I can't type much right now. Too busy with 2009's NaNoWriMo. Finally broke 18000 words tonight and it's time for bed.
Enjoy the story!
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Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.
As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.
Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.
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As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.
The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....
The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.
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Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.
Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.
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