“You always could party, Kayla,” Mario says with a laugh, though the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes, which are weighed by black bags, deadened and careworn.
Mario walks in after her, with Ian in tow and I leave the door open out of caution, which Mario notices but doesn’t stop or comment upon. It is clear that he is accustomed to unease in his presence, likely the effects of being built like a super villain.
His body language is non threatening as he goes to the visible kitchen and grabs two beers. He twists the cap off with ease and hands one over to Kayla before he falls back on the couch next to her.
His house is remarkably tidy and well appointed, with matching overstuffed gray sofas and an impressive entertainment center. There are even decorative touches with a throw rug and some generic art hanging on the cream colored walls. He clearly cares about his belongings and takes pride in his home and I wonder why I’m so surprised when I’ve always underestimated him and sworn that it would be the last time.
“Who are you, dude?” he asks with a mild smile, looking at Ian. “Some sort of bookish ninja?”
“Ian,” he says politely. “The blogging ninja.”
“Are you Kat’s boyfriend?” he asks casually. “Isn’t she into that shit?”
“I’m her boyfriend, I think,” I say quickly. “Though she hasn’t exactly been herself lately, as I think you well know.”
Mario sighs heavily, “These have been some of the worst days of my life. Please know I didn’t want to do any of the things…” his voice drifts off and he slackens against the back of the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.
“What did you do?” Ian asks, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his legs.
“About a week ago I went to The Bishop to work on some renovations in the western rooms and when I came home I started hearing...voices, I guess.” He looks at us, eyes widened. “I’m not crazy, I swear.”
“Are you sensitive to the paranormal?” Ian asks, nodding his head reassuringly.
“I’m not sure what you mean, man,” Mario looks bemused as he leans his head back and pours some beer down his throat.
“Ghosts,” I say, breaking it down into language for those of us who aren’t mystically inclined. “Did you see ghosts when you were a kid? Do you hear them when others can’t?”
“Yeah, actually,” It registers in his face and he nods slowly. “My god, I hadn’t thought about this for years. When I was about five I started seeing things, scary shit every night. People whispering in my ears, sitting on my bed or just watching me from the corner. My mom was a drunk and my dad wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, so they just called me crazy and shoved me back into the room with...them.”
Watching Mario, this hulking man actually shiver was sobering. The trauma looked fresh on his face, softening it. He drained his beer and briskly rose and grabbed another one, talking quickly as he did.
“I was scared shitless most of my childhood and once I hit high school I just gave up. I started using, drinking, whatever I could to deaden them,” he laughed humorlessly. “Deaden the dead, yeah? Sounds ridiculous, but it helped and by the time I left school I didn’t see them any longer. They just started fading. All of them. I tried to forget about it and make a life out of nothing, and I did well for many years. They were gone until just recently.”
“Who were they?” Kayla asks, repositioning her shapely legs to address Mario directly.
“An old woman, mostly.” He shrugs, scanning our faces for disbelief and finding none, continues. “She looked about a thousand years old. She was the nicest of them, though. There was another one who’d hum incessantly when I’d be trying to sleep and it scared the absolute fuck out of me. She’d shut them up.”
“Do you think she wanted anything from you?” Ian asks, and I can tell by his posture and fact that he’d stopped fiddling with the sides of the chair that he is encouraged by this conversation.
“Yeah,” Mario started, his eyes squinting as though he were sifting through his brain for something just out of reach. “What was her name...what was her name…”
Kayla and I looked at each other, Kayla’s lips were parted, her eyes intent, willing some good information.
“Laverne? No. Valene? No, fuck no.” Mario looks at us apologetically. “Lavina…”
“Malvina?” Kayla guesses, and her breath intakes as Mario’s head whips over to look at her in shock. As though she had solved every last tip of tongue mystery of his life.
“Yes,” he exclaims. “Yes, Malvina. How did you know?”
“I just heard the name today,” Kayla says, clutching her beer as she rests lightly against the pristine fabric, a red throw pillow lodged behind her lower back helping give her poise, even while reclined. “She was Mary’s servant who was executed for killing Mary’s husband.”
“I spent so long drilling that name out of my head, but it's soothing to hear it now. She’s real?” The astonishment on his face marries with relief as he slams down his beer and shakes his head. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but when I went to The Bishop, I saw her again in the bar, I shook my head, but she was still there. Just staring me down from a booth. I was flustered so I tried to leave, but when I turned to exit she was suddenly right there. In my face.”
“She was hung there,” Ian says, realization dawning on his face as he speaks. “On the grounds, before the hotel was built. She must be the bar ghost.”
“That makes a lot of sense. My whole childhood I lived right next door to The Bishop Hotel, so no wonder she found me back then. This time she wanted me to leave the hotel immediately, and I guess I should have listened,” his mouth is slack
