The Haunting of Anna McAlister (6 page)

Anna tried to think fast, but apparently she didn’t do so fast enough. The man said “
au revoir
,” and the phone went dead.

“Uggggg,” Anna growled and dialed again. This time she got it right on the first try.
 

“
Bon jour
,” the same voice answered.

“
Monsieur, Monsieur
. . .”
 

How do you say: please? That’s it!
 

“
Sil vous plait, sil vous plait
. Don’t hang up!
Sil vous plait
.”

How do you say: do you understand? Ah!

“
Comprende vous
?”

“
Oui
,” the man said.

“Good. I mean,
bon
. good.
Yo se
Anna. . . ”

Shit, that’s Spanish! I think.

“
Moi estoy
: Anna McAlister.
Et tu
?”

“Monsieur LaRoche,” the man sounded like he was smiling.

“Oh Monsieur. I no
parlay vous Francais
.”

The man on the phone started laughing.
 

“Oh fuck,” Ann said softly.

“Ah, fuck,” the man said. “The universal language of fuck.”

“That, you understand?” Anna groaned. “Wait a minute, you do speak English.”

“Of course I do. I took many years of English in school. I was the best in my class.”

“But you said you didn’t speak it.”

“What can I say? I lied.” The man made a popping sound at the end of his sentence. It sounded very French.

Anna laughed.

“So, Anna McAlister. How can I help you?”

“I recently purchased a collection of music boxes that I believe you arranged to sell in the United States.”

“Ah
Oui
, the music boxes. I remember them well.”

“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about their history. Who owned them before? Why did they sell them? Where did they come from?”

“Please, slow down, mademoiselle. This is information that I cannot release without the approval of my client. Those for whom I work demand their privacy.”

“I understand, but this is really important. I have to learn everything I can about those music boxes.”

“
Pourquoi
, I mean, why?”

“You would think I’m crazy if I told you.”

“I think all Americans are crazy. So, it is safe for you to talk.”

“Okay,” Anna said. “But I warned you.”

After Anna told Monsieur LaRoche the entire story he asked for her address and simply said, “I will see what I can do.”

Before Anna could probe further, he said “
au revoir
” and hung up the phone.

Chapter 6

At five that afternoon it started to rain. It was a steady rain that would last all night. Anna remembered her grandfather calling this kind of ground-soaking rain, “God’s good rain.” The thought made Anna laugh out loud.
 

“Nothing good about it today, Grandpa,” she said as she walked to her car without opening the umbrella she was carrying in her briefcase. “Not today.”

* * *

Anna, Jeffrey and Stacy were to meet Tom at a bar after work for a drink. Anna needed it. As a matter of fact she needed it a few times over. She abandoned her usual white wine, in favor of something a bit stronger.

“Double Chivas on the rocks. Quickly . . . please.”

While Jeffrey and Stacy laughed about a client, the Merriman Hair Transplant Clinic, Anna downed her first drink, then another, and even a third.
 

“Did you see the footage of that hair transplant operation?” Stacy asked. “The part where they cut the strip of hair from the back of the head to get the implants? It looked like someone went after the guy with a meat cleaver. Blahhhh. Disgusting.”

A quick vision of a knife slicing skin and the skin opening flashed in Anna’s mind. She ordered another scotch.

“I always wondered where they got the hair to transplant,” Jeffrey said. “One guy in this bar downtown told me that he had his pubic hair transplanted on to his head.”

“And you believed him?” Stacy asked.

“Well, his hair was short and kind of curly.”

“You dick head.”

“I think that was his name. But, he usually went by Richard.”

Stacy threw some popcorn at Jeffrey. He delighted in setting her and Anna up for his little jokes. They always fell for them because they always believed him.
 

“I actually prefer my men bald,” Jeffrey sat back in his chair.

“Don’t you mean, shaved?” Stacy teased.

“On a good date, sure.”

Anna drained her fourth double scotch. “I called Paris from work today.”
 

That got her friends’ attention.
 

“There’s something wrong with my music boxes.”
 

Jeffrey and Stacy looked at Anna.

“I think they’re haunted.”
 

Speaking with courage born 12 years earlier at a distillery in Scotland, Anna was quite literally feeling no pain. For the first time that day, nothing hurt. Or, if it did, Anna didn’t notice.

No one said a word for a minute, then Jeffrey smiled. “The haunted box? Sounds like Stephen King gone porno.”
 

Jeffrey had assumed Anna was kidding.

Anna and Stacy both laughed. Then, Anna stopped and stared right at her friends. “I’m not joking. They’re haunted.”

Now no one was laughing.

Anna told them everything she could remember. Things were getting a bit fuzzy and out of focus. “More Scotch, please,” she raised her glass toward the bartender.

“Just another dream?” Stacy asked.

“Nope,” Anna shook her head from side to side. “Nope, nope, nope.”

“How can you be sure?”

Anna leaned forward. She was starting to slur slightly. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“Were you awake?” Stacy asked.

“Nope.”

“Then what were you?”

Anna motioned for her friends to lean forward with her. When they did she whispered., “I don’t know.”

“What did the man in Paris say?” Jeffrey broke what was probably his longest stretch of silence in years. He had felt a sudden chill as Anna spoke. He knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. He shuddered slightly, remembering his grandmother saying that such a chill meant someone had just walked across what would be your grave.
 

“Did he give you any information?”

“He just took my address and said he’d find out what he could.”

“And what do you plan to do until then?” Stacy asked.

Anna lifted her glass, this time to her lips. “Drink.”

* * *

Tom arrived ten minutes later, just in time to watch Anna attempt to sit back down after a bathroom trip and miss her seat completely.

“Oops,” she said while sitting in a puddle of old beer, spilled by the previous occupants of the table. “Missed.”

Tom joined Stacy and Jeff as they lifted Anna to her feet.
 

“Tommy!” Anna stuck her tongue deeply into Tom’s mouth and roughly searched the front of his jeans.
 

“My ass is all wet, Tommy,” her slur was now complete. “Just like you like it.”

“Music boxes?” Tom looked at Stacy and Jeffrey who just nodded their heads.
 

“I think we better get you home,” Tom put his arms around Anna’s waist and moved her toward the door.
 

“No!” Anna said, for just a moment her voice sounded cold, stone sober. Then it returned to its previous drunken state. “Your place. Not mine.”

As they walked to the door Anna tripped and fell into the lap of a man. She looked up at him and said, “I have haunted music boxes you know.”

Tom lifted her up and guided Anna to the exit. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and cloudy. “I really do.”

“I know,” Tom comforted Anna. “I know.

Anna patted him on the chest. “Good.”

* * *

The next morning even Anna’s eyelashes hurt. She had been this hung-over only twice before, the morning after prom night and the day of her father’s funeral. Both times she thought she was going to die. Today, the pain made her feel strangely alive. This was pain she could understand. This pain was normal, and anything normal was good.

The hangover made it impossible to focus on what had occurred over the past few days, and what Anna feared would happen in the days ahead. So, even though it hurt to blink, Anna didn’t mind.
 

“Hey drunky, welcome to the world of living,” Tom walked into the room and noticed that Anna had regained at least semi-consciousness. He had the good sense to whisper his greeting.
 

Anna moaned, and tried to sit up in bed, but it hurt too much. She lay back down, and that hurt even more.
 

“I brought you some coffee.” Tom put the cup on the nightstand. “Very strong, very hot, very black.”

“Very good,” Anna somehow managed to move up to a sitting position on the bed. She opened first one eye, and then the other before taking a sip. Anna was surprised to see that she was completely naked. Surprised, and annoyed, assuming that Tom had taken full advantage of her drunken state.

“What did you do, Tom?”

“What do you mean?”

“You really shouldn’t have sex with me when I’m too drunk to remember it.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.”

“You took my clothes off.”

“No, actually, you did.”

“I did?”

“Yep, in the parking lot on the way to the car.”

“Uhhh,” Anna groaned. She now had a feint memory of rain on her breasts, wind between her legs, and of unzipping Tom’s pants in the car. She also remembered lowering her head and taking him into her mouth as he drove.

“Well, at least was I good?” Anna slurped her coffee. Some of it dribbled down her chin. She didn’t care.

“For awhile,” Tom said. He sat down next to Anna on the bed.

“For awhile?”

“Yeah, until you fell asleep.”

Anna laughed. It hurt a lot. “It’s a good thing I don’t grind my teeth in my sleep.”

“A very good thing,” Tom quickly agreed. “But I did find your snoring to be unusually pleasurable.

“Oh, God!” Anna tried to get up but fell back onto the bed.
 

“Sorry,” Tom said.

“No, no, no.” Anna waved her hand back and forth in front of her. “I have to get to work.”

“It’s okay. I called in for you. Besides, it’s already afternoon.”

“Tony’s going to kill me.”

“Don’t worry,” Tom smiled. “I told him you had the stomach flu and your period.”

“What did he say?”

“What could he say?” Tom laughed. “I’m a client, remember?”

Anna put her forehead on his knee. “Good boy.”

“Well, if I’m such a good boy, how about finishing what you started last night in the car?”

Anna pushed him off the bed and somehow made it up to her feet.
 

From where he sat on the floor, Tom said. “Hey, I was only thinking of you. I know how you hate to leave a job half done.”

“Ah huh,” Anna stumbled to the bathroom. “Thank you.”

“No, really. I also read that sperm’s very good for a hangover. I think it was in
Newsweek
.”

Anna slammed the bathroom door. “Ouch!” she said out loud as the sound reverberated through the jelly that she was sure now comprised most of her brain. Intentionally avoiding the mirror, and all other reflective surfaces, Anna stepped into the shower. She closed her eyes and let cold water run over her head and face. It was her own hangover treatment. One she knew would be somewhat more effective than Tom’s. After a few minutes, Anna was shivering.

“
Je taime
. I love you.”

“What?” Anna opened her eyes. “Tom? Is that you?” Anna poked her head out from the shower curtain. “Tom?”
 

The bathroom was empty. Anna re-closed her eyes and returned to the water. “Well, I love you too,” she said to herself. If I’m starting to hear things, she thought, the least I can do is answer.

The shower seemed to be helping. Anna was suddenly aware that she felt a little better. Surprisingly, by the time she turned off the water and got out of the tub, she actually felt good. . . no, great.
 

“I don’t believe this,” Anna said. Her hangover shower had never worked this well before. When she looked in the mirror she was in for another shocker. Anna saw that her skin, hair and eyes looked almost radiant, and all of the bruises were gone.

When Anna walked back into the bedroom, Tom was grinning from ear to ear. He had pulled out his old box of Newsweek magazines and was frantically going through the pile. “I know I read it somewhere. Maybe it was in Time.” Tom snapped his fingers. “
The Economist
!”