The Ghost in Love Read Free

this, utterly confounded. A moment later it fizzled and flickered like a sick television set and disappeared. Methuselah was the only one to see it, but ghosts are nothing new to dogs so the animal didn’t react. He only hunkered down into himself and shivered some more.
    The Angel of Death looked
at the ghost of Benjamin Gould and shook his head. “What more can I tell you? They’ve gotten very clever.”
    They were at a table in a crummy turnpike restaurant nearWallingford, Connecticut. The Angel of Death was nothing special to look at: it had manifested itself today as a plate of someone’s finished meal of bacon and eggs. Egg yolk was smeared across the white plate. Inside this smear were scattered bread crumbs.
    It was midnight and the restaurant was almost empty. The waitress stood outside sharing a cigarette with the cook. She was in no hurry to clear the table. Having found the Angel of Death here, the ghost of Benjamin Gould had manifested itself as a fat black fly now sitting in the egg yolk.
    The plate said, “When Gould hit his head on the curb, he was
supposed
to die. You know the routine: cracked skull, intercranial bleeding, and death. But it didn’t happen.
    â€œTo oversimplify, think of it as a massive virus that had infected our computer system. Afterwards, a whole bunch of similar glitches popped up across the grid and we knew we were under attack. Our tech guys are working on it. They’ll figure it out.”
    Unsatisfied by this explanation, the ghost/fly paced back and forth across the drying egg yolk, its little black spindly legs getting yellow and gooey. “How can
Heaven
get a virus in its computer system? I thought you were omniscient.”
    â€œSo did we until this happened. Those guys in Hell are getting cleverer all the time. There’s no doubt about that. Don’t worry, we’ll work it out. For now, though, the problem is you, my friend.”
    Hearing this, the fly stopped pacing and looked down at the plate. “What do you mean?”
    â€œThere’s nothing we can do about you until we fix this glitch. You’ve got to stay here till then.”
    â€œAnd do
what
?” the fly dared to ask huffily.
    â€œWell, doing what you’re doing, for one. You can continue being a fly for a while and then maybe change into a person or a civetmaybe . . . Changing identities can be lots of fun. And there’s other pleasant things to do on earth: learn to smoke, try on different kinds of cologne, watch Carole Lombard films . . .”
    â€œWho’s Carole Lombard?”
    â€œNever mind,” the plate said and then mumbled, “She’s reason enough for you to stay here.”
    The fly remained silent and unmoved.
    The plate tried to change the subject. “Did you know that Ben Gould went to school in this town? That’s why I’m here now: to do some checking up on his history.”
    But the fly wouldn’t be sidetracked. “How long will this take? Just how long will I have to stay here?”
    â€œIn all honesty, I don’t know. It could be awhile. Because once we find the computer virus, then we’re going to have to run a check of the whole system.” The plate said this lightly, knowing full well that it was on spongy ground here.
    â€œ ‘Awhile’ meaning how long—a year? A century?”
    â€œNo, no, not that long. The human body is built to physically last only seventy or eighty years, ninety at the most. There are exceptions, but not many. I would say Benjamin Gould will live no more than another fifty or so. But if you don’t mind some advice, I would suggest that, while waiting, you go and stay with him. With the right kind of guidance, he could skip having to live a few lifetimes and move several steps up the ladder.”
    â€œI am not a teacher, I’m a ghost—
his
ghost. That’s my job. Read the job description.”
    The Angel of Death considered this