Furlough

The last time Maria's eyes were checked was at the DMV when she was sixteen. Her vision was fine, she thought. Her father had been a naval pilot, and her mother still didn't use reading glasses well into her sixties. Maria had expected the same fortune. But now, at twenty-three, she waited in a white leather chair at the front of a Lens Crafters while the attendant retrieved her prescription from the back.

"Are you an avid reader, Maria?" the optometrist had asked.

"I guess so. I'm a year into a Ph.D. in history."

"I don't suppose you could let up a bit? Give your eyes a break?"

"Um, no, I don't think that's likely."

"Ah well, you're not the first person to come out of college near-sighted. I'll get you set up with a prescription."

Maria studied her new reflection. She had to admit the image was clearer, and she was surprised she hadn't noticed how blurry her vision had become. Just like the frog in a pot of hot water, she supposed. She did wish, however, that she hadn't chosen the cheapest frames available. They almost looked fake, like the 3-D glasses at the movie theater.

At least she could see.

It was a quick bike ride back to the small, single-story house she had rented since moving to Santa Barbara. A few blocks from the mission, the house hinted at the same Spanish architecture, all smooth adobe and red roof tiles. Approaching the house, Maria recognized a slight figure knocking on the front door.

Maria called from the driveway, "Alyssa?"

The young woman jumped and turned around. "Oh, hey! Good timing. Preston has a delivery for you."

Maria eyed the stack of books in Alyssa's hands. "So I see. What does he want me to, uh, do with them?"

"Same as usual. He said you'd know what that means."

Maria squeezed passed Alyssa to unlock the door, rolling her bicycle over the terracotta-tiled threshold and resting it against the nearest wall, where a house in a colder climate may keep a coatrack.

"Unfortunately for me, I do know what that means," Maria said. "Here, let me take those."

Alyssa awkwardly shepherded the books into Maria's arms.

Her face partially hidden by the considerable height of the stack, Maria added, "Any deadline I should know about?"

"Not that he mentioned. He just wants you to check in with him on Monday about whatever you were able to get through."

"Monday?" Maria let out a dry laugh. "I guess I'm getting started now, then. Thanks for bringing these by."

Alone, Maria hauled the cargo to her bedroom and fanned the books out on her desk. It was a diverse assortment of Renaissance-era materials, from thick, fraying and tattered volumes to glossy paperbacks.

All in the day's work of a historian, she thought.

Her eyes caught on a small black notebook. It looked like a journal she had kept years before, but more impressive. The book was leather-bound and comfortably worn, kept closed by a black velvet strap that clasped in the front. The corners of the leather were decorated with intricate golden leaves and flowers.

Maybe it's some kind of primary source? Maria thought. Maybe a field guide? Gently, she unfastened the golden clasp and opened the book to the first page.

DIARY.

She slammed the book shut.

It was possible that it was a primary source, but it didn't seem likely to her that a diary from the 1500s would be in such good condition. No, it was far more likely to be a diary of her advisor, Michael Preston, that had made its way into the stack of books by mistake. Preston was as private as he was forgiving, and Maria knew he would not look kindly upon her reading his diary, no matter the honesty of the mistake. Just the same, if it was a primary source, Preston would chide her relentlessly for not having prepared notes about it by Monday.

She sat down at her computer and began composing an email.

Professor P, Alyssa just dropped some texts off. There's a little black notebook. Is it yours? I wanted to check before reading it.

Sincerely, Maria.

Maria didn't expect a response—unlike his advisees, Preston took the weekends off—but she felt she had done her due diligence.

Appraising the materials in front of her, Maria selected the largest volume and laid it out in front of her. She struggled to make out the text on the first page. Squinting, she remembered she was still wearing the glasses. She folded them next to her mousepad, and fortunately, she could read.

Maria had always prided herself on being a fast reader. When she read the last line and closed the book with a thump and a small cloud of dust, she welcomed that familiar feeling of satisfaction. It was past midnight, and she was sitting propped up in her bed, lamplight illuminating the room. She looked up and blinked, straining to see the clock atop her desk. She thought of the optometrist's warning against excessive reading and sighed. Squinting at the clock, she could just make out the silver hands, when her eyes were drawn to the little black book sitting next to it. Had she left it there? She couldn't remember. She could only just make out the gold embellishments on the corners.

As abruptly as the sound of a fire alarm splits the air, Maria was completely overcome by an urge to read the book. She found herself leaping out of bed and crossing the short distance to the desk as she was pulled across the room, seeing nothing but the book. She grabbed it and barely had time to release the clasp before she was on her knees on the rug at the foot of her bed, yanking it open and raking her eyes over the neat, handwritten script on the first page.

She devoured the book page by page in a trance, stopping only on the final page, when she was plainly instructed to recite the phrases that followed aloud.

Wasting no time, Maria spoke into the empty house. "The spark of life need not perish. Bring his forward and let it burn. The spark of life need not perish. Bring his forward and let it burn."

Maria dropped the book to the rug. She leaned against the bedframe. She looked down at the book stretched open before her like a butterfly. Her breath was coming quickly. She blinked at the text, but couldn't make it out. She rubbed her eyes.

When she opened them again, her gaze fell on the far corner of the room, and her heart nearly stopped when she thought she saw the shadow of a man leaning against the wall. But it was late. Her eyes were well past strained, and the lighting in this house had never been very good. Her brain explained to her that she was seeing the water damage stain that she had been bugging her landlord to fix. Still, she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

Slowly, Maria reached out and ran her hand across the surface of the desk until her fingers found her glasses. She closed her eyes as she slid them up the bridge of her nose.

Maria returned her gaze to the water stain and found it to be quite the same as she remembered it—identical in color, shape, size, and location, that is—save for the man who happened to be leaning against the wall six inches from the edge of the discoloration.

Maria couldn't find the air to shriek.

He was watching her. And now he smiled.

Maria sprang to her feet and dashed for the door, only to have it slam shut before her eyes. She violently shook the handle, but the lock didn't budge.

Distantly, she was aware of the fact that this door didn't even have a lock.

"Sorry to scare you," came a voice from behind her. "I really don't have any less offensive ways to make an entrance at my disposal."

Kicking herself for leaving her cell phone out in the kitchen, Maria grabbed a letter opener off of her dresser and held it at her side in a death-grip. In one motion, she snatched a thin hard-cover book from the desk and whipped it across the room at the man's head like a Frisbee. He didn't have time to duck, and Maria flushed with satisfaction as the book headed straight for his throat. A satisfaction that lasted until the book soared clean through him and nicked the drywall behind him before clattering the floor.

Maria's mouth dropped open.

"All righty then, we cool?" the man said. "Because we don't really have any more time to waste on your freaking out."

Maria started to back toward the door.

"I'm not a murderer or anything," he said quickly, "and I didn't break in. I mean, you're a bright girl. You know you would have heard me if I broke in. And you just watched a book literally pass right through me." He put his hands up in a surrender, but took a small step toward her. "So. I know it may be hard to accept, but clearly the only logical explanation is that I am a ghost, and you just let me out of that book."

Her lips moved several times before she could produce any sound. "What?"

"Oi, Maria. That book right there, on the floor? That's where I live. Genie-in-a-lamp-style."

"What. What? No! That's… that's my, uh, my advisor's diary."

"Oh?" The man frowned at her. "Kind of rude to read someone else's diary. Well, looks like you're about half-way through. What did it say?"

"I… it said… "

"Come on, just one thing the old bastard wrote. What do you got?"

"I don't… I don't know."

"Yeah, that's because that's not a real book. Which you also already know. So just let yourself believe it, and we can get this show on the road."

"What show. On the road where?"

The man stood up straight and clasped his hands in front of him. "I have a job for you."

The haze of panic subsided as it was replaced by an unearthly disquiet, and for the first time Maria noticed the man's features. He looked to be close to her age, tall and slim, and dressed in a wrinkled black t-shirt and jeans. He was certainly bedraggled, and pale, with dark shadows under his eyes and messy brown hair.

Without thinking, Maria blurted, "Are you alive?"

The man laughed. "No. I am not alive."

He didn't say anything else.

"So, um," Maria started, "what's the job?"

The man grinned a wide, easy grin and took a step closer to her. "Now that's the spirit! I'll explain on the way. And don't worry, you'll be compensated for your work. What are you driving these days?"

"I ride a bike."

His face fell. "Goddammit."

***

Maria sat in the back of an Uber next to a ghost. His name was Mac, as he had told her in the driveway while they waited for Yvonne and her silver Toyota Camry. Mac had been born and raised in Santa Barbara.

"She can't hear or see me," Mac had said, pointing to the driver as he'd slid into the backseat beside Maria. "So I'm just gonna talk to you. But you probably shouldn't say anything. Or, you know, you'll seem crazy. Got it? Don't answer that."

The address he'd told Maria to punch in her phone was across town, and now they drove up the mesa through the deserted streets. Every so often she caught glimpses of the moonlight twinkling on the sea out the window.

Maria opened an empty note on her phone and typed a line of text with her thumbs. She showed Mac the screen when she was finished.

Where are we going?

"Why, 249 Sundance Avenue, of course!"

Maria rolled her eyes and typed out another message.

Yeah, I gathered that. Why? Your old house?

"Actually, yes. It's the house where I grew up."

Why?

"I need you to get something for me."

What?

"Just some old stuff. Really, it's not a big deal."

Maria narrowed her eyes at him, a growing suspicion gnawing at the back of her mind.

Mac sighed. "Look, I can see how this might be a life-altering experience for you. But honestly? We're not doing anything particularly exciting here. I just can't do it by myself."

If you're a ghost, not solid matter, why couldn't we just take my bike.

"It's kind of a cold night. And the wind messes up my hair."

Does your family still live there?

"Um. I'm not sure actually." He frowned. "What's the date again?"

August 10th.

Mac looked at his hands and said in a small voice, "What year?"

Maria's eyes widened. She typed, the glow of the screen casting unfamiliar shadows on her face.

2021.

"Wow," Mac grimaced. "Okay. Wow. Well, I guess I don't know if they're still there. Not that it changes much. We'll just have an extra stop if they moved."

Yvonne glanced at Maria in the rear-view mirror. Maria jumped when the driver spoke. "Is up here all right to drop you off?"

"Yes, this is fine. Thank you."

On the sidewalk, Maria and Mac stood shoulder to shoulder, silently appraising a comfortable two-story home with two cars in the driveway. All the windows were dark.

Maria took a long, deep breath.

"I'm sorry if this is offensive to ask or something," she said, "but how long have you been dead?"

"Six years."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-four."

"How did you die?"

"That is offensive to ask."

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

"No problem. Let's get to work."

Mac strode up the driveway and into an overgrown sideyard. Maria watched him for a moment before following a few paces behind. Mac's treads were silent. Maria's sneakers crunched on the unkept bushes. They came around to a spacious backyard. Mac stopped in front of a small door at ground-level, the kind of door that leads to a basement or crawl space.

"Here."

"Here, what?"

"Here's how we get in."

Maria eyed the door. "We're going in? Aren't there, like, people in there?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "But we'll be quiet."

"Yeah, I'm not doing that. I am not breaking and entering right now."

"Come on, I know this house backwards and forwards. We're only going into the basement. And no sound travels into the main house from down there. Trust me, I know." He paused to wink at her. She scowled. "They'll never realize anyone came in at all."

"So, does your family still live here then?"

"I doubt it. Dad had a vendetta against Volkswagen Beetles, and there are two of them in the driveway. So unless lobotomies have made a comeback in modern medicine since I've been gone...?"

"So are you just checking to see if your stuff is still there, or did you leave some really embarrassing porn that you have to get rid of before anyone finds it?"

"Close, but no. There are a couple things I hid around the basement that I would like my family to have."

"Okay. Assuming it's all still there, how do you propose we get it to your family? If you don't know where they live, I mean."

"Hm. Good question. I guess we can drop it off at my mom's office, if she still works there."

"Won't a mysterious package raise some eyebrows?"

"Nah, all the stuff will fit in a manilla envelope. We can just slide it through the mail slot."

"Okay. Wow. Okay. I can't believe I'm doing this." Maria turned to look at Mac, who leaned against the side of the house, watching her. "So. I'm probably hallucinating, right? Like, this is absolutely all a hallucination. I must have sustained a head injury, I guess. But I've definitely lost my mind. That's okay. But yeah. I've finally cracked. Right?"

Mac made a sweeping gesture toward the door. "In you go, dear Maria."

The door was unlocked. The hinges creaked as she gently swung it open and laid the edge of the door on the grass. Maria could make out the first three stairs. After that, only darkness.

Holding her phone flashlight in front of her like a blazing holy weapon, Maria crept down the wooden stairs. Mac stayed one step behind her.

“There should be a light switch at the bottom of the stairs,” he said.

The switch appeared in the circle of her flashlight. She flicked it up.

Maria and Mac stood in a finished basement furnished only with an old sofa and some boxes. Mac headed straight for the corner and knelt on the hardwood.

“Maria, come here. I can’t remember which one it is exactly."

Maria stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's okay, come here." His voice was soft, tender. He beckoned to her. "Don't worry, it's okay."

Maria swallowed. She crossed the room in slow, painstakingly measured steps. She knelt beside him, and Mac smiled.

"Run your finger over this edge here. And if you feel a groove, lift.”

Maria obeyed and was surprised to feel a groove at all, well-camouflaged as it was in the pattern of the floor. With her index finger, she inched the board up and slid it out of the way. Underneath the wood was a small cavity containing two sapphire cufflinks and an old stuffed bear.

Maria met his eyes. “This is it?” she said.

“Yep. Grab ‘em, and let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

"Really? Cufflinks and a Beanie Baby? That's it?" She ran her hand around the cavity, looking for another hidden catch or a false bottom.

"Don't forget to hit the light on the way out."

Maria's head snapped up to see Mac halfway up the stairs.

***

Maria and Mac stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a simple headstone.

“I guess my body’s under there,” Mac said. “My bones, at least.”

Maria did not know what to say, so she said nothing.

From the house, they had made the short walk to Mac's mother’s office, stopping at a twenty-four hour pharmacy for a manilla envelope. Mac had watched Maria lick the envelope and seal it shut. He had watched her push it through the mail slot, and he had listened to it thud onto the mat behind the door.

For a moment, they had stared at the flap of the mail slot, and they had waited as it swung until it was still.

"Can we go to the cemetery next?" Mac had asked, and now they stood in the grass as the eastern horizon grew lighter.

“I don't know." Mac said. "I thought I was going to get to see them while I was here. My family.”

“Can’t you stay?”

“No."

Maria nodded.

"I wanted to know how they were doing without me. How my brother looks all grown up, you know?”

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Maria looked at the toes of her shoes. They glistened with dew.

“Can I ask what we got from the basement?”

“The cufflinks are an heirloom my dad gave to me when I graduated high school. You know, a relic from the old country. In the family for generations. I never brought them to my own place. I’m sure he was crushed to think he’d lost them.”

“Probably not as crushed as he was to lose you.”

“The Beanie Baby was my brother’s favorite toy. I was home, visiting for the weekend, and he was eleven and annoying, and he kept throwing it at me while I was on the phone, so I grabbed it and put it with the cufflinks. I was going to give it back when I left. Then I forgot about it, of course. Until now.” He paused. “I wanted to see them. My brother should have just graduated high school.”

"That's great."

"I wish I could stay. See the look on my mother's face when she opens the envelope. I wonder if the dog is still around. I wish I could see what my brother looks like. If he's taller than me, you know?"

Maria looked up when she heard his voice crack. She went to put a hand on his shoulder, but it fell through him. She let it hang dumbly at her side. “Mac, I’m sorry,” she said again. "Do you—do you want me to go check on them for you?"

Mac brightened. “That’s all right! There wouldn't be much of a point to that, now, would there? Now for the matter of your compensation.”

He produced a pen and a checkbook from his pocket. “Maria Daniels. Spelled just as it sounds?" He scribbled along the check without waiting for confirmation. "Okay. What seems fair? Twenty thousand?"

Maria raised her eyebrows. "Twenty thousand what?"

"For the memo… I’ll put ‘undead shenanigans.’ I think that covers it, don't you? And the teller will get a kick out of that.”

Mac offered her the check. After a moment, Maria reached for it, but her fingers slipped through the paper like mist.

“Whoops, my bad,” Mac said. He lifted the check to his mouth and held it taut in front of his lips with two hands. He blew a a quick, sharp breath, then wiggled the check next to his ear. "Ah, hear that, Maria? Much better."

Once again, he held it out to Maria, who took it between her fingers and stared at the number.

“What is this, like, Monopoly money?"

"U.S. dollars, actually."

"But whose bank account is this coming out of?"

"Don't worry about it. No one you know. Or ever could know," he said. "For now."

"Can I ask," she said, "why me?"

"I don't really know. There are only certain people who can see, um, people like me. And you were close by. I could...I don't know...I could feel you. It's hard to explain."

"Oh," Maria said plainly. "Sorry, this isn’t real, right?" Maria rubbed her thumb back and forth across the check. The ink smudged. "Like, you can’t actually be giving me twenty grand right now, can you? Like, this is not possible?”

“Honey, this is hardly the least believable thing to happen to you tonight.” Mac glanced to the horizon. “I guess I’ll get going then. Thanks for making it a nice furlough.”

Maria looked up. “Sure, but—”

She stood in the cemetery alone.

Maria blinked.

Twenty thousand dollars? Twenty thousand dollars! To me! she thought. If it cashes, of course.

But she knew that it would.

This is everything. This is rent. This is a new set of glasses frames. This is a new bike. No, screw that, this is a car. Finally, I can get a car!

The light of the sun touched the headstone in front of her. It lit up his name.

She studied the headstone in the earth for a long time. As the sun crept further and further up the sky, Maria pocketed the check and started the long walk home.