Nearly Departed Read online

  Dennis was attempting to balance a sandwich and a container of soup in one hand and sign his credit card receipt with the other when he heard his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket. He hurried over to one of the restaurant’s many tables and carefully deposited his items before digging for the source of the noise. Since the phone served as both his personal line and the means of contact for the people who wanted his services, he carefully considered the number it displayed before answering in his mysterious accent.

  “This is Doctor September,” he said quietly. He glanced around the restaurant, grateful for the current sparseness of inhabitants. Not only would his sudden change of voice likely draw unwanted attention, but the sounds of ambient conversation would have been anything but mysterious.

  A female voice, very confident and matter-of-fact, responded to him in a light British accent. “Hello, Doctor. I understand that you provide supernatural counseling.” Dennis bit his lip and wondered if he should ask the woman to call back later. The advertisement that he and Harding had posted was intentionally vague, although it did include the words “supernatural counseling.” When they had written it, the intent had been to attract those individuals who might actually benefit from the services of a psychiatrist, but who were, save for fantasies about imaginary specters, mostly sane. Unfortunately, both the discreet wording and the nature of the business had attracted more than one person who was legitimately off their rocker, and Dennis had learned to choose his meetings with great care.

  “Counseling and consultations are my specialty,” he replied as September, “although my services are not for everyone.” He checked his watch, wondering if he could conclude the conversation before Alena took her break, and idly brushed his sleeve where a droplet of spilled soup had darkened it. “What is the nature of your problem?” He intentionally neglected to ask the woman’s name, since past experience had taught him to build an air of trust before requesting any personal details. His caution turned out to be unnecessary, however, as the woman introduced herself immediately.

  “My name is Elspeth Palin,” she said. “I’ve had a ghost, I suppose, for several years now. Is this something you can help me with?” Her direct wording left Dennis feeling unsure of how to proceed, as did the conciseness of her question. Usually, those who called him with the claim of being haunted were only too eager to divulge as many details as possible, which made it considerably easier to get a bearing on the situation. Of course, they were far from the only parties interested. Many of the calls he received were from people hoping to contact a deceased friend or relative, or less often, who were trying to locate some missing object. On those occasions, Dennis would patiently explain that he dealt only with existing haunts, and could not help them find either dead loved ones or lost car keys.

  “Ms. Palin,” Dennis hesitantly started, “I would be quite happy to discuss this matter with you at length, if you believe that I could be of some help. Please, when would be a good time for us to converse?” He wouldn’t normally have been so rushed, but the diminishing temperature of Alena’s soup had given him something of a time limit.

  “You can call me this evening,” the woman replied. Dennis suppressed a sigh of irritation. He disliked calling his clients, since there was no way to be sure that the timing would be right. If he caught them at the wrong moment, or in the wrong mood, the entire act could fall apart. Although he suspected that Ms. Palin would be fairly gracious, he still had no desire to find out, although she hadn’t left him with much of a choice.

  “Very well.” Dennis checked his watch. “Expect my call at seven. I look forward to speaking with you, Ms. Palin.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” came the reply, and the line promptly went dead. Dennis rummaged through his various pockets, but the notebook he usually carried was absent, having been left in his overcoat the night before. He made do with scribbling the woman’s name on a napkin, along with a bold number seven beneath it. Once finished, he stowed both the napkin and his phone, and stood up to leave.

  The motion brought a man into view through the restaurant’s side window. That on its own was hardly noteworthy, since pedestrians were anything but rare in the city. Dennis was often one of them, although he didn’t count himself among the number who stopped to photograph sandwich shops, as this one seemed to be doing. Strangely enough, the man moved on as soon as Dennis spotted him, pulling a gray baseball cap down over his face.

  Well, there were weirder things in the city than restaurant-watchers, and Dennis didn’t have time for any of them right now. He grabbed Alena’s food and hurried out the door, turning uphill as soon as he hit the sidewalk. It was a fairly short distance to Metro Moves Dance, the studio that Alena ran, although Dennis had to stop several times along the way and switch the hot container of soup from one hand to the other. By the time he arrived, the Styrofoam felt like a lump of molten iron, and he was grateful to see Alena rushing out to greet him.

  “Hi,” he said as the door opened. “This is hot. Take it away.” He thrust the items forward, shaking his hands as they were freed from their burdens. After a moment of comical flapping, he noticed that Alena had been watching his antics with a look of amusement. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Alena replied, shaking her head.

  “I told you it was hot!”

  “Yes,” she answered, lightly pressing the container against her cheek. “It’s downright scalding.” She held the door open with her hip, waiting for Dennis to step inside before moving towards the back of the room. The studio was deserted, although the lingering smell of air freshener indicated that Alena had just finished cleaning after a class. As they always were when he visited, Dennis’ eyes were drawn to the full-length mirror that adorned the entirety of one wall. Its presence always gave the room an occupied feeling, despite the fact that usually only he and Alena (and sometimes Antonio) were present for his visits. Alena’s reflection never bothered Dennis, but lately the sight of his own, for whatever bizarre reason, had become slightly unnerving. He did his best to ignore it as he followed Alena towards the door at the back of the studio.

  The private office was unchanged from the last time Dennis had visited, and it still looked much more like someone’s living room than an administrative area. Only the presence of a small filing cabinet and an even smaller safe gave any indication that it was a place of business, and the rest of the space was furnished with a large red couch and two matching recliners. The desk in one corner, usually bare save for Alena’s laptop computer, was piled high with notebooks and scraps of paper, all of which were shoved to the side as Alena deposited her lunch next to them.

  “So, how’s your day going?” Dennis asked. He sat down on the soft seat of the couch, which sank under his weight and wrapped itself gently around his legs.

  “Well, it was going fine until some idiot forgot to bring me a spoon,” replied Alena. Dennis’ brow furrowed in confusion until he realized that her words had been a joke at his expense.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Dennis started to rise. “Would you like me to run back and get one?” Alena smiled and shook her head, removing the lid from the soup as she answered.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine.” She took a slow sip over the brim of the container before replacing it on her desk and reaching for the sandwich. “How about you? How’s Sam doing?”

  “Actually, it was a bit strange over there today,” Dennis said.

  “More ugly artwork?”

  “No.” Dennis titled his head to one side. “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I meant.” He thought back to the man in Harding’s office. “He was talking to a retired detective when I got there.”

  Alena looked up from her sandwich. “There was a cop at Sam’s office?”

  “An ex-cop,” corrected Dennis. “Yeah, apparently one of his patients started seeing ghosts awhile back, so this detective came by to investigate Sam for something.”

  “I thought you said he was retired?” Alena asked. She went back to eating, although her e
yes remained focused on Dennis’.

  “Sam said he was the patient’s uncle or something. No, wait, it was his patient’s daughter who was seeing ghosts.” He shook his head to clear the fuzz of details that had coalesced. “I didn’t ask too much about it. It was nothing to do with me, so I didn’t think I should make it into a big deal.” Alena continued to thoughtfully watch him as she chewed.

  “I don’t know,” she said, swallowing in mid-sentence. “Seeing ghosts? That sounds a little too close to what you do to be a coincidence. Are you sure she wasn’t someone that you referred?”

  “I’ve only referred, like, nine people,” Dennis replied. “Or, rather, only nine of them have actually gone in to see him, and none of them were black.” Alena furrowed her brow.

  “So? Why does that matter?”

  “Oh, the cop was black, so I’m guessing that his niece would be, too.”

  Alena nodded in understanding, and took another sip from her soup. “Well,” she said when she had finished, “just promise me that you’ll be careful. I trusted you when you said this game of yours wasn’t illegal.”

  “It isn’t.” He sounded more sure than he felt. “Actually, I need to make a call tonight at about seven.”

  “More lonely women with dead boyfriends?” Alena teased. Dennis laughed along with her, but a slight uneasiness crept into him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling. “I don’t think this is going to be anything like last night. She actually sounded…” he scratched his chin. “I don’t know. Intelligent, I guess. Of course, it might have just been the accent.”

  “She was English?”

  “Yeah,” Dennis answered, surprised. “How did you know?”

  Alena shrugged. “Americans always think that English accents sound intelligent. I mean, why do you talk with a German accent when you’re playing Doctor September?”

  “It’s a Swiss accent, actually, and it’s supposed to sound mysterious.” He grinned sheepishly. “Anyway, you’re just as American as I am.”

  “So clearly I know what I’m talking about. What time is it?” she asked suddenly.

  Dennis looked pointedly at the clock on the wall, then down at his watch. “It’s almost two,” he said. Alena nodded and wiped at her lips with a paper napkin.

  “Alright, you’d better get going. My next class starts soon.” She carefully re-wrapped the remainder of her sandwich and replaced the lid on the soup. Dennis struggled to remove himself from the grip of the couch, and finally had to accept a hand from Alena when his efforts proved futile. He had only just gained his footing when the office’s door swung open, nearly smacking Dennis in the face and sending him stumbling back.

  “Hello?” A face with tanned skin and deep brown eyes peered around the door frame, smiling expectantly.

  “Antonio!” squealed Alena happily “What are you doing here?”

  Dennis recovered enough to watch his wife’s partner pirouette into the room. He wondered, as he always did, if the term “impeccably tousled” could somehow be applied to the man’s dark hair, as no other description seemed to fit.

  “Well, I do work here, don’t I?” Antonio pouted jokingly. He looked down at Dennis, still struggling with the couch’s grasp, and flashed a bright smile. “Hi, Dennis! Look, I brought food!” He held a brown paper bag out in front of him.

  “Oh, thanks, Antonio, but Dennis already brought me lunch.” Alena gestured to the leftovers from her meal and shrugged apologetically. “Really, though, shouldn’t you be at the studio?”

  “I am at the studio!” protested Antonio. The indignation of his statement was betrayed somewhat by the unyielding giddiness of his smile, and even more so by the playful laughter that followed. “Oh, you mean the movie studio. They gave me three hours off.”

  “So, naturally, you came to work,” Dennis murmured skeptically. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”

  “Oh, do you have a job now, Dennis?” Antonio giggled and waved his hands. “I’m kidding, sweetie. I know you’re a big-shot author.” He sat down next to Dennis, causing the couch to sag even more and eliminating any hope that Dennis might have had of extricating himself from the cushions without assistance. “Here, have some food,” Antonio added, dropping the bag into Dennis’ lap.

  “Dennis hates tofu,” Alena said.

  “I hate... Yes, what she said.”

  Antonio looked from Dennis to Alena, a look of exaggerated confusion on his face. “Oh, come on, am I that predictable?”

  “Yes,” answered Dennis. “Next you’ll tell us that you went to a wonderful restaurant and just had to share whatever it was that you ordered, so you saved some.”

  Antonio let out an exaggerated gasp. “I am that predictable!”

  “It’s why we love you,” replied Alena.

  “Not my pleasant nature or my –” he struck a pose from the couch, “– stellar physique?”

  It was a stellar physique that kept Dennis from answering, as Alena chose that moment to rise and remove her sweatshirt, revealing the form-fitting leotard she wore beneath it. Dennis stared in spite of himself, admiring his wife’s slender form. Antonio continued to preen, his voice increasing in volume.

  “Of course, now that I’m a movie star, I guess everyone will love me.” Alena’s head was caught in the recesses of her sweatshirt, and Dennis was too distracted to respond. “Hey!” Antonio nudged Dennis in the ribs. “Should I get out of here and give you two some alone time?”

  “Ow,” muttered Dennis. “I mean, no. She has to work and I have to...” he left the sentence unfinished, remembering both his conversation with Elspeth Palin and the sight of the man with the camera.

  “You both have to get going before my next class gets here!” Alena said. She glanced at Antonio, who had reclaimed his paper bag and was pulling bits of unidentifiable food from within it. “Unless you think you can hang around and help?”

  “Sure, I’ll stay!”

  “I’m going to head to Thoreau’s for a bit,” Dennis said. He struggled against the couch’s grasp, ultimately needing to accept help from both Alena and Antonio before he managed to break free. To his slight irritation, both dancers seemed incredibly amused by his plight, and Antonio made a show of popping upright unassisted.

  “Okay,” replied Alena, planting a kiss on Dennis’ lips. “I’ll see you tonight.” They quickly embraced, and Dennis left the studio, intentionally turning a cold shoulder to the mirror as he passed.