3

Ghost Light

It’s eerily quiet when Atticus finally wakes up, halfway off the cushions and on the hard floor of the stage. He shifts the cushions under and around him until he’s lying comfortably on his back and rubs his eyes. The scaffolding above the stage comes into focus in the dim light of morning and he lies there for several minutes. That dim light paired with the silence is what makes Atticus finally lean up on an elbow to look around the room. The only movement in the room is that of the dust particles drifting in and out of the weak rays of sunlight filtering through the windows.
Rolling off the cushions and sliding off the edge of the stage, Atticus stumbles to a window and looks out. He’s a dozen floors up, but the building isn’t the tallest around, so most of his view is just the exteriors of more rusted and rehabilitated skyscrapers rising above several feet of standing water. What stands out to him, however, is the amount of light filtering through and the clarity of which he can see the surroundings. The skies aren’t completely clear, but the clouds are thin and moving fast, nothing but an occasional spitting of rain instead of the downpour that has been tearing into the city for the past several days. Atticus closes his mouth after realizing his jaw has been hanging loose and fumbles with the window latch, lifting the glass pane until he’s fully hit with the fresh air of the day. It smells like salt and a moldy city, but better than the air that hangs heavy in the room. After days of hearing nothing but the white noise of the storm, Atticus welcomes the sounds of people starting to move about on the docks down below and even the piercing squawks of seagulls returning after the storm. Hammers and tools bang and clatter in the distance, several children holler while running down the docks, and looking further upstream, Atticus can hear the splash of water as someone clumsily drops a small boat into the canal and then hops into it. Not only has the storm cleared, but the city is already quickly bouncing back to work. Squinting into the sky and looking for the general direction of the sun through the clouds, Atticus estimates he must have been asleep for nearly twelve hours and it is currently close to midday.
The fresh air and pleasant warmth that wafts into the room help Atticus fully wake up and he’s able to process the past 24 hours, eyes widening as he remembers the last thing he heard from the radio in Lenny’s studio the night before; the woman would be waiting for him when the storm passed. How long has it been since the rain stopped? Without closing the window, Atticus turns on his heels and moves quickly to replace the cushions he slept on and gather his things. He heads to the door but hesitates before leaving the room and turns to look at the stage on which he’d spent the night. On both upper corners of the stage proscenium are masks painted on the wall; one smiling while the other wails. They both seem to stare directly down at Atticus and a shiver runs down his spine as he stares up at the empty stage and the masks that watch over the room like gods of their own domain.
Atticus shakes the feeling and leaves the room, running into the brick wall that is Steve, standing in the hallway. Before Atticus can apologize for the collision, Steve speaks, “Oh good you’re finally up, I was comin’ up to kick ya out. People are gonna start moving around the building here soon and I got shit to do.”
Atticus trips over his words a bit before properly responding, “Sorry, I uh, yeah I’ll be headed out now. Thankyousomuch for everything, I owe you for sure.” His words flow together as he talks a bit too fast.
“Yeah you do, son, but I expect I haven’t seen the last of you. I trust you’ll find a way to compensate me how you see fit, but for now, you gotta scram so I can get the Water Hole running again.” He offers a closed fist, which Atticus bumps with his own. “Good luck out there, Atticus.”
“Thanks again, Steve, and you too.” Atticus quickly shuffles past Steve and towards the elevator, where he smashes the buttons once again, but this time headed down.
Atticus doesn’t hesitate at any point as he makes his way back to the building’s awkward foyer, from which he entered the day before. There’s a handful of people rambling about the entrance room and hallway, and Atticus makes note of what each one looks like, trying to find something familiar about them. Three of them are men, so he doesn’t give them a second glance, but there are two women he watches for an extra moment. One is a shorter woman with curly orange hair, standing by the main exit with one of the men. Atticus turns his attention away, however, when she speaks to the man she’s with – something about how business will be booming after the storm; her voice is high pitched and noticeably different from the one Atticus is looking for. The other woman is seated in one of the crusty chairs at the corner of the room, obviously listening to the conversation happening by the doorway, but they don’t seem to notice.
She flicks her eyes to Atticus as he stands awkwardly in the room and they meet his own. He suddenly is overwhelmed by the memory of his last live show. The woman who sat in the back at the venue, whom he had completely lost his memory of, now sits in front of him. Her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, shimmering like spilled oil, a spectrum of faded colors flowing through a dark water current. She’s much closer this time and her eyes are a deep purple and intense. It’s an intensity he remembers from that afternoon as she watched him, an intensity that could only be described as hunger.
A smile spreads across her lips, but not into her eyes; they maintain the same hunger. Atticus is growing anxious, seconds drawing out, when she finally speaks with an unnecessary amount of cheer, “Atti! I am so glad to see you. You took so long I was beginning to worry, but I knew I could trust you.” She stands from the chair and for the first time, Atticus can see the umbrella she’d been holding in her lap, it’s the one he left in the bucket here when arriving. She approaches him and presses the umbrella into his chest. It takes him a moment to finally move his arms up to hold it himself.
“I uh, my umbrella. Thanks, I guess.” He looks at the other people in the room for a moment, but none of them are paying him any attention.
The woman in front of him lets out an unrestrained laugh, “What’s got you so tense, Atti? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Don’t worry, babes, they may as well not know that we’re here, so keep looking at me.” She uses one hand to physically turn his head until he’s once again holding eye contact, “I need you to memorize my face right now, it’ll make things easier going forward.”
Atticus makes note of her pale face, dark eyebrows, and long, straight nose. Her clothes are too clean and neat and well-fitted for her to ever have had any reason to be near the coast where he lives and performs. “You a mobster?” he speaks without stuttering this time, “I don’t want any trouble.”
Again, she laughs. “No no, not a mobster, but we can discuss everything with time. Let’s walk?” She slips her arm under his, linking them as she nudges him towards the door and past the others in the room. She’s an inch or so shorter than Atticus, but commands him with an energy much larger as they exit the building onto the fire escape stairs.
Atticus has no time to fight it, but speaks as they head down the flight of stairs to the docks, “And where are we walking to?”
“For now? To the boat and to your place.”
The woman leads Atticus down the stairs, along the dock, and around a corner through what once would have been an alleyway between buildings. On multiple occasions, Atticus tries to speak and she shakes her head, “Not yet, not out here,” but her voice has no forbidding undertones. She remains overly casual in a very abnormal situation for Atticus.
The alleyway dock is significantly more narrow and they have to transition to walking single file, but there’s a boat tied up about thirty feet back. It’s not uncommon for people to dock their personal boats in these alleys, but this one is slightly more out of the way and the alley is dark enough to make the hairs on the back of Atticus’ neck raise. In front of Atticus, the woman unties the boat and lightly hops in. She settles into the stern side, taking up half the boat as she lounges and then looks expectantly at Atticus, “Well are you coming or not?”
He scans the boat before getting in, “there’s no paddles, how are we supposed to get anywhere?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I can get us where we want.” she waves him in.
He hesitates and then sighs before hopping into the boat and sitting awkwardly in the open seat, “Okay at this point I think I’m pretty much stuck with you, can I at least get your name now?”
She smirks, “Of course, but first a lesson in the power of names, I want you to turn around and face away from me.”
Atticus shifts uncomfortably before pivoting and drawing his legs to the other side of the bench, staring out past the bow and towards the alleyway entrance. He’s about to turn back around and ask why this is necessary when he realizes he can’t quite remember when he got into the boat to begin with. A face flickers in and out of his memory. Had he walked here with a woman? He starts thinking about the previous night on the radio show and the voice he’s been hearing and starts putting pieces together before it all falls apart and he has to start over. He holds onto the face as long as possible but knits his brows together when it starts to fade.
“If only you had a name to place with the face, right?” a woman’s voice comes from behind Atticus and he quickly snaps his head around.
Everything floods back to him as if he’d never forgotten and he fully flips his body back around in the boat to face her. He’s slow in responding, “Yeah… a name…” He studies her face, “what’s going on?”
She clicks her tongue a few times, “One question at a time. You can call me Dimitri. It’s not my true name, but it’ll allow you to make the necessary connections. Forgetting me should be much less of an issue with a name. Now turn back around, but keep picturing my face.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on, but okay.” he turns back around and the boat starts to ease forward. It’s at this time Atticus notices a light covering of fog that has gathered around the boat, swirling around the surface of the water. The name Dimitri rattles around in his head as he keeps her face pictured. This time he loses no memory and she continues speaking from behind him.
“Alright Atti, we can discuss the nitty gritty back at your place, when there’s nobody around. In fact, I’d suggest not talking much until we’re out of the public eye completely, unless you want people assuming the worst of you. I’m sure you can put the pieces together.”
“Are you saying all the crazy ass druggies are actually talking to you?” Atticus keeps his eyes forward but squints a bit as they reenter the full light of the primary canal and turn right, heading towards the coast.
“Ha! Great observation. They’re definitely not talking to me, I’m far more careful than that. And honestly, most of them are on drugs, I’m sure you’ve tried some of the hallucinogens here before, you know how it goes. However, I’m sure a handful of them are talking to someone other than me, if you know what I mean.”
“I really don’t…”
“Ugh so true. Well, I guess I’ll explain on the ride, you just listen. It’s best you try to understand so that this partnership is successful for the both of us. You can face me now if you’d like, I think you understand what’s happening well enough”
Atticus turns around one more time before she continues speaking. He gets the feeling her eyes have never stopped piercing him, but is relieved to not have them in the back of his head. Dimitri stops staring him down as the boat drifts on and comfortably looks around while speaking, as if they’re old friends catching up on a leisurely boat ride. Atticus assumes this must be what it’s like for the rich folk in Century City when they take sightseeing tours around Seatac to “experience culture.”
Dimitri is relaxed as she begins explaining, “This might be a lot, please hold your questions until the end and keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.
“Put as simply as possible, you could say I’m a god. Well, goddess, obviously. That should be enough explanation as to how I’m not part of a mob. I’m also not the only one, that would be silly. Those old gods that thought they were all powerful and all-knowing were just a bunch of assholes. Worked out for them for a while but, well, you’ve learned what happened to their followers.” she pauses to chuckle a bit. “Unfortunately for them, however, humans need to be alive to worship a god and without worship we’re nothing.”
Atticus is staring at Dimitri in disbelief, struggling to keep his mouth shut. She sees him staring and winks but goes back to casually looking around and observing people on the docks as she continues.
“I’ve been observing you for a while, Atticus Frank. You’re not bad at what you do, and you’ve got the look that the entertainment industry likes, you just have unfortunate luck on your own. What I like the most about you, however, is that you are one of my biggest devotees.” Her eyes fall back to his, one side of her mouth curling into a smirk. “You see, what you rely on is yours truly, and I am absolutely honored by that. I would also love to manipulate that for the benefit of us both. The man in charge of this city happens to be in a relationship that started similarly to this, which means there’s actually a god at the top of Century City and I know exactly who it is and I want to get close to him. I can’t just walk up to him, however, he’ll see me coming a mile away and well, he doesn’t really like me. I couldn’t possibly understand why, he would be nothing without me and I think I’m great company.
“That’s where you come in. I need you to get real successful real fast so that he has to let me in. I want what he has, you want to be at the top anyway, together I think we can do that.” Dimitri stops and looks around, “Looks like we’ve made it to your turf.”
Atticus realizes he’s been holding his breath for a bit and lets it out before looking away from her long enough to acknowledge that they had, in fact, made it to his building much faster than he’d expected. The boat passes his building and turns down another nearby alleyway, where Dimitri ties the boat to the dock and hops out, offering Atticus a hand out. He doesn’t take her hand as he pulls himself up and onto the narrow dock. Standing square with the woman in front of him, he finally speaks, “What the fuck?”
She lets out a dramatic laugh, “Let’s get up to your place and get you some food, I’m sure you’re starving.” She turns and once again leads him out of the alley.
Her comment was almost like a signal and Atticus’ stomach rumbles as she mentions food. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think I have much edible food left…”
“No worries! I figured as much and planned ahead for that, I told you I had things to do last night.” She heads up a set of rusted stairs to his apartment with a confidence that unsettles Atticus. Even he takes the wrong stairs on occasion, with so many of the rotting buildings looking so similar.
Upon entering the room, Atticus drops his bag and starts rummaging through drawers for some fresh clothes and heads to his bathroom to change in private. He comes out in the dark green sweater he so often wears and a pair of torn-up gray sweatpants. He finds himself standing across from Dimitri, who has pulled out fresh produce and a jar of cooked rice from his small refrigerator. He squints his eyes at her and the food, suspicious.
“I brought them in last night,” Dimitri speaks with a smile on her face.
“Look, I appreciate the food and the help, whatever you did, I don’t really understand any of it, but you’ve gotta be delusional if you think I’m gonna believe you’re a fucking goddess. I’m willing to believe that the mob boss and his goons have the ability to manipulate the radios and know the lives of the city entertainers and residents, but this supernatural shit is absurd.”
Dimitri’s face droops and she sighs heavily, “I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to convince you.”
“How do I know you’re not just fucking drugging me? You could have tampered with the water I’ve been drinking at the Water Hole and this food could be laced!”
“Oh come on, you’re logical. What drug causes such specific memory loss? Most of them cause hallucinations so I guess I can’t combat that symptom…”
“It’s because I’m logical that I can’t accept this explanation! I want to believe you, because I simply can’t explain anything that’s happened lately, but gods and goddesses? You’ve gotta have better proof.”
“Alright alright I know, but unfortunately it’s not as simple as me casting a couple of spells to prove I’m not human, there is no fantasy world magic like that.” For the first time, she almost looks defeated as she looks down to the side and grinds her teeth while continuing, “I’m also not powerful enough to do much right now. Not enough of you humans worship me…”
Atticus laughs, “And you said that I am one of your most reliable worshipers? What are you even the god of? Shitty comedy? And that’s even assuming you’re not just a creepy ass stalker.”
“Hear me out, I am a creepy stalker, obviously, but also a goddess, and clearly I’m capable of helping you regardless. What do you have to lose?” She’s looking at Atticus expectantly.
“That’s the most bullshit thing I’ve ever been told by someone.” He walks over to the window and watches a thin, gray sheet of clouds move steadily across the sky, above the rooftops. If he looks down the canal directly west, he can faintly see the expanse of the ocean, almost imperceptible as it melts into the sky. They both stand in silence for several long moments until Atticus’s stomach makes an audible noise and he groans, allowing the hunger to get the better of him. He goes to the counter, where Dimitri has laid out the food, and begins plating it for two. “I’m only doing this because I’m hungry enough to risk being drugged and because I assume you will also eat it, so it would be your loss as well.”
“I, uh, I don’t need to eat…”
He glares at her, jaw tense.
“But I suppose I can this time, if it makes you feel better.” She grabs the plate with less food and takes a bite of the unseasoned rice.
Atticus watches closely as she takes several more bites before eating his own. After scarfing down most of the plate he finally continues their conversation, “Alright, so assuming I really do have nothing to lose, what do you want from me and what’s actually in it for me?”
Dimitri immediately stops pushing food around her plate and her face brightens, “Oh all you need to do is keep being funny! I’ll help you get gigs until you have enough of a name for yourself to move up to Century City. Once we’re there, I can more directly get to Moony, the god working at the top of the city. I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t think you were already capable of making it in Century City, you’ve just got to get out of this sinkhole first.”
“Okay, I think I’m following, even if I still don’t know how much I believe. I’m assuming you want to get to Jackson Mondo? The mob boss? Not sure who else would be working with a god like you.”
“Yep! He’s working with Moony, the god of entertainment. We work together, you get fame and stability, I get power. Just like they did.”
“I don’t like Jackson, I don’t like his gangs, they’ve ruined our lives down here. I don’t think I want to be one of them.”
“Well, maybe not, but you want more, you’re desperate for something more, Atti. Am I wrong?” She puts her hand out.
He hesitates but reluctantly grasps her hand, finalizing their partnership, “I suppose you’re not wrong. However, if this Moony guy is the god of entertainment, I still want to know what your domain is. You never answered me earlier when I asked and I surely hope it’s not shitty comedy, I think I’d be offended by that”
Dimitri grins, “Oh it may as well be, but tell me, Atti, do you worship something you already have? Or do you worship something you rely on?”
He draws his eyebrows together a bit, “Something I rely on, I guess.”
“Right, so you wouldn’t worship your own humor. However, I’m not telling you my true name, I already explained the power a name holds. I’ll let you try to figure it out, it’ll be a fun little game between the two of us.”
“Then why did you tell me Moony is the god of entertainment?”
“Because I want him to lose that bit of power to you. You’ll know exactly who he is when you finally meet him and his tricks won’t work as well on you, and he’ll hate that. Anyway, I hope we’ll get along. I better get to work now, as should you. Let’s see if Lenny has anything good today.” She moves over to Atticus’ bed on the other side of the suite and crouches to turn the radio on and tune it to the correct frequency. “Atti, if you ever need me, I want you to tune into Lenny’s show, increase the frequency by 3.15, and then flip the power off and back on. You’ll be able to speak directly to me. I get randos by accident sometimes, but I’ll know it’s you and respond.”
Atticus watches her as she speaks and tunes the radio but looks away to finish his food and place it in the sink. As he turns back around, however, she’s gone, and the only sound left in the room is the outro of a funky song repeating one word; Atavista.