Hunted

couldn’t haunt his van forever. Well, he could. But would be uncomfortable for them both.
The van rumbled and swayed down the narrow street. Exhaust leaked around the engine hump beside the seat. Hilario rolled the window down a little more. Larry didn’t have to worry about carbon monoxide poisoning, but he still did.
He glanced in the rearview. Which was stupid. Black angels weren’t going reflect in normal world mirrors.
“What-a were-a those things?” Larry said.
Hilario gave him a sour look. “Knock off the accent, Larry,” he said, “Everyone knows you’re not Italian.”
“Hilario, my big-a friend-a, why you say such-a thing?” Larry said. Larry gave him a big-eyed innocent look.
Hilario sighed. “You’re Native American, though I have no idea which tribe,” he said, “And no actual Italian talks like-a that-a. So knock-a it-a off-a.”
Larry slumped down. Tears shimmered at the corners of his translucent eyes.
“My whole life’s been a lie,” he said.
“So what?” Hilario said, “Everyones lives are lies, too.”
“What do you mean?” Larry said.
Hilario’s white gloved fingers clenched the steering wheel. He turned the van to the freeway on ramp. Pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine rattled and strained up the incline, slowly accelerating. Traffic was light this time of night. He merged into the stream of headlights and taillights with relative ease.
“Where are we going?” Larry said.
An excellent question. But one that didn’t have an answer yet. He glanced over at Larry. The ghost huddled on the seat, emitting a soft, blue glow.
“What happened at the restaurant?” Hilario asked.
Larry jerked upright. Slapped his hands to his head.
“My restaurant! Oh my sweet Stung Sparrow!” Larry cried, “Where will the hungry people go now!”
Hilario’s stomach rumbled in sympathy. He had been looking forward to a loaded Sparrow pie. His stomach growled in agreement. The piece of cake he’d had at the party was long since digested.
He told his stomach to shut up. He had plenty of reserves packed around him. Skipping a meal wasn’t the end of the world.
Larry rocked back and forth. “Oh my crew! Where are they going to work now?”
Hilario bit his lip. Now probably wasn’t the time to point out to Larry that most of his kitchen crew and wait staff were likely as dead as he was. Hilario had recognized at least a couple of the wait staff wandering about in ghostly attire.
“Larry, what happened?” Hilario said, “What started the fire?”
Larry turned to him, his face drawn with shock.
“Fire? There was a fire?” he said.
The van was rolling along at top speed now. Fifty-six miles an hour. The body shook and rattled. Hilario rolled the window back up. The blast was threatening to tear his fluffy purple wig off.
“Yes. Fire. Didn’t you notice?” Hilario said.
Larry stared out the windshield. His lips trembled.
“I-I-I don’t remember,” he said, “I was in the kitchen. I was spinning dough in the air. It was beautiful. Then…then…I remember orange flowers.”
“Orange flowers?”
“They were everywhere,” Larry said, “Opening up. Yellow and orange blossoming all around me. My pie…it was in the air. It turned black. Then it was gone. Yellow and orange blossoms everywhere.”
Hilario shivered. Whatever happened, it must have been quick.
“It’s not fair,” Larry said, “I was finally happy. Rachel was–” He snapped his fingers and sat up. “That bitch! It must have been her!”
Larry’s face twisted with rage. Hilario shivered at the sight of it. Larry was the happiest, nicest person he’d ever met. The man never got angry. Much less became enraged.
“What is it?” Hilario’s mouth said before his brain could stop it. Stupid. That opened doors that were better left closed. Opened him up into getting involved. Opened him up to trying to fix whatever Larry’s problem was.
“Rachel,” Larry said, “She must have done it. She must have burned down my Stung Sparrow.”
“Why would your ex wife burn down the Sparrow?” Hilario said.
He was involved anyway. Getting Larry out of the van was going to involve finding the guy some kind of closure. Might as well get going on it.
Larry’s eyes went wide again. His mouth opened in a horrified O. “She murdered me,” he said, “That horrible bitch.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Hilario said, “That doesn’t sound like Rachel. And you shouldn’t use that word to describe any woman.”
“She’s evil,” Larry said, “Ever since the divorce…Even before, she’s become a different person.”
Hilario shifted in the seat. Traffic zipped by on the left. One low riding Honda honked its horn. There was probably a middle finger involved, but it was too dark for him to see. He needed to get off the freeway soon. The van didn’t like going fast. It wouldn’t complain, but the engine would labor and the speed would start dropping. Despite having the accelerator pressed to the floor.
He tapped his fingers on the wheel. Personal questions were a black hole that he didn’t wish to dive into. It was better to keep things on a superficial level. Talk about food. Or what was on TV. He spent a lot of time watching TV these days.
He knew about the divorce, of course. Everyone who was a regular at the Stung Sparrow knew. But he never asked about the details.
Never thought he might need to know.
He cleared his throat.
“So, um, Larry,” he said, “Why did you guys get divorced?”
Larry slumped down again. He looked like a little kid who lost his puppy.
“She changed,” he said, “She turned into someone I didn’t know.”
Or she got tired of him. Or got bored. Marriages seemed to break down because one half of the partnership wasn’t holding their