The Ghost in Love by Jonathan Carroll Read Free Book Online Page A

of his might, he hit Parrish on the back of his head so hard that the bum collapsed as if shot.
    Stunned, Ling couldn’t believe what had just happened. A mortal had stabbed the Angel of Death and drawn blood? How was it possible? Groaning loudly, the angel tried both to stand and pull the knife out of his shoulder.
    â€œHelp me, Ling. Help me up.” He groaned again.
    On the floor, Parrish began to stir. The cook and Ben Gould leapt on him, pinning him down as best they could. Ben yelled to German to call the police.
    Ling stood and grabbed the angel under one of his arms.
    â€œGet me out of here. Out on the street. Now.”
    Luckily, Parrish began to thrash around violently, taking all of Ben’s and the cook’s attention and energy just to contain him. German was in the kitchen, looking wildly around for a telephone.
    With Ling’s assistance the angel staggered out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. No cars were about. Looking left and right, he ordered the ghost to help him over to an alley a few feet away. Face contorted, his breathing was ragged. By the time they got there, both of them were covered with blood. If he had been mortal, the angel would already have gone into shock.
    â€œLet me down. Let me down here.”
    Ling obeyed but kept both hands near the angel just in case.
    â€œListen to me, Ling. I have to go. This should never have happened. I had no idea—It never should have happened.”
    The ghost didn’t know whether to wait till the angel was finished speaking or interrupt to ask if there was anything more it could do.
    â€œI don’t know if I’ll be coming back here or if I can help you anymore, Ling. This whole thing is crazy. It never should have happened . . .”
    The angel vanished without another word.

THREE
    German Landis now lived
in a dark, clammy dump that she hated and wished she had never seen, much less rented. But when she broke up with Ben and moved out, she’d been frantic to find a place, and this apartment was the only one immediately available in her price range at the time.
    German was bad in desperate situations and this awful abode was convincing proof of that. She wasn’t aware of it, but almost every time she opened the door to the apartment and switched on the light, she hunched her shoulders and grimaced in preparation for what she was about to see. Once inside, she sometimes walked around singing “Hateful, hateful, hateful” to the walls, the cabinet, and the freestanding cardboard-gray fiberboard closet. Her bright blue couch looked so forlorn and out of place in this dank, depressing dungeon. More than once she had apologized directly to the piece of furniture, promising that she would get them both out of there as soon as she could.
    Even the dog seemed to skulk around the apartment, tail and head down whenever he came to visit. But who could blame him?
    To compensate in a small way, German bought Pilot the best dog food in the market. When she opened the cans, it smelled so good thatshe once took a small taste. Not bad. She’d also bought two dog bowls the same color as her couch. They sat next to the refrigerator in her telephone booth–size kitchen. Although their merry blue brightness was a nice attempt, they failed to lift the mood of the apartment even one inch. What on earth
could
in a place like this? She was living in a basement apartment with two small windows and a concrete floor that was always cold. Feeble sunlight leaked into the place almost by accident and never very much, never enough. How could it?
    Like some dubious creature in a Kafka short story, German was living now below ground level. She had bought six lamps at IKEA and kept them all switched on all the time whenever she was at home. Her apartment was so unlike Ben’s, with its four tall windows facing east and the bright morning light shining in through them, the worn but warm blond parquet floors, and that funny