#anthony steele

       Casper stood up and said, “What’s going on, Tony?” Tony took a moment to swallow his mouthful and said, “Act normal, okay?” His voice was barely a whisper.

       “Tony, what the fuck are you talking about?”

       Tony closed his eyes and collected himself. “Look, I just need you to come with me, okay Casper?”

       “I’m not on the clock, man. Can you not handle this on your own?”

       “This isn’t necessarily work related, Cas. It’s more of a personal nature.”

       At that point, Casper noticed that Tony had been shifting around uncomfortably; he kept peeking over Casper’s shoulder to look at Kerry. His hand was what did it, though—it was resting on the grip of his pistol. Although Tony was clearly nervous, his hand was calm. Casper thought, something’s wrong. 

       “Alright,” Casper said, before turning his attention to Kerry. “Ker-bear, I gotta go handle something, alright?”

       She was sliding from drunk to asleep. “What’s wrong, Ghostie?” Her question was aimed more at the cell than at anyone in particular. 

       “Don’t worry about it. Drink your water and try to get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.” He watched her nod, burp, and slump down into a mostly lying position; Casper then turned his attention back to Tony and said, “Alright, lead the way,”

                                                          ***

       Casper and Tony had been in the cruiser for some time without speaking so much as a word. Tony was visibly shaken, and though he had cleared his throat a few times, it was just an attempt to break the silence. Casper kept himself busy with thoughts of Kerry and the rift their relationship had become. 

       The cruiser went over a speed bump and knocked Casper back into the present. Tony, still looking tense, was pulling into a parking space in front of the hospital. 

       Casper’s mouth was dry when he started to speak, making his voice crack a little. “Are you sure this isn’t something you can handle, Tony?”

       Tony simply nodded, turned the car off, and got out. 

       The hospital looked the same as any other day, a series of coral colored towers with a quaint box of an entrance. The parking lot was mostly empty, which was strange for a Sunday, but not strange enough to explain the feeling in Casper’s chest. He felt like his ribcage was sinking inward—a vacuum in his lungs, pulling his bones and heart, making his organs fight to work correctly. As they reached the door, Tony noticed that Casper had stopped to lean against a column about ten feet back. 

       “Hey, you alright, Maddox?” Tony’s voice sounded pretty chipper, but he was still shifting around nervously, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with Casper. 

       “I’m good.” Casper said, touching his badge through his shirt pocket, “Just suddenly had a head rush. Maybe I should’ve eaten earlier.” 

       Tony gave Casper a fragile grin and said, “C’mon, this’ll all be over before you know it. Then you can get back home and get some food in ya.”

       The next few moments were kind of a blur; they spoke with a receptionist, they took an elevator down a few floors, they spoke to another receptionist, they stood outside of a door marked “morgue” as a doctor swiped his key card. Just like the ride to the hospital, Casper’s mind was on Kerry. He hadn’t thought of her this much in days, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

       The door beeped and they made their way in. The room was of course, very cold; Casper could see his breath in front of him and thought about cigarettes. His mind was still buzzing; his chest still felt like it was collapsing. A cigarette would be really great right about now.

       They stopped in front of a wall of drawers and while the doctor (mortician?) was speaking, Casper found himself unsure if he knew the man’s name. He just nodded along, having no clue what the man said. 

       The drawer slid out silently, and Casper knew that although he was off duty, he needed to really pay attention now. Whatever this was, it was important enough for Tony to drag him out here. 

       “Are you sure about this?” The doctor said.

       Casper’s throat was a gravel driveway, his voice, a slow moving car. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

       Casper’s head had been buzzing since he got off the phone with Tony. What the fuck did Kerry mean?He thought. Still not paying attention to his closet situation, he yanked a shirt and threw it on, unfazed by the angry noise of the plastic hanger loosing itself and click-clacking to the floor. Still buttoning his shirt (it was black, of course it was black), he made his way back to the front of the house.        

       Casper’s sunglasses sat in the usual place, on top of that stupid little green table right by the front door. A sour taste swirled around his mouth as he remembered the day Kerry brought the table home. They had put so much into cultivating this northeastern manor look to the house, from their chairs to the bookshelves—hell, even the cornflower blue color of the walls in the study.                                                          

                                                         ***

       Then came the table. He had been sitting in his chair, looking out the window onto the bay when the door sort of slammed open. Thinking something was wrong, Casper jolted up and over to the foyer. There she was: a rustic, pastel green table hanging by one of its long, claw-footed legs in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a big, dumb grin plastered across her face. 

       “Look what I found Cas,” she said. Her voice was as wispy as the smoke drifting away from her cigarette. “Seventeen dollars. Can you believe it?”        He stood for a moment, trying to find just the right set of words. The table looked to him like a piece from Southern Home magazine. It’d go perfectly with some seashells and an apple pie candle. Casper threw a grin on his face and said, “What a bargain!”

                                                       ***

                                         NOT MY GIRLFRIEND

           Casper Maddox had a habit of romanticizing his coffee. No matter the brand, blend or bean it never tasted the way he thought it should taste, the way he hoped it would. One particular morning, a Floridian Wednesday in October, his hazelnut creamer wasn’t doing him any favors. But his view from the big bay window of his oceanfront property gave him encouraging chills.

           The floods had come and gone, the sand below still wet from last night’s steady rain. The weather reports afforded the town of St. Augustine a month of weak sunshine before more flash floods; another hurricane with an equally snappy name as Toto.

           Casper one-handedly tugged his hair into a bun, not without struggle. Kerry had always liked his hair that way. He peered into the living room behind him, where Kerry’s favorite chair almost glowed in the growing sunlight. He could just see her there, curled up and sitting on her thick white legs. It was his favorite part of her, and he could admit that sounded pretty awful. He would’ve liked to say her smile, but Kerry didn’t smile much. He would’ve liked to say her eyes, but he honestly couldn’t remember their damned color. He swore they changed from blue to green (that was his excuse anyway).

           But her empty chair and her fading face shook him from his bay window view. He sat where she would’ve sat, sipped his coffee idealistically, and breathed her in. She’d only truly been gone a week, but the distance and arguments were untraceable; Kerry and conflict were synonymous. It was due in part to her mother, he was sure. At least she had one, he thought. And the thought alone unburied an argument in his memory and he began to cry (finally allowing a tear or two, and laughing as the lipids dripped into his sad sad coffee).  

           Perhaps the encroaching heat from the returning sun could heal him. Perhaps he’d take a trip out to the parks, get his money’s worth on those annual passes. A Mickey Mouse Ice Cream Bar seemed like just the thing.

           Just then, Casper’s phone rang. It took him a moment to collect himself, to stop floating in his theme park daydream. He realized it was his phone, and that his X-Files theme ringtone barreled effervescently from the kitchen. He stood up and spilt coffee on his knuckles.

           “Goddammit!”

           Casper was suddenly aware, with pain echoing through his hand, that today was a day just like any other. He would not be allowed to relax. Duty called.

           “Hello?” he answered, his voice dry and not loud enough.

           “Maddox?” It was Tony. “We’ve got her down at the station.”

           “Who?”

           “Your girlfriend.”

           “She’s not my—”

           “She’s in rough shape. Got into pills or ‘shrooms or some such. Saying, uh…the friendly ghost knows…(I figure she means you)…uh…he knows where the siren sleeps, but um…not when she wakes. And now she’s just repeating ‘I know, I know when she wakes’ and ripping out her hair. She puked a bit ago. Anyway, I think you should get down here before they take her to the bughouse.”  

           Casper burnt his tongue on his underwhelming coffee as he listened. He nodded, but quickly realized Tony couldn’t see him nodding.

           “So, you coming, or you care or what?” said Tony.

           “Yeah, okay. Don’t let them move her.”

           Casper hesitated so hard he forgot to breathe. “I’ll be there in thirty,” he finally said.