The Ballad of George and Becky

Here I present the chapter following the first chapter of Victims of the Bridge (current title of Ghost Brigade). Still raw. Still contains some suicide.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I’ve walked about thirty minutes away from the car before I get to what I think is a good spot. I’m actually pretty much in the middle of civilization, but I have no reason to think I’ll be found here.
The sign out front for The Crawfish Kitchen still hasn’t been properly taken down, but the For Lease sign is definitely up. This poor building has probably been twelve different restaurants, none of which have remotely succeeded for more than a few months. At this point, no one’s dumb enough to try to make it into another one. It’s not a good location for much of anything else, though, so the first person I would have to worry about finding me is someone in a deconstruction crew. That operation isn’t going to happen anytime soon, though, so I’m sure this will be fine. The interior is cool, and there’s a nice little room in the back with no windows or doors outside.
Anyway, it works for me, and, as far as I can tell, George isn’t terribly upset with the place. So I settle down, sigh, and ready the knife.
There’s got to be a better way to do this. But I don’t have a gun—someone would hear the shot, anyway—hanging myself sounds even more horrific, and I don’t know what the heck pills I’m supposed to wash down with alcohol to die and not just get extensive liver damage. And, you know, this worked once. Why take any chances?
I still get quite a bit of bile in my throat before I hack it open. And then it’s the same fun all over again. Pain, dark, waking, George.
I at least get dislodged from the floating part with less force this time. Maybe the guy is starting to get an idea of what he’s actually doing.
Letting out a long exhale, I put my hands on my hips and nod at the corpse. “Good enough for you?”
George, tapping his right hand on his thigh, looks around the room. “Uh, yeah. Nobody comes here, I guess?”
“No, I just felt like killing myself an extra time for fun.”
He laughs weakly, putting his hands back in his pockets. “Let’s get going then, huh?”
He turns and starts to walk into a wall, but I just watch him. He’s halfway through before he pauses and looks back at me.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
There are too many responses to that for me to pick one.
“First of all, I go by Becky.”
“Right! I know—I remembered; I just—” He cuts off and scratches the back of his head. “Never mind. Sorry.” Slumped, he spins to properly face me. “So, Becky, are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure.” I just manage to stop myself from trying to lean against the wall. “I’m just wondering if you’re seriously going to lead me off into your grand plan without telling me anything about it.”
He smiles. “Nothing wrong with jumping into things and then learning how to swim, right? I hear it can be more effective that way.”
“Sadly, I don’t care. Tell me what’s going on.”
He slouches. “Well, it’s a pretty long story, but, basically, a big plot is about to come to fruition, and innocent people are going to die if we don’t do something.”
That sounds like the basics of something, all right.
I take another step away from my body. “So what are we two ghosts supposed to do about it?”
“Oh! Actually, I’m useless.” Of all things, this doesn’t seem to cast a shadow on his mood. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the one that can stop this. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to get to you.”
“Okay.” I put my elbows back. “What’s so special about me?”
He tilts his chin up a little. “Your abilities, for one. I’ve never sensed any so strong.”
“Pardon?”
He pauses, his eyes rolling up a little. “Maybe that sounds a little weird, but you’re a ghost now, so you should be able to sense this stuff, too.” He grins, looking back at me. “Can you figure out how many special abilities I have?”
I focus for a second, but either I’m too skeptical to sense anything, or George is completely making this stuff up.
“Sorry. I’m not getting any vibes from you.” Other than the lack of brainpower, but I don’t think it took a sixth sense to figure that one out.
He doesn’t stop smiling. “That’s because I don’t have any special abilities! So you get the picture, right? I know what’s going on, but only you’re strong enough to stop it. So, you wanna start walking?” He points a thumb towards the wall.
“Sure, what the heck.” It’s not like I have anything better to do. If I did, I wouldn’t be lying dead in a cursed restaurant building.
“Great!” He spins on his heel and strides right out of the building. At least, he disappears behind the wall, and I have to reason to believe he didn’t come out on the other side.
Fisting my hands loosely, I go to follow him. My first time phasing through a wall. Somebody take a picture.
I still brace myself as the metal approaches. Strictly speaking, I don’t really know what I’m doing, but it can’t be that hard, right? My ghost can already move and walk without thinking about it. Going through walls ought to come just as naturally in this form.
I hold my breath, keep stepping forward—and then I stumble and fall flat on my face. I can feel spongy concrete pressing in on my face, although it doesn’t hurt. Guess I can’t complain, then.
“Becky!”
Well, I can’t complain about getting hurt.
I’ve pushed myself to my knees before George is grabbing at my shoulders to haul me up the rest of the way.
“I’m sorry! I should have warned you about the step down. Are you okay?”
“For cripes sake, your Chosen One ought to be able to take this much.”
“Uh, right.” He pulls back, scratching the underside of his jaw.
That’s when I realize how oddly dark it is out here. It was only afternoon when I stepped into the building, but now everything seems to be obscured in a hazy shadow. The concrete is specked with white spots of old gum, the clouds are black, the brickwork is greenish, and, now that I think about it, it’s as if I stepped into a negative. The kind you get back in film strips when you get the pictures off your disposable camera.
And then there’s George, who doesn’t look like the kind of surreal X-ray of a person in a negative. He just looks like George, as normal as he gets. A glance down at my shoes proves that I’m still in the positive as well.
Ghost world. Fun stuff.
George is watching me, his head tilted to the side a bit, so I sigh and rest my hands on my hips.
“Sorry. Just getting used to the scenery. I’m ready to go when you are.”
“Huh? Oh.” After a brief survey of the area, he starts walking, and I follow. “Did you not step outside before?”
“Not as a ghost, no.”
“Huh. Well, yeah, this is how it looks. You get used to it.”
“How long have you been here, anyway?”
“Thirty years now.” He lets his hands swing at his sides as we walk through traffic. I can’t sense anything as a car, then a pickup go straight through me. It’s kind of neat, though.
I’m having a little trouble keeping up with George, even when his legs aren’t all that much longer than mine. “So you’re at least an expert on how things work on this plane, right?”
“Of course!” He scratches the back of his head. “At least, I’ve figured out a lot of the ropes by myself. I don’t talk to many other ghosts, though, so I doubt I know everything.”
“Are you a little too galling for them?” I don’t imagine that most of the recently dead or otherwise wandering would take too kindly to such a broad enthusiast.
“Um.” He puts his hands back in his pockets, and I get the feeling he might not be sure what “galling” means. “I don’t know. Sometimes it seems like everyone’s ignoring me, but—” slouching, he looks up at me with some awful puppy-dog eyes— “you’re the only human who’s ever seen me, and I’m starting to wonder if even the other ghosts don’t notice me.”
Yawning, I smack him on the scapula. “Don’t worry. You’re annoying enough; I’m sure they’re actually ignoring you.”
“Uh, thanks.” He doesn’t quite straighten up.
We make it across the street, and he takes a sharp left once we’re at the sidewalk.
“Where is it we’re going?” I find myself sidestepping some freshly spat gum, more out of principle than anything else. “Kill People Headquarters?”
“Not exactly.” He picks himself up a little and glances down at me. “To be honest, I kinda thought you’d need a little more time, you know, to get used to being a ghost.”
“Oh.” I watch my feet as they go over the pavement without incident. “The look of this place is dizzying, but otherwise I think I’m all right.” Exhaling, I toss my hair behind my shoulders. “Let’s go and do something. Hit me with your best shot. I can take it.”
Huh. Did that come out of my mouth? I guess being dead is kind of liberating. No more depressing life. No more normal. Just having no idea what’s going on and actually not minding. I’m not sure what it is. You would think being the only one able to save multiple people’s lives would be a lot more crushing of a responsibility than just trying to survive classes in a way that won’t wreck your hopes for med school.
Yet here I am. Let’s go have an adventure. It beats the crap out of sitting through yet another class’s lecture on action potentials, and it’ll be nice to get a chance to do good for some people before ten more years of school have passed.
“All right, then!” Shoulders back, George charges ahead an an even more unreasonable pace. “Let’s get cracking.”