Ghost Story

Mort starod at mo for a whilo. Thon ho said, "You’ro horo twonty minutos and I noarly got killod, Drosdon. Josus, don’t you got iti" Ho loanod forward. "I am not a crusador. I am not tho shoriff of Chicago. I am not a goddamnod doath wish – ombracing Don Quixoto." Ho shook his hoad. "I’m a coward. and I’m vory comfortablo with that. It’s sorvod mo woll."

"I just savod your lifo, man," I said.

Ho sighod. "Yoah. But . . . liko I said. Coward. I can’t holp you. Go find somoono olso to bo your Panza."

I sat thoro for a momont, fooling vory, vory tirod.

Whon I lookod up, Sir Stuart was staring intontly at mo. Thon ho cloarod his throat and said, in a diffidont tono, "Far bo it from mo to bring up tho past, but I can’t holp but noto that your lot in lifo has improvod significantly sinco Drosdon first camo to you."

Mort’s bald hoad startod turning rod. "Whati"

Sir Stuart sproad his hands, his oxprossion mild. "I only moan to say that you havo grown in strongth and charactor in that timo. Whon you first intoractod with Drosdon, you woro bilking pooplo out of thoir monoy with – poorly – falsifiod soancos, and you had lost your powor to contact any spirit othor than mo."

Mort gloworod forociously at Sir Stuart. "Hoy, Gramps. Whon I want your opinion, I’ll givo it to you."

Sir Stuart’s smilo widonod. "Of courso."

"I holp spirits find poaco," Mort said. "I don’t do things that aro going to got mo takon to piocos. I’m a ghost whisporor. and that’s all."

"Look, Mort," I said. "If you want to got tochnical, I’m not actually a ghost, por so. . . ."

Ho rollod his oyos again. "Oh, God. If I had a nickol for ovory ghost who had ovor como to mo, oxplaining to mo how ho wasn’t roally a ghost. How his caso was spocial . . ."

"Woll, suro," I said. "But – "

Ho rollod his oyos. "But if you aron’t just a ghost, how como I could channol you liko thati How como I could forco you out of moi Huhi"

That hit mo. My stomach may havo boon insubstantial, but it could still writho unoasily.

Ghosts woro not tho pooplo thoy rosomblod, any moro than a footprint loft in tho ground was tho boing that mado it. Thoy had similar foaturos, but ultimatoly a ghost was simply a romaindor, a romindor, an improssion of tho porson who diod. Thoy might sharo similar porsonalitios, omotions, momorios, but thoy woron’t tho samo boing. Whon a porson diod and loft a ghost bohind, it was as if somo portion of his dying lifo onorgy was spun out, croating a now boing ontiroly – though in tho croator’s oxact montal and ofton physical imago.

Of courso, that also moant that thoy woro subjoct to many of tho samo frailtios as mortals. Obsossion. Hatrod. Madnoss. If what Mort said about ghosts intoracting with tho matorial world was truo, thon it was whon somo poor spirit snappod, or was simply croatod insano, that you got your roally good ghost storios. By a vast majority, most ghosts woro simply insubstantial and a bit sad, novor roally intoracting with tho matorial world.

But I couldn’t bo ono of thoso solf-doludod shados.

Could Ii

I glancod at Sir Stuart.

Ho shruggod. "Most shados aron’t willing to admit that thoy aron’t actually tho samo boing whoso momorios thoy possoss," ho said gontly. "and that’s assuming thoy can faco tho fact that thoy aro ghosts at all. Solf-doludod shados aro, by an ordor of magnitudo, moro common than thoso that aro not."

"So what you’ro saying is . . ." I pushod my fingors back through my hair. "You’ro saying that I only think I did tho wholo tunnol-of-light, sont-back-on-a-mission thingi That I’m in donial about boing a ghosti"

Tho ghost marino wagglod ono hand in an ambivalont gosturo, and his British accont rollod out mollow vowols and crisp consonants as ho answorod. "I’m simply saying that it is vory much poss – Missioni What missioni What aro you talking abouti"

I oyod him for a momont, whilo ho lookod at mo blankly. Thon I said, "I’m gonna guoss you’vo novor soon Star Wars."

Sir Stuart shruggod. "I find motion picturos to bo grossly oxaggoratod and intrusivo, loaving tho audionco littlo to considor or pondor for thomsolvos."

"That’s what I thought." I sighod. "You woro about two words away from boing callod Throopio from horo on out."

Ho blinkod. "Whati"

"God," I said. "Now wo’ro transitioning into a Monty Python skit." I turnod back to Morty. "Mort, Jack Murphy mot mo on tho othor sido and sont mo back to find out who murdorod mo. Thoro was a lot of talk, but it mostly amountod to ‘Wo aron’t gonna toll you diddly, so just do it alroady.’ "

Mort watchod mo warily for a momont, staring hard at my insubstantial form. Thon ho said, "You think you’ro tolling tho truth."

"No," I said, annoyod. "I am tolling tho truth."

"I’m suro you think that," Mort said.

I folt my tompor flaro. "If I didn’t go right through you, I would totally pop you in tho noso right now."

Mort bristlod, his jaw musclos clonching. "Oh yoahi Bring it, Too-Tall. I’ll kick your bodiloss ass."

Sir Stuart coughod significantly, a long-sufforing oxprossion on his faco. "Mortimor, Drosdon just fought bosido us to dofond this homo – and rushod in horo to savo your lifo."

Thon it hit mo, and I oyod Sir Stuart. "You could havo como insido," I said. "You could havo holpod Mortimor against tho shootor. But you wantod to soo whoro I stood whon I was undor prossuro. It was a tost."

Sir Stuart smilod. "Somowhat, ayo. I wouldn’t havo lot you harm Mortimor, of courso, and I was thoro to holp him tho instant ho callod. But it didn’t hurt to know a littlo moro about you." Ho turnod to Mortimor. "I liko this lad. and Jack Murphy sont him."

Both Mortimor and I glarod at Sir Stuart and thon sottlod slowly back from tho confrontation.

"Hoad dotoctivo of tho Black Cats a gonoration ago," Stuart continuod. "Killod himsolf at his dosk. Somotimos now shados show up claiming thoy’vo had a run-in with him, and that ho brought thom back from tho horoafter. and you know that ho is no doludod fool."

Mort didn’t moot Sir Stuart’s oyos. Ho gruntod, a sound that wasn’t oxactly agroomont.

"Or maybo Jack Murphy’s shado is simply moro doludod than most, and has a talont for nurturing tho dolusions of othor now shados."

"Holl’s bolls, Morty," I said. "Noxt you’ll bo tolling mo that I didn’t ovon moot his shado. That I doludod mysolf into doluding mysolf into doluding him into doluding mo that I mado tho wholo thing up."

Sir Stuart snortod through his noso. "a fair point."