were tobacco displays on both side of the man. The tin can Christmas music coming from
the television made Carl frown. He shook his head and said, “I’m so over all this. I feel as
if this is the longest Christmas Eve of my life.”
Before Helena could reply, a young man stepped into the shop. He walked with a
limp, his head was down, and he was wearing a thin denim jacket. The young man stood
in front of Helena and Carl for a second, looking back and forth to see if he was being
watched.
And when the young man lifted his head to see what the clerk behind the counter
was doing, Carl pressed his palm to his chest and said, “I know that kid. He was the nasty
little guy who delivered Able’s takeout order this afternoon. He didn’t think I gave him a
large enough tip, the snotty little bastard.”
“Did you tip him?” Helena asked. Carl squared his shoulders. “Of course not. No one ever tips
me
. Let him find out
the hard way that people have to work for their money and it’s not just handed to you
frivolously. His father and mother should have taught him this fact of life years ago.”
Then the young man coughed. The hollow sound that came from his chest was
thick and crusty. He covered his mouth with one hand, pressed the other hand hard
against his chest, and squinted with pain.
When the clerk behind the counter heard the cough, he looked up at the young
man and opened his eyes wide. “That doesn’t sound good, buddy,” the clerk said.
The young man smiled and cleared his throat. “I’m just getting over a bad cold, is
all,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Are you looking for anything special?” the clerk asked.
The young man smiled again. “Nothing special. Just something to read.” Then he
turned and crossed to the back of the shop, trying hard not to limp too much. His face was
pale, almost a watery shade of blue, and his lips were dry and cracked.
Carl frowned and gave Helena a look. “If you ask me, he shouldn’t be wasting his
money on silly magazines. He should be putting it into a bank account and saving for his
future.” Then he rubbed his jaw a few times and said, “I wonder if his parents know that
he’s out lurking in the streets this late on Christmas Eve.”
“He doesn’t have parents,” Helena said. “He’s on his own, and has been for a
while now.” Then she moved away from Carl and crossed to the back of the shop where
the young man was looking through sports magazines.
Carl pressed his lips together and followed her. The young man was skimming the
magazines as Carl and Helena stood by his side. There was a tall, thin paperback display turnstile to the right of the magazine rack, and a shelf filled with over-the-counter cold
and flu remedies on the right. The young man moved slowly to the right, pretending to
read the magazine. He looked back to see if the clerk was still watching him. When he
saw the clerk was watching TV, he reached for a bottle of cough medicine and turned it
upside down. He looked at the price and frowned. Then he put it back on the shelf and
reached for another cold remedy.
While Carl and Helena watched, the young man repeated this with about five or
six more bottles of cold medicine. He’d turn them over, look at the prices, then put them
back on the shelf and start all over again.
“He seems to have trouble making up his mind,” Carl said. “I’ve always believed
that indecision shows a lack of character.” He looked at the young man and shook his
head.
“Are you a blind man, Carl?” Helena asked. “Can’t you see anything? It’s not that
he can’t make up his mind. He’s trying to see which one he can afford. And so far, they
are all too expensive.”
Finally, the young man reached for the first bottle of cough medicine he’d
examined. He looked back and forth fast, then shoved the bottle into his baggy jeans and
cleared his throat.
Carl pointed and said, “Did you see that? The little crook just stole that bottle of
medicine. We should tell the clerk.” He clenched his fists and frowned at the young man.
“Don’t worry, Carl,” Helena said. She pointed to a hidden surveillance camera
above the magazine rack and said, “The clerk saw everything. He knows what
happened.” “Good for him,” Carl shouted. “If these kids think they can steal and get away
with it, they won’t stop. I’d be mortified if someone came into my shop and stole an
antique.”
Helena laughed right in Carl’s face. “Kids don’t steal
antiques
, Carl. Only greedy,
mean adults do that. Like the chair in your front window with that horrible murdered
zebra print. You stole that from the woman in Brooklyn. And from what I’ve been told,
you stole a dollar just this afternoon.”
Carl clenched his fists tighter. “That chair was a good bargain. I paid her one
hundred dollars for it, fair and square. And the dollar bill was just an accident. I didn’t
plan that, so it’s not officially stealing.” Carl raised his right hand and ran his fingers
across the white fur on Helena’s coat. He smirked and said, “And I suppose this soft
white fur is nowhere near as horrible as my murdered zebra skin.”
Helena shook her head, tossed it back, and laughed. “This isn’t real fur, you
asshole. Nothing about me is real, Carl. I’m a ghost.”
While Carl was still staring at the white fur, the young man picked up a small,
inexpensive magazine and crossed to the counter. Carl and Helena followed him. When
he reached the counter, he placed the magazine in front of the clerk and said, “I’ll take
this.” Then he coughed again. This time it was such a deep, throaty cough he had to turn
and bury his face in his elbow. His entire body shook and his eyes began to water.
When he regained control of his breathing, he reached into his back pocket and
pulled out a wrinkled five-dollar bill. He handed it to the clerk and forced a smile.
“Here it comes,” Carl said. “This is where the clerk is going to bust him for
stealing the cough medicine.” He started to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. But the clerk just smiled and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms across his
chest and said, “Take the magazine, kid. It’s on the house. Consider it a Christmas
present.”
Carl blinked twice and said, “I thought you said the clerk saw him steal the cough
medicine.”
Helena smiled. “He did see him do it. He’s just not saying anything.”
The young guy’s head went up and he stared at the clerk. “Are you sure? I don’t
mind paying.”
The clerk waved his hand. “Naw, kid. Just take it and leave. And take care of that
cough, too. It doesn’t sound good. You might want to go over to St. Vincent’s and pay a
visit to the emergency room.”
The young guy rolled the magazine up and put it under his arm. As he turned to
leave, he looked back at the clerk and said, “Merry Christmas, man.”
The clerk smiled. “Merry Christmas to you, too, kid.”
“Ah well,” Carl said. “I guess because it’s Christmas it’s okay to steal. I think I’ll
go over to the Mercedes dealership and see if I can walk out with a free car tomorrow.”
Chapter Nine
Carl and Helena followed the young guy out of the shop. The snowflakes were
smaller now and visibility had worsened. The boy limped about six blocks through the
heavy snow, hunched over with his head down and his hands in his pants pockets, and
turned right into a dark alley. He leaned back into a brick wall and pulled the cough
medicine out of his pants. He tore the box open and pulled out a plastic bottle filled with
dark red liquid.
While he tried to remove the childproof cap, he started coughing again. He
dropped the bottle into the snow, doubled over in pain, and coughed so hard he wound up
on his knees. Then he sat down on the cold, snowy ground and rested his back against the
hard brick wall. His face had grown even paler, his sneakers were soaked with wet snow,
and there was a patch of snow on his head. When he reached for the medicine, his hands
were shaking so much the bottle wobbled.
Carl frowned. He heard the echo of Christmas music and a group of voices in the
distance. He figured someone was having a Christmas party in the neighborhood. Carl
pointed to the young man and said, “He really should go to the emergency room. He’s
very sick. I doubt that cough medicine is going to help at all.”
Helena sighed. “I’m glad to see that you have some feelings left, Carl.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Carl said. “I can see that the boy is seriously ill.”
Then the young man stretched out his legs. When one leg went forward, his pant
leg slid up and exposed a metal prosthesis. He took a deep breath and opened the cough medicine. He lifted the bottle to his lips slowly, as if moving his arms was too painful to
bear. When he took a long swallow and gulped, he started to cough again. Cough
medicine sprayed from his mouth and landed on his thin denim jacket. The perimeter of
his lips was coated with shiny red syrup. The bright red against his pale gray complexion
made him look even sicker.
When he stopped coughing, he dropped the medicine in the snow without
replacing the lid. It tipped on its side and red syrup spilled into the white snow. He rested
his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes. When he tried to take a deep
breath, his chest heaved forward and his eyes squinted.
Carl stepped toward him and leaned over. “If he falls asleep like this, he’ll die.
Why doesn’t he just go to the emergency room?”
Helena put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “Because he’s still a minor,
Carl. He’s only fifteen years old. He’s terrified to go to the emergency room because
they’ll have to report him. He ran away from the foster parents who abused him. Among
many things, they beat him regularly with straps, they refused to buy him new shoes, and
they kept him locked in dark closets for long periods of time throughout his childhood.
He doesn’t want to go back there. He’s terrified. And he knows that if he does go back,
they will only punish him even more for running away.”
Carl turned fast. “There must be something we can do. He’ll die like this. What
about his real parents? Surely they can do
something
?”
“He never knew his biological father,” Helena said. “And his mother was run over
by a taxi when he was just a baby. This boy had no one in the world, and no one is going
to miss him.” Carl bent down to get a better look at the young man’s face. His jaw was strong
and square, his nose small and thin. Though his head had been shaved, there was an
evident layer of dark brown hair sprouting from his scalp. Carl stared at his ears. They
were small and delicate, just like Carl’s own ears. Then he stared at the young man’s fake
leg.
He jumped up and jogged toward Helena. His heart was pounding and his chest
was heaving. He grabbed her elbows and said, “This is my son, isn’t it? He’s the boy I
saw in the dream, isn’t he?” He shook her hard and shouted, “We can’t let him stay here.
We have to get help. He’s going to die.” Then he faced the boy and shouted, “I can’t let
him die. He’s not all alone in the world.”
Helena pulled her elbows out of his hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry,
Carl. There’s nothing we can do for him. We aren’t real. Ghosts don’t get second chances
like people who are alive.” Then she reached for Carl’s hand and squeezed it hard.
“I don’t want to leave him here,” Carl said. “I can’t do it. He’s my son.” He tried
to pull his hand out of hers, but she wouldn’t let go. “Please don’t do this. He’ll die. I’ll
pay you. I’ll give you any amount of money.”
* * * *
The next thing Carl knew he was standing inside the hollow vestibule of an old
building. It looked like a New York building, so he figured he was still in the city. Helena
was standing by his side. It smelled like roasted turkey mixed with damp towels. The
white walls were cracked and chipped and the black and white tiled floors were dull with
age. When he leaned forward and looked into a large open room filled with people, he
rubbed his chin and said, “The
last
place I want to be is at a Christmas party.” Then he tightened his lips and frowned. He heard the sound of Bruce Springsteen’s jagged voice
coming from muffled speakers, singing a hard rock version of an old Christmas carol.
“Wait a minute,” Carl said. “Wasn’t this the same song I just heard in the alley?”
Helena nodded yes and shrugged her shoulders. “The alley is on the other side of
