A Haunting of Ghosts

Chapter 1-2

“Dinner out and a movie, or stay in tonight?” Gene asked as Van saved the research file they’d been working on and they shut down their laptops.

Van stretched, considering their options. “Dinner here, and then a movie.”

“Sounds good.” Because Gene was the designated cook, since Van couldn’t even boil water without burning it, or so his partner claimed, he headed to the kitchen while Van checked to see what movies were showing close to them.

He found one they both agreed on, and after a dinner of veal piccata and angel hair pasta with grated Parmesan, accompanied by red wine, they took off. Two hours later they were walking from the theater to their favorite coffee shop on the block behind the theater, while discussing what they, as writers, would have done differently with the movie’s script.

They were partway down the one-way side street when they heard the screech of car brakes. They turned to see what was going on—Van figured probably two cars in a near miss at the intersection—just as a dark-colored sedan careened around the corner. It sped up beside them, skidding to a stop. The driver’s side window was open and the muzzle of a gun appeared, spewing bullets as if they were free, cutting the two men down where they stood.

That was the reason Van and Gene were watching from a few feet away as the cops and the crime scene technicians examined their dead bodies. They were both very shaken, to put it mildly. After all, it isn’t often, in fact I could safely say ever—Van grimaced—that we get to see the results of a murder up close and extremely personal.

“Who shot us?” Gene asked, his voice trembling as badly as the rest of him, now.

“You think I know?” Van spat out in reply.

“Don’t yell at me,” Gene said.

“Sorry, but damn.” Van reached for his hand and this time he made contact. He squeezed gently, afraid if he did it any harder their hands would melt through each other or something. “This ghost thing sucks,” he muttered.

Gene looked at him wide-eyed as the realization finally sank in. “We are. But why? I mean, why are we still here?”

Van shrugged. “Best guess, we don’t know who killed us?”

At that point he became aware that a man in crime scene gear was staring in their direction as if he could see them, which had to be impossible. Van said as much to Gene as the man started toward them. Still holding Gene’s hand, Van intended to move them deeper into the darkness of the entryway. It worked and then some. They were inside the shop and they hadn’t even opened the door.

“f**k. Damn.” Van looked at Gene and suddenly they burst out laughing. Tension relief, Van was certain, but still it was weirdly funny that they could come and go through doors, or walls he suspected, as if they didn’t exist. “Do we want to stick around?” he asked once they’d sobered.

“Not me,” Gene said. “Of course we’ll have to walk home. I don’t think driving is an option anymore.”

“No kidding. Let’s go out the back way, in case that guy did see us.”

“He couldn’t have,” Gene protested, but it didn’t look as if he believed what he’d said.

They left the shop by walking through the back door, ending up in an alley. From there, they made their way home.