Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 47

"Thanks." He gestured to the rear of the interior. "Your knapsack and computer are in the backseat, along with three suitcases filled with cash. I didn't get an exact count, but it's in the neighborhood of five million dollars. Instructions are included to keep you clear of the IRS and any other banking procedures that might compromise your anonymity."

I stood there, staring at the car, at nothing, at something too complex to decipher yet.

"You really should get going: the local authorities have a lot of questions for anyone 'just pa.s.sing through' of late."

I opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The front seat felt like a comfortable old sofa. "Can I give you a lift?"

He shook his head. "It's a beautiful night for a walk. I think I'll just stretch my legs a bit."

I closed the door and he leaned down to the window. "Thought about where you might go?"

I shrugged. "Maybe Louisiana."

"Stay away from New Orleans, if you do."

"Enclave?"

He nodded. "With literary pretensions." He reached through the window to shake my hand. "Good luck. After this all dies down, they may forget about me. Then, maybe, my master will take me back."

"Is that what you want?"

He smiled. "I've worked my share of jobs. As employers go, I've had worse."

I turned the ignition and the motor purred to life. "One more question," I said. "You've seen a lot of things: vampires, werewolves. . ."

He nodded. "Categories don't come easy."

"What about ghosts?"

He shook his head. "There ain't no such thing."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Have it on the best authority." He stepped back. "Take care now. Don't let the sun s.h.i.+ne on your parade."

There was nothing more to say. I put the Merc into gear and headed back to I-69. I turned north at the light, planning a quick good-bye and then a one-eighty run south.

I was turning into the cemetery when I heard the catches pop on one of the suitcases.

Wow! We're rich! Jenny's voice said.

I rolled to a stop and looked around. "Where are you?"

Right next to you. Though I'm kind of twisted around and hanging over the seat, right now. "I don't see you."

I'm invisible.

"Yeah, right."

The suitcase behind us relatched itself with a double snap and her voice turned petulant. Don't start with that "I'm not real," stuff again. The dark gla.s.s of the pa.s.senger window slid down. What are we doing here? Oh. I see. You came to say good-bye, didn't you?

I nodded, in spite of the fact it was a conversation I was having with myself.

That's so sweet! But it's also rather silly, darling. After all, Kirsten and I are buried under what's left of the old Mount h.o.r.eb Hospital building. There's nothing here but two headstones marking two empty graves.

I bowed my head against the steering wheel.

And one h.e.l.luva big dog!

It took a moment to register. The "dog" was in motion as my head came up, running straight for the car.

Now why, Jenny was saying, would a dog chase a car that wasn't even moving?

"It's not a dog," I said, groping for the b.u.t.ton that locked all the doors. There was no such thing in a 1950 Mercury coupe, even one that had been customized in the nineties.

With the window down it was a useless gesture anyway: the wolf leapt, scrambling over the door panel, landing on the pa.s.senger seat with its front paws in my lap.

Oof, said my wife's ghost. I'd better get in the backseat. Nice doggy.

A moment later the "nice doggy" was gone and Lupe Garou was sitting beside me with one hand grasping my arm and the other gripping my leg.

"Don't you ever, ever do that again!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

My goodness, Chris: she's naked!

"Uh," I said, "do what? Shoot you with a tranquilizer gun?"

But very pretty. In an understated sort of way.

"Shoot me with a tranquilizer gun! Not trust me with the truth! Make me think you were dead!" Her eyes were wet and furious. "All of it!"

I take it that the two of you are involved-to some degree?

"I'm sorry," I said. I seemed to be apologizing a lot for a guy who was supposed to be dead.

Not that I mind, you understand. You really do need someone to look after you.

"Well," she sniffed, rolling up the window on her side, "don't ever do any of those things again. Now, let's get going."

I don't mind sharing you now. Death is really very liberating-emotionally, that is.

"Going?"

You learn to let go of so many things- "The sun is going to be coming up in a few hours. You'll need a place to sleep."

What about her?

"Um," I said. "What about you?"

"I'll need a place to sleep, too," Lupe said. "I haven't had a moment's rest since the old hospital blew up. Let's go."

She seems very practical. I like that. You need a practical woman. I was always very practical- "No, you weren't," I murmured."Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

I put the car back in gear and drove the circular road back out and onto the highway. "Would you turn the heater on?" Lupe asked as I swung right and onto the bypa.s.s that arced around Pittsburg to the west. "It's a little cool."

Of course she was: she wasn't wearing any clothes.

As I reached for the heater k.n.o.b, my wife's voice piped up from the backseat: Honey, aren't you going to introduce us?

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared my throat. "So," I asked, "how did you know that I wasn't really dead?"

"Ah," Lupe answered, doing a fair imitation of Ba.s.sarab's accent, "the blood-bond! It called to me!"

I had to laugh. "Really."

"You're a survivor, Chris. You don't give up easily. And . . . I didn't want to believe that you were really gone."

This is really rude, Christopher; conversing as if I weren't here with the two of you.

"So, now what?" I asked. "Do we drive back to Seattle? Or do you need to call the Doman to arrange for a pickup?"

"Neither. I quit. Told Taj to hand in my resignation for me."

"Will they consider you 'rogue'?"

"Probably."

"So, they'll be looking for you. May even suspect that I might still be alive, as well."

She shrugged shapely shoulders. "Relations.h.i.+ps always complicate things. You gotta expect a certain number of problems."

Chris- "Hus.h.!.+" I snapped.

"What?"

"Not you."

"I don't understand."

I sighed. "My wife's ghost is in the backseat."

Lupe turned around to look.

Pleased to meet you, Jenny said.

"Not really," I explained. "I'm just imagining that I hear her voice. Talking to me. The dementia phase of the virus seems to be advancing."

"So," Lupe considered, "she's not really back there."

I am, too!

"Of course not," I said. "You don't hear her voice, do you?"

Lupe shook her head. "But you do?"

"Just call me Cosmo Topper."

If I'm not real, then how can I do this? The glove compartment opened by itself and a large manilla envelope floated into view.

"If she's not really in the car with us," Lupe asked, wide-eyed, "then how do you explain the floating envelope?"

Precisely, Jenny said primly. A piece of paper emerged from the envelope and unfolded in midair."One of the by-products of my altered brain chemistry is certain telekinetic abilities," I answered, trying to keep my eyes on the road and steer. "If I can transport my body along the dreampaths, I can certainly float some pieces of paper without tweaking any conscious brain cells."

"So you're saying your dementia is not only providing auditory hallucinations," Lupe said, "but causing your subconscious to manifest certain psychic episodes, as well."

I nodded, only half-listening to her words. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

Checking on your new ident.i.ty. The end opened and a piece of paper floated out. Oh my. She started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"May I see?" Lupe asked.

Your new ident.i.ty. Jenny turned the paper so Lupe could see, too.

"What?"

As of now your last name is "Haim," Jenny announced.

"Haim," Lupe murmured. "What an odd name. Wonder what nationality that might be."

Celtic, Jenny replied with a giggle.

"Celtic?" I asked. "What makes you think it would be Celtic?"

Lupe began to giggle as well. "Because your first name is now Samuel." On the last word both of their giggles bubbled over.

"What's so funny about Samuel?" It took me a moment: "Samuel Haim-Sam Haim?" I wasn't laughing.

Oh, darling; it could be worse. They could have made your new name Hal O. Ween.

"I'm still not laughing." I pulled up to the four-way stop where 160 split off to the west and 57/171 angled off to the east and then a long curve around to the south.

Lupe kept twisting around to look behind her. "You know, you've got me half-convinced that your wife's ghost is here with us, after all."

Admit it, babe. You're not fully convinced that I'm nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of your deteriorating psyche.