Free Ghostwriting by Eric Brown Page B

her a bit more.”
    Rhodes smiled. “I know. It’s strange, James, but I find it so hard to find the right words. Me, who spends his life doing nothing but trying to find the best way to express my emotions...”
    The women strolled within earshot, rose cuttings in hand, and James boomed, “So the duffer missed an open goal and I lost my tenner!”
    Other friends dropped by later, and the gathering turned into a party, as the sun went down but the summer heat remained in the air. Rhodes drank, and began to enjoy the to and fro of friendly, meaningless conversation.
    From time to time, though, he thought back to the computer program and told himself that he had imagined the entire episode.
    He lived in a rational word. There were no such things as ghostly communiqués via the latest voice recognition program.

    ~

    They strolled home before midnight. Though Rhodes had promised himself that he would turn in without looking into his study, he was weaker than his resolve. As he passed the door on his way to the bathroom, he stepped into the room, nudged the mouse and saw a block of text on the screen.
    His knees seemed to dissolve. His heart thudded. He sat before the screen and began reading.
    Please don’t be frightened, you or mum. I know you never believed in anything like ghosties or ghoulies, dad. But I’m nothing like that. I’m me, and I love you both. That’s what matters. Even after death, which is just the end of one stage of existence, what matters is the love that binds us, like a... like a kind of universal glue. I’m in communication with everyone – and I mean everyone – who has ever lived. In a way I’m part of them, and they’re part of me. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, what is important is that you know this, and that you don’t feel sad anymore. Love, Jane.
    His mouth was dry, and his hand shook as he adjusted the microphone and spoke into it. He was aware that he was whispering, so that Anne would not hear him. The words appeared on the screen.
    “Where are you? Are you still in the house? Why now? I mean... Why haven’t you contacted us before now?”
    He was weeping, his throat sore, as he relived a sudden flash vision of Jane leaning against his chair as he rewrote a story. She had often read out what he wrote, commenting, “That’s good.” Or, “Oh, too sad!”
    He found a tissue and blotted his eyes, composed himself and said, “I want to tell your mum, but... but I don’t want her to think I’ve gone mad.” He laughed. “Perhaps I have. Anyway... Love you, poppet—” he was crying again: he’d called her poppet as a child.
    He left the program running and turned out the light.
    Anne was already in bed. He rolled in beside her and she held him in silence. He stared at the diffuse glow of the full moon through the blinds and tried to sleep.

    ~

    He was quiet at breakfast, fearing Anne would detect something about his mood and question him.
    Once, he almost blurted out what was happening with the program, but something stopped him. It was more than that he feared Anne might think him insane, more that her thinking so would be too painful for her to bear.
    “Worrying about the novel?”
    He smiled. “How did you guess?”
    “It’s as if I’m sharing you with some invisible lover sometimes, Steven.”
    After breakfast, nervous now, he made his way upstairs.
    He opened the door. The screensaver was on, throwing stars at him. He hurried over to his chair and touched the mouse. The stars gave way to a block of text. He leaned forward and read the spectral message, heart pounding.
    Where am I? I’m here, dad. In the house. But at the same time I’m... well, I’m everywhere. It’s so hard to explain in words, because it’s so different to anything I experienced when I was alive. You see, we don’t use words here. Just thoughts. So I’m not used to communicating physical things like ‘where’... I hope that makes a kind of sense. And why haven’t I contacted you before?