Remember Me 2: The Return

by Christopher Pike

  He pointed toward the large blue body of water at her back, the one with the waves and the salt in it, and the sandy beach beside it. "It's over there," he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, yeah. I have a terrible sense of direction."

  "You're not from around here?" he asked. The way he spoke, she knew he knew the answer to his own question—which he should have, because of her inner-city bad-girl accent. Yet, even though she liked him, she didn't like being categorized. She straightened up and cleared her throat.

  "How can you tell?" she asked.

  He shrugged and set down his lamp. "Your voice. Your bathing suit."

  "What's wrong with my bathing suit? I just bought it. I bought it down here."

  He paused and studied her up and down, perhaps wondering what he was getting himself into, and if it was worth it. "There's nothing wrong with it," he said carefully. "It just doesn't look like the kind of suit girls around here wear."

  "Because my ass doesn't stick out?"

  He smiled. "If you like. Where are you from?"

  Jean took a step closer to him. "Guess."

  "South Central."

  "Close enough. Does that scare you?"

  "Well, since it doesn't look as if you're carrying a switchblade or a gun beneath that suit, I'd have to say no."

  "I might have one in my bag. You never know."

  He gestured to his jammed truck. "If you are going to rob me, these are all the worldly possessions I have. Take what you want, I don't care."

  Jean smiled. "I'm not as dangerous as I look. Are you moving out or is that a stupid question?"

  He nodded. "Yeah, it's finally time to leave the nest. I found a studio apartment up on Baker. It's on the third floor. There's a pool, but the place is kind of small. But then I don't have a lot of stuff."

  "Did you move that chest of drawers by yourself?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'm not impressed. That's a good way to wreck your back. Isn't any of your family home to help you?"

  "There's just my mom and dad, and I want to move while they're out." He shook his head thoughtfully.

  "My mother isn't exactly crazy about me leaving."

  "Is it because you're their only child?"

  He hesitated. "Yeah. There are just the three of us."

  Jean offered her hand. "My name's Jean Rodrigues. What's yours?"

  "James Cooper." He shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

  It was weird to touch him. It was like touching a mirror, while an old friend stood behind her. "I bet people call you Jimmy," she said.

  Her remark made him stiffen. "Not usually. Most people just call me Jim."

  "Then that's what I'll call you." She nodded to the truck. "It looks like you're about ready to take this load over. I'll give you a hand if you like."

  Her offer took him aback. But then he smiled.

  "That's nice of you. But you're dressed for the beach. You should just go and enjoy yourself."

  "I have an ulterior motive in wanting to help you, Jim. I took the bus over here and it'll take me two hours to get home. If I help you move your stuff, then I was thinking maybe you could give me a ride home." She added, "You're going to need some help if your place is on the third floor."

  He raised his eyebrows at her offer. She could see he was shy, a sweet guy. By the faint lines around his eyes, she could also see that he had suffered in his life. It had to do with his sister, she knew. Yet she didn't feel this was the time to ask about her.

  "Can you work in a bathing suit?" he asked finally.

  "Are you afraid my breasts might pop out?"

  He blushed. "I wasn't worried about that exactly."

  "I have clothes in my bag here, along with my forty-four Magnum." She paused.

  "I would like to help you."

  He watched her. "Why, Jean?"

  She smiled. "Because I'm grateful to you. You showed me where the ocean is."

  CHAPTER VIII

  I LIVED IN THE REALITY of my own creation. I had put on my memory cap, however, and didn't know that I was both my own God and devil. I was Shari Cooper and I was alive on planet Earth and back in high school. It was my sophomore year and at the moment nothing was more important than Peter Nichols asking me to the prom. I could see him approaching in the crowded hallway. My heart pounded like a piston in my chest when he smiled at me.

  "Shari," he said. "How are you doing?"

  My hands were filled with school books and I worried they would be ruined with the sweat pouring off my palms. Peter looked so good then, his curly blond hair hanging in his blue eyes. Standing so cool in the hustle and bustle of the break between first and second period. Like he had just pitched nine innings of no-hit ball in the World Series and was about to be handed the MVP award.

  "Great," I said. "How are you?"

  "Cool. Going to the prom tomorrow night?"

  "Maybe."

  "Why maybe?"

  I shrugged like it was no big deal. "Haven't got a date yet."

  "Do you want to go with me?" he asked.

  I managed to hold on to my books. "Sure."

  "What time should I pick you up?"

  "How about six?"

  "Six is good." He patted me on the back and stepped past me. "See you then."

  Wow, I thought. Peter Jacobs. What a guy. Shari and Peter. What a couple.

  Then it was Friday night, just like that, and I was upstairs finishing my hair and the doorbell rang. The noise startled me; my brush handle broke off in my hand, the bristles in my hair. But I just laughed; I was high as a kite. I ran down the stairs to find my mother and father opening the door for Peter. My father pumped his hand and my mother gave him a quick hug. They liked Peter, of course. He was a winner. He was my fastball. I was hoping for some fast times tonight as I hurried toward him. His tux was the color of sand on an ocean floor. He smiled at me and handed me a corsage as large and as white as the moon.

  "You look great, Shari," he said.

  "Thank you." I accepted the corsage. "You don't look so bad yourself."

  My parents stood nearby and beamed happily.

  We drove to the prom in a silver limo that Peter had rented. The dinner and dance were in the same expensive hotel. There was steak and lobster, music and candles. We danced long and slow and Peter put his arms around me and told me how much he cared for me. I whispered the same. A vote was taken on fancy folded cards and not long after Peter and I were crowned "Coolest Couple."

  The band played us a special song—"Stairway to Heaven." I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven. And the night was still young. Peter kissed my ear and told me he had rented a room upstairs. Did I want to see it? Sure, I said. If that's what he wanted. He nodded and took my hand and we strode toward the elevator, while all my girlfriends watched in envy.

  The suite was plush. There were flowers, a bottle of champagne on ice, soft music on the stereo. We drank a toast to ourselves. Then Peter kissed me and led me into the bedroom. The light was down low. He began to undress me.

  "Do you want to make love?" he asked softly.

  "Yes. Yes. Do you?"

  "Yes," he said. "Help me get out of these clothes."

  "I love you, Peter," I said as I unbuttoned his shirt.

  "I love you, Shari."

  I opened his shirt and rubbed my palm over his hard muscles.

  A metallic-colored monster burst out of the center of his chest.

  "Eehhh!" I screamed and leapt back. In horror, I watched as Peter toppled to the floor, his blood and guts splattering the carpet. The monster climbed out of his ruined cavity and stood upright. Its head was enormous. As it peered at me, its mouth opened and a band of razor-sharp teeth protruded and snapped at the air. In the space of seconds it grew to eight feet tall.

  Too numb to shout for help, I backed into the corner and tried to be invisible.

  But the monster was hungry and wanted prime California girl flesh. Slowly it moved toward me, acid slime dripping from its mo
uth and burning the carpet.

  It would use the acid to digest me, I knew. I had maybe three seconds left alive.

  At last I found my throat and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  The monster stopped and peered at me curiously. It spoke in Peter's voice.

  "Did I scare you?" he asked.

  I was about to faint. "What?" I gasped.

  "It's me, Peter," the alien said.

  I frowned. "Is that a costume?" I pointed to his dead body. "What the hell is going on here?"

  "We're at the prom," he said. "This is supposed to be the night of our lives."

  I was having trouble taking it all in. "But are you inside that monster, Peter? It looks so real."

  "Oh, it's real enough." It turned its huge head back toward Peter's body. "You want to see it eat what's left of me?"

  "No!" I cried. "Get out of that suit now. You're making me sick to my stomach."

  I was suddenly angry. "I didn't like being scared like that. You almost gave me a heart attack."

  "I couldn't have done that to you."

  "No, I'm serious. I almost had a heart attack."

  The monster sat down on the floor. "You can't have a heart attack, Shari. Don't you remember? You're dead."

  It all came back to me in an instant. Then I was really pissed. I strode over and whacked the monster on the head. "We both agreed to block our memories. We were supposed to go to the prom like it was real. Since when have you known this was all make believe?"

  "Since it started."

  "That's not fair! Here I'm swooning under your attention and you're sitting in your fat head and chuckling at me. That's it, that's the last romantic fantasy I'm acting out with you. I'm going to find some other ghost. Maybe an Englishman from the last century. Those guys were supposed to have manners.

  I'm really angry at you, Peter."

  The alien shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't mean to hold on to my memory. It just happened. Then as the night dragged on I started to get bored. I just wanted to liven things up."

  "Oh, thank you! I feel much better now! You get to go to the prom with me and screw me afterward and you're bored. Thanks a lot Mr. MVP."

  "We didn't exactly screw afterward."

  "We were about to. Why did you choose that moment to have an alien burst out of your chest? Do you know what that does for my self-esteem?"

  "You're not supposed to have self-esteem problems."

  "Why not?"

  "You don't have a body for one thing."

  "So? I'm still a person. I'm still walking around in the image of the body I had on Earth."

  "Why?"

  I stopped. "Why what?"

  "Why don't you switch to another body?"

  "What's wrong with this one? Is that why you got bored tonight? I wasn't cute enough for you? God, I'm happy I didn't date you when I was alive. I would have ended up killing myself. And would you get out of that stupid alien form?

  You really are making me sick. Not that the sight of your old self probably won't do the same thing."

  The monster vanished, as did Peter's dead body. He stood before me as I had met him at my funeral, wearing blue jeans and a baseball cap. "I just wanted to experiment is all," he said. "You don't have to get all bent out of shape."

  I sighed. "I suppose not. It's just that I never got to go to the prom with you. I dreamed about it so much and this seemed like a good chance to have a dream come true. You can understand that, can't you?"

  Peter put an arm around me, and in that moment it felt pretty real to me, and wonderful, his touch, like the touch of my oldest and best friend. I was still having trouble with all this consciousness business but I supposed the Rishi would explain it to me more if I asked. Once again I was glad he had promised not to observe my fantasy life. He was so wise—I didn't want to act the fool in front of him.

  "We can do it again, Shari," Peter said. "We can start from when I asked you out. This time, I promise, I'll have my memory blocked. We can even have sex if you want."

  I looked at him. "If I want? Don't you want?"

  He shrugged. "Sure."

  "What does that mean? Has being dead affected you more than you've let on?"

  He took a step back. "Are you asking me if I'm impotent?"

  "It's nothing to be ashamed of if you are. We can talk about it."

  Peter was bored. "Shari, think for a second. How can I be impotent when I can sprout a dozen tentacles and talons in two seconds and eat you alive if I want to?"

  I paused. "I see your point. Never mind."

  "Do you want to start the date over?"

  I paced the hotel room. "No. I want to do something more meaningful. Let's go exploring. The Rishi said we could go anywhere we wanted in the universe just by wishing it. I've always wanted to see the solar system. Interested?"

  Peter smiled. Such a lovely boy and smile. "Always," he said.

  We hung suspended above planet Earth, seeing it as astronauts, and more. For our eyes were sensitive to colors and feelings ordinary humans failed to perceive. I saw that the Earth had both a physical and spiritual dimension.

  Much of the Middle East, for example, was clean desert covered with dark astral clouds. Intuitively I understood the darkness was from the constant strife there, and that the area could not go on the way it had been and survive.

  While other parts of the Earth shone with soft white radiance. The Himalayas in India, in particular, were beautiful to behold, and the West Coast of America also had some points of brilliance, as did a few other spots on the globe. But it saddened me to see that the lights were few compared to the darkness.

  "Too bad Time magazine never had a picture of the Earth like this on their front cover," I said to Peter, who floated beside me.

  "It is strange to see that hate is something you can see," he agreed. He pointed to the Middle East. "I do hope they get their act together there. It looks ready to explode."

  "I feel that way, too. It's almost as if it would take an explosion to break the tension there."

  "Or a huge wave of light," Peter said.

  I nodded thoughtfully. "That would be preferable."

  "Well, there's nothing we can do about it right now. Where would you like to go next?"

  I turned around, seeing an old friend behind me.

  "Let's go to the Moon!"

  There was no obvious sensation of speed as we soared toward Earth's natural satellite: no wind in our hair, no roar of a rocket engine. Yet the flight was exhilarating. Having the Moon rush steadily toward me, I never felt so free, so possessed by the certainty that all this was indeed my creation, as much as everybody else's, a playground made for all of us by God to learn in and enjoy.

  With a simple thought, I slowed as we neared the silver globe. But Peter was having too much fun and rammed headfirst into the Moon. We danced about on a crater-marked field, and then were off again, heading for the fourth planet from the sun, the red planet. Mysterious Mars. Here I discovered both wonder and fear. On a purely physical level Mars appeared uninhabited, but studying it with the spiritual eye I was learning to use, I was treated to two interlocking visions. On what I can only describe as a low vibration, I saw a race of demonic reptilian beings. A cruel civilization that fought and warred with itself and every other living being in its dimension. Here there was no light, no love, and as a result, only pain. I could only tune into it for a few seconds before being forced to shut it out.

  "Do you see it?" I asked Peter.

  He nodded gravely. "It's like hell. Yet it's there with the other as well. How can that be? Two races on one world and our scientists on Earth can see neither."

  "I think there's a lot that science has yet to learn." I focused on the other race. I say focused only in a manner of speaking. Actually, I found I could perceive more by "letting go" inside. Several octaves above the reptilians were enchanted cities of beings who looked similar to people on Earth. Immediately I was reminded of the haunting civilization the author Ray Bradbury had
described in his book The Martian Chronicles. For these were a beautiful people with long shiny gowns, wine-colored faces, and sleek bodies. Canals filled with luminous dark liquids crisscrossed their globe and they floated from town to town along these watery highways on delicate boats that could have been made of glass.

  Music filled their towns, sad and serious, yet uplifting and beautiful as well, echoing softly over the stark red deserts as well as into deep space. If these people—I preferred to think of them as the real Martians—were aware of the hellish dimension around them, they gave no sign of it. Peter seemed to read my mind.

  "I wonder if writers on Earth somehow tuned into these two races and wrote about them," he said.

  "Mars is often described in literature as both evil and magical."

  "It's possible," I replied, thinking that when I returned to Earth as a Wanderer I wanted to write about Mars, preferably about the beautiful race.

  We took off for Venus next, and even approaching the second planet from the Sun, we were thrilled by the light and joy that emanated from that white globe.

  We had to stop far off in space to observe it, the vibrations were so high our ghost bodies couldn't stand it. Through the radiance I glimpsed—and it was only a glimpse—a race of beings much farther along the path of evolution than either humanity or the lovely Martians. It was as if Venus were inhabited by angels, and I understood why on Earth it was usually referred to as the planet of love.

  "I don't think we can get any closer," I said.

  "We're probably too gross for them," Peter agreed.

  "I wonder why they are so much ahead of us?"

  "I don't know if it's so much a thing of being ahead or behind," I said, once more feeling for the truth inside, something I had begun to do out of habit since talking to the Rishi. I wondered if he had rekindled the ability in me, and if it would follow me back to Earth as a Wanderer. "I think they started before us. They are as we will be in the future."

  Peter laughed. "In ten millions years?"

  "Maybe it won't take so long," I said, once more feeling I had spoken the truth.

  The Rishi mentioned a transitional time on Earth, in the next few decades. I wondered if we might not join our cousins on Venus sooner, ghosts included.