by Apryl Baker
I don’t even know if I can do it.
Well, no harm in trying, and if the powers that be get mad, they get mad. I close my eyes and start looking inside myself for that ball of bright blue light that is my reaping ability. It only takes me a moment to find it. Inside that light resides a soul, a soul I’d reaped. He’d sacrificed himself to save me. What if I could give him back his life? Give the Owens back their son, or at least someone to love?
Why else would that little granny have said those words to me if I’m not supposed to remember them? To apply them?
Part of me is crying out to stop, that it’s not right. The reaper in me says it’s not right, but every other part of me that is human is screaming to do it. That we can at least right one wrong, we can gain something good out of this tragedy.
I don’t think about it anymore. Instead I remember my Mirror Boy. I remember his laughter, his pain. I remember the first time he kissed me. I remember the way he protected me from everyone. How he stayed with me while I lay dying, how he refused to leave me. I remember how he sacrificed his light so I could live. I remember him.
His soul rises out of the blue light, unsure and unsteady. I reach out and wrap my own light around it, making him feel safe and loved. Then I pull him toward the body on the bed, the empty shell waiting for new life.
Dan gasps behind me, but I keep my attention on the soul in my hands. I coax him, make him understand what I am giving him. I am giving him life. I am giving him a way back. I am giving him all the love I have inside to give him. I watch as the glowing ball of white light that is my Mirror Boy glides toward Jake and hovers there for a moment, hesitant. Then it settles into Jake, and I crumple onto the chair, feeling like I’ve just run a one-hundred-mile marathon.
“What did you just do, Mattie?” Dan’s voice is awed, frightened. “You were glowing. This blue light sort of lit up all around you.”
Come on, wake up. Please wake up.
One of the monitors begins to beep. It had been silent before. I recognize it. It’s the one they’d used to monitor Dan’s brain activity in the hospital. It’s coming to life. A smile spreads across my face until I see him.
The reaper who’d come to collect Dan is standing at the foot of the bed. He’s still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt I remember, but he’s not frowning.
“I wondered if you’d put two and two together before it was too late.”
They’re not mad?
He smiles. “Sometimes lives are cut short, and they weren’t able to do what they are meant to do. Everything does happen for a reason.”
Then he’s gone. My breath comes out in a hard sigh. Laughter escapes me as I stare at all the monitors around us coming to life.
“Wake up.” The words are ripped out of me, hope flaring to life. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Wake up.”
His eyes flutter, their lids moving frantically, and then he opens them.
The bluest eyes I have ever seen blink at me.
He’s awake.
Chapter Eleven
Amidst all the doctors and the nurses, only one thing shines through. He’s awake. The Owens are ecstatic. A medical miracle, the doctors are calling it. Brain dead. Now he’s awake and breathing on his own. Granted, he was shot, so he’s in a lot of pain. That’s not something shoving a soul into an empty body can fix.
Dan hasn’t said a word to me. He keeps looking at me with this strange expression I can’t quite place. He knows I did something, but not what.
“I’m gonna go find something to drink in the cafeteria. Do you want something?”
He shakes his head. And just like that, we’re back to the silent treatment. I know he has issues with all this supernatural stuff, but you’d think for a man who can see enraged ghosts, met a reaper and an angel, and is now a little psychic, he’d be more adept at handling this type of thing.
“Come get me when we can go in?”
Again with the nod. He’s more freaked out than I’d thought. I guess the glowy me will take him a few minutes to process.
When I pass by Jake’s room, there are still a horde of doctors and nurses in there. I see the Owens pacing a few feet down the hall. They stop when they see me, and even though I dread this conversation, I can’t keep the grin off my face when Mrs. Owens hugs me.
“I don’t know what you did, Mattie, but you brought our boy back.” There are tears in Mr. Owens eyes. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything, Mr. Owens…”
“No.” Mrs. Owens shakes her head, and her eyes burn with an intensity that makes me believe she knows exactly what I did. Maybe she does. She was always the most religious person I know. Maybe God did answer her prayers by sending me in that room. “We’ve been praying since the police showed up at our house. There was no hope. We knew it. I’m not going to demand answers from you, Mattie. Just know we are grateful.”
“I’m glad he’s awake,” I murmur and disentangle myself. “I’m going to get something to drink. Can I bring you guys back something?”
Before they can answer, one of the nurses pokes her head out the door and calls them into Jake’s room. I smile as they all but run down the few feet to their son’s room. At least one good thing came out of this nightmare.
The elevators are slow, so I smash the down arrow repeatedly. I know it doesn’t make it go any faster, but it helps me. When it finally dings and opens, I step aside as people file out. Once inside, I hit the first floor button and close my eyes to wait for the short ride to end. It’s quiet and soothing in the elevator, and for the first time all day, I let out the deep breath I’ve been holding.
I survived.
Relief. I should be embarrassed and ashamed to feel relief, but I’m not. Maybe that makes me the selfish person everyone thinks I am, but I survived. I survived.
And I managed to save a person in the process. Eric will get the chance to live his life, and Jake’s parents won’t have lost everything. It’s a good day.
At least that’s what I tell myself when the elevator doors open and interrupt my mental bolstering. I step out and automatically turn left. I know the layout of Carolinas Medical Center better than most. I’ve been here enough to know where everything is.
Only I’m not in the hallway leading to the cafeteria. It’s dim, and I hear the clanking of pipes. Where the heck am I? The sound of the elevator doors closing makes me turn and look. There’s a big letter B lit up. I’m in the basement? How did I end up in the basement?
I press the up button and nothing happens—no lights, no whirring of the elevator. Nada. I see the stairwell door and try that, but it doesn’t budge. I pound on the elevator button again, and still nothing. Great, just freaking great. I’m stranded in the basement with no phone.
Letting out a sigh, I turn around. It stinks down here. That’s the first thing I notice. It’s like they’d dumped all the old garbage and rotting food in one place and the stench took over. Funky garbage is a smell I’m going to forever remember.
The second thing I see is the sign on the wall I’d missed before. We’re in the basement, and there’s only one thing they keep in the basement—the morgue.
The old lights overhead flicker and cast shadows over the walls. Cold too. Freezing, really. I search the empty hallway, the first warning bells going off in my head.
Something’s down here with me.
Keeping my back against the wall, I inch away from the elevator door. The clank of the water pipes startles me. The white tile floor is dingy, stained. The green walls might have once been bright, but they haven’t been painted in Lord knows how many years. They’re discolored with what I don’t even want to know.
A whoosh of air curls through the ducts, and I jump. The AC. It’s just the AC kicking on. Deep breath, Mattie. Stay calm.
A few months ago, I might have believed all I had to do was close my eyes and ignore them, but I know better now. Ghosts have the ability to physically hurt you. I’ve experienced it firsthand.
; A little girl’s laughter floats down the hallway. I can’t tell if it came from the left or the right. It seems to fill up the space. The sound of running footsteps go right past me and straight toward the morgue.
I am not going into the morgue. Nope, not happening. Nothing is going to make me go into the morgue.
Except maybe the shuffling coming straight at me.
I squeeze my eyes shut. God knows what type of horrific traffic victim is roaming the halls. Hospitals are flooded with ghosts. It’s why I hate going anywhere near them. They haven’t bothered me so much the last few times I was admitted. Why, I don’t know, but that’s changed. I saw them all last night and again today when I came in. Crowding around me, demanding help.
But down here? In the dark with no one around? The regular ghosts don’t congregate down here. Only the darkest ones roam the shadows. The ones that terrify the other ghosts.
The stench of decay and rot surrounds me.
I know you can see me.
The words are hoarse and drawn out, like it’s speaking through a long tunnel. It’s right beside me, its foul breath skating over my cheek as it whispers in my ear. The cold seeps into my bones, the ache enough to make me wince.
My body quivers when it pushes in closer, its hot rancid breath all that I can inhale. I turn my face away, trying to escape the smell, but it invades my space. I squirm a few more inches away from it so I can take a few shallow breaths.
Look at me.
But I don’t want to.
I can feel its anger, though. If I don’t look, it might do me some serious damage. I crack open my left eye and peer sideways.
Disgust. Horror. Fear.
I’m not sure which emotion to feel once I get a good look at the ghost. Its face isn’t really a face anymore. It’s mostly a skull, with chunks of flesh still sticking onto the bones. Only one eye remains, the green orb staring lazily at me. What little skin and tissue is left on its face is rotting, the pus oozing out. It drips to the floor, splattering my shoes. More of it falls, the wet, sticky substance making this awful splat sound.
It’s like its flesh is melting, the tissues giving in to infection and falling away, the blackish diseased mixture dripping down the bones.
Then it smiles at me.
Fear overrides every other emotion. “What…what do you want?”
You.
That’s it. I hit the hallway at a dead run, not caring the only place I can run to is the morgue. It’s moving behind me. I can hear the sluggish footsteps coming down the hall. It’s not running. Nope, it’s pulling the Michael Myers trick of walking, which only makes me run faster. I’ve seen way too many horror movies.
The doors leading to the morgue are ahead of me. I hit them and push on the metal bar to let me in. It opens with no resistance, and I slam it behind me. I gulp air into my lungs. I need a second to catch my breath.
My eyes flicker over the room, and I can’t stop the relief from bubbling up. I’m not in the actual morgue. I’m in the front room. There’s a desk with an abandoned half-eaten sandwich and bottle of Mountain Dew sitting on it. Another set of double doors is to the left of the desk. File cabinets line the opposite wall.
The godawful scent of rot tickles my nose. It’s right behind me, outside the door. There’s only one other place to go. The morgue autopsy room.
Frustrated, I make a beeline for the other room. I’m not letting that thing touch me again. I feel…a shudder rolls over me. I need a shower. That’s what I feel like. Unclean and in need of a shower.
This room is exactly as I imaged. One wall contains at least a dozen of those small cubby-like freezers. Lab equipment lines the opposite wall. Two doors are on the wall right in front of me. Offices, maybe.
In the middle of the room are three large stainless steel tables, various surgical instruments, and a standing scale beside them. All but one are unoccupied. A small form is draped on the center table. The kid I heard earlier. It has to be her.
A quick search of the room reveals nothing. It’s freezing in here, which tells me the kid’s here somewhere.
“Little girl?”
A squeaking noise catches my attention, and I turn my head to see the sink in the middle of the lab equipment turn on. Not a lot, just enough to let a few drops start to drip. Frost begins to creep outward from the sink, covering the stainless steel and crawling down the counter like a vine twisting its way toward me. The walls, cold and sterile to begin with, crust over with ice crystals, and the ice spreads downward to the white tile floor. It flows toward the center of the room, toward the one metal table and the tiny body.
My back presses against the doorway, not caring if the rotting thing outside gets in or not. I can’t take my eyes off the table and its draped occupant. The ice reaches the table legs and twines upward at a dizzying speed.
I stare, frozen, at the sheet.
It rises and falls, like someone breathing. Crap on toast. This isn’t good. Not at all.
The body beneath the sheet sits up, the sheet sticking to it. It looks like someone under a sheet, pretending to be a ghost. I know better. I know what’s under there. Its head turns in my direction, and I stop breathing altogether.
Malevolent. What’s under there is no longer the ghost of a child. It’s full of hate and rage. Evil. That’s what’s under the sheet—evil.
I think I’m gonna take my chances with Mr. Stinky outside. I push backwards, but the door refuses to give. I slam my entire backside into it, and still it won’t budge.
Fudgepops.
A small hand slips into mine.
I let out a shriek and try to pull my hand away, but she holds on. The child who’s clutching my hand like a lifeline is about six or seven. Curly blonde hair is streaked through with matted red, brown, and black stains. There’s a large gash right above the worst of the stains. Other than that, there’s not a mark on her. Her brown eyes bulge with the same fear that has paralyzed me.
I’m scared.
“Me too, kid.”
It’s hungry.
What? Hungry…a flashback from my dream last night invades my memory. Those things had devoured that kid. I glance down at the child beside me. She’s so terrified she’s shaking.
“I promise it’s not going to get you.”
Tears well up in her eyes, and she whimpers.
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
My head snaps up, and I see a figure standing beside the table. He’s wearing a cloak, the hood hiding his face. His voice sends tiny icicles through my veins, threatening to tear them open. The pain makes me gasp, but I pull the little girl closer. Whatever that thing is, it’s not getting her.
The sheet starts to fall, and it’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away as the sheet drops and reveals his face, his shoulders. I know this kid. I’ve seen him on the news. He was taken from one of the parks downtown. The last victim in a string of missing children whose bodies were later found. He’s African American, his black hair buzzed short. Long, bloody gashes have all but shredded his arms. His bottom lip is torn, the flap of skin bouncing gently against his chin, exposing his teeth. It’s hard to see the bruising on his face because it’s so dark, but I can make out the discoloration.
His eyes, though. They pull a scream from the little girl desperately holding onto me. Those eyes are empty, cold. The color is a bright yellow, with a few streaks of red and green enhancing the jewel-like hue. I’ve seen eyes similar to these. Last night in my dream. Only the dream boy had clear, yellow eyes. Not a hint of another color in them.
Those hungry eyes bore into me. A wave of dark hatred rolls off the thing sitting on the cold metal table and crashes into me.
I push frantically against the door, but it’s stuck. Whatever these things are, they’re keeping me here. I can’t escape. They’re not demons. They’re not shades. They’re not even ghosts. They can mimic a ghost. What are they?
Please, please, help me.
The little girl is tuggi
ng on my hand, begging me to save her. The thing that used to be a child slides off the table, its yellow eyes glued to us. Hunger pulsates in them. The cloaked figure glides around the table, facing us.
“You can see them.”
He sounds so shocked. Definitely not a ghost. Ghosts always know I can see them.
“Why can you see us?” He moves closer, and I flinch, the girl sobbing into my leg. He sniffs, much like a dog who’s trying to determine if something is friend, foe, or food.
“A living reaper.” He sounds pleased this time, like he’s discovered lost treasure. Happy. Why is he happy?
The creature standing beside him crouches, preparing to launch. The little girl folds herself into me, terrified. It’s going to get her. I know it instinctively. This child who has placed her trust in me, ghost or not, is going to be consumed.
What can I do? I could try to do what I did in New Orleans with the deranged ghost, but that uses energy and these things feed off ghost energy. Anything I try to do with my reaping abilities will only give them what they want.
What else?
The Between. I can open the Between. That space between the planes, the space reapers guide souls through on their journey into the next plane of existence. There are things there, scary creatures that might even make these two look like puppies, but I can’t let them get this innocent child. Her soul shines like a brilliant white light, blinding in its intensity, and they’re hungry.
It’s so easy, I don’t even have to think about it. Once I decide to do it, it’s like the part of me that is a reaper takes over, and the doorway opens. It looks like one of those TV channels with no picture. All snowy and staticky. White noise. It could almost be soothing if you can get past the cries of the monsters lurking within.
“We have to go.” I clutch her hand. She’ll be okay as long as I can keep hold of her.
The cloaked figure watches silently, freaking me out even more. The monster at its feet opens its mouth, a horrifying moan echoing, erupting.
