Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

  I rub my head as I struggle for the right words. She can see dead people. Although it seems like a plus for me, it probably has a lot of downfalls for her. She’s obviously alone in the world. My gaze meets hers again and I ask, “What if I can help you with all of that? Well . . . most of it. What if we make a deal?”

  “A deal?”

  “I’ll introduce you to some nice people, help you get a job, a place to stay, and you . . . you can help me settle things.” She stares down at the water and shakes her head, dismissing me. “Listen, I don’t know you or what you’ve been through, but I know I’d give anything to still be alive right now, no matter what.” Tears stream down her face, and I think my words have gotten through to her. “Don’t waste what so many of us never got the chance to have,” I plead.

  She continues to stare down at the water, her sniffles the only sound to break the silence, when she shakes her head and slides down the railing back to the road of the bridge. “You people won’t let me be. I can’t even kill myself!” she groans as she tromps in the opposite direction toward her sport utility vehicle.

  “Where are you going?” I yell as I jog to catch up to her. My mind is on overload. She can see me and speak to me. I’ve been dead for months with only myself to talk to. This is incredible!

  “My 4Runner is this way,” she mumbles, stating the obvious, as she shivers.

  “Well, if you need gas, the closest station is this way.” I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “The Mercers own it. They’re nice people. They’ll help you out.”

  She stops and faces me for a moment, and her face is turned in such a way that the lights from her vehicle show me her gray eyes and they nearly take my breath away. It’s hard to explain why the pain in her gaze seems so beautiful. She looks like a wild creature, a being meant to be free and roaming, that’s somehow been entrapped. Her dark hair is wet and stuck to her face, and I so badly want to reach out and slide it back to see all of her. Our gazes remain locked for a long while when her almost blue lips tremble. She’s freezing.

  “We have to get you warm. Let me help you . . .” I let my last word trail off, hinting I’d like her to tell me her name.

  She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Charlotte,” she says, quietly. “But people call me Char.” Charlotte. I smile softly at her name. It’s pretty, like her.

  “Okay, Charlotte. Do you have some dry clothes to bring with you?”

  “In the truck.” She jogs ahead of me and opens her back driver’s side door, climbing in. Moments later she comes out with a backpack and a small duffel bag. After turning off her headlights, she shuts the door as the rain begins to come down hard again. She looks up to the sky, letting the rain pelt her face roughly. Her free hand comes up, and she jabs her middle finger up to the dark abyss, and I chuckle. I want to cover her, carry her bags, but . . . I can’t.

  With a huff, she passes by me, and I quickly join her. “I’m sorry I can’t help you carry those.”

  She snickers softly. “I’m sorry you can’t either.” She pauses for a beat before adding, “I mean, I’m sorry you can’t carry them because you’re not alive.” Her words hang heavily in the air as the rain beats down on us. “How’d you go?”

  I shove my hands in my pockets and sigh. “IED. Afghanistan.”

  “Shit,” she sighs. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, if I was going to go . . .” My sentence trails off, and she gives me a nod of understanding. Death sucks. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. But at least I died a noble death. There are worse ways to go.

  “So, where are you taking me?”

  “You don’t know where you are?” I feign disbelief.

  She smiles timidly. “I didn’t care where I was going. I planned to drive until my SUV ran out of gas and . . . well . . . you foiled the rest of it.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry about that,” I answer honestly. “Is it really that bad?”

  The rain abruptly stops again, as if God himself flipped an off switch, and we both stop and look up. After a moment, she starts walking again and I follow, the sounds of her boots making squishing noises to break the quiet. “Every day of my life for the last six years has been spent with the dead. I have no friends—the ones I had all think I went crazy, my parents didn’t know what to do with me, so they just pretended like I wasn’t there, and forget about a boyfriend. So you see, I have nothing but death. My life is settling the dead’s business so they can crossover, and dammit, I’m tired.”

  She looks it, too. Her pale face and sunken eyes tell a story of a hard life. “We can help each other, Charlotte. This is a good place. You’ll like it here.”

  “And where is here?”

  “This is Warm Springs. It’s a little town inside Bath County.”

  “Warm Springs?”

  “Yeah. Where one goes to rejuvenate,” I say in my best radio announcer voice. “Jefferson Pools? Never heard of them?”

  “Nope,” she answers.

  “They’re special springs . . . they stay warm all year round. General Robert E. Lee and Thomas Jefferson frequented them.”

  “Is that so?” she asks dryly, clearly unimpressed.

  “Anyway,” I continue. “You’re in a good place.”

  “Am I still in Virginia?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how exactly do you think you can help me?”

  “You need a place to rest. You need a job. I can help you with that.”

  “How so? You’re dead.” She points out the obvious.

  I stop in my tracks. “I am? Are you serious?” I feign shock and she rolls her eyes, the ghost of a smile playing on the corners of her lips. We start walking again, and I answer her question. “I know the people of this town. What they like and dislike. I can help you make nice with them.”

  “And what would you like in return?”

  George flashes through my mind, and I feel that weight settle on my chest. “I have a brother who’s having a hard time.”

  “Unfinished business,” she mutters and lets out an audible sigh.

  “Look, I know you’re tired of helping people like me, but I’m different. I want to help you, too. If I can help you, will you help me?”

  “I guess I don’t have a choice,” she mumbles and shrugs, adjusting her bags to get a better hold. “You have a deal.”

  It’s funny how your plans can change so drastically within the span of minutes. My life was ending forty minutes ago. I was certain of it. But then Ike shows up and derails my plans. I suppose his words are what brought me back.

  “Listen, I don’t know you or what you’ve been through, but I know I’d give anything to still be alive right now, no matter what.”

  Suicide is selfish. It’s a complete slap in the face to anyone who has died and wanted to live. So with great trepidation, the tall built man brought me back to my senses. Now, I’m standing just outside Mercer’s Stop and Go with him by my side. The store is aged, the lit signs looking as if they were made decades ago.

  “It looks like Mr. Mercer is working tonight. He’s real friendly. Just go in, and tell him you broke down. He’ll help you out.” He gives me a crooked smile; I gather that’s his way of encouraging me. He’s handsome, very broad and muscular, and maybe six feet tall, but his smile is his best feature.

  I take a deep breath, and as I near the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the window. My dark hair is matted to my head, and my clothes hang heavily on me. I look like Raggedy Anne’s cousin. I look like hell.

  “He’s going to think I’m a fucking crack head,” I say, as I run my fingers through my wet, tangled hair. “Look at me.”

  Ike laughs and his bright smile warms my heart. “No, he won’t. This town has a lot of good people, Charlotte. The Mercers being some of the best. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” I huff as I push the door open and enter. An older gentleman, with thick, gray brows and kind eyes, greets me with a concerned look.

  “You look a mess, child. Are you
okay?” he asks as he rounds the counter and approaches me.

  “Yes, sir. My SUV broke down about two miles back, and I had to walk in the rain.”

  “My lord, you’ll be lucky if you don’t catch your death.” He shakes his head, sincere concern etched across his face. “I can get your SUV looked at in the morning. There’s a motel about four miles down we can get you checked in to for the night. I’ll drive you there myself.” He quickly sets about putting his jacket on and hanging a Be Back in 10 sign on the door just before ushering me out and locking up.

  “That is so kind of you,” I mumble through my shock. Who the hell offers a complete stranger—one that looks like they’re on drugs—a ride in the middle of the night? Mr. Mercer simply smiles and nods as we walk to the side of the building.

  I’m surprised when he leads me to a Ford Highboy and opens the passenger door for me. What a sweet old man, I think to myself. Once he gets in and starts the truck, he cranks the heat up and I couldn’t be more grateful. As we drive, Ike is to my left, sitting between us, although, of course, Mr. Mercer can’t see him. “Okie from Muskogee” by Merle Haggard plays softly on the radio, and I cringe at how fitting it is.

  “I’m Bill Mercer, by the way.” He nods his head at me. It occurs to me he thinks I’ve just gotten in his vehicle and don’t know his name. I should’ve introduced myself, but Ike had already told me his name. I’m so tired, I’m not thinking straight.

  “Charlotte,” I respond. “But most people call me Char.”

  “Where are you from, Char?”

  “Born and raised in Oklahoma.”

  “Hey . . . you’re an Okie,” he says as his face lights up with another smile. “The song,” he points out.

  I smile. “I was just thinking that.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” he adds and shoots me a concerned look.

  “You’re telling me,” I agree.

  We reach the Warm Springs Motel and Mr. Mercer ushers me inside the office with a neon sign lit above flashing: VACANCY.

  “Hey, Bill. How are ya?” a large and robust woman with fire engine red hair and lots of purple eye shadow asks as she stands from her recliner in front of a flat screen television.

  “Ginger, this is Charlotte, but she likes to be called Char.”

  “Well hello, Char,” Ginger greets and offers me a friendly smile amidst her chubby cheeks. “You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

  I shrug and give her a shy smile. “You could say that.”

  “Nothing a hot shower won’t fix,” Ike jibes, but I ignore him. It took me years of practice to learn to ignore the dead and not respond to them in front of other people. Even a glance in their direction can make other people think I’m odd.

  “Well, a room is forty dollars a night, but you’ll have cable, and the hot water is great.”

  Forty dollars? That’s cheap as hell. I drop my bags to the floor and begin opening my backpack, the thought of a hot shower and a warm bed making me quiver, when I realize I left my money in the glove box of my truck. Shit! My face flames red as I stand and pick my bags up. “I’m so sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Mercer, but I left my money in my truck. I’ll just go back to it and crash there tonight.” Humiliation surges through me as I glance at Ike who closes his eyes, realizing how embarrassed I am.

  “Nonsense, child.” Mr. Mercer waves at me. “I’ll pay. You can pay me back some other time when you get your money.”

  “I can’t accept that, sir.” I shake my head vehemently. I don’t want handouts.

  “Why not?” Ike asks, with his arms extended. “You’re freezing and need rest!” Again, I ignore him, which is hard when his body language and tone are so animated.

  “Sweetheart, you need rest. If you run off tomorrow and don’t pay me, forty dollars won’t end my life. At least I’ll know you had a safe night’s rest. It would put my mind at ease.” Mr. Mercer stares down at me softly as he hands Ginger the cash. I hate the pity in his eyes. I probably look like a homeless drifter—which I guess, technically, I am.

  “Then here,” I say, as I unhook my necklace with the silver cross. I haven’t taken it off in years. “Take this and hold onto it so you know I’ll return. That’s one of my most prized possessions, and I would never leave it behind. But please don’t sell it. I’ll have your money tomorrow.”

  Mr. Mercer takes the cross in his hand, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “You have my word.” With that, he heads to the door and before he exits, he says, “Good night, Char.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mercer. You are very kind.” I nod.

  “Well hon, I have a room ready for you,” Ginger says, as she rounds the counter.

  “Big surprise. She only has one other occupant,” Ike snorts, and I have to fight not to smile.

  Ginger leads me to room thirteen, which is the farthest room from her office. I guess she likes her privacy. “Now, you be sure to lock your door when I leave, and if you need anything just dial zero on the phone and it’ll send you to me.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I smile appreciatively.

  “When is the last time you ate, hon? You look like a light breeze would just blow you right over. I made fried chicken for dinner and have a few pieces left over. I could warm them up for you.”

  “You are so kind, but I think a hot shower and a nice bed is what I really need right now. Thank you, though.” I nod.

  “Okay, dear. Night.” Once she closes the door, I plop back on the bed. Ike takes a seat in the yellow, pleather arm chair by the door.

  “Is this the only motel in town?”

  He laughs. “Well, this county has a shit-ton of bed and breakfasts and there’s also The Plantation, which is pretty much your rich people resort. This motel is lower scale, obviously, but in the next few weeks I have no doubt she’ll be at maximum occupancy.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because fall is our tourist season. People come from all over to enjoy the springs and see the leaves change,” he explains. As I listen to him, I shiver, still cold and wet in my drenched clothes.

  “You need to get out of those clothes and take a hot shower,” Ike observes.

  “Yes, mother,” I sigh loudly before standing. I stare at him a moment and he just stares back.

  “Are you planning on giving me some privacy?”

  “Don’t mind me. I’m dead.” He beams a perfect grin that makes my belly flutter.

  “I’m not undressing in front of you, soldier boy,” I inform him.

  “A fallen soldier, dead and in limbo, can’t even get a little peek? That’s just cruel, Charlotte,” he jests, clenching his eyes closed in mock pain.

  I can’t help laughing a little as I start digging through my bag and warn, “You better not watch me in the shower, either.”

  He laughs loudly. His laugh is so rich and deep, it makes me laugh some more. “Come on. What good is being dead if I can’t watch a girl shower without her knowing?”

  “But I would know,” I remind him. “Shit!” I groan as I dump my clothes on the bed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “All of my shit is soaked,” I whine.

  “You’ve got a dirty little mouth on you,” he remarks with a smirk.

  “And?”

  “I like it,” he shrugs.

  “Guess I’m sleeping naked tonight,” I sigh.

  “There is a god,” Ike stares up at the ceiling, hands clasped in praise.

  “You’re not sleeping here,” I point out.

  “It was worth a try,” he huffs in defeat. As I head toward the bathroom, I turn and see Ike staring at the floor. “You okay?”

  His gaze meets mine and he shakes his head. “You don’t know what it’s like to walk around for months and months and have no one see you or hear you.” He’s not the first dead person to tell me this. I try to sympathize and remember that every time I get frustrated about a new soul popping up, but it’s hard sometimes.

  We stare at each other a long whil
e before he stands. “I’m going to go check on my brother and let you have a bit of peace. I’ll be back before you wake up.” His dog tags jingle as he stands.

  “Okay,” I swallow, oddly saddened that he’s leaving. Normally, this would be a time of celebration. Alone time. But for some reason, I want to get to know him. He’s the first soul I’ve met that’s actually put me first. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Charlotte,” he offers, and then he vanishes.

  I check on George. He’s passed out with Misty by his side, her tits out for the world to see. But he’s breathing. That’s been my biggest fear; that he will kill himself by overdosing. In the ten months since I passed, George has lost a lot of weight and looks half-dead himself. He blames himself for my death, like he could’ve stopped me from joining the military, or if he’d been there, he could’ve saved me. Joining was my choice. It’s what I wanted and I have no regrets, except for what my death is doing to him.

  But there is hope now. There is Charlotte. The wild and beautiful creature may just be the answer. But she needs saving, too, that I can see. To think, if I had been just a few minutes later appearing on that bridge, I may have never met her. I only need to figure out how I can help her while she helps George. I’ll need to figure out how to save her, and my brother, from killing themselves.

  It’s nine in the morning and Charlotte is still sleeping. She looks different with dry hair in the light of day. Her dark hair is shiny and soft, fanned out over the pillows. Her lips are now pink, not blue as they were last night. She’s on her stomach, the blanket just barely covering her ass. Her skin looks so smooth and creamy, I’d give anything to touch it. I know I shouldn’t be staring at her like this, but I can’t help it. I may be dead, but I’m still a man—I like to look at beautiful women.

  I have to get her up. She needs to get to her truck, and we need to get her a job immediately.