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October SERIAL Short Story FINISHED - COME READ IT
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Mike carved the last pumpkin and set it aside. Four hours until the Halloween dance at the Riverside LGBT youth center and he still had to finish decorating the dance hall and then shower and put on his costume.As he placed the pumpkin on the tray the side door to the kitchen blew open and ...
dry, brown leaves skittered across the tiled floor. Behind them a thick heavy mist licked up the door frame. The figure that formed in the open doorway was insubstantial but the voice was anything but."I'm bored." It moaned, sounding like a petulant five year old.
Rolling his eyes, Mike sighed heavily. This was the price he paid for the cheap rent on his house.
"Patrick, it's All Hallows Eve, surely on this night of all nights, a ghost can find something to do?"
"Can't I help you?" Patrick reached towards the pumpkin....
but his insubstantial fingers just slid right through the orange flesh. With a mutter he tried for the knife and failed there too."This really sucks," he grumbled. "You'd think I could at least pick up a blade. I mean, what kind of ghost can't even wander around waving a bloody knife on Halloween?"
"Considering the only blood in the room is mine, I'm fine with it, thank you."
"Spoilsport." Patrick sat carefully on the floor, visibly concentrating so his ass didn't sink inches deep into the wood. "So what are you planning? Will there be booze? Hot girls? Hotter boys?"
"What do you care?"
"Being a voyeur is about all I have left." Patrick frowned. "You know, I'm actually just a bit nervous. This is my first dead Halloween. Do you think all the stories are true? Will...
others be able to see me?”Mike raised an eyebrow. “Tired of my company already?”
“No, of course not. It’s just….” Patrick bit his lower lip.
Mike had no idea if the stories were true or not. He hated to see him get his hopes up. “Well, you’d better hope they can’t see you. Imagine how silly you’ll feel if you’re the only one not wearing a costume.”
Patrick tried to hide the grin that threatened to expose his excitement. “Does that mean I can come to the dance with you?”
Mike scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose so. As long as you promise not to…
Madison wrote: "others be able to see me?”Mike raised an eyebrow. “Tired of my company already?”
“No, of course not. It’s just….” Patrick bit his lower lip.
Mike had no idea if the stories were true or not. He..."
...hang out at the punch bowl again and spray all the girls! Honestly, I don't think there is anything worse than a practical joking loving gay ghost!
Patrick smiled and then, just as quickly his mouth turned downward and a yearning look settled in his eyes.
"I wish..I just want...never mind. I should go."
Mike saw the slump of the boy;s shoulders as he turned toward the exit. What must it be like--living yet never really living. Only able to look at the world and never really participate. To yearn for touch...and never be able to touch. He saw himself reach out a hand toward the insubstantial shoulder and just as quick draw it back.
"Hey, where do you think you're going? We have a lot of work to do to get this party ready--no shirking!"
Patrick spun around and a grin lit is face.
"Yeah? I can come? With you?"
Mike opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again. What should he say? Was it really wise to encourage Patrick's obvious crush on him? Did he really...
...want to be responsible for the boy's broken heart? The kid was already dead, why add insult to injury? Still, that grin made it too hard to say no."Yeah, you can come."
"Thank you!" Patrick jumped forward, trying to wrap his arms around Mike. They passed through his skin, forcing a shiver through him that wasn't all together unpleasant. "Oh, sorry." Patrick stepped back, sadness filling his eyes. "I still forget sometimes."
"It's okay." Mike turned back to the pumpkin, hiding the blush that Patrick's touch had brought to his face. Forget Patrick's broken heart, was Mike really ready to deal with his feelings?
"So when do we leave?" Patrick bounced on his toes.
"We need to be there by....
"We need to be there by seven," Mike said, "I have to finish setting things up. Only," He broke off suddenly not sure how to proceed. He had only developed psychic powers recently and didn't know a lot. He didn't like admitting to gaps in his knowledge either. In this instance he had little choice. "Umm, I guess I am not sure suddenly, can you go to the dance?""You just said I could," Patrick protested.
"I mean literally," Mike replied, "can you? I always thought ghosts were tied to the place where they died. Can you leave this house?"
Patrick looked uncomfortable. His eyes got that shifty look. "Well, I was kind of meaning to talk to you about that," he said slowly. "I really want to go to this dance. I never got to meet any other gay kids in life. It would mean so much, but," he trailed off.
"But what?" Mike asked nervously.
"I am not tied to this house but I am tied," Patrick looked away and finished quietly, "to something else."
Mike's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh no, Patrick, you can't mean..."
that damned cat! Seriously, Patrick, I know you loved that mangy stray, but my hand is still healing up from the last time you persuaded me to try petting him. I'm not going to try to carry him to the dance.""I'm sorry. He's temperamental."
"Try just mental." Mike sucked reflectively on the scab along his fingertip. He glanced up, saw Patrick watching his mouth, and whipped his hand down, blushing. "Anyway, if you're tied to him, you'll just have to go wherever he does and he's not likely to stay at a crowded dance hall. Hey, does that explain why you keep running off in the middle of conversations?"
"I guess." Patrick tried to scuff the floor with his sneaker, which would have been a more effective gesture if his sneaker hadn't passed through the boards soundlessly. "If Spock gets too far away I have to follow. Sometimes he goes cool places though."
"I still think you should have named him Worf, not Spock. Honestly, he's more the search and destroy type." Mike eyed Patrick covertly. The poor guy seemed really unhappy.
"It was the ears," Patrick muttered. "But don't you see, just this once I want to go where I want. I'm sick of being pulled along behind Spock like some puppy on a leash." He looked up and made a comical effort at big Bambi eyes.
Mike didn't want to admit that look got to him - the obvious neediness under the joking tugged at his protective instincts. "I'm sorry. I never realised it was like that. But what can we do? I was serious about not picking that cat up near anything vulnerable, like my jugular vein."
"Well, we could...
"Okay, tell me then. I'll see if I can help you out""I can't tell you what it is, unfortunately. It has to be meaningful, you know? It can't just be something that is done just for my benefit."
"So, what? It's something that means something to both of us? That's absurd, we're two completely different people."
Patrick sighed and gave Mike a look of disappointment.
"You know what I mean, Pat, it's just...
... if it's something that I need to do, how do I know if I've actually done it?" Mike couldn't bear the look that Patrick gave him. Those baleful eyes threatened to destroy the happy mood he had been in earlier.
"I'll figure it out. Don't worry, Patrick."
"I'll try not to," Patrick sighed, and despite his inability to manipulate objects when he tried to pick them up, a gentle breeze wafted through the room.
"Let's see if we can't get Spock in the car."
Patrick followed Mike out of the room, watching his every movement and...
evaporated back into the ether, or at least Mike assumed that he had. Spock was still perched on the top of the lounge, eyelids almost closed, his claws dug into the already-frayed fabric. Mike didn't know what happened to Patrick during the times he purposely went away, and he'd never worked up the nerve to push the subject. Ghosts' emotions were heightened, an extension of their prior selves, and not always for the better. Patrick's moodiness played upon Michael's sanity at times, but he couldn't think of a time without Patrick there. That boy had become so ingrained in his life that if there was a way to make him corporeal, Mike would find it.
Why couldn't his psychic abilities kick in when he wanted them to?
He needed to find...
...those stupid cat treats. The house wasn't very big, but it sure knew how to get itself a wreck. The floor was hardly visible, what wasn't claimed by pieces of the gaudy oversized furniture that came with the place was scattered with newspapers, magazines, and dirty laundry. Mike kicked clear a path to the kitchen and begun to search through the voluminous oak cabinets. As he opened the silverware drawer, he heard a clamorous screech. The drawer flew from his hand and the few things it held clattered to the floor. He whipped around and saw...
Spock being chased by an enormous dog. Springing into action, Mike grabbed Spock, wincing as his claws dug into his chest and ran into the next room slamming the door behind him. Dropping the spitting and now furious feline, Mike turned and ran smack into Patrick who looked as though he had just seen...well...a ghost."God, that had to be the biggest wolf I have ever seen."
Mike, grabbed a paper towel and began to dab at the droplets of blood on his chest, grimacing.
"Patrick, it was a german shepherd--not a wolf."
Patrick blew out a shaky breath and nodded.
Mike paused, looking at Patrick, as if seeing him for the first time. When had Pat's hair gotten that shade of yellow? And those eyes--so blue. Mike felt a stirring in his groin. WTF? Patrick was non-corporeal. The chances of even being able to touch him were...
And why was he even thinking about Patrick this way. God, he needed to get some rest.
This whole thing with Patrick was just too much to handle right now on top of everything at the center. If he could just...
sort everything out. Getting ready for the dance, getting Spock into the car and actually getting to the dance.His thoughts strayed to what had just happened, or even, what could have happened. What if he hadn't got hold of the cat in time? Would he be dead? And the feeling in his groin too, was it just tiredness? Or was it something else? Mike certainly didn't know but he knew something wasn't right. Something far different than his feelings for him... Wait! That was it. His feelings for him. Patrick is a ghost. You can't run into a ghost, it's not possible. Earlier, when Pat put his arms round him they just went straight through him. His thoughts started racing, it was all too surreal for him to...
believe. Maybe he should just stay home, hide under the covers, and let the other people on the committee do their fair Halloween share for a change. Someone else could decorate the hall. Except...He realized that staying home tonight meant being home with Patrick. With whatever was happening to Patrick and himself. And it wasn't like a locked door could keep a ghost out if he wanted to chat.
Mike shook his head hard, still dabbing at his chest automatically. Patrick sat on the floor and Spock began weaving around him, appearing to rub up against Patrick's knees while purring like rocks in a blender. At the end of each rub, Mike would swear the feline from Hades was giving him the evil eye.
Mike took two steps to the trash and ditched the bloodstained toweling. So much for his favorite sweater. He pulled it down though, rather than taking it off in front of Patrick.
Wolf-cat-ghost-desire-bleeding-incorporeal... it was too many things to handle at once. The bleeding had stopped. The wolf-dog-thing was safely outside, at least for now. Mike decided to focus on the easiest thing next.
Patrick was looking up at him while Spock did an imitation of a harmless housecat, curling up in Patrick's lap. Mike noted that the cat was supported by Patrick's thigh, eight inches off the floor. Did that mean Patrick really was solid? Or was Spock just uncanny too?
Very slowly Mike reached out towards Patrick's face. Both their eyes locked on his hand as it approached Patrick's cheek, fingers cupped to touch gently. At the last moment he paused, millimeters from translucent skin. Did he really want to know?
Patrick's gorgeous blue eyes moved from staring cross-eyed at Mike's fingers to meet Mike's own gaze. Mike read wonder, uncertainty and not a little fear in Patrick's expression. Very slowly he moved his hand just that fraction forward and...
...someone wanting to sell me some more Girl Scout cookies." Mike inched the door open slowly. "Stay here. And don't let Spock out."Patrick rolled his eyes. "As if I could."
By the time Mike got to the door, the banging had grown in intensity. "Jesus, I'm coming," he said, flinging the door open. "Hold your pumpkins!"
He was greeted by the angry scowl of a balding man he'd seen on occasion in the neighborhood.
"What did you do to my dog?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "I just saw old Charlie come tearing out of your place. Ran right home whimpering with his tail tucked between his legs. He's holed up under the front porch. Won't come out."
Mike lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "I didn't do anything. He was chasing my cat. Shouldn't he be on a leash or something?"
"Now you listen here," the old man said. "I know what kind of stuff the last guy who lived here got up to. We ain't gonna put up with none of that around here. What happened last Halloween--that was a damn shame. Old Charlie knows the real story, even if none of the rest of us do. That old dog's been through enough. You leave him be."
Mike tried to formulate a response as the words sunk in, but the old man turned quickly and walked away, mumbling under his breath. Charlie? What did Charlie know? What happened here last Halloween? Did this have anything to do with Patrick?
Mike glanced at his watch. He didn't have time for a mystery. He needed to get into his costume quickly. Thankfully he'd decided to dress up as...
a zombie. All he needed was the ragged clothes and the face paint of decay. As a theater major, he was good with make-up. He glanced at the closed door to the living room, hoping fervently that Patrick and the feline from hell were still in there. Then he took the stairs three at a time up to his room. He grabbed his ripped shirt, jeans that were more holes than fabric, and his make-up kit. It took less than ten minutes. A little grey and green base, some peeling fake skin, a few spots of brown and blue mold and he looked disgusting. Perfect. He rubbed a bit of the base color into the backs of his hands and charged back downstairs.
Patrick was still sitting on the floor. When he saw Mike he turned pale for a second, and then grinned. "Hey, that's really good. For a moment I thought one of them actually got you."
Mike frowned. "One of whom?"
"Oh, no one. And I really like the jeans. Come on. There's a cardboard box in the cupboard. If we lure Spock in there, you can carry him safely to the car. Then he won't be loose in the car while you're driving."
It was Mike's turn to go pale at the thought of what he had almost done. "Absolutely a better plan."
He fetched the box and set it on its side, found the cat treats, and laid a trail that meandered into the box. Spock watched for a moment, and then raised a back leg and ostentatiously licked his butt. Mike could almost feel the disdain radiating off the cat.
"Come on, you moron," he muttered, tossing a treat closer to Spock.
Spock eyed him, and raised the other hind leg. More butt washing.
"It's getting late," Patrick whined.
"What do you suggest, genius?"
"How about if I tackle him, long enough for you to box him?"
"Um." It didn't make sense, except that Patrick had been able to hold the cat a few minutes ago. "Why doesn't he go right through you too?"
"It's his choice. If he wants me to pet him, I can."
Mike thought there was something significant about that, but before he had time for questions, Patrick had dived forward and scooped the cat into his arms.
"Quick. Get him!"
Mike slammed the box down over Spock even as he saw the cat's paw go right though Patrick's arm. Clearly Spock had decided not to be held, but it had lasted just long enough. The box went right through Patrick too, which was weird enough to make Mike a little nauseous. That cardboard bisecting Patrick's wrist...
But Patrick jumped away grinning. "You did it. You got him!"
Mike leaned on the bounding cardboard and thought that might be premature. "Duct tape. Lots of it." Fortunately he had a roll in his pocket - the wonder substance. Never leave home without it. He was able to slide the flaps under and mummify the box with a furious cat inside. In fact... "Watch him." He went and fetched another roll, for double strength. That was Spock, after all.
"Okay," he told Patrick finally. "That should hold him for a bit. Now...
...to get him to the car." But could the cat breathe in there, Mike wondered.. Maybe he should take an ice pick along, bore a few holes in the box if he heard Spock complaining. And maybe a leash to tie him in place at the dance hall so Patrick could stay put and have a bit of fun, at least until midnight when..."When what exactly?" Mike questioned aloud on his second return trip from the house, clutching a thin length of rope he prayed would keep Spock from running into the night if they ever did make it to the party.
"When what, what? " Patrick asked, staring at him from the front yard, barely concealing his eagerness to be on the road already. He was so excited to be going he was practically glowing. In the dark. Or do ghosts just do that on moonlit nights?
"Nothing," Mike replied. He hadn't even realised he'd spoken out loud before. He shook himself saying, "Let's go. No telling how long those treats will last Spock."
Piling into the car, Mike fiddled with his iPod, connecting it to the car's stereo. What did ghosts listen to anyway? What sort of mood should he be setting? Why was he suddenly thinking of ambience for a twenty minute car trip? Was it because the car was dark and this was the first time he and Patrick were going out together, almost...almost like a date.
Oh god.
Mike realised he was nervous and hyperaware all of a sudden...aware of this mysterious midnight deadline, aware that there was little room in the car to separate them unlike being in the house, aware of Patrick's jeans tightening across his thighs as he took his place in the passenger seat, aware of that tingling in his groin again, and weirdly freaked out aware of the fact that he was checking out a ghost!
Had Patrick's thighs always been that muscular? Had he just not been paying attention before? Or was Patrick gaining solidity before his very eyes? Deciding he must just be tired, Mike turned to Patrick with a grin, "Right, any road trip requests?"
Patrick smiled, blushing. "Well my favourite song has always been...
There was music coming from the hall, something slow and deep that set up a rhythm in Mike's bones. Or maybe that was the pounding of his pulse. He wondered for a moment why the girls who must be finishing the decorating would choose to listen to slow-dance tunes, but then the thought slipped away as Patrick moved close.Mike could feel the heat of Patrick's body inches from his own, so different from his normal ghostly chill. Patrick looked up at him and tentatively put a hand on Mike's shoulder. "I'm so bad at this." Patrick's face was visibly flushed, even by the pale moonlight. "I've never danced. Didn't want to dance with girls, to damned scared to dance with boys."
Mike was no expert either. He'd slow-danced with girls for the minimum required time to prove he wasn't gay in high school. Since coming to college and coming out he'd gone dancing, but slow had never been the freshman flavor. But really, how different could it be?
He slid his arms around Patrick and pulled him closer, just taking the solid feel of Patrick's back under his hands as a gift. Don't think, don't wonder how, if you do you might lose this.
"Just sway with me. It's not really dancing, just moving together. Little steps when I step. If we shuffle, no one tromps on each other's feet."
"I can do that." Patrick's voice was breathless. They moved, a slow shifting of shoulders and hips that at first felt awkward and artificial. Mike's feet nudged and bumped into Patrick's, Patrick's hand was clammy against Mike's neck. Then suddenly something shifted and they fell into a rhythm. The music moved through them in waves, building and receding, and they swayed with it. Mike tightened his arms and Patrick moved closer. Mike's cheek brushed Patrick's hair.
"This is nice," Patrick breathed against Mike's skin.
"Yeah. I wish..." There was a snarl, a ripping sound, and a crash of glass.
They let go of each other and whirled.
"Shit! My car!" On the edge of the rear passenger door, framed by the smashed window, Spock balanced precariously. A few shreds of cardboard decorated his black fur. He shook the flecks off, eyed the boys contemptuously, and...
...began to growl, a deep, feral sound which vibrated through Mike's very bones and made his hair stand on end. The cat's bright green eyes glowed eerily in the dim evening light, but remained fixed on the two boys. The growl became a long drawn out hissing sound as the cat's body began to contort and enlarge.....
into a man, standing over seven feet in height. He eyed the two of them and then let his glance fall on Patrick. Patrick, who was blushing a deep red and swallowing hard. So..is this the one then?
The giant's gaze slid up and down Mike's frame until Mike felt the heat of anger wash over him. Who in the hell was this and why did he think he had the right to sneer at Patrick that way and talk to him like he was a piece of shit. Mike felt his hands ball into fists and stepped forward only to be stopped by the very real and warm touch of Patrick's hand on his arm.
Shhhh Mike--it's okay. Really, he's not going to hurt me--he's here to help.
Mike looked from the hand to the giant's face and saw him smile and nod his head. Slowly, it dawned on Mike that he had growled beneath his breath and that is why Patrick had shushed him. What in the hell was happening to him? Why did Patrick stir up all these emotions inside him? Jesus, he had never growled in his entire life. What was going on?
Suddenly it dawned on Mike with the full gale force winds of a hurricane. He was in love. Damn! He had fallen in love with a ghost! He shot a quick glance at Patrick and saw it--just a glimmer--that raw look--that fire---love--he saw love in Patrick's eyes.
Are you sure little one? He appears to have some feelings for you but--is it enough? Do you really think this one will break...
through the laws of death and time to be with you? I think not..." Mike turned to Patrick, alarmed at the sudden somberness of the giant-who-was-Spock.
Patrick's eyes were also wide. "But you said...I heard..."
You heard there was a way to become solid flesh. Well, there is. But this boy's love, even if it is true love, can't make a ghost live. No one can bring a person back from death. That would breach the laws of the known universe. A dead man walking and solid would be no more than a zombie.
As Patrick took a big furious breath to protest, the giant held up one massive hand. Fortunately for you, boy, you need a somewhat lesser miracle. Because you are not really a ghost, you are a spirit walker. And it's time to WAKE UP...
...
"Wake up, honey. Can you hear me? It's Halloween - that used to be your favorite day of the year. If you can hear me, open your eyes, Pat, sweetie..."
The voice was familiar but Patrick didn't think his eyes were shut. He'd been staring right into Giant Spock's glowing green eyes and...and... He blinked furiously and opened his sticky dry eyes.
His head hurt, his mouth tasted like something had died in it. He tried to say, "Mike?" but it came out "mmph."
"Patrick!" His mother's face hung above his. "You're looking at me! You're awake."
"Mufk. Sporg." Patrick pressed his tongue against his teeth, and tried again. "Mike"
"Here honey." A damp cloth touched his lips. "You'll be fine now. I'll get the nurse right away. You'll get better."
"Wh' happnd? Mike?"
"You've been...out for a long time," his mother said. "I've been so worried. But you're awake and that's all I need to know." Tears shone in her eyes, threatening to spill.
Patrick tried to lift a hand to her face. His arm moved okay, but he felt weak and tired. He raised the other hand, then carefully moved his feet. Everything was there and working, but he felt gravity like a lead blanket pulling him down to the ...bed. Hospital bed. "Don' worry," he said. "'M fine. Jus' need to find Mike."
"Rest a bit, sweetie," his mother said. "You can worry about whoever that is later."
Patrick would have protested, but he did feel like crap. And he had such odd memories. Maybe he'd rest for a while, think things through. Then when he felt better he would head for the house and see if Mike was there. He dozed off into a healing sleep.
***
Mike stared furiously at Giant Spock's face. "What are you talking about? What do you mean Patrick's not...?" He turned back to Patrick as he spoke, but the space beside him was empty. There was a warm place on his arm where Patrick's hand had rested, but it was rapidly cooling in the night breeze.
"Patrick. Patrick!" Mike looked around wildly and then whirled back to that bastard mutant cat. "Spock! What did you do with him?!"
Except that the space between him and his car was empty too. There was his car. There was the smashed window. And there was the still darkness of a Halloween night, with the strains of an old Beatles song drifting from the dance hall. A few leaves fluttered along the ground. The moon glowed overhead. Nothing and no one moved around him.
Mike stood there, stunned. "No. Noooo. Bring him back, dammit!" He turned in a circle, staring into the shadows for a giant or a cat, or a beautiful boy with a sweetly wicked smile. Nothing.
"Please." He spoke to the open air. "Please, no. It was better when he was ghost than this. Don't take him away. Oh, please!" His chest felt tight at the thought of no more Patrick. No more laughter behind him when he made a face in the mirror trying to shave. No more phantom brush of a hand on his shoulder when he felt down. No papers flying off his desk in a heap when Patrick thought he'd been studying too long and wanted attention. Patrick's face, voice, presence in his life, suddenly seemed the only thing that had been between him and cold loneliness. Mike wrapped his arms around himself.
"Patrick?" He whispered. "Please, if you're here, do something. A puff of air. Something."
There was the sound of traffic on the next road over, laughter and car doors, and the scuff of feet. But in this small pool of stillness, Mike felt like the only person in the world.
"Damn." Tears stung his eyes and he closed them tight, fighting the emotion back. Stupid, stupid, to be crying over a ghost. Patrick went away a lot. He always came back. Probably that damned cat was chasing a high-velocity chipmunk and poor Patrick was being dragged along for the ride.
Mike wanted to believe that. He tried with every bit of his belief in the ridiculous and unlikely, the well-honed part of him that had let him survive finding his psychic gifts this past year. It was only logical. Patrick would come back.
But some hollow, wrung-out, empty place inside him knew that was a false hope.
A car suddenly turned into the parking lot, shattering his stillness. Three young men tumbled out, laughing. They were dressed as some kind of mummies, although their costumes had obviously required nothing more than several rolls of toilet paper.
One of them yelled to Mike, "Hey, is this the dance? I told Mandy we'd come set up early."
Mike had to clear his throat twice before he could say, "Yeah. In there."
"Thanks! Cool costume. If you find a ghost come hang out with us. We'll be the three forms of the walking dead."
The boys slammed their way into the hall. Mike heard their voices mingle with the higher tones of the girls. The music abruptly changed to Lady Gaga singing about boys, boys, boys.
Mike turned away. The girls had other helpers. There was no way he could go in there alone. Not when he and Patrick had almost... He wandered over to his car but he couldn't even open the door. He just leaned against it and his knees gave way and he slid slowly down until his ass hit the cold gravel. Damn it.
It was a long time before he opened his eyes. The moon had moved. The lot beyond was filling up with cars. He heard the sound of the party, of laughter and dancing and shrieks of amusement. It seemed unreal. Mike thought he should head back to his house. Maybe there, Patrick would return. Or at least there would be some faint echo of his vibrant presence. Something to get Mike though tonight.
He forced himself up onto stiff knees. There was a scrap of newspaper stuck to the nearest tire, and he pulled it free. The gum on it glued to his fingertips and he shook it off impatiently. As it fluttered to the ground, he saw a familiar picture. He'd never moved so fast in all his life, snatching it before it hit the dirt.
Mike unfolded the scrap and smoothed it out. The top was a picture of Patrick, looking young and at ease, that familiar, wonderful smile on his face. The date was yesterday. Mike read the bits of text.
...one year ago tomorrow, after the accide...
...remains in a coma, although doctors said...
...no injuries other than the now-healed skul...
...rents still hold out hope their son will...
...not looking for a miracle, but stranger th...
...after a long year at their child's bedside...
...North Memorial Hospital. Donations to the Y...
...that this promising young man will wake and...
Patrick! That was what Spock meant by Patrick not being a ghost. He wasn't dead! His spirit had haunted the house while his body was in a coma at North Memorial. And if he wasn't a ghost any more, if Spock said Mike's love was capable of minor miracles, then maybe he hadn't lost Patrick after all.
Mike stroked the paper between his fingers, trying to breathe. He reminded himself to be calm, to be logical. Brain trauma bad enough to put Patrick in a coma might have left him brain dead. Maybe paralyzed. Maybe unable to speak or think. Don't hope too hard. Don't wish for the impossible.
But maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.
Mike slid into his car and cranked the engine. His pulse thudded in his ears. His hands were damp with sweat as he twisted the wheel and gunned backwards out of the lot. North Memorial was only ten minutes away. Visiting hours when his sister was there had been until nine o'clock. That gave him almost an hour. He was going to see Patrick!
***
His illusion of human-giant discarded, Spock watched the old car rocket out onto the road. He snorted in disgust, stirring the dead leaves under the bush that sheltered him. Stupid lovesick boy. But then he blew a cat's blessing after the car, to keep it on the road and safe for the next ten minutes. Mike was the most generous human he'd met with the tuna, no matter how many scratches Spock gave him. He appreciated that in a boy. And Patrick... Spock purred in appreciation. Patrick had magic hands. They'd probably be even better when the boy wasn't just spirit.
Spock stood and shook off the sentiment. Unsuitable for cats, really, that kind of affection. Still, it would be good to have both boys around. He murmured another spell to facilitate healing, and then prowled off through the undergrowth in search of that mouse he'd just heard.
***
Patrick woke with a start. "Mike?"
His mother leaned over him. "Who is Mike, honey?"
Patrick smiled. "My friend. My best friend." His voice was breathy and raspy, but clear. "He'll be here. I know he will. You'll like him." He drifted off again, so his last words went unsaid, silently echoing inside his head as comforting sleep cradled him. You'll even love him, Mom. Because I do.
####
Nice job Kaje! Gang-this was so much fun!! Thanks to all who joined in my silliness!!
Leave a reply here if you'd like to do a serial Christmas prompt-my head is spinning with ideas!!!
Yay! Hurrah for happy endings :)It has been lots of fun to read this as it develops (and to stick in my two very short posts!)
some sort of serial for Christmas would be fun.... I did have a vague idea about a picture prompted drabble a day, kind of in the form of an Advent Calendar - but we'd need get people to put forward 24 pictures and find 24 willing victims to write a 100 word short story for each picture and then they'd be posted daily....... but I am sure people will kill me for coming up with that sort of idea....
K wrote: "Yay! Hurrah for happy endings :)It has been lots of fun to read this as it develops (and to stick in my two very short posts!)
some sort of serial for Christmas would be fun.... I did have a vag..."
I LOVE that idea!!
This was tons of fun! I'd love to do something for Christmas. :-D
This was great! A wonderful story. Lovely ending, Kaje.
Christina wrote: "Maybe, in keeping with the advent theme, each day could be assigned a random picture, and you'd have to work it in? Meaning, if Dec 12 had a picture of a chandelier, the entry for that date would need to feature a chandelier in some form:..."That sounds kind of fun... lots of good ideas :)
The only rule that must be followed is that your offering to the story must end with a cliffhangar--for instance: The door opened and...
So I shall begin the story and everyone--jump in! Let's see how much fun or trouble we can get into together!