AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Toasted? Like a shriveled marshmallow?
“He was holding me up in front of the church, and I nearly got spotted by Sir Jones! Incidentally, I'd be curious to know what he was talking about with that priest. Not at all clear, that guy. Did you see how he tried to intimidate me?”
“I think he knows where my body is,” I say without preamble.
“Did you listen to them?”
“I caught a few snatches. They were upset and mentioned the morgue. Apparently, something was wrong with my body.”
“Really? Is that what they said?”
“More or less.”
Something is obviously going on.
“In any case, it confirms what we've been assuming: Sir Jones and his manor have a connection with both your body and the Church. And believe me, given the shenanigans the Church is involved in, it can’t be anything fun.”
By the time I arrive at the crematorium, I'm all set. I stop in front of the heavy glass door opening onto the immense casket display room. How serene it would have been for my tender children to fall asleep forever in one of these! Instead, I'm preparing to cremate them, leaving nothing of them but a fine, impersonal dust.
I push open the door. A horde of salesmen crowd around me to offer me the latest wooden box. Overpriced. I decline.
“Thank you, but I'm just bringing my children's effects.”
My answer to these vultures is cold, direct, and perfectly detached. Vaguely disappointed, they turn away and scatter as quickly as they’d gathered. The hostess in charge of cremation takes over immediately.
She approaches in a grotesque presentation, letting her vaporous black dress flutter on her invisible step. A sort of caricatured apparition, suggesting that she might be a supernatural creature, back from the dead. I'm certain, however, that this is not the case.
She accompanies me to the morgue, where she asks what looks like a coroner to take out bodies 3,333, 3,334, and 3,335. Numbers. My poor children have become mere numbers, to be archived once the calendar year is over.
Eltz's journal
9
Believ
The first light of dawn wakes me from a sleep that would have been welcome. The last few nights have been not only full of nightmares, but also far too short.
From one discussion to the next, the ghost kept me awake. He didn't have to exert much effort; he's captivating, and I'm particularly receptive. His words glide by, enveloping me in a spellbinding melody. The breadth of his knowledge seems infinite, despite the confusion that persists in clouding his mind. Although he retains no memory of what he experienced, he’s able to relate historical facts with amazing accuracy, in such detail that you would swear he had witnessed the events he describes.
So here I am, hanging on his every word, relieved to see him ward off the night and my tortured dreams, before being caught up by my exhausted human condition.
But that's not all.
Between his all-consuming aura and the spacing of my missions, I feel numb, like a spectator of my own existence in a kind of in-between state, the consequences of which I'm unaware. Torn between two addictions. Torn between the ghost I feel closer to with each passing moment and the vocation that keeps me alive.
I stand up to get out of bed and immediately fall back down, overwhelmed by the dizziness that makes the room spin around me.
“What's the matter with you?” the ghost asks pleasantly.
“Vagal malaise,” I grumble in a hoarse, sleepy voice, unsure of understanding this weakness that could just as easily be the result of a fatal letting go.
With a little concentration, I manage to get to my feet and swallow a cup of sweet coffee. The sugary taste causes me to grimace in disgust, which doesn't escape the ectoplasm, whose vapors spasm. Is he making fun of me?
“Are you okay? You've never had hypoglycemia?”
No sooner have I finished formulating my sentence than I realize my clumsiness. He's probably been a victim like most people, but like everything else, he's forgotten it.
He frowns before evaporating, sulking. Decidedly, in addition to being touchy, he's a tad proud. And what if he had once been one of those insufferable, unjust kingpins I abhor? Why should I help him?
