Ghost Bully by Brian Corley

Author:Brian Corley [Corley, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brian Corley
Published: 2018-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

I floated toward the house and heard music playing from the backyard as I approached. I decided on the ol’ up-and-over routine as I cleared the roof and descended into the backyard. Peals of electric guitar riffs over Mellotron, bass, and drums filled the air.

George and Ramona, I presumed, hopped back and forth in exaggerated gyrations as they danced to psychedelic music coming from—somewhere. They cavorted on decomposed granite in a clearing surrounded by large mountain laurel trees, although “trees” may have been generous; they were really overgrown bushes that stood around ten feet tall or so. Mountain laurels bloom every spring with purple flowers that resemble wisteria and smell like synthetic grape—not in a bad way, but like an amazing grape popsicle or snow cone.

The yard had been xeriscaped to conserve water and probably didn’t need a lot of maintenance to continue looking great. Red, purple, orange, and white blooms colored the flower beds from different types of sage and salvia plants.

George noticed me and slowed his dancing as I landed. Ramona took her cue from George and turned around to locate whatever it was he was looking at.

“Hey man,” George welcomed me with a laid-back smile and a wave. “You new to the neighborhood? I’m George, and this is my wife, Ramona.” George pulled Ramona in toward him, giving her a one-armed hug as he introduced her.

“Hi,” she said with a quick wave.

“Hi, I’m Jonah,” I said, and then I filled them in on what I’d heard about the current tenants of the house and what I was there to do.

“No,” George said, shaking his head, “no man, we’re not going anywhere. Those corporate fascists aren’t going to come here from California and kick us out of our home.”

I held up my hands and closed my eyes, trying to calm down the situation.

“No one is trying to kick you out of your home, George. That’s not what I’m here to do.”

“OK man, sorry, I just get a little riled up sometimes,” George said.

“Can I ask why you two didn’t move on?” I said.

“This is our neighborhood. We love it here,” said Ramona. “We looked for each other when the house caught fire—”

“We died in a house fire,” George interjected.

“Yes, thank you, George,” Ramona said. “Each of us wanted to make sure the other got out. We found each other—afterward.”

George added, “I wasn’t going to leave without her.” He squeezed her arm, pulling her in tighter and kissing the top of her head.

Ramona continued, “I’m not sure where we would go, or how it could be better than spending this moment with the man I love in the place that I love.”

I crooked an eyebrow. “You sure? It could be great.”

“Maybe someday,” she replied, lovingly wrapping her arm around George’s.

“So why are you messing with the people that live here? You two seem like the kind to live and let live.”

George’s face lit up. “They’re the problem with this town now! Come in here with no respect for the past or the culture.

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