Free The Frighteners by Michael Jahn Page B

Lucy.
    “Hi, Mr. Bannister.” She got to her feet.
    “Please . . . call me Frank.”
    “Don’t get too friendly,” Ray whispered in Frank’s ear.
    “Is Ray with you?” she asked.
    “Yeah,” Frank replied.
    “Tell her she looks great,” Ray said to Frank.
    “He says you look great,” Frank said.
    Lucy sat back down, and Frank helped himself to the seat across from her. He also pulled out a chair for Ray—the one next to Lucy.
    She said, “I’m so glad you could make it. Frankly, I was nervous about meeting you. So many people have said mean things about you.”
    “I understand.”
    “But you seem so nice, and since you and I were the last ones to see Ray alive, I feel we’ve shared something.”
    “Me, too,” Frank agreed.
    “I warned you,” Ray added.
    “I’ve never done a séance in a place like this before,” Frank said.
    “Shut up, Bannister,” Ray said, suddenly testy. “Today is our anniversary. We come here every year.”
    “Is Ray sitting beside me?” Lucy asked.
    “He’s right here.” Frank pointed at what, to Lucy, looked like an empty chair.
    She reached over and touched the edge of the chair, and her fingers went right through Ray’s leg. But he rested his hand atop hers anyway, or tried to—it slipped right through. Then he said, “This is why I didn’t take the corridor, Bannister.”
    Frank’s attention was caught by a group of people entering the restaurant, among them Magda Ravanski and Steve Bayliss. Magda was dressed to kill that night, and Bayliss looked to all the world like the likeliest victim. Ray may have been acting like a teenager on his first date, but Bayliss looked like one.
    As Magda sashayed past their table she gave Frank and Lucy icy stares.
    Lucy noticed, and asked, “Who is that woman?”
    “Magda Ravanski, the managing editor of the Gazette,” Frank reported.
    “What was that stare all about?”
    “She doesn’t like me. Probably she thinks I’m trying to con you or something.”
    “People can be so mean,” Lucy replied.
    “She excels at that,” Frank said.
    The thought was interrupted by the waiter, who handed Frank and Lucy menus. Ray grabbed for one as well, but his hand went right through it.
    “Damn,” he said. “I’m starving.”
    Frank frowned at him.
    “How are you this evening?” the waiter asked.
    “Fine, thank you,” Lucy replied.
    “Would you care for a drink?”
    “Wine for me, please,” Lucy said.
    “Me, too,” Frank said. “Lucy . . . red or white?”
    At that, Ray jumped in, saying, “Red. We always have claret.”
    Lucy smiled at Frank, then said, “I’d like a Chablis. I’ve never been fond of red.”
    “Lucy!” Ray said, annoyed.
    Frank ordered a bottle of Chablis for the two of them, and when the waiter was gone, she said, “Tell me—how is it that you can see Ray and I can’t?”
    “I was in an accident,” Frank replied. “It was ten years ago. Sometimes, when you go through a trauma, it alters your perception. It allows you access to the part of your mind that connects with the spiritual world.”
    “She doesn’t wanna hear your life story, Bannister,” Ray snarled.
    Ignoring him, Frank continued, “I was in a bad car accident. I lost my wife.”
    Lucy’s eyes got misty, and she reached over and touched Frank’s hand briefly.
    “Don’t do that, honey,” Ray said.
    Bannister continued, “And ever since, I can make contact with those who have passed beyond.”
    “My fist is gonna make contact with your nose,” Lynskey threatened.
    “I’m so sorry to hear about your wife,” Lucy said.
    “I guess I’ve neglected the rest of my life,” Frank admitted. “There’s a house I never finished fixing up. With her gone, I kind of lost the will to do it.”
    She touched his hand again. Seeing it, Ray began to emit ghostly steam.
    “So since I can talk to the departed, I decided to make a career out of it,” Frank said.
    “I can see why.” Lucy’s tone was earnest. “It’s a way of