She Lies Twisted

by C. M. Stunich

  “You must've been really important to him,” James said as he turned around and stared down at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in concern. “If he's already gotten this far after what, a week?” There was still blood, lots of it, but when I touched my skin I met roughness instead of pain. I wiped my skin off with the edge of my shirt and sat up. There were new stitches all across my body from the new wounds to the old ones. I was right, they had grown back! This isn't happening.

  I stood up.

  James had turned back around and was watching Boyd brush hair away from my face. I hated when he'd done that. It had always made me feel guilty for not loving him like that.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” I asked as James continued to watch what was probably one of the most important days in my life unfold like a blurry watercolor painting right in front of what was apparently both of our eyes. “Why can you see that? What's going on?” James knew. He had to know. He had stitches, too. He glanced back at me.

  “I was going to explain but you took off before I had a chance.” I watched my hands glide down the arms of Boyd's sweatshirt. This is why he died. You killed him. It's because of this day that he's dead. I closed my eyes and hoped that wasn't true.

  “Can we go now?” I asked. “I think I'm going to be sick.” I stumbled towards the front door and then thought the better of it before returning back to the window I'm come through in the first place.

  “We can't go,” James said as he glanced around. “Who's going to clean all of this up?”

  “Who the fuck cares?” I snapped as I forced my bottom half through the narrow opening. The ghost Boyd and I were walking back towards his room. I had to get out of there. My feet hit the grass with a thump. I turned around to make sure nobody had heard the commotion. If they had, they were ignoring it. True trailer park style. James hit the ground behind me.

  “Your blood is everywhere and there's a lot of it. Whoever finds that mess is going to think someone died in there.”

  “Somebody already did,” I said and took off at an uncomfortably quick pace. After just a couple of minutes, my breath was growing ragged and my head was on fire. James caught up to me and stayed silent until I finally slowed.

  “It may have healed up but that doesn't mean it won't affect you.” I ignored him. If he was going to keep speaking cryptically like that, we might as well play charades. I waited until we were deep enough into the trees that it was unlikely that anyone would stumble onto us and then proceeded to have a panic attack. My emotions dragged more wet from my tired eyes than I'd ever thought possible. I dropped my face into my hands and sobbed.

  “Why?” I asked as James situated himself beside me. “It was already hard enough and then I had to see him again? Why?” It wasn't really directed at him but he answered anyway.

  “It's always like that,” James began as he adjusted the dirty brown laces on his gray sneakers. “You always see the person that started it. If you didn't, you'd never really understand why you were still here.” I lifted my head and stared at him. I must've looked pretty pathetic because he put his arm around my shoulder and drew me closer. A sense of camaraderie passed between us. Loss. He felt it, too. I wasn't the only one. I wiped my bloody sleeve across my eyes.

  “Who are you?” I asked. It was the one question I needed an answer to first. Before I opened another door and let someone else in, I had to know.

  “My name is James,” he said, his dark eyes clouding over with emotion. “And I died over a year ago.”

  "Step, two, three. Now, walk, two, three. Clasp your partner's hand, ladies, this is no square dancing class!” I pressed my hands over my ears and tried to weave my way between the twirling couples in Ms. Katy Meredith's over sixty-five tango class. They, of course, weren't listening to her but to her replacement, a Mrs. Sherry Parks who, in my opinion, lacked the fire and conviction of Ms. Meredith. I nearly bumped into a couple in matching Hawaiian shirts and began to apologize when I realized they weren't actually in the class anymore, just a figment of Ms. Meredith's memories. I shook myself and kept going. James waved encouragement from behind the glass in the Visitor's Hallway.

  Katy ignored me as I reached for her sleeve. I faltered and saw James frown. He had assured me that it would be different this time, that she was ready. The sandman and....I paused and took a deep breath. Thinking his name wouldn't change anything. Still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The sandman hadn't been ready. Katy was. James said it was the bird lady's job to tell and not mine. I bit my lip.

  My fingers brushed the soft fabric of her shirt and slid around her delicate wrist. Ms. Meredith smiled.

  “The lobby is down the hall,” she said, her slim brows arched. “I think you're just a few decades early for this class.” And then she was gone and so were half of the couples that had been dancing around the wooden floor. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned around to find Mrs. Parks eyeing me with suspicion. I covered my hair with my hood and raced back the way I had come. James was waiting at the exit for me.

  “That was good,” he blurted, excitement adding color to his pale cheeks. People watched us walk down the hall with either confusion, embarrassment, or downright scorn. A couple of teens, a couple of freaks. I could've sworn I heard someone say, “I hope they outgrow that someday.” James couldn't help that he looked like an extra in a zombie movie. I mean, the new clothes and the shower had helped but still, he looked like he needed a visit to the emergency room. I, on the other hand, had always looked this way. I flipped off a couple of yuppies in pastel sweaters. James grasped my hand by the wrist. “Don't draw attention,” he said as he ushered me out the front doors of the Solma Valley Recreation Center.

  “Why not?” I snapped, fumbling around in my pocket for the last of the cigarettes Boyd had given me. I guess I was going to have to quit. Without Boyd to buy them for me...I shook my head to clear it of memories. James frowned but said nothing. Lucky him. I wasn't in the mood for it. “So,” I asked as we paused at the curb and waited for a break in the traffic. “You never told me how long I have to play 'grim reaper' for.” I emphasized the words with my fingers. James shook his head.

  “Technically,” he said as we began to cross the street. “I'm the grim reaper. You're the summoner.” I snorted and stuffed the cigarette between my lips.

  “Look, I like a game of Dungeons and Dragons as much as the next girl but come the fuck on.” I was starting to lose my patience. I had been weak yesterday, broken, twisted inside. I had let James put his foot in the door because I needed a friend but I could only handle so much. Something weird was going on, true, but summoner? Really? “If you keep up with this crap I might have to kick you out of my house.” James' face dropped. He'd been homeless for almost a year. Not a good joke. I thought about apologizing but realized I didn't have a light for my cigarette. It pissed me off enough to keep quiet.

  You see, when someone you love dies, everyone tries to pretend like there's this huge, yawning gap that you spend everyday of your life standing at the precipice of, trying not to fall in. But really, it's a series of smaller gaps, little things that hurt the most. Boyd had always been my light, in more ways than one. I threw the cigarette to the pavement.

  “Now what?” I asked. “Do I get a gold star or something?” James chuckled. At least he thought I was funny.

  “We find another harpy and get our next assignment.” I spit at the ground.

  “Why?” James' face twisted in pain and he glanced away.

  “I don't know.” I threw up my hands and began to walk away from him. He caught up to me. “Because if we don't, somebody's loved ones will be trapped in purgatory.” James wrapped his cold, skinny fingers around my wrist. “If you don't send them to the Akashic Library, they're nothing more than ghosts.” I tried to pull away. “Forever.” I sighed.

  “Will I have to see him again?” I asked. Truthfully, when I'd snuck out last night to retrieve the cigarettes I'd left taped under the school dumpster, I'd also gone
back to the trailer. Luckily, the Orangutan hadn't come home and found the destruction yet; everything was as we'd left it. I'd sat on the kitchen floor and cried while I'd watched Boyd and I bake cookies and stick mini M&M's on the tops. What I'd meant was, will I have to send Boyd to his next life? Will I have to touch his arm and watch him smile at me and then see him disappear from existence forever? Poof. Gone. My Boyd. My best friend. I sucked in a harsh breath.

  “Yes.” James chose not to elaborate. Simple seemed to work better for him. Last night, I'd barely gotten any information from him at all. The only things I knew were these: James and I were both dead yet somehow not at the same time, the bird ladies (there were men, too) were harpies that guided us to souls that needed help, and when I touched a person's ghost or spirit or whatever you wanted to call it, it either went to the Akashic Library (still no clue where or what that was) or it turned into a demon like the sandman, like Boyd. I sighed.

  “Let's go to Denny's,” I said abruptly and turned in the opposite direction. When I looked back, James had frozen in place and was staring at something across the street. I followed his gaze. Movement flashed down an alleyway like a shooting star. I blinked and it was gone. “What the hell?” James grabbed my arm and forced a smile.

  “I haven't been to Denny's in like, forever.” He tugged me away from the alley and down the street. I let him drag me several blocks before extracting myself from his grasp.

  “I'm guessing you're not going to explain that to me either?”

  “If you buy me a breakfast special, I might feel obligated to reveal the truth.” James flashed his hands in front of his face. He was pretending to be happy, to joke around, but even though I'd just met him, I could tell that whatever we'd just seen in the alley was bothering him. I let it go for the time being. We both needed an endless cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. I'd stolen another twenty from Grandma Willa's purse before we'd left and James hadn't had a job in over a year so I guessed it'd be my treat. James had barely eaten since he'd died. He'd told me plenty about that when I'd let him raid my cupboards last night.

  “So,” I asked as we passed through the dirty glass of the front door and seated ourselves in a corner booth. “Can we like, starve to death or are we, uh, I dunno, immortal or something?” James shrugged as he pulled out a menu from behind the napkins and handed one to me.

  “When I asked Ehferea that, she told me we were indefinite.” He pitched his voice to match the low, melodic tones of the black harpy lady. I opened my menu but didn't look at it. I knew what I wanted.

  “Indefinite?” I mimicked back at him. “What the fuck does that mean?” James buried his face in his menu like it was of the utmost importance and ignored my question. I tapped my nails on the Formica tabletop and studied the chipped purple nail polish.

  “You know,” he said after what seemed like forever. “Subject to no limitation or external determination, immeasurably or inconceivably great or extensive, endless.” He closed his menu and grabbed mine, stuffing them both back behind the condiments. I frowned at him.

  “You sound like a dictionary.” He grinned.

  “Merriam-Webster,” he said. I rolled my eyes and leaned forward, voice pitched in a menacing whisper.

  “I know what it means,” I said, putting all of the frustration and confusion I was feeling into my voice. “But what does it mean.” The waitress approached us warily before we could finish and took our orders. She didn't look happy about it. I decided to leave her a big tip. It would teach her not to stereotype.

  “It means,” James said, his face droopy. “That we're here until whoever it was that decided we weren't ready to pass on changes their mind. It could be today, it could be next week, it might be never.” I sat back up, my spine stiff with fear. Forever? That was a long time to suffer alone. I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Okay,” I replied carefully trying to figure out which of my hundred questions I was going to ask next. “But why?” James smiled but it seemed forced, stretchy and pliable like rubber, like I could turn it back into a frown at any moment.

  “I told you,” he said. “To help people.”

  “But why?!” I slammed my hands on the tabletop, eliciting stares. I tugged my hood closer around my face and lowered my voice. “Why us? Why not someone else? Why not the harpies?”

  “They can't,” he said simply. He put on a real smile for the waitress and thanked her for our drinks. I tugged my soda against my chest and jammed the straw against the roof of my mouth.

  “Why?” James sighed.

  “Maybe you should talk to Ehferea or Nethel. It helped me a lot when I first started.” I shook my head. I wasn't ready to talk one on one with the harpies. Not yet. “They're not from here,” James said as he stroked his finger down the side of the plastic cup.

  “Not from where?” I asked as my skin broke out in goosebumps. I wasn't going to like this.

  “From,” James paused and took a shaky breath. His skinny chest rattled like he had a pneumonia. I thought about offering him my sweatshirt. “You know, like, earth.” I sighed and leaned my head on my arm. James stayed quiet until I lifted my eyes to meet his.

  “Go on,” I moaned and sucked down half of my Coke in one sip. Too bad it didn't have any rum in it. I could've used some alcohol but I'd drank it all the week Boyd died and I had no way to get more.

  “Well,” James began and sucked on his lower lip, his tongue playing across the bumps of his stitches. “They're from a place called the Akashic Library.” I stopped him right there.

  “Okay, you keep talking about this library and how it's so fucking important for souls or spirits or whatever to go there. Why? What is it? How could these harpies be from there? Isn't it just for dead people?” James shook his head.

  “Technically, it's just on another plane of existence. Anyone could go there, if they knew how.” I stared at him. He had just said 'another plane of existence' like I'd say New York. Yeah, it was far away but if you had the money for a plane ticket...

  All I said was, “Fantastic.” We waited for our food in silence.

  When the waitress finally arrived with our plates, James dug in like he was starving, finishing his entire stack of pancakes before I could eat a single slice of bacon. “So,” he began, polishing off his scrambled eggs. “Tell me about yourself.” I stared at him like he was crazy. I had decided I would let him in, make friends, but I wasn't sure if I was really ready. I found myself wanting to make sure he never knew anything about me. He'll just kill himself if he finds out who you are. I shook my head. Negative thoughts like that would get me nowhere but I couldn't seem to help myself. Rainbows and sunshine seemed like a long ways away from the perpetually rainy day I seemed to be having.

  When I didn't answer, he began to babble. “Well, I guess I'll start then since we're going to be working together for awhile.” I continued to pick at my food. “My name is James Douglas Campbell.” He wrinkled his nose. “It doesn't really flow, I know, but my Mom's last name was Campbell and my Dad was a bastard. Douglas was my uncle but I never met him since he died before I was born.” James took a breath and waited, like he was expecting me to jump in at any moment and tell him that Tatum was really my name, not Neil. That O'Neil was my Dad's last name because my Mom wasn't much of a feminist and that I hated the taste of warm Skittles and would only eat them frozen. “My best friend's name was Sydney Bradford and she,” I glanced up sharply. There it was. The sound that had convinced me last night that James could be trusted. Loss. Pain. Hurt. “She got hit by a car and died right in front my eyes and I...” James laid his fork next to his nearly empty plate. “I drove off of a bridge in the middle of winter. It was kind of an accident but not really. I wanted to die.” I choked on my own breath. In his eyes, I saw myself. I saw him grasping for a reason to go on, anything to take the emptiness away. I reached my hand out, unsure if I should say something or remain silent. He looked away for a moment and when he glanced back at me, his eyes were shimmering with th
e barest hint of unshed tears.

  “I am totally, crazily, obsessively into xylography, I hate reality shows, and I play the harmonica.” James held up his arms with a smile. “There!” He said, sighing and sagging against the back of his seat. “Now you know everything about me. Your turn.” I smiled.

  “You would've loved my sister,” I said as I dug into my food with renewed fervor. “She always wanted to date a boy who would play the harmonica for her.”

  Misery loves company.

  After dinner, James and I walked back to the house. I had decided to let him stay there while we got this whole 'indefinite' grim reaper thing sorted out. He had no where else to go and I needed information. For the moment, it was a win-win situation. I was actually starting to feel some of the fog from Boyd's death melting away when I turned the corner onto my street and saw that all of the lights were on. It was weird to see any lights on in our house after seven. Grandma Willa liked to check in early and sleep late. I picked up the pace and motioned for James to hurry up.

  Grandma Willa was standing in the front yard in one of those old fashioned night gowns that old people in the South like to wear. It looked like a white canvas sack to me but I was sure that fashion was the last thing on her mind. If she still had one that is.

  “Shoo!” She was shouting, flicking her hands at one of the trees that lined the edge of the front yard. “Go on, get out of here!” I put a hand to my forehead and turned to James.