B13
"I'm looking for someone to work Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights," Raquel Nisbet, the owner of Rusty's Malt Shop, told the job applicant sitting across the desk from her.
"Those hours are perfect for me," Ronan Moynahan assured her. "I'm a college student, and I'm looking for a part-time job, just a few nights a week. And I have no classes on the weekends, so that schedule works for me."
"It's been my experience that most people your age want the weekends off, especially Saturdays—their date nights."
"Not me. My education comes first. I put off having an active social life for three years so far. I'm sure I can do so for my final year."
"Good. Can you start this Friday?"
"Sure. What time?"
"The hours are from six to eleven," Raquel replied. "Let me go get you a few uniform shirts."
The owner went to the stockroom where nonperishables were kept. She returned several minutes later with two red button-down shirts that had the diner's name embroidered on the front pocket.
"Lastly, let's get your paperwork over with. Here's a W-4 and an emergency contact form. If you want to take them home, fill them out and bring them with you on Friday, that's fine with me."
"Thanks. I will."
"You're all set then. Welcome to the team."
They shook hands across the desk, and then Ronan rose from his seat.
"See you Friday night," he said and left the owner's office.
It was three o'clock on a Monday afternoon, and business was slow at the diner. The nine-to-fivers' lunch hour was already over, and it was too early for the dinner crowd to arrive. Even the early birds did not start showing up until after four. The tables and booths were empty, and only one customer was sitting at the counter. A salesman, in between calls, was having a cup of coffee and checking the messages on his phone.
As Ronan headed for the front door, he smiled and nodded his head at the waitress. Dodie Feller, a forty-one-year-old wife of a policeman, had two kids in high school and was somewhat of a mother hen to the retro diner's younger employees.
"I got the job," he announced.
"Great! You're gonna like it here. It's a nice place to work."
"Bye," he called.
Moments later, he stepped out into the parking lot, unlocked his car door and drove away.
* * *
The first two hours of Ronan's shift were busy ones. He followed Sahara Colson from table to table as she waited on customers. The twenty-three-year-old, who had four years of serving experience, was put in charge of his on-the-job training. Then, shortly after eight o'clock, a group of six people, all members of a bowling team, entered the diner.
"Let's see if you can handle this one by yourself," the experienced server said.
The trainee grabbed menus from behind the counter and showed the customers to a table.
"I'll give you folks a few minutes to make up your minds and I'll come back and take your order," he said.
"You're a quick learner," Sahara observed after watching him deliver the check to a middle-aged couple sitting at one of the booths.
"I have a good trainer," he declared, returning the compliment.
"So, what are you studying in school?" she asked.
"Physical therapy."
"That's smart. People in the health industry always seem to be able to find jobs. Me, I got a communications degree, and I'm still waiting on tables. I've been thinking about going back to school, but I don't know what to study."
"Ah! Are you one of those people who don't know what you want to be when you grow up?" he laughed.
"I know exactly what I want to be: a rich old man's trophy wife."
"Good luck with that goal in this town. I may be wrong, but I think the wealthiest man is Mr. Kupper, who owns the hardware store. And he's already married with four kids."
Ronan noticed that the six bowlers had closed their menus, and he immediately headed toward their table. His order pad was open, and his pen was in his hand.
"Is everyone ready?" he asked.
Some people verbally replied; others silently nodded their heads.
"What can I get for you?"
"Excuse me," one of the diners asked. "Can I get onion on my burger?"
"Certainly. Would you like it raw or fried?"
"Raw."
He's a natural at this, Sahara thought.
He was not only polite and efficient, but he also proved knowledgeable when called upon to answer questions. Ronan was doing so well that at nine, the waitress decided he could handle things by himself for the next two hours.
"I'm going home," she announced. "I've been here since eleven this morning, and my feet are killing me."
A look of uncertainty flashed on the young man's face.
"You'll be fine," the waitress assured him. "If you have any questions, just ask Fernando, the short-order cook. He's been here longer than I have."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"No, you won't. I don't work weekends. I'm strictly a Monday through Friday girl."
"Okay. Next Friday then."
Shortly after Sahara went home, the bowlers paid their check and left. Rocky, the busboy, emerged from the kitchen with a plastic tub and took away the dirty dishes.
"You're flying solo now, huh?" the teenager asked.
"Yeah. I hope I don't crash and burn."
"You'll be fine."
During the next hour and a half, only five customers came to Rusty's. A pair of newlyweds stopped by for a late dinner after going to the movies, and a sixth-grader and his parents wanted ice cream after attending the middle school art show. Ronan performed his serving duties like a pro.
Thirty minutes before closing, the diner was empty. Fernando brought him a cup of decaf and a slice of key lime pie.
"You deserve a break. You've been working hard all night," the short-order cook said.
"I don't have any money on me."
"It's on the house. Raquel lets the employees eat for free."
"Thanks."
"I'd love to stay and chat, but I gotta clean up the kitchen. Enjoy your pie. Oh, and if you want to listen to music, there's a jar of quarters under the register. Just help yourself."
Not wanting to take advantage of his new employer's generosity, Ronan took only one quarter from the jar. As he ate his pie in a booth, he flipped through the selections on the tabletop jukebox. In keeping with the retro theme of the diner, there were no new songs to choose from. There were no hip-hop artists, no modern rock bands and no country music crooners. The featured performers included Elvis, the Beatles, the Temptations, Sam Cooke, the Beach Boys and other performers from the Fifties and Sixties.
The college student had narrowed his choices to the Drifters' "Under the Boardwalk," Del Shannon's "Runaway" and Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" when he noticed that the title of B13 was "mystery song."
His curiosity piqued, he put the quarter in the coin slot and pressed the appropriate buttons. Moments later, Elvis Presley's voice came from the jukebox.
A very old friend came by today
'Cause he was telling everyone in town
Of the love that he just found
And Marie's the name of his latest flame
"You an Elvis fan?" asked Rocky, who came to get Ronan's dirty dishes.
"He's okay. You?"
"I liked the movie," the busboy replied, referring to the Baz Luhrmann hit, and then did a short Elvis impersonation. "If you're lookin' for trouble, you came to the right place."
"Austin Butler, eat your heart out!" the server laughed.
* * *
Since he did not have to be at work until six, Ronan stopped by the campus athletic field early in the afternoon to run on the track. He was on his second lap when two girls sat down on the bottom row of the bleachers. The one with long dark hair caught his eye. She smiled as he passed her.
After his run, he took a towel out of his backpack to wipe the perspiration from his face. Then he opened a bottle of Dasani and took a drink.
"You run pretty fast."
He turned around and saw the dark-haired beauty standing less than two feet from him. At such a close distance, he could see her eyes were green. He had never met anyone with green eyes before, much less eyes the color of emeralds.
"Are you on the track team?" she asked.
"No. I just like to run to keep in shape."
"Well, it's working."
Ronan felt a thrill of excitement as the girl eyed him from head to toe. Her smile made it clear that she liked what she saw.
"My name is Marie Van Norden."
"That's funny," he laughed. "Last night, I heard a song about a girl named Marie."
"A lucky omen?"
"Maybe. I'm Ronan Moynahan. I'm in my senior year, studying to be a physical therapist."
"Glad to meet you, Ronan."
"Are you waiting for anyone?" he asked.
"No. My friend, Vicki Sue is. She's supposed to meet her boyfriend here, but I just came along for the hell of it."
"Would you like to go get an ice cream or something?"
"I'd love to. Besides, I'm sure Vicki Sue doesn't need or want a chaperone."
Long after they finished their ice cream sundaes, the two teenagers were still seated at a wooden picnic table beneath the trees at Dairy Delight, joking and getting to know one another. Or, rather, Marie was getting to know Ronan, for she asked him a great many questions but volunteered very little information about herself.
Finally, the young man looked at his watch, frowned and announced, "I've got to get ready for work."
"What time do you start?"
"Six o'clock."
"It's only four-thirty."
"Yeah, but I have to take a shower and get changed, and I don't want to be late. It's only my second day on the job."
There was a moment of awkward silence while Ronan summoned the courage to ask the dark-haired, green-eyed beauty for a date.
"I work on Sunday night, but I'm free in the afternoon. Would you like to go to a movie with me tomorrow? We could go out for hamburgers and fries and catch a matinee."
"Sounds like fun."
For the remainder of the day, he thought about little else but the captivating Marie. His infatuation with her made him happy and yet troubled him at the same time. Why fall for someone now, when he was in his last year of school? He was determined to graduate and get his degree. Had he been a smarter young man, maybe he could have handled both a girlfriend and his classwork, but learning did not come easy to him. He had to study hard to get passing grades.
Maybe we can take things slow, he thought optimistically, at least for now. And Marie's a student, too. I'm sure she won't have time for a steady relationship.
As was the case on the previous night, the diner was dead after ten o'clock. The last of the customers left at 10:25. To pass the time, Ronan filled the napkin dispensers on the tables and topped off the salt and pepper shakers. Ten minutes before closing, he took another quarter from the jar and put it in the jukebox. Wanting to hear the song about Marie again, he pressed the buttons for B13. However, it was a record by the Beatles, not Elvis Presley, that broke the silence of the empty diner.
I've just seen a face
I can't forget the time or place where we just met
She's just the girl for me
And I want all the world to see we've met
"That pretty much describes how I feel right now," he told himself, resigned to the fact that, like it or not, Marie was now an integral part of his life.
* * *
"You're in a good mood," Rocky observed when Ronan arrived at work on Sunday evening.
"I know that look," Dodie teased him. "I've seen it on my teenage boy's face. You're in love."
"I wouldn't go that far," the student said, blushing. "I just met her yesterday."
"And?" Rocky asked, wanting to hear more.
"We went to the movies today."
"Ah, to be young again!" Dodie sighed.
The door opened, and a large group of people entered the diner.
"We just got a busload of customers," announced Raquel, the flame-haired proprietor who had been heading out the door. "Do you need me to stay?"
"I think Ronan and I can handle it, but thanks," Dodie replied.
It was the start of a hectic evening. Surprisingly, business on Sunday was steadier than it had been on Friday and Saturday. Dodie, who normally worked until nine, did not leave until after ten-thirty.
During the final ten minutes of his shift, Ronan was left alone in the dining room since Rocky and Fernando were cleaning up the kitchen and scrubbing the pots and pans. As he had done the previous two evenings, he took a quarter out of the jar to play the jukebox.
What will it be tonight? Elvis or the Beatles? he wondered as he pressed the buttons for B13, the mystery song.
It was neither. It was a group called the Turtles. Although he had never heard of either the performers or the song, Ronan enjoyed the catchy melody and the upbeat lyrics, especially the chorus.
Me and you, and you and me
No matter how they tossed the dice
It had to be
The only one for me is you
And you for me
So happy together
"I am happy," he realized. "As Jack Torrence wrote in The Shining, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.' I'm sure that goes for schoolwork as well as paying jobs."
* * *
When Ronan received his first text message from Marie on Monday morning, his heart fluttered with joy. Although she had nothing of importance to say (as was so often the case with text messages), he was delighted to know that she was thinking about him. He received the second message at noon, and the third came at two o'clock.
Three texts in one day. It must be love!
But that was just the start. Four more messages were sent in the evening.
I CAN'T KEEP TEXTING, he finally informed her. HAVE TO STUDY.
Moments later, his phone rang. It was Marie.
"Have I done something wrong?" she asked. "Why are you trying to brush me off?"
"I'm not," he replied. "I have a class tomorrow, and I really need to finish the assignment."
"Are you sure that's all it is?"
"I'm positive. I like you," Ronan admitted. "I was hoping we could go out again on Saturday."
"Where? What time?"
"I don't know. Why don't we wait and see how the weather is. If it's nice, maybe we can go hiking or canoeing. But I really do have to go now. I've got so much work."
"Okay. I'll text you tomorrow, or better yet, I'll call you after school."
"After school": the phrase struck a sour note. It sounded like something a high school student would say. But, surely, Marie was in college. They met on the campus athletic field. He soon put this concern out of his mind and opened his book.
Throughout the week, his new girlfriend—yes, that's what she was—texted him more than a dozen times each day. Admittedly, he did not have time to read them all. And when he replied to those he did read, he gave simple one-word answers or just sent back emojis.
MORE HOMEWORK? she asked him on Thursday evening when he failed to respond to three of her messages.
"Homework" was another expression he associated with high school but not college.
YES. SORRY. GOTTA GO. SEE YOU SATURDAY.
As he marked important points in his textbook with a blue highlighter, Ronan tried not to wonder about Marie's age. However, it was a worry that lingered in the back of his mind.
The following night, when the last of the customers left Rusty's Malt Shop, he again played B13 on the jukebox. The mystery song, apparently one chosen at random each time, was by Gary Puckett & The Union Gap.
Young girl
Get out of my mind
My love for you is way out of line
Better run, girl
You're much too young, girl
If I didn't know any better, he mused, I'd swear that jukebox could read my mind or perhaps even predict the future.
Ridiculous as this thought was, his suspicions were later strengthened by the events that were soon to follow.
* * *
Since it was a warm autumn day and the fall foliage was at its peak, Ronan wanted to take Marie hiking in the mountains. He brought along energy bars and bottled water to refuel and rehydrate.
"We can stop for lunch afterward," he announced.
"I'm fine with these bars. I'll be eating cake tomorrow. All those calories! You are coming, aren't you? You didn't answer my text."
He dared not admit that he had not read most of the messages she sent him that week.
"What time is it again?" he asked, pretending to know what she was talking about.
"Two o'clock at the roller rink. I'm so excited! It isn't every day that a girl turns sixteen."
Sixteen? Ronan felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He was twenty-one years old, and he had taken out a fifteen-year-old girl.
I'm more than five years older than she is!
"Are you okay?" Marie asked, seeing the pallor of his complexion.
"I ... it's a headache," he lied. "It just came on all of a sudden. Do you mind if we do this some other time?"
"No."
He drove her back to her home. She was disappointed about the date ending so soon, but there was little she could do about it.
"I hope you're feeling better by tomorrow," she said.
"What?" he asked, distracted.
"My birthday party. Remember? Two o'clock at the roller rink."
"Yeah. I'll see you then."
Since his head was not actually aching, Ronan went to work as usual later that evening. However, his mood was far different than it had been the previous Saturday night.
"What's wrong?" Dodie asked. "You barely said two words all evening."
"It's my girlfriend."
"Uh-oh! Trouble in paradise?"
"I thought she was in college," the young man explained. "But I found out today that she's going to be sixteen tomorrow."
"Sixteen is old enough to date. It's not as though you're a pedophile."
"Five or six years is a big difference when you're my age."
As though it were deliberately taunting him, the jukebox reminded him of that age difference later that night. Just before closing, he adhered to his established routine of playing song B13. This time it was by Neil Sedaka.
Tonight's the night I've waited for
Because you're not a baby anymore
You've turned into the prettiest girl I've ever seen
Happy birthday, sweet sixteen
"Thanks for reminding me," he said, talking to the jukebox.
The following night, it was more of the same. This time, however, the singer was Johnny Burnette, not Sedaka.
You're all ribbons and curls
Ooh, what a girl
Eyes that twinkle and shine
You're sixteen, you're beautiful and you're mine
"It's like rubbing salt in an open wound," he declared despondently, wishing the jukebox had an OFF switch.
* * *
If Ronan had any lingering doubts that Marie was too young for him, her birthday party at the roller rink put them to rest. Several of her friends were there, and they were all between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. He felt more like an older brother than a boyfriend. He was the only one who graduated high school, the only one old enough to drink and the only one with a driver's license.
Yet to look at her, she doesn't appear that young, he thought as he headed for his chemistry class on Monday morning.
The first text of the day came just as he entered Milford Hall. It was from Marie—no surprise.
CAN'T TALK NOW, he texted back.
There were several more throughout the day. They were spaced roughly forty-five minutes apart. Clearly, Marie was texting him between all her classes.
She may look older, but she's very immature.
The messages continued all week. Whenever he failed to answer, she phoned him. On Tuesday, he put his phone on vibrate; by Thursday, he turned it off. It had simply gotten to be too much. Marie hounded him all week about making plans for the weekend, and he wanted to slow things down.
They had three dates in two weeks—four if you counted going to Dairy Delight for ice cream sundaes the day they met. Although he knew he ought to tell the girl exactly how he felt, he believed doing so would hurt her.
"She's a nice kid, and I really like her," he confided in Sahara when they worked together on Friday evening. "But that's just it: she's a kid. And besides, I want to concentrate on finishing school."
"You've got to tell her," the waitress said. "Believe me, there's nothing worse than sitting home waiting for a phone call that never comes."
Later that night, Ronan performed his usual ritual of playing B13 after the last customer left the diner. The eerily prescient jukebox chose another Neil Sedaka song.
Don't take your love away from me
Don't you leave my heart in misery
If you go then I'll be blue
'Cause breaking up is hard to do
Taking Sahara Colson's advice, he phoned Marie the next morning.
"I was wondering when you were going to call," she said cheerfully. "Where are we going today?"
He wanted to let her down gently, so he cited a lack of time as the cause for their breakup, claiming that attending classes, studying and working at Rusty's Malt Shop left no time for him to have a girlfriend.
"This last year is the toughest of all," he claimed. "I've really got to knuckle down if I hope to get my degree."
Marie objected and tried to compromise, but he held firm.
It's best for the both of us, he mused, attempting to justify his actions. Maybe she'll find a boy her own age.
The jukebox, which was like a third person in the short-lived romance, had more to say on the subject. On Saturday night, B13 was another Elvis song.
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
On Sunday, it was the Jackson 5.
Oh, baby, all I need is one more chance
To show you that I love you
Won't you please let me back in your heart
"I don't know why I bother listening to that damned thing!" he said angrily.
* * *
Now that Ronan had broken up with Marie, his iPhone was turned back on. There were no texts or phone calls. Yet as he sat alone in his room trying to study, he thought about the dark-haired girl with green eyes.
"Yes, Elvis, I am a bit lonely tonight, but it's for the best. If she weren't so young and if I wasn't still in school, things might be different, but ...."
He shook his head. It was no good to think about what might have been. He had to concentrate on the here and now.
"Well?" Sahara asked when Ronan arrived at the diner on Friday evening. "Did you work things out with that girl?"
"Kinda. We broke up."
"I'm sorry."
"Next time I meet a girl, I'll be sure to find out her age before I ask her out."
Throughout the evening, the customers came and went. Sahara left at ten o'clock. Since no customers were in the diner, Rocky brought his coworker a slice of apple pie and a mug of hot cider.
"The perfect snack for a chilly autumn night!" Ronan declared. "Many thanks to both you and Fernando."
When the busboy returned to the kitchen, the server put a quarter in the jukebox. Despite his displeasure with the mystery songs played the week before, he pressed the buttons for B13 again.
It was a tear-jerker of a song from way back in 1959: "Teen Angel," performed by Mark Dinning, about a girl who is hit by a train while trying to retrieve her boyfriend's high school ring from a stalled car on a railroad track.
Just sweet sixteen and now you're gone
They've taken you away
I'll never kiss your lips again
They buried you today
The following day, Ronan read in the newspaper that Marie Van Norden had hanged herself in her parents' basement earlier in the week. Her funeral service and burial had taken place on Friday afternoon. Despite the guilt he felt, he somehow managed to make it through the day. As six o'clock neared, he donned his red shirt with Rusty's logo on its pocket and drove to the diner.
Thankfully, there was a steady stream of customers. Trying to keep all the orders straight took his mind off Marie. The last three patrons, college students like himself, left at quarter to eleven. As he topped off the red plastic ketchup bottles, he played the jukebox.
The evening's mystery song was one by Connie Francis.
You had your way
Now you must pay
I'm glad that you're sorry now
"What the hell?" he cried when he heard the lyrics.
"Something wrong?" Rocky asked, sticking his head out of the kitchen.
"No. It's ... nothing. The ... uh ... jukebox played the wrong song. That's all."
"It hasn't been working right for a few weeks now. Raquel called a repairman to come in and fix it, but those guys take their sweet time."
No mechanical malfunction could explain the prophetic selection of songs that were played since Ronan's first night on the job. No, there was some other, far more sinister reason why the "mystery" songs all seemed to have some connection to his short-lived, tragic relationship with Marie.
I don't care what strange power it has. I'm never going near that jukebox again!
However, as any dieter will tell you, resolutions are easily made but difficult to keep. His good intentions lasted only twenty-four hours. The following night, after the last of the customers left the diner, he took a quarter out of the jar and put it in the coin slot.
Maybe I ought to play something other than B13.
Oddly enough, all the songs, from Roy Orbison's "Crying" to the Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'," seemed to be about loss and sorrow.
Didn't they write any happy songs back in the Fifties and Sixties? I wanna hear "Hound Dog," not "Heartbreak Hotel"!
As though he had no control over his actions, his fingers pressed the buttons for B13. It was Elvis but it was neither of the two songs that had just crossed his mind.
You look like an angel
Walk like an angel
Talk like an angel
But I got wise
You're the devil in disguise
As Elvis and the Jordanaires repeated the chorus, Ronan saw Marie's eyes glaring up at him from the glass in the jukebox.
"No," he moaned as though in pain. "Go away. Leave me alone."
It took him several hours to fall asleep that night. He could not get the image of Marie's hate-filled green eyes from his mind.
It wasn't real. It was just my imagination. I feel guilt over her death, and now my mind's playing tricks on me.
He finally managed to doze off, but sometime around three in the morning, his cell phone woke him. It was a text sent from Marie's phone.
MISS ME?
He quickly deleted it.
There were several more texts the following day, all of which asked the same question. He did not reply to any of them. By Wednesday, the texts stopped.
That was the day Marie's ghost began to haunt him.
* * *
For two days, Ronan felt as though he were living in hell. He saw Marie's face when he looked in his bathroom mirror. It stared back at him from his computer desktop. Those green eyes peered at him from the screen of his iPhone.
"This can't be happening," he cried, slamming his fist down on his Honda's steering wheel.
Then a terrifying thought crept into his mind: Am I going crazy?
He skipped classes on Friday—a first for him—but he managed to calm himself enough to go to work at six.
"No offense," Sahara said with a look of worry on her face, "but you look like shit."
"I feel worse than I look," he admitted.
"Why don't you go home? I can stay until closing."
"No."
"If you're sick, you ought to be in bed."
"I'll be fine. And don't worry. What I have isn't catching."
Although Sahara was prepared to do the lion's share of the work that evening, Ronan wanted to keep busy. It helped take his mind off his troubles. Thankfully, he was able to put on a false smile and fool the customers. At ten o'clock, he insisted his fellow server go home.
"I've got this," he told her.
"Are you sure?"
"Go."
At exactly 10:47, as the door closed behind the last three customers, a full-body apparition of Marie appeared beside one of the booths.
"You're not real," her former boyfriend whispered.
The revenant leaned over toward the tabletop jukebox and pressed its buttons.
"B13," she announced in an unnerving, hollow-sounding voice. "That's our song."
Marie vanished when the music began to play.
I will follow him
Follow him, wherever he may go
There isn't an ocean too deep
A mountain so high it can keep me away
The lyrics brought tears to Ronan's eyes. In playing that song, Marie sent him a message. She was never going to leave him. It was no idle threat; it was a promise.
* * *
Despite not having slept since Thursday night—and then only fitfully—Ronan went to work on Saturday. Like Sahara Colson, Dodie Feller urged him to go home.
"I'm all right," he insisted.
"You don't look it," the waitress argued.
"Stop hounding me!" the normally amiable young man yelled. "You're not my mother!"
"Sorry," Dodie replied and walked away.
He wanted to apologize for his boorish behavior, but he could not bring himself to say the words. If he spoke, he would break down in tears. As the hours went by, Dodie continued to keep her distance. Whatever was wrong with the young man, she did not want him to take it out on her. At ten o'clock, she left giving only a simple "goodnight" in parting.
No sooner was Ronan alone in the diner than Marie reappeared.
"Why are you doing this?" he whined.
The phantom did not speak, preferring to communicate with music. As on the previous night, it went to the jukebox and its ghostly fingers pressed the buttons for B13.
Crazy
I'm crazy for feeling so lonely
I'm crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
"That's it! I am crazy. Marie and the jukebox both agree."
Marie and the jukebox, he thought, his eyes wide and glowing as though he were in the throes of a religious epiphany. That's it! The two are somehow connected. It was the jukebox that first brought her into my life.
When the last vestige of sanity left him, Ronan felt a ray of hope. If he got rid of the jukebox, he could get rid of Marie as well.
He picked up the heavy umbrella holder next to the front door and with all his strength, brought it down on the tabletop jukebox. The discordant sound of his vandalism brought both Rocky and Fernando out of the kitchen and into the dining area.
"What the hell are you doing?" the cook cried as the server continued to pound the pieces of the broken jukebox.
"I had to destroy it," Ronan screamed. "It was the only way to get rid of her."
Rocky took his phone out of his pants pocket and called 911. Minutes later, the police arrived.
"He's completely lost it," the cook confided to the responding officer.
"Don't worry, we'll take him to the hospital. They know how to handle people like him."
As Ronan was handcuffed and led toward the door, the broken jukebox played B13 one last time.
They're coming to take me away, ha-ha
They're coming to take me away
Ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-ha, to the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats
And they're coming to take me away
The sobbing vandal was placed in the rear of the police car. He was not alone. Seated beside him was the ghost of a sixteen-year-old girl with long dark hair and emerald green eyes.
"You all right back there, young man?" the patrolman asked.
Ronan sang rather than spoke his answer. The reply left little doubt in the police officer's mind that the young man was disturbed: "And Marie's the name of his latest flame."
"(Marie's the Name) His Latest Flame" - written by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman and published by Elvis Presley Music in 1961.
"Trouble" - written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. Originally performed by Elvis Presley in the 1958 movie King Creole.
"I've Just Seen a Face" - written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney and released in America in 1965 on their Rubber Soul album.
"Happy Together" - written by Garry Bonner and Alan Gordon and recorded by the Turtles in 1967.
"Young Girl" - written by Jerry Fuller and recorded by Gary Puckett & the Union Gap in 1968.
"Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen" - music by Neil Sedaka and lyrics by Howard Greenfield. Released by Neil Sedaka in 1961.
"You're Sixteen" - written by Robert B. and Richard M. Sherman. Originally performed in 1960 by Johnny Burnette, the song was remade by Ringo Starr in 1973.
"Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" - music by Neil Sedaka and lyrics by Howard Greenfield. Released by Neil Sedaka in 1962. (He rereleased a slower version of the song in 1975.)
"Are You Lonesome Tonight" - written by Roy Turk and Lou Handman in 1926. Released by Elvis in 1960.
"I Want You Back" - written and produced by Motown's The Corporation. Performed by the Jackson 5 and released in 1969.
"Teen Angel" - written by Jean Dinning and Red Surry. Recorded by Mark Dinning in 1959.
"Who's Sorry Now?" - music by Ted Snyder and lyrics by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby. Published in 1923; recorded by Connie Francis in 1958.
"(You're The) Devil in Disguise" - written by Bill Giant, Bernie Baum and Florence Kaye. Published by Elvis Presley Music in 1963.
"I Will Follow Him" - music by Franck Pourcel and Paul Mauriat, adapted by Arthur Altman. Lyrics by Norman Gimbel. Recorded in 1962 by Little Peggy March.
"Crazy" - written by Willie Nelson. Recorded by Patsy Cline in 1961.
"They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!" - written and performed by Jerry Samuels under the name Napoleon XIV in 1966.
Salem, please don't play B7 again. I like Tom Jones, but I'm tired of hearing "What's New Pussycat?"
