Ghoul Interrupted (7 page)

I got in the car and asked, “Why so late?”

“It was the cheapest fare she could find.”

Heath started the car and took one last look at the skid marks and the tree before pulling onto the road again. “We’ll need to talk about this, Em,” he said. “If some demon is really out there killing my family, we’re gonna have to shut it down.”

“That’s what your grandfather said,” I reminded him.

Heath’s eyes cut to me. “Bev wasn’t out there?” he asked belatedly.

I shook my head. “Not that I could sense. I think she’s made it across, but I can’t feel her there either, which isn’t unusual. You know how they all need a little adjustment period.”

Heath grunted. “Especially when they’ve been in an accident,” he said. “Jesus, how big would a demon have to be to make talon marks like
that
?” he asked, shaking his head like he could hardly believe it.

I eyed Heath carefully. There were dark circles under his eyes and his features looked pale and drawn, not to mention seriously stressed-out. I thought it was probably a good thing we were heading back to the hotel. I could check on Gil, and maybe convince Heath to rest. The emotional and physical toll on him the past few days looked like it was killing him.

I found Gil in his room, spread-eagle on the top of his comforter with a wet cloth on his forehead and a surgical mask covering half his face.

“Attractive,” I said, nodding to the cleaning woman on her way out of Gil’s room. (She seemed like she’d been looking for a reason to leave quickly.)

“I’m dying,” Gilley moaned.

I softened and came over to sit next to him. It was then that I saw the litter of candy wrappers and empty potato chip bags on his nightstand. Apparently, the cleaning woman had missed those. Or she just didn’t want to get that close to patient zero. “You’re not dying,” I said, lifting the washcloth and feeling his forehead. It was a little warm, but not as bad as the night before. “And your fever’s beginning to break.”

“I still have a headache,” Gil moaned. “Gilley Gilleshpie.”

“I see the headache hasn’t dampened your appetite,” I said, picking up the clutter on his nightstand.

“Feed a fever,” he told me.

“I believe that’s feed a cold, starve a fever.”

“There’s no way I’m going down hungry,” he told me, following that with a small fit of coughing.

I threw out the trash, heated up some water from the coffeepot, and poured him a cup of Theraflu. He took it and lifted the mask to slurp it down. While he drank, I eyed him worriedly. He finished the medicine and handed me back the cup, then settled his mask back in place and lay back on the pillows. I couldn’t tell if it was just the mask, or that Gil was developing a lung infection, but his breathing was definitely starting to sound like Darth Vader.

“Nice mask,” I said, after rinsing out his cup.

Gil rolled his eyes lazily to me. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you get it?” I didn’t think the hotel gift shop was the source.

“There’s a Korean couple staying next door,” he said. “I rode the elevator down with them and they gave it to me. They said I look like I have SARS.”

I wondered how quickly they’d also put one on themselves. “You don’t have SARS,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“You have the flu. That’s it. Just the plain old flu.”

“How do you know?” Gil pressed.

“Because Heath and I both got our flu shots before we all left for Europe and you said—what again?”

Gil narrowed his eyes at me, and said nothing. Not even “Gilley Gilleshpie,” so I answered the question for him. “You said that you didn’t need the flu shot because you never get sick.”

“The flu shot doesn’t protect against SARS, M. J.,” he grumbled.

“Exactly my point, Gil. If those businessmen at O’Hare had really been infected with SARS, we all would have gotten sick, but only
you
caught a bug, which means only
you
caught
the flu
.”

“Shuddup,” he snapped grumpily, rolling over so his back was to me.

I suddenly felt bad. “Hey,” I said after a few long seconds of stony silence. “I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t mean to be a pain. It’s just been a long couple of days. Can I get you anything?”

“A new body,” he said, rolling back over to lie on his back again. “This one aches all over. And if you find a new body, make sure it’s got really good pecs.”

I grinned and moved to his side again. Taking up the washcloth from the nightstand, I wrung it out under cool water from the faucet and came back to put it on his head again. “I’ll come back in a little while and check on you,” I told him, but Gil was already asleep.

As I was leaving, Gil’s phone gave a chirp. I didn’t want it to wake him up, so I moved over to turn his phone on silent when I caught the text on the screen. It was from Gopher, our producer.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, grateful for the news. Our funding had been pulled weeks before in Ireland, and since then, we’d had to float mostly on our savings. And the airfare to New Mexico from Ireland had put a serious dent in those, so this was really welcome news.

I clicked Gil’s phone to silent and left it on the bureau, but wrote him a note and set it on his nightstand.

We’ve been paid,
it read. Then I left him alone and went to find Heath.

Heath was on the phone with his mom when I got back to our room, and the joy of discovering that we’d finally been paid plummeted when I saw his face. “Yeah, okay,” he was saying, waving me over to sit next to him. “There’s no rush, Ma. If the airlines are willing to let you change your flight without a penalty, and you want to stay there tonight with Aunt Evelyn because you’re too upset to fly, then do it. And I’d tell you to do it even if there was a penalty. You take all the time you need, okay?”

I waited patiently through the rest of the call, and bit my lip when I heard through the receiver that Heath’s mother was crying. Finally he gave his good-byes and clicked off.

He then, quite unexpectedly, reached out and hugged me to him, holding me tightly without saying a word. I was a little taken aback, but I recovered and squeezed back. “It’ll be okay,” I told him, not really knowing what else to say. It’s ironic, isn’t it? My business is all about death, but when personally faced with it, I never know what to say.

The rest of the night and most of the rest of the following day I did nothing but play nursemaid to Gil and comfort Heath, bouncing back and forth between the two hotel rooms like a Ping-Pong ball, and tending to them in much the same way, making sure they ate a little, drank a little, and rested.

During a brief one-hour period in the middle of the afternoon, both of them were asleep, and I took the opportunity to head out for a run, my first real exercise in well over a week.

It felt good and terrible all at the same time, but I kept at it for all five miles. When I got back, I found Gil awake and alert and looking much better, thank God. He was busy typing on his laptop, but still asked me to fluff his pillows and get him a soda. Apparently he took the maid part of nursemaid seriously. When I arrived back with his soda and one for me, he turned the screen to me and said, “I just ordered that!”

I popped the top of my Fresca and squinted at the screen. “An iPad?”

Gil nodded. “Best tablet on the market,” he said, turning the laptop back around.

“Honey,” I said soberly, mopping at the sweat on my brow, “you just got paid. Do you really think it’s smart to spend it so quickly?”

“I got a good deal,” he said without looking up. There was a
ding
, which came from his computer, alerting him he had mail, and it must have been good news the way his face burst into a sly smile when he read it.

“What?” I asked. I knew that face. It meant trouble.

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly.

“Gilley Morehouse Gillespie,” I said evenly. “Tell me what.”

But Gil is nothing if not stubborn. Snapping the lid of the laptop closed, he merely widened his smile and said, “It’s a surprise. You’ll find out in a day or two.”

“Great,” I said woodenly. “We all know how I
love
surprises.”

Gil didn’t say another word. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows and said, “I’m hungry. Can we go for something to eat?”

I got up and headed to the door. “Let me shower and check in with Heath. I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

“Gilley Gilleshpie,” I heard as I exited the door.

 

Half an hour later we were sitting in a café scarfing down some fantastic fajitas. Well, Gilley and I were scarfing. Heath? Not so much. He mostly pushed his food around on his plate and looked sad.

I swallowed the bite I’d just taken and felt terrible for him. “I’m so sorry,” I said, squeezing his knee.

“Mwf moo,” Gil said. Gil will talk through anything. Fajita, doughnut, muffin, pancakes . . . food is no impediment to his verbal expression.

“Gil’s sorry too,” I said, and saw a tiny quirk at the edge of Heath’s mouth.

“Thanks, guys,” he said.

Gil seemed to think of something then, and he took another huge bite, cocked his head to the side, and said, “Runeral wooday?”

I froze. Oh, God! Had I forgotten to tell Gil about Heath’s aunt? Yes. Yes I had. “Uh, Gil,” I said. “Sorry to fill you in so late, but Heath’s aunt was killed in a car accident yesterday morning. The funeral for his uncle has been postponed until the family can make arrangements to have them buried together.”

Gil’s eyes bulged.

I nodded. “I know. It’s awful.”

Gil flailed his arms around in some sort of air origami pattern.

“Yes, he’s taking it hard,” I said.

“Gahkwrk!” Gil said, shaking his head.

I interpreted for Heath. “He wants to know if you’ll be okay and he’s here for you.”

Heath, however, was staring hard at Gilley. “Actually . . . ,” he said, dropping his fork and pushing back from the table before hurrying around me to stand behind Gil.

I watched as he grabbed Gilley around the middle and pulled him up so violently that he lifted Gil right out of his chair. “What’re you doing?” I cried. “Heath! Put him down!”

In the next second there was a strangled sound from Gil; then Heath swung him around again, thrusting his fists into Gilley’s middle. I was so stunned that I didn’t realize what was happening until a small wad of food flew out of Gil’s mouth and onto the floor.

Gil took a huge ragged breath. “Thank you, Baby Jesus!” he gasped, holding his throat. Heath let him go and Gil sank to his knees. “Gilley Gilleshpie. Gilley Gilleshpie. Gilley Gilleshpie!”

Heath bent down and lifted Gil up gently from under his shoulders; then he eased him back over to his chair. Meanwhile a manager had come running over to us and most of the patrons were staring. “Is everything all right?” the manager asked.

“Yes,” I said quickly, placing a hand on Gil’s arm to make sure he was okay.

“I almost died!”
Gilley shrieked, then smiled tightly at the manager and said, “Gilley Gilleshpie.”

The poor man visibly paled.

“He’s fine,” I said evenly, shooting Gil a warning look.

But Gil was having none of it. “That fajita almost
killed
me!”

Heath calmly took his seat again. “But it didn’t,” he said. “Gil, you’re fine.”

“No I’m not!” he snapped. “First I had a stroke on the plane, then I caught SARS, and just now I almost died eating the house special!”

“I’m so sorry!” the manager said. “Please, let me take care of your check. And if there’s anything else I can bring you, please let me know.”

Gil’s eyebrows rose.

Uh-oh,
I thought.

“Well, in that case,” Gilley said, “I’ll need to see the menu again.”

For the next hour, Gilley ate his way through most of the menu, completely over his near-death experience(s). At least for the moment.

I, on the other hand, was still really shaken. How had I misinterpreted Gilley’s choking for conversation? “Hey,” said Heath when he caught me staring as Gilley ate each bite. I felt his hand on my arm. “You okay?”

I turned to him. “I should be asking you that.”

Heath smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have to call my mom again,” he said. “I need to check on her and see if she’s okay. When she’s upset, she sometimes forgets to take her medicine.”

Heath’s mother wasn’t in great health. She had a heart condition and diabetes and her doctor had advised her not to stress herself out.

I rubbed Heath’s back. I had no idea what to tell him to make it better and it was killing me.

We left the restaurant and Gilley nearly needed to be carried to the car, he was so full. Behind his back, Heath and I left enough cash behind to more than cover the bill and we drove back to the hotel in silence.

Gil went back to his room for a nap, and I followed Heath out to the courtyard, where he called his mom. It was a tough conversation and he looked very upset after he’d hung up.

“Feel like talking about it?” I asked.

Heath sighed heavily and stared at the ground. “My family always makes things ten times harder than they need to be,” he said. “I mean, it’s bad enough that we lost Uncle Milton and Aunt Bev, but I know the flak my mom’s gonna take when she shows up at their funerals, and it’s killing me that they all know she’s in bad health and they’re still holding a grudge.”

“A grudge?” I asked. “For what, Heath?”

But he shook his head. “It’s a long story, Em.”

“I’ve got time.”

Heath sighed again. “Yeah, well, I appreciate that, but I’m not up to telling it.”

I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice when I said, “Oh, okay.”