3. Cade

3

CADE

A fter my morning encounter with the ornery World War I soldier, which still had me shaken, I decided my studio apartment wasn't going to cut it, especially because I had ghosts of my own there to contend with.

There was the ghost of my ex — not a real ghost — just memories of him everywhere. It had been a brief relationship, only six months, but I couldn't blame him for calling it quits. After all, I'm fairly well-known in the city, and privacy is hard to come by. But the breakup four months ago still elicited pangs of regret. He wanted more but had asked me to cut out some of my "ghostbusting" and focus on trying to get a "real" job.

Had it been fair of him to ask? Probably not. Did I miss him? Yeah, I did. Was he right? There are a lot of days I wonder if using my landscape architecture degree would be better for my mental health. The reduction in jump scares in my life certainly would benefit my high blood pressure.

But he also had some long-dead relatives who hadn't moved on. The resulting cluster of ancestors that clung to him proved to be more than an annoyance, and we were never alone. It's disconcerting to be giving your boyfriend a blowjob only to have Great Aunt Sophie watching. And Sophie liked to watch. She was one helluva pervert. Thank the gods she was gone.

I had Miriam. She came with my apartment. Lovely lady, non-communicative, but liked to keep tabs on me and what I was doing. I wished more of the entities I came across were like her. Like Sophie, Miriam was a watcher. She had, on occasion, alerted me to lost items, or my landlord approaching the front door in search of my late rent. I appreciated that much.

Then there was Bart. He had died in the apartment next to mine. Suicide. But for whatever reason, he liked me. I suspected he had been a closeted man, and the way I ran my life enticed him in ways he never thought he could have lived.

But sometimes a guy just wants to be alone. Self-care with the box of tissues and a bottle of lotion, and all that.

Going home to my housemates and regrettable memories at that particular moment didn't hold any appeal, and being by myself would only lead me into a self-propelled, nightmare-fueled evening of hauntings and such.

And then there was my impromptu call to Jay McClaren.

What the hell had I been thinking?

I can barely afford the rent on my apartment, and here I am looking at houses.

But I need a break. I can't continue to do this. I need an out. I am mentally done with chasing pissed-off apparitions. I knew that thought, not even spoken aloud would have enraged my family line. We have a gift. It was up to us to use it and make people feel better. That was our life's purpose. It was why the Ivanovs were here.

With my tail tucked between my legs, and a scheme brewing in my brain, I headed over to see my Uncle Gallius. He would be able to help me figure things out, and if nothing else, he was a flesh and bone human I could just hang out with, watch TV, or play cards, and not have to deal with anything, or anyone dead. But tucked away, I had a plan. One I hoped Uncle Gally and Jay McClaren could help me realize.

Uncle Gallius was the first-born of my mom's brothers, but my mom had been the eldest of the siblings. Her death had been premature, and she'd had me when she was young, so if I had said Gallius was my uncle, you would have shook your head until I explained the family dynamics.

I knocked on the door, stood back, and waited.

Turning, I glanced out into his front yard. His house sat in a nice neighbourhood, nothing overtly fancy, but certainly several rungs up the ladder than my run-down hovel of a studio.

The door opened. I spun around. Gallius stood there pulling on a shirt.

His massive pec muscles flexed and jumped as he slid the clothing on.

"Ah, sorry. I'm not interrupting, am I?" I asked.

"God, no. I just got home from work and was changing my clothes. If you'd shown up ten minutes ago I wouldn't have been here. Come on inside. It's fucking cold out."

Gallius was in his forties, but he looked after himself. He was currently single but had never been one to instigate a relationship. If asked, he would have told you his interest in dating anyone was zero. Much to the chagrin of the boys in the gay bars.

Yeah, the gay gene ran hard in our family. Yet another family gift — fabulousness.

Once inside, with Gallius dressed and me having removed all my winter gear, I followed him into the kitchen, "You want dinner?"

"Sure. What's on deck?"

"I have leftover lasagna," said Gallius.

"Oh, that's a yes." One of my favourite foods because it was comprised mostly of cheese and pasta. Two food items you could never go wrong with.

After a warmed-up dinner in silence, where Gallius constantly eyed me, studying my face for any indication as to why I had dropped by, he finally asked, "So, it's not like I don't mind my best and most favourite nephew to be stopping in and visiting, but what's the occasion?"

"Best and favourite nephew? You got another one I don't know about?"

He chuckled. "No. But you're usually much more talkative than this. So, did you have another bad slimer visit?" Gallius always referenced the blockbuster movie when it came to my job. Even though he was Romani and an Ivanov, he didn't inherit the family curse gene. I mean gift.

"Yeah, I did. Totally freaked me out too. Didn't even take the deposit for the investigation, and I told the client to move out."

"Shit, that must've gone really bad." Gallius's eyebrows pinched together, as he took a swig of his beer.

"I ended up with a ghost hand through my chest." I pulled up my shirt and showed him the bruise. "I don't get it Gally, they're all getting far more aggressive."

"Oh, shit, dude. That's nasty. What the hell?" His eyes widened. "This is like…the third or fourth time you've been hurt in the last two months! That never happens, or it's not supposed to. In all the years you've been doing house cleansing, you've only been physically harmed in the past few visits." Gallius's voice held a touch of concern. He got up from the table, grabbed my empty plate, stacked it on top of his, and patted me on the shoulder as he walked over to the counter and placed the dirty kitchenware onto the granite counter before opening the dishwasher and relocating our mess into the appliance.

Gallius ran a restaurant. He was notoriously clean, and hyperorganized. He'd held numerous jobs over the years, notably, a failed house inspection gig, handyman and construction jobs, but the one he got the ribbing for the most had been an exotic dancer.

Opening the fridge, he grabbed a couple more beer bottles and returned to the table, setting one of them in front of me. Even though it was the middle of winter, and I might have preferred a hot rum toddy, or a scotch over ice, I wouldn't say no to the brewski. "So, what's going on? Are you provoking them?"

"No. I'm not. And that's why I'm here. I'm freaked out. This shouldn't be happening, and yet…" I shrugged. "I can't do this anymore. It's one thing to have a ghost wandering the halls at night, it's another when they're angry, throwing shit around and tormenting the living, or worse, out to hurt you. They all seem so hostile and belligerent lately. I have no idea why."

A stair board creaked, giving us reason to turn toward the back of the house, where Auntie Lavinia gripped the banister tightly. She was dressed in her nightie, fuzzy slippers, and a crocheted shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair, pinned into a bun, rested on top of her head while white wisps stuck out at chaotic angles. "I thought I heard voices."

She was so frail, and the cracks and breaks in her voice told of her age.

Uncle Gally smiled, but it was full of sadness. Auntie Lavinia wasn't our real aunt, she was a shirt-tail cousin who had always been around. She was close and clingy, meant the world to the family, and loved, nonetheless. She hadn't had children of her own, or a husband, but had reputedly had many lovers of all kinds. But like many of our clan, she too had the curse of the Ivanovs. She didn't see ghosts though. She was a psychic; auras were her thing. And nothing got past Auntie Lavinia.

She was also well into her nineties, weak, and carried a touch of dementia. She lived with Uncle Gallius and his brothers and their partners. At times it could be a full house. They all worked shift work, and between the three siblings, someone was always home to watch her. When that didn't work, a home care nurse was hired to stay in the home and ensure her safety.

"Auntie, you shouldn't be out of bed."

"Oh, shush. You fuss too much." She shooed him out of his chair. "Be a good boy and fetch me a shot of gin."

"Auntie!" said Gally, shocked.

"Just do it, child. I need to have words with this handsome one." She smiled at me and reached over with her paper-thin skin and cold, dead fingers, wrapping them around my wrist in a death grip reserved for the elderly. Stark blue veins stuck out on the back of her hand and forearm like a topographical map of a futuristic highway system. "Now, Cade, what is going on? There's a black pall around you, and it's so very heavy. Tell Auntie."

I sighed. No one could ever hide their thoughts or emotions from Lavinia. She saw straight through the bullshit. "Auntie, it's no big deal."

"Uh-huh. Well, no big deal doesn't leave a mark on your skin, or deep in your heart." She pointed to my chest. "Haints that attack are nothing to trifle with."

I pursed my lips and tilted my head to one side, debating how much to tell her. "I'm tired. I just want to be left alone. Every time I turn around, there's someone there. And lately, they're antagonistic, far more than ever."

She nodded her head, "I thought something was off. The balance isn't right. I can feel it scratching under my skin."

"Something with me? Probably because of the bags under my eyes."

She giggled and patted my hand. "No, Cade. There's a wrongness all around. I can't put my finger on it, but it feels claustrophobic. Like I'm crammed into a room full of people and there's no way out. All that pushing and shoving, jostling, and poking…that's bound to make people upset."

I squinted at her, not understanding what she was going on about. But then, at ninety-four, and having had the family catch her putting her keys in the freezer and starting soup, but then resting on the couch and forgetting about the stove, I had to wonder how many synapses were firing, or in what direction.

She smiled, albeit tentatively, and her eyes seemed glassy and sad. She gripped my hand that cradled my beer bottle with both of hers, "I see you, boy. This old lady ain't that daft. Don't you worry on it. Or about me. You'll soon come to figure out what is going on. You're smart like that. And when I make it to the other side, I'll drop you some hints." She winked, then stood up. "Gally? Where's my gin?"

She shuffled off to the living room.

I could hear subdued voices in a terse conversation about mixing alcohol with her medications.

"Fuck it. Just give me my Goddamn gin," Auntie Lavinia said with ice in her voice.

I had to chuckle. She was tough and direct. I quite liked her.

Footsteps shuffled slowly up the stairwell as Uncle Gally rejoined me in the kitchen. "That woman."

"She's a determined old bird," I said.

"That she is. I was going to argue with her." Gally shrugged, the muscles in his neck bulging. "But at this point she might as well be happy. I still had to remind her that booze intake would muck up her meds."

I shrugged. "What possible harm could it do? She made another reference to going to the other side."

"Doctor said it's only a matter of time. Between the mental decline, her frail body, her insistence on not eating, and the arrhythmia that keeps her clutching her chest?—"

I waved a hand in his direction. "Fuck that. She'll outlive us all, and you know it."

Gally nodded as he closed his eyes, took a swig from his beer bottle, then stared at me. "So, why the silence tonight? What's going on?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, but…"

"Come on. Out with it. Even the supernaturally dumb one," he said as he rammed his thumb into his chest, "can tell you're not good. Besides I heard most of what auntie said."

I sighed. "I'm exhausted. I can't keep doing this. And frankly, they are scaring me."

"The ghosts?" Gally's eyebrows pulled together.

"Ya, those things."

"Then stop going to the houses. Find another job. Come work at the restaurant." Gally owned, through attrition, the family business. Admittedly, he ran it better than his forefathers, to the surprise and not always the delight of all. Romani food was rare to find, and a restaurant that was borderline offensive to the community – it was called Gypsy Rose – brought in Edmontonians every single night.

Mind you, you weren't going to find a decent janija anywhere else in the city, and the tomato-based beef and vegetable stew, served with freshly baked bread and organic locally sourced fresh butter was delicious.

"You don't get it, Gally. They're everywhere. The houses, the street, my apartment —fuck even here." I watched as a milky white wisp walked behind him. It had to be an old spirit. Really old. Because it had lost any definable shape. That happened as spirits held on to the land of the living for decades. They lost cohesiveness and structure.

"Like right now?" Gally said as he watched me track the spirit with my glance. His face reflected a bit of panic.

"Relax, it's an old one. Really old. Nothing that can summon the energy to do anything harmful. But yes, even here." I sighed and hung my head. "I just want a full night's sleep, and to be left alone for more than a couple of hours. And that's why I'm here."

"What do you mean? We have ghosts too, apparently," said Gally, perplexed and a little disturbed with the new knowledge, Cade guessed as he watched his uncle become increasingly twitchier and fidgety.

"Uncle Gally, please, relax. Nothing here is going to hurt you."

"Says you."

"Says me," I nodded my head toward him in an attempt to reassure but knew that he'd most likely go elsewhere tonight as soon as one of his other brothers got home. "Gally, I need money from Mom's trust account. I want to buy a house in a small town. The city has become too?—"

"Fucking spooky?"

"Fucking spooky. Yeah." I grimaced. "I have an appointment tomorrow to go see some houses in Camrose."

"But that's an hour out of town!" Uncle Gallius said.

"That's the point. I need less saturation. Less density. Just less. Camrose offers that. It's small but still has big city convenience. I might be wrong," I shrugged but continued. "I'm hoping I can find something newer, a house with little to no history, on ground that isn't saturated in past experiences."

"I get it. I do, but you won't come back and visit. That's a long way away." One side of his mouth turned down in a lopsided frown.

"Gally, Of course I will. I promise."

"In that beat-up shit-can you call a car?" His chin nodded toward the front of the house, where my car sat out on the street. The frozen popsicle of a metal beast that barely got me around town. He had a point.

Driving down the street was a risk in that beater. Taking it for a spin down country roads and secondary highways was plain stupid.

"Look, your mom's trust account for you is healthy, and you've never asked for any of it. I'm off for a couple of days, so take my Jeep — she'll get you through any crappy winter roads — and take a look at some property down there. You find something, we'll both go together and revisit it, and if I think it's a good deal, we'll set you up…for the house and a new car."

"Seriously?" My eyebrows shot up into my hair.

"Yeah. You're doing good work, Cade, and unfortunately, people don't see its value. You get paid shit. You deserve a break, and a less hostile work environment," he pointed to my chest, "A decent vehicle wouldn't hurt either. I was going to talk to you about getting a better car anyway, and well, this is as good a time as any."

"Thanks, Uncle Gally." I cocked one end of my mouth up in a half-assed smile, but the reality was, I was slightly embarrassed. I was begging for money. A situation I never wanted to be in.

"Don't mention it," he smiled. "So, really old?" He glanced behind him.

"It's gone. You're fine."

"I'm freaked the fuck out."

I shrugged.