Thinly Veiled

A figure that looked like Jimmy Edison stood on a small ridge of wind-blown sand near an untended hedge of rosa rugosa. It was high tide and the crashing of the surf sounded like laughter, like the ocean and the sky and the world was chuckling, snickering, guffawing at some cruel but irresistible joke. Jimmy Edison's partially eaten dead body lay face down in the wet sand just a few feet away with two local police officers crouched over it. 

Stone Point's finest rummaged through the pockets of Jimmy's pants and jacket, finding his cell phone, his wallet, and his keys.

Sheriff Tim Kichman was a townie; born, raised, and other than his four years away at college, had spent his whole life in Stone Point. He had a lean build and his salt and pepper hair and beard were fastidiously trimmed in a vain attempt to affect a George Clooney-like appearance. He looked at the phone. "Password protected," he said to patrolman Jeff Mercer. 

Patrolman Mercer opened Jimmy's wallet and took out the driver's license. "Jimmy Edison. 19 Elwood Street. Right here in Stone Point… Try 1225." Mercer was a Navy vet who had moved to Stone Point with his future ex-wife ten years ago. He was lean and broad shouldered, with the sharply drawn face of a man who was wound just a little too tight. He had skills that would never be needed in a quiet New England village and he was glad of that.

Kichman repeated the numbers as he punched them in. "1, 2, 2, 5. I'm in."

"His birthday," Mercer offered in explanation.

Kichman stood and looked down on Jimmy's body. "A Christmas baby. Huh. That's got to be tough. All the Jesus jokes. Not to mention getting stiffed on birthday presents."

Jimmy Edison's ghost muttered, "My birthday. Of course it's my birthday. Why did I even bother?"

"Afraid they'll find porn?" A voice behind him asked.

Jimmy turned and looked at the figure behind him, a man with long blonde hair and a fu manchu mustache. He was wearing aviator shades, a bright pink shirt and pastel blue bell bottom pants, with a long, fringed, black leather vest over the shirt that fell nearly to the knees. The shirt was open at the collar. Necklaces of colored beads and seashells clashed on his chest.  

"No," Jimmy said.

"Come on," the figure said. "There's always porn."

"Whoa, check this out," Sheriff Kichman said. Patrolman Mercer joined him, holding his hand over the screen to block the glare from the late afternoon sun. They watched in silence for a moment.

"This is probably inappropriate?" Mercer asked.

"Evidence, officer Mercer; evidence," Kichman answered. "We need a complete picture of the victim if we're going to understand the crime."

"That's good," Mercer said. "What is that? Sherlock Holmes?"

"I, uh, I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe?" answered Sheriff Kichman.

The figure with the long blonde hair and the fu manchu said, "I guess your phone was hacked by a porn-addicted degenerate, then? Or did you just forget to clear your browser history?"

"Like I knew I was going to die?" Jimmy asked. He considered his dead body.

"Always wear clean underwear, always use sunscreen with an SPF of 50 or higher, and always clear your browser history," the figure said. 

"So, what? We're like ghosts or something? I'm a ghost? You're a ghost?" Jimmy asked. "Great. I finally get to be Swayze but it isn't in 'Point Break'." Jimmy looked out at the ocean. "I always wanted to learn how to surf… Wait! Are you an angel?"

"An angel?" the figure asked. "That would be a long shot, given your lack of religious affiliation, wouldn't it?"

Jimmy nodded. "Okay. Ghost, then."

The figure shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Ghost. If that works for you. Groovy, man."

"This is what happens to atheists, then? No hell below us? Above us only sky?" Jimmy continued.

"Catchy, but, no. This experience is not limited to atheists. Semantics aren't all that important, um, here. Ghost. Shade. Specter. Angel. Devil. We're functioning at a more or less… conceptual, uh, ethereal level. My name is Brody, by the way."

"Well, Brody By The Way," Jimmy repeated.

"It's just Brody," the figure said.

"Well, Just Brody," Jimmy repeated again.

"This is an example of what you seem to think is a 'sense of humor' which led, inevitably, to your untimely death, I take it?" Brody asked.

"We haven't had any recent reports of coyotes around, have we?" Sheriff Kichman asked.

"No," Patrolman Mercer answered, kneeling down, pointing to what was left of the dead man's legs. "These don't look like it was a coyote. I mean, it doesn't look like the bite marks of any scavenger I'm familiar with."

"Murder?" Jimmy asked.

"Murder?" Brody echoed.

"Murder?" Patrolman Mercer asked.

Jimmy's head spun back to the two policemen and his dead body. "Did they - Did he - Just now - When I said - When you said -"

"Just a coincidence," Brody said. "Well, not a coincidence. Not exactly. It isn't that he 'heard' you or me but the living are far more sensitive to the energies surrounding them than they'd be happy to know. Freaky deaky, huh?"

"Murder? In Stone Point?" Sheriff Kichman asked rhetorically. "That would be a first, as far as I know."

"Boating accident?" Patrolman Mercer asked, smiling.

"This was no boat accident!" Sheriff Kichman responded, right on cue. The two men laughed. 

"Do they think this is funny?" Jimmy asked. "This isn't funny! This is not funny!"

"A partially eaten body on the beach. Quiet New England village. Mid-June, 4th of July right around the corner. You have to admit, Just Jimmy By The Way. It is kind of funny," Brody said.

"Well… Okay. I guess it's a little funny," Jimmy said.

"Tragedy plus time," Brody said. "Trust me. A decade or two from now, you'll think back on this and laugh so hard you fall out of your chair."

Jimmy considered Brody for a brief moment. "I guess it's true. You have to wear whatever you were wearing when you die for all eternity."

"You don't dig my groovy threads, man?" Brody asked. "Bummer. I'm hurt."

"I, uh… I mean… Wait. You're not really hurt, are you?" Jimmy asked.

Brody smiled. "But I am touched to know that you were concerned for my feelings."

"It's just, you know, well, you're kind of dating yourself," Jimmy explained.

Brody nodded and smiled. "Okay. I get you. You're afraid you're going to have to wear that ill-fitting suit, aggressively ugly tie, and those unfashionable shoes for all eternity. I get you. That would be awful. I actually died during the Civil War. Around the time of, rather than duringI guess I should say. Typhoid. I think. Cholera maybe. Long time ago and really, who cares? Anyway, I did not die a heroic or noteworthy or otherwise good or honorable death. I cried. I begged. I coughed. I puked. I shit my pants. I cursed, as one does, after shitting their pants." Brody shrugged. "Hardly good times… But I loved the 70s. The 1970s. The music, the culture, and yes, the clothes. It does look good on me, doesn't it?" 

"Take a look at these recent calls," Sheriff Kichman said. "Kuala Lumpur?"

"Kuala Lumpur?" Brady asked. "Exotic. Sex trafficking?"

"It's a glitch," Jimmy shouted at the two policemen. "It's clearly a New Hampshire area code but there's a space between the 6 and the 03. Somehow that translates to Kuala Lumpur."

"What is that?" Brody asked. "An iPhone 4? No wonder you felt all alone."

"It's a 6," Jimmy answered. "And I was going to upgrade but just hadn't gotten around to it."

"Not to be reductively racist given the large Muslim population in Malaysia but… Terrorist?" Patrolman Mercer asked.

"Stone Point isn't exactly a locale rich in strategic or symbolic targets," Sheriff Kichman noted.

"Could be a shift in tactics by ISIS - it's still ISIS, right? - going after America's heartland," Mercer offered.

"America's heartland is the midwest, isn't it? The wheat and rust belts. We're more like coastal elites, I think," Sheriff Kichman said, scanning the incredibly expensive mansions that stretched intermittently to the far end of the horizon, like hotel pieces on a gigantic Monopoly board, set back from the high tide mark on 1.5 and 2 acre lots. "I suppose there are a whole lot of soft targets here." His gaze returned to the 200-year old manse just above where the body had been found. "What do we know about the people who live here?"

"It's the Waterman House," Patrolman Mercer answered, consulting his notebook. "They still haven't returned from their winter place in Florida. Expected to arrive July 1st."

"What were you doing here, anyway?" Brody asked Jimmy.

Jimmy sighed. "Contemplating the meaning of life. Or the lack of meaning. Not life generally so much as my life specifically."

"I'm assuming alcohol was involved," Brody said. 

Jimmy shrugged. "Running away, maybe, from being Jimmy Edison. Starting over."

"Let me guess," Brody said. "Your girlfriend of more than five years, the love of your life, the one girl in the whole wide world that you knew you were meant to be with forever, til death do ye part, dumped you."

"You're not guessing, are you?" Jimmy asked, looking down at the shoes he was happy to know he would not have to wear for all eternity. Jimmy continued. "I was never going to do anything memorable, have even 15 minutes worth of fame, let alone make any lasting contribution to humanity."

"How did you know that? Did you have a time machine? Did you visit the future?" Brody asked. "I'm guessing that's a longshot based on the iPhone 4."

"I'm 37, working a job I hate, for a boss I hate. No opportunity for advancement. No hits on LinkedIn for my pathetic resume. Still renting. Driving a 15-year old Chevy Impala. Less than $200 in my bank account. No kids. And now no girlfriend; so, not even the possibility of kids. And no grandchildren to do the things I was never going to do. You know. Somehow save the planet from an alien invasion or invent a plant-based hamburger that actually tastes good and ends world hunger," Jimmy said. 

"I can dig it," Brody said. "But that's setting the bar kind of high, isn't it? A plant-based hamburger that actually tastes good? I take it you're not familiar with 'The Butterfly Effect'? Random acts of kindness?"

"Look, I'm not telling you what I knew; I'm telling you how I felt. I am entitled to my feelings, aren't I?" Jimmy asked. 

"Chillax, dude," Brody said. "Of course. Speak your truth, man."

"Sorry, but I just don't know - remember - what happened before I apparently tripped and fell and hit my head on a rock at the end of a most unfortunate chain of events," Jimmy said.

"Allegedly," Brody said.

"What does that mean?" Jimmy asked.

"What do you make of the fact that both your legs have been chewed down to the bone, then?" Brody asked.

Patrolman Mercer, returning his attention to Jimmy's wallet noted, "Credit card and money. Safe to say it wasn't a robbery gone wrong… Here's a receipt from the Bull and Claw last night… $187.50. That's a lot of surf and turf. And bourbon."

"We can head on over there after the ME comes to pick up the body," Sheriff Kichman said.

Jimmy Edison's body shifted and let out a soft groan.

Sheriff Kichman looked at Patrolman Mercer. "You checked his pulse, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course I did!" Mercer insisted, kneeling down to the groaning body "I mean, look at him. How could he be -"  

"I'm not dead!" Jimmy exclaimed.

"Oh, you're dead," Brody said. "Trust me."

"But…" Jimmy started to protest, but as he did, his dead, nearly legless body bolted upright and bit Patrolman Mercer on the neck, tearing out a mouthful of flesh, blood gushing from the carotid artery of the mortally wounded policeman.

"What the fuck?" Jimmy Edison shouted in surprise and horror.

"What the fuck?" Sheriff Kichman shouted in surprise and horror.

"Freaky deaky," Brody said.

Sheriff Kichman stumbled backwards a few steps as he fumbled with his service revolver. Zombie Jimmy continued to munch on Patrolman Mercer as the sheriff recovered his wits and managed to gather himself, finding Zombie Jimmy's head with his second shot.

"Wait-What?" Jimmy asked. "Zombies are real? This is not happening! This is a dream!" Jimmy closed his eyes and slapped himself. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

"At the risk of only making this worse… You are not dreaming," Brody said.

"You don't think this is all a lot to take in? My shock and confusion and general what the fuckery isn't justified? Like this isn't a new normal; this is a new abnormal! A six-pack of abnormal. With ghosts. And zombies," Jimmy said.

"And goblins!" Brody added.

"Goblins?" Jimmy asked.

"Sorry. Lions and tigers and bears oh my, you know? Ghosts and zombies and well, goblins was the first thing I came up with," Brody explained.

"You're really not as funny as you think you are," Jimmy said.

"This from a man with no detectable sense of humor," Brody said.

"Sorry, Merce," Sheriff Kichman said as he knelt down and pulled the policeman's service revolver from its holster, placed it in dead Zombie Jimmy's hand and put a bullet in Zombie Patrolman Mercer's head. "Had to be done. Just easier to explain this way."

"Zombie denial," Brody said with weary disgust in his voice. "You'd think someone who works in public safety would know better." Turning to Jimmy, Brody asked, "You still don't remember what happened to you - or maybe I should say - who happened to you?"

"No," Jimmy said.

Brody sighed, "Well, this isn't over; we've still got a zombie out there."

Sheriff Kichman sighed, "Well, this isn't over; we've still got a zombie out there."

"So, what? We're ghost buddy zombie cops?" Jimmy asked.

Brody nodded grimly.

"What? I was kidding! You're serious?" Jimmy asked.

Brody smiled. "Deadly serious."

"There is no such thing as ghost buddy zombie cops! I just made it up!" Jimmy protested.

"Did you?" Brody asked, his smile growing into a grin.

"Yes!" Jimmy insisted.

"Maybe you should consider the possibility that everything that's happened to you, every decision you've made, it was all to bring you here, to this moment, to something much more important than stopping an alien invasion that won't happen for another thousand years or creating a vegan burger that nobody actually wants," Brody said.

"Wait. Aliens do exist?" Jimmy asked. "UFOs are real?"

Brody hesitated. "Yes. Aliens exist. Ghosts, for want of a better term, exist. Zombies, as popularized in pulp fiction and B-movies, exist. I was kidding about goblins, though."

"Okay. So. Jimmy Edison and Brody, Ghost Buddy Zombie Cops?" Jimmy asked.

"Sounds a little bit like a series of young adult novels, I know," Brody said. "But I really should have top billing, you know. Brody and Jimmy, not Jimmy and Brody. Huh. Tesla and Edison, Ghost Buddy Zombie Cops. That could work."

"Sounds more like a terrible Ryan Reynolds movie," Jimmy noted. "You can be Ryan Reynolds then. I'm sticking with Swayze."

"Okay. A terrible movie then - an homage to George Romero's black and white documentarian work - starring Ryan Reynolds and Patrick Swayze. Based on a series of young adult novels about Nicola Tesla and Thomas Edison, bringers of light and killers of zombies" Brody added.

"And we've still got a zombie out there," Jimmy said. "All right. We're ghosts." Jimmy looked down to see he was now dressed in tight, boot-cut jeans, shining black cowboy boots, and a tight black t-shirt under a jean jacket. Jimmy thought it was more "Roadhouse" than "Point Break" but it would do. He wondered if he had Swayze's hair. He reached up and ran his right hand through the luxurious blonde locks of hair. Swayze hair! "So, now what? Can you scare a zombie to death? I mean, they're already dead, so-"

"You have much to learn, young Skywalker," Brody said. 

Jimmy's face brightened. "Just like Swayze in 'Ghost'!" 

Brody nodded. "Shall we begin?"