Daniel smirked. “And that’s a lot of negative energy.”
“I’ve got to go,” Banning said softly. “Do you want to come with me? Or do you want to stay here with Daniel?”
Dad went to the sink to rinse the blood from his hand. If I had caused him to cut himself, what else might happen? It might be safer for my parents and Aunt Jen if I went with Banning and Daniel. Daniel turned to leave. “Maybe I’ll go check on your mother—”
I whirled on him. “Keep away from her!”
“Stay, or go? Clocks ticking,” Daniel replied.
“Tact,” Banning reminded Daniel.
“Hey! Do you want her to go or not?” Daniel asked.
My mind spun. What should I do? If I went, maybe I could see how Banning had taken my soul firsthand. “If I go with you, does Daniel go, too?”
“I go where you go for the next week,” Daniel responded.
“And we can come back later,” Banning offered. “Perhaps you’ll be in a calmer state of mind.”
Tears threatened behind my eyes again. I wanted to stay and protect Mom and Dad, to try and be there for them even though they had no idea I was even here. If I left, they’d never know the difference. But I would, and I couldn’t risk hurting either of them any more than I already had.
I looked at Banning and Daniel. “What if you’re lying to get me to go with you? What if I can’t affect them at all?”
Daniel shrugged. “You could stay here with me and find out.”
Banning waited patiently. My heart still beat wildly in my chest—something I attributed to the living, not the dead. But I was dead. How else could I explain everything so far? Life, as I had known it, seemed as though it were on the other side, making it hard to think clearly. Everything I knew about the afterlife appeared muddied. It ripped a huge hole in everything I had once believed.
I couldn’t trust myself to think rationally and I had to trust someone. Maybe Banning had been straight with me so far. It sort of felt that way. Besides, if there were even a hint of doubt, I couldn’t risk that Banning and Daniel were telling me the truth about negative energy and affecting people. Two cups remained on the counter: one for Aunt Jen and one for my mother.
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll go. But we’ll come back, right? Soon?
Banning smiled, his eyes sparkling kindly and I felt better about my decision.
“I promise,” he said.
With a last glance at my father and my aunt, I asked, “How...how do I, you know.”
Daniel started to walk through the wall, but Banning reached out and pulled him back. “Let’s keep it as normal for Keely as we can.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen. Daniel and I followed him through the living room and to the front door.
“It’s simple, Keely. Just think about passing through it,” Banning instructed. Then, he walked through the front door as though it were a mirage. Tendrils of black mist that matched his duster swirled in his wake.
“After you,” Daniel said.
I looked over my shoulder at the grandfather clock in the foyer, and the living room beyond it with the fireplace and built-in shelves where all our pictures sat in silver and pewter frames.
“Have it your way, then,” Daniel said. He disappeared through the door just as Banning had.
With a final glance at the comfort and familiarity of my home, I closed my eyes and walked forward, vowing that I would find a way to return if Banning didn’t keep his word.
When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on the front step. I looked up at the windows—Jordan’s room on the second floor and the guest room where Aunt Jen stayed last night. Ravens in a nearby tree hopped from one branch to another, their caws harsh and unsettling.
“See? Easy.” Daniel eyed me like I was delicate and weak.
Normally, I would have proven him wrong. But not now. I resisted the urge to turn around and go back inside. “What next?”
“Just keep up,” Daniel replied.
I hesitated too long and had to run a step or two to catch up to them. “Wait! Are we going to walk there? Why can’t we just disappear here and reappear wherever we’re going?”
“Because you can’t. Banning and I can,” Daniel responded. “If earthbounds could do all the cool stuff ever written about ghosts, they’d never leave purgatory and it’s crowded enough as it is.”
“There,” Banning said gesturing toward my neighbor, Mr. Ellis, who was getting inside his 4-Runner.
I followed Banning and Daniel as they slid through the side of the SUV as though the doors were open. Banning took shotgun. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I closed my eyes and concentrated, then reluctantly slid through the door and onto the back seat next to Daniel. There. I’d now passed through two things. I didn’t want to know if I also left a ghostly trace behind, although I’m sure I had. Did it seal my fate? Was there no going back? It was a silly thought, thinking all it took to keep me in the realm of the dead was passing through a door or two.
Mr. Ellis backed the 4-Runner out of the driveway. Did he know what had happened last night? What would he think if he knew I was sitting in his car right now? As we drove away, I glanced back at my house. That odd, panicky sensation I had last night when the medical examiner’s vehicle drove away returned.
“Are you okay?” Banning asked.
In a desperate attempt to warm what I could not, I drew my arms up against my chest.
“Sure,” I lied. “Just cold. Maybe I should have brought a jacket.” The chill had little to do with the autumn air and more to do with fear. Fear of this odd state of nothingness—of being dead. Mostly, though, I was afraid of never seeing my parents again or accidentally hurting them if I did.
I wanted to tell someone how I felt. Needed to. But who? There wasn’t anyone I loved who could hear or see me. No one to hold me close and tell me that everything would work out. Not my mother whose smile had always reassured me. Not my father who had a way of making me see reason with his carefully constructed words of encouragement. And not my sister whose mere presence always soothed and comforted me. All I had was a demon and a reaper, the epitome of all things cold and dead.
Somehow, I had to get through this.
Get a grip, Keely. Try, at least.
I stared through the windshield as Mr. Ellis drove off, completely unaware of his carpool of dead people. “Is he going to get into a car wreck or something?” I managed to sound calm, reasonable. Completely opposite of how I felt.
Daniel shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. He might only spill his coffee or hit a pothole. Chill, okay? The less anxious you are, the better off he’ll be.”
I recalled how Dad had cut himself on the broken coffee cup. I was still angry and confused, but I didn’t want Mr. Ellis to get hurt. Somehow, I had to learn to control my energy or whatever Daniel had said. Easier said than done.
As Mr. Ellis pulled into a gas station, I told myself that this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I took another deep breath in hopes I’d regain some semblance of control over my runaway emotions, some sense of composure. No, this wasn’t so bad. I could find the positive in this, right? If I could breathe the air and walk along the street then I could still find my sister. Maybe she hadn’t come for me because she was lost. All I had to do was concentrate on finding her. If Jordan was out there—out here somewhere, she’d need me to stay focused.
But, what if she wasn’t lost? What if Jordan hadn’t come for me because she didn’t know I was dead? Or, maybe because I wasn’t really dead. Despite what Daniel and Banning said, despite this whole afterlife denial bull, what if I really was in a coma, hallucinating? On the other hand, if I truly had died, what if Jordan was so angry with me she had no intention of coming for me? Ever. What then?
No. Jordan wouldn’t do that. No matter what I’d done. I was starting to get a headache.
A couple of girls walked out of the gas station’s convenience store, and I thought of Jordan and me, how we did almost everything together. I turned my hea
d, trying to act as though I didn’t hear the girls’ laughter as they passed the car. If I shut my eyes tightly, I could almost pretend Jordan and I were alive again and that the world was as it should be.
Daniel nudged me, disrupting my thoughts. Banning got out and made his way around the gas pump and slipped inside another car—a white BMW sedan. Daniel and I followed, with Daniel sliding through the door as he’d done before.
I closed my eyes and slid through as well.
That’s four. Four times I’ve passed through something. I hated Daniel for telling me about afterlife grief, for pointing out that I was going through some freak-out stage. He was right, not that I’d ever admit that to him.
“So, why are we car hopping?” I asked Daniel.
“Because we’re traveling with you, and you’re an earthbound, which means, we’re stuck traveling like one, too,” Daniel muttered. “It sucks.”
Was Daniel being a smart-ass, or was this his attempt at not being a smart-ass?
An attractive, dark-haired woman, nicely dressed in a form-fitting skirt and tapered jacket, got into our car. She tossed her purse onto Banning’s lap, jotted something onto a notepad, then drove off. At the intersection, she checked the rearview mirror a couple times. With each glance, I hoped she’d notice me. It seemed pointless to keep hoping, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Please let her see me. Please.
I leaned forward, my hands clutching the back of Banning’s seat, watching the woman’s face for some glimmer, some hint of awareness.
Look at me! I’m here! Right here!
“She doesn’t see you,” Banning said. “Once in awhile, it happens—they catch a glimpse or two, but most second-guess what they’ve seen.”
Defeated, I leaned back into my seat.
At the next light, the woman fished around in her purse, extracting sunglasses. Banning sat quietly. I don’t know what I was expecting—maybe for him to grab hold of her arm while she suffered a fatal heart attack, but nothing happened. We weren’t here for her soul. Banning’s chiseled features remained serene.
“How do you know whose soul to take?” I asked. Did he have visions of people bleeding and mangled? Was there some grisly mark on their heads?
“The messengers tell me. Ravens, mostly,” Banning answered. “Hope you weren’t expecting parchment and quill.”
I was relieved, a little, but I still had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Where are we going?”
Banning turned his face toward the windshield. “Hospice. To visit Mr. George Manero.”
I stared out the window once more, hoping that whoever George Manero was, he’d be luckier in death than I had been. I had expected sanctuary and found that I couldn’t have fallen farther from heaven’s grace.
CHAPTER SIX
I didn’t say a word the rest of the way to the hospice center. Twice, Banning asked if I was okay and I nodded, afraid if I met his eyes or spoke, I’d start crying again. Sometimes it isn’t the cruelty in people’s stares that hurts. Sometimes, it’s the kindness. Usually, I hid how others affected me. I found it easier to keep some feelings to myself.
Ever since I’d gotten off drugs, Mom asked a constant barrage of questions about school, my friends, what we did, and how I felt. Anything remotely negative sent her into a frenzy. About a year ago, I had a short relapse. Mom kept asking me why, over and over. Frustrated, I let it slip that it was because I never felt I could do anything right around her or Dad. Mom went on a crying jag and never let me forget that I’d blamed her for my actions. At least, that’s how it seemed. Dad thought drill sergeant discipline was the way to go—insist I get better grades, make me work around the house more, micro-manage my every move. If I cried, or became too sad or too angry, they thought it was a neon sign that I was doing drugs again. No amount of assuring them I wasn’t did any good.
It was easier to appear strong than to show my feelings, even when things began to crumble around me. Like now. Like last night. But right now, I didn’t feel very strong and Banning’s kindness made it more difficult to hold it all in.
As the driver made a left at a light she turned on the stereo, a smooth jazz station. I don’t like jazz, but I welcomed the music anyway. It canceled out all the silence in the car. Silence made my brain race around like a rat in a maze, trying to peer over walls to find a way out. The song coming from the speakers was the furthest I could think of from any of the tracks on my iPod, but at least the noise made it less likely Banning or Daniel would try to make small talk with me. Appearing to enjoy the tune, Banning tapped a finger on his knee in rhythm.
Daniel nudged my leg. He looked worried, although I had no idea why. He raised his eyebrows and he dipped his head slightly, a gesture I took to ask, Are you okay? I turned away. Fresh tears welled in my eyes and I didn’t want him to see them. Banning was more sympathetic. But Daniel? Kindness and maturity seemed unnatural for him. And up ‘til now, for whatever reason, I had the impression he had a grudge against me. Or some weird demon chip on his shoulder. Either way, his was the last shoulder I’d choose to cry on.
When the BMW nimbly pulled into a parking space at the hospice center, I blinked and wiped at my eyes as discreetly as possible, although I don’t know why I bothered. It wasn’t like Banning and Daniel didn’t know I’d been crying. It was all I’d done since last night. Weird, huh? I was dead! No wonder I couldn’t shut off the waterworks.
Death, as I was fast finding out, wasn’t a hiding place from the pain I had sought to escape. Now, I was about to witness even more of it. Could I really stand by and watch as Banning took someone’s soul?
I had to admit the hospice center didn’t resemble a hospital at all. Hospice of North Atlanta was engraved on a stone wall, an array of cheerful flowers planted at its base. A long, winding walk past willows and more flowers led to the entrance. White rocking chairs lined the front porch. The place resembled a nice home more than a health care facility. Every effort had been made to cover the real message here—the residents within were dying. The flowers and chairs reminded me of how bright the day looked this morning, how the birds sang and the sun shone through my Mom’s kitchen windows—surreal. Everything, from the vibrant flowers to the meticulous lawn, gave the impression of caring and of life. I longed for my life back, for one more chance. If I found a way out of this, I swore I wouldn’t waste it.
But I was beginning to suspect there wasn’t a way back.
You’re dead, Sunshine...
I shook my head, throwing off the thought, as if Daniel’s words echoing in my ears were nothing more than a pesky, buzzing insect.
I trailed behind as Banning and Daniel followed the BMW driver inside. Even the lobby looked more like a home. Wood floors had been highly polished. Queen Anne chairs were arranged along the wall nearest the fireplace and bookshelf. To most people passing through, the room gave the illusion of comfort. If they looked hard enough, they’d see what I did—the tiniest of details: tattered edges of the wallpaper along the corners and chair rails, the occasional scuffed chair legs, and the worn spots on the cushions.
The BMW driver stopped at the reception desk. Banning kept going. Daniel and I followed.
Banning turned right down a hallway where a white sign with blue letters and an arrow pointed toward rooms twenty-four to thirty-six. Banning and Daniel never hesitated as they passed through a set of wide double doors. When I finally appeared on the other side, my eyes were still closed, which made Daniel laugh. I couldn’t help it. It reminded me of when I first learned to swim under water. For months, I always held my nose and closed my eyes. And, no matter what Daniel or Banning said, passing through things wasn’t normal. At least not for me.
Seven. Those doors made seven times I had passed through something. I don’t know why I kept counting. This wasn’t some game where Jordan and I counted horses and certain cars while on long road trips during family vacation. That was a stupid, childish game. How long had it been? Five years ago since we’d l
ast done that? A pang of longing hit me squarely in the chest.
We were in a fairly large sitting area with chairs and couches arranged in clusters. A few televisions, each tuned to a different station, were on, but no one was watching them. A boy of about thirteen played a game on his Nintendo as his family tended to an old man in a wheelchair. His grandfather, I supposed.
The other visitors stayed close to one another, doting on the loved ones they had come to see. Most of the patients were old, but one—a pretty black woman sitting in the corner—appeared young. Thirty? Thirty-five perhaps? Two small children played at her feet as she smiled at them. She appeared too young to be here, but her thin face and the look in her eyes told me differently. A man and two women sat with her. One might have been her sister. All of them looked seriously deprived of sleep.
In science class, we learned our sense of smell elicited memories better than any of our other senses. It was true. The hospice center smelled differently than a hospital. There, I might have said the combination of antiseptics and bleach reminded me of sickness and disease. Here, I swore I detected impending death—musty and faint, like old memories and dried flowers tucked away in a box of keepsakes. The scent made me think of Gram and her last days.
“Hey,” Daniel said, tugging on my sleeve. “Don’t start crying again, okay? If you want to hang out here, I’ll stay with you.”
Banning walked into room thirty-three. The name Manero was written on the nameplate under the room number. Morbid curiosity, I guess, but I decided that I had come this far and I had to see how Banning had done it. How he’d taken my soul.
It was as though he was the world’s greatest magician and I was about to be privy to the trick.
Don’t be ridiculous, Keely. You’re dead. Dead! Your body is in the freaking morgue! You don’t come back from that.
“You sure you want to see how he does it?” Daniel asked.
Our eyes met and held. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but I think I know what I saw in his. Concern, rather than his usual annoyance.
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