I had nothing to say. As much as I wanted to believe Gram, I couldn’t. Maybe in time… and maybe not. It was an old wound reopened. It was what it was. Just like I couldn’t bring Sam back to life, I couldn’t change how my mother had died.
With another hug and a reminder for Gram to eat, I left.
I was in a fog as I walked out of the nursing home. All I wanted to do was see the sun and breathe fresh air.
Bursting through the doors of the building, I almost fell to my knees as the crisp fall air invaded my lungs and the sun gave me a little bit of hope.
“Home. I need to go home,” I told myself as I searched my purse for my car keys and made my way through the parking lot.
Everything would be okay… or some new version of okay. It had to be.
I would make it be okay. I had Gram, a puppy, a job, amazing friends and a houseful of dead people.
I also had balls and I was forty. I was pretty sure I would lose my filter in my forties and be able to say anything I wanted and get away with it.
Wait. That was my eighties.
Whatever. Everything would be fine.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered as I came to an abrupt halt about ten feet from my car. Closing my eyes, I did a mental inventory of what I must look like right now. I didn’t want to deal with anything or anyone else—especially not him.
As of this morning, I’d dealt with enough crap for one person for an entire lifetime. I didn’t need any more unsettling information or situations.
Although I had a very unsettling thought about the man staring at me, and it wasn’t remotely sexual. Well, part of it was, which made me want to smack myself in the head. I needed a shrink. However, I’d have to lie to the shrink, which would defeat the entire purpose. Anti-psychotic drugs were not in my future. I needed my crazy.
Gideon leaned on my car. Clad in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, he looked like a Ralph Lauren ad. It wasn’t exactly work attire, but he wasn’t at work. Longing to touch the dangerous man, I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and glared instead.
I was pretty sure he didn’t have a relative at the nursing home. Nope. I had a fine idea of who he was and why he was here. Every single instinct I’d had about him was correct. He was bad news in the literal sense of the word.
The man was as beautiful as I’d remembered and then some. The sun angled itself to give him the best lighting. It was ridiculous.
“What do you want?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Nice to see you too, Daisy,” he said with a smile that would have charmed most women’s pants off.
Not mine.
“I asked you what you wanted, Gideon,” I repeated.
“I like the sound of my name on your lips,” he said.
“Don’t get used to it,” I shot back rudely.
He was quiet for a long moment and simply stared. Crap. Had I gone too far? Hell, I didn’t care.
“You know who you are now?” he inquired casually, eyeing me with concern.
I was a hot mess—that’s who I was. My eyes had to be bloodshot from all the crying and I hadn’t bothered with any makeup this morning. I hadn’t felt that committing a misdemeanor required blush and mascara. Right now, I regretted that.
“I know who I am, and I know who you are, Grim Reaper,” I snapped, wondering if I could shove him out of my way and get into my car. He was huge and all muscle. That probably wouldn’t go well.
Touching him was also a very bad plan. As much as I wanted to throat-punch him, I was afraid if I touched him, I’d do something I’d seriously regret. Embarrassing myself in front of Gideon was not going to happen anymore.
I even considered walking around to the passenger side and crawling across the seat to avoid him. But that was so incredibly undignified, I decided against it.
I had balls now. I was going to use them.
“She told you?” he asked, surprised.
“Nope. Figured it out. I put two and two together and came up with 666. I’m very good at math,” I said.
His laugh went all through me, and I wanted to punch him in the head. What was it about him that was so addictive? He was evil. I was definitely not as sane as I thought I was.
“I’m not the devil, Daisy,” Gideon said, still chuckling.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered with an eye roll. “I need you to move out of my way. I have to go home.”
Slowly stepping away from my car, Gideon watched me with such intensity, I felt naked. I really did not like that. Getting into my car as fast as humanly possible, I put on my seat belt and started the engine.
His knock at my window startled me and made me scream. Letting my head fall to the steering wheel, I pressed the window button and rolled it down.
“What?”
“You okay?” he asked.
I could tell the asshole was smiling. I didn’t even have to look up. I could hear it in his tone. Who knew the Grim Reaper had a sense of humor? Who knew the Grim Reaper freaking existed? And who knew the Grim Reaper was the hottest man I’d ever seen? I wasn’t even sure what exactly he did. I seriously regretted thinking Gram had lost it when she’d brought him up.
“I’m great,” I muttered.
“We will talk,” he informed me. “This evening. At your house.”
“I’m busy,” I shot back, glaring at him. “You’re not my boss outside of the law firm.”
“Get unbusy,” he said, turning and walking away. “I’ll be there at ten.”
“I might be there. I might not,” I called out to his back.
“You’ll be there.”
Closing my eyes, I tamped back the urge to hurl a profanity-laden insult. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I hadn’t heard a car door and I didn’t see anyone pull away. He’d seemed to disappear just like Clarissa had.
While I might not be completely insane, there were still all sorts of things not quite right.
Forty was going great. Not.
Chapter Twelve
“Listen up, dead people,” I yelled over the loud and bizarre chatter. “There’s a sign-up list now.”
The blank and confused stares weren’t promising. The first thing I’d done when I’d gotten home was order a Ouija board. I had no clue if I’d use it—or even how to use it—but it couldn’t hurt. Of course, it wouldn’t be here for a week or so, but I’d made it work so far without one.
“Umm… I know writing can be a challenge since coordination is iffy and some of you are missing fingers,” I went on, ignoring the snickering. At least that’s what I thought it was. It could have been gagging or possibly choking. Thankfully, they were dead and I wouldn’t have to Heimlich anyone. I knew how to do it. I’d just never had to do it. My first time wasn’t going to be on a ghost.
Donna barked and wagged her entire bottom. It was very nice to have someone in my corner. She was a dog, but she was adorable and far better than no one at all. In the past few hours, I’d finally realized I wasn’t nuts. The squatters didn’t get the memo. They were looking at me like I’d lost it.
“Fine,” I said, slapping my hands on my hips and glaring at the mass of floating specters invading my family room. “It would be really nice if you people could cut me a little slack here. I’m kind of winging it and I’m new to the job. I totally understand that this is the first and… umm… only time you’re going to die, but a bit of patience would be appreciated. You guys feel me?”
I was ninety percent sure they were nodding yes.
“Forget the list,” I said, pulling a new plan out of my butt as I spoke. “How many of you could move on if I sent a letter to someone on your behalf?” If it worked for Gram, maybe it would work for me too. It was worth a shot.
A few arms dropped to the floor. I assumed they’d been raised and then fell off. I should buy stock in superglue immediately. Picking up the appendages, I held them up in the air so the owners could claim them. I refused to glue a body part back on unless I was certain it was the right person I was reatta
ching it to. I wasn’t Dr. Frankenstein.
“Hang on to your arms,” I told the ghosts who came forward to retrieve them. “I’ll glue them back on after lunch. Do not leave them lying around. While my gag reflex has lessened, it’s still there. Plus, leaving your parts around is rude… and gross.”
I paused and replayed my last sentence in my head. I laughed. Ridiculous and absurd had become my new normal. Embracing it was surprisingly easy. Not sure what that said about me, but I was going with it.
“Let’s do it like this,” I suggested. “If your problem can be solved with a letter to a loved one then go over by the fireplace. If it can’t, go to the kitchen.”
The air instantly turned to a thick gray mist. The ghosts fluttered about like strange liquid confetti trying to decide which group they belonged in. They moved so fast, a strong breeze blew my hair around my head and I grabbed onto the back of the couch for purchase. It was a big decision and my oxygen-deprived squatters were taking it seriously.
The wind stopped and the air cleared. Counting them was useless, but there was a large group of dead people by the fireplace. It kind of seemed like all of them were hovering by the fireplace. Could it be this easy? Had I risked jail time for no reason this morning?
No. My time with Sam and getting to see his wife’s joy was worth every second—even the scary parts. I wouldn’t change anything about it. However, a criminal lifestyle wasn’t going to work for me. While being a paralegal wasn’t the most exciting career path, it beat doing ten to twenty at the state pen.
“Okay, great,” I told the crowd suspended midair by the fireplace. “As soon as the Ouija board gets here, I’ll get right on it, unless someone is in a big hurry.”
No one made a sound and no one floated forward. That was a relief. However, every single dead squatter in the room pointed toward the kitchen. About five or six arms fell to the floor with a thud.
“Everyone that just lost an arm needs to pick it up and keep it with them, please,” I said, crossing the room and heading to the kitchen. “We’ll have a gluing party after lunch.”
Whoever was in the kitchen must have more urgent needs if I was to go by the actions of the ghosts. I just hoped it wasn’t a lot of dead folks. I actually had to do some of the boring paperwork from work. Losing my job because I was counseling cadavers would suck.
“Hi,” I said as I entered the kitchen.
There was only one ghost. It was a man. His age was probably somewhere around fifty. He wasn’t as rough-looking as some of the dead in the family room, but a sadness clung to him that was palpable. I also felt fear—not mine, thankfully. I wondered if spirits got worse-looking the longer they stuck around.
His eyes were sunken in his head and his skin was the papery texture I’d become accustomed to, but he still had some kind of strange vitality about him. He wasn’t missing any fingers that I could tell and everything looked pretty sturdy except his neck and head.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” I said, sitting down across from him and smiling. “I’m Daisy.”
“Joouuunnn,” he grunted.
“You can speak?” I asked, shocked and impressed.
The sound he made was similar to Sam’s. I couldn’t understand the ghosts in the family room, but this man, I could. Although to be fair, I hadn’t really sat down and had a one on one with any of my dead buddies yet.
“John?” I asked.
He nodded and averted his eyes.
He was decomposing, but not as much as Sam had or most of the others. I was grateful none of the ghosts had an odor. My gag reflex could only handle so much. His neck looked odd and his head wasn’t squarely on top of it. His suit and tie made me think he’d been some sort of professional when he was alive. It was ill-fitted, but he was dead. Nothing was quite right or normal with the deceased I’d experienced so far.
“Can you understand me?” I asked John.
“Yausssss,” he said, nodding carefully as if he was aware his head might drop off his body.
I appreciated that. I hadn’t glued a head back on yet and wasn’t really looking forward to it.
“Did you die recently?”
“Yausssss.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to think of other questions with one-word answers that could help me figure out his puzzle.
Realizing I was starving, I considered grabbing something to eat while I chatted with John. The thought of his head falling off and rolling around the kitchen floor made me wait. It might hurt his feelings if I puked. His sadness made me feel bad for him.
“Are you from around here?”
“Yausssss.”
The affirmative answer made me wonder if all the squatters were from around here. That was impossible. I had at least sixty in the house now. I would know if sixty people in my town had kicked the bucket. And Gram had said not all the dead needed help to move on. It was possible my uninvited guests were from parts all over.
“Here? In this town?” I asked.
“Yausssss.”
Interesting. Had anyone died recently? I hadn’t been to a funeral in…
Wait. I went to a funeral last freaking week. The banker who’d committed suicide that I didn’t believe was a suicide.
Was John that man? Did he really kill himself?
Well crap. There were consequences here that were potentially bad… for John.
Would John be sent to the darkness if he’d taken his own life? Suicide was a mortal sin according to religion that I still wasn’t sure I believed in. Should I even help him? Maybe staying here and just hanging out would be better than the darkness. I had TV and a nice house. There were lots of others like him… I mean, some would be moving on soon, but more were sure to show up. Maybe he could make some friends and be happy.
And maybe I was still batshit nuts.
I couldn’t play God—the very same entity that I’d denied most of my life. Did I still believe he didn’t exist? I wasn’t as sure.
“Umm… John? Are you the banker who passed a week ago?”
His head jerked up, and he grabbed it before it went flying off his body. His manners were terrific. The sound he made… not so much. A wail from the bottom of his soul came out of his mouth. Chills covered my body and I felt sick.
My guess was that I’d gotten his identity correct. Maybe he was mentally ill. It didn’t matter. John had some unfinished business. There was a chance I could help him and take away some of his pain. I recalled his wife. She was attractive and well put together—much younger, maybe in her thirties. After the service, I usually went up and wished the widow well. I was a widow myself. I knew what it meant to have people pay their respects. I remembered every single face from Steve’s funeral.
However, I didn’t speak to the widow at John’s funeral. It just didn’t feel right. There were so few people in the church, I just sat in the back and slipped out unseen. John’s funeral wasn’t a celebration of his life like Sam’s had been. It was a somber and odd experience.
Maybe he was upset about that.
Could I perform another funeral for him? Hells bells, I needed to talk to Gram. If I had to get ordained for this job, that was going to be an issue. I still had no clue what I believed in and what I didn’t. If John had been religious, it would be wrong to reenact a funeral for him.
“John, I need to ask you a few harder questions,” I told him.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“Is that okay?”
John nodded but kept his eyes down. God, his pain was so real.
“Did you commit suicide, John?”
“Naawwwooo,” he shouted and pounded the kitchen table with his fist. He hit the wood with such force, I was surprised his hand didn’t fly off. His eyes went wide and he bared his teeth like an animal. “Naawwwooo, naawwwooo, NAAWWWOOO.”
“Okay,” I said, touching his arm warily. “It’s okay. I believe you.”
John calmed and tried to tell me more. “Daaaaaggguh.”
“Dagg
er?” I asked, confused.
“Naawwwooo.”
“Daughter?” I tried again.
He shook his head no. I needed Donna.
“Donna, come in here please. I need some help,” I called out.
She trotted in and sat at my feet. She gazed up at John and wagged her tail. John’s excitement rose. It was horrifying and kind of scary, but possibly a good sign. I hoped.
“Daaaaaggguh,” he grunted, pointing at Donna and trembling like a leaf. “Daaaaaggguh.”
“Something about your dog?” I questioned, thanking my lucky stars for Donna.
“Yausssss. Daaaaaggguh,” he repeated, appearing both sad and angry.
“Got it,” I said, wondering what to do with this information. Something had clearly happened to his dog and he was upset about it. God, I hoped he hadn’t killed his dog. He didn’t seem like the type, but I reminded myself I didn’t know these people.
Glancing around the room, I looked to see if a ghost dog had shown up. Nope. No dog. I was going to lean to the side that he didn’t off his dog. I didn’t want to help anyone who would kill their pet, and I wanted to help John.
“Is your dog alive?” I asked carefully, getting ready to haul ass out of my kitchen with Donna if his answer made me doubt him.
He nodded and began to cry. Well, cry like a dead person. No tears came, but the body language was clear. The good thing was that the dog was alive.
“Where is the dog?” I asked and then winced. That was not a one-word-answer question. “Is it at your home?”
He shook his head no and then paused. Looking up at me, his lips began to move quickly. I couldn’t understand a thing.
“Slow down, John,” I insisted. “Tell me slowly. Maybe try to act out what you can’t say. Cool?”
He nodded jerkily and stilled.
“Daaaaaggguh,” he said.
“Yep. I got that part.”
John then pounded his fist on the table.
“Your dog got hit? Run over?”
Donna growled. I’d gotten it wrong.
“Try again,” I told him.
“Daaaaaggguh.” Again, he pounded his hand on the table.
It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book One Page 12
