Death in Spades Page 2

“’Nobody?’ You mean there are other people here? I haven’t seen anyone in days.”

  “It all depends on the death count. A town this small doesn’t see a lot of deaths, so you’re probably the most recent. And we’re the only two stuck, at the moment; it’s not a very common occurrence.”

  Mellie doesn’t look too broken up about it, but I’m sure she’s gotten pretty good at hiding it over the years. It’s got to get lonely, being the only ghost in town. I wonder why she hasn’t left; surely she’s no longer tied down by her body.

  A car passes by us, so close it nearly hits me; I edge myself out of the way without even realizing it and Mellie lets out a soft chuckle as it drives right through her.

  “How do we get un-stuck, then?” I ask her, righting myself but keeping a few inches away from the road just in case. “Not that I’m not having fun, but I’d rather not be a ghost forever. Especially if I don’t even get any cool powers.”

  “Cool powers?” Mellie looks amused. I’m glad the strange expression has left her eyes; it looked too close to sadness and made me a little uncomfortable.

  “You know, like mind control, telekinesis,” I gesticulate wildly with my hands, “haunting people, stuff like that. I mean, flying is great and all, and walking through walls is pretty neat, but if I can’t even spook a few people out, is it even really worth it?”

  “Is that why you killed yourself? For cool ghost powers?”

  “Good point. It’s still a little bit of a letdown, though.”

  Mellie brushes a wave of curls behind one ear. I notice she’s wearing a ring on her left hand and feel a pang of sympathy for her. Her husband must be devastated. Or he must have been at some point – if she’s been here for as long as she says she has, her family has probably moved on by now. Did she have any kids? That must have been hard for them, if she did – losing their mother like that.

  I don’t even remember who my mother is, but I feel like I’ve lost her too, somehow.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. But you get used to it after a while.”

  Is that supposed to make me feel better? It absolutely does not.

  “How do I get out of here, then?” I ask, kicking my feet into the ground. A clod of dirt turns to dust around my shoe and I grin. “Not that I don’t want to stick around and chat or anything, but I’d rather not stay here forever. No offense.”

  Mellie smiles wanly and rolls her eyes. She looks like she’s wearing mascara, or maybe she’s just naturally really pretty. I’m a little jealous, to be honest. I died looking like a hobo and now I’m stuck this way for the rest of my life. Afterlife, whatever. If I had known that this would be at least semi-permanent, I’d probably have taken the time to put on a bit of lipstick or some eyeliner or even just brush my hair.

  “None taken. I’d rather not be here either, but I guess I’m just one of the lucky ones. I think you’ve still got a chance, though.”

  “A chance to do what?”

  My feet slip in the mud and I slide a few inches forward, catching myself before I fall over and hovering above the ground while the dirt drips like water off of my shoe. I’m getting better at being tangible, I realize, shaking my foot clean. I wonder if I can make people aware of my presence with a little practice.

  “A chance to move on,” Mellie says, eyeing my muddy boot with an amused expression on her face. “You didn’t end up stuck in this place by accident – something’s keeping you here. Think of it like a rope, tying you to whatever it is you can’t move past. If you can cut it somehow, you’re free to go wherever you want.”

  Her analogy, ridiculous as it is, makes an almost surreal amount of sense. It’s like when I was tied down to my body by what felt like an invisible cord, and it snapped after I was finally six feet

  under.

  There has to be something else that’s keeping me here. I don’t feel the same tugging sensation I did before, but I bet if I push the limits and move far enough away from whatever I’m bound to, I’ll end up being pulled back in again.

  So I really can’t fly around the world and do whatever I want. Seriously, what’s the point in being dead if it isn’t any better than when I was alive?

  I sigh and focus my energy on levitating another inch off the ground. I skid sideways and nearly flip over before Mellie’s hand juts out and grabs onto my wrist. A tingling feeling spreads through my arm and I gasp, steadying myself. I haven’t felt a single physical sensation since I died, and it’s jarring.

  She holds onto my arm until my feet touch back on the ground. It feels weird and uncomfortable, but I can’t quite place why.

  “How am I supposed to cut an invisible rope when I don’t even know what’s on the other side of it? I barely even remember who I am. And I’m pretty sure if anyone can hold a grudge after death it’s me, so I don’t know how you expect me to just let things go. Especially since whatever I’m still ticked off about is probably what made me kill myself in the first place.”

  Huh. That’s the first time I’ve said that out loud – ‘kill myself.’ It burns on my tongue and I feel dirty after the words leave my mouth, like I’ve just said something foul even though it’s the truth. I killed myself. I died, and it was all my fault. I shouldn’t be blaming anyone else when I made the choice on my own.

  “It’s not about holding a grudge, Terra. Plenty of people hold grudges and still get to move on. You have unfinished business or something; you need to work through it before you can go anywhere.”

  “And how am I supposed to know what business I need to finish when I can’t remember anything but my own name and how I croaked?”

  That’s a lie; I remember a few other things. Nothing I’m willing to tell Mellie about, though.

  Mellie twists her fingers around her wedding ring absently. A small, shiny diamond glitters up at me and I try not to look, but my eyes are drawn to it. Mellie doesn’t seem to notice. The ring looks old and tarnished; it must have been a family heirloom before her husband gave it to her.

  “You’ll remember,” she says gently, a frown etching its way onto her face. “Give it a little time, and you’ll remember everything. You’ll know right away what’s keeping you here. It’ll hit you like a freight train, trust me. But it’s up to you to figure out how to fix things and move past it.”

  “Thanks, Confucius. Did you get that bit from a fortune cookie or something?”

  My subtle attempt at cheering Mellie up doesn’t work. If anything, her scowl deepens. Is that what’s going to happen to me if I end up stuck here for years like she did? Will I eventually turn into a bitter old spirit whose only purpose is to train the newbies on how to get out of purgatory?

  I take it back – this is disappointing. The thing with the autopsy and the funeral and seeing everyone weeping over my gross dead body looks like a party in comparison to my new outlook on life. Or death, I guess.

  “Can’t I just choose option two? Disappear in a flash of light or explode like a supernova and just… stop existing? That’s kind of what I planned on, you know. I didn’t sign up for… all of this.” I gesture wildly, mostly in Mellie’s direction. She looks unpleasantly smug about it.

  Another car drives past, loud music blaring from its speakers. I jump back at the sudden sound and my back hits a tree branch and sinks right through it.

  “Nope.” A small, faint smile turns up one corner of Mellie’s lips. Apparently all it takes to make her happy is me tripping over my own feet; that’s good to know. “That’s not how things work around here, unfortunately. It’s Heaven or Hell, or whatever this in-between place is. You have to exist somewhere, even if it’s just your spirit floating around doing nothing.” She smirks as I try to right myself again. This whole flying thing is really exhausting, and I didn’t even know dead people could get tired. “And a ghost can’t die, so you’re pretty much stuck here until you figure out why you ended up here in the first place.”

  Great. Just what I wanted to hear. I’m gonna be here forever, aren’t I?

&n
bsp; I’m tempted to ask Mellie what her story is – how she died and why she’s still stuck in the middle of nowhere. But those sorts of

  questions seem too personal, like I’d be breaking whatever fragile trust we’ve built by bringing up painful memories. After all, I may be fairly comfortable talking about my own death, but that’s because I chose it. Mellie probably didn’t get a choice; she probably didn’t want to die.

  That thought makes me uncomfortable. I decide not to dwell on it.

  “So, what do I do in the meantime? I mean, besides learning how to control my super awesome ghost powers and trying to scare the living daylights out of the people I hated when I was alive?”

  I’m joking, but Mellie doesn’t seem to catch on to my sarcastic brand of humor. Her mouth forms the straightest line I’ve

  ever seen on a person’s face and her nostrils quiver slightly. Either she has to sneeze or she’s trying not to laugh. Obviously it’s the latter, because I’m hilarious.

  I don’t expect her answer to be anything other than ‘you hover over stuff and try not to get bored out of your mind,’ so when she says basically the opposite I’m shocked to the point of speechlessness. A car drives past, honking its horn and screeching on its wheels, and I don’t even flinch.

  “You take people’s souls,” Mellie says. Part of me expects her to grin and laugh at the shaken expression on my face, but she looks deadly serious. Which is pretty serious, for a dead person.

  I gape at her for a moment, my mouth wide open. Really attractive, Terra. Honestly, it’s no wonder you never had a boyfriend.

  “Like…” I begin, once I find my voice again; “Like the Grim Reaper?”

  Mellie shrugs and gives me a slight, half-nod. “Sort of. Not the black cloak and scythe kind, but essentially, yes. You’re responsible for finding the people who are about to die and helping them through it. Helping them get to the other side without getting stuck. You just grab their soul when they die and lead it out. Be a little gentle, though. Death is a bit of a shock to the system for some.”

  “Great job you did there, then, Mel. I’m about as stuck as I could be, thanks for that.”

  “I didn’t get to you in time,” Mellie sighs, her voice dropping an octave. The strange look fades back onto her face and I regret saying anything. “You weren’t supposed to die when you did. Suicides are harder to predict than natural deaths, and even if I had found you before your soul left your body, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t have ended up stuck here anyway. I did, and I had every reason to follow my guide straight up to Heaven.”

  I really want to ask her why she’s still here, if she had the opportunity to leave so many years ago and save herself all of this trouble and pain. She lets go of her wedding ring and fidgets with the hem of her dress, smoothing down the fabric over her thighs. I don’t blame her for not helping me; I don’t even know if I would have taken her help if she had offered. But it would have been nice to have known a few days ago that I wasn’t alone, and that the rest of my afterlife was doomed to be completely boring. I would have tried to enjoy my funeral a bit more, then.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t have killed myself. But I’m pretty sure I would have anyway.

  Mellie looks sad again. My feet sink into the squishy mud but none of it sticks to my shoes – it just slides right off like before. I want to cheer Mellie up again, but I don’t think now is the right time. Everyone needs to be sad sometimes.

  “Okay. It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

  The wind whips through the trees, shaking their branches, but I don’t feel it; it doesn’t touch me, and my hair and clothing remain completely still.

  “So...” My eyes meet hers, and I offer her a smile that more than makes up for her frown. “What now?”

  Chapter Three

  So, it turns out being the Grim Reaper is a lot less fun than I pictured it to be. I’d say I’m disappointed, but I’ve already said that about everything I’ve experienced since I died, so it’d be sort of an understatement.

  I don’t get a black robe, because apparently even if I wanted to steal one from some poor sap in one of the houses close by, the fabric would just phase right through me like the mud on my shoes. I don’t get a scythe, because I’m not going to be ripping people’s souls out. I have to guide them, gently, and make sure they’re ready to go on to the afterlife. Because I was totally ready when it happened to me.

  It was like waking up from a dream by a bucket of cold water being dumped on my head. An icy chill had settled over me, starting from the inside out, and I can remember shivering and pulling my jacket tighter around my torso before I realized that my body was on the floor underneath me and I was floating above it.

  That’s the last sensation I remember feeling, aside from

  the shock of Mellie grabbing my arm yesterday. Or was it two days ago? Time doesn’t really mean much when you’re dead. I don’t even know how long ago I died; it could have been days or weeks or even a month and it wouldn’t make a difference.

  Mellie explained to me what my new job would be, even though she’d pretty much summed it up already. Find a person who’s dying – “You’ll know them when you see them. Think of it like another invisible rope.” – grab their soul at the moment of death, explain the whole situation to them – “Be gentle, Terra. No sarcasm. These people just died, and most of them didn’t want to.” – and bring them back to Mellie. Since she’s like the Head Grim Reaper, she gets to chaperone them to their final resting place.

  I’m guessing all I have to do is whistle and she’ll appear, or something like that. I think she could do the entire job just fine on her own, but it’s nice having a little help. Not that I want to help. I’d much rather be floating around pranking people, thank you very much.

  I’ve gotten a little better at controlling my powers since the last time I saw Mellie – though, they’re really more like abilities than powers. I don’t get to shoot laser beams from my eyes or lift heavy objects or possess people, but I’m starting to get a handle on my own tangibility. I don’t sink through the floor unless I’m distracted, and I can lean against tree trunks and walls without coming out on the other side. It usually only lasts a few seconds, and most of the time it’s more about dumb luck than talent, but it’s a start. If I’m going to be here for a while, I might as well find something to occupy my time.

  Nobody has died since I did, which I suppose I should be thankful for. After all, even though I’m glad I died, I wouldn’t wish the same thing on anyone else. Unless they’re suffering like I probably was. I guess I would be a hypocrite if I said suicide wasn’t a good option for people like me.

  Some of my memories have started coming back, too, but they’re sporadic and unpredictable. I can remember my sister, clear as glass, with her bright hair and brown eyes and optimistic outlook on life. She’s two years older than I am – was – so she should be going away to college soon, but I don’t know if my death has put a damper on her plans. I feel a little bit guilty about it, but there’s nothing I can do now.

  I haven’t gone back home since my body was moved to the morgue. I think I’m afraid to see how everyone’s reacting to what happened to me. I don’t want to hear sad stories about my life, or the cliché comments about ‘what could have been done to prevent’ my

  death. I died, and they all need to get over it and move on with their lives.

  Yeah, just like I’ve moved on. Or, I would be, if I could figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be moving on from.

  A house looms ahead in the horizon, a tiny blue building with white trim and a fenced-in backyard. It’s homey, squeezed in between two large condos and across the street from an elementary school. I must have seen this place at least once in all my years of living in this town, but I can’t remember any details about its occupants. However, a weight in my stomach seems to be pulling me towards it, and the longer I float off of the ground, the closer my

  body gets to the shabby little house. It’s
like I don’t have any control over the path I’m taking, even though I’m sure if I tried hard enough I could fight the pull and maybe even break the connection. But my curiosity wins out, and it’s not like I have anything better to do.

  From the weight and the strength of the tie, I can somehow tell that I’m being lead to witness someone’s death. It’s kind of spooky, how my brain just knows that’s what I’m here for. I don’t even have to think about it – I just float over to the house and phase through the front door, and there I am, looking down at a portly old woman having a heart attack.

  I recognize her, but only vaguely, like I’ve seen her once or twice in a supermarket but never really spoken to her. She’s got salt-and-pepper hair that looks like it’s gone grey and been colored over, and glasses that must have slipped off when she fell over. I look around the room, trying to take my focus off of her gasps and convulsions. I should try to help her, but I have no idea how. Even if I could call an ambulance, how exactly would I explain my situation?

  ‘Hi, yes, I’m a ghost who can somehow magically use a phone even though I’m not quite sure how tangibility works. There’s a woman about to die any second and I don’t know what the address is but please come quickly, I swear this isn’t a prank.’

  Yeah, that would go over nicely. Besides, Mellie told me not to interfere. She said there are heavy consequences for those who meddle with the deaths of the living. Everyone has a time, and right now it’s this woman’s. If she’s meant to die right now – which,

  clearly she is – then all I can do is watch and wait and greet her when I can.

  There are rows of pictures hung on the longest wall in the living room, filled with the smiling faces of what I assume are her children and grandchildren. One of the kids is just a baby, with wispy hair and no teeth. This poor old lady will never get to see her youngest granddaughter grow up.

  The frames are dusty and the couch cushions are rumpled; there are dishes in the sink and a pot of coffee sits on the table, half empty. Everywhere I look, I see unfinished things – bits of her life