, massaging his chest.
"I'll take you," Cindy offered. "Can I use your car, Warren?"
"Sure." Warren handed her the keys.
Bonnie and Warren stopped at their door while Carl proceeded to Warren's battered car, taking deep breaths and holding his chest.
"Need help?" Cindy asked.
"I'm fine," he replied. He felt already better now that he was outside of the ghosts' house. Warren's car smelled funny, so he kept the window open, slowly regaining control of his breathing and heartbeat.
When Cindy pulled over in front of his gate, the pain in the chest was gone.
She turned to look at him.
"Here you are," she said. "You have more color on your cheeks, feel better?"
"Yes, thank you. And thanks for the lift," he answered, a little sullen.
"I'll take you to the door if you open the gate."
"Here is fine. I don't mind walking a little."
She nodded, but still looked worried.
He opened the car door.
"What happened to you?" she asked bluntly.
He stopped with one foot on the ground and pondered.
"You know when you suddenly realize you made all the wrong choices in your life?"
She smiled. "That's why I'm here. I'm starting anew."
"You can, but it's not that easy for me," he said sourly. "It's a matter of choices."
"Best wishes. I know how much courage you need to go back and start again. And if I made it, so can you."
He looked at her and slowly smiled.
"You're right. Thank you, Cindy."