Deadgirl

by B. C. Johnson

  Glass cracked above my head, and I screamed again. The noise doubled and then popped, and I felt something wet and warm slide down my neck, just below my ears. The world became muffled, wrapped in cotton.

  The truck jumped, and my head slammed into the dashboard. A bright lance of pain. My vision darkened, flickered, and came back. Old mummified papers and refuse flew out of the glove box and rained down onto me. Another crack as something rammed the window. I couldn’t see. The blinding light in the cabin flashed with every movement.

  And then, Puck went to sleep. My mouth dropped open. He even put his head on his folded hands, the international pillow pantomime. His eyes flashed open, and I understood. Not run. Leave. Shift over. Go home.

  I’d never done it without either the sea or the rising sun. If anytime was a good time to try, this was it.

  “Puck! I’ll die. I know I’ll die.”

  Puck’s eyes shot wide open.

  “I’m so cold…I don’t know what to do.”

  Puck made a hamburger gesture and bit into it. Then he mimed a deep breath.

  “What—?”

  The window exploded. Shards of glass buried into the seat, bounced off the back wall. A bright line of fire tore across my cheek.

  A white shaft of brilliant light lanced above me and hit the seat. No. An arm. It reached for Puck.

  “No!”

  Puck closed his eyes and was gone. Just gone.

  The arm grabbed the steering wheel and ripped it out of the column. A cry of rage, dampened by the cotton in my ears, tore through the cabin. Then the hand reached for me.

  I closed my eyes.

  The noise stopped. The sound of tearing metal stopped.

  I opened my eyes in the intersection of Gilbert and Broadway. An icy spear of cold ripped through my body, stole my breath and my strength.

  Two headlights streaked towards me. I couldn’t get up. I didn’t even have time to untangle my legs when the car hit me.

  Chapter Eight

  Payments

  I could make out the Buick logo on the hood of the car as it hit me.

  I felt no pain. I appreciated that. I knew when I opened my eyes I wouldn’t be on the grey shore. And I wouldn’t be in the intersection anymore either. I’d be somewhere white, I hoped, or even somewhere black if it was peace—

  A squeal, then a sickening crunch. Metal twisting, being torn apart.

  I’d come back to the truck. No!

  I snapped my eyes open, but I hadn’t left the intersection at all. Broadway stretched out away from me, empty in the late hours. The glow of orange streetlights in the gloom. A distant traffic signal in another intersection sliding from green to yellow to red. Two red dots—brake lights, a mile away.

  The crunch was behind me. I looked down at myself. Nothing. Well, nothing but two black streaks of newly burnt rubber perfectly framing my legs on either side. I didn’t go under that car. It should have hit me.

  I spun on my knees. The Buick was wrapped around a telephone pole. I rolled to my feet, but my muscles didn’t cramp, not like before. I’d never been so cold in my entire life—it sucked at me, pressing greedy lips to my neck, taking my life. My fingers felt only a dull ache. My legs were numb, my nose, my ears.

  It didn’t matter. I ran toward the car with the knowledge that I’d likely gotten some poor man killed. I ran to the door and looked in the window. I pictured infants, nuns, grandmas. But just one man in his late-thirties, slumped over the steering wheel. A limp airbag draped the wheel like a tired ghost. The man’s back moved. He was breathing.

  I grabbed the door handle—

  No. The door didn’t open.

  “What…?” I mumbled, and looked down.

  I grabbed for the handle. My hand went right through the handle, the door, and swung out in a lazy arc. I tried again, grabbing straight out, but my hand disappeared in the door. I felt nothing.

  “No!”

  My hand slipped through the door like it was smoke three more times before I fell to my knees.

  “No…”

  The man groaned. Just a rasp.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The man looked up, one eye lolling, the other covered with blood. A gash in his forehead leaked a long streak of red across his face. I felt tears slide down my cheek, turning to ice halfway down. He looked okay, I realized. He wasn’t going to die.

  “…where…”

  He mumbled more, but I couldn’t make it out. But when he spoke, I felt something. Heat, just a trickle at first. I pushed my face closer to the window, watching him move, my eyes wide. What? I could smell him, but more importantly, I could feel him. He felt like a guttering campfire, or a fireplace in another room. Just the barest hint of it made my skin tingle. For just a moment, I felt the very tips of my fingers…my legs. Just a ghost.

  I tried to open the door, stabbing the air with useless hands. They swept through the door, stirring nothing.

  “Come on! Come on!”

  Something warm and energetic cracked through my body like a lightning bolt. The rush of power flew out of me just as quickly.

  The door flew open, slicing right through me with no effect. It cracked against the fender of the car and stayed open, twisted on its hinges. At the same time, an icy wind whipped at me, plunged me into numbness. I looked down.

  I could see the road through my legs now. Transparent.

  So cold.

  I moved closer to the groaning man, and the heat baking from his body made me shiver. He had a wife named Maria. She wasn’t beautiful, not on the outside, but she glowed inside. She was a perfect mother, but bad with money. I knew she hated peas but loved liver. He…Kent made fun of her for it.

  No, not that.

  I touched his hand, really touched it. I didn’t pass through him, but settled my icy fingers on his skin. He jerked under my touch, and his skin burned against mine.

  I thought of Puck.

  Kent had a little brother once. A little brother who had died in a flood. So long ago.

  No. I can’t.

  Do it.

  I clamped my fingers around Kent’s wrist and took a deep breath. His heat flowed up my arm, blasting away the cold, warming everything with a honeyed thickness. Up my shoulder, across my chest, down my legs. My feet, my legs, my nose and my ears and my cheeks. My tongue. I took another deep breath, and the curtain of heat drew itself around me. I was submerged in it, drowning.

  Kent screamed.

  I ripped my hand away from his wrist and fell backward. I landed hard on my butt, and a lance of pain rocketed up my tailbone. I was solid. And…oww, solid hurts.

  Kent slumped back, his mouth open, his eyes wide. A band of black encircled his wrist, and the skin halfway up his arm was blue.

  “Kent! Sir!”

  I leaped to my feet and ran to him. Warmth filled every inch of me. My head swam like I’d drunk a pot of coffee. I shook him, and he moaned. Oh thank God.

  I dug through his pockets and pulled out a tiny black cell phone. I went into his contacts and hit “M.” Maria’s name popped up. I hit the button and pressed the phone to my ear.

  A voice picked up. Groggy, muffled, but aware.

  “Maria, Kent has been in a car accident. I’m so sorry. I—I’m so sorry.”

  “What? What are you saying? Who is this?”

  Her voice rose hysterically. She was awake now.

  “Corner of Broadway and Gilbert. Call the police.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry. Call an ambulance. I’m so sorry.”

  I shut the phone and tucked it into his hand. I waited with him, trying not to touch him. What had I done to him? Whose life had I ruined? Did I kill him? Could I?

  When I heard sirens, I ran faster than I’d ever run my whole life. The warmth coated every muscle.

  I closed my mind as I ran. I didn’t think of how I got to the intersection. I didn’t think of the cold, I didn’t think of my hand sliding through a car door. I didn’t think of
my transparent legs. I didn’t think of Kent’s little brother. I didn’t think of Maria, digging through her clothes, putting on mismatched shoes, anything she could find. Digging through her desk for keys, groggy, flying out of her house in the middle of the night. Worried that her love was dead.

  If he was, I killed him.

  I didn’t think of any of those things.

  My house wasn’t far, but Morgan’s was closer. I was miles from my place, but she lived just around the corner. I reached her apartment, threw open the gate to the complex, and sprinted up the stairs.

  My fist paused just inches from the door.

  What do I say? What could I possibly say to Morgan and her mom, Cheryl?

  I was coming apart. I put my hands, nearly glowing with heat, against my eyes. Deep breaths.

  I had no excuses, no explanations.

  I pounded on Morgan’s door. After the third time, the door flew open.

  Cheryl stood in the doorway, wearing only a flimsy nightgown she might have been too embarrassed to come to the door with if she hadn’t seen me through the peephole. She had that aging beauty-queen look to her, like Morgan after twenty-five more years and a thousand cigarettes. Her face broadcasted both confusion and fear.

  “Lucy…what…”

  “I need a ride home. I know…actually I don’t know what this looks like. And I…have no explanation. I just need. I want to go home. Can you give me a ride home?”

  Only when she reached out to wrap me in a hug did I realize I was shaking. My sobs racked my whole body, but I didn’t notice it until I crushed myself against her steady shoulder. My face was soaked with tears. She whispered motherly nothings into my ear, promising that everything would be okay, that everything was okay. Her breath smelled like smoke, but it was wonderful. Her nightgown smelled like lilacs.

  I took in a deep breath, and a trickle of warmth slid into my lungs. I saw her next to her boyfriend, Andy, in her bed. Just sleeping, pulled against each other in the night. Another wave of heat drifted through me.

  “No!” I choked, throwing myself away from her.

  “Lucy?”

  I held up my arms in defense, trying to keep her away.

  “Stay back…I don’t want to hurt anyone,” my voice broke. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Cheryl’s skin stretched against her thin bones. In the late hours, she looked even more fragile.

  “I don’t understand. Lucy, it’s okay. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

  I snorted, a mixture of a laugh and a sob. I felt snot, I felt tears. I was sobbing uncontrollably now. My legs gave out. I sank against the wall, falling to my knees. I heard noises, and when I looked up Andy and Morgan both stood in the doorway. Morgan pushed past them both and crouched next to me. She pulled me against her, and I let go.

  “I’m so sorry…”

  She held me against her, kissing my head, dragging her fingers through my hair. Morgan was insanely warm—I could picture her in those wool pajamas, wrapped under her electric blanket. I looked up at her, still hiccupping, still shaking. She’d just woken up, her hair stuck out at odd angles, and her eyes were puffy and dark.

  She still looked gorgeous. I sighed, trying to calm myself. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cheryl and her boyfriend make a quick but awkward exit. They exchanged a look before turning and disappearing into the shadows of the darkened apartment.

  “What’s going on, Luce?” Morgan asked me. She was calmer than I would have expected. I loved her right then.

  “I don’t know.”

  When she saw that I had no more to say just yet, she coaxed me to my feet and led me into the house. She sat with me, holding me, letting me cry my guts out. When the final few shudders stopped, a good ten minutes later, we talked.

  It took a little convincing to stave off the obligatory parent phone call, but I explained that they had no idea I was gone, would have no idea I was gone, and likely were deep asleep. I won the argument by having Morgan pull out her phone, which hadn’t missed a single call. If I disappeared and my parents knew it, they’d call her first.

  “You couldn’t go one week without becoming another Unsolved Mystery?”

  She was only half joking. Her lips were smiling, but her puffy eyes were small and flat. The kind of tired that had nothing to do with the hour. Speaking of which.

  “What time is it?”

  I rubbed my eyes and scanned the living room for a clock. Almost everything had been shut down, and no little green lights told me what time it was.

  “Two-thirty, I think,” she said.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I didn’t plan this.”

  “Didn’t plan what, Luce? What’s going on?”

  I didn’t know where to start. If I should start. What could I say to her that wouldn’t make me look insane? Then again, when had I ever kept anything from Morgan? She’s my girl, my BFF. The only time I’d kept anything from her was the time I’d gotten so sick in the fifth grade that I hadn’t been able to make it to the bathroom at school. When she asked why I’d been taken home by my mom halfway through the day, I said I’d blown chunks on the bathroom sink. Trust me, it was worse than that.

  “Lucy?”

  I looked up at her, my eyes wide. I’d begun to spiral into my own head, where the nonsense lived. Something had to be wrong with me, I decided. I’d been thinking about Batman and shoe shopping when I had died, and minutes after I almost killed a man I couldn’t stop thinking about the fifth grade incident. I clutched my hands to my face, digging my fingertips into my cheeks. I knew I was on the edge of hysteria, but the manic energy crackled through my arms and scored my spine. It made me jittery, terrified, and oddly light.

  “Lucy,” Morgan said. She took my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. I didn’t fight her. “My mom is going to take you home, okay?”

  “She’ll tell…”

  Morgan smiled and kissed my forehead again. I collapsed into her, and she held me until I stopped quaking.

  “I don’t know how, but I won’t let her,” Morgan said. “I’ll just owe her for the rest of my life, I guess.”

  My lips became something like a smile.

  “I owe you,” I said.

  “Count on it. But you can pay me off easy, Luce.”

  “What?”

  “Not now, but…you have to tell me what’s going on,” she said. “You have to let me help.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to smooth it out, tried to suck the air over the gasping hitch in my voice.

  “I’ll tell you,” I said, and my stomach lurched. “Just…just not tonight.”

  Morgan nodded. “Okay. Deal?”

  I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to say anything. My legs felt watery, and my stomach roiled. I’d just agreed to tell my best friend that I was insane. The worst part? I’m not even sure if I was wrong to do it. I knew there would be no lie I could put together that would, or could, explain all the myriad weirdness that had kicked down the door of my boring but happy life. Telling her what I thought I knew would be the only way.

  Ugh. I leaned over and breathed evenly and steadily until my stomach quieted.

  “Gonna vomit?”

  I shook my head, pulling long tugs of air deep into my chest.

  “Yes you are.”

  I nodded.

  She grabbed me by the shoulders and ran me to the bathroom. She even held up my hair when I threw up. By the time I cleaned up, which she thankfully didn’t help me out with, Morgan and her mom, Cheryl, were already standing in the kitchen. Cheryl wore a long coat over her nightgown, and her keys dangled from one hand.

  “Lucy,” she said. “I don’t like this.”

  “Mom,” Morgan said. Clearly her mom was breaking some agreement.

  “I’m sorry, baby, but…” Cheryl turned to me. “I don’t like this.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Veers,” I said. “It’s not fair to ask you not to tell them. It’s just…I need some time, that’s all. Just time
to figure this out.”

  She sported the look that I’d begun to despise, a look I had no defense against. A look of pity mixed with a look of…what? Fear, maybe? Or relief? The knowledge that someone you know has gone crazy, and the secret underlying relief that it isn’t you.

  But I had no defense, because I’d earned it. Ten times over I’d earned that look.

  “Lucy Day,” Cheryl said. “If the cops find you in a ditch or in some rusted out car…tell me how that won’t be my fault?”

  I felt the tears again. Stop it. Stop it, you stupid girl. I sighed to steady myself, squared my shoulders, and looked her in the eye.

  “I don’t have…it’s not like that. I don’t have a death wish or whatever you’re thinking.”

  This time Morgan spoke. I don’t think she could help herself.

  “Then what is it?”

  Funny story, actually, Ms. Veers. When I sleep, I get beamed like Captain Kirk to a spooky beach with monsters and nice old mute men—oh, and this is weird—how far I travel in this imaginary place corresponds to how far I travel in real life. Also I’m dead and I partially ate a car crash victim.

  “I don’t know.”

  Another lie. An understandable one, I think, but another lie. You’re getting better at least, Lucy.

  I felt the warmth in my eyes, the wet feeling of a puddle of tears clinging to my eyes, getting ready to rain. No. Stop.

  I sneaked through the back door of my house—it was always open, because Mom was a ditz. I expected Mom and Dad to be sitting in the arm chairs in the living room, with the lights off, getting ready to bust me and ground me forever. It didn’t happen. They were asleep.

  God bless Morgan’s cool mom for the benefit of the doubt.

  I went up to my bedroom and tore off the clothes that were making it feel like a sauna. I laughed at myself as I jumped into bed. I kicked off the huge quilt, pulled the thin sheet over my bare legs, and sat back against my headboard. Just hours ago, in that bed, I’d been praying for just a hint of warmth. Now I found myself half-naked and still sweating like a…well, like me in a Calculus class.

  The sheet began to cling muy grossly to my sweat-soaked legs, so I kicked it off in a fit of extreme tantrum.