Death in Spades Read online

  I slam my hand down on the wooden coffee table, my fist meeting the glass inlay with an impact that sends me reeling. The

  glass splinters with hairline cracks and several tiny shards fall to the floor, the carpet swallowing them up like specks of dust. I look down at my hand, pure shock coursing through me. I touched something, I broke something. Something tangible, solid, real. I blink rapidly as

  my eyes flit from the broken table to my hand and back again, half expecting the glass to fix itself at a glance and prove to me that ghosts can’t touch things that are real. But another shard of glass splits and falls, and I watch it with my fist still raised, a mixture of thrill and panic in my trembling hand.

  Mellie steps through the wall behind the television and sighs through her nose.

  “You know, this is one ability I was really hoping you would never learn.”

  Chapter Six

  “Oh, come on, did you see that? How cool was that? You have to admit that was pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Mellie rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face and I’m just glad she’s not angry at me anymore. Even though I have no idea why she was angry with me in the first place.

  “And you wanted me not to learn this?” I concentrate and try to focus all of my energy into my fingertips. My hand clumsily meets the remote and I push a button, turning the television on. “You said I didn’t get to have any superpowers. You were holding out on me.”

  Mellie watches patiently as I struggle to press the button again, a smirk on her face as the remote falls to the floor. The television is broadcasting a new episode of a show I used to watch, and some character I vaguely recognize is making out with a fan favorite. Hey, I guess I can catch up on all of the shows I’ve missed since I died; just as long as I sneak in and out before anyone notices the TV turning on and off.

  “Yeah, I was, but there’s a good reason for that. You aren’t supposed to be seen. How inconspicuous are objects falling all by themselves?” Mellie’s trying to be stern, but her tone is as light as ever.

  I still haven’t asked her the questions that are burning in my mind, but I’m too preoccupied with how absolutely awesome my new power is to ruin it all by making the mood all serious again.

  “It’s not like I’m going to do it when people are home,” I say, trying again to push the power button on the remote. “Although, that would be pretty fun, you’ve got to admit.”

  I can see Mellie shaking her head at me from the corner of my eye. Her arms are crossed at her chest and her wedding ring is glinting in the light from the bulb overhead.

  “You’ve seriously never haunted anybody?” I ask, smiling smugly when the television screen finally flickers off. “Not even, like, an ex-boyfriend or some jerk from grad school? There’s got to be somebody you hated when you were alive.”

  I think I’ve just brought up a sensitive subject, because the smile on Mellie’s face fades instantly and she uncrosses her arms, flipping the lights off with one finger and standing in the doorway. The late-afternoon shadows make her face look pale and gaunt.

  “No,” she answers. “I’ve never wanted to. Would you have wanted someone to do that to you?”

  I look down, feeling my face burn. In truth, I’ve had much worse happen to me in my lifetime, but I’m not about to open that can of worms with someone I still don’t completely trust.

  “Point taken. It’s still a cool power, though. Even if I can’t really use it for anything practical.”

  Haunting people isn’t practical, my mind supplies unhelpfully; it’s just something fun to do. Because being one of only two semi-permanent ghosts in a town in the middle of nowhere doesn’t offer many opportunities to have fun.

  I pick the remote up off of the floor and hold it in my hand; it begins to sink through my palm and I try to catch it with my other hand but it falls back to the floor with a dull thump. Mellie looks like she’s trying not to smile, which does nothing but make her look constipated. It’s kind of a hilarious sight.

  “So David could do this because he got really upset, and when I got angry I sort of… unlocked the ability?” I’m a little apprehensive of her reasoning, but I don’t have any better explanation to offer, so I just go along with it. If it is a lie, it’s a harmless one. There’s nothing dangerous about this new power – not if all I’m using it for is to watch TV and play around with some light switches.

  Mellie nods, relaxing visibly. I want to ask her what I said that seemed to touch a nerve with her, but I don’t want her to get upset and leave me again. As little as I trust her – which, truth be told, is more than I really ever trusted anybody when I was alive – she’s the only other spirit around here and she knows all about being dead. Or whatever we are.

  That’s one of my questions answered, at least. Only about a million more to go.

  “So… why didn’t you want me to figure this out?” I ask, testing the waters. Either she’ll answer honestly or shut down like she does when I bring up something she doesn’t want to talk about.

  Mellie hesitates, and I brace myself for the cold shoulder. It’s getting darker outside, and she’s so far into the hallway by now that I can only clearly see her eyes and the fiery red of her curls.

  “I knew you’d want to use it,” she says softly. I wait for her to elaborate, but she stays silent.

  “Well, yeah. Of course I want to use it. Do you have any idea how boring it is just floating around all day? At least now I have something to do.”

  Mellie’s curls bounce on her shoulders and I assume she’s shaking her head. “I knew you’d eventually get too caught up in it. Wanting to communicate with them.”

  She doesn’t have to say their names for me to know she’s talking about my father and sister. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it – writing a note, leaving them something that lets them know that I’m okay and that what happened wasn’t their fault. But Mellie’s drilled the ‘rules’ into my head enough times for me to know better. For some reason – which, as usual, she won’t tell me – I’m not allowed to interfere with the lives of the living. I don’t really understand why, but the look Mellie gets on her face when she talks about it is reason enough for me to keep quiet.

  “You’ve already asked me not to, and I gave you my word.” I’m a little hurt by her accusation; she should know I would never do something so stupid. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I do. But I trusted myself once upon a time and I couldn’t keep my promise.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone died.”

  A chill sweeps down my spine. The room suddenly feels ten times darker, shadows tossing everything into sharper contrast and making the ridges in Mellie’s face look deep and haunting. I take a few steps forward until I can see her better, but the darkness in her eyes doesn’t lessen.

  When did it get so cold in here? I shouldn’t even be able to feel temperatures, but I can’t stop my shoulders from trembling.

  “Who?” I ask, and immediately regret saying anything. The frown on Mellie’s face looks like it’s been chiseled into marble and she crosses her arms again, hiding her wedding ring in the crook of her elbow.

  “It doesn’t matter. It happened years ago and I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice is low and final, like a warning. Don’t ask any more questions, Terra. You’re not going to get any answers, anyway. “I reached out to someone living and they died because of me. That’s all you need to know.”

  Mellie takes a deep breath and shudders. I have a strong urge to comfort her, but I don’t even know if she wants me to. I like to be left alone when I’m feeling low; maybe she does too. Although, look where being depressed and alone got me.

  Maybe that’s why Mellie can’t move on – because of her own guilt. Whoever she killed must have been important to her. A

  sick, twisted feeling in my gut tells me that maybe that’s why she

  seems so fixated on that ring on her finger.


  I still don’t understand how my ability to knock over television remotes could get someone killed, but I’m not sure I want to know. Being dead is a lot more complicated than I initially thought; I signed up for the ‘kill yourself and stop existing entirely’ experience, not the ‘die and come back with even more responsibilities and rules than when you were alive’ one.

  A sad smile forms on Mellie’s lips. She uncrosses her arms again and stands awkwardly, hands on her hips and eyes roving the room without really focusing on anything.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, not looking at me. “You just wanted to have some fun with your new ability and what I said probably did nothing but scare you. I know you aren’t a killer, and I should trust you to keep your promise not to interfere. It was wrong of me to assume you wouldn’t.”

  Mellie’s voice sounds almost robotic, like she’s rehearsing a speech she’s given a dozen times before. I wonder how many ghosts were stuck here before me, and how many of them got to hear Mellie confess the same thing she just did to me. She’s probably gotten close to people – dead people, but still – and had them find their closure and move on without her. That’s kind of… heartbreaking.

  When did I become such a sap? I left a lot of people behind and they seem to be doing just fine. Mellie’s okay. She seems okay, at least. I have to assume she’s alright, because I’m having too much trouble dealing with my own problems to add hers on top.

  “It’s fine; I’m not mad. Well, okay, I’m a little peeved you ditched me back there and made me angry enough to break the table

  in the first place, but I’m mostly over it. As long as you don’t bail out on me again.”

  “I can’t make any promises.” Mellie’s tone has lightened up a bit. Her moods flip faster than a light switch; I’m going to get whiplash if she keeps this up.

  I offer her a smile, but a familiar tugging feeling in my gut stops it halfway. I freeze, one hand on my stomach, and Mellie looks at me with concern on her face. Doesn’t she feel this?

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell her, my body already floating towards the door. “Duty calls.”

  Mellie watches as I phase through the wall, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t follow me, but I don’t expect her to. She always shows up at the end – makes me do all the dirty work. I still don’t know what lesson she’s trying to teach me by making me do this, but I don’t have any choice but to play along. If I stand still and let my body drift wherever it wants to go, I always end up on the edge of a crime scene.

  It’s like death links people together, so that dead people can find each other easier. It still took Mellie three days to find me, though.

  The pull leads me to the last place I want to go – my old high school. Very few of the memories that have actually come back about this place are good. I’m like a walking cliché: ‘teen girl commits suicide after being picked on in school, even though faculty still maintain that bullying isn’t a thing that actually happens.’

  I only see the building in flashes, bright lights behind my eyes that I can barely see past. Most of it doesn’t make sense – only

  the emotions I was feeling at the time come through clearly.

  But I know that going back will solidify my memories, the good and the bad, and I’m not ready for that. It’s too much to think about – witnessing a death and learning why my own occurred. An overwhelming panic rises in my chest the closer I get to the muddy brownstone.

  The sun is just starting to rise, blanketing the horizon with a pale mixture of yellow and pink. A thought occurs to me that calms me down a little – nobody is going to be here this early. School doesn’t start for at least another couple of hours, and even the most devoted teachers probably won’t be here at this hour. But if the place is empty, that means I’m going to have to wait. Again. I’m just hoping this time isn’t a repeat of David’s death. A heart attack, I can handle. Something natural and a lot less bloody.

  I hate the sight of blood. How ironic is that?

  I float through a second floor window and through the halls, spotting my old locker along the way, closed but unlocked. I recognize the science room I used to love, the math room I used to hate, and a few other classrooms I never even had the chance to enter. Memories assault me at every turn, nearly blinding me and knocking me off balance. I grab onto the nearest doorknob and hold it tightly, focusing on maintaining my grip and pushing the more uncomfortable memories away. The pull ebbs a little, just enough for me to catch my breath.

  A sound slams through the hallway, clanging against lockers and echoing right through my body. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the noise isn’t real – it’s all in my head. I’m

  remembering the time a hulking sophomore named Janie had shoved me against my locker, bruising my shoulder and sending me reeling to the floor in pain. Just thinking about it makes my arm ache; it’s like I can feel the skin splitting and darkening even though it happened nearly two years ago.

  I shake my head and let go of the door, flying along blown by an invisible wind; my hand stings a little from the effort of staying tangible for so long. Closing my eyes only seems to make the memories stronger, so I resolutely keep them open. Blinking is another thing I don’t need to do now, but it’s a hard habit to break.

  Another minute passes and I skid to a stop in front of a door labelled 247. I had English in this room freshman year, but I haven’t been in it since. The door is closed, and when I try to turn the knob my hand just passes right through it. I must have used up all of my energy. Another thing I didn’t know about ghosts – apparently they have physical limitations. Even though they don’t even have physical bodies.

  Am I going to be taking a teacher’s soul? Or a student’s? It could be one of my classmates, somebody I know. It could be somebody that knew me.

  I sit down on the cool tile floor, pushing back the memories pulsing behind my eyes. My back touches the wall and I’m surprised to find that it feels solid.

  An hour passes, then two, until I stop looking at the clock and time seems to pick up speed. Names and faces buzz around my head, but I can’t piece most of them together. Brian – the boy from third period science who had followed me around with insults since

  middle school; does he have brown hair, or blonde? Carrie – a girl I met at the beginning of the year who, besides being one of the only kids in this place who was nice to me, copied off of my homework in geometry; I think she was the tall, pretty girl who was crowned homecoming princess last semester, but I can’t remember what her face looked like. Nick, Mandy, Sarah, Pierce. Mrs. Murphy, who’d sent me to the guidance counselor after I showed up to her class with a black eye, and Counselor Jameson, who had suspended Janie for a week but done nothing to stop her from tripping me in the halls eight days later.

  Little things, but I guess they all added up in the end. After my mother disappeared from my life, I stopped caring what other people thought of me, and I suppose that’s when everyone else started caring too much.

  The bell over my head rings, a loud, shrill sound, and I blink my eyes open rapidly. I had been so lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even noticed the crowds of students filing into the hallways and through the now-open classroom doors. I swallow down my unpleasant thoughts and stand, praying to whatever can hear me that the teacher is an obscenely elderly person who’s about to keel over of natural causes.

  Fate’s never really been on my side, has it?

  Chapter Seven

  I don’t think any one particular thing lead to me deciding to off myself. I could say it was a combination of things – the way kids treated me in school, my mother’s absence, my father’s late nights and my sister’s popularity, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to blame other people for what was ultimately my own problem. I think I’ve been contemplating death ever since I first found out it was an option. You can call it depression, or just pure craziness, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? I’m dead, but I’m still here. This must be some kind o
f punishment for killing myself – spending an eternity surrounded by death. I’d rather I just disappeared.

  Now more than ever.

  The teacher is a short, middle-aged woman with way too much Botox who I recognize but can’t name. She looks perfectly healthy, and my heart sinks; that pretty much rules out natural causes. I just hope this isn’t too gruesome.

  A cluster of teenagers amble into the room – from the looks of them, I’m almost positive they’re freshmen. I try to pick out any

  familiar faces, but they’re all two years younger than I am and I’ve

  only seen a few of them in passing. I wait for the pulling sensation to

  take me to one of them, but I remain stuck in the doorway, watching students file in and take their seats. A couple of people come close to passing right through me and I take a step sideways, narrowly avoiding a small girl with curly black hair who looks as skittish as I picture most freshmen to be.

  I walk into the classroom after all of the other kids have sat down and the teacher has started her lecture. Nobody looks at me as I cross the room and stand in the back, my feet barely touching the floor. I watch the older woman – whose face barely even moves when she talks, that’s kind of creepy – write a few sentences on the board and speak to her students about a book they’ve been reading since last week. English class, then; it must be the same one I took when I was their age.

  I don’t pay attention to most of what the teacher is saying. I’ve already done my time in this prison, there’s no point in me trying to continue my education now. If I didn’t graduate while I was alive, there’s no way I can do it dead. Instead, I take the time to scan over each of the students, memorizing their faces and trying to catch their names when the teacher calls on them. One boy in particular – a short, scrawny kid with a pretty face – keeps glancing at the clock on the back wall with furrowed eyebrows. The teacher catches him at one point and calls him out on it, and I learn his name: Andy. Something about it doesn’t suit him.