Ghost City Blues: Love and Death in the time of Corona Virus

Thirteen

Venice, Italy. Early March 2020.

"This is Venice, right?"

Dylan and Plague were walking the empty streets. There was no-one about. It was sometime late-night-early-morning, moonlight on the cobbles and the gently undulating waves of the canals. They'd come in over the lagoon, out of the clouds, and Dylan had thought the old city looked like a kid's toy.

Man, that had been some flight. Like a dream.

Flying was one of the things Dylan thought about when he couldn't sleep. What would it be like to fly? You know, he hadn't been so wrong. It had been colder than he'd imagined, but it was hard to imagine cold, anyway, wasn't it?

They hadn't spoken. He'd watched the sky change colour.

"This is Venice," said Plague. She was leading the way. She seemed to know where she was going.

"Been here before?"

"Oh, yeah," said the goddess. "You?"

"Nope. Always sounded like it'd be crawling with tourists, you know." That seemed ironic now, looking about the empty streets. "Tourists are everywhere these days, crawling over everything like ants."

"No tourists here anymore." Plague walked without a sound. Though she swished, she had no shadow, Dylan had noticed. Man, she was impressive.

"Where the hell is everyone? Are they, like, asleep?"

"Asleep and locked down."

Plague for her part liked this kid, this guy, but this couldn't happen again. She told herself this couldn't happen again (not that it had happened for a while) but...no. Just no.

So what the hell are you doing bringing him here? came her own voice.

"Locked down, huh?" Dylan looked up at the ancient buildings. Dark. The moon streaking the sky in places. It was warmer down here, on the ground.

They stopped at a town house on a back alley. All was quiet. Some eyes, maybe a rat or a cat, flashed from the stonework but the grafitti-covered shutters were silent, front doors closed.

"Go in," said Plague.

"What's this? Your place?"

She'd pushed open the front door of the house, pitch black inside. Dylan walked in.

"No. The guy died yesterday. I was here." Plague said this matter-of-fact.

"I don't want to see a body or anything like that," Dylan shot back, moving into the darkness but slightly freaked out.

"Oh, come on, don't be a pussy. Keep going."

Plague closed the door behind them and touched Dylan on the shoulder. He let her pass and the goddess went first, Dylan just touching her, her wings, with his finger, using her as a guide. He saw the edges of ornaments and a table, pictures on the wall. The room smelled strange. Could have been death, could have been the canal, could have just been the smell of the house.

As they went down a narrow stairs – Dylan could feel it was narrow more than he could see it was – he heard Plague say something, some weird garbled language he didn't understand. "What's up?"

"Death. Lingering."

"What the hell?"

"Just stay close to me. You're fine."

Plague waited and Dylan could hear his own breath. He could smell her. Man, she even smelled good.

What the hell was he doing here? Flying here? With this - whatever she was? But it all seemed so matter of fact. It didn't seem weird. They felt like old friends, like they knew each other – old souls, maybe? Dylan felt completely at ease. It never entered his mind to doubt this girl and, frankly, he'd been thrilled when she'd shown an interest in him back in Gart's room. What an amazing feeling. Connection. A religious feeling - sure, why not?