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“Listen, you son of a bitch! I know you’re in there with that whore. I saw your car around the corner!”
Jessie was only twelve years old when my human existence was terminated at the Ritz-Carlton. Despite that and the fact that I haven’t been around in twenty-seven years, she apparently has inherited my mouth. “Come on out so I can cut off your puny little dick and shove it down your throat!”
Otherwise it would have been a calm, quiet November night outside the door of this nice little house in suburban Long Island.
“You have three daughters at home and you’re sticking your dick in this whore! Come on out, you coward!” growls Jessie, wielding a knife from one of her kitchen drawers. “You too, you skeevy little cunt! Come on out so I can cut up those fake tits of yours!”
Inside the house on the opposite side of the door, Ross Nemeth, my daughter’s husband, is listening quietly next to his tarty lover, Naomi Shannon. I never liked this bastard and if I were alive when Jessie started dating him, I would have done everything I possibly could have to keep her from marrying him. This prick, who is thirteen years older than her, in his early fifties, had already been divorced once before and he had been living with another woman for about six years when they met. But as the owner of the successful real estate business where she worked, Nemeth knew how to dazzle my daughter with his healthy portfolio and strut his fiscal capabilities in front of her adoring eyes.
Jessie was also on hand to witness his problems with the woman he shared his house with. She was his first relationship after his divorce and they ended up having a daughter who was four years old when Jessie and this piece of shit got together. When their relationship ended a fierce custody battle ensued, which Nemeth eventually won when she was declared unfit with a serious substance abuse problem. This was the kind of shit Jessie walked into when she married this ass. Stefanie begged her not to do it. Rippey too, but neither had any luck in dissuading her.
Keeping out of sight while being only inches away from this wretched slime ball is a major challenge for me, but I remain seething quietly while Nemeth shelters himself in his fuck-buddy’s love shack with all the shades down. Both are unclothed, quietly waiting for tropical storm Jessie to pass so they can run back to the bedroom where Nemeth can resume enjoying silicone-enhanced Bronski’s.
It’s suddenly quiet outside. The ringing and the knocking have stopped—not a good sign. Nemeth knows it, too. Jessie’s not exactly known as the type that easily gives up. If anything, she’s the type that would do something outrageous or explosive. I already had a son go to jail. I better go outside and see what she’s up to. I’ll leave the bare-assed lovers to ponder their situation while I sneak out the back.
Passing some frames on the wall on my way out, I notice no family photos. No husband, no kids, just pictures of Naomi throughout the past couple of decades. Well, I shouldn’t say no family pictures. There’s one with her parents and one at a younger brother’s graduation, but no family of her own. I’m not making anything out of it—just an observation. The only conclusion I can make from the photo above the mantle, where Nemeth left the flowers he bought, is that her tits were purchased sometime around the late nineties.
Quietly closing the back door and coming around to the front, I see Jessie still in her car, parked in Naomi’s driveway. Stepping to the front of her car, I’m getting the uneasy feeling that she’s enraged enough to drive it into the house, although at this moment the engine is still off.
Calm down Jessie. He’s not worth it. Just stay behind that wheel and take a couple of deep breaths.
She’s a grown woman now. A grown woman but still my child. A father hates to see his child in any kind of pain. And it’s especially grating to see his daughter sitting alone, dejected, staring through the windshield of her car at the front door of the house where her husband’s lover lives.
The last time Jessie saw me alive she was upset at me because I wouldn’t let her go on a date with Tommy Puccio. I had once passed that kid in front of a liquor store where I heard him bragging to his friends about feeling up a girl at the movies. It immediately crossed him off the list of potential suitors for my daughter. The only thing I was going to let that little prick feel was my fists walloping against his skull if he ever put his hands on my baby girl. That protective instinct never leaves you, living, dead or undead.
Jessie grips the steering wheel tightly as if trying to steady her trembling hands. Her chest is heaving, her pain worsening by the second.
It builds.
I know how it builds—especially if you have unwelcome guests like Los Ruidos sounding off in your head. It just builds and builds until...
... don’t, Jessie, don’t...
... it builds; it builds...
... until it erupts.
This is not what I expected.
I’m not sure if it is a scream, a wail, a cry... all I know is that it’s awful.
It brings me back thirty years. As a little girl Jessie’s mouth would contort into a wide, trembling frown before letting out a screech that would rattle the frames on the walls. The adult version is even harder to watch—an asphyxiated pause of silence that erupts into a torrential bellowing. Thick lava-like tears ooze out of my daughter’s eyes which are shut tighter than a vault as she leans her head against the steering wheel.
All this while, inside, that worm she calls a husband seeks refuge in the store-bought bosom of Naomi Shannon.
That fuck. I want to kill that fuck right now. The two of them, I can kill them both. I can feast on their blood, maybe even...
Fuck, what am I saying? Control, Nicky, control...
A frightened shriek echoes through the neighborhood. Dogs are barking. Windows light up on both sides of the street. The scream, it was Jessie! Her head is up from the steering wheel, and though the tears are probably blurring her vision, whatever she saw has completely taken all the color away from her face. I don’t see anything around that could have caused such a reaction except...
Me!
My reflection! It’s on her windshield! It turns out Jessie isn’t the only one to have lost control of her emotions.
As quickly as it appeared, I just as quickly regained control. My reflection is gone. She has literally screamed me out of sight. Still, I have to get away, although the damage has already been done. I can distance myself all I want now but I can’t run away from the fact that I have just traumatized my daughter, irreparably.
Scrambling halfway up the block, I can hear Nemeth running out of Naomi Shannon’s house. “Jessie! Jessie, what’s wrong?”
Her voice quivers. “I just saw a ghost. It...it was my father.”
Nice going, Dad.
#
Understandably, Jessie is now terrified of being alone. Her shaken condition even forced Nemeth to temporarily abandon Naomi’s love hut to drive her home. He’s been sitting on their living room couch for the last fifteen minutes feeling like the shit that he is, wondering what to do or say next. One thing’s for sure, he’s not going to get a clue from Jessie. Terror-stricken as she is, her anger hasn’t subsided and she hasn’t spoken a word to him yet.
After searching through the medicine cabinet for some pharmaceutical assistance, Jessie somehow managed to go to bed and fall into a numbed-out fog, even with everything she’s been through tonight.
What could she have taken that would have knocked her out like that? And why is it in her medicine cabinet? I’m almost afraid to go to the nightstand and read the label on the prescription bottle.
The decorative lamp on her nightstand is on. She probably doesn’t want to be in the dark right now. Who could blame her?
Her bottom lip is still quivering. Hopefully she won’t open her eyes and see the floating prescription bottle.
Diazepam!
Just what I feared! From working in a hospital, my pharmaceutical vocabulary is better than average—my daughter is zoned out on Valium.
I hear Nemeth out in the living room sneaking into the garage with his cell phone. That scumbucket! He probably figures that with Jesse sound asleep he can carry on a conversation out there with his bra-busting screw-mate. Even from here I can hear her pick up on the fourth ring.
“Listen, Naomi. I’m sorry about all that. I have no idea how that happened.”
His top-heavy sweetheart isn’t having it. “I don’t need this shit. I’m not going to have that crazy bitch wife of yours chasing me around with a knife.”
“Wait, listen!”
The click on the other end seems to indicate Nemeth’s days as Naomi’s fuck buddy might be at an end. The dirtbag curses the shitty day he’s been having, probably figuring it can’t get any worse. It can.
Nemeth closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shaking his head in frustration over the abruptly aborted phone call. His eyes open. He’s about to exhale.
He can’t. His heart does a two-step.
A Latino with more than a passing resemblance to his wife magically appears before him. The shock sends Nemeth stumbling back, clumsily reaching for his tool shelf to maintain balance. It fails to do so. Apparently Nemeth’s craftsmanship is as good as his fidelity. The shelf gives way, spilling hardware supplies all over him as he falls onto the oil-stained concrete.
Nemeth finally lets out a breath. “What the—?”
I feel no obligation to supply any answers. I’d rather let him wrestle with his sanity, like my daughter is with hers.
Nemeth crawls backwards on his elbows. “You...you’re supposed to be dead.”
Yes, prick, and you’re supposed to be faithful to my daughter. “I am dead, Nemeth. Would you like to join me?” A pathetic little gasp escapes his throat. “Get up!”
He refuses to move. Perhaps he feels safer behind the tires of his Honda CR-V.
Nemeth’s bottom lip trembles. “What are going to do to me?”
“Well, if you don’t get up, I’ll probably rip you apart with my bare hands.”
Nemeth rises and backs away until he is up against the opposite wall of the garage. You’re cornered now, fucker, no place else for you to go.
I love the smell of fear. We all do. But he probably doesn’t appreciate my scent as I bring my face closer to his (unless, of course, he likes the stench of rotted flesh).
No need to be loud when up so close. I can speak in a whisper. “So, you know who I am.”
“I’ve seen your pictures. But...you died like twenty-five years ago.”
“Twenty-seven to be exact.”
“Th-th-then...what...”
“Just shut up and listen, Nemeth.” I’m not feeling real patient. “I’m hoping that when my daughter is over the shock about what happened today, she’ll do the sensible thing and send you out on your ass. But if she doesn’t, if she doesn’t come to you first, I want you to approach her. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or the next day, but soon.”
“And do what?” His contracting vocal chords make his words come out like a squeak.
“Did I say you could talk?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Shut up!” My temper’s getting the best of me. “It’s very simple. I want you to dissolve your marriage.”
“What?”
“Interrupt me again!” Hold back, Nicky, hold back. Whoops, too late. The reflection of death, it’s in his eyeballs. Ugh! He’s prairie dogging in his shorts. Unintentional as it might have been, my death face makes it clear that there is no discussion to be had. “She gets everything, Nemeth. You understand me? Absolutely everything. Whatever she wants, the house, the cars, the vacation home, the IRA’s, the business, everything, without even a hint of protest from you. If she wants you to have nothing, then you get nothing. Understood?” His deuce works past his shorts and starts creeping down his leg. “I said is that understood?”
“But—”
“But what? There are no buts. Don’t you get it? Any hint of you not doing what I say...”
His eyeballs no longer reflect the hideous anomaly that just stood before him. The monster has vanished. Was it real? Nemeth looks around desperately. He must wonder if what just happened really happened.
His neck hairs stand up!
A voice hums from behind. Nemeth gasps and turns. He’s face to face again, with Death.
Death speaks. “The human body has ten pints of blood, Nemeth. I feed on it.” The scent of his fear heightens. It’s a scent that makes feeding so much more satisfying. But I have to restrain myself. Jessie would be the obvious suspect if this scumbag were to be found dead. “Are you scared, Nemeth? Are you questioning your sanity right now?” No response. “Well, whether you are or not doesn’t really matter. Just do as I say. Because until you’re gone, I’m going to be reappearing in front of you just like this to remind you. And I’m going to keep reminding you until you are out of my daughter’s life. After that I will give you thirty days to leave this part of the country. I don’t care where you go. I don’t even want to know. All I want to know is that you’re not around here. Because if I ever come across you again... do I need to finish that thought?” No answer, but this time I want one. “Hey dirt bag, are you listening to me?”
“Ross?”
It’s Jessie, calling from inside the house. How the fuck is she up after taking that shit she took?
“I’m in the garage, Jess.” He’s hoping his response will make me leave.
The door opens from inside the house. Jessie is wearing an off-white cotton robe. Her hair is tussled. She looks like shit. “What are you doing?” She looks suspiciously around the garage.
“Uh, nothing,” Nemeth is relieved not to see me around. “I was, uh, looking for a client’s folder in my car.”
“I heard voices.” My daughter’s not stupid. “You better not be calling that whore.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” Yeah, like she believes you.
Jessie’s shaking her head, wondering what she ever saw in this bastard. Join the club, honey. Her slam of the door shows her disgust at herself for ever having fallen for such a pig.
Nemeth, still in the garage, is breathing a sigh of relief that Jessie didn’t press any further. He reaches for the light switch to head back inside but feels something blocking his hand. It’s something he cannot see—even with the lights on.
That frightened little squeal again.
That’s right, you son of a bitch, you can’t see me but I’m still here.
Nemeth steps away, backing against the passenger door of his Explorer. For one last time I reappear, to remind him of the face he never wants to see again. Unable to back away any further, Nemeth remains still, waiting to hear what the ghoul has to say.
It’s going to be a long wait.
I’m not going to say a word.