Page 13 of Ghost
The sound must have alarmed him, because Mr. Weaver suddenly transformed into the picture of a concerned elderly man.
“Sit your ass down before you pass out, or something worse.” He roughly pushed me onto the top stair. Through my haze, I realized he was physically strong for such an old man.
And here was another fun fact: apparently even the non-evil ghosts could touch me back. It had been comforting to think, before, that only especially strong spirits might be able to harm me. But apparently that wasn’t the case.
Why couldn’t I be normal? Why was there all this touching?
“Here.” Mr. Weaver pushed my head between my knees, continuing to worry. “Don’t die on my property, do you hear me? I’d hate to have the police hovering about. I loathe those types of meddlesome fools.”
The irony was too much, and my hysterical laugh escaped in a rush.
“What in the world?” Mr. Weaver’s hands were suddenly gone. I glanced up to notice he had backed away, looking as if he was frightened of me now. “Are you insane?” he asked.
All at once, the numbness fled and my hackles rose in response. That particular accusation affecting me more than most. And with that, my concentration faltered—his grumpy emotions began to leak into my awareness. Annoyance replaced my fear.
“Wait,” he continued, not noticing the change in my expression. “It’s obvious that you’re addled in the head. You must be if you’re running around with Gloria Protean. That hag and her beast are nuttier than squirrel turds.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and my temper began to swell even as I fought it.
He was no longer even looking at me, but was glaring at his clenched fist. “She and that vile creature of hers belong in an institu—”
“Well,you’redead.”
Mr. Weaver’s eyes shot up, and he gave me a cynical look.
“I’m serious,” I pointed at him accusingly—as if being dead was a condemnable offense. All my previous intentions of diplomacy forgotten. “You’re dead. The police are here now, you know. They are wandering around your house. Touching all of your things.”
He still watched me in the same manner, but throughout the course of my speech his busy eyebrow had slowly risen. Uncouth as my delivery was, I didn’t care. He was a mean man, he didn’t deserve the kind way of these things.
But then I remembered why it was important to be nice, and my throat closed. His face was blank, and I knew without question I had doomed us all.
I might have a few more minutes. I might still have time to run inside and save Damen from being squished. It was clear from the look in his eyes that Mr. Weaver didn’t believe m—
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He began to study his hands curiously, as if he was only now noticing their almost-sheer state. Which he probably was. “I’m actually dead. This is…”
I cursed myself and my lack of control. Should I try to comfort him? Would it help? The poor man seemed to be in shock, and I wondered when the explosive anger would start.
“This is…” he repeated, clearly dazed.
It could be at any moment. I really should make a run for it, but I almost felt bad for Mr. Weaver now. Even so, living people came first.
“This is a rather unexpected development.”
I was halfway to the door before his words registered. The doorknob was already gripped in my hand, and I looked over my shoulder. Certain I had misheard.
Out of all the possible reactions…
Where was the anger, the crying? He didn’t even seem to be upset. Surely he wasn’t surprised by this, if he had killed himself. Instead, he seemed to be intrigued… and almost put out.
“Of course, the timing is just terrible. I hadn’t planned on kicking the bucket for another twenty years or so. There were quite a few things that still needed doing. So this is somewhat inconvenient.” He floated higher now, still watching his hands in awe. “Still it might actually be easier to do some things more than others in this state. Again, how very interesting.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I remained silent. Watching him as he redirected his attention to his floating abilities. He appeared to be fascinated, but not angry.
“Oh well,” he shrugged finally. “I suppose it is what it is. It does make sense. My only regret is that I didn’t finish my Rocky Road. One of those damn cops better not have taken it. Everything else will do. Can’t be helped.”
My hand fell to my side as I turned to face him. Why was he acting like this was a complete surprise?
“How could you not have expected this?” I asked, recalling the tail end of Norman’s report. “You killed yourself. You were supposed to throw a ghostly tantrum because we were in your house.”
