Chapter 27 #2
I scramble over, hooking my arms under Griffin’s shoulders. He’s heavy as hell. My arms scream in protest as I haul him backward. Nico grabs Griffin’s legs, and together we get him against the van wall.
I tell Nico what I can. With Griffin and Morrow being on the ceiling and how fast it went down, it was hard to tell what went where. Nico pulls on latex gloves, snapping them against his wrists.
“I can’t get any of this on my skin,” Nico says. “I’m not contaminated yet, and ectoplasm can absorb into your body when you get it on your skin. Try not to spit on me.”
“No promises,” I mutter, wiping more ectoplasm from my chin.
Nico pries open a plastic container, pulling out a device that resembles a stomach pump, with a fat clear tube connected to a box with a hand crank. He squirts clear gel all over the soft tube, coating it until it’s dripping.
“Hold his head still,” Nico says, positioning himself at Griffin’s side.
I kneel above Griffin’s head, cupping his temples between my palms. His skin feels cold and clammy, like touching raw chicken that’s been on the counter for an hour.
With one hand, Nico forces Griffin’s jaw open, and he guides the tube into Griffin’s mouth with the other. Griffin’s eyes fly open. His head jerks in my grip as he tries to twist away from the tube.
“Keep him still,” Nico grits out.
“I’m trying.” I engage all the strength I can muster to hold Griffin’s face, but it’s hard with the van moving. Sirens ring out in the distance.
The tube slides down Griffin’s throat. He gags, and I have to straddle his chest and use my knees to pin both of his arms down to keep him from ripping the tube out.
Nico works the crank, and ectoplasm starts crawling up the clear tube inch by inch. The stench coming out of that tube is unreal, like pennies left in spoiled milk. My throat closes up, and I retch, pressing my free hand over my nose and mouth even though it doesn’t help.
Griffin’s eyes squeeze shut. His head falls back against the metal wall. His fingers scrabble against the floor, and I catch his hand without thinking, lacing my fingers through his.
More ectoplasm fills the tube. It’s thicker than what came out of me, almost gelatinous. I glimpse a couple of corn kernels climbing up the tube.
Nico keeps cranking until no more ectoplasm is coming up. As soon as the tube clears Griffin’s throat, he buckles forward and projectile vomits. A massive glob of ectoplasm hits Nico’s cheek and drips down his jaw.
Nico sighs and reaches for a rag without a word, wiping the ectoplasm from his face with movements so controlled they’re almost mechanical. His jaw is tight, but his hands are steady. When he’s done, he drops the rag and goes right back to checking Griffin’s pulse, like nothing happened.
So much for Nico not getting any on his skin. It’s only a small amount, how contaminated could he get?
On the highway, Nico forces salt water down Griffin’s throat.
He also forces me to drink it, which is the absolute last thing I want to do right now, but he tells me either I drink it, or he’ll force me to drink it, so I down half the bottle.
Checking if I have a concussion turns out to be hard because the ectoplasm is messing me up to begin with, but if I do have one, it’s not bad.
I got a bad concussion before from slipping on a patch of ice when I was in high school, and that felt like my skull had cracked open, but this is only a dull headache.
By the time we drive through the gate to the house, I’ve vomited enough that I’ve lost count of how many times, and Griffin has gone limp with exhaustion.
Nico and Benji carry Griffin to his bedroom. I stand in Griffin’s doorway, feeling like a useless shadow as Nico lays Griffin down on his bed.
“You should rest,” Nico says without looking at me. “Come get me if you start throwing up more often, or your head gets worse.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask. “I mean, since you got ectoplasm on your skin—that means you’re contaminated too, right?”
He frowns. “I’ll be fine.” He goes to leave, but pauses. “You did well today.”
His words rush through me, bright and dizzying. I eventually manage a nod, not trusting my voice to come out normal because if I open my mouth, I might say something catastrophically stupid like ‘please don’t leave’ or ‘can I hug you?’
Nico gives me a funny look, then he steps past me into the hallway. The absence of him feels like a physical loss that makes my throat tight.
Bob yips, dancing around my feet like his leg isn’t still injured and he didn’t just spend the entire day alone in my room, probably thinking I’d abandoned him. I apologize to him as he licks my chin, and the unconditional forgiveness in that gesture makes me pepper his tiny head with kisses.
I take him out to pee and give him his dinner, even though my head is starting to pound like someone’s taking a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull. I barely make it to the upstairs toilet before hurling up another chunk of slime that burns coming up.
There’s a plastic bucket waiting for me outside my bedroom door when I get back. I don’t know who left it. Probably Nico.
I’d be mortified if I didn’t need it so badly. I pull the bucket onto my lap and slump against the wall outside Griffin’s door. Bob sits in front of me, staring up at me with wide brown eyes that look deeply concerned.
For about ten minutes, I can sit up straight without wanting to die, but then another wave of nausea comes over me and I bend over the bucket again, throwing up more stringy globs of ectoplasm until my abs are screaming. I’m pretty sure I’ve vomited up every internal organ I own.
I can hear Nico talking to Benji downstairs. I can’t make out the words, but the rumble of his voice carrying up through the floorboards is calming.
I want him to sit with me. I want it so badly that tears spring into my eyes, because how pathetic is that?
I want him to rub his hand over my back, want him close enough that his thigh presses against mine, want to close my eyes and hear him say I did well today again, but I get mad at myself for even thinking that because that’s creepy, and crazy, and he’s not going to come here.
Me sitting outside Griffin’s door like some loyal dog waiting for scraps of attention is exactly the kind of emotional behavior Nico complained about.
Even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to leave.