Gatekeeper

by Natasha Deen

  Irritation flitted across the ghost’s face and he mouthed what looked like, “Yeah.” He tried again.

  “Did he say anything?” Nell asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, maybe it’s a whole Little Mermaid thing,” she said. “He needs a kiss from his true love?” She pulled out a tube of lip-gloss. “Tell me where to smack.”

  “Have you lost what little mind God gave you? Put it away before I smack you,” I said. “You’re not his true love.”

  She shoved the tube back in her coat pocket and shrugged. “It’s a new millennium, baby. True love is who you make it with. Or who you make out with,” she grinned.

  “You don’t even know if he’s cute,” I said.

  “Nice, Johnson, real nice. The unattractive deserve kisses, too. Besides, I’m all about what’s on the inside. Kissing him could be part of my destiny.”

  “Making out with strange ghosts is not part of your destiny,” I said. “But therapy is becoming a definite possibility. This isn’t a little mermaid thing.”

  “What kind of thing is it?” asked Serge.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Get him to mouth his name.” Nell pulled on my jacket. “Read his lips.”

  “How is that helpful? I asked. “I can’t read lips.”

  “That’s the beauty.” She beamed at me. “Because I can.”

  Serge blinked, like he wasn’t sure what she’d said.

  Poor schmuck. I, on the other hand, was a pro when it came to Nell logic and one day, that was going to put me in therapy.

  “But you can’t see him,” Serge said.

  She glanced down as her cell beeped with his message. “Yeah, but I can see Mags. So, he says what he says, she mimics it, and I translate.”

  Ye gods. That’s just what I needed. Me, playing mime, with Serge directing and Nell translating. “We’re not doing this.”

  “Try it,” said Serge. “We’re at a loss until we can figure the basics. And that starts with getting his name.”

  “You’re only suggesting this because you want to see me make an idiot of myself.”

  “Well,” he grinned, “that doesn’t hurt.”

  “We don’t need his name to cross him over,” I said. Since he couldn’t talk, there was no asking him if he knew where he was, or what his last memory was. I went for the blunt truth. “You’re dead.”

  The ghost looked at me like I was crazy.

  “You’re dead,” I repeated. “And you need to let go of this life and move on.”

  Anger wrinkled his face and I didn’t need to be a lip reader to know what he said.

  “What did he say?” asked Nell.

  “Something impolite about my mother. And that he’s not dead,” I answered then I turned back to him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  The ghost went off but what he said, I didn’t know. He finished off with an over-exaggerated mouthing of the words, I’m not dead!

  “Are they usually this resistant to crossing over?” asked Serge.

  Yeah, when they’d died suddenly or painfully. Something about the ghost’s reaction said his ending had been both. Which made me feel bad for what I was about to do to him.

  A rise of noise and movement from the group of adults caught my attention. I shifted my focus from the ghost and watched as the paramedics buckled Rori into the bed. As they began to wheel the gurney up the lawn, the group moved aside. Some of the adults headed our way. There was no point in talking to the ghost with a bunch of Mrs. Pierson’s neighbours closing the distance.

  “I should check in with Mrs. P,” said Nell. “I want to know how Rori is.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’ll come, too,” said Serge.

  I turned to the new ghost. “You coming?”

  He shrugged and nodded.

  I followed Nell. Serge and the spirit fell into step beside me.

  “You really are dead,” I muttered to him.

  He just shook his head.

  Mrs. Pierson held her daughter’s hand and walked alongside the bed. I scanned the crowd. My gaze flicked over the neighbours, members of the search party, and Deputy Frank. I saw Dr. Pierson—well, the back of him, anyway—as he talked to a couple of people. Tapping Nell on the shoulder with one hand, I pointed out the doctor, who was trying to disengage himself from a couple of hangers-on. “Let’s see if we can catch him and get some info before he gets to the ambulance.”

  “Dr. P., Dr. P.” We flanked Rori’s dad as Nell touched his shoulder. “What did they say?”

  We were close enough to Dr. Pierson that when he took a step back and turned, he walked into ghost. Which had been my big, genius—admittedly lame—plan. Get someone to step through him so he would see he was no longer solid and therefore dead—and it worked.

  The action was sudden and unexpected, and the ghost didn’t have time to react. He made eye contact with Dr. Pierson, panicked as the older man broke into his personal space. The ghost flickered at the same time the doctor moved into, then out of him.

  “They’re going to keep her overnight, make sure there’s no injury to the brain and no permanent damage with the exposure,” said Dr. Pierson.

  I kept one eye on the doctor, the other on the ghost. Of the two, the ghost was having the harder time. He grabbed at his stomach, then tried to touch Dr. Pierson. When his hand ran through the older man, he jerked, then stared at his fingers as though he’d never seen them before.

  Dr. Pierson ran his hand over his jaw and mouth. “When I think of what could have happened if you hadn’t found her. I’m—we’re—so grateful.”

  Slowly, the ghost lifted his gaze from his hands to make eye contact with me. There was a beat of time, an eerie silence as it all came together, and the full realization that he was dead hit.

  And that’s when he started screaming.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, Nell, Serge, and I sat in a line on my bed, facing the ghost who’d found his voice, given us his name—Kent—and now paced from one side of the room to the other. And his name reminded me why I knew him.

  Nell. She’d had a huge crush on him a couple years back. And no surprise.

  Kent Meagher was Dead Falls’ version of a superhero. He’d graduated high school at sixteen, and had been admitted into the medical program at the University of Alberta as a first-year freshman. I wasn’t sure exactly what the research was. It had something to do with the genetic testing of tumours and how knowing its DNA could influence which drugs were prescribed. Plus, he’d had that lone wolf, quiet-waters-run-deep shyness that made the girls drool.

  Right now, though, he looked less supermodel and more modern art project gone wrong. The lines of his body were blurred and smeared, like someone had painted him then run their hands over the wet paint. His face went dark, as though he’d stepped into shade.

  This wasn’t surprising. Every soul deals with being dead in a different way. Serge had come into the afterlife sharp and fully formed...till he blew himself up. Rori had never been dead, only close to it, which was why she’d never fully formed.

  Until Kent came to grips with being dead and how to exist in the afterlife, his features would blur and sharpen...but you’d think a guy with the kind of brains he had would grasp what “dead” meant.

  “I’m dead,” he said, not for the first time, not for the fourth time.

  Nell’s cell binged as Serge transcribed Kent’s words to her phone.

  I elbowed Nell as she read the text and gave a quiet sigh.

  “I don’t mind that death has made him a moron,” she whispered, “but it would be a lot easier to take if I could feast my eyes on that sweet body.”

  “Even if you could see him, you know you couldn’t do anything on account of him being dead and you being alive.”

  She grinned. �
��Challenge accepted.”

  “Seriously, after I deal with Kent, we’re getting your hormone levels checked.”

  “By someone cute, I hope.”

  I shook my head and turned my attention to the newest ghost in the room.

  “Totally dead.” Kent stopped pacing and faced us. He pointed at Serge. “Which is why I can see him, because he’s dead, too.”

  “And she”—He pointed at Nell— “Can’t see me.”

  She looked up from her cell then toward the door.

  I cupped her by the chin and turned her to face the window.

  “Yep,” she said. Her eyes kept a constant scan of the area. “Just like the last seven times you asked, I can’t see you.” She paused. “But if I could, I’d hold you close and comfort you.”

  Kent didn’t seem to hear that, but the muscle at the base of Serge’s jaw pulsed.

  “But you hear me because Serge knows how to interact with electronic devices and he’s transcribing everything I say,” said Kent.

  She nodded.

  “I’m confused.” Kent turned from the frost-lined window. “How can he do that?”

  Serge shrugged. “I’m energy. The phone is electricity. It works.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. It just does.”

  Kent shook his head. “How is it possible to work something when you don’t understand it?”

  “People use cars and computers,” Nell said. “That doesn’t mean they understand the machinery and technology behind it.”

  Kent tipped his head to the side and considered her argument.

  Nell nudged me. “Why did he go silent?”

  Kent ran his hand through his hair.

  “He’s thinking about what you said…” And because I knew it would tweak her, I added, “He’s running his hand through his hair. It’s catching the light…and his forearms are exposed—he’s wearing a zip-up hoodie and grey sweatpants that—”

  “You’re torturing me with juicy details because I make fun of your clothes, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just saying a little restraint wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  “That’s what my last boyfriend said.”

  “That’s going to give me nightmares.”

  “Keep going,” she said. “What else is he doing?” Nell wiggled down the bed and laid her head against the pillow. “All the details.”

  “That’s just gross.”

  “Says the girl giving me the soft porn commentary on a dead guy.”

  “That’s a good point,” Kent said. “About using technology and not having a basic understanding of how it works.”

  Nell’s cell binged. She read the text and glowed at the compliment.

  Serge saw her reaction and glowered. “This is taking forever.” He came over. “How can he not realize he’s dead and needs to move on?”

  “Don’t be a jerk,” I told him. “It took you twenty-four hours to realize you were dead.”

  “I had mitigating circumstances. I’m not a genius. He is.”

  I stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t know you knew what the word ‘mitigating’ meant.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  Kent moved from the window and took a seat on the bed...close to Nell, which had Serge’s eyes doing a cowboy at high noon squint.

  “There’s so much I don’t understand. Why don’t I sink through this mattress and how come you can see me?”

  “You don’t think you should sink through the mattress, so you don’t,” I said. “Your thoughts make reality—more so than when you were alive. But that’s all beside the point. You’re here instead of being on the other side. The thing to focus on is freeing yourself to move on.”

  “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Science doesn’t have any answer for this. I’ve never even conceived the possibility of life after death. It’s confusing.”

  “If you cross over,” said Serge. “You’ll get all the answers you need.” He pulled Kent to his feet and pushed him toward the window. “Time’s a-wasting. Get on it, genius.” He glanced at Nell. “Step on that bridge and move to the other side.”

  “That’s another thing I don’t get.” Kent pivoted away from Serge. “I should just move on to…whatever’s waiting for me, shouldn’t I?”

  “What about your family?” I asked. “Any unresolved issues?”

  His eyes widened and blood rushed from his face. “My mom! Oh my God! With everything I totally forgot about—” A rainbow of colours lit his body up like a strobe light. “My mom, I’m all she has—maybe that’s why I’m still here. Maybe I have to say goodbye to her.” He looked me. “Do you translate? Is that how it works?”

  Only in that old movie Dad once made me watch. It had Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, and an inventive use of wet clay. “Uh, not really. I’m not a medium. I’m a transitioner.”

  He kept staring.

  “A medium will connect the two of you and let you talk. I just help you let go of life so you can move on.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Dead Falls was a small town and I wasn’t about to become known as the undertaker’s crazy daughter who thought she could talk to the dead.

  “Oh.” Kent’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Can I at least go and see her?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Do I just zap over or think of her and appear at her side?”

  “I have no idea, I’m not dead.”

  We both turned and looked at Serge, who raised his hands in surrender. “If I knew how to beam myself places with thought, do you think I’d spend most of my time in my room?”

  “Naw,” said Nell as she finished reading the text. “You’d be at a strip club.”

  Serge flushed.

  “But a really good one like in Vegas.”

  He smiled, shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I can drive you to your mom,” I told Kent. “Serge will come too. Nell, you up for the ride?”

  “Normally, I’d say yes,” she said, “but I think I should get to the hospital and check on Rori and her folks. Last night had to be their best-worst night, ever. Dad said when Rori was admitted, she was talking about seeing the boy who saved her.” She smiled at Serge. “Of course, I couldn’t say anything to Dad, but way to go, Casper. A little girl owes her everything to the cute blond boy who made everything better.”

  We left my bedroom. I did a quick water bowl check for the animals, then met the group at the front door.

  Nell tucked her phone in the pocket then leaned into me for a hug. “If he does anything sexy,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, let me know.”

  “There’s a word for people like you.”

  “Yeah, satisfied.” She broke the hug then headed out.

  Serge, Kent and I piled into my 2014 red Dodge Charger. I used to have a 1952 Ford A Convertible, but that was at the bottom of the lake, thanks to Serge’s father. The absence of my automotive true love was the only baggage left between Serge and me. I put the car in gear and started down Rydl Road. Kent’s house was in West Ridge, a working-class neighbourhood just off Olive Lane.

  Serge—seat-belted in—sat in the front passenger seat. Kent was in the back, his body twisted so he could gaze out the back window. I doubted he was that interested in the diminishing outline of my house. More likely, it gave him a way to keep his face from us, so we didn’t see the pain and confusion lining it.

  I didn’t know much about Kent. He lived with his mom. His dad lived in another town and I don’t know how much they saw each other. No siblings. His mom worked long hours at the diner. All I really knew was the legend and his reputation. I stole a glance at Serge and considered the legacy he’d left behind. Reputations were one thing, but they never really told the truth of a person. This had been especially true for Serge and I wonder
ed how accurate Kent’s was.

  “How long have you been dealing with the dead?” Kent twisted forward to ask me the question.

  “I’ve seen the dead for as long as I can remember.”

  “I used to pity people who thought they could communicate with the dead. I figured they were delusional,” he said.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Does it run in your family?”

  My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Not sure. It’s not on my dad’s side. I don’t know my mom—she left when I was a baby.”

  “Oh. What about the people on her side?”

  “Not sure. Don’t know them, either.” Time for a topic change. “But your mom—she seems like a nice lady.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice growing thick, “she was a good mom. Not the best and we didn’t always get along but—” He swiped his eyes. “I can’t believe after tonight, I’ll never see her again. Or my dad. He lives out of town but if I’d known…” He sat up, pivoted and looked out the back window.

  I left him to his thoughts and turned my attention back to the blacktop.

  “What happens after?”

  I glanced at him in the rearview. “Happens after what?”

  “I cross over. Do I come back again?” He gripped the back of my chair and Serge’s, and wriggled forward. “Is that what you do?” He asked Serge.

  “No, I never crossed over.”

  “Why? How come you’re still around?”

  “My destiny. I’m bonded to her,” said Serge.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Somewhere in the past, we scripted our lives to become guardians, watchers over the living and the dead. As long as she’s alive, I guess I’m here.”

  “How did you die?”

  “Murdered,” said Serge.

  “Oh.” Kent slid back in the chair, then slid forward again. “Did they catch who did it to you?”

  His answer was an emotionless, “Yeah.”

  I reached over and squeezed his hand.

  “Did you remember dying?”

  He shook his head. “Bits and pieces.”

  “I can’t remember, either.” There was silence as he thought it over. “Does that mean someone murdered me?”