The following day was gray, like ash.
I woke up with the soft light of the sun, but I couldn't feel its warmth. I knew it was not the end of the world, but it felt similar. Dad hadn't returned since the night before, and I assumed he might have stayed with Mr. Vinton and Zack, maybe checking the shop after the fire was over.
I didn't feel like crying anymore, but there was an eternal sadness inside of me. Like a part of me had died. I looked around my room, and everything seemed so weird, colorless. Everything was right where I had put it, but it was just so depressing to feel the sun on my face and hear the bird songs coming from the trees outside. Like eating a sweet and noticing it was sugarless.
I got up from bed, put on my slippers, and opened the door to my room. The hallway was dark, and I couldn't hear anything. Mom was not up, it seemed, which was weird for a Saturday morning, but after what happened last night, I bet she hadn't slept well, probably worrying about my father.
I felt like Dad could find a job soon, but that was not the point. The point is that it sucked how his job had literally gone up in flames, and Zack's father's business had vanished into thin air.
"Poor Zack," I thought. "He must be distraught by this."
A boy's life had been destroyed, all because of another boy who couldn't imagine losing, even after death.
I walked to my parents' bedroom and saw through the semi-open door that Mom was still under the sheets, sleeping.
I then walked to the kitchen and made some tea to feel better. I also made some toast with peanut butter and jam. All to get some energy after feeling like a deflated balloon all night. Afterward, I walked to the living room sofa and turned on the TV, hoping to catch something on the morning news. But strangely, there wasn't any news of the fire or any crashes nearby. I still watched the rest of the news report to distract myself and then watched an hour of old cartoons.
While watching cartoons, I suddenly heard soft friction on the carpet and saw Mom walk out of the hallway toward the kitchen. I didn't say anything; I just observed her beaten-down body pass behind the couch and move to the refrigerator. She made some toast and strong black coffee in the coffee maker. Sitting on the kitchen chair, she looked at me and gave me a defeated smile.
"Good morning, sweetie," she said.
"Hey," I said, turning off the TV and walking to the kitchen with the rest of my tea.
I sat next to her and rubbed her arm. She smiled again and sighed, worried.
"Your father didn't arrive last night," Mom said.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "He's probably stayed with Mr. Vinton and Zack."
Mom nodded.
"This is bullshit," She then told me as I continued rubbing her arm. "Why did it have to end up like this?"
"Things happen," I told her, but inside, I kept repeating the ghost's name.
Corky Delaney.
He was the reason, but I couldn't tell Mom about it, as she would think I was crazy.
"It's sad, though, especially because Mr. Vinton now has no business," I said.
"I know," Mom said. "That poor little boy, how will they survive now?"
"I'm worried about Zack, too," I told her. "Last night, he was sobbing and coughing so badly. I hope he is better now."
Mom then looked around, probably thinking of something. Then she turned to me and placed her hand on my arm.
"Maybe we could send them something to eat," Mom told me. "A nice meal and maybe some money."
"Money?" I asked Mom.
"Well, yes. I mean, your Dad will have to get a new job, but I bet he will find one soon enough. But it will take time for Mr. Vinton to rebuild his business."
"You are right," I said.
"Maybe you could go see them," Mom then said. "See if your Dad is around and deliver them some food and some money."
"I'm supposed to be grounded for a month, Mom," I said. "I'm not allowed at the shop."
Mom scoffed at that and told me it didn't matter anymore; the shop was gone, so there was no reason to keep me away. She was right, of course. If it weren't for the horrible circumstances that we were all facing, I would have felt happy hearing my mother say that to me. My punishment was over. Sadly, it was for the worst reasons.
Later, Mom and I prepare a recipe for a meat pie. We made two pies, one for us and one for the Vintons, and left them in the oven to maintain their heat. Mom then went to her room to prepare it in case my father arrived later and wanted to take a nap. I took that time to clean the living room and take out the garbage.
She then showered, and as she went out to keep the garden like she did every weekend, I showered and prepared myself to deliver the goods.
As I left, I waved goodbye to my mother and rode my bike to the Vinton's house.
Besides checking if Dad was okay and giving them the food and money my mother had left on the kitchen table, I also wanted to speak to them and learn more about how the fire happened. The fact that Zack knew the Thunderbird was not inside the burning garage told me he had seen it exit the premises before the fire.
I stopped at the shop before arriving at the house.
The place looked like one of those pictures of destroyed buildings after wars. There were still pieces of the garage that stood after the fire, but the rest of the landscape was just a hole of blackened despair. I sighed as I realized there was probably nothing left of the museum.
The pictures, the little handmade models, and the jackets were all gone.
I felt like crying for a second, but I swallowed my sadness and continued dragging the bike along with the baking dish until I arrived at the small house, which looked even smaller than before. Before, it looked quaint; now, it just looked tiny and sad.
I saw my father's truck and left the dish on the floor for a few seconds before putting my bike in the back of the vehicle. I then quickly picked up the dish again and walked to the door. I knocked twice, waiting a few seconds in between.
I worried they were still asleep, but then my father opened the door.
"What are you doing here, baby?" He asked. "You weren't supposed to come."
I nodded, apologizing to my father, and I shrugged.
"I know, and I told Mom, but she said 'screw it' and still sent me with some food and money for the Vintons."
Dad sighed and then waved me to come in, so I did.
As I walked in, I saw that the couch was messy, and a large blanket was on top. I turned to my father and asked him if he had slept on the couch.
"Yeah," he said, sitting back on the couch.
He then took a half-empty pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Dad smoking so early in the morning was a bad sign; he was clearly irritated and stressed, but a cigarette was better than nothing, in the end, as it might help him relax.
"Are Mr. Vinton or Zack up yet?" I asked, curious to know if one of the Vinton men was awake.
"Zack is up, but his father is sleeping. He had to be sedated by paramedics last night. He had a pretty bad nervous breakdown," Dad said, taking a puff of his smoke. He then turned on the TV and began to watch the morning shows.
"Jesus, really?" I asked, grimacing uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah..." he said, then turned to me and asked what Mom had made for food. I told him Mom, and I had made a meat pie, two of them, one waiting for him in the oven.
"Oh, cool," Dad said, leaning back on the couch. It seemed the nicotine was already taking effect. I was glad.
Suddenly, a sleepy and depressed-looking Zack walked out of the hallway. He was wearing one of his oversized shirts and his pajama shorts. Dad greeted him good morning, and I greeted him with a wave. He scratched his arm and greeted us both.
Then he walked to the kitchen, where I was setting up the table for breakfast, and asked me what I had in that plastic box.
"My mom sent you a meat pie so you and your Dad can eat," I told him, and lifted the bag to show the pie. I then asked him if he wanted some coffee or tea for breakfast.
"Coffee, please," He said and sat on his small kitchen table chair.
"Would you like some toast?" I asked, and he nodded. He then asked me how my mom and I were, and I told him we weren't great, but we were more concerned about him and his Dad.
"We are very sorry for what happened," I told him and patted his shoulder while serving him some coffee from the pot.
After serving him the toast and putting some berry jam and butter on the table, I took the envelope I had been keeping in the pocket of my overalls, and I told Zack that we also wanted them to have it.
Zack looked at the envelope and opened it. Inside, around five hundred dollars were in twenty-dollar bills. He glanced, surprised at Dad and me, and asked why we were giving them this type of money.
"Just take it, kid," Dad said while smoking. "My wife always keeps money saved for situations like this."
"But wouldn't you need money as well?" Zack asked my father while turning towards him. "I mean, you just lost your job."
"I can go and get a new job," Dad said, dismissing his arguments. "But it's you and your dad we worry about. I can try to get your dad a job, but if he plans to rebuild, he's going to need money."
Zack sighed and smiled at both of us as he returned to face his coffee cup.
"Thank you, Mr. Curry, Tammy," he said.
I then sat on the other chair and asked him how he was. He told me he was sad, but mostly, he was scared.
"Why?" I asked.
"If you haven't heard, my father had a nervous breakdown last night," he said as he picked up the coffee cup and blew some of the steam.
"I heard," I told him, placing my hand against my cheek. "My dad just told me."
Zack nodded and then sipped some of the coffee.
"Well, he had it not just because the shop burned down," Zack said and sighed. "As you might remember, I told you the car was gone."
"He took it, didn't he?" I asked him, my mouth making a bitter scowl from reminding me of that dead douchebag.
"My dad saw him, Tammy," Zack said. "He saw Corky."
"What do you mean he saw him?" I asked him.
Zack gave a long sigh, took a bite from the toast with a bit of jam, and then began telling me what had happened that night.
The boy told me it had all started when he was playing video games while his father was napping on the couch. He said the night guard from the company across the street came to their door, knocking incessantly.
Zack walked to the door while his dad was waking up from his nap, and that's when they were told the shop was on fire.
Both quickly arrived at the shop to see what was happening. Zack's father opened the front door of the small building and began trying to put down the fire with a fire extinguisher he kept on the wall. At first, he managed to control the fire in the small building, but then he realized the largest flames were coming from the garage.
He then yelled at Zack to get the things from the museum out, which he did. He saved some of the models, the pictures, and some of the jackets, although most had already burned. That was the reason why he was coughing so badly.
"The fire at the museum was just a consequence of the fire at the garage. The whole garage reeked of gasoline," Zack said. "It was not an accident, Tammy. Someone pour it."
As Zack realized the fire was starting to reach the small building again, and the fire was too large to contain, he ran to call his father, who was still trying to battle the blaze. That's when he noticed something and, in fear, decided to grab his father and get out of there, grabbing whatever else he could save.
"What was that?" I asked, leaning closer.
"The tires of the Thunderbird," Zack said. "They were on."
"That son of a bitch," I said.
"Hey! I heard that!" Dad exclaimed from the couch, and I apologized for cursing.
Then Zack continued, telling me that at that moment, he didn't care about the shop; he just cared about taking his dad out of there. He was sure that the fire was a trap set by the ghost to kill them.
"Maybe it was payback for not letting him drive for a few days. Who knows? He's an angry spirit," he said.
"So you took your dad out?" I asked. "So when did he see him?"
The boy said the moment he took his dad out of there, almost the second they both came out the door, with his father fighting to keep going, the garage door exploded outward. And there was the Thunderbird, emerging from the wreck that was the garage like a giant fireball of metal and wheels.
"My dad was stunned as he saw the car come out, but he still threw himself on top of its hood, trying to stop him from driving away," Zack said, sipping his coffee.
"And that when he saw him?"
"We both did," Zack said to me. "Inside the shadows of the car, those two bright eyes shone back at us, almost blinding us."
"Like the headlights of a car," I said, remembering how I had felt when I saw his eyes too. Zack nodded and sighed.
Zack said he had never seen something so terrifyingly shiny. But he still managed to pull his father off the burning hood of the car and shouted at him to just let it go. It was not worth dying for that piece of junk.
But that's when Dad disagreed. Zack and I both looked at him and asked what he meant.
"That piece of junk is the only thing we have left," Dad said. "It's the only thing that can save us."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"If we manage to get that car back, we will still get our pay. That could help Zack and his Dad survive for a few months, maybe get things going again."
"But how are we going to do that?"
"The footage," Dad said, taking another cigarette from the box. He lit up the cigarette and then said. "We did give the footage to the police, no?"
Zack and I looked at each other with doubt.
Dad was still looking at things from a normal perspective: The thief being human, the car just being stolen. Of course, he thought that if the footage was in the L.A.P.D.'s hands, they could wait for them to catch the guy and get the car.
But that was not the story Zack was telling me. And I didn't know if it was the story Mr. Vinton still believed.
"That's a good idea, Dad," I still lied, smiling.
It was better for my father to believe things could be solved quickly. Also, Dad was kinda right. If we managed to get the car back and fix it for Mr. Lewis, the money they would receive could be enough to keep Mr. Vinton and Zack afloat while waiting for the insurance money and maybe a new loan.
But if Corky was real, then how the hell were we going to get that car back?
That's when we abruptly heard the sound of spitting and choking, and we all fell silent. Zack turned back, and I got up from my seat to see what was going on. It was Mr. Vinton, finally coming out of his room after hours of sleeping on sedatives.
While we all observed him quietly, in deep worry, he walked to the kitchen and served himself some coffee from the pot. After a few sips, he groaned, upset, and then walked to a drawer in the kitchen and took a small bottle of whisky. He poured a few caps in and sipped again, now groaning a bit happier.
Then, he slowly walked to the couch and sat next to Dad. Dad looked at him but said nothing while Zack's father adjusted himself on the sofa, leaning back with his eyes closed.
"Dad?" Zack then asked.
"Yep?" Mr. Vinton asked.
"How do you feel?" his son asked, and Mr. Vinton snapped his fingers at Dad, asking him to give him a cigarette. Dad handed him one and lit it up for him.
After Zack's Dad took a puff from the smoke, he cleared his throat and told his son he was better, or at least better than when he was in a fetal position on the sidewalk while pulling his hair off.
I looked away and grimaced, uncomfortable.
"Cam," Dad said, using a serious voice. "Mr. Lewis called about half an hour ago."
"And?" Mr. Vinton asked my father, sipping on his spiked coffee. "Did you tell him his car is gone?"
Dad smoked his cigarette and tipped his head to both sides, like saying he had, but not really. Which, if I have to be honest, was the smartest thing to say at that moment.
"I first told him the good news, that the shop had caught on fire, but his car was alright," Dad said, asking Mr. Vinton for his cup. Zack's Dad passed him the cup, and Dad drank from it. I wasn't going to say anything negative. Drinking early was also bad for Dad, but hey, they deserved a drink and a smoke.
"Then you told him that something took it?" Mr. Vinton asked, and I could tell he was starting to change his tune about Zack's tale. "Something" was way different than a thief.
"I told him we didn't know where it was, but the police had the footage of the thief," my father said.
Mr. Vinton sipped his coffee and smoked a little while he asked Dad how Mr. Lewis had taken the fact that his car was gone. Dad told him that he seemed honestly sad about what had happened to the shop. He sounded calm when he told him the Thunderbird had been stolen. However, the man had asked for the number of the authorities to communicate with them himself.
Mr. Vinton smiled a bit and shrugged, saying that was pretty good.
"Let's just hope they find it," he said, scratching his scruffy beard.
"You don't seem very optimistic," I said, to which he turned to me and laughed softly.
"Tammy," My father whispered to me, upset.
But I needed to know, did he genuinely believe that the car could be found through standard methods, or had he internalized the truth while he slept all those hours? I needed to know if he was still on my father's side or ours. Maybe if he were in ours, he could help us do something.
"I just don't know anymore," he finally said. "I just saw something that was not possible. And the truth is that I don't want any part in it."
"I see," I whispered and looked at Zack.
Zack shrugged as he ate his toast, but clearly, he was not very optimistic either. His father had his own side, the side of indifference, and that was fine. My father and Mr.Vinton were just reacting the way anyone could respond to the trauma of losing their livelihood, and I was not going to try to convince them otherwise.
At least I was happy that Mr. Vinton had learned the truth, and if he saw us attempting to help in any way, he would know why.
After Zack finished eating his breakfast, he asked me if I could help him with some of the things they had saved from the fire.
"You know I would love to help you," I said.
So we walked outside to the backyard. A few boxes of things from the museum were waiting, getting a little damage from the sun.
"What do you wanna do with these?" I asked Zack, taking a few boxes.
"Help me get them into our closet," He said, grabbing another box.
As we carried the boxes into the hallway where the closet was, he looked at me and told me that, in a way, my father had the right idea. Get the car.
"I know," I told him.
"So, what do we do?" Zack then asked me.
I shrugged and told him I didn't know, but it had to be quick if we did something, whatever that was. We would be going against the clock, as Corky would keep killing until he was stopped.