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.Fuck.Suddenly, he wretched and some horrible, thin, black liquid bubbled up from his guts and into the sink.It reeked, like sewage.Might just be, he thought, when he’d stopped and rinsed the sick, wiped the tears from his eyes.He always cried when he puked.But he felt a little better…a little cleaner, inside, at least.He brushed his teeth five times in the shower, and dry-heaved twice when he got his brush right to the back of his tongue.The shower was freezing cold, as he’d suspected.Not like no-hot-water cold.Like the middle-of-winter cold.The cold was what Holland needed, scouring him, waking him, like hot water wouldn’t have.He sluiced off dead skin and hair, cut his nails, all in the shower.Loose folds of flesh hung from his jaw, his chest, arms, gut.His legs looked normal.When he washed, the cold water and soap only managed a thin lather, but he had a loofah, some kind of long yellow sea sponge, that was coarse enough to do the job.Holland wondered what the time under the spell had done to his insides, if his outsides looked like this.He left the stubble on his cheeks.He wasn’t sure his skin was up to a razor.He finished, finally, after an hour or more, and looked again into the mirror.“Hi,” he said to himself.“Holland.”He nodded to his reflection, then turned away.As he did so, he wondered if he might be a little crazier than he’d been before.But he was thinking, too, because that was part of Holland’s core.He wasn’t a creature of flesh.Wasn’t a killer who was simply good with a gun.The hand was led by the mind, always.In his bedroom, he noted the ice on the window panes, then got dressed in the warmest clothes he had.No suit, because he didn’t have an employer, and they wouldn’t fit.He’d look like even more of a shambles if he tried.He put on a pair of jeans he hadn’t worn for maybe twelve years, and still had to cinch his belt in tight.A shirt, and a thick sweater with suede patches on the shoulders and the elbows.He didn’t own a scarf, or a hat, but he did find a large jacket, a kind of green color that bordered on olive.It had a ton of pockets.He came into the kitchen to find Carter’s corpse gone, the kitchen tidy, and a note on the table.In the shower.Try not to shoot people in our kitchen anymore, OK?;)Love you, Ank.x60Ank scrubbed every damned thing in the kitchen with all the cleaning products she could find, except whiskey.She figured that might be important for other, more medicinal purposes.It was cold, but the work kept her warm, except when she dragged the dead guy out onto the deserted sand beside their home and dumped him there.Only then did she realize it wasn’t just a little cold, but actually freezing.It was the middle of winter, right slap in the heart of it.Eventually, after taking out the last of the pieces, the bloodied rags, the chips of bone, and dumping them into the bins at the side of the house, she returned and stood for a moment in the kitchen, surveying her handiwork.Apart from the lingering smells, lurking under the scent of cleaning fluids, the place would serve.“Thank you,” said a voice behind her.She yelped, like a little girl, and turned, ready to fight.The book, the soul, within suddenly blazed with power, shocked as her.For an instant, she and the book nearly did fight…Ank didn’t know what that would have entailed, but she didn’t fancy the kitchen’s chances.Steady, she told the child within, as she realized the man who spoke wasn’t there.Not really.He was dead…he was her first spirit.“You know you’re not wearing any clothes, right?”She crossed her hands over her chest, but stood proud enough.She wasn’t ashamed to be naked, and the cheeky fucker could stare all he wanted.Feelings, thoughts, responses, all roiled within.But above all, she was just happy.Her first dead person…This is what I am, she thought.I’m becoming…me.Even though she’d just been dumping a body, had blood under her fingernails, and was in her kitchen with a dead man, she couldn’t help but smile.What the hell do I say to a dead guy? Same as normal conversations? Love and light, go with God?Why not ask him? said the book.He probably knows more about being dead than you, right?Ank nodded.The child was right, of course.Take it easy, she told herself.Go…slow.“Why are you here?”To his credit, the ghost didn’t stare at her body, but met her eye.Ank didn’t know if ghosts could get horny, but this one only seemed interested in saying his peace.“I was in him,” said the ghost, shrugging.He looked around middle-age.Slight build, thick in the face, with bright and curious eyes, even now, in death.“Guess I just wanted to say thank you…you know?”“You were in…the dead guy? You’re his soul?”“No, no,” said the man, like Ank had just slapped him.“He killed me.He…tore me to bits.Devoured me…my…soul.You…Ank Holland…you set me free.”Ank wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, or where to go…but the guy seemed sincere…and…how does he know me?“You are, I think, welcome…but you know me?”“Got a message,” said the dead guy, nodding.“Been waiting here a while…I didn’t mean to make you jump…but got a message…if you want it.”“What? Who from?”“Don’t know…just…dead people know stuff, okay?”Do dead people lie, too? She didn’t say that, though.She was trying to be polite, not be hard on the man…he was dead, wasn’t he?Wish I knew what the fuck I was doing, she thought.“Okay,” she said.“Shoot.”“Leave Jane to Holland.That’s it.Sounds like good advice to me.Jane got me in this shit.She’s not right in the head.”Ank felt like she were swimming and the water under her had suddenly turned to a whirlpool.Felt like she was about to be sucked down, the water crashing over her head.“You worked for Jane?”“I got the book for her…guess you can figure out who got the book from me, eh?”Ank nodded.“Where?” she asked.“The book?”Ank nodded again.“I was a librarian,” said the guy.He laughed, but not a happy kind of laugh.“Just a librarian.Nothing like the guy who killed me, or Holland…or you.Jane used to pay me for things…things that were thought lost, things of interest…”“The book just turned up?”The guy nodded.Shrugged.“Some things don’t mean to stay lost, I suppose.”Ank thought of a thousand questions, but the guy’s time was up, she could see that.He was fading as they spoke.When he was nearly translucent, he asked, “The book…it’s in you?”“Yes,” said Ank, wondering if she should do something, like, help him pass on, through, over…under…Then he took the air from her lungs with a simple, smiling statement.“She’ll be proud…” he said, and before she could catch her breath, reach out, try to hold on, the man was gone.Ank stayed for a minute more, thinking.Then she went and took a cold shower.To her, it seemed to steam from her hot skin as the ghost’s words burned inside.“She’ll be proud…”Jane’d be proud? No…Jane, proud? No…that wasn’t right, never would be.Who? Someone else?But who? Why? Proud of what? This black ink I can’t wash off?The simple fact was that Ank didn’t know anyone else.So she showered, dressed.When she found Holland again, she determined to put it aside.Sometimes it’s the only thing you can do to keep your mind going in a straight line, and she sensed they had a long way to go.Sometimes their road would be straight, other times it would wind, but she knew one thing for sure; Jane and a dark man named Solomon would be there, waiting, when they came to the end.61Holland paced the kitchen for a time, unwilling to sit just yet, while he waited for his daughter.When Ank finally returned, she, too, was dressed for winter.“You‘ve shrunk,” said Ank, grinning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]