The Death of Israel Leventhal by Boom Baumgartner

Author:Boom Baumgartner [Baumgartner, Boom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA, Urban Fantasy, Romance
Publisher: Less Than Three Press, LLC
Published: 2017-02-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

The void was coming on, tearing at the edges of George's psyche as he tamped down the urge to reach for an Izzy that could not be reached. Nothing could stop the ghost of him, lurking in the furthest corners of his periphery.

George was used to seeing dead men do a bit more than be dead, but not when they were Izzy. Not when he saw Izzy's corpse, the right half of his skull blown away.

George thought it was a ghost, and he didn't believe in those. Never could. Yes, his job was about talking to dead people; getting their secrets. But ghosts? That's just ridiculous. Anything he saw was his mind making things up in the void.

But Izzy appeared to him as he was sticking his suitcase into the boot of a taxi. It was undeniably him with his curly hair, only now it was cut short into a sort of faux-hawk, and coifed ridiculously over one eye. Over-sized glasses consumed his face. He was large-lipped, and larger than life as he read a newspaper on the corner of Browning and Vine.

"Izzy!" he called out, running across the street, and two cars narrowly missed him. He ignored the honking, the feeling of air rush as the vehicles sped past. By the time his feet touched the other curb, Izzy's ghost had disappeared into the indistinct milling of commuters.

George stood there looking for Izzy's ghost, his mind turning with contradictions.

He saw Izzy. No, his ghost. Ghosts weren't real. Izzy was dead. Izzy was dead. Izzy was dead. He saw Izzy.

Izzy was dead.

Those thoughts repeated in his mind as he walked back across the street. The cab driver was half out of his car, clearly confused. Without a word, George got in. "Someone you know?" the driver asked in a Polish accent.

George stared out the window, barely registering anything but the place on the corner where he could have sworn he saw Izzy. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Someone you know?"

"No. Thought it was. Let's just get going, all right, mate? Don't want to miss me flight."

The taxi driver shrugged. "Whatever you say," he replied and pulled into traffic. George stared at the place Izzy had been until it was out of view. He templed his fingers, rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward.

Izzy was dead.

*~*~*

"Izzy!" Israel's blood froze in his veins as walked to the stoplight on the corner of Browning and Vine. His attention was torn from the headline about Longphrama's price fixing to see the familiar tall figure of George Rose, his usual dapper style looking disheveled and wrinkled. What the fuck was he doing in Washington DC?

He took advantage of two taller men walking by him to cover his escape down a nearby alley. His heart racing, he blindly walked down two other side streets, and ducked behind a dumpster. When he did not hear footsteps, he sighed and leaned his head against the grimy brick wall.

Without thinking about it, his hand went to his pocket and traced the edge of the postcard he was never going to send.

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