A/N: This is in response to a Challenge on Cape Haven. The challenge was to write a Max/Logan ghost story no longer than 1,500 words.
The Ghost of Bruno, Passed
Logan lay awake, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Despite an early night of it, he found himself unable to sleep. His dreams had been haunted by disturbing images, images captured in black and white on a police hoverdrone. He replayed them in his mind, over and over again. If he had been able to toss and turn, the bedclothes would have been on the floor. Instead, he lay on his back, imagining the sharp pain of the bullet hitting him, again and again.
He struggled to sit up and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. His forehead was bathed in sweat. Groggily, he stared at something, which appeared to be a human figure, on the other side of the room. Logan reached for his glasses.
As the room came into focus, Logan looked around. The figure was human and it greatly resembled Bruno Anselmo.
"What the hell – ?" Logan exclaimed. "Bruno?"
"Yeah," came the answer in almost a whisper.
"But you're dead!"
"Yeah," said the figure once again.
"But I can't be dreaming. I'm wide awake!" Logan said, blinking his eyes in disbelief.
"You're not dreaming," Bruno said. "I'm dead and I'm standing here in front of you."
"I need a drink," Logan declared. He transferred from his bed to the wheelchair and rolled into the kitchen. Bruno followed him, hovering slightly off the ground. Logan grabbed a bottle of single malt from the counter and a glass from the cabinet, and put them in his lap. "Scotch?" he offered, wheeling himself into the living room. If he was hallucinating, at least he could be a good host.
"I'd love to join you in a snort, but I can't. I'm dead, remember? Ghosts can't drink." Bruno looked wistfully at the bottle.
"Oh, OK." Logan locked his brakes and slid onto the sofa. "Just thought I'd ask." He poured himself a generous shot, downed it in one gulp, then poured himself another. "So, what is this all about anyway?"
Bruno sort of shuffled his feet. "Ah, it's kinda hard to explain. Seems to be a cosmic law about restless spirits. I can't rest in any kind of peace until I get forgiveness from my victims. That's why I'm here."
Logan sipped the Scotch and looked at the ghost pacing back and forth, just above the floor of his living room. He was about to reply when the phone rang. He quickly transferred back to the chair and wheeled over to the computer room to answer it.
"Hey?" he said by way of greeting.
Max was on the other end of the line. "Hey, yourself. Thought I'd drop by. Just wanted to see if you were in."
"I, ah, I'm in the middle of something here. I'll have to get back to you later."
"You OK? You sound funny." Max's voice was full of concern.
"I'm OK. It's – hard to explain. I'll call you."
"OK." Max hung up.
Logan wheeled back to the living room, the phone in his lap. Once again, he slid onto the couch.
"Now, Bruno, where were we?"
"I was telling you that I had to get your forgiveness in order to rest in peace." Bruno sat –or hovered – in the blue chair next to the couch.
"Ah, right." Logan reached for the tumbler of single malt again.
"Yeah. I'm sorry I shot you. I mean, it was nothing personal. I was just doing my job."
"Twice, if I recall," Logan said accusatorily.
"Yeah, well, I didn't quite finish the job the first time, did I?" Bruno looked down at his feet.
"Or the second."
Logan heard a noise and turned around. The door opened and Max stood in the doorway. She walked into the living room and saw Logan sitting in the couch, alone, sipping a drink.
"I was worried about you – your voice sounded funny. What's up?"
"Seems our friend Bruno has paid me a visit."
"Um, Logan, Bruno's dead."
"Yeah, well, that didn't stop him, it seems."
"So?" she said expectantly.
"He, ah, wants my forgiveness so his spirit can rest in peace."
"You're kidding." Max started to plop down in the blue chair, but Logan stopped her.
"Um, Max, Bruno's sitting there."
"Hey, girlie," Bruno said in greeting, even though he knew she could neither
see nor hear him.
Max jumped up. "You can see him?" She walked around to the back of the couch.
"Yeah, I can see him."
Max looked in the direction of the blue chair, the direction in which Logan was staring. "Yah know, it's hard to put the smackdown on a ghost. Can't kick an ass I can't see. So, you really can see this sleazebag?"
"Yeah, and I'm not nearly drunk enough to be having hallucinations." Logan took another sip of the Scotch.
"Hey!" Bruno said. "Can we get down to business?"
"Yeah," Logan replied. "Let's do that. Explain how all this works again – for Max's benefit."
"I have to get forgiveness from my victims so I can rest in peace. That's it."
Max looked puzzled.
"Ah, he said that he has to get forgiveness from his victims so he can rest in peace."
"So?" Max shrugged her shoulders. "What happens next?"
"I'm not sure." Logan replied. His mind was spinning, as he tried to contemplate the implications of it all. He looked down at his legs and ran his hands over his unfeeling thighs. Then he remembered what Bling had said many months ago, about how he had to scream or his head would explode. About how the average person might want revenge. He thought he had an answer for Bruno.
He turned back toward the blue chair, to stare at what only he could see. "Bruno, do you know what happened when you shot out my spine? I mean, other than the obvious fact that I traded legs for wheels?"
"No, not really," Bruno admitted.
"Well, let me tell you a few things. Besides the fact that I can't walk, I've gotta pee through a tube. I can't have sex the same way you do, and I can't feel anything if I do. I can't hold a girl in my arms and slow dance with her. I'll never be able to appreciate a lap dance – " At this last remark, Max glared at him. Bruno's ghost blinked.
"I have to call up any place I want to go to and find out whether it's wheelchair accessible. I have to look up at people and they have to look down at me – when they look at me at all. And a lot of times, when they do, they look at me with pity in their eyes. I'm not saying this because I feel sorry for myself, I'm just stating facts."
"OK, OK, I get the point. So, what's your answer?"
Logan looked down and took a deep breath. Max stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. Then he looked up again, in Bruno's direction and spoke slowly and deliberately.
"Here's my answer. If you think I'm ever going to forgive you for any of this, you're mistaken, because I'm not. I can take a sleeping pill and make you go away if I want, but you'll never be able to make me go away. I'll haunt you forever, not the other way around. I'll be your ghost, your restless spirit. So, go somewhere else to find your forgiveness because you won't get it from me."
Bruno turned toward Max with a pleading expression on his face. "What about her?"
"You sold her to the South Africans, remember, after she risked her life to keep you alive. She had to stick one of their damn implants into her neck to fight them off, and then I had to shock her to stop the seizures it caused before it killed her. I don't think Max is gonna forgive you either, right?" Logan looked up at Max, still standing behind him.
"What he said," Max agreed, massaging Logan's shoulders. "I'm just sorry I can't see you 'cos if I could, I'd kick your ass."
Bruno's ghost sighed deeply and disappeared from Logan's living room as quickly as he had appeared. Logan took Max's hand and drew her down next to him on the couch.
"Well, I feel better now. He's gone now and I doubt that he'll be back," Logan said.
"Yeah, no more champagne and whipped cream for Bruno Anselmo," Max replied. "Now, as long as I'm here, ya got any leftovers? I'm starving."
Logan smiled and took another sip of his single malt.
The End