The Ghost in Love (18 page)

“Do you eat?” he asked.

“What?” Her shin was throbbing pain. She was trying to see where she was going without success. She wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. His question came out of nowhere. “Eat? What do you mean?”

“Do you eat food? Do ghosts eat?”

“Of course we
eat
!”

“What, dead souls and bats?”

“Very funny. The other night I had a very nice pumpkin soup. I found the recipe in one of Nigel Slater's cookbooks.”

“How do you know Nigel Slater?”

“I'm a ghost, Ben, not an illiterate. It just so happens that I like to cook, too, and I've tried many of the recipes in your books. You have very eclectic taste: a nice variety. Although you could use a few more books on Far Eastern cooking.”

“Is that so?”

“In my opinion, yes.”

“What kind of Far Eastern?” Although his voice was indignant, he slowed a little to allow her to catch up.

“Well, Thai for one. I didn't see any Thai cookbooks in your library.”

Ben was offended. “I love Thai food, but where am I supposed to buy the right chilies for it? A real Thai recipe depends on very specific chilies, and they're impossible to find around here. Why buy a cookbook when you can't cook the dish correctly?”

Things between them became a little easier after that. While listening to Ling talk about cooking, Ben quickly realized she was an expert on the subject, and that obviously created a bond between them. Anytime we discover someone who shares our obsessions, they become a kind of instant amigo. While walking through the dark, the two cooks talked about the use of
yete
and
guedge
in Senegalese dishes,
santoku
knives, Bhut Jolokia chilies, and John Thorne.

“Thorne is one of my heroes.”

She smiled and said, “I know that.”

“Ling, how long have you been here watching me?”

“Almost three quarters of a year.” She did not hesitate to explain exactly how it had happened: how she'd been informed of his imminent demise and subsequently ordered to earth to help him through his transition. When he died, she was to tie up any loose ends he'd left in his life, which was the only real purpose of ghosts. But then Benjamin Gould did not die.

“Briefed by who, Ling?
Who
briefed you about me?”

“I cannot tell you that. I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. Go on.”

“Wait a minute—did you just hear something?”

He had. When they both went silent, the sound of young voices singing wafted over to them. But what children would be out here in the middle of the forest now? It was eerie and intriguing.

They walked toward the sound, not knowing what to expect. Both wondered almost at the same time if this might be some kind of trap, but neither said a word.

“Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah
.

Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah.”

They could hear the individual words now. The singing voices definitely belonged to children. The song itself was as familiar as morning.

“What are kids doing out here?”

“Singing, apparently.”

As they approached and the young voices grew louder, both Ben and Ling unconsciously moved closer together. As if nearness might better protect them if something bad was about to happen.

A branch snapped loudly nearby. They stopped, because neither of them had caused it. Something moved in the dark. It was white and appeared out of nowhere.

“It's a verz.”

One of the white creatures stood nearby, staring up at them.

“What should we do?”

“Michael, row the boat ashore, hallelujah . . .”

When she heard the singing this time, Ling made the connection. “It's here for the kids. It's protecting them.” She looked at Ben and nodded, because she knew she was right.

Ben's voice was firm when he spoke. “You know who those kids
are
, don't you? Now I understand why my instincts told me to walk here.” His question was rhetorical, because he knew who was singing. As sure of that as Ling was of why the verz was here. “It's
me
over there: me and Gina Kyte. Her father used to take us camping overnight in these woods. I just remembered that. He taught us how to pitch a tent and make a fire. He was a scoutmaster. He'd always go to sleep before us. We'd sit around the fire a little longer, singing till we got tired.”

“Look—there's more of them.”

Several verzes appeared nearby. They simply were there from one moment to the next. All of them faced the two adults but were not in any way threatening.

“Do you think we can keep moving?”

“Yes. If they were going to hurt us, they'd have done it by now.”

Ben was right: as they walked forward, the verzes stepped aside. The flicker of a campfire was visible some distance away. They made for it without speaking. Ling kept an eye on the creatures at their feet, still not sure if they intended any harm. She had seen what they had done to Stewart Parrish.

Even in the dim light, the creatures all looked distinctly different. Some were larger, others smaller, some fatter, others thinner. A few had squarish heads, others' were more ovoid. None of the verzes had ears, and all had those distinctive big eyes.

“What do you think they did to Parrish?” Ling said, thinking out loud.

“The guy in the tree?”

“The
shirt
in the tree, yeah.”

“I dunno. You're the ghost; you're the one who's supposed to have those answers.”

“I didn't say much before because I didn't want to scare you, but Mr. Orange Shirt had some seriously scary powers, Ben, believe me. But the verzes not only stopped him, they
evaporated
him.”

“You said they're here to protect the kids. Because I'm one of those kids grown up and you're my ghost, maybe they're here to protect us too.”

At the campsite were even more of them. Young Ben and Gina Kyte sat next to each other by a small campfire, singing. Gina's father wasn't around. The verzes were everywhere. Some were sitting up, others lying down; some appeared to be asleep, curled close to the campfire like pet dogs.

“Michael, row the boat ashore . . .”

The adults stood a few feet directly behind the children, watching the scene and trying to understand what was going on. Ben counted nine of the white animals and wondered if more were out there in the surrounding dark. Ling had already counted and was now wondering, if so many of them were near, how dangerous this situation was.

Even more troubling to the ghost was not knowing what to do now. Ling knew her powers could help Ben. She knew, too, how lucky they were to have avoided any kind of confrontation with Parrish. But other than knowing those things for sure, she was
lost
.

The ghost was so deep in dark thoughts that she did not hear the little boy when he spoke to her.

Ben nudged her arm to get her attention. “Answer him.”

“What'd he ask?”

“If you like marshmallows.”

“Huh?” Ling's brain stalled.

Adult Ben answered for her: “Yes, we like them very much.”

“Do you want to roast some with us?”

“Yes, sure.”

Neither child looked surprised by the appearance of the grownups. A few moments before, they had stopped singing and turned together toward the two adults.

“Gina likes hers really burnt on the outside, but not me. That burnt part tastes yucky.”

“You don't even cook yours. They're probably not even hot inside.” While speaking, Gina watched her marshmallow catch fire, bubble, and burn to black on one side. She drew it back and blew out the flame.

The adults walked over. They kept checking to see what the verzes would do as they approached the children. None of the creatures moved.

“You can sleep here with us tonight if you want. You'll be safe. But you'll have to sleep on the ground, because we get the tent.” The boy said this without looking at them.

“How do you know that? How do you know we'll be safe here?”

Picking apart his marshmallow, young Ben ignored the question. Gina ignored it, too, while taking small, careful bites from every side of her marshmallow. When she'd finished that one, the girl reached into the large bag in her lap. Choosing a yellow one, she slid it onto the end of the stick. She handed that to Ling and moved over to make room for the ghost. No one made room for adult Ben. Standing by himself a few feet away from them, he felt awkward.

The boy finally answered the question. “I don't know it:
you
know it.”

Ling looked at him. Gina ate another marshmallow out of the bag while staring at the campfire.

“I know
what
?”

“That you'll be safe if you sleep here tonight.”

Perturbed, Ben asked, “How do
I
know?”

“Because I know it and I'm you.” The boy stood up and looked at the man. “This is all yours: us, the forest, the fire—everything.”

“What about the verzes? They're not mine.”

The boy said, “They're only here to protect your memory, nothing else.”

Ben looked at the ghost for help but she shook her head. He did not know how hard she worked to keep her expression blank. Ling knew how crucial this moment was. She did not want to reveal even one thing that might influence him.

Nevertheless, as if sensing some of what she was thinking, Ben said to her, “You said before it wasn't possible for me to talk to these kids. I could only watch them.”

The ghost said nothing but could not resist slowly sitting up a few inches straighter.

“What's going on with Mary Helen Cline?” Ben senior asked the boy.

“I hate Mary Helen Cline,” Gina said without looking up.

“Yeah, because she's a better kickball player than you are,” the boy taunted.

“
No
. I hate her because she's stupid.”

“Kickball.”

“Stupid.”

“Kickball.”

The man interrupted, “You haven't told me yet about Mary Helen, Ben.”

“I don't know what's with her. Why ask me?” The boy's voice slipped into grumpy.

“Don't lie: you know exactly why I'm asking.”

The two Ben Goulds stared at each other, the older one grinning, the younger one glaring.

The older Ben walked over to Ling and gestured for her to follow him. “Come with me a minute. I have to tell you something.”

Together they walked a short distance from the campfire—just far enough away so the kids couldn't hear.

“I remember this night, Ling. It came back to me just now. Seeing those marshmallows did it. Gina's parents never allowed us to eat them because they were bad for our teeth—all the sugar. But one time Gina snuck a bag along and we roasted them together after her father went to sleep. Earlier that day, Mary Helen Cline kissed me on the playground after a kickball game.”

Ling smiled. “What are you saying?”

“All this
is
mine, Ling, just like he said. This is all part of my life. I was supposed to die months ago but I didn't. I wasn't supposed to be able to talk to my younger self, but I just did. The boy said the verzes are here to protect my
memories
. He said I knew that already and was only reminding me. Do you understand?”

Ling said no.

He hesitated, trying to figure out how to say this right. “I didn't die when I was
scheduled
to die. That's why they sent you: to take me up.” He jabbed a thumb toward the sky, toward Heaven. “But when you came on schedule, I didn't die. Something inside me said, No, I'm not ready to go yet.
I'll
decide when it's time:
me
. Not the gods, or God, or Death, or whoever has been making those decisions until now.

“The same thing happened to that Danielle Voyles, I'm sure. She was supposed to die when that piece of pen went into her brain. But
she didn't die. That's why I was seeing through her eyes: because we had the same experience.

“
That's
why they sent the bum in the orange shirt to get me: I'm dangerous, because I didn't die when I was supposed to. Danielle too. And any other person this has happened to is dangerous to them too. I'll bet you a million bucks there are others.

“I've got to get access to as many of my memories as I can now. Because that's what this is all about: the answer to why I didn't die is probably in my memories.” He sounded exuberant and totally sure of himself. He pointed at the boy. “I just talked to him. I was able to converse with my past, Ling, because now I'm beginning to remember the details. That could be the whole point: bring the memories of my life back into such clear focus that I can use them to figure this all out.”

“But who sent Stewart Parrish, Ben?”

“I don't know yet; someone who wants me dead and silent. Someone who feels threatened by what's happened to me. Someone who wants things back the way they used to be. Back when whoever's in charge said ‘Die' and you died. But something's happened and we're obviously part of it. Danielle and I are living proof of that. We're the Lazarus people.

“The more I remember of my life, the safer I'll be. I'm sure of it. When I saw the kids roasting marshmallows before, I remembered the night we went camping here and roasted them in secret after Mr. Kyte went to sleep. Next, I remembered Mary Helen Cline kissed me on the playground that same day. That's why I asked him about her before. You saw how he squirmed.

“That's
me
over there when I was a little boy, Ling. I talked to eight-year-old me. You said that wasn't possible, but I just did it.”

“Yes, you did. But now you're going to have to figure out who's your enemy: who's out to stop you. And then how to get us out of here and back to your time.”