Town Haunts (10 page)

“You ready,
Steve?” Tiernay called through the curtain.

He pulled the
white sheet over the lower half of his body and positioned his face
into the terrycloth-covered head rest. “Sure, come on in,” he
called back.

Tiernay whisked
the curtain aside and stepped into the cubicle, pulling the curtain
closed behind her. Her flip-flops smacked against her feet as she
walked up to the table dressed in a pair of pink shorts and a white
cotton t-shirt that exposed a lot of smooth, tanned skin. She
leaned over to switch on a space heater, her shirt creeping up her
back as she did.

“Don’t want you
getting cold,” she said, pushing a squeaking cart to the head of
the table and pausing to inspect its contents. Selecting a plastic
bottle from among the others, she squirted oil into her cupped hand
and rubbed it between her palms. The scent of lavender and orange
infused the air. Gently, Tiernay laid her hands onto Steve’s wide
shoulders.

“Temperature
okay?”

“Perfect,” he
murmured, gazing down at her feet.

“Okay, I want
you to relax,” she said, tracing easy circles over his shoulders.
“Let all the tension drain out of your body onto the table. I’m
going to start easy and increase the pressure as I work at that
blockage in your chi.”

“Sure,” he
said. He exhaled slowly and let himself enjoy the sensation of her
strong hands kneading away at the tension in his neck and shoulder
muscles. It had been a little crazy at work this week, what with
Henry’s attack on Frank and subsequent disappearance, and he had
put in a couple of extra-long shifts that had left him feeling
worn-out. It was good to have some down time just to relax and let
everything go.

Tiernay worked
in silence for a few minutes, gradually increasing the pressure and
alternating flat-handed strokes with kneading as she worked along
the base of his neck and down his right shoulder.

“Have you ever
had a massage before?” she asked, finding the trouble spot and
concentrating on it, her thumbs jabbing into the tight muscle knot.
Steve’s breath whistled through his teeth as he inhaled
sharply.

“Breathe in
through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t fight me,
Steve. It’ll feel better soon,” Tiernay said as she applied steady
pressure with her thumbs.

“When you
stop,” he muttered under his breath, fighting not to rise up off
the table. After a couple of excruciating minutes, she left the
tender spot and began thrusting her palms deep into the tissue
along his spine. Steve exhaled and let himself relax again.

“I’ve had a
couple of massages at the gym, but nothing this deep before.”

“Okay.” After
several minutes, she worked her way to his lower back, brushing her
palms along his hips and stroking back up again. “Well, this is
different. I combine therapeutic massage with Chinese pressure
point. It should open the blockage, but it may take two or three
appointments before your energy flow is rebalanced.”

He grunted in
reply.

She worked in
silence, and Steve began to feel disembodied as she pounded and
manipulated his body. He allowed his mind to drift with the music,
listening to a gentle shower pattering upon a lake. Warm air from
the heater blew crossways against his skin, and he felt cocooned by
the pillows and soft sheets lying under and over his body.

He was drowsing
and almost asleep when Tiernay rested a hand upon his shoulder.
“Time to turn over onto your back,” she said.

Steve opened
his eyes and raised one hand, wiping a spot of spittle from the
side of his mouth. Geez, he felt rubbery, as if he had been
flattened by a truck. Would he have enough energy to climb down
from the table when she was finished? Summoning a reserve of
strength, he flipped over, holding onto the sheet with one hand to
keep his lower half covered.

Tiernay lifted
his arm back onto the table and sat down on a stool by his head.
She squirted more oil into her hands, and the room filled with a
different scent. Something earthy and nutty, with a rich undertone
of spice. Was it cloves? He could almost taste it in his mouth, the
smell was so strong.

She rubbed her
hands together and slid her palms down his arms, firmly at first
but easing up on the pressure as her hands climbed back up his
chest to his shoulders. She did this a second and a third time, and
Steve felt his body slide forward and roll back as if he were being
carried on a wave. Her fingers danced up his arms a fourth time,
and she began concentrating on his right shoulder again.

“So, tell me,
Steve, is there anyone special in your life?” she murmured.

His eyes
flickered open as he tried to focus on her question. A face flashed
before him and was gone in an instant. “No. Someone a few months
ago, but it didn’t work out.”

“Bummer,”
Tiernay said. She hummed along to the music under her breath for a
few seconds. “Was she a local girl?” She was working on the problem
spot again, but either it had released some or it was numb, because
it hardly hurt this time. His head felt woozy, though. Must be the
massage had increased his blood flow.

“Not a girl ‒ a
woman,” he muttered.

“Aaah haa,”
Tiernay replied, drawing out the vowel in each word as she rolled
the cords in his neck before stroking under his jaw and along his
throat. It was a curious sensation, and it made him feel oddly
vulnerable. She began massaging his face, working her way up his
jaw to his temples.

“Do you still
see her?”

“Mmm. Every
week,” he said, almost too exhausted to speak. Tiernay said nothing
for the next few minutes as she rubbed his scalp with her
fingertips. It felt so good that he moaned. She left that and
worked soothing fingers down the back of his neck.

The strokes
became firm, slow, and rhythmical. He felt as if he were floating
on a lake, bobbing gently up and down as her hands pushed him down
and pulled him up again. “Do I know her?” she asked, pausing, her
lips so close that her breath warmed his ear, her arms encircling
his upper body.

“Yeah,” he
said, more of an exhalation than a word, his soul stripped open
before her. “Anna.”

Another minute
passed as she worked her magic on him. “Anna,” she repeated
huskily. “I had a hunch.” He was hardly aware of her voice, just
her hands as they slid down his chest and across his belly. His
eyes were closed, but as she spoke, he felt her leaning into him,
close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin.

“I think that
we can do better, Steve,” she said, whispering in his ear, his
flesh fused with her hands as she carried him further and further
with the mastery of her craft.

Outside the
cubicle, the basement door inched closed, and a latch clicked
noiselessly back into place.

It was nine o’
clock; closing time. May was standing in front of the store
entrance, locking the door. She stepped out from inside the screen
and let it bump closed behind her. Turning around and lifting her
eyes to the sky, she sniffed eagerly at the sharp, cold smell of
decaying leaves and almost-snow in the air. She loved this time of
year when the lethargic heat of summer gave way to the revitalizing
chill of winter. The wind gusted against her cheeks as she gazed at
the tiny pin-pricks of light in the velvety-blue sky next to the
elegant slice of moon. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she blew it
out through her lips, letting go of the tension in her
shoulders.

She shouldn’t
have allowed Gerry to get to her like that. Poor kid, he was so
middle-class, letting the small town gossip bother him. There was
nothing so freeing as growing old and not giving a damn anymore.
She smiled smugly. But she had always felt that way, not caring a
flying fig for what other people thought. She and Earl. What a team
they had made. Damn, how she missed that man, especially at night
when she turned out the lights and there was no one lying beside
her in the dark. It had been kind of nice, the last couple of
nights, hearing Sherman’s rough snores drifting through her closed
bedroom door. Maybe things might progress beyond friendship? She
chuckled to herself. What would Gerry say to that?

Something
creaked close by in the wind. A tree branch? She cocked her head to
listen. There was a rustling sound in the bushes along the front of
the store and a loud, “meow.” May relaxed. Probably the next door
neighbour’s old tom, on the prowl for his lady-love again. She
dropped the keys into the pocket of her quilted coat and shuffled
down the stairs, letting her hand slide down the wooden railing for
support. These days her sixty-three-year-old ankles always ached
after the long hours in the store, and she had to take her time on
the stairs afterward.

Reaching the
sidewalk, she followed it along the gravel parking lot until it
turned left at the side of the building. Turning the corner
herself, she hesitated. Damn. The bulb had blown out at the top of
the stairs beside her apartment door. The Diner was next door to
her, but its security lights shone on Main Street and the back
alley, leaving the space between the buildings and her apartment
stairs in heavy shadow. Maybe she should try calling home on her
cell? If Sherman were there, he could open the door and turn on the
foyer light for her.

It was nippy,
and she gathered her coat more closely around her. Nuts, she was
acting like a scaredy-cat. She’d walked the short distance home
from work in ice, rain, and fog, and she could certainly find her
way in the dark. Stepping forward with one hand feeling the wall
beside her and the other outstretched, May groped her way through
the blackness, walking the ten yards or so to the base of the
stairs. Touching the first step with the toe of her shoe, her face
broke into a smile. Nothing to it. She gripped the railing and
hauled herself up, counting as she went.

Bottom step,
second step, third step, fourth. Her foot was reaching for the
fifth when something blacker than the encompassing shadows surged
up before her and towered over her head. A mouldy-smelling cloth
skimmed over her face. She gasped, sucking it into her mouth.
Spitting it out again, May shouted and beat both hands against it.
The spectre leaned forward, and she overbalanced, tumbling
backward. Her body thudded as she collided with each bone-rattling
step on the way to the sidewalk. Smacking onto it, she collapsed
into a heap. The spectre floated down the stairs and hovered
overhead for three long seconds before dissolving into the gloom
beside the building.

May lay
unconscious on the sidewalk with the wind blowing tufts of hair
around her face. Only the old tom cat noticed her predicament. He
touched her face with a damp, inquisitive nose before he, too, was
gone.

Chapter Eleven

The shrill ring
of the telephone woke Anna up. Grabbing for the receiver and
pushing the hair out of her face, she glanced at the clock on her
bedside table. It read 11:29 p.m.

“Hello?” she
muttered.

“Anna, it’s
Erna. Get over to May’s right away. She’s been hurt.”

“What! What
happened?” Anna asked, flinging off the covers.

“She fell down
her apartment stairs. She called me on her cell. I just called 911.
Get moving!”

Without
bothering to say goodbye, Anna slammed down the phone, jammed her
feet into her slippers, and almost fell over Wendy, who was
scrambling up off the floor.

“Wendy, down!”
she shouted, pushing the startled animal back onto the floor.
Grabbing her purse, she raced down the hallway for the front hall
closet, where she grabbed a jacket and threw it over her pyjamas.
She ran outside, slammed the door shut behind her, and jumped into
her car parked out front of the garage. She backed quickly out of
the driveway and tore off down the street, headed for town. Erna
had no car, so she couldn’t get to May unless she walked. She must
be worried sick about their friend!

All kinds of
desperate scenarios flitted through Anna’s mind as she drove. How
had May fallen down the stairs? Was she seriously hurt? At least
she’d been well enough to call Erna for help. Slamming on the
brakes and careening into the parking lot, Anna stopped her car and
ran along the front of the store. It was pitch black as she turned
the corner toward May’s apartment, and she had to feel her way more
slowly. Where were the lights? No wonder May had fallen.

“May!” she
shouted, but her friend didn’t answer. After a few yards, Anna
spotted a small white light shining low on the ground. She hurried
toward it and was able to make out May, stretched face down on the
sidewalk. Reaching her, Anna saw that the light was coming from
May’s cell phone, still open in her hand. May moaned, and Anna fell
to her knees beside her. Fumbling in her bag, Anna found her own
cell phone and flipped it open to provide more light. May’s eyes
were closed.

“May,” she
said, gently tugging at her friend’s shoulder, “wake up.”

The older
woman’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Anna. Her face
was grey and creased with pain.

“My leg,” she
groaned.

Anna turned to
look, and saw that May’s left leg was turned out at an unnatural
angle. She cringed and turned back to her friend. There was dirt
embedded in May’s cheek, and Anna brushed it away. “Don’t move, the
ambulance is on the way.”

“Ghost,” May
muttered.

“What?” But
before she could ask what she meant, Anna heard an emergency
vehicle screaming toward them. She jumped up and dashed around the
building to the parking lot, where the flashing lights of the
ambulance momentarily blinded her. As she ran up to the passenger’s
side of the vehicle, the window rolled down, and a young man peered
out.

“She’s around
the side,” Anna shouted, just before the siren cut off. “She fell
down the stairs and broke her leg. Bring a flashlight – it’s dark.”
She jumped back as the door swung open, and left the paramedics to
collect their gear as she hurried back to May.