Strike a Deal

How could a dead person be so casual? And reasonable? Not to mention persistent.

Not being a believer, myself, I am not sure how this works. I wonder if I'd somehow made it worse by talking to him. Had I helped anchor him here, in some strange way? Was it like feeding a stray cat, and then not being able to get rid of the creature? I try ignoring him. Pretending I don't see or hear him. Gritting my teeth, tucking my head down and trudging on.

"You really ought to go back and see Gail, you know," he says.

It's late, and I'm headed back to my office. This particular back street is deserted, and I speak to him again at last, teeth clenched as if I begrudge every word... Which I do.

"Just tell me one thing, Mickey."

His pace is easy beside me, the tread of a copper who knows how to walk a long while if he has to.

"Sure," he says, in a tone just as light. As if we were just two old buddies heading out for a drink.

"Do I look insane?" It comes out like a growl, like I'm angry at him. I am. I've been holding it in check, not wanting to give him anything, but the rage has been boiling away in me since I left his place.

"What, you mean when you talk to me? Not especially. Something I've noticed about you: you ask the wrong questions."

"Oh? What's the right question?"

"Depends what you want to know. And right now, you want to know if other people can see me."

I say nothing. It's infuriating, but he's right. My silence is a grudging respect for the fact. He carries on as if I'd answered him, and it feels like my teeth might break in my skull.

"Yes and no. They see you talking to a person, not just a patch of empty air. Not me though. Their eyes skim over the details."

"How do you know?" Simmering fury is tamped further by cursed curiosity.

Mickey shrugs.

"You know how you can feel when someone is looking at you? Like that, but the other way."

Mickey was always the smart one. Good with words. Asked the right questions. Bastard.

"Go and talk to Gail," he says again.

I want to snap, to tell him to give it a rest, but he doesn't have to, does he? He can bug me about it twenty four seven if he felt like it. I suppose, under the circumstances, he's been gracious.

This only makes me more cross.

I quicken my pace, but there's no need. He has already melted away. He might be waiting in my office, or he might materialise there in an hour.

Is he being gracious? Or does he know that this is worse? This knowing he could turn up at any time, and never knowing when... My brain does half the haunting for him.

I stamp up the stairs in a temper, and fling myself down in my office chair.

"Fine!" I blurt to the empty air. "If she doesn't call tomorrow, then the next day I'll arrange to go and see her... But! You... You leave me alone until then. Deal?"

The space around me crinkles, like the laughter lines around Mickey's eyes, and I feel his nod.

I'm going to be much better prepared this time.

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