Ghost In The Guitar - 6. Spirit Court and More Studio Time

Rockers aren’t especially famous for waking up early. Quite the contrary, they’re notoriously late sleepers. But when they’re working on a new record, Nigel wanted them in the studio no later than ten o’clock. AM!

That wasn’t a problem for Fabian the next morning; he barely got any sleep at all. He climbed out of bed at nine o’clock after practically crushing the screen on his phone shutting off the alarm.

He zombie-walked into his kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. His coffee maker was designed to make five cups. When filled to the limit, it filled two large mugs. Fabian filled it.

He was about a quarter of the way through the first mug when Russell spoke.

“Are you awake enough yet?”

Fabian buried his face in his hands, “Oh, man. Not already.”

“Okay, Spirit Court stays a mystery.”

“Okay, OK. I’m awake. Why were you in Spirit Court and what exactly is it?”

“I’ll take on what first. That’ll probably answer the why too. It’s a setting a spirit is called to when he or she breaks three or more rules.”

“What rules did you break?”

“I’m only allowed to communicate with the living under certain circumstances.”

“And they are?”

“The first is probably obvious, they need to be loved ones. Family, lovers, etc.”

“Yeah?”

“I should expand on that a little. By communicate, I mean carry on a conversation.”

“Okay. Number two?”

“I’m only allowed to give advice to that same first group.”

“Okay. I’m not a loved one, and you’ve given me advice. That’s two.”

“The third is that I needed to make it clear to my, for want of a better term, living spirit guide, what I need from him or her within seven days of my first contact.”

“So you haven’t told whomever that is what they need to do for you. Wait, that isn’t me, is it?”

“It is.”

“And your first contact was at my audition.”

“Right. More than a month ago.”

“So you’re telling me now.”

“Yes.”

“Well, hit me with it.”

“You’re to help me move on.”

“And how, exactly, would I do that?”

“Solve my murder.”

“That’s eas— WHAT? You were murdered?”

“I guess technically, it was manslaughter. But ‘solve my manslaughter’ wouldn’t have gotten the same reaction.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a cop.”

“No, but you can point the cops at the person who tossed that metal onto the highway.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes it so much easier. How am I supposed to find him or her?”

“You go to the overpass just behind where I got killed and watch.”

“And when am I supposed to do this?”

“Next time he’ll be there is Saturday night, sometime between eleven and one AM.”

“He? And you know when? How?”

“Just more of the many questions I’m not allowed to answer.”

“You want me to stand around on an overpass, around midnight, in January?”

“If you don’t, I stay in limbo. And a… damn, I can’t tell you that.”

“Another rule?”

“Yes.”

“Can I guess?”

“Generically, yes.”

“Something bad is going to happen.”

“Yes.”

“Someone else gets killed.”

“Too specific.”

“Oh, damn. Alright.”

“Dress warmly.”

Fabian looked at his weather app. The overnight low for Saturday and Sunday is expected to be 30 degrees (-1 C).

“Could be worse. At least it isn’t -1 Fahrenheit.”

Saturday

Fabian went shopping at Dick’s Sporting Goods for long underwear, heavy gloves, and a few more assorted winter clothing items. He picked up a medium blue pair of ski pants.

“Get the black ones.”

Nobody was nearby, so Fabian risked a verbal answer, “Stealth mode, huh?”

“Yes. Black or dark everything.”

“You gonna ask me to smear mud on my face when I get there?”

“No. It’ll all be frozen. Get a stick of Eye Black.”

“What?”

“You never watched football?”

“Okay. The stuff they use to help reduce the glare?”

“Right. Shhh.”

Fabian looked around and another man was walking nearby.

The next item on Russell’s shopping list was a pack of long cable ties. Fabian connected two together to be able to secure the unknown assailant’s hands and used another three for the feet.

The last stop was buying a “disposable” phone.

Once back at his apartment, Russell provided one more piece of advice, “If you have a small mirror, bring it.”

“Why don’t I put the shit on my face here?”

“You want to explain why you’re wearing it if a cop pulls you over?”

“Good point. Wait. What about on the way back?”

“Got any towels you’re not too fond of?”

“Won’t that hurt?”

“Not if you take most of it off with your Dude Wipes first.”

“Duh.”

“I don’t know how you ever made it to nineteen years with no common sense.”

“Well, sorry. I’ve never had to outfit myself like an Alaskan cat burglar before.”

Russell laughed, “Make that the name of your next band. The Alaskan Cat Burglars.”

Fabian had to laugh. At 10:15, he departed his apartment, and headed north on I-287. Fabian told him to head for the corner of Baldwin and Troy Roads.

Once he got there, Fabian parked a little way down Troy Road from the intersection and used the rear view mirror to cover his face with the Eye Black.

At five to eleven, he walked out onto Baldwin Road and hid in the trees just before the overpass started.

At 11:13, a boy walked past, also wearing nearly all black. He wore a backpack that was hanging off his back. It was obviously weighted down with something heavy.

Fabian left the cover of the trees and followed the boy. The boy put the backpack down and took out an item. The best Fabian could tell it was a tie rod from a car.

Russell commanded, “Now! Tackle him.”

Fabian was only three steps away from the boy when Russell gave the command. He easily tackled the boy, knelt on his back, and secured his hands and feet.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“Planning on killing someone else by dropping car parts on the highway?”

The boy turned his head as much as he could and looked at him in shock, “How the fuck would you know that?”

“Same way I knew you’d be back tonight. I’m psychic.”

Fabian stood up, kicked the backpack away from the boy, used one more cable tie to attach his hands to the fence, and walked away.

“You can’t leave me here. I’ll freeze to death.”

“No. The cops will be here long before that happens.”

“Fuck me.”

“Enjoy jail, mother fucker.”

Fabian went back to his car, started the engine and turned the heat on high. Once he wiped most of the gunk off his face, he headed to a nearby shopping center and called 9-1-1.

“Hello, 9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“There’s a boy at the I-80 overpass on Baldwin Road in Parsippany. He has a backpack filled with car parts. He was about to toss something onto the highway.”

“What is your name, sir?”

Fabian didn’t answer the question, “He’s secured with cable ties. You should send the cops soon.”

“Your name, please!”

“Russell Anderson.”

Fabian disconnected, broke the cheap flip-phone and dropped it into a trash container.

“Good work, my friend.”

“Oh no. Wait. Does that mean you have to go?”

“Soon. He has to be processed first. Once he’s fingerprinted and they match his prints to the piece of metal they took out of my neck, I’ll be free to leave.”

Fabian checked the news the next morning.

PARSIPPANY, NJ - The police were dispatched late Saturday night when a call was made indicating a boy was about to throw a car part onto the highway from an overpass over Route 80. Officer David Zimmer, who was first at the scene, indicated the boy was bound with cable ties.

“Someone strung him up real good. He wasn’t getting away.”

The site was near where rock star Russell Anderson was fatally struck in August, with a matching piece of metal, a tie rod from a late model Ford. One strange twist was that the man who called to report the boy identified himself as Russell Anderson.

Detective Julian Flynn indicated the police will be looking into if there is a link between the crimes.

The boy, who is reportedly sixteen, was not identified.

“Fuckin’ A. Looks like the kid’s going to jail for a while.”

“Thank you, Fabian.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Considering I’m not really here… But yes. I have to go. Say goodbye to the rest of the band for me.”

“You can’t stay and help me?”

“No. Sorry, but I did tell you I couldn’t stay forever. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye Russell. Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fabian took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Russell?”

There was no response.

Next Up - Moving Forward