Two Feet Under: The Mortician's Daughter, Book 2

by C. C. Hunter

  She ducks her head, her shoulders slump as if weighed down with guilt. “I work part-time for the school. There was only one new student named Riley. I know it was wrong to come here, but I wanted you to know that it was okay for you to visit Carter. I could swear his heartbeat picked up when you left.”

  It hits me that she obviously didn’t check the date I started school, or she’d realize his accident happened before I moved here. What if she figures that out? How the hell am I going to explain my visit then?

  “I’ll come see him,” I say, wanting her to leave before Kelsey shows up. How would I explain to my friend and Mrs. Carter how I know Hayden? Just being the mortician’s daughter puts me in the freak category. If people know I see dead—or almost dead—people, there’s no category for where they’ll put me.

  Except the insane one.

  Before I realize what she’s doing, Mrs. Carter crosses the threshold and hugs me. Hugs me so tight that everything inside me feels squeezed. My lungs. My heart. My confidence. I instantly feel claustrophobic.

  “Thank you.” Even her gratitude ups my oh-crap feeling.

  She drops her embrace, but I still feel her suffocating hug as I watch her hurry back to her car.

  Finally able to move—breathing will happen later—I shut the door. I lean against the wall, but what I want to do is collapse on the floor, curl up in a tight ball, and let myself cry.

  Pumpkin slinks over, lifts up on his hind legs, and gently puts his paws on my knee as if he senses his loyal owner is losing it. It’s that or he wants his Lucky Charms marshmallows I feed him every morning.

  I’m not finished with my panic attack when the doorbell rings again. This time I look through the peephole. Kelsey, with her dark hair, light olive skin, and green eyes, appears in the distorted fish-eye view.

  I open the door. “Hey.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her words cross the threshold before she does.

  “Nothing, why?” I’ve only just been run through an emotional meat grinder.

  “You look . . . like you just saw a ghost.”

  That phrase coupled with her tone has me wondering if she knows more than I want her to. “Nope. Haven’t seen one today.” I make light of her question, hoping she will too, then I step away from the door. She comes in.

  “You want something to eat or drink?” I head for the kitchen. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Just water.” She’s eyeballing me with skepticism. Does she really suspect I can see ghosts?

  I pull out a box of Lucky Charms and grab the milk and two water bottles from the fridge. Passing her a bottle, I sit down.

  “So?” She drops in a chair.

  I know she’s referring to my date last night. But I’m still debating what to tell her. I buy myself a few seconds by opening my water and taking a slow sip. She waits.

  “Nothing exciting.” I pour the dry cereal into a bowl, listening to it rattle into the ceramic dish as I count marshmallows spilling out.

  “Nothing?” She twists her Black Lives Matter bracelet around her wrist. Kelsey’s grandmother, Bessie, a spirit who I helped pass over, was half black. Rightly so, Kelsey’s proud of her heritage. Unfortunately, a guy she really liked in the past had an issue with her bracelet and what it stands for. I know it’s now part of the reason she avoids dating.

  “There has to be something.” Her grin widens.

  Pumpkin head bumps my calf. I drop a green marshmallow on the floor for him. “Nothing except . . .” I take another sip of water.

  “Except what?”

  I blurt it out. “I . . . I kind of called it quits.”

  Her brows knit together. “Quits on what?”

  “On the whole Jacob-and-me thing.”

  She stares all drop-jawed at me. “What did he do? Did he try to cop a feel? That jerk.”

  “No.”

  She looks ready to fight Jacob. Because she’s that kind of friend. Before we’d even started hanging out, she stood up to a bully for me and got herself suspended.

  “Did his dad stare at your boobs all pedophilic or something?”

  “God, no!” I roll my eyes and chuckle.

  “It happens.” She races onward. “Did he—?”

  “Nobody did anything wrong.” I pour milk in my cereal and watch the marshmallows bob to the top.

  “Uh-uh.” She snatches my bowl and pulls it over to her side of the table, leaving my spoon poised midair. “I’m holding your cereal hostage until you tell me what went down. And we both know you hate soggy cereal.”

  I relent. “You know how you just feel it. I mean when you think a guy is going to kiss you and it’s all you can think about, all you want. You hold your breath. Scared to move because it might not happen.”

  “Yeah.” Kelsey shifts closer.

  “I didn’t feel that.” I slump back in my chair.

  Kelsey’s jaw drops. “Whoa. But you said you kissed him Friday and it was great.”

  “It was, but last night all I wanted to do was come home. I think he likes me more than I like him, and I don’t think it’d be fair. There was even a girl there that was all into him. I could tell from the way she kept looking over at him. And the kicker is that I wasn’t jealous.”

  Kelsey looks shocked. “You’re nuts.”

  “Probably,” I say.

  “Was he, like, flirting with her?” She’s still digging for a reason. And there is one. Hayden.

  “No. In fact he said . . . He didn’t think she liked him because she liked . . . his friend Carter.” I feel the flush of jealousy and just hope she doesn’t pick up on it.

  Curiosity lights up her eyes, and I realize what I’ve done. I’ve reminded her of something I wish she’d forget. “You mean, the guy you sketched, claiming you dreamed about him.”

  Yeah, I’d sketched a picture of Hayden not knowing he was Carter, a kid from our school, and yesterday when Kelsey saw it . . . well, she recognized him and told me he was in a coma. Hence me being blindsided by the truth and the whole trip to the hospital.

  I grab my cereal bowl.

  Kelsey stares at her water bottle. “Did she have red hair?”

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  “He brought her to the football games a couple of times.”

  “Were they serious?” And if they were really dating, why isn’t she going to see him? Maybe I don’t like Brandy as much as I thought.

  “I saw them kissing, if that’s what you’re asking.” She pauses. “So . . . who else was there?”

  This is where I have to tell her about Dex. About Dex being with Michelle. I’m trying to find the right words when I hear Pumpkin howl as he darts out from beneath the table to hide under the sofa.

  I look down at my bowl and the thin sheet of ice forming over my milk.

  Crap!

  Kelsey glares up at the vents in the ceiling. “Did the air conditioning just come on?”

  Prisoner-ghost moves closer to Kelsey. Moving me closer to a nervous breakdown. I don’t look at him, but I feel his eyes on me. I see his orange jumpsuit behind my best friend. I feel his rage, his wrath, his desperation.

  “She’s going to die!” His words float in the air. “Are you going to let her die?”

  Now he’s threatening my best friend? I remember his ability to actually move things.

  Kelsey shivers. “We’re having the same problem at our house. It’s like the vent goes from heat to air conditioning in zero seconds flat.”

  I gotta get her out of here. “Cereal isn’t cutting my hunger. I want a hamburger!” I pop out of the chair, hoping Kelsey will do the same before prisoner-ghost tries anything.

  Chapter Four

  Thirty minutes later Kelsey and I are at a deli, doing burgers and fries and math homework. She never asked about the crazy cold front in my kitchen, or my frantic rush to leave my house. My gut tells me she’s going to bring it up.

  If not today, tomorrow, or the next day. And what the hell am I going to tell her?

&
nbsp; Considering she can feel the cold, she must be sensitive to spirits.

  That makes me think she’ll believe me. But what if me being some kind of extra-strong Velcro to the dead makes her scared to hang with me?

  My phone dings. It’s a text.

  Dad: Where are you?

  Me: Doing homework with Kelsey.

  He never texts back, so I’m assuming that means it’s okay.

  Thinking about arguing with him, thinking about him drinking has the hamburger in my stomach feeling like a lump of dead cow.

  “Your dad?” Kelsey asks.

  I nod.

  “Did he rake Jacob over the coals when he picked you up?”

  I realize I haven’t told her about that. So I spill about Dad not being there, about him not waking up when I got home and then calling Jacob.

  She leans back in the booth, commiserating with me. After I’m whined out, I ask her about her mom’s boyfriend being at their house.

  “He brought a suitcase with him.” Her tone mirrors her expression of disappointment. “Why can’t it just be her and me for a while?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Maybe you should tell her how you feel?”

  “And be devastated when she chooses some man over me again?” Hurt wraps around her words, and I feel it for her.

  “Parents suck sometimes, don’t they?”

  Kelsey nods. “Yeah.”

  We go back to algebra, which we both hate but is less painful than parents. In a minute, she looks up. “You never finished telling me about the party.”

  I know what she’s asking. I spill about Dex bringing Michelle. I was right. It hurts Kelsey. Oh, she never says that. She even chuckles. But I see it in her eyes. When I tell her what Jacob said about Dex liking her, she asks what Jacob was smoking.

  “I’ll bet if you flirted, just a baby flirt, Dex would respond.”

  She picks up a cold fry and points it at me. “You, who broke up with Jacob, one of the hottest boys in school, after one date, don’t get to give me relationship advice.”

  Her French fry goes limp. She shakes it. We both laugh. It’s not really funny, but I think we both need it.

  • • •

  An hour later, I pull up in the hospital parking lot. Broken-neck motorcycle guy is gone. I feel slightly guilty for ignoring him.

  As I walk toward the hospital I send up a quick prayer that Hayden’s mom isn’t here. I send up another that Hayden’s spirit is.

  The angry heart-attack guy is leaning against the building. But now he actually seems . . . serene. Peaceful. Did he work out his issues on his own, or did . . . someone help him?

  It strikes me then that there have to be others like me. Others who help them. If so, I’d love to connect with them. Ask a few questions, get some advice. Possibly learn to deal with spirits who could really hurt me or those I love.

  Perhaps find out where to turn in my resignation. Seriously, do they really trust a seventeen-year-old to get this right? Look how things went with Hayden.

  The barrel-chested spirit looks up. His eyes, a warm brown, meet mine. Not as if he wants something, but just a friendly greeting. Yesterday he scared me. Today he pulls a smile out of me.

  When he pushes off the wall and starts toward me, there’s no flinch, no fear. He follows me through the entrance doors. His calm, a blanket of serenity, envelops me. Then I see the colors surrounding him. Blues, greens, purples, and some colors I’m not sure I’ve ever seen.

  I realize he’s about to pass over. Did someone help him, just as I’ve helped others?

  The man moves a little closer. His cold hits, but it’s not exactly painful. It carries a sense of peace.

  “I was asked to give you a message.”

  “Who—”

  “He needs you,” the spirit says. “Don’t give up on him.”

  “Hayden?” I ask in a hospital-appropriate whisper.

  “Mr. Brooks.”

  I stop. “Who’s . . .”

  Light surrounds the man, making him look angelic. He vanishes in a swirl of colors and leaves me guessing who the heck Mr. Brooks is. And who the heck asked that ghost to give me a message?

  The frustration fades as fast as it came. A rush of goodwill fills my chest and lessens the fears I’d brought inside with me.

  As with Abby’s passing, I feel a sense of confidence. I look around to see if the person who helped this man is here to witness this. People are milling around, but everyone seems clueless to the miracle that’s just occurred.

  I move to the elevators. I’m inside with two women about my dad’s age. As the doors close, I see Ethel Burstein with her painted-on eyebrows and pink velvet sweat suit move in front of them. But they close before she enters.

  I hit the open-door button, but it’s too late. The elevator rises.

  “Did you need to get off?” one of the women asks.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Maybe I’ll see her on my way out. I start to push the button to the fifth floor, but I see it’s already lit up.

  The doors open, and we all three get out. I check my watch and see I have five minutes until visiting hours. I head to the family room and peer in, hoping Mrs. Carter isn’t here. She’s not. I realize the two women are right behind me.

  I step inside and sit down. There’s a crowd. I grab my phone to have something to focus on besides the grief in the room.

  “Did you talk to the nurse?” one of the women from the elevator, with longer hair and wearing a red jacket, asks the one with her.

  “Yeah. She said his blood pressure is dropping. Are we doing the right thing?” asks the shorter-haired one. “What would Mama tell us to do if she was still alive?”

  I keep my eyes on my phone and pretend I can’t hear.

  Red jacket reaches over and squeezes the other one’s hand. “Dad’s the one who filled out the living will. And it was just two weeks ago. He told me he didn’t want a feeding tube and insisted on the do not resuscitate order.”

  The other woman reaches into her purse for a tissue. “I swear it’s like they knew this was going to happen. Why would they just suddenly insist on a living will? Why didn’t we make him put in a carbon monoxide detector?”

  “We didn’t know, sis. Don’t take that on.”

  “I know, it’s just so hard to see him like this. I can’t stand knowing he’s suffering.”

  My heart swells with their emotion. I recall the peace I felt from Mr. Heart Attack. It seems apparent that death is harder on loved ones than it is on the dying. My mind goes to Hayden, and my heart suddenly feels too big for my chest.

  In a few minutes everyone moves toward the ICU doors. They click open, and we all walk in. As I move, I see the two women walk into the room with the placard reading Fred Burstein.

  I remember Ethel trying to get into the elevator. She must be their mom. I wish I’d stopped those doors in time.

  As I move around the corner to Hayden’s room, I see Fred standing there. He’s back to looking anxious, lost, and lonely. I smile at him. He forces a smile and starts walking as if he saw his daughters.

  I have a lump in my throat before I even walk into Hayden’s room.

  “You here?” My question fills the space as the sound of the ventilator continues to pump.

  No answer. No Hayden’s spirit. The confidence I experienced in the lobby goes up in smoke.

  I move to the bed. “Hey?” I touch his hand again. His skin is cold but feels dry. “Why won’t you come see me?” I speak low, unsure if someone can hear. “I really need to see you.”

  Footsteps echo behind me. I turn and see Mrs. Carter standing there. “You came. Thank you!” She steps inside the room.

  I smile, but awkwardness explodes in my chest. Then I see him. See Hayden behind his mom. He’s frowning big time. Even bigger than when he saw me with Jacob.

  “What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, accusing, hot to the ears. “Leave!”

  “No,” I say.

  “No what?”
Mrs. Carter asks.

  “No, I couldn’t stay away,” I say, thinking fast. “I wanted to see him.”

  “I’m sure he’s happy you came.” She moves in and sets a bag over on the counter.

  “I said leave!” His raised voice nearly makes me flinch.

  “Why?” My one word is nothing more than a whisper.

  “I don’t want you here!”

  “He looks good.” I focus on Mrs. Carter.

  “Don’t lie. I look pathetic.” He raises his palms up. “Please leave.”

  “Some days his color is better than others.” Mrs. Carter moves to the other side of the bed.

  “I wish I could talk to him. I wish he could come to my house.” It’s hard trying to talk to two people at a time.

  “Why? You don’t need me. You’ve got Jacob!”

  I grit my teeth. “That’s unfair!”

  “Nothing is fair about this.” Mrs. Carter straightens her son’s covers.

  “Go!” He stops right beside me.

  I realize he’s colder than before. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the pain of knowing he might really die.

  “He has to live. If he can fight. He can live.” My voice catches, and I touch his hand again.

  “That’s what I believe.” Mrs. Carter’s tone sounds unsure, and she looks at me kind of oddly.

  “Leave now!” Hayden’s voice rises. “Or I swear I’ll never talk to you again.”

  Right then my phone beeps with a text. While still touching Hayden’s hand, I pull my phone out with the other. There’s no text. But it beeps again. And again. And again. I realize Hayden’s doing it.

  Right then the beeping sound of the monitor starts going faster. Faster.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Carter says and looks at her son. “His heart never goes faster.” She touches his face. “Son. Are you waking up?”

  Hayden yanks his hand away from my touch.

  His mother sees it. “Oh, God. He moved.” She grabs the control on his bed and pushes for a nurse. “Nurse. Nurse, something is happening.”

  My phone continues to beep.

  “I should . . . go.”

  I walk out the door. I look back to see if Hayden is following me. When I don’t see him, I say, “You have to talk to me!”