After the Lost Man

“I’m a goin.”

“You’re what?” Ginny said with a fair amount of shock as she cradled the dog in her arms.

“That boy’s poor soul’s a wanderin. I’m a goin to see if I cain’t help.”

“Michael…” was all Ginny could think to say as she stared in wide-eyed disbelief as her mild-mannered, young husband pulled on his boots. By the time he was in his good hunting coat and standing in the doorway with his Maglite, she was only somewhat recovered.

“Wish me luck,” he said somberly.

“You’re a durn fool.”

“I love you too, Gin.”

Ginny carefully took the old crucifix off the wall, “Here, take a cross.”

“It’s a ghost, not a vampire.”

“Oh, and suddenly you’re an expert?”

“Look, can we not fight right now?”

“Fine, fine,” Ginny mumbled, giving Michael a quick peck for luck.

“Thanks, Gin.”

Ginny watched him set out into the mist-shrowded night, and called out after him, “If you get yer fool self possessed, don’t even bother coming back.”

“Love you too,” Michael called over his shoulder.

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