Annabelle jumped onto my bed where I was lying in a semi-prone position. What are you reading? she asked.
A new mystery.
Do you like it?
It’s too early to tell. It’s set in the nineteenth century, but the characters don’t seem to be in the same period. I hope it gets better.
I closed the book and set it aside. She crawled onto my chest, wandered around, then she began to knead my chest before she lay down with her eyes inches from my nose.
I love you, Daddy!
I love you, Annabelle. You’re my pretty little girl.
She rubbed the left side of her head against my chest, and I ran my two hands down the sides of her body as she purred and chirped in happiness and pleasure.
I’m happy that the theatres are opening up again, she told me. Thatch and I can start working on “Annabelle With An A” again.
What about your musical?
I’m waiting to hear from Jerry Herman. I’m tired of waiting for Irving Berlin.
Well, I guess R.U. Fémos will be coming back to Manhattan soon. Maybe he can find you some work.
I’ll call him. I do miss him.
Thatch jumped onto the bed with Stella in pursuit. Annabelle sat up, jumped off me, and climbed onto “her” pillow where she sleeps every night. Stella sniffed around me for food, then promptly fell onto her side next no me, and I idly stroked her side.
What? Annabelle asked.
We’re just coming to join you, Thatch explained. I was tired of napping on the chester drawers and Stella followed me.
He walked across my chest and sat down next to Annabelle’s pillow. Stella stuck her face close to mine and examined it for about a minutes before she lay down next to me and dozed off.
Well, this is nice! I’ve got all my babies here with me. I’m sure you all want me to brush you –
Yes! Annabelle shouted and the three cats sat up and watched me with enthusiastic looks. They love their evening brushing.
– but I want to read a bit more of my mystery first. Then I’ll brush you – oh, maybe thirty minutes? – and then we’ll all go to bed.
All right, Annabelle stated, thirty minutes.
The three cats lay back down, and I picked up my book. I read for maybe fifteen minutes when there was a scraping sound from the kitchen area. It sounded as if someone had moved my walker. Thatch sat up, walked slowly to the foot of the bed, then sat down and stared intently at the kitchen area.
What is it, Thatch? I asked.
Shhh, he whispered. His gaze never veered from the area he was watching. I put the book down, got out of bed, grabbed my cane, and walked into the kitchen. My walker was indeed moved. Well, that can’t be mice or the roaches, I thought. I turned around and headed back to the bed. Thatch still sat where I had last seen him, looking past me.
There’s something here, I said as I walked past him.
There’s a man behind you, Daddy, he said very slowly and quietly.
I turned around. Where, Thatch?
He’s gone. He vanished as soon as you turned.
That’s a new ghost, Annabelle said as I climbed back into bed. I’ve never seen him before.
Sorry, Stella, I said as I moved her for more space, I’ve gotta move you, baby.
Stella rose, slowly stretched, jumped off the bed, climbed onto the director’s chair next to the CD case, and lay down. That’s where she usually sleeps. Thatch walked up to me in the space between my body and the edge of the bed.
I think he’s lost, Daddy, and he’s not happy. I don’t know who he is.
What does he look like? I asked.
I can’t describe him, Thatch said.
I can! Annabelle said. My powers of observation make me a great detective.
Okay, Missy, I said, what’s he look like?
Well, I’ve seen him before, a couple of years ago . . . A con artist. Seedy, like a handsome man who had too much alcohol and drugs. He’s like that actor . . . oh, what’s him name. Thatch? He always looks so beat up.
Don’t ask me, Annabelle! You’re the one watching Entertainment Tonight!
I have to know what the stars are up to, Thatch! I’m going to be on that program one day, you know.
Annabelle, I asked, anything else you can tell me about him?
It’s hard to say how old he is. Fifty? I don’t know, but he’s not as old as you, Daddy. What is that worn out actor’s name? He was so handsome and now he looks so bad . . . oh, Thatch, who is he? Who am I thinking of?
Well, I said, we have a new ghost. Let’s go to bed. I reached for the light.
He looks like Nick Nolte! Annabelle shouted. That’s who he reminds me of. I knew I’d remember.
Worn out, blond hair, once good looking? I thought. Oh my God, I said to the cats, I think it’s that rotten shit Jim, the suicide in 4E.
Yes, Annabelle said. I do remember him. Remember, Thatch? When Death was walking up the stairs to get him?
I do! Thatch said. Val had a lot of blood to clean up.
Gives me chills, Annabelle told us.
Well, babies, I didn’t like him alive, and I do not want him hanging around here now that he’s dead.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 