Christopher Moore - Secondhand Souls

“Maybe life is just easier if you’re a little goofy,” Charlie said to Audrey. He gestured as he said it, a bit of a game-show-spokes-model-presenting-a-dishwasher flourish. W.C. made exactly the same gesture, perhaps half a second behind Charlie. Audrey shuddered a little at the sight of it.

“I’m not sure how he’s even, uh, alive,” said Audrey. “Not that I understand the mechanics of any of the Squirrel People, but the engine is their consciousness, their soul. W.C.’s soul—you—left the building and found a new place to live.”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, rubbing his brow. W.C. mirrored the gesture. “There’s something in there.”

Audrey nodded, a little creeped out by the synchronized mime. “I think maybe when you left that body, there was a shadow or an echo of you left in there.”

“Nah, I’d feel part of me missing, wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged. “Just don’t get too attached to him, Charlie. We don’t know how long he will last. He might be like the ladies I used the p’howa of undying on.”

“Boobies,” said Wiggly Charlie, who hopped and made his excited noise.

“See,” said Charlie. “He’s his own man.”

“Really? What were you thinking about just then?”

“I’m going to go grab something to eat,” Charlie said. “Can I bring you anything?”

“Need a cheez,” said W.C.

Meanwhile Charlie got used to the peculiarities of Mike Sullivan’s body. Mike had been meticulous and incredibly considerate to write down all of his bank account numbers, his passwords, even the context of the contacts in his phone, but he didn’t explain what the dark spot on his left calf was: it could have been where he’d been poked with a pencil as a child, or it could be a deadly melanoma, but in Charlie Asher’s beta-male imagination, it was probably the latter. Despite a dubious medical history, there were qualities of Mike Sullivan’s body that were new to Charlie, and delighted him, among them a much more solid hairline than Charlie Asher had been blessed with, and, of course, arms…

“Look, I’ve got guns.” He flexed his biceps for Audrey. “I’ve never had guns before. Do you think they’re good for anything, or are they, you know, like breasts, just for looking at and touching.” He presented an arm for her to squeeze.

“Breasts are for breast-feeding babies, you doof.”

“Sure, there’s that, too, I guess.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll need them to paint the bridge. That’s probably how Mike got them.”

Charlie sat down, a little stunned.

“I can’t paint the bridge. I can’t. I have to collect souls, I have to reopen the shop. I have my own stuff to do.”

“But that’s Mike Sullivan’s job.”

“I’ll claim that the fall damaged me, so I can’t do it.”

“But it’s obvious you’re good as new,” Audrey said.

“I’ll say I’m mentally unable to do it. The amnesia excuse has worked great so far.”

“So you’ll tell them you can’t remember what color to paint?” She tried very hard not to laugh, but failed.

“You, young lady, are not too old to be spanked,” said Charlie, using his stern dad voice, tickling her and trying to pull her over his knee as she squirmed and giggled.

Which was only one of the many, many cues that had sent them into a raucous session of sweet monkey love. In fact, once they had breached the wall of tentative awkwardness his first day home, if it hadn’t been for Audrey’s duties at the Buddhist Center, and Charlie’s need to establish his new life as Charles Michael Sullivan, they might never have gotten out of bed except to slide naked down the stairs to the refrigerator. But when the last attendee for the last meditation session left in the early evening, the crazy new-love sex fest began, and went on until they collapsed into exhaustion or laughter or exhausted laughter.

“Wow,” Charlie said, late that first night, lying next to her, catching his breath; a sheen of sweat on both of them, golden under the candlelight.

“Yeah,” said Audrey. She ran a fingernail between his abdominal muscles. “Yeah.”

“Is this better?” he said, rolling on his side to face her, look in her eyes. “Better than the first time, when we were together?”

“Charlie, this is wonderful, but we only had one night. It was wonderful then and it’s wonderful now. I knew I loved you then. I love you now.”

“Me, too,” he said. He touched her jaw, smiled. “But is this body, you know, am I better now?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I say, I’m not going to stop you from being jealous of yourself, am I?”

“I’m sorry. I guess, yeah. I just feel so lucky to be here, with you, to not be, you know, like before.”

“I loved you then, too,” she said. “But this is nicer. It’s okay to say that, right?”

“I guess. But some part of me will always just be a little reptilian monster following his penis around.”

“I know that’s how I always think of you,” she said.

Again, the tickling, and they were off again.

On their second night together they learned just how close Charlie was to W.C. They were making love, slow and sweet and without the slightest worry of getting anywhere, just being there, when there came a scratching at the door. For a second their eyes went wide, then the scratching began again, then stopped, and having been brought back to the world outside themselves, they finished, and Audrey got up and padded naked over to the bedroom door.

“Oh no!” she said, when she opened the door.

Charlie looked over to see Wiggly Charlie lying on the floor, as if he’d been leaning against the door and had rolled in when she opened it. He just lay there, a motionless lump.

“Is he…” Charlie sat up. “Is he dead?”

Audrey knelt, reached out, and gently touched W.C. on his wizard robe. He lolled to the side.

“Oh no. That’s not right,” Charlie said.

Then Audrey lit up, looked back at Charlie over her shoulder with a smile. “No, look, it’s okay. He just has an erection.”

She picked up Wiggly Charlie by his enormous erect willy and turned to show Charlie. The little unconscious monster jostled limply like a puppet on a stick. “He’ll be fine.” She bounced W.C. on the end of his stick.

“Wow, you were right about the echo. It’s like we have some kind of psychic connection.”

“Right, this used to happen to you, remember?” Audrey said, swinging W.C. by his dong to make her point. “As soon as it goes down he’ll be back.”

“Which is never going to happen if you keep yanking him around by it.”

“Oh. Good point. Sorry.” She carried Wiggly Charlie back to the doorway and carefully set him outside in the hall—rolled him on his side and patted his little shoulder. “You rest, little guy.”

She palmed the door closed, then turned, leaned on the door, and looked at Charlie. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

Charlie lay back on the bed, looked at the ceiling. She joined him and found a spot between his chest and shoulder that seemed to have been built to lay her head upon.

“He was eating some out-of-date cat food this morning,” she said. “I hope you don’t have any ill effects from it.”

They lay quietly for a moment, considering the situation, pretending they didn’t hear Charlie’s stomach growl. There was the noise of something stirring in the hall and she smiled and kissed his chest. “See?” she said. “He’s fine.”

“Before, when I was—you know—when I had Wiggly Charlie’s body, did you ever pick me up like that? I mean, it seemed like a pretty automatic response for you…”

She nuzzled into his chest. “You mean, pick you up and swing you around by your huge unit? Spray furniture polish on your wizard robe and dust under the bed with you? Like that?”