Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 19

Delia

"We can do this."

"You don't understand. I keep seeing him," Neil says, his voice shaking.

"I do too," I say, looking at my hands.

"He's still here because he doesn't know he's dead!"

"This isn't Sixth Sense !!"

"Since the disembodied bloodied raging spirit of OUR dead lover has been showing up in my fucking house yes—Delia, it has become increasingly Sixth Sense," he growls, looking around. We're meeting at a diner. He doesn't come back in public. Usually.

"Shh, he can't hurt you, I know he's tried. He tries to grab me and shake me. If you don't react he gets frustrated and leaves," I say, more steadily than I feel.

"You said he'd quit—,"

"I hoped he'd quit—,"

"I can't do this," he says, his hands shaking.

"Yes, you can, we can. We can do this---there isn't anything else we can do," I say, taking his hands, "You said it happened when you were in Detroit---he can find us anywhere."

"What have we done?" he asks, tears welling in his eyes.

"He'll move on—eventually. Cracks on the internet say sometimes spirits get confused---and try to stay," I say, "That must be what's happening."

"But Meg is gone. The kids are gone---my brother is gone. Why him?"

"Well let's be realistic if anyone would be too stupid to figure out they were dead it would be Hugh," I point out, dryly.

"Fuck," Neil leans back.

"We're not going to the police. Why?" I prompt.

"Because I'm afraid of you."

"Because it was the right thing to do."

"That too."

"Neil---look at me. We can do this. The hardest part is over—we always knew what came after would linger on," I say.

"I didn't know it would physically linger on in the form of a ghost!" he hisses.

"Well, clearly, neither did I. But he's usually around waiting when I get off of work he wasn't this time, maybe he's finding a way to---go to hell," I say, shrugging.

"How do you ignore him like that? I feel like I'll crack one day and he'll drag me down to hell with him. He just goes on and on and pleads with you to look at him," Neil sighs.

"Honey, I was married to him. I had practice ignoring him."

"I lived with him! At the same time you did," He says, resolutely.

"Then you should be cool ignoring him when he speaks—,"

"He looks sad—,"

"Oh my god."

"And the other day he got angry and threatened me. He broke my vase. I had to act like I didn't know what happened."

"Why the fuck do you just have a vase?"

"Is that important right now?"

"Kind of. I already knew we were being haunted I had no idea people just keep random vases out where ghosts can break them."

"It was from flowers he brought me----what? I'm processing here," he sighs.

"Well, we're gonna process with an exorcism as soon as I can figure out how to hire an exorcist," I say.

"How do you hire an exorcist?"

"I literally just said I was figuring it out."

"Well how? I want to help," he sighs, "I can't just—sit here. doing nothing while he keeps--"

"Haunting us?"

"Yes. So what's your plan?"

"Posting an ad on Craigslist asking for an experienced exorcist."

"Jesus Christ, we're gonna die."

"Hugh can't kill us."

"I'm talking about the exorcist it'll be a serial killer that's how serial killers find victims, Delia."

"We are the murderers here, Macbeth—--we have murdered sleep. You can stop being afraid of things now."

"The point of the play is Macbeth remains afraid of things. Worse so actually."

"The point of the play is Lady Macbeth should have done shit herself and if Macbeth had NOT been AFRAID of trees shit wouldn't have gotten real."

"That's not the point."

"Who is an English Major?"

"Neither of us."

"Right, so not you. The point is, we don't have anything to be afraid of. We----won. We did it. The police bought my story---they don't know about you. It's over—this is just—what's left after," I say, encouragingly.

"He's just so sad—when I see him."

"I know," I say, slowly.

"I feel bad like—I didn't want him to be lost like this."

"I know. Maybe—hopefully he can find his way to whatever part of hell he belongs in," I say, taking a deep breath, "And we just need to ignore him. It's not like we can encourage him to stay."

"Why would this happen though?? I mean—I don't feel like this is a thing that happens," Neil sighs.

"Well, actually, according to Reddit, it is."

"According to normal people though?"

"Normal people who commit murders? I'm pretty sure the only place I'll find another murderer's testimony is Reddit," I say, apologetically.

"Well serial killers don't have this happen do they? They'd go insane."

"I think---I think most serial killers are insane. I think that's part of the job description, Neil."

"Ted Bundy didn't have this happen to him then. Ted Bundy was happy."

"Basically everyone thinks Ted Bundy was a cryptid," I say, tiredly.

"Those don't exist."

"Well neither do ghosts yet here we are," I sigh.

"Fuck. I can't do this. I can't even fucking sleep. Once I woke up and he standing there---all dead and bloody, staring at me," Neil says.

"I know I'm sorry," I say, squeezing his hands, "I'm working on the exorcist. Just give me a few days. And take some sleeping pills."

"He threw them away and shouted at me to pay attention to him."

"Yeah he's a dick. That's why we killed him," I point out.

Neil glares at me.

"Come on what do you want me to do? It's over. Going to the police isn't going to make his ghost go away. He doesn't realize we've murdered him he's sure as hell not going to notice if we turn ourselves in," I sigh.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore," he sighs.

"Look at me. We can do this. I promise," I say, not at all believing it.