Chapter 4: I Dream of Jeannie (Part 1)
Breakfast that morning was an unusually quiet affair. The three Davidsons sitting around the dining table were normally much rowdier and louder. While there was still some semblance of this—Mr. Davidson openly complained about everything from Jacob’s choice of clothing to the way that the mailman had put the newspaper in their P.O. box—but it was nowhere near as much as normal.
Metal utensils clinked against porcelain. Soft chewing filled the air, along with the delicious aroma of greasy bacon, piping hot sausage, and melt-in-your-mouth eggs.
“—And then when I tried to get money to pay for the damn chicken, the clerk went and gave it to the guy behind me! Can you believe it!?” Mr. Davidson threw his fork down on his plate in disgust as he finished telling the tale of his most recent grievance. “The nerve!”
Seated across the table from Jacob, 26-year-old Daniel Davidson raised an eyebrow at his younger brother knowingly. The boy snorted and rolled his eyes. Mr. Davidson observed the exchange suspiciously.
“Well, Dad, going to the ATM that sat on the opposite side of the store probably made the clerk think you didn’t want the chicken.” As he spoke, Daniel readjusted the collar of his black suit, and shifted his red-and-white striped tie so it hung perfectly straight down the center of his chest.
“Daniel,” Mr. Davidson, his long nose raised haughtily, “shut up.”
“Yes, sir,” Daniel uttered, rolling his eyes back at Jacob. He was taller than his younger brother; at his full height, he stretched up 6’6”. With his toned muscles, broad shoulders, boxy face, and slick suit, he looked like a very dangerous businessman who led a second life in a boxing ring. But he wasn’t dangerous at all; he was one of the kindest, most peaceful people Jacob knew.
“Don’t yes, sir me—I told you to shut up,” his father grumbled, and Jacob gave him a look that Mr. Davidson liked to call ‘the bitch face.’
“But, Dad, how’s he supposed to show he understands you without saying that?”
Dad, taken aback, sputtered. “W-Well! I don’t know!” He was quiet for a couple seconds. “Daniel, why are you all dressed up, anyway? You look like a right fool wearing that at the breakfast table.”
Daniel stiffened, and a proud grin spread up his face. “Because today, I’m registering for the special election of town mayor! I’m going down to the town hall as soon as breakfast is over in order to register as a candidate.”
A pause lapsed. “You were serious about that?” Mr. Davidson said skeptically. “Well, I hate to sai it, but a black man like you or me running for Normal mayor? No one would vote for you, son.”
Jacob gritted his teeth and frowned. “Maybe in your time, Dad, but this is the twenty-first century. People don’t care about race in elections nearly as much as they used to.”
“Besides, I’m already smarter and more qualified than any of the others who’ve been strongly considering candidacy,” Daniel added. “I’ve got a law degree from Harvard, and I’m running to help people, not make myself rich.”
Dad sighed and finished off his last piece of bacon. “Well, son, don’t come crying to me when you lose,” he grumbled, and Daniel jerked up, pissed. Before he could say something, though, the family patriarch grabbed his now empty plate, stood up, and went to put it in the sink. He muttered, “I make damn good scrambled eggs.” (His own cooking was the only thing he never complained about.) Then he retreated into his bedroom and closed the door, probably to sulk alone and watch college football.
“I’m going to kill our old man one of these days,” Daniel said hotly as he stabbed a sausage link with his fork.
Jacob winced.
Even as nice as he was, when it came to their father, Daniel often saw red. It was the trouble of opposites repelling each other instead of attracting. Mr. Davidson may’ve been the spitting image of an older, more grizzled Daniel with a more hawk-like nose, but they were night and day. Whereas their father was the Pessimist King, Jacob’s older brother always saw the best in people and the world around him.
“So, how was your job last night?” Daniel asked, changing the subject. He was one of the few people who believed in the work Jacob did; who believed him when he said ghosts were real. “Anything interesting happen?”
Jacob silently chewed a bite of eggs. “Nothing much,” he said woodenly. He didn’t want Daniel to know that about that mess.
“So, then, I suppose all that shouting earlier about how you went and died counts as ‘nothing much?’”
Jacob flinched so badly, he accidentally knocked his glass of orange juice over. Luckily, it was nearly empty already, so he had time to hurriedly pick it up before it stained the white table cloth.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. Jacob wanted to facepalm.
“You heard all that?” he asked quietly. A sudden thought shot through his head. “Dad didn’t… did he?”
“I didn’t make out all of it, but what I was able to clued me in,” his brother admitted. “As for dad, he was making breakfast with Black Sabbath turned up full blast, so I doubt it. His hearing’s getting bad enough without the addition of loud music and sizzling breakfast foods.” A sad, worried frown crossed Daniel’s lips. “Jacob, you didn’t really… die last night, right? I mean… please tell me you’re not some weird sort of ghost.”
Jacob hesitated, and then he looked to the side. “Yeah,” he muttered. “A… d-demon got me.” It just felt so unnatural to say the word demon. Daniel gaped; he knew how vehement the seventeen-year-old was about Heaven and Hell not existing. Jacob sighed and said, “Apparently, I became a revenant, though.”
Now Daniel’s brow furrowed. He looked like a dog trying to figure out what new loud noise was going off. “What, like Leonardo di Caprio?”
Juice exploded from his younger brother’s mouth, and Jacob coughed desperately. He pounded his chest with his fist and heaved. When he’d at last hacked up everything that went down the wrong pipe, he looked up at Daniel like, Are you actually kidding me right now? “What!? No, you moron! It’s a kind of cross between a zombie and a vampire, complete with a human soul.”
“Oh.” A dark frown hung on Daniel’s face for a while. But just when Jacob thought the man was going to say something profound or melancholic, he said, “Sooo… should I get the garlic, or the baseball bat?”
Jacob stared. “Daniel, you’re the smartest person I know, but you’re an idiot.”
For several beats, they just stared at each other.
Then they started laughing. It felt so good to laugh and joke about such a depressing subject as his own paranormal-ness, it helped Jacob feel alive again. It helped him feel like his death didn’t matter. He’d been worried that Daniel would treat him differently if he were to find out, and the fact that this fear was unfounded was an immense relief. All of his worry and stress bubbled up, up out of him melding with the air in happy little snorts and sounds, like water vapor in a teapot.
When they’d quieted back down, Jacob leaned back in his chair contentedly. “Thanks for being cool about this, bro.”
“I’m your brother,” Daniel said seriously. “If I’m not able to be cool about it, then who the hell will?” He frowned. “Don’t… don’t get me wrong. I really don’t like the idea that you’re, you’re, well, undead now. But… I’m just glad that you’re still with us, Jacob. I’d have really missed you, and if Dad had lost mom and you, I don’t think he’d be able to live with himself.”
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The previously cheerful mood took a nosedive and crashed into Hudson Bay.
“…Once we’re done with breakfast,” Jacob asked sullenly, desperate for something else to talk about, “can I go downtown with you? I want to go visit the East Main Street Coffee House and think about a few things.”
“Sure thing, Jacob.”
Silence fell upon the table, and the two brothers returned to eating their meal. After a minute of this, Jacob looked up and said, “Daniel? You’re going to kick ass in that election.”
Daniel grinned. “I know.”
The brothers quickly finished up breakfast and got ready to go out. Jacob made sure to grab his shades; a quick look outside told him the sky was still one clear blanket of blue. Daniel, who for all his smartness had a very bad time remembering to bring everything places, rushed around the apartment, scrambling about in a frenzy.
“Do you have your signature sheet?” Jacob, standing in the mini hall between his room and the bathroom, asked with no small amount of amusement as Daniel rushed by.
“No—wait, never mind, yes. It was with the documents in the manila folder I had under my arm.”
As his older brother ducked into the bathroom, Jacob continued. “And your phone?”
“Got it.” The words echoed out into the wall.
“Your wallet?”
“Yep.”
“What about your ID?”
“Jesus Christ, man, you’re like a goddamn mother hen, and you’re nine years younger than me. That’s just weird, dude. And, yeah, I’ve got my… wait.”
A flash of black skin and ponytail sped by him, and Daniel’s bedroom door swung open a moment later. Rays of brilliant sunlight from the man’s open window spilled into the hall, dappling the shadowed, white tiles of the floor with brightened color. Jacob raised an eyebrow. His brother had practically matched the speed at which last night’s demon had been fighting Agent Mann. Impressive.
Daniel emerged from his room, wallet and ID in hand. He stuck the little card in his wallet, and slipped the wallet into his dress pants’ pocket.
“Alright, Jacob, I’ve got it now; let’s leave,” Daniel said, and they started for the door. They were already outside their fifth-floor apartment and waiting for the elevator to come up when Jacob happened to look down.
“…Daniel. Your shoes?”
Daniel looked down.
“…Fuck.”
Jacob snickered as Daniel raced back into their apartment. Sometimes, he really had no idea how his brother had passed through law school with actually good grades. At last, Daniel had everything put together, and their elevator arrived. They rode it down to ground level, left the complex, and emerged on the street below.
Normal’s nine major roads were arranged in a sort of devil’s trap shape; the original founder of the town had believed strongly in the occult. Two bridges crossed over the Red River on the pentagon’s west side, and likewise on the Beaver River surrounding its eastern side. The city actually extended past the two rivers and the devil’s trap itself, but most of that was suburbs and cheaper apartment complexes, including the Davidson’s. Inside the pentagon, one could find all the major shopping malls, local government buildings, the jail, warehouses for self-storage, and more expensive housing/apartment complexes. To the south of the pentagon lay a series of foothills, where the late McArthurs’ mansion was located.
To get downtown—inside the devil’s trap—Jacob and Daniel crossed Garfield Bridge, the northernmost bridge leading over the Red River. Cars whizzed past them, hurrying to get into town. Joggers and bikers raced past, calling out good mornings or honking. Below them, the water sparkled in the summer sunlight; here and there, a fish leaped out the surface. As far as cities went, the bridge was quiet and peaceful; then the Davidson brothers reached Terry Street and the sounds of city life skyrocketed.
Jacob and Daniel chatted animatedly as they walked down Terry Street, about whatever they wanted to. They discussed the Normal Sluggers baseball team, who other Ohioan cities liked to joke were just your average batters. They (or rather, Daniel) talked about Jacob’s love life, which was universally known to be in the dumps. Jacob rolled his eyes and lightly punched Daniel for bringing it up.
“Ow!” Daniel grunted as he staggered back several feet from the blow. “That hurt!”
Jacob blinked. “Wait, what? That was half-hearted. I only meant to play-hit you.”
“Yeah, well, it didn’t feel like that,” his brother muttered. He suddenly stiffened and looked at Jacob with wide eyes. “Hold on, you don’t think being a revenant gives you greater strength, do you?”
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you think so?”
“I felt like I got hit by a sumo wrestler or some shit just now, so yeah.”
“Huh.” Jacob blinked again. He’d always wanted super strength. He just never thought he’d have to die to gain it.
Daniel, now recovered, straightened the manila folder he carried at his side, ran back up to be next to his brother, and wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck. “Man, I’ll bet you’re the strongest kid in school now! Tiffany will want a piece of those muscles for sure, now.”
“Dude, she’s just my friend. Shove off.”
Jacob pushed him away, and Daniel did shove off: straight into the nearest lamppost. His head smacked into it and he stumbled away, dazed. Jacob flinched.
“S-Sorry, man.”
“Dude.” Daniel shook his head like a dog and fixed Jacob with a serious stare. “We have got to get a handle on that strength of yours.”
“I said I was sorry…”
At last, they reached their next stop, the crossroads between West Jones Avenue and Terry Street. Here was where they’d part ways. It was a shorter distance for Jacob to continue walking straight down their current street instead of turning, and vice versa for Daniel. The town hall was in the center of the devil’s trap, whereas the East Main Street Coffee House was on the other side of town.
“Knock ‘em flat, Daniel!” Jacob said, saluting his brother, who snorted.
“Nah, I’ll just get you to do that for me.”
They snickered.
“Seriously though, man, good luck.”
“The election ain’t happening yet, but thanks, little bro. See ya later.”
“See ya.”
Jacob continued walking down the sidewalk and Daniel walked south down West Jones Avenue. He hummed as he went, the teen’s finger tapping on his side. Music was as much a part of his life as the occult, and he loved old rock with an especially large passion: AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Queen. It was one of the few things he shared in common with his father. When he started singing or humming, usually to rock, he’d often get focused on doing that and zone out.
However, as he neared the middle of Terry Street, a crowd gathered around an alleyway caught Jacob’s attention; mostly because it was a very unusual space for a crowd to gather. The police car parked by the road with its lights blinking, as well as the ambulance behind it, also helped.
He paused, and decided to see what was going on.
Jacob pushed through the crowd, which was pretty small and only consisted of about twenty or so people, and made his way to the front. “What’s going on?” he asked no one in particular as he noticed yellow police tape holding back the crowd.
“Someone was murdered,” a girl’s soft, feathery voice said conspiratorially from beside him, and a finger pointed forward. She sounded familiar, but Jacob was more interested in the crime scene. His eyes searched for the spot to which it indicated.
He hissed in shock.
Laying there on the asphalt of the alley, amongst several cops taking a slew of crime scene photos, was a man covered in sheets who was being lifted up on a stretcher by uniformed paramedics. Horrifically, though, black goo covered the man’s body, his lips were a cold blue, and his eyes… his eyes were horrific. Bulging out of his head, they were blank white orbs, and the veins popped out in a disturbing complex of veins.
“Holy shit,” Jacob said, swallowing. That black goo—that was ectoplasm. He could tell from over here.
“Wait. Jake? Hah, I should’ve known that was you!”
Jacob’s eyes flicked to the right, and nervous goosebumps immediately ran up and down his arms. Had his heart been working, it would’ve been beating a million times a second. Standing there next to him as the person who’d been pointing was none other than Tiffany Smith, a girl who’d he’d been friends with for as long as he could remember. Lately, though, he’d started to think of her as a little more than a friend.
“Hi, Tiff,” Jacob said, quickly turning back to the crime scene. The crowd had parted for the paramedics, who stepped over the yellow tape hurriedly.
Tiffany bounced peppily, shaking Jacob’s arm. “Man, can you believe that? That looks so terrible… Who do you think could’ve done it, Jake?” Tiffany’s fiery red locks flowed down her head and over the shoulders of her green Normal Public High School hoodie as she nodded in eager wait of his reply. She looked cutely boyish, with a solidly defined chin and her lithe, thin form.
“I don’t know,” Jacob said quietly so the other people in the crowd wouldn’t hear. He leaned into Tiffany’s ear. “I think it might be something supernatural, though.”
Tiffany’s sapphire orbs sparkled with excitement. She, along with Jacob’s two other best friends and Daniel, was another one of the people who believed Jacob. In fact, not only did she believe him, she was jealous of his ability to see ghosts. “What!? No way!” she gasped, and then dragged him off, leaving the rest of the crowd to stare at their backs. “Come on, let’s go tell the rest of the gang! Adam and Xavier are already in the Coffee House!”
“No way?” Jacob said, a grin spreading across his face. He matched her pace now, and Tiffany let go of him. “I was just going there myself. I wanted to have some alone time, but… well, if you guys are gonna be there, I might as well tell you all what happened last night.” If Daniel had been cool with his whole revenant thing, he was sure that Tiffany, Adam and Xavier, three of the best people in the entire city, would be as well.
Tiffany gave him a thumbs-up. “I can’t wait! Tell me all the details!”
Jacob laughed too, her boundless happiness infectious. But as they started to run down Terry Street again, he couldn’t help but think of that poor, dead man back there, being loaded into the ambulance. Those blue lips… those vein-riddled eyes, white as if all the color had been sucked from them… he hadn’t heard of any ghost leaving its victims in that state before.
He swallowed nervously. Something new was in Normal, and he had no idea what.