Disclaimer: I don't own The Dresden Files. Characters are property of Jim Butcher and the SciFi channel. I simply do unspeakable things to them for my own amusement. Enjoy!
Harry Dresden checks his suitcase one last time; he doesn't want to be halfway out of city limits and realize he forgot something. Bob looms over his shoulder with a doubtful scowl.
"Now, I'll just be gone a few days. Sounds like a simple fix, from what our client told me over the phone. It's about a three hour drive each way. I'm not too worried."
"And where is this again?" Bob inquires, his arms folded over his chest.
"Some little town near the Iowa border. They have lots of old houses, historical sort of place. They've been having some...activity. Some concerned citizens found me from a web search, apparently. Thought I could take a look, clear out the spooks."
This doesn't sit well with the resident ghost. "I take exception to that remark," he drawls.
Harry looks up over his shoulder at his friend. "There's a difference; you know that. If they're just...people like you, I'll just see if we can do things diplomatically. If they're malevolent, though, I'm ready for that, too." He sees Bob roll his eyes with his usual petulant pout. "You know I don't have anything against ghosts, Bob. I live with you for Pete's sake."
"I still don't see why this is any of your business. Why don't they find a specialist, someone local?"
Zipping up his suitcase one last time, Harry turns around and points at him. "It's my business because it is business. All right? You're the one who's always nagging me about getting clients."
Bob has to agree with that. In truth, he's been objecting to the assignment from the start mostly because he's never been left alone for so long, not since Harry had taken ownership of him. Damned if he'd tell the wizard that his only real problem would be missing him.
Harry shoulders his bag and heads downstairs with his ghost at his heels. "I gave Murphy a spare key so she'll be here to water the plants and bring in the mail. You can enjoy the view," he adds with a grin. He knows Bob's fondness for the ladies.
Now this makes the old sorcerer brighten up a bit. He got a glimpse of her a few months ago when Harry was kidnapped. Pretty little thing, but if Harry is to be believed, she's not to be underestimated. Still, he licks his lips with a rakish grin as he ponders the prospect of her stopping by.
"I'll probably be back on Friday. I'll call, okay?"
"Good luck. Try to stay out of trouble," Bob advises in farewell.
Not long after Harry's Jeep vanishes down the street, Lieutenant Murphy arrives. She tries the doorknob, as though she's hoping to catch Harry before he leaves on his trip, and then puts her key in the lock. Bob hesitates for the one second it would have taken him to vaporize, and the two see each other. They fix each other with identical deer-in-the-headlights expressions, both taken completely unawares.
"Oh, hi. Is Harry still here?"
"Ah, no. You just missed him, actually. He'll be on his way by now. I'm his associate, Bob," he introduces smoothly.
She nods in his direction with a dubious look. "Does he know you're here?"
"Oh, yes. He told me to expect you."
Murphy ponders this, gesturing meaninglessly in the air. "If you're here, why's he need me to water his plants and stuff?"
"I kill plants," he answers simply with a shrug.
For some reason, this brings a smile to Murphy's lips. She fills the watering can at the sink and tends to the greenery. Curious, she reads the tags on some of them. Sage, she recognizes, but others...
"Mugwort, vervain, dragon's blood..." She gives Bob a questioning look.
"All useful herbs, particularly in our field. We find it easier to, as they say, 'grow our own' rather than rely on other means of distribution. More often than not, such businesses would send counterfeit products, which are utterly useless to our needs.
"Right..."
Bob finds the woman's puzzled expression to be most endearing. He smiles at her openly, wishing he were corporeal. He wonders what she feels like, smells like...the sunlight catches her hair and gleams golden around her. He gives a soft sigh of longing as she turns aside to tend to the other plants. There's something familiar about her, but he can't put his finger on it.
"Have you known Harry for long?" Murphy asks. "I don't think I've seen you here before."
"Yes, we do tend to miss each other, don't we? I've known him since...since his father died. I was his teacher for several years. Then...when I had nowhere else to go, he took me in." As Bob relates their summarized history, Murphy looks touched. These two admittedly strange men have taken care of each other for the past twenty years. It strikes her as sweet, that someone who appears to be the consummate loner would have such a longstanding relationship with this gentleman. She wonders briefly what it is. Might Bob perhaps be a surrogate parent to Harry? A business partner, a friend?
"That's good. I know he doesn't have any family left, so the fact that you two have each other...that's great."
She smiles again, like she really means it. It catches Bob off guard and he wanders back behind the island, clearing his throat roughly.
"I'm glad I finally get to meet you properly, Miss Murphy. Harry hardly talks about anyone else. I know the two of you had a fair bit of...complications, if you will, but it seems they've been smoothed over."
"Yeah..." Murphy breathes, still unconsciously grinning at the fair, handsome man, "Yeah, we have. He's a good friend. Too good to lose to...complications." It takes her a full minute to realize a silence has crept up on them. "You're, uh...you're staring."
"Just enjoying the view, my dear. Harry never told me how lovely you are."
This makes Murphy squirm. She's never been openly admired in a genuine way. Any talk of that sort has usually been from less than honorable men with one thing on their minds. Of course, no such observations were made in quite the same manner as Bob doled out. It makes her think it might be for real.
She scoffs lightly, "Thanks."
With his hands on his hips, Bob quirks an eyebrow at her response. "I meant that as a compliment, Miss Murphy. If that was too forward..."
"No, no. It's...fine." Still, she doesn't know what to make of this strange, old man. She'd never been accused of having daddy-issues, never dated anyone significantly older than her, but something about him set her strangely at ease. Like they know each other already.
"It's been a while. A very long while, I admit," Bob tells her. "Harry thinks I've gone peculiar."
This makes Murphy giggle. His woebegone expression at such a possibility, the deadpan delivery, it was sad and comical at the same time. "I'm sure you're all right. We're all a little strange, aren't we? That's what separates us from game show hosts."
Game show hosts? He wonders silently. Still, he tries to act in the know. He makes a wild guess and hopes it's along the same lines. "Oh, yes. Or street hawkers."
Another rare laugh from the cop. Bob worriedly wonders if she's laughing at him rather than with him. Then... "I like you, Bob," Murphy declares. "And I can see now that you're just right for Harry." For some reason, she doesn't want to leave just yet. She gets the feeling the older gentleman is trying to charm her and for now she's going to let him! "So, what do you use these for?" she asks, gesturing to the herb garden.
"Mugwort is good for the mind; it helps clear it and lends itself well to..." Bob stumbles here, trying to find a better word for astral projection. "It's a good...booster. Vervain is protective, it's written that sleeping with a sprig of vervain under your pillow keeps bad dreams at bay. Dragon's blood...well, when in doubt, throw in some dragon's blood," he grins matter-of-factly.
"I like that one. It has pretty leaves."
"You should see the looks we get from some people."
Murphy leans over the counter, "So, what exactly do you do with Harry's...wizard business?"
"I serve as a consultant, a loremaster. I have perfect memory. It's served me well."
"So you really believe in all this...magic stuff that Harry does?" Murphy questions.
Bob doesn't flinch, he crosses his arms and draws himself up, "I taught Harry 'all this magic stuff' that he does."
If she'd been looking for an invitation to rag on her friend's eccentricity, it's apparently dashed right there. "Oh," she answers shortly, a little embarrassed.
"You would do well to not assume others are going to agree with you, dear lady," he advises confidentially. "Magic is very serious business, despite not being particularly lucrative. It's nothing to snigger at, thank you very much."
Murphy straightens back up, not sure what to say to this. "Sorry," she mutters. It's one thing to tease Harry about being a self-proclaimed wizard; it's another to deal it out to this distinguished-looking person. He obviously takes himself seriously.
The former sorcerer suddenly waves it aside, unconcerned. "Oh, don't worry about it. We're used to the abuse. Still, a bit of respect would go a long way, wouldn't you agree?" Murphy nods, still looking uncomfortable. Bob recognizes this and tries to set her back at ease. "It's all right."
"So..." she grasps blindly at something to talk about, "Do you have family in Chicago?"
A wistful smirk crosses his lips, and he sighs softly. "No. No other friends, either. Just Harry. We do all right, though. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself without him here, to be honest. I suspect it will be...quiet."
Sensing a possible opening, Murphy suggests, "You know, if you;d like...that is, if you don't mind, I could hang out here for a bit while he's away, when I'm not working." She's still not sure what's drawn her to him so much. He looks twice her age, possibly a borderline dingbat like Harry, but still...he has a nice smile, an enticing voice, and a certain old-world charm about him. It couldn't do any harm to keep the old man company while his only friend in the world is away.
"I...I'd like that very much, Miss Murphy. Thank you."
"You can teach me about your magic herbs," she proposes with a grin.
Bob chuckles softly at this. "Yes, well...we'll see."
"Oh, and just call me Murphy. My work friends all do."
This makes Bob curl a lip disdainfully. "No, I couldn't call you that. It's certainly not fit for a lady."
Murphy laughs, tossing her hair back and fiddling with her necklace chain. "I'm not sure anyone would call me a lady."
He gazes at her thoughtfully, taking in her lovely visage. He has to stop himself from reaching out to her. "I would."
She looks up, startled at his frankness. He's certainly of a different mold than other men she's known. He isn't heaping her with baseless compliments; as strange as his assertions may be, he sounds sincere. Strange man... She gives him a faltering smile. Then her eyes are drawn to the skull on the other end of the counter. "What's that?"
Bob looks in the same direction. "That? Oh, that's my skull."
"That's yours?" Bob nods, hoping she won't question him too much about it. "When did you get that thing?"
Knowing the actual answer would horrify her, he answers as honestly as possible. He strolls over towards it, mimes that he's laying a hand on it with a smirk. "I've had it for...quite some time. I'm...rather attached to it." He imagines Harry groaning at his bad pun. How he wishes he could be here to bail him out of this!
Murphy approaches it, and Bob steps away to avoid going through her. She touches it gingerly, stroking the top, down its cheeks. She doesn't notice that Bob's eyes drift closed pleasurably as she does this. "Very lifelike. It's so real!"
"It is real, my dear, so do be careful with it. It's very old."
Her face and voice drop significantly, "It's real?" Murphy makes a wry face as she sets the skull back down. "That...that's a real dead guy's head?"
Scowling now himself, Bob regards her coldly. "Yes. That is a real dead guy's head, as you so eloquently put it. It's very old, and very valuable."
"Is it Harry's, too?"
With an annoyed huff, the old ghost grouses, "Yes, as a matter of fact. We both have some claim to ownership of it. Let's just say it's a shared asset and leave it at that."
By now, Murphy gets the hint that she's made a mess of things. "Look, I'm sorry. All this...stuff is just kind of weird, you know? I can't navigate it like you probably can. I didn't mean any offense, and if I hurt you or offended you I'm sorry."
The two had taken to each other so well from the start, that Bob is more than prepared to forgive her transgression. She doesn't know any better; she's a civilian, he reminds himself. "I understand, Miss Murphy. Harry has the same problem sometimes. He speaks at random without thinking and really sticks his foot in it. He seldom means any harm, but it's not always easy to take back." Bob peers at her with a growing smile as he openly admires her. "All other things aside, I expect we'll be very good friends." Steady, old man, don't scare her off, he advises himself. How thoughtful of Harry to wrap up this tender little morsel for me. He should leave town more often!
"Well, it was nice meeting you, but I'd better get going. Will you be here tomorrow?"
"I can safely say yes to that. You can pretty much find me here any time."
Murphy reaches out to shake his hand, but he backs away sharply with a startled gasp. Instead, she waves, "See you, then."
"Until the morrow, dear lady," he murmurs.
With a light scoff, she shakes her head and lets herself out. After she leaves, Bob stares out the window after her, at the very end of his tether.
As Murphy walks home, she keeps replaying her encounter with Harry's unusual friend. She supposes any friend of Harry's would be a bit of a nut, but he struck her as a harmless one. The way he dressed, the way he talked...it suited him perfectly. Thinking about it, she's almost disappointed that someone like that would have a common name like Bob. It's only after she gets home that she wonders why someone as naturally charismatic as her new friend would be so alone. What if he has a cellar full of dead bodies or some creepy secret like that? Murphy shudders. It doesn't add up. Great, the first man I hit it off with in years and he's a possible Norman Bates. Still, that's only one possibility. She slips out of her shoes and changes into a T-shirt and lounge pants. With no gruesome or mysterious cases to plague her evening for once, she can actually enjoy a night to herself. Thinking back over her conversation with Bob about their herb garden, she decides to look a few things up. If he's as hopeless at keeping plants alive as he says he is, maybe a little more info would help. She turns on her laptop and looks up mugwort. The top few pages it suggests are all for occult shops. It's not very pricey, and its list of uses is extensive. There is a warning against pregnant women using it, but nothing more alarming than that. It takes a bit more digging, but she finds a little more information on growing the wizards' plants. They don't seem to require any special care beyond water and sunlight; she smirks at Bob's certainty that he kills plants. She wonders how many gardens have withered at the man's fingertips.
That evening, at Harry Dresden's shop, the phone rings. Finally, the answering machine picks up and Bob is treated to his master's voice.
"Hi, Bob, it's Harry. Just calling to let you know I landed in. Hope you're not too bored. Oh, if you go in the lab, I copied out a few chapters of one of your books so you don't have to stick your head in the cover. I know you hate it when it spoils the ending. Don't scare Murphy. See you in a couple of days. Buh-bye."
The ghost smiles fondly at the blinking contraption, then heads down to the lab to read in a halfway normal way. Harry Dresden is many things, but he's certainly thoughtful at times. He looks around the walls at the copied pages he's taped up. He forces himself to read slowly, since rushing would do him no good. He settles in for the night, wholly absorbed in his latest Gothic murder mystery. Bob grins appreciatively. Harry had picked a good dirty one, too. He knows me too well.
Bob spends the next several hours putzing around the empty shop. Finally, he retires to his skull with a sigh. He promises himself he'll read more the next day, but he wants to make it last over the time he has alone. In his skull, he loses his standard concept of time, whiling it away in thought. He finds himself thinking of Lieutenant Murphy. He's glad he was able to meet her, and they seemed to hit it off. He wonders when she'll realize what he is. Bob grows cold at the thought. Most people don't like ghosts. Perhaps it will only come up after they've cemented a comfortable enough repartee. Once she knows him a bit better, it might not matter that he happens to be dead. This prospect cheers him back up as he lets his imagination take flight. Thoughts of his new friend keep him company for many long hours, until through his eye socket he catches a glimpse of daylight. Its morning! Of course, it will still be several more hours before he can expect Murphy to come back. His spirit shivers with anticipation as he wafts out of his enclosure. Bob stretches pointlessly, and as a treat to himself he goes to read a bit more of his novel.
His chin in his hands, Bob's eyes rove hungrily over a particularly explicit passage. This author didn't waste any time cutting to the chase! He finds himself imagining Murphy in the leading role of the sweet and seductive chamber maid, and himself opposite her as the wily duke. He reads it over again with a dark chuckle. Harry really knows me too well, he admits again. Before he gets too far into it, Bob stops himself, reminding himself he still has two more days alone, with precious little to keep him occupied. He makes a mental note to thank Harry for the book. It's certainly right up his alley.
Completely lost in his vivid daydreams, Bob is soon startled to hear a knocking at the door. Then the turning of a key...footsteps...
He emerges into the front room and smiles as he sees Murphy wander in. "Hi, Bob," she greets him brightly. "Are you just getting in? Sure is a nice day for once."
"I was in the back room." He thinks hard to find something to convey how happy he is to see her without sounding creepy. Unable to think of something sensible, he simply agrees with her remark. "It certainly looks like it's going to be a pleasant day. I hope you won't be stuck at work the whole time."
Murphy pulls up a chair comfortably, gazing up at him, "Oh, you know. If I wasn't holding the place together..."
"Oh, yes, I understand. The inmates would be running the asylum." His old joke is rewarded with a genuine laugh, heartening him considerably. My god, it's been so long. I can barely remember the last time I got to talk to a woman like this.
Then, Murphy looks like she's just remembered something. She digs in her purse and produces a few sheets of paper. "Hey, I did a little reading on your plants last night. A lot of the sources were...interesting." The sites she visited during her search that were not strictly botanical were all for occult shops and groups. She lays the pages out on the coffee table and Bob bends over her shoulder to peer at them. "Is...is all of that really true? What they're for?" The fact that multiple sources attested to the herbs' magical properties is starting to make it easier to believe.
"Yes," the ghost drawls casually, looking over at the row of pots and then back at his new friend. "They certainly seem happier today, don't you think?"
With a lopsided grin, Murphy detects a double-entendre. "Maybe they just needed a little extra company. I don't think...plants like being alone all the time."
"No, they don't. And nothing brightens up one's spirits and...desire to thrive...like a little female attention."
They're definitely flirting now. It's past the point of either one of them pretending otherwise. Both of them titter shyly and try not to stare at each other. Finally, Murphy stands with a sharp breath and examines the plants. She gives the soil a poke, feeling the leaves. "I don't think they need anything done to them today." They cast each other fond gazes over the herbs. They're finding that conversation isn't necessary at the moment. Suddenly, she checks her watch. "I'd better run; I'm on my lunch break."
"Feel free to stop by after work, if you'd like," Bob offers, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he thinks he does. "Oh, come here. Take a snip from this one right here." Obediently, Murphy finds a small scissors and clips off a small cluster of leaves from the mugwort plant. "Dry it out in your oven; it makes excellent tea. Very soothing. It...untangles the mind."
Folding the clipping up in a shopping list she has in her pocket, Murphy nods gratefully. "Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. It won't really make me...astral project, will it?" she asks with a nervous laugh.
Bob chuckles lightly, "No, not if you don't want to. That takes serious intent, not often done by accident."
"Good. Well, thank you." She turns to leave and Bob calls after her.
"Do be kind enough to lock up on the way out, I'm in the office today," he points back behind him.
Murphy nods and waves on her way out. She locks the door and heads back to the station.
At work, Murphy finds an opportunity to stop for a bit. She takes the slip of paper out of her pocket and gives the mugwort a sniff. It even smells calming. She looks forward to getting home to brew it up.
Several hours later, Murphy is still at work. It's shaping up to be a long night. She decides to stretch her legs and head into the break room. One of the guys brought in a toaster oven from home for them to toast sandwiches. It gives her an idea; she cleans off the tray and sprinkles her herbs on it. Popping it into the toaster oven, she keeps a careful eye on it so it doesn't start to burn. After a few minutes, they feel dry to the touch yet retain their cool fragrance. Rigging up a makeshift teabag from a coffee filter, she brews it up, feeling that now would be a perfect time to "untangle the mind". It certainly feels like a wrung sponge this evening!
She returns to her desk, squinting wearily at her computer screen with a sigh. I can wrap this up in another half hour...I hope she thinks to herself. She gives her cup a stir, breathing in the calming aroma. She sighs again, this time more contentedly, thinking fond things about her new friend and his very appropriate gift. She decides it's steeped enough and takes a sip. It's then that Murphy understands how this herb is said to have magical properties, she feels calmer and clearer already. It nearly brings tears to her eyes, this was just what she needed! She drains her cup and, feeling refreshed, wraps up work for the night in short order. With a smile on her lips and a song in her heart, she heads for home, making a mental note to drop in on Bob the next day to thank him. Then she drives by out of habit, sees a light still on in the front room. She parks across the street and gingerly approaches...
Meanwhile, back at the closed-up wizard's shop, Bob is reading more of his book. He finds himself reading the same passages twice or three times; he can't seem to focus. He wonders how Murphy's day went, if she tried the mugwort and if she liked it. Whenever he thinks of her, he longs to touch her, to hold her...instead, he contents himself to just read about it. After a largely unsatisfying couple of hours, he turns in for the night.
No sooner had he vanished into his skull, than he hears the key turning in the lock again! With a bounding heart, he flies out, almost forgetting to take human form in his haste. With a sharp gasp of pleasure, he beams across the room at the woman who is rapidly stealing his heart.
"Miss Murphy, what a pleasant surprise! I would have thought most normal people would be asleep now."
Murphy smirks at him with a wave, "Well, looks like neither of us is normal."
"You have no idea," he drawls with a sinister-sounding laugh. "Oh, it's so good to see you!"
She finds herself equally happy, but unable to pinpoint why. "I can't stay for long, but I just wanted to say thank you for the tea. That was so good; it was just what I needed. I don't know how you could have possibly known that, but it was."
"Good, good! It's quite effective, isn't it? I worried about its potency, but...you liked it, that's wonderful. Feel free to take some more for later, if you'd like." Bob has to stop himself before he gives away Harry's entire stock.
"Maybe tomorrow. Just, thanks so much. I love you—It! I'd really like you... like you to. I mean, that's very sweet of you," she looks horrified at the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I mean I'd...oh..." she snarls to herself. Murphy waits for him to laugh her out of the shop, or, at best, give her a pitying, patronizing look.
Bob does none of these things. He gazes at her, wholly touched. He smiles at her awkward confession, the way her mouth ran away from her and spoke her heart freely. "I...I don't know what to say."
Murphy backs up, shaking her head, "I didn't mean to say that, Bob, just forget it. I promise I won't get weird."
Not looking the least bit wrong-footed, Bob saunters behind the island out of habit, feeling he ought to keep some sort of physical barrier between them before he makes a fool of himself. "What if I told you that I have no problem with weird? It's hard to believe we only met yesterday, I feel as though I've always known you. That could be in part from what Harry would share with me, but...I think it's more than that. Do you agree?"
Freezing up uncomfortably-or at least trying to feel uncomfortable, but how can she when she feels as happy as Julie Andrews spinning on a mountaintop? -Murphy nods her head. When and how, exactly, did this strange old man nestle into her heart? How had she grown so fond of him so quickly? Can people really fall in love this fast? "I...um...I need to..." she points feebly at the clock on the wall. "I gotta go. But...tomorrow? Can I come back tomorrow?"
"Oh, yes. Please do."
"Early?"
"The earlier, the better. Now run along home and get some sleep. You look dead on your feet." Bob gently shoos her out, giving her the impression of a mother hen. She wonders with a grin if he treats Harry like that sometimes, fussing over his well-being. "Good night...what...what is your first name?"
"Connie."
"Constance? That's a lovely name."
Wrinkling her nose, she confesses, "Constanza." She'd grown sensitive to her rather ethnic-sounding name since childhood, other kids would tease her with stupid racist remarks. She'd grown to hate it as a result and was more than happy to go solely by her last name at work.
This makes the man's smile grow. "Good night, my Stanzi. And if it makes you feel any better, my name is Hrothbert." He pauses for her involuntary snort of laughter; she somehow feels kinship with this man who'd been likewise saddled with a mouthful of a name. "I'll see you in the morning, my dear. I look forward to it."
"Same here. Want me to lock up on my way out? You probably leave through the back, don't you?"
"Yes, please do. Thank you." Neither of them moves. They stand there, frozen in place, grinning inanely at each other.
"Good night, Bob."
"Good night, Stanzi."
Slowly she creeps out the door and locks up. Just as she's turned to leave, she hears the most curious sound from inside the building-
As the door shut behind Murphy, Bob spun on his heel and found himself raising his voice in song. It is a current one, as far as he knows, although he can't remember when he last heard it – "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for. I think I love you, isn't that what life is made of? Though it worries me to say I have never felt this way..."
Covering her mouth to smother her laughter, Murphy scurries to her car and speeds away, humming the same song herself.
Bob should know by now that things that seem this good seldom stay that way. Mere hours after they've each floated away in a happy cloud of newly realized love, it all will come crashing down to reality.
When Murphy gets to bed that night, she worries that she won't be able to "shut her brain off" and that she'll lie awake all night indulging in silly, fluffy thoughts. In truth, she sleeps like the dead. It might have been the tea, or simply the load taken from her mind of looking ridiculous in front of Bob. She wakes before her alarm, feeling rested and energetic. Breezing through her morning routine, she gives herself plenty of time to stop by to visit Bob.
True to her word, Murphy lets herself in at precisely seven o'clock in the morning. They stand there in the room together, facing each other with matching determined looks on their faces.
"Stanzi, there's something I have to tell you." Murphy shushes him unsympathetically, stalking up to him with a growing hunger in her eyes. "Please, my dear, I-"
Murphy makes a "zip it" gesture with her hand, and huskily utters. "No talking." She moves in to kiss him...and passes right through him with a cold shudder and a wild shriek of fright!
"That's what I was going to tell you," Bob blandly delivers as his would-be lover stares at him fearfully, looking horrified and confused. "Now, darling, just calm down, I can explain."
"Explain?! What...what...what the hell are you?!" Murphy demands, jabbing her finger through his shoulder with wild eyes.
"In addition to everything else you know me to be, I...happen...to be a ghost." They both look rather ill, cringing away from each other where they previously sought closeness. "Stanzi, darling, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I kept...I kept forgetting. You made me feel alive. That might sound like a cliché of being in love, but in my case it's rather telling, wouldn't you say? To make a man who's been dead for centuries feel as though he's alive? It's been so lonely, Stanzi, and you've been so sweet to me, just absolutely wonderful, and I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You're...you're a ghost," she gasps.
"I'm a ghost who loves you," he offers hopefully.
Murphy sinks down into a chair, limply, covering her mouth. "I didn't know ghosts could love," she frankly informs him. "I...I didn't know ghosts could be ghosts."
Bob glides up to her, wanting to stop her fearful cowering. He kneels before her, bringing a hand longingly near her face. "Oh, I want to touch you. I would...I would..." he stammers helplessly. "I would make you so happy if I only could. My Stanzi."
While his hands may be intangible, his gentle words pet her soul. When she looks up at him again, she's still upset, but her fear is abating. "God, Bob!"
"Are you afraid of ghosts? If...if you are, I promise I'm not the kind one would likely be afraid of. I don't go around moaning and banging and knocking things off of shelves, I...I don't think I fill the room with a chill feeling of unnameable dread. I'm just someone who's no longer alive but can't move on."
"You tricked me," Murphy growls, trying to make herself angry to keep her soft feelings for him at bay. In reality, she feels more pity for him than fear. "You...you made a fool out of me."
"I tried to be kind to you," he tells her, glancing in the direction of the herb garden, at the mugwort plant that was missing a few snips. "I thought that's what I was doing. I didn't mean to trick you or make you out a fool. I..." he trails off, leaning over her like he was going to kiss her. "Oh...if only...if only for a moment. I miss you so badly, my dear. Sweet girl."
In this short space of time, Murphy's resolve to be angry buckles. It spirals strangely into grief, as though her lover just died before her eyes. She ducks her head down to her knees and sobs, leaving Bob utterly helpless, with no clue how to comfort her. He simply hovers near her, making soft shushing sounds and murmuring nonsense that it would be all right.
"There, there, now. Are you crying...for me? Because I died?"
Although her sobs have run out, Murphy doesn't trust her voice, so she just nods jerkily.
"No one's done that before."
"Oh, Bob, surely-"
The ghost cuts her off dismissively. "No, no one. They actually declared it a local holiday when I finally kicked the bucket. I'll tell you more later if you want to hear it, but I don't expect you want to." Murphy shakes her head in agreement. Bob looks like he has an idea, but is afraid of what Murphy will think of it. "Could...could you do something for me?"
Murphy sniffles, "What is it?"
Bob paces, feeling suddenly shy, and afraid of making a mess of things again. "You're more than free to refuse if you don't want to, but it would make me feel better. It might help you feel better as well." He looks for her reaction so far. She's sitting up straighter, looking as though she may be willing to help him. Then he bites the bullet and makes his request. "Could you hold my skull? I...I want to be close to you, my dear. Please?"
As she makes her way to the kitchen counter, it slowly dawns on her that the ghastly-looking thing is Bob's actual skull. She looks between it and its owner hesitantly. Closing her eyes, she snatches it up and hears a soft sigh from the lonely ghost. It sounds as though she's just spread balm on a wound, he sounds that relieved. She looks at him again, and his eyes are closed blissfully. Wondering if he can actually feel her, she strokes the top of the skull.
"Oh...oh, hold me close," he sighs pleadingly. "You..have such a nice soul, and such a good heart. To be next to that...so sweet, so good. You're still upset, but...but you don't hate me," he whispers, barely able to believe his good fortune.
"You can feel what sort of person someone is just from them touching your skull?" Murphy asks.
Bob opens his eyes with a lazy smile, "Yes. I've only just clued Harry in to that trait. When I told him, he gave the blasted thing such a good polish it was a relief. I didn't even suggest it, it was his idea. Someone...unspeakable handled it recently. He handled it quite personally, it..." he trails off with a shudder, then finds relief again in concentrating on Murphy's goodness.
"You're connected to it, aren't you?" Murphy guesses, remembering the last time they talked about his skull. "The other day you told me that you'd had it for quite some time and that you were rather attached to it. You were making a joke but it was the truth."
With a shaky nod, Bob grins at the woman's cleverness. "Right you are, my dear. That's one stipulation of my eternal curse, that I remain bound to my own skull. I even go into it if Harry's annoyed with me."
"What, like sending you to your room?" She almost sounds like she's laughing. It gives Bob the notion that he may not have lost all.
"Something like that," he allows. "You feel so nice," he croons decidedly. "I knew you would. Harry takes it to bed with him sometimes. It's...quite cozy, actually. I pretend I don't always realize it or that I don't approve, but, don't tell him anything but I think it's sweet. It makes me feel like I'm not all alone."
Then, right on cue, the phone rings. After the requisite number of rings passes, the answering machine gives a beep-
Harry's voice floats out of it, sounding a bit crackly. "Hello? Dammit, I don't think the machine picked up."
In the background, another man's voice is heard- "Who're you trying to call?"
"Uh, my friend back home, Bob. He's minding the shop for me while I'm out of town. I just wanted him to know it went all right and that I'll be heading out soon."
"That must be nice, having someone at home waiting for ya. Shoot, if I called my mom more than once a month she'd think I was in trouble or something."
"Well, neither of us has any family or anything, so we stick together. We take care of each other. I love him and I don't care if you think that's weird."
"Nah, man, it's not weird to love your bro. Must be a good guy. I mean, seriously, if you don't have anyone else to look out for you, you gotta stick to who you trust, right?"
Bob and Murphy can hear the smile in Harry's voice when he agrees. "Yeah, you're right. And he is a good guy. Well, he's not perfect, he made some mistakes years back but that doesn't make him a bad person."
Another voice pipes up, a young woman's voice, "That reminds me, a bunch of us were going to go visit Alex in jail. That would cheer him up."
Harry laughs, "Guess you don't hold your friends' mistakes against them, either. Yeah, Bob, though...Bob's the best. Thing is, he's a ghost."
"Dude, your best friend is a ghost? That's awesome!"
"Eh, not that awesome. He can't touch anything, so that's hard on him. That guy seriously needs a hug."
"Man, that would suck. And with your being so tight, I bet you wish you could sometimes."
"Lots of times," Harry admits.
"You should've brought him down! Next time, okay?"
Harry scoffs, "Next time? Sure, why not? Next time you guys have routine hauntings going on, I'll bring him with."
"And he can sit in on our D&D game, too," the woman suggests.
"You know, I bet he'd be good at that game."
"Hey, so call him. Hang up and try again. I bet we're giving some operator an earful."
There's a click and it goes quiet. Then the next minute-
beep!
"Hi, Bob, it's Harry. Look, I just want you to know I'm heading out in a little bit, so I'll be home before noon depending on traffic."
There's a clamoring heard in the background.
"Okay, Bob, I got some people who want to say hi to you, too."
He holds the phone out to the room and various people shout greetings at him, assuring him that they took good care of Harry for him, and various sundry remarks. With a final word of farewell, Harry hangs up. Bob is stricken speechless, clapping a hand to his mouth as tears fall. True, these are total strangers, but that they've accepted him through the things Harry told them about him, and they don't hold things against him. He looks over at Murphy, hope kindling in his eyes.
"They...they're not afraid of ghosts."
Murphy doesn't answer right away, but strokes the skull a bit more before setting it back down. "No, they're not. Bob, I..." she looks sadly at him, reaching for him as he mimics the gesture. "I can't do this, Bob. I can't...I don't know if anyone could be in a relationship with someone they couldn't touch. With someone who's dead."
"Stanzi?"
She cringes at the pet name. As much as it previously pleased her, she isn't sure if she can accept an affectionate nickname from him. "Yes?"
"I love you."
She doesn't say anything, just turns away and stalks from the island.
"Do...do you love me?"
She gives a grouchy huff, "Well, if I didn't, this would sure as hell be a lot easier." She stops right there, gazing up at him sympathetically. "Yes. I, uh, I don't know when or why or how it happened, but I love you." With a glance at the clock, she adds, "And I've got to get to work."
"Will I see you again?"
Murphy runs her hand over the skull once more, thinking about something. "What if...we picked up where we left off...after I die? I know it's a long time—hopefully—but how about that?"
"I...I'd like that very much. Fifty odd years may seem long to you, but...oh, darling!" Bob gasps. "You'll come back to me, that's wonderful!"
She nods, smiling a little at the prospect herself. "I'll come back to you. I promise."
Suddenly, a bright silver-blue spark appears on his skull. It's very small, about half an inch in diameter. It blazes brightly and beautifully for a moment before fading to black, and a new symbol has appeared amid the etchings. They both stare at it.
"What just happened? What do those markings mean, anyway?"
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Bob peers down at the new mark. "All of these detail the conditions of my curse. Eternal imprisonment, banned from entering Heaven, bound obedience, et cetera. And now...it says I'm to have a companion." He grins at her, throwing his arms around himself in pleasure.
Staring at the new engraving and worried about what it implies, that she's formally pledged herself to him, Murphy excuses herself and tries to beat a hasty retreat. "Fine, then. I'll...see you then."
"Oh, don't think you have to wait until you're dead, that would be silly! I'm sure we'll see each other in the meantime. Don't forget to take some more mugwort, it sounds like it does the trick for those long nights you put in."
Unable to deny this, she gives a brief nod and helps herself to another serving's worth of the herb. Then, Bob leans in close and whispers confidentially, as though he supposes he's offering her a real treat. "Would you like to see me vanish?"
"Vanish?" she repeats blankly, wondering how much ghost business she's going to be asked to deal with today. She gives a noncommittal nod. Bob gets as close to her as he can, he can almost feel her warmth, breathe her scent...almost. Then he steps aside and swirls away in a fountain of smoke and flame. He lands expertly in his skull and the eye sockets glow orange with his essence.
"Have a good day at work, Stanzi."
Cautiously, she creeps back and picks the skull back up for a moment. Torn between her fear of his unnatural state, and the love they have tenderly cultivated over the past few days, she makes a face...then kisses it. With that, she sets it down and dashes off.