Soul Insurance

by Glenn Bullion

  "Connor, please!" the soul was shouting. "I need your help!"

  "Alright, alright," he said. Connor pushed a chair out so the soul could sit. "Just please, stop yelling."

  The spirit moved to the chair, its light across from Connor's head. "Wow, I can't believe this. A person who can actually hear spirits."

  "Yeah, I'm a riot at parties. What can I do for you?"

  "My name's Jay. I was in the woods the other night with those crazy kids. Ryan said we should leave you alone for a few days, but I really can't wait."

  Connor tried to hide his disappointment. He didn't think helping Tommy and his sister Lindsay would lead to spirit house-calls. He liked to think he was a good person, but being solicited by spirits was the one thing he tried to avoid in his life.

  "Well, I did get stabbed in the shoulder, so playing errand boy for spirits wasn't exactly on my list—"

  "It's just a phone call. I wouldn't ask unless it was very important. My brother Mark is getting married to someone he really shouldn't."

  Connor paused a moment as a flight attendant walked past. "And a phone call from me will fix that?"

  "When he hears what I have to say, it will."

  "Okay, let's go find a phone."

  "You don't have a cell phone?"

  "Nope."

  "That's weird."

  He laughed. "Talking to spirits is normal, but not having a cell phone is weird?"

  "You've got a point there."

  They found the closest phone. Connor drew glances, as he always did, at the odd sight of a spirit floating next to a person like they knew each other. He shoved his loose change in the slot and dialed the number Jay recited.

  "Hello?"

  "Is this Mark?"

  "Yeah, who's this?"

  Connor repeated what Jay said next to him. "You're not the father of the baby. You need to confront Tina, one of Kathy's friends."

  "What? Who is this?"

  He hung up and turned to Jay. "That's it? You don't need me to go over and interrupt a wedding, like in the movies?"

  "No. I'm sure you can put the clues together. Basically Kathy, his fiancée, is not a nice woman."

  Connor held up his hand, not needing to hear any more. "I've seen enough Jerry Springer in my life to know the story."

  "I really appreciate this. I saw that idiot stab you, and I know the last thing you want is to be bothered by a spirit."

  "No problem, happy to help."

  "Okay, well, I think I'm gonna go check out the fireworks. It'll definitely be an interesting conversation at my brother's house. Thanks again."

  "Don't mention it. You take it easy."

  Jay slowly faded out in front of him, teleporting to his next destination. Connor leaned back against the wall. A strange feeling crept over him. He actually felt satisfied, like he'd accomplished something. He wasn't put in the middle of an awkward conversation between mother and daughter, and didn't get poked in the shoulder. But he did help someone. If all requests for help from spirits were like Jay's perhaps he wouldn't be as resistant.

  *****

  The rest of Connor's workday went smoothly. His shoulder felt stiff, but that was nothing a quick dinner and some time at the apartment couldn't fix. He saw the glow under the door before he unlocked it, and looked at the soul hovering in the living room.

  "Ryan, what's up?" he said, and frowned at the TV. "Ah, crap. I forgot to leave the TV on for you. Sorry about that."

  The spirit said nothing as Connor crossed the living room and went straight for the fridge. He grabbed a soda and stick of cheese to munch on. The spirit didn't move from the living room, hovering just behind the couch.

  "Ryan? You alright?"

  Finally, the spirit moved a few feet and spoke.

  "Dude, we need to have a talk."

  Ryan's tone caught him off guard. Connor's best friend was seldom serious. He enjoyed the afterlife to the fullest, always traveling, always something interesting going on.

  "Alright," Connor said, kicking his shoes off and sitting. "You didn't get a woman pregnant, did you?"

  Ryan chuckled, moving through the couch and settling over a cushion. "Don't even bring up sex, man. The few times I sleep it's all I dream about."

  "Yeah. Me, too."

  "At least you've got a nice, living body to do something about it."

  "Well, you should have taken swimming lessons."

  "Ah, one more drowning joke. I sure will miss those."

  "Why is that? You going somewhere?"

  "Actually, yeah, I am."

  "Another of your crazy vacations?"

  "Not exactly."

  Connor said nothing. He had a guess as to where the conversation was going.

  "It's time, man. My sister and her husband in Minnesota are trying to have a kid. And if they do, it needs to have my soul."

  "So, it's time for reincarnation."

  "I think so. It can't be some random soul. It has to be me. I'll try to visit here when I can, but I want to hang out with her, check out her life, see what I missed when I died."

  "I understand. I didn't think I'd have the coolest spirit around as a friend forever."

  "You're damn right. I am the coolest."

  Connor felt a pain in his chest. He didn't have many friends over the years. Friendships weren't easy when he had to keep part of himself hidden away. Ryan had put him at ease somewhat, showed him that he could still have a friend as different as he was.

  "Are you okay?" Ryan asked. "Don't cry on me, man, or I'll smack you."

  "I'm cool. It's just, like you said, who's gonna keep the excitement going now?"

  "You can talk to spirits. It doesn't get more exciting than that."

  Connor's eyes went wide as a thought struck him. He nearly howled with laughter.

  "What's so funny?"

  "You're gonna have to watch your sister have sex. That just sounds like so much fun."

  "Oh, man. I didn't think about that. Screw that, though. I'll just hang around in the next room."

  "Ryan, the sister-sex-spy."

  "Shut up. That's not cool."

  The friends laughed for a moment. Connor didn't know what to say. He was trying his best to keep his emotions in check.

  "Thanks," Ryan said. "Thanks for making this past year fun."

  "Happy to give purpose to your afterlife."

  "Okay, well, off to Minnesota I go. Take it easy, man."

  Ryan slowly faded away. Connor kept the smile locked on his face until he was gone. The apartment was suddenly quiet, more so than it'd been in a long time. The only sound was the dancer in the apartment below practicing her moves.

  Connor took a deep breath. He didn't normally get upset over his solitary life, but he'd miss Ryan, and that bothered him. He was in the unique position of missing people when they died, and also their spirits when they moved on.

  It was another hour or so before the ballgame started. He turned on the TV and went to the kitchen to make dinner.

  *****

  "Excuse me? Lady?"

  Brooke stirred at the voice above her. Her hearing came into focus before her vision. The sounds of the morning were all around her, a dog barking in the distance, traffic on the road not far away. She opened her eyes to see an older man standing above her, dressed in a shirt and tie with a cap on his head. She could see through him to the blue sky above.

  "Are you okay?" he asked. "I was just passing through, and thought I saw someone down here."

  Brooke slowly climbed to her feet. "Where am I?"

  The old man shrugged. "Ah, afraid I don't know this area too well. Looks like something bad happened here though."

  Memories flooded back as Brooke's gaze fell on her apartment building. It was completely ruined. Glass was everywhere, and she saw what was left of people's lives through the broken windows. A reporter stood on the sidewalk near the parking lot with her cameraman.

  "Why are you wearing a nightgown?" he asked.

  Lifting her han
ds in front of her, she knew exactly what she'd see. She still gasped as she wiggled her fingers, staring directly through them.

  "I…think I died."

  "Of course you did, honey. I wouldn't be able to talk to you otherwise." The old man looked back to the apartment building, putting the clues together. "Oh, no. Did you die here? Did you live in one of these apartments? I hope you have that soul insurance I keep hearing about."

  She tried to answer, but could only manage a nod of the head. The morning breeze whistled around her, yet didn't move her nightgown or hair. She felt a tear running down her cheek, but when she went to wipe it there was nothing there.

  "Aw, young lady, I'm so sorry. I can only imagine the shock you're going through. I remember when I died like it was yesterday. But laying on the grass isn't gonna make you feel any better."

  A moment of silence passed. Brooke had no words. The news reporter continued to speak into the camera, and Brooke overheard the words faulty wiring.

  "I wish I could stay and give you a quick tour, but my great-great-granddaughter is getting ready to have her first child. I definitely don't want to miss that. So, good luck to you."

  Her jaw dropped as he flew away. He didn't bother jumping or getting a running start. He simply lifted into the air over the apartments and soared. His clothes didn't move, nor the cap on his head.

  Brooke studied her surroundings. Everything looked exactly as it should. She wasn't in the middle of a terrible dream. Familiar cars were in the lot. Miss Smith, a neighbor in the building across from hers, walked her dog Spanks, shaking her head sadly as she passed by. The fire hydrant nearby still had a red X on it, a result from the local kids and a can of spray paint.

  The only thing different was she saw no souls.

  In place of the typical spheres of light were apparitions, like she'd seen the night before. A man and woman stood side by side in the middle of the parking lot, talking and staring at the ruined building. Looking up to the sky, she could make out human shapes flying.

  She approached the reporter. The woman didn't make eye contact at all. Brooke leaned toward the cameraman, stopping just a few inches away from his face. He glanced at her, only for a moment, before focusing on the reporter once again.

  "Go away," he hissed. "We're live here."

  She backed away and waved her hand in front of the camera. Neither the reporter or the cameraman flinched. It was only when she dipped her head in the shot that the reporter forced a laugh.

  "Looks like we've got a playful soul here this morning, folks."

  "Can you hear me?" Brooke asked, lowering her head when they didn't respond. "Of course you can't. I'm dead. I'm a soul."

  "Hubba hubba!" a voice shouted above her.

  She looked up to see a man flying. He moved in a figure-eight pattern, keeping his eyes on her the entire time.

  "Nice nightgown, sexy. You want to go on a date?"

  She scowled at him as he flew away, and took note of her sleepwear. How was she supposed to change clothes?

  The reporter finished her story and the cameraman relaxed. The sharp-dressed woman glared at Brooke, and for just a moment she thought the reporter was looking into her eyes.

  "Nice job ruining the shot there," she said, and looked at her partner. "Probably a diva when it was alive."

  "Screw you," Brooke said. "I'm a she, not an it."

  "Yeah," the cameraman said. "It flew right near my ear. Talk about no personal space."

  Brooke gave the duo a middle finger as they walked to their van and packed up. She turned to her apartment, a heavy sadness settling in her chest. Never again would she sleep in her own bed, watch TV, run on the treadmill, get a drink out of the fridge. She was twenty-two years old, and her life was over.

  A shadow moved across her living room.

  Her breath caught in her chest. As she continued to stare into her apartment, watching for the shadow, she realized she was actually breathing. She could feel everything as if she were alive. Her arms, legs, eyes, everything was still there. Her body went through the motions of breathing and blinking, even though she exhaled nothing.

  When the shadow didn't appear again Brooke gathered her courage and cut across the grass, heading for the front door of the building. It was a walk she repeated countless times before, but it felt different. Everything she did from now on would feel different.

  She instinctively reached for the handle on the door, and her hand passed through the metal. Surprise overtook her, although she knew that was the last thing she should feel.

  "Okay, you've seen spirits do this a million times," she told herself. "You can do this."

  Brooke reached out slowly and ran her hand along the door. She felt the texture of the wood, but her fingers felt no resistance as she slowly pushed them through. Reaching in up to her elbow, she could feel the space on the other side.

  "Here goes nothing."

  She closed her eyes and jumped through the door. Standing still for a moment, she risked opening one eye. She was on the main landing of her apartment building. The mailboxes were to her left with the flight of stairs leading up.

  The strong scent of smoke touched her nose, another sensation that caught her by surprise. She had no idea souls could smell.

  She started toward the steps, and stopped, letting her foot hang in mid-air. Could she even walk on steps? Would her feet pass through them?

  The cold metal sent goosebumps up her leg as she placed her bare foot on the first step. It held her with no trouble, although there was no sound, no metal creaking. Taking a deep breath, she ran up the stairs to the next landing, afraid she'd fall through at any time. Walking up stairs didn't seem to be much of a challenge, but she decided to keep the same tactic, and sprinted up the remaining flights.

  The door to her apartment was open. She tried to steel herself before stepping inside, but no amount of preparation would have helped her.

  Her home, the place she'd spent the past three years, was dead. Just like her. The couch was nearly burnt down to the wooden frame. The walls, once a soothing beige, were now black. There were missing patches in the carpet. A hole in the floor near the kitchen showed a similar scene in the apartment below.

  Brooke heard a quiet sound coming from her bedroom. It almost sounded like sniffling.

  She took her time walking down the hall. Part of her was still afraid each step would end up with her falling through the floor. Turning into her room, she saw a familiar blonde sitting in the corner.

  "Amber."

  Brooke's best friend hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red, her face flush. Her normally perfect golden locks were a mess. She stared straight ahead with a blank expression. Dangling from one hand was Brooke's favorite stuffed bear, from the other her glasses.

  Amber noticed her and started to cry. Brooke joined her. Tears with no substance ran down her face. She walked toward Amber, wanting to give her a hug. As she drew closer Amber jumped to her feet and moved along the wall, swatting at Brooke like she was a fly.

  "Stay away, please," she said. "Unless…are you Brooke?"

  "Yes! Amber, it's me. Please, tell me you can hear me."

  Brooke didn't know what she expected. Amber's eyes didn't get big at the sound of her best friend's voice. Brooke couldn't be heard by the living. She was a soul.

  "I'm sorry," Amber said. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that…every soul I see now I'm gonna wonder if it's my best friend. She died here last night."

  Amber leaned against the wall and broke down crying. She clenched the stuffed bear close to her chest, her body heaving with sobs. Brooke couldn't move as she watched her. She'd lost everything. Her home, her best friend. She wanted to hold Amber and cry together, but that was impossible. She'd never be able to hold anyone ever again.

  The cell phone in Amber's pocket rang. She wiped at her eyes and tried to compose herself before answering. Brooke looked at the remnants of her life as she listened to Amber's side of the conversation.
<
br />   "Hi, Mom…I'm just at the apartment, getting whatever I can…No, you don't need to pick me up…Thank you so much for letting me stay with you…I'll be over soon. I love you."

  Amber hung up and shoved her phone away. She left the apartment, only taking Brooke's bear and glasses with her. Brooke was tempted to follow her, maybe ride with her to her mother's house, but there was no point. Even if Amber figured out the soul not leaving her side was Brooke, there was nothing she could do. There was no way for them to talk, no way for Brooke to thank Amber for being her best friend.

  Brooke watched Amber drive away from the living room window. She toured the apartment, room by room, reliving old memories. She remembered when they moved in together when they were nineteen. Brooke was desperate to get away from her father, and it was Amber's idea to horde as much money as they could from their first year working at Soul-Ful. They moved out in the middle of the night while Brooke's father was at work. Amber pulled up outside her house with a moving truck, and they woke half the neighborhood as they sang and danced while moving the few things they owned.

  She smiled at the memory before crying once again. Was that life now? Smiling at memories from a lost life and crying?

  "Holy crap, would you look at that?"

  "Yeah, I see. That place really did get tore up."

  Brooke frowned and peered out the kitchen window. Three men, not much older than her, slowly floated past the apartment building. They pointed and stared in awe at the destruction.

  "Didn't Keith die in a fire?"

  "Yeah, that's why I didn't ask him to tag along."

  "That's so horrible."

  "Hey, check out the hottie in the nightgown."

  "Alright, guys, let's get moving, or we'll be late to that party in Venice."

  "Should we invite that pretty thing down there?"

  "Nah. Look at her. She's obviously a rookie."

  "Okay, then let's get moving."

  The three men lifted into the air, slowly at first, but then picked up speed. Brooke leaned over the sink and stuck her head through the kitchen window.