Ghost Writer(56)

“Madame Kirby?”

I reached out and grasped Gravell’s free hand. This was solid. This was real. This was alive.

‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ as my mother would say. I would rather face the ghosts with Gravell beside me than be surprised by them on my own. “Minton?”

Nothing.

“Margolo?”

The temperature dipped noticeably. Even Gravell shivered. “He's here?” he asked, holding my hand a little tighter.

“They are all here, except Minton. They seem to be a package deal.”

Margolo threw his head back in silent laughter. He was in the forefront, large as life and handsome in a chilling way. Behind him, set apart from the others, Shore shook his head. The others gave shrugs and nods. Golanger also pressed his hands together, as if praying.

“This would be so much easier if I could actually talk to ghosts.”

Margolo, a twisted grin on his face, stepped forward. He went down on one knee, as if about to propose. His hand reached out to me. I shivered as his hand cupped my cheek and an irresistible pressure pulled me towards him even as he leaned forward.

‘Set us free,’ he mouthed.



“Madame Kirby?”

“What happened?”

“That was my question. You blacked out.”

I took in my surroundings. I had spilt almost a full cup of coffee on the covers. I was still holding Gravell’s hand, and I was shaking like a leaf.

“Lieutenant Minton was a lot easier to handle. I don't know if it's Margolo or being visited by seven ghosts at once, but this passing out is starting to get old.”

“Worrisome.”

I studied Gravell’s face. I saw concern, and I think a touch of fear. Although he didn't see them, I think it would be fair to say that he believed in ghosts now.

It was a long night. Gravell wouldn't let me sleep until the swelling had gone down, then he woke me every couple of hours. He pulled down the bedding from the upper bunk to replace the wet covers. He grabbed a pillow and a spare blanket from the closet and camped out on the floor beside me.

To pass the time, I told him about the ghosts in the forest where I used to camp as a Girl Guide and shared my embarrassing ghost story tale as told to Captain Campbell earlier in the week.

“What I didn't tell the captain was that I got the material for my stories from real ghosts. They would show me things and my imagination would fill in the gaps.”

“Did you see a lot of ghosts?”

“Grandma Allard, when she died and later Nana, my mother's mother. I saw things about their lives that I was able to confirm later. I was really good at seeing the ghosts of dogs. They hang around quite a while and are usually friendly. The ghost in the forest was the only stranger up until now. She gave me nightmares still does sometimes. I'm not sure if that is because of the ghost or my guilty feelings at scaring those girls.”

“Nothing since then?”

“I stopped looking.”

“Not even your mother?”

“She said her good byes before she died.”

He nodded. “I've lost friends, and I never knew my grandfathers, but my parents and grandmothers are still alive. They can be a bit overwhelming in life. I hope I never have to face their ghosts.”

“Tell me about them. Your family is from Quebec?”

“Yes, my mother is English, my father French, like your parents. I was brought up bilingual and mostly bi-cultural. My mother's mother only speaks English. My father's mother only speaks French. Yet, they manage to share an apartment built into the family house.”

“Both in-laws in the same house? Your parents are brave.”

Gravell laughed. “Brave and foolish, like you. My grandmothers occupy a two-bedroom basement walkout that my parents used to rent when they needed the extra income to pay the mortgage. When Grandma Gravell had to sell her home because she couldn't do stairs, she moved in. Grandma Verity is a retired nurse. She decided to move in to take care of, that is keep an eye on, Grandma Gravell.”

I listened to him talk about his family, warmed by his obvious affection for them, relaxed by his deep, rich voice.

“Madame Kirby, you're not allowed to go to sleep.”

“My name is Jen Kirby, maiden name Allard. Father Merle. Brother Lance short for Lancelot. Mother Win short for Gwyneth, deceased, and, as you can guess a fan of Arthurian romance. I am currently aboard the émil Gagnan. Can I go to sleep now?”

He checked my lump.

“Very well. You can sleep for now.”

“Tell me more about Grandma Verity.”



I woke to find my arm draped over the side of the bed, resting on Gravell’s shoulder. His hand was holding it in place. Except for one thing, I would have happily stayed and enjoyed the moment. The one thing was my bladder. All that coffee and tea I had been drinking when I wasn't allowed to sleep wanted out.

Now I had a problem. I didn't want to wake Gravell, but he presented a substantial obstacle in my path. First, I gently disengaged my hand. Then I stretched a leg over the mass of man and rucked-up blanket. I was doing fine until I shifted my weight.

He turned over.

I fell on top of him, my foot trapped between him and the bunk.

“Huh?”

“Sorry!”