I’m starting with an apology because this is totally going to be a “Back To The Future 2” in the sense that it’s serving exclusively as a bridge to part 3. Didn’t know there was going to be a part 3? I didn’t either, but today is my first day off in two weeks and I’ve come down with a severe case of the “I don’t wanna”s. To be fair, I cleaned the kitchen, the carpet, even braved Costco on a Sunday, so the fact that I’ve about run out of steam might be a little more understandable. Alas, I promise part 3 tomorrow (unless something better comes along for tomorrow), and part 2 will get you there! —Jordy

Previously: Part 1

“When I got here you were doing an admirable job,” Saint Andrew Avenillo explained. “I didn’t think intervening seemed prudent.” He gestured to where the light had winked out moments before when the recently departed Jimmy Woo crossed over. “Clearly that assessment was correct.”

“Where were you when my husband threw my body into the ravine over there?”

“Scusami, signora,” he said with genuine sorrow, “I do not know why I am sent to some places but not others. The assignments come from a higher authority,” he said casting his eyes skyward.

Elaine followed his gaze, then gave the sky the middle finger. “Some help he’s been.”

“Signora, I strongly advise against such profanity.”

Elaine looked at Saint Andrew curiously, then batted her lashes and arched an eyebrow, “Oh, Saint Andrew,” a wicked smile on her face, “I haven’t begun to be profane. Finding out your husband is cheating on you? Confronting him? Then having him kill you? That, I strongly believe, earns me the right to be profane to whomever I so choose.”

“Signora Elaine, forgive me. I am not privy to the circumstances of your death. I take it your husband murdered you?”

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t catch on quick, Saint Andrew.”

“Yes,” he blinked. “If I may ask, what are you doing out here?”

“Body disposal. My asshole husband rolled me up in a carpet, threw me in the back of our Range Rover, and tossed me and that rug into the ravine down there,” she gestured with her thumb over her shoulder.

“I see,” Saint Andrew paused. “But, I do not understand, what are you still doing, here?”

“’Here,’ this road in the middle of nowhere or ‘here’, this plane of existence – why I haven’t trundled off to lightville like Jimmy just did?”

“Mmm, both, yes? Specifically, the former, but I’m curious about the latter as well.”

“I don’t know why I’m trapped out here, but I can’t leave. Everytime I do I’m right back next to my body and that god-awful area rug – his mistress, our designer, picked that damn rug out. I don’t think he realized that. He certainly wouldn’t have thought to make such an ironic statement of throwing me out in his mistress’s area rug,” she scoffed. “As to why I haven’t crossed over, the opportunity hasn’t presented itself. If I had to guess it’s because I’m supposed to ‘avenge my death,’” she said dramatically, “Or something like that. Which, mind you, I’m more than happy to do. That bastard has it coming…”

“Ah,” Saint Andrew said with a flourish of his hand. “We can discuss the avenging part in a moment,” he said, “but you being stuck here is a matter of energy. You see, as a ghost, you can manifest, but you are still attached to your body – stray too far from your body and you lose energy. Come si dice, run out of steam?” Elaine nodded in understanding. “You get so far from your anchor…”

“My body.”

“Si, and then you lose energy and… fade out. Then, like a dead battery – scusami, no pun intended – your spirit regains its strength from your body and you wake up.”

“Okay,” Elaine said in acknowledgement. “Any advice on how to break this cycle and get me back to San Francisco so I can rain ghostly vengeance on my dear hubby?”

“I’m afraid there is no way for you to escape this trap. What is worse, each time to try to venture too far and fade out you are weakening your spirit energy. If you were to keep it up you would fade out completely and either become an empty spirit with no memory of your past just wandering the countryside, or you’d just wink out of existence.”

“Thank you for that news, Saint Andrew the downer.”

“However,” he started.

“I like howevers,” she brightened.

“You did me a favor with Signor Jimmy, the least I can do is return the favor.”

“Pass me on?”

“I am afraid not, Signore Elaine. That is something you need to attain yourself. But when it comes to energy, it is hard to find more than is contained in an angel,” he waggled his eyebrows. “I can untether you.”

“Aww, you would do that for me, Andrew?”

“Of course, Signore Elaine,” he said. “Certain events of late have convinced me that sometimes a little retribution is in order.”

Elaine indicated to the sky with her eyes, “Sure he’s not going to mind?”

“Oh, no,” Saint Andrew replied. “I am given my powers with a wide discretion to use them as I see fit. Besides, what is the phrase? ‘Better to ask forgiveness than to get permission’?”

“I like the cut of your jib, Saint Andrew,” Elaine smiled. “Lay on Macduff!”