“Yeah, because I would be helping you if I wanted you to die,” I counter, managing a grin I’m pretty sure just makes me look constipated. “I’m trying to help you because I don’t want you to die. Although, it seems I’m doing a pretty crappy job of it.”
Andy looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together in his lap. Whatever trace of a smile had been on his face before has vanished. He looks like he’s on the verge of telling me something important, but the words never come; he opens his mouth and sighs, blinking down at his fingertips.
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Now is really not the time to be talking about this; not now that I’ve just managed to convince him that I’m not a completely horrible person.
“Tell you what?”
I take a deep breath that passes right through me. I guess there’s no going back now.
“That you’re trans,” I say, wincing at the term. “You are trans, right? Or am I completely off base?”
A deep red blush creeps up his neck and into his cheeks. He tilts his head down at a sharper angle, hiding all but the messy fringe of his hair from my view.
“Does it change things? If I am?”
“Not really. But kind of, I guess.”
“Oh.” His voice is muffled by his mouth against the collar of his shirt. “Then yeah, I am. Sorry.”
“For what?”
He shakes his head, his hair rustling from side to side. He needs either a haircut or a better comb. Or a better friend who isn’t so judgemental – not that I’m trying to be. It’s just a lot of information to process all at once, especially with him right there looking all mopey and pathetic and making me feel tremendously guilty.
“Call it even,” I tell him. “You stop being mad at me, and I’ll take your secret to the grave. Although, technically I’m already in the grave. Somebody should come up with a better term for that.”
Andy looks up at me and smiles. “Who are you gonna tell, anyway? Your Grim Reaper friend?”
“Oh no, no way. Mellie doesn’t even know I’m here. Another thing we should keep to ourselves.”
The alarm clock on the right side of the bed chimes loudly, making Andy jump. It’s already time for school; wasn’t it daybreak just a few minutes ago? Andy leans over and slams his finger on the button on the top of the machine and it gives a low whine as it powers down.
Andy looks at me expectantly. “Permission to skip?”
I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Ugh. Fine. But only for today, okay? Your grades kind of suck and you really need to get out more. You’re as pale as a ghost – actually, paler, since I’m pretty sure I’m about ten shades darker than you are.”
Finally, a short chuckle that I can’t help but smile at. Andy plays with the hem of his shirt, a shy grin on his face. For someone who was so depressed when I was alive, as a ghost I seem to have a
talent for making people happy. Now if only I could do that for myself.
“I’ll just tell my parents I was home sick. They won’t care.” Something about the way he says this makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I bet no one will even notice I’m gone.”
“I would,” I say, too quickly to stop myself. “Just so you know.”
Something tells me he’s asking for reassurance. I never got that when I was alive, and look where I ended up. I don’t want to show up one day and find Andy’s body on his bedroom floor, bleeding out like I did. Or like Jared, or any of the other statistics we’ve become. Andy deserves better than that.
I don’t honestly think he’d ever go that far, but sometimes he gets a sad look in his eyes that’s all too familiar to me. I wonder if anyone ever noticed it in mine before it was too late.
Andy and I talk for the rest of the morning, slipping into an easy flow of conversation that makes me feel more comfortable than I have in years. I learn that he’s an only child, but I had already guessed as much, and that his parents both work at an accounting firm downtown. He’s home alone a lot, and his parents don’t really keep tabs on where he goes during the day. At least my dad cared – sure, he could be overprotective sometimes, but that’s better than ignoring his kids completely. No wonder Andy feels so comfortable being invisible.
“Mellie’s like the dictator of the ghost world,” I tell Andy, who watches me with wide eyes and pays such close attention I feel
like I’m under a microscope. “She’s pretty nice, but you can’t ask her anything, because she never gives you straight answers. She told me not to see you anymore because I’m dead and you’re not, and… it’s complicated. But she’s off with Reece right now, probably helping him learn to use his powers like she did with me. Not that we get that many cool powers; that part kind of sucks.”
“What kind of powers do you have? Besides being invisible to everyone but me and the whole ‘walking through walls’ thing?”
I grin and stand up, stretching my legs in the air just for show. There’s a closed mathematics textbook on Andy’s desk, and I float over to it, watching for Andy’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. Focusing my energy into my fingertips, I shove the book off of the table and onto the floor, where it lands loudly and falls open to a random page with a red and blue diagram on it. Andy gasps dramatically, and I’m pretty sure it’s more for my benefit than his.
“That’s so cool!” he says, a broad smile on his face. “That’s like what you did in gym class, isn’t it? With the volleyball?”
I had almost forgotten about the embarrassing situation that had made Andy angry with me in the first place. Here I am, thinking about how cool I must look with this super awesome power, when Andy’s already seen it. Ugh, I’m an idiot.
“Yeah, it is.” I try to pick up the textbook, but my fingers phase right through it. I think it’s easier to use my powers with the direction of gravity rather than against it. Andy sees me struggling and bends down, picking the book up with one hand and tossing it back onto his desk where it upends a scattered pile of papers.
“Can you do that with anything?” he asks, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. “Like, with people too? I’ve always wondered – ”
“No!” I cut him off, my voice so loud it echoes in the nearly empty room. “I can’t do that. I mean, I’ve never tried, but I can’t. Okay?”
Andy looks a little bit like he’s just been slapped. Guilt surges in my chest. “Is this another one of your rules?”
“Technically, it’s the rule,” I answer, trying to be as honest as I can without giving away too much. Andy doesn’t need to know that I could kill him with a single touch; if he did, he definitely wouldn’t want to hang around me anymore. “I’m not supposed to interfere. With anything, but especially with people.”
“Why?”
“Because I could get too attached. And I’m trying not to spend the rest of my existence stuck here, no matter what it may look like. Getting too comfortable could stop me from moving on. And trust me, I want to get out of here.”
A flash of hurt crosses Andy’s face, so quickly I almost miss it.
“That makes sense,” he says after a moment of silence. “What do you have to do to move on? Is that why you’re shadowing me?”
“God, no. I’m tailing you because it’s fun and I like you. I have no idea how to get to Heaven or Hell or wherever it is I’m going. Mellie told Reece that he might be stuck here because he
needs to make sure his mom can get over his death, but my family’s totally fine with it last I checked. They’re not even weepy or anything.”
“Yeah, but you died over a month ago. They probably cried a lot in the beginning. Who’s Reece, by the way?”
Andy swings his legs over the side of the bed, looking more content than upset about my earlier comment. I’m glad he can get over things so quickly – that might mean he won’t end up stuck when he does die. Although, I’m hoping that’s not for a very, very long time.
“He’s a guy that died yesterday
afternoon. His dad shot him and then put a bullet through his own skull. Mellie likes to try and help people get where they’re supposed to go after they die, but Reece is like me. So he’s gonna be here for a little while. Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday if Mellie decides to stop being a psycho and let me talk to you.”
“Great, more ghosts. That sounds like fun.”
I grin, floating on my back next to his bed. I like seeing Andy in his own environment, where he isn’t trying to shield himself from bullies and sink into his desk chair. I wish he felt comfortable talking like this at school.
Suddenly, Andy shoots me an odd look, his eyes narrowing. I stop hovering and float back down, my feet touching the floor.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound too concerned. Andy relaxes after a couple of seconds, but he still looks a little freaked out.
“Nothing,” he says, sighing. “It’s just… I couldn’t see you for a second. You flickered, and your hand… But I’m probably just tired. I can see you just fine now.”
He smiles at me, but it’s a little strained. I float back up into the air and try my best to distract him, but all I can think is, what the Hell? Why couldn’t he see me? I don’t feel any different; whatever just happened didn’t affect me at all.
Maybe Andy isn’t going to die after all, and he’s going to stop being able to see me entirely. I push the thought out of my mind and try to focus on the present. He can see me right now; everything is still okay. We’re both fine.
All too soon, the familiar tugging sensation grips at the inside of my stomach and pulls, hard, knocking me down to the floor where I just manage to keep from sinking through by grabbing at one of the legs of Andy’s desk.
“Terra?” Andy asks, concern on his face. “Are you okay?”
I nod, pulling myself back into a standing position. “Can’t exactly feel pain, can I?” Andy’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, but the look on my face is enough to stop him. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Where?”
“Someone’s dying. I get this, like, pull whenever it happens. I think it’s kind of like death’s calling card or something. Mellie always shows up after and does damage control. I don’t even know why I’m there, honestly.”
Andy stands, watching me walk backwards to the window.
“Does that happen every time someone’s going to die? You can feel it?”
My stomach feels like it’s being pressed on all sides by an invisible clamp; it’s not really painful, but it’s unpleasant enough to spur me into action.
“Yeah,” I answer, already halfway through the wall. I look back at Andy, who’s standing in the middle of his room with an uncertain expression on his face. “Why?”
“No reason.”
I barely hear him before I’m suddenly outside, floating across the street and in the direction of downtown. I think I might have made him sad, but I don’t know how and it’s too late to go back now.
Chapter Thirteen
To my surprise, I somehow end up on the edge of an empty cemetery in the middle of the afternoon. Not a single person is visiting; there are plenty of dead people around, but nobody’s dying. Why am I here? Did my ghost-sense screw up again like it did when I met Andy?
I wish there was a rule book somewhere on how to be dead – besides just the whole dying part. I feel like there’s still so much I don’t know, and Mellie isn’t offering up very much information. I never thought death would be so confusing.
The pull stops as soon as I reach the gates on the outside of the graveyard, with dark wooden fence panels on all sides. The grass is the dusty brown color of spring vegetation, and I can see a few plots of land that look like they’ve been dug up recently. One space is so new, it doesn’t even have a headstone yet. It’s chilling, like seeing so many deaths at once.
My body is in here somewhere. This city is just small enough to warrant having only two cemeteries – one downtown and one a
few miles away; I was buried in the one closest to my house. I remember the ceremony like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly been over a month by now. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the looks on people’s faces, the way my body was made up like a porcelain doll before being dropped six feet into the ground.
I float through the gate and towards the direction of my own grave. I haven’t been here since I was buried, but I remember that my body is just a few feet away from a headstone that looks like an angel, and across from a spindly old tree.
My headstone is a giant slab of marble with a cross carved into the top and my name, birth and death day underneath. I expect a witty quote or something meaningful engraved next to that, but the space is empty. Not even a loving daughter, gone too soon, or something sappy like that. Not that I mind, but… I kind of do mind, to be honest. I never got the chance to read my own obituary; I’d like to know what people really thought of me after I died.
A bundle of flowers rests on top of my grave – white roses and tiger lilies, my favorite. My sister must have been here recently, because she’s the only one with enough common sense to know the right thing to bring; my dad would have probably brought tulips or something. The flowers look fresh, even though they aren’t in any water. I must have just missed Olivia’s visit. Part of me wishes I had been there.
I look around at the nearby headstones, and I find my mother’s name three plots away on a large white cross. Grass has grown thick and wild over her grave, and tiny flowers are budding on either side. I chuckle to myself – tulips; of course.
I touch my mother’s headstone, realizing I’ve never been here before. She’s been dead for nearly six years, and never once can I remember visiting her grave. My sister did, and my father must have too. Where was I? Was I too absorbed in my own depression to notice what was going on around me? My own family was suffering too, and all I thought about was myself. That’s all I’m still thinking about.
For the first time since I died, a flicker of doubt flares in my mind. Would it have made a difference if I had lived? Would it have mattered? I guess I’ll never know.
Sitting down between the two graves, I watch as two more people come to deliver flowers. One of them is a child, sobbing into his mother’s shirt; they lay a bouquet of yellow roses down on a freshly turned patch of dirt and frown down at it, speaking so quietly I can’t hear them.
Why did the pull lead me here? At first I think I might be here for the mourners – but I really hope I’m not. They pay their respects and drive away without incident, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I remember Mellie telling me something about finding closure; she said that a particularly strong pull would lead me to where I need to be, and the rest is up to me. Is this a hint about how I can move on? I don’t know if I was led to my mother’s grave or my own. Maybe I’m like Reece, and I have to let go of my mother to move on. But I can barely remember her, and if I haven’t visited her in five years, how much did she really mean to me? Not enough to keep me here, clearly.
Then it’s me, my grave. A sinking feeling in my chest tells me that I have to find closure about my death in order to move on. I’m going to be stuck here forever, in other words.
And then there’s Andy. The pull that lead me to him was much stronger than this one, and I had thought that it just meant he was going to die that much sooner. But maybe he’s a part of all of this. Just because Mellie made a mistake and accidentally took someone’s life doesn’t mean I’m going to. I might be here to help Andy somehow. Will saving him prove my worth enough for me to go to Heaven? Or was I damned the moment I picked up the knife that ended my life?
The wind blows through the empty tree branches, the tangled brown grass shifting against the gravestones. It’s early Spring. When did my mother die? I can’t remember. Nothing about her seems familiar to me.
I sit in the damp dirt for what feels like hours before Mellie and Reece come to get me. I have no idea how they know where I am, but Mellie seems to know everything, and I
’ve stopped questioning how. Mellie sits on the edge of a newly-dug plot of land and Reece floats next to me, keeping his balance surprisingly well. He looks a lot calmer, but his mouth is still fixed into a frown that crinkles the skin around his eyes. It makes him look older.
“Are you buried here?” I ask Mellie, even though I’ve already looked at most of the headstones and never once saw her name. She shakes her head, folding her hands together in her lap.
“No. I didn’t die here.”
“Why are you here then? Did you die before this place was built or something?” Truthfully, I have no idea when this cemetery was built, so I can’t say for certain how old Mellie is, but she’s already told me that she’s been stuck for at least a decade. That’s makes her super old. All I can picture when I think about her age is my great-grandmother, who died when I was eight; she was a short lady who walked with a stoop and had the same curly white hair I imagine all old people get. Mellie with a walker and white hair would be pretty hilarious.
Okay, so she’s not that old. She’d probably be closer to my dad’s age if she was still alive. But it’s still funny to imagine her as a little old lady – it takes some of the solemnity out of this place.
“I’m twenty-five, technically. You can’t really age once you’re dead, you know?”
“Then I’m stuck being sixteen forever? That’s not fair. I won’t even reach the legal drinking age.” I try to put on my best pout, but my banter with Mellie usually makes me feel more content than anything else. It’s nice to forget my problems and talk like I’m with a friend for once. I never had this when I was alive.
“That’s really your fault, though, isn’t it? Should have thought of that before you went and killed yourself.”
Reece is looking back and forth between Mellie and I with a shocked expression on his face. Apparently not everyone has the same sense of humor about death as we do. I think it’s just something you get used to after a while. I remember being so afraid
Death in Spades Page 10
