by Natasha Deen
Serge took my hand. “I don’t mind. At least I have an afterlife to make up for my mistakes. Plus, I have you.” He smiled. “We’re on a strange destiny, Mags. Transitioning souls, dealing with weird creatures and things that crawl out of hell. On this path, you’re all the friend I need. As long as you’re beside me, I’m cool.”
“That’s really sweet—”
He loosened his grip and closed his eyes. “I figure if anything really freaky comes at us, all I need to do is toss you in between me and it. That should give me enough time to disappear.”
“Seriously?”
“Totally. First sign of trouble, I’m punting you like a football and running the other way.”
“You know what you are?”
“Dead funny?”
I looked away so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me laugh.
He opened his eyes and watched me. “How are you doing? You know, with everything that happened with me…”
“Boo-Boo, I wish I could say I was completely traumatized, but that stuff’s kind of what I’ve done my whole life. Your case took it to a whole new level, but it’s nothing I ain’t seen before.”
“Okay, Xena.”
“Gross, you’re imagining me in that outfit, aren’t you?”
“Already there.” He grinned. Then the watchful look was back on his face, again. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Sadly, my biggest problem is this dating thing.”
“You and Craig? You guys are great together—”
“Yeah, but we’re not exactly normal. I mean, shouldn’t I be trying harder to stay in touch and shouldn’t he be doing the same?”
Serge gave me an incredulous look. “You’re both busy saving the world and when you’re not doing that, he’s transporting souls, you’re transitioning souls. I think you need to take a deep breath and calm down.”
“Yeah?”
“A really big, deep breath. Get those lungs to inflate. Come on, I’ll watch and make sure you’re doing it right.”
I shoved him sideways and he laughed.
“I just thought of something. Didn’t Kent say he volunteered at the distress line?”
Serge nodded.
The number for the phone line I knew off by heart—their posters were plastered on the back of every bathroom stall at school. I dialled the number then perked up as Harriet’s distinctive voice growled hello.
“Hey Harriet, it’s—”
“No names, kid.” Her smoked-since-the-womb-voice rumbled over the line. “This is an anonymous service.”
“Oh, uh, I was calling about Kent Meagher.”
“Watch the names,” she said. “We’re here to help, not to—”
“Oh! No! This isn’t a distress call. Not the regular kind, anyway. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Kent Meagher but I can’t reach him.”
“This isn’t a messenger service, honey, and you’re tying up the line for someone who really needs to talk.”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand what you’re saying. But Kent worked with you at the distress line and I’m worried about him. I was hoping maybe he’s talked to you...?” I trailed off and waited in silence.
After a minute, Harriet said, “I’m sorry, kid, but this Kent guy never volunteered with us. And I don’t know him. Try his folks, maybe.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks Harriet.” I shut down the call. “That was weird.” I told Serge what happened.
“You’re sure he said he volunteered at the distress line?”
I nodded. “Why would he lie about something like that?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound right. Maybe you misheard?”
“Maybe. I’ll have to ask him when I—” The phone binged with a text from Nell. I read the message and frowned. “Nell says she’s coming over. Something about the Piersons acting like babies.”
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
Serge sat up. “Wow, that was fast.”
As we headed for the living room, Dad emerged from the kitchen. “I got this,” he said, opened the door, and frowned. “Someone pranking us?”
He stepped into the pool of porch light, intending to investigate, but I stopped him. “It’s Kent,” I said. Then I looked over the ghost’s shoulder. “Craig!” I wanted to run down the stairs and throw myself into his arms, but Dad was there. PDA in front of the parent wasn’t big on my list, so I opted for a casual, “Hey!”
“Come on in, guys.” Dad stepped back. He glanced up at me. “You probably have lots of catching up to do.” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at me.
Message received. Catch up with Craig but not too much.
Dad started to close the door.
“Hey! Mr. Johnson, tiny blond girl headed your way!”
“Oops, sorry, Nell, I didn’t see you,” said Dad.
“If that’s a dig at my height, I’ll let you know I’m short but mighty.”
“Don’t I know it,” Dad said, smiling. “You guys go on up. I’ll put on some tea and you can get it later, okay?”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He closed the door and headed into the kitchen while Craig and Nell took off their shoes and coats.
Serge pushed past me and headed to the ghost. “You rang the bell?” The question held a combination of disbelief, respect, and envy.
“I was working on the theory of everything being electrical. Figured it was worth a shot. It’s a lot harder than just sending a text, though.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “It takes a lot of energy. I’m bagged.”
Craig and Nell followed as Kent headed up the steps.
“But how did you do that? I’m still figuring out computers and phones,” asked Serge as the four of us headed to the bedroom.
“The theory of passing through solid matter is the same as connecting with electronic devices,” said Kent. “I just modified it for practical application. I can show you, if you like.”
“Geez,” muttered Serge. “Captain Canuck’s been dead two minutes and he’s already a better ghost than me.” He glanced over his shoulder at Craig then said to me, “I’ll take Kent for a couple of minutes so you can do whatever with Craig, but then we should regroup.”
“I’ll hang with Casper and company,” whispered Nell.
Craig and I went to my room. “How bad was Africa?” I asked.
“I stop counting after three hundred souls.” He lay on my bed and closed his eyes. “You lose track when you’re ferrying the dead—especially since time in this plane and the others don’t match up.” He opened his eyes and. Exhaustion turned his brown eyes the colour of mud.
I crawled beside him and snuggled into the cradle of his arms. “I’m sorry.”
He kissed the top of my forehead. “It’s life. Death’s just a part of it.”
“I liked the pictures.”
There was a smile in his voice as he said, “I thought you might. I’m sorry I was too busy to send you more.”
He didn’t seem to want to talk, and there was nothing I had to say, so we just lay there until Kent, Nell, and Serge came in.
“We have to talk about my mom,” said Kent. He glanced at Craig. “He’s the guy from the other night, right?”
Craig nodded and held out his hand. “Craig. Maggie’s boyfriend—”
Kent jerked back then stepped forward. “You can see me? Right, you’re a supernatural something-or-other.”
The side of Craig’s mouth lifted. “I’ve been called worse. Yeah, I’m a ferrier. I transport souls.”
“To where?”
“To wherever they need to go. It depends on their religion, the kind of life they’ve led, their destiny—”
“Are you saying it was my destiny to have my life end before I was twenty-one? To never become a doctor?”
“I don’t kno
w,” said Craig. “I’m not your ferrier, so I can’t see the threads of your lives.”
“Lives.” Kent blinked. Then blinked again. “What’s on the other side? What’s waiting for me?”
“I can’t give you any answers,” said Craig. “Everyone crosses over to an individual path and unless you’re my charge, I don’t get information on you.”
“That’s not right! You’re supernatural, you should be able to see—everything—all the ways I was and am and will be—”
“Trust me,” said Craig. “You don’t want me and my kind having that type of power.”
“But if you knew—”
“I could make some terrible mistakes.” Craig swung his legs off the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. “Pretend I could see everything about the living and the dead. See all the ways they are and will be. And I’m walking down the street and I see a guy and everything—his aura, his energies, smell—all of it says he’s a bad guy about to do an even badder thing. So I take him out. Prevent whatever tragedy he was going to inflict.”
“Are you arguing for not having power?” I asked. “Cause your scenario sounds pretty good.”
“Except what if, on his way to do the bad thing, he was supposed to run into someone, someone who would change the trajectory of his life’s path? I’ve robbed him of the possibility for change and redemption. And more than that, I’ve taken a soul at its lowest state, shackled him to an afterlife and karma he may not deserve.”
“Oh.” Kent went quiet. “I guess you have a point.”
I gave him a minute, then said, “We should talk about your last moments alive and—”
His eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t get over watching my mom stumble around like she’s drunk.”
Nell looked up from her phone. “I can’t believe it’s any doctor here in Dead Falls who’s prescribing the meds. I know all of them, thanks to my dad. If she’s stumbling around, then her dosages are too high. Or they’ve prescribed her more than one med and they’re having interactions.” Her mouth twisted to the side. “That still wouldn’t be one of our doctors. This town is too small to get away with doing something like that.”
“She doesn’t need to be on medication.” Kent took a sharp breath. “I couldn’t find the pill bottle, but maybe that’s why I’m still here. If she’s gone out of town to get help and they’re misdiagnosing and messing with her meds, it can be dangerous. Fatal, even. Maybe I’m supposed to help her get proper help and then I can transition...you know, like make up for being so mean to her that night.”
“Maybe, but we still need her to file a report. If I’d known you better when you were alive, I could have done it. But since that’s not the case, it’s just going to look weird. A report gives Nancy the chance to search your room, to access your computers, find out what happened to you the day you died,” I said, “unless you remember something?”
He shook his head. “I still got nothing.”
“I wondered because you thought maybe your mom being on meds and your death were connected—”
He waved away my words. “Yeah, till she said she was in therapy and taking pills. I keep thinking if I walk, it’ll clear my mind and bring back my memory. But all I’m getting is foot calluses. I thought being dead meant no body effects.”
“It’s your background in long distance running, I bet,” said Serge. “You think you should show signs of repetitive movements, so you are.”
“I’m sorry my mom won’t help,” he said. He snapped his fingers. “Hey, but I can send texts, right? Maybe I can text something to her, like a message I’m in trouble?”
“You’re dead. You start texting, it’ll create way more questions—especially once your body’s found.” I took a quick breath. “And we need to talk about something else. You said you volunteered at the distress line?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“When I called Harriet, she said she never worked with you.” I held my hand up in case he started yelling, then dropped it when he smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry. I meant the distress line at university. Being dead is leaving my brains scrambled.”
“It’s okay,” said Serge. “Time and stuff can get a little confusing in the first while after you’re dead.”
“Which sounds like the faster we get me over to the other side, the better. So, how are we going to do this?”
After a couple of minutes, I reached for my socks. “I think I have an idea on the police report. You guys coming?”
Chapter Twelve
Craig opted to go home and catch up on sleep. Nell went back to check up on Rori. Kent, Serge, and I headed to the police station where we found Nancy at her desk, cup of coffee in hand.
“You alone?” she asked when she saw me.
“Brought a couple of friends.”
She pulled out her cell so she could read any texts Serge and Kent sent her way.
“Here.” I handed an extra-large cup of the Tin Shack’s house blend. “I’ve tasted station coffee. It’s a great negotiation tool. It’s bad enough to make me confess to the murder of JFK if I thought you’d make me drink it.”
She leaned back, threaded her fingers behind her head. “Bringing me drinks?”
“And a slice of your cake.” I slid the paper plate to her.
“Oh boy.” She sat up. “Tell me whatever you need isn’t illegal.”
“No, just questions.”
“Sit. Have some cake.” Nancy took a sip of coffee. “I could use the break. The city police are driving me crazy.”
“Did they call you about Kent—maybe they found his body in the city?”
“Nah, the usual stuff about drugs.”
I gave her a blank look. “There’s usual stuff about drugs?”
“Small towns are great for drug manufacturing and distribution. So are the national parks. Less law enforcement. We usually stay in touch with the bigger centers, get updated on drugs or suspects. Lately, both Calgary and Edmonton have had a rash of drug-related deaths.” Nancy pushed the files to the side. “That’s a problem for another time. Along with their updated list of their most wanted. Small towns are great for criminals to hide in, too. Sit.”
I did.
Serge leaned against the desk.
Kent remained standing.
“What’s going on?”
“Kent’s dad. What do you know about him?”
“Normal. Average. Nice guy.” She made a face. “According to me, not Marlo Meagher.”
Kent snorted. “Mom drove him crazy, even after the divorce—it’s why he moved away when I was in junior high.”
“One of the worst things about being a cop is the family disputes. Doug never tried to take his son, but he did struggle with his custodial rights. Marlo was a nut when they were getting divorced…and after, too. She found ways to deny the dad visitation. It all got really ugly.” Nancy took a breath and reached for the cake.
“They bankrupted themselves,” clarified Kent. “Then, when they had no money, they found some sense. At least, Dad did.”
Nancy read the text. “It’s true about Doug. He ended giving Marlo primary custody and agreed to the least amount of weekends and visits with Kent.”
“This makes no sense,” I said. “Kent’s dad had a right to see his son. She couldn’t deny him—”
“Oh, kid, you have no idea. When love turns to hate and bitterness, it gets ugly.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would Mr. Meagher just give up his rights to Kent like that?”
“Because he thought it was best for Kent,” said Nancy.
Emotion flashed across Kent’s face. It happened so fast, I couldn’t tell if he was sad or mad, agreeing or disagreeing with Nancy. “And because of the money,” he said. “They spent so much money fighting each other, they had to declare bankruptcy. That freaked out Dad, but Mom
was still willing to spend money she didn’t have to fight him. In the end, Dad gave in. He said he didn’t want any more money being wasted on them instead of being spent on me.”
“Wait a second. Are you saying your folks are still married?” I asked.
He nodded. “They didn’t have enough money to get divorced. Dad eventually left town, and I guess they just let it go.”
“How did you feel about it?”
Typical guy, he went with a shrug over sharing his feelings. “Dad said any money not spent on a lawyer was money spent on me. So, I went with it. Anyway, we found workarounds.” He stood. “I’m—” He ran his hand through his hair. “You care if I just jet for a bit? This is kind of hard to talk about.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”
He left.
“I’ll go with him,” said Serge. “Even if we don’t talk, maybe he’ll appreciate the company.”
I nodded, reached for the file and flipped through it. “Okay, when Kent was small, the times he was late coming home, he was with his dad. But starting”—I did the math—“in grade nine, he wasn’t at home but he wasn’t with his dad, either.”
“I’d find him at the library or the park. It was right about then he started going hard-core for his marks. I think he realized how expensive med school was and that neither parent was going to be able to pay for him. If he was going to go to university, it was going to have to be through bursaries and scholarships. There wasn’t a job in town that kid wouldn’t take if it paid for college. I’d see him around, shovelling walks, mowing lawns, flipping burgers. He worked with the parks cleaning port-a-potties one summer.” She took her seat. “Amazing kid. How did you talk with his mom go? I’d like to find his body, bring him home. Any luck with Marlo?”
I shook my head. “She’s convinced he’s just busy. When we were there, Serge searched the house for any clues. He said Kent left a laptop in his room. I bet it has answers.”
“I need a reason to take the laptop. That woman can be stubborn. She won’t just let me take it. Of all the times for her to take a measured approach with her kid, this is where she plants her flag.”
