Friday, October 5, 2012

Dead Rite chapter 128.04

She paused at the door and spoke to someone. Harold craned his neck but there was no one there. Aha!

“You're talking to a spirit,” he said. This isn't a proper hospital, is it?”

“Don't be daft.” The nurse took a step to the side, revealing a youth about Lucy's age or a little older, with shin the colour of bitter chocolate, like Jasfoup's. He had slicked-back hair and wore a school uniform, the shirt and tie as pristine as a Sunday caller. She put one hand lightly on the boys back to encourage him into the room. “You remember Leonard, surely? My son.”

The boy gave a desultory wave. “Hi Granddad.”

“No...” Harold shook his head, willing the memory of the child's name to return. “Not Leonard.” Litmus? Allitnil? Lentil? Yes, that was it. “His name is Lentil. I've seen him before, at my daughter's school.”

I wouldn't think so, Dad. Anyone you saw at my school would be around my age now. Leonard's seven.”

“That sounds about right. He was a shade older than Lucy.”

She sent the boy to sit on a second chair on the other side of the room. Her smile collapsed into a thin line, her lips whitening as she pressed them together. “I keep telling you. I'm Lucy and this is my son Leonard. Dear Dog, I should know, seeing as I gave birth to him.”

“And I'd know my own daughter since I had a hand in making her.” Harold scowled. “It was a hand, too. And a cup. And a turkey baster.”

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