Paul’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself still wrapped around Gina. They seemed to have survived the night with no ill effects from their disembodied friend. The sun was shining brightly outside, and he remembered why they had come to this haunted home…to avoid getting killed. It was probably about time to start on the journey if they were going to get to Auchnacloich and back to Edinburgh at a decent time, accounting for the standard series of mishaps and running from gun-toting sociopaths…

“Genie,” he whispered, rubbing her arm. “You awake?”

“Mmmmph.” She rolled away from him and pulled the pillow over her head.

Paul grinned a bit sadistically and ran a hand down her back, letting it settle near her waist. Gina let out a soft sigh of contentment, before jumping up with a squeal as he began tickling her.

“Bastard,” she shrieked through a giggle as she kicked at him. He was only encouraged by her reaction and crawled up on top of her to continue the assault. “Stop it, get off!” She grabbed her pillow and whopped him in the head with it. Caught off guard, he tumbled to the side, clutched at the bedclothes, and fell to the floor in a mass of sheets and blankets.

“Ow,” a quilt moaned.

“Serves you right,” she said, a bit out of breath. “You ok?”

“No.”

Gina let out a sigh and leaned over the end of the bed, digging through the blankets until she found, well, first his thigh, but eventually his face. “Good morning darling,” she cooed.

“I think,” Paul began sternly, “that it may be time to mention that divorce again.”

Fenny woke with a shudder and breath in her ear. Her eyes jerked open, then closed contentedly with the feeling of Brad’s lips trailing down her neck.

“Mmmmorning,” she hummed drowsily.

Brad paused his nibbling on Fenny’s collarbone to look up at her. “Morning.”

“We should probably get up if we’re gonna get anything accomplished today,” Fenny yawned.

“Can’t we stay here forever?” he asked, pulling her closer to him.

“I wish,” she smiled. “But no.”

“Sure, you could wash dishes for Betty and I could provide musical entertainment for the guests. In our spare time we could hunt down more of those rocks you like so much.”

“Keeping in mind that this place is haunted so we’d never be able to have sex without creepy things happening,” Fenny reminded him, eyebrows raised.

“Right, let’s get outta this dump,” Brad smiled, jumping out of bed.

“It all boils down to sex with you men, doesn’t it?” she teased.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, not really,” she laughed as he pulled the covers off her and pulled her up.

Greg opened the bathroom door only to find two small figures barreling towards him down the hall.

“I’m getting in the shower first,” Gina laughed.

“No, I am,” Paul yelped back, giving her a gentle shove into the wall to gain the lead. Three steps from the door, however, he tripped over the rug and, as Greg hurried out of the bathroom, Gina leapt over Paul’s prone body and into the bathroom to slam the door closed.

“Morning McDermott,” Greg said, ignoring the stream of insults from Paul as he stepped over him to head down the stairs.

It was quiet as he wandered through the living room and into the kitchen, smiling as he remembered the previous night’s antics and Betty going perhaps a bit overboard on the whiskey, and it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t ventured down yet. Their visit had probably been the most excitement and the most alcohol she’d had in a long time, best to let her sleep.

Shrugging to himself and inspired by his first successful attempt at domesticity in the form of dough kneading, Greg began puttering about the kitchen to make coffee and toast for breakfast and wondering how long it would take to coax Brad and Fenny out of bed.

“Genie, please,” Paul groaned into the bathroom door. “Damn British bathrooms. I’m not above breaking the door down.”

“Don’t,” Brad cringed as he and Fenny came up behind him, “I’d like to have the partition up so we don’t have to watch you shower.”

“Oh, leave me alone,” Paul hissed, “I’ve really gotta pee.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Fenny grimaced.

“Well, thought you might want to know for when you notice your socks start to feel a bit warm and wet,” he sneered.

“Hey Gina, let him in,” Brad said, giving the door a thump with his fist.

They heard the shower turn off, followed by a quiet curse of, “For god’s sake,” before the door opened, Gina hiding behind a towel. “You flush or run the taps and I’ll have your head on a pike to parade through the streets of town.”

“Ooh, how topical, us being in Scotland and everything,” Fenny chirped as Paul slipped inside.

“Huh?” Brad asked.

“Well, y’know, like in Macbeth?”

Gina slammed the door and jumped back into the shower so as not to bear witness to Paul’s less than pleasant bodily functions.

“Should one of us wake Proops?”

“You think he could’ve slept through the Battle of the Bathroom?” Fenny asked.

“I’m not an expert on his sleep habits,” Brad said, raising an eyebrow.

“I think I’ll go check,” she said meekly and scurried down the hall, where she found his room empty. She came back to Brad and shrugged. “He’s up. Probably making pancakes with Betty.”

“He was awful proud of himself last night, wasn’t he?” Brad chuckled.

“Aw, give him a break, he doesn’t have much to be proud about,” Fenny giggled.

Brad shook his head and chuckled. “How long you think they’ll take in there before we’re allowed in?” he asked.

“We?” Fenny asked.

“Why not?” Brad smiled. “Conserve water and save time by sharing a shower.”

“You horny little devil,” Fenny grinned. “The ghost probably wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Ah, who cares about some poor sap who couldn’t get a woman,” Brad shrugged, pulling Fenny towards him for a kiss, not noticing the sudden awkwardness of her hands as they moved up his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gina asked as Paul pulled back the shower curtain.

“Well, I’m not allowed to use the sink, and I need to brush my teeth,” he announced, holding a cup up to the showerhead.

“Found a toothbrush then?” Gina asked.

“Oh yeah, whole drawer here of new toothbrushes, razors, stuff like that. Guess we’re not the only ones who show up unexpectedly with no supplies.”

“Have you noticed how little time we actually spend with our luggage?” she mused as Paul’s cup overflowed and he closed the curtain again.

“Maybe it’s a sign that we should give up on clothes and just spend the rest of our days in bed,” he shrugged before sticking the toothbrush in his mouth.

“Not a bad idea,” Gina said over the pounding of the water on the tiles, “but I was taking it as a sign that we shouldn’t spend so much time with those screwed up Yanks. They’re the ones that are always dragging us into these stupid situations.”

“Oh, don’t say that, just think how boring our lives would be without them.”

“Paul,” Gina said, sticking her shampoo-filled head out from behind the curtain, “I want you to rethink that last comment.”

“True,” he said around his toothbrush, head cocked to the side. “Life was exciting enough when it was just me and you.”

“More than exciting enough,” Gina sighed, disappearing back into the shower.

Paul turned to face the tub. “You’re not saying you’re unhappy with it, are you?”

“I’m saying I couldn’t be happier,” Gina’s voice echoed around him, “and that we don’t need the others around to make things exciting. Not that I don’t love them all to death, but you know where I’m going.”

“Yes, you’re going to get out of the shower so I can bathe.”

“You’re so pushy,” Gina scolded teasingly. “Since when were you so concerned with being clean?”

“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Paul perked sweetly as Gina shut off the water.

“You’re too far gone for any amount of soap to help, darling,” she laughed. “Hand me my towel?”

Paul yanked the curtain back and gave her a thwack with the towel.

Fenny and Brad looked at each other as the threats of injury from Gina and Paul’s infectious laughter filtered into the hallway from the bathroom. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Ask yourself if you really want to know the answer to that question, Brad.”

“Good point.”

After a quick breakfast of the toast and jam Greg had whipped up, the conversation that breakfast evoked (“Greg knows how to use the toaster? I’m shocked!” “I’m stunned.” “I’m amazed.” “I don’t know what to think.” “Fuck all of you.”) and some caffeinated beverages to get them going, the troupe decided it was time to head out, regretful of the fact that they would not get to say goodbye to their host.

“Maybe we should write Betty a note,” Fenny perked. “Something simple to thank her.”

“Hey, Gina’s a writer,” Greg suggested. “Go ahead, come up with something brilliant.”

“I work for the Sun, not Hallmark,” she frowned, heading for the desk in the corner to hunt out a sheet of paper. “Dear Betty,” she said aloud as she began to write in what she hoped would be a legible script. “Thank you for your kind hospitality and wonderful food. You run a beautiful home, thank you for sharing it with us.”

“Tell her about the ghost,” Paul chirped.

“Dear god,” Fenny sighed.

“Your ghost didn’t keep us up any more than Paul’s teasing did,” Gina continued.

“But it ruined all our fun,” Brad pouted.

“That’s what you get for acting like hormonal teenagers,” Greg chastised.

“Oh, you’re just jealous ‘cause you aren’t getting any,” Paul laughed.

“May we make the suggestion of looking into an exorcism or counseling for your lost and lonely spirit before you take in any honeymooning couples,” Gina smiled as she scribbled away.

“Here,” Fenny said as she wandered in from the kitchen, “leave these with it.” She placed a glass of water and three aspirin on the table. “I get the feeling she may need it.”

“Feel better, and countless thanks for your kindness.” Gina signed the note and handed the pen to Paul. Once it was signed by all, Fenny arranged the note on the table in the sitting room next to a vase of flowers and situated with the water and aspirin.

“How much do you think we owe her?” Brad asked, reaching for his wallet. “I’ve never been good at the whole exchange rates thing. All I know is there’s 2.2 pounds in a kilogram. Or is it 2.2 liters in a gallon? Something like that.”

Gina shook her head and Paul rubbed his temple.

“Oh,” Brad said, patting his pants in various pocketed areas. “I forgot, my wallet was in my bag. Shit.”

Fenny sighed and reached for her purse. “Guess it’s my turn to front for a room. How’s this for a modern relationship. Um, how much?” She looked up at her friends hopelessly. Brad took her wallet from her and rifled through the various types of currency it contained.

“I dunno,” Greg shrugged. “Let’s just give the poor old dear some money, huh? After all, she did listen to you two goons sing.”

“Don’t forget the fee for the baking lesson,” Paul chuckled.

The three men each dropped a number of bills on the table. Fenny was no expert on the standard price of a room in a bed and breakfast in the country, nor was she familiar with the exchange rate, but she was willing to guess that it was more than double what Betty would be expecting.

“Come on, we should be heading out,” Gina said, grabbing her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder.

“Hey Gina, why don’t you let me take over the driving for a while, huh?” Brad suggested as they headed out to the car.

“Yeah, thanks,” Gina smiled, tossing him the keys. “Think Fenny can handle a map?”

“I’m perfectly capable of reading,” Fenny scoffed. “I can’t pronounce any of the absurd names, but I can direct where to turn.”

They tossed their things, which consisted of Fenny’s backpack, Gina’s bag, and the pack they were trying so desperately to get rid of, into the back of the car and scrambled in. Gina wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea of sitting squished between Greg and Paul, but when she realized the alternative would be those two sitting next to each other, she decided to bear with it instead of having to deal with whatever childish antics or arguments they would get up to together.

After fifteen minutes of Fenny getting her bearings with the help of Paul, who was by then an expert on the intricacies of the map, and traveling down the main road, Fenny spotted a path towards another castle. “Brad,” she cooed, “turn over that way.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“But look, it’s beautiful,” she gasped. “Just for a few minutes?”

“A few minutes in Fenny-time is at least half an hour,” he sighed. “We don’t have time to go off sight seeing when we could very well have crazy, knife-wielding men after this bag of ours.” Fenny folded her arms across her chest. “Besides, the sooner we retrieve my bag, the less time the bad guys have of getting a certain photograph developed.”

“Oh please,” she huffed. “Do you see any one-hour photo shops around? I still say that maniacs who wander around the countryside with wads of cash and daggers are astoundingly unlikely to develop a roll of film. Pawn off the camera, sure, but developing film involves money.”

“Which they obviously have plenty of if they have to carry it around in a fucking sack!”

Fenny frowned out the window, watching the castle fade into the distance. “Besides, the picture was probably just of the headboard anyway.”

“Aha, so it was you two going at it like bunnies,” Paul chirped. Fenny turned to scowl at him. “I think I’ll just go back to staring out the window,” he smiled, and the car fell silent.

Greg tried to fight against the ever-increasing rate of his pulse. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. Gina was there, so close he could touch her if he’d wanted to. He did want to, but he didn’t dare. The denim on her thigh lay against his own, while her other thigh was rather occupied by Paul’s completely nonchalant hand.

Greg sighed, trying to make it sound more tired and less my-life-is-shit. He closed his eyes briefly before turning his attention back outside to the endless rolling green as he thought back to some of his favorite memories with his wife, reasoning with himself that she was the one he wanted, needed, not Gina. That, however, didn’t work — some tiny aspect would always remind him of something he and Gina had done together and the laughter and sex that had invariably followed. He tried reverting to the technique of thinking of the least-sexy things imaginable: bagpipe music, Barbara Walters, the Dodgers, Drew Carey – yeah, that did it. All he had to do was keep an image of Drew playing the bagpipes in the back of his mind whenever he had a tantalizing thought about Gina.

“Greg,” Fenny snapped, and his attention was wrenched from the scenery, which was rapidly becoming monotonous again.

“Yeah,” he gasped, suddenly aware of the feeling of Gina’s hair brushing against his arm. Drew started wailing a painful rendition of “Strawberry Fields Forever” on the bagpipes.

“Could you get that wallet out of the bag so we know where we’re going? I wanna make sure I’m headed for the right place.”

“You’re directing the driver and you don’t know where you’re going?” Gina asked, concerned.

“Well I found the horrifically unpronounceable town,” Fenny said, “now it’s a matter of finding out where in the town we have to deposit the bag.”

“We should get a street map,” Brad announced.

“We should ask for directions,” Fenny corrected.

“Ha, that’s gonna happen,” Gina laughed. “A man, asking for directions.”

“A cliché,” Fenny sighed, “but a true cliché. Next gas station you come across, stop and I’ll find out where we’re going.”

Brad nodded his head reluctantly. It was another few miles before they reached the town, the car still oddly quiet, Fenny pouting at the missed attractions along the road but not daring to bring them up again.

“What would someone in a pleasant little place like this be doing with that bag?” Brad asked as they drove into the city. It appeared to be a perfectly wonderful little town, quaint and old fashioned while still being modern enough for the city-folk to cope.

“Doesn’t really seem to fit the profile, does it?” Greg smiled.

“So, will it be running from rabid guard dogs, being chased down the street by guys with machine guns, or your good old fashioned car bomb that does us in this time?” Paul mused.

“Have some faith,” Gina said. “This could go smoothly for a change.”

“Yeah, and the Pacific Ocean could suddenly open up and reveal that Elvis has been living in a submarine creating an army of jellyfish to take over the world for all these years,” Paul scoffed.

“You’re a strange little man,” Fenny sighed. “Look, a gas station.”

Brad pulled up to it and slipped out to fill the tank while Fenny disappeared inside to pay and ask directions. When she returned, Paul and Brad were still engulfed in a discussion on whether said jellyfish army would be outfitted in fatigues or sequined jumpsuits.

“Doesn’t have the same effect if there’s no glitz,” Paul declared.

“But it’s hard to instill the proper amount of dread if you’re all sparkly like that, isn’t it?” Brad countered, matching his deadly serious tone.

Fenny shut the passenger door and cleared her throat, so all eyes turned to her. “Well, from what I understand ‘cause Greg’s right, Scottish is like a whole other language, we go up the street till we find the row of elms, where we turn left, then go up for about half a mile where there’s an old inn, something to do with ‘blood’ in the title, I don’t know, it could have been ‘good’, which is what I was hoping for, but I doubt it. So anyway, you turn right there, ‘cause you can’t turn left, he told me,” she flipped the page of her notebook, where she’d scribbled the rather cryptic driving directions, “and follow that street around the curve until you find the big brick house that’s covered in some sort of plant – he was going like this.” Fenny made some grand round motions with her hands that looked like they came from a Karate Kid movie. “Which I interpreted as the house being covered, but it could be, I dunno, signaling in a low flying plane, who knows, maybe there’s a landing strip. And then a couple houses past that there’s a road, and that’s the road we want.”

They all regarded Fenny closely. “There weren’t any sane people you could’ve gotten directions from?” Brad asked.

“Just drive.”

They made it to the elms, it was the “Blood and Guts” tavern, and there was no landing strip. Brad stopped the car in the middle of the street and snatched the driver’s license out of Fenny’s hand.

“This isn’t it,” Gina frowned, “is it?”

“Wow,” Fenny gasped, crouching down in the car to get a better view of the perfect Edwardian mansion.

“Give me that,” Greg growled, leaning over the seat to grab the license from Brad to check the address. Sure enough, that was the place. “Now what?” he asked, slipping it back into Brad’s waiting hand.

“We go up there and return the bag,” Paul shrugged.

“And ask for mine back,” Brad nodded.

“This is so not gonna be good,” Fenny muttered under her breath.

“Where’s your faith?” Gina chided.

“I lost it somewhere between the bank vault and Montana,” she grumbled under her breath.