Ghastly's plan of trying not to think too hard collapsed the moment they entered the childrens' ward.
While Barney went to go hug his daughter, Ghastly stood awkwardly a few steps away and glanced around. Nine kids, he counted quickly. Nine teddy bears left over. Another perfect outcome, another convenient coincidence.
But far from making him trip over his own thoughts again, or even making Ghastly smile, it suddenly and inexplicably made him angry.
No, he decided as he watched 'Dad' introducing Himself, not inexplicably. Watching children suffer had never been easy, particularly not when there was nothing Ghastly could do. But that was it, wasn't it? Usually, there was nothing Ghastly could do. Usually, he was all-too-human, and sicknesses, diseases, cancers - they weren't a problem you could just punch until they went away.
God could. He could cure every single child in this ward on the spot. One wave of His hand, and one small corner of the world would no longer be suffering.
So why didn't He?
God works in mysterious ways was a lot easier to ignore when Ghastly didn't think there was any such thing. Now, he couldn't help but wonder - would God explain Himself if Ghastly asked? Directly? Standing right in front of Him, not just a prayer or a stray thought that could be brushed away and ignored? Explain why He wouldn't do more than just hand out teddy bears?
Would Ghastly like the answer? Would Ghastly understand the answer? Because if there was one thing he despised, it was bullies, but the idea of Dad - of God, of this man - being a bully filled him with absolute dread. It couldn't be right. There had to be a reason. A reason for the suffering, a reason for the illnesses, and... and that simple thought made him sick.
Ghastly slowly realised Allie had been talking to him, and he managed a smile for her. "Sort of. No need for the sheriff, though." He turned around and stepped towards the table where two of the kids - a boy and a girl, one with leukemia, if the scarf wrapped around her head was any indication - were playing Hook A Fish.
He stared down at the game for a moment, entertaining images of Skulduggery and a tangled, knotted fishing line running through his bones, and then he grinned. "Either of you want a teddy bear?"
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While Barney went to go hug his daughter, Ghastly stood awkwardly a few steps away and glanced around. Nine kids, he counted quickly. Nine teddy bears left over. Another perfect outcome, another convenient coincidence.
But far from making him trip over his own thoughts again, or even making Ghastly smile, it suddenly and inexplicably made him angry.
No, he decided as he watched 'Dad' introducing Himself, not inexplicably. Watching children suffer had never been easy, particularly not when there was nothing Ghastly could do. But that was it, wasn't it? Usually, there was nothing Ghastly could do. Usually, he was all-too-human, and sicknesses, diseases, cancers - they weren't a problem you could just punch until they went away.
God could. He could cure every single child in this ward on the spot. One wave of His hand, and one small corner of the world would no longer be suffering.
So why didn't He?
God works in mysterious ways was a lot easier to ignore when Ghastly didn't think there was any such thing. Now, he couldn't help but wonder - would God explain Himself if Ghastly asked? Directly? Standing right in front of Him, not just a prayer or a stray thought that could be brushed away and ignored? Explain why He wouldn't do more than just hand out teddy bears?
Would Ghastly like the answer? Would Ghastly understand the answer? Because if there was one thing he despised, it was bullies, but the idea of Dad - of God, of this man - being a bully filled him with absolute dread. It couldn't be right. There had to be a reason. A reason for the suffering, a reason for the illnesses, and... and that simple thought made him sick.
Ghastly slowly realised Allie had been talking to him, and he managed a smile for her. "Sort of. No need for the sheriff, though." He turned around and stepped towards the table where two of the kids - a boy and a girl, one with leukemia, if the scarf wrapped around her head was any indication - were playing Hook A Fish.
He stared down at the game for a moment, entertaining images of Skulduggery and a tangled, knotted fishing line running through his bones, and then he grinned. "Either of you want a teddy bear?"