I'd Rather Not Be Dead

by Andrea Brokaw

  The door slams and Finn has the truck started and in reverse, hard rock screaming from its stereo before I gather my senses.

  “You're a bastard, Cooper Finnegan!”

  His tires squeal as he rips out of the parking lot.

  Boiling with furry, I curse my way back inside. What the hell is wrong with that guy?

  My sister's beside herself with happiness when I walk over to her table.

  “He is so totally in love with you!” one the blondes gushes.

  No, he isn't. Not even remotely close.

  One of the others puts an arm around Bobbi. “I knew he was only mean to you because he was stressed. I bet he was just upset you saw him lose and all.”

  I roll my eyes. On one hand, if Bobbi's actually believing this, then maybe she deserves to get burned. Maybe it'll teach something about trusting charismatic people with gorgeous smiles, intriguing eyes, and perfect bodies. If something seems too good to be true, it is.

  But... She's my sister. I don't want to see her do this. Why can't she fixate on one of the multitude of boys in our school who'd die for just one date with her? Why does she have to be set on the popular boy with the huge ego and multiple personalities?

  I can't stand listening anymore, so I go back to the other version of myself. But I don't want to listen to her either, don't want to look at her vapid adoration of someone who's betraying her. He doesn't care about her even half as much as she cares about him, that's obvious. If he did his attention wouldn't keep wandering back to Bobbi, would it? And if he wants a cheerleader that bad... What would he want with a pseudo-punk semi-goth chick like Drew McKinney? No, he's only with her because she'll put out for him and the cheerleader won't. Simple as that. I don't know why she doesn't see it. Why I never saw it.

  Maybe Bobbi and I have certain traits in common.

  Depressed, more alone than I ever was in life, and just miserable in general, I leave, looking for somewhere else to haunt. My feet take me on autopilot to Fray. We've just met, but he's fundamentally my only friend in the world. Good thing I'm not used to having many of them anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  The door of the hunting club is propped open to let in the fall air for the patrons, who are mesmerized by the football game on the screens behind the bar. Since the last time I was in, the place has been redecorated with spiderwebs and hanging bats. It's kind of sad to think that as a ghost Halloween will be just another day for me.

  Fray's perched on a stool the living are giving a wide berth despite its excellent view of Blue Ridge State getting clobbered in the first. I glare at the TV, hoping Finn's future alma mater looses so horrifically they scrap their football program entirely. Down by fourteen with only three minutes played, they just might.

  The crowd grumbles as the local boys punt the ball back into their opponents' possession. My mouth twists into a dark smile. Yeah, see how much funding the football program gets after a game like this.

  My ghostly friend whistles as he turns my way. “Such venom, luv. What'd your boy do now?”

  “Not my boy.” I lean against the edge of the bar, fold my arms tightly, and glare at the floor. The guy a seat down looks over with an uncomfortable frown and shifts to the far edge of his stool before downing about half of beer in his glass.

  “Of course not,” Fray agrees, holding back laughter. “So this has nothing to do with Finn trying to hook up with your sister?”

  If my eyes narrowed any further, they'd be closed.

  “You think he's using her,” Fray says. “But she seems willing to be used.”

  Glass starts to rattle. The big-haired bartender grabs two of the closest bottles and looks at the rest of the liquor shelf with alarm.

  “That an earthquake?” someone asks.

  “The earth ain't shaking,” she tells him. “It's that ghost. Same one that messes with the TV.”

  Oh, crap. I take a moment to try to calm down until everything settles.

  “Are you trying to tell us something, spirit?” Big-Hair asks the air, very loud and very slow, like some people talk to young children or foreigners.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Lay off on the hairspray.”

  “You need to get a handle on that, you know.” Fray gives me a look I'm well familiar with. It's the same look my parents give me almost every time they see me.

  “I know.” Sighing, I shake my head and look at my boots while the bartender continues trying to get a response from her ghost.

  “Can I help?”

  My throat gets tight for a second. No one has ever followed that 'You need to sort out your life' look with that question before. “Sure. Tell me how to get rid of Cooper Finnegan.”

  “Get rid of..?”

  “I'm not going to kill him.”

  Fray nods. “Then you can't.”

  “What? But there has to be a way. You haven't been haunting this club forever. It was built, when? The seventies? The nineteen seventies?”

  “1967.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “Before that, this place was a grocer. Before that, a public square. Which is why I was hanged in the middle of it.”

  I shiver. “Right. You said before you died here.” I'd just forgotten because I'm a self-centered brat.

  His head jerks toward the corner behind the bar. “Right around there.”

  “That's awful.”

  In contrast to the story, the crowd suddenly gets very happy as Blue Ridge grabs an interception and runs it down the field to score. Fray nods to the screen, acknowledging the play, then shrugs in my direction. “It could have been worse. I could have been stuck living in my brother's house.”

  “Okay, okay. Your death was worse than mine. But your Place of Power...” I'm not so sure as I say it. How would I feel looking at the spot I was killed every day for centuries? At least Cooper Finnegan will die someday. “What happens when he dies? Will I just not have a Place of Power anymore?”

  “Can't happen.” Fray's head moves as he catches an impressive pass out of the corner of his eye. He watches the game until the ball carrier gets tackled and then goes on, “A Shadow without a Place of Power would go into The Spirit. The Places are what keep us here.”

  “So...” I frown.

  My friend takes a deep breath. “Some people who haunt individuals pass on with them. But that's usually people who were just waiting on the other one. Folks who refuse to leave their spouses, mothers watching over their children, that kind of thing.”

  Quickly, I nod. “Not me.”

  “No,” he agrees, more hesitantly than he should.

  “So, what will happen to me?” I ask, annoyance creeping up on me at the pace of this conversation.

  “You could be left to The Spirit, but probably not, seeing how strong you are.” He frowns as Blue Ridge receives a punt on the one.

  “Great. Which leaves?”

  Fray shrugs and I resist the urge to hit him. “Most likely, you'd pass on to his heirs.”

  Ugh. Saddled with the spawn of Cooper Finnegan? “What if no one's stupid enough to breed with him?”

  He shrugs. “Then the heir will be a house or a cat or something.” He pauses, then gives me a smile like a demented leprechaun. “Although based on the way your sister was looking at him...”

  Fray laughs as I shove away from the bar and stomp toward the door. “How would you know how she looked at him?” I toss over my shoulder. “You weren't even there.”

  “Wait up, luv.” He dashes up to me and grabs my arm. “You know I wouldn't torment you if I didn't like you so much.”

  “Yeah,” I grumble. “You clearly worship and adore me.”

  “Of course, my sweet little viper.” His eyes dance with green fire. So green... Like emeralds. Not like the green in Finn's eyes, a green like leaves in summer. He smiles and puts an arm around my shoulders, turning me back toward the bar. “You're just like the little sister I never had.”

  I snort. “And you come from such a pleasant family, that has to be a compliment.”<
br />
  He laughs again. “You'd have fit right in.”

  “Great.”

  “And I knew how she looked at him because I saw your memory.”

  I stop walking. “Right. You read minds. And you read mine.”

  “You're thinking of the number forty-two. Care to think of something that isn't the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything?” He raises his eyebrows. Being alert for it, I feel him going through my thoughts. It's subtle, like the gentlest of breezes ruffling the pages of a book. But it doesn't actually move the pages, so it can only see what's on the page the book is open to. “Good analogy. You were named for your grandfather, Andrew McKinney, and his wife Elizabeth. Your baby sister named your cat Miss Whiskers and she was so cute you couldn't stand to change it. Which makes you a lot more sentimental than you want people to know. And now you're thinking in what sounds like German. Probably cursing.”

  Gently, he prods me back into motion and maneuvers me to our spot at the bar. His hands move when we get to his vacated seat, going to my hips. He lifts me up onto the stool, earning a smack in the shoulder for his trouble. “Now...” He gives me in intent look, his gaze not wavering even when the crowd reacts to something on the screen. “I don't suppose you're willing to simply stop hating Finn?”

  I swallow, feeling like crying all of a sudden. Out of habit, I try to hide it from my eyes, but what's the point if my mind's broadcasting everything I feel anyway?

  “Why don't I teach you how to zap back to him so you don't have to risk The Spirit to be out of his sight? Would that make you feel better?”

  Still choked up, I just nod. That would help me feel better about Finn. Doubt it would do much to help how vulnerable I feel about Fray though. He reads minds. No wonder he sought me out, must be hard to keep friends when people find out about that. Must be lonely. Must be loud.

  “Alright.” Still leaning over me, Fray closes his eyes and takes several breaths. “I've never had to explain this before. It's like explaining how to walk. Just telling a person to move their legs wouldn't be good enough.”

  “And your mind reading only goes one way?”

  His eyes snap open, the intensity in them frightening. “You'd have to open for me. I can't use force.”

  “That's all you'd do?” I ask through a sudden chill. “Just teach me how to move. Nothing else.”

  “Nothing else,” he whispers, the words shaky. I'm not sure how much he believes them. What's he not telling me? His eyes close again, this time in pain. “When I do it, I'll be further into your thoughts than usual. Last time... Last time I saw things I wasn't supposed to. Things she'd lied about for years.”

  “I've never lied to you.”

  His mouth curves in the saddest of smiles. “I've lied to you. I told you there wasn't a woman.”

  “And there was.” I'd known that all along.

  “My wife.” His voice catches. “His lover.”

  “Oh, Fray...” My arms go around his shoulders, pulling him against me. My hand holds his head against my shoulder. I know how I feel about Cris's other girl. How much worse would it hurt if she were Bobbi? If he were my husband, not just a friend with benefits I let myself care too much about?

  “I killed her. I was right there in her thoughts. I made her pick up the knife...” He holds me tight, lets out a dry sob against my shoulder. “I thought I loved her. That I'd do anything for her. And I killed her. Because the child I'd stayed here to protect wasn't mine.”

  The pain of it brings tears to my own eyes, even though Fray's not actually crying.

  He pulls away from me, takes a step back and stares at the ground with his hair falling forward like a shroud. “I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I never admitted it before. Thought it might make me feel better. I didn't want to feel better.” He shakes his head. “It didn't though.”

  “Still.” My hand goes out to brush against his. His fingers turn to lace with mine. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  He nods, then clears his throat. “So... Do you still want to let me into your mind or do you want to try it the normal way first?”

  “Show me.”

  A faint smile accompanies his nod. “Just imagine that book from before, letting me touch it, letting me flip through its pages, letting me write on them.”

  I close my eyes, slow my breathing and imagine putting the book in front of him, handing him a pencil. It takes a lot of trust. His wife had to have known what she was doing, that she was letting him in on things she'd always hidden from him. Hold on. She knew him after his death?

  “She was a Shadow Walker,” Fray says inside my head. “Be quiet.”

  Chastised, I put effort into silencing my thoughts and listening to what Fray is writing with his.

  “Tell me how to change clothes?” I ask when he's about to retreat. I feel the amused fondness he has for me. It's a bit like how I feel about Rain, or did when she was still little enough to be cute. His mind slides from mine, leaving me curiously lonely. “I can do those things now?”

  He shrugs. “Try it.”

  I try my clothes first, doing pretty much what I tried before, but with one big difference. I have to tug on the universe while I'm thinking about new clothes. Fray was right about that being hard to explain.

  My boots change into skater shoes. My black cargo pants into different black cargo pants. My shirt shifts into a tee featuring a Pac-Man ghost. Fray chuckles at that. I trade my duster for a plain black hoodie. It feels amazingly good to be in different clothes. The old ones weren't dirty but I was thoroughly sick of them.

  “Thank you!” I climb up on the stool's footrest to toss my arms around Fray's neck. “You're officially my new best friend.”

  “And there was so much competition,” he remarks, hugging me back.

  My eyes drift closed as I savor the sensation of being held. People frequently don't realize how important it is just to be touched, how much it means to the animal parts of our brains. Fray's arms tighten. He runs a hand through my hair.

  The mood shifts in an instant, turning more tense, more adult, less familial.

  With a shuddering breath, Fray moves his arms, puts his hands on my hips and starts to push me away. He stops when I move my face from his neck so I can press our lips together..

  For half a second, he tenses, goes completely still. Then something snaps and he pulls me roughly against him, his mouth eager against mine. Our tongues twine roughly, our hands move, exploring. With a growl, he pushes me backwards, pressing me against the bar. His body moves against me in urgent, intimate ways.

  Then he's gone.

  He stands several feet away, a pained look on his face.

  “Fray?” My breath's unsteady, my heart's racing.

  His head shakes, though his eyes are hungry, lustful. “I can't.”

  “Can't?” I stand up, my knees a little unsteady. “What do you mean, can't?”

  He steps backward as I step forward, not saying anything. Am I really so repulsive that even someone who hasn't gotten laid in who knows how long doesn't want me?

  “Repulsive?” he snarls. “You think I'd kiss you like that if you were repulsive?”

  Closing the distance between us takes him two long steps and then he's kissing me, dominant and forceful. He tears his mouth away and demands, “You think I don't want you?” And then he's kissing me again, rougher than before.

  “I want you,” he gasps, pushing away from me. “But I can't. I won't.”

  “Why?” I try to get closer, but he backs further away.

  There's a pain in his eyes that's too deep to be anything I caused. “I've fallen for someone who could never love me back before. I'm not doing that again, Drew.”

  My blood tingles with chill. I could try telling him that love and sex aren't the same, but he knows that. That's his point, I think. That to him it has the potential to be more while for me it wouldn't be anything beyond physical. That's not en
tirely true. Even from just the kissing, I know there's a more to it. Intimacy with Cris was never like that, never so serious and... It was never a true emotional connection. With Fray, it would be. But, he's right, it wouldn't be love. Not the romantic kind. Not for me. “Fray...”

  He shakes his head with a tiny, unfelt smile. “Don't, luv. Don't apologize for something that isn't your fault.”

  I swallow. “I really do like you.”

  The smile gains strength, although it stays just as sad. “I know. And thank you. For wanting me. You're right about it being a very long time since anyone looked at me like that.”

  He swallows and there's a visible crack in his resolve. “Go, Drew. Please?”

  “Alright.”

  I want to hug him again, in a completely platonic way, but I know better.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With my new ability to move through space, I zap myself to the town's movie theater. The place offers only three screens and no stadium seating, but three movies I've never seen before offer a whole afternoon's worth of distraction.

  Unwilling to lie down on the sticky theater floors or even the worn carpet of the lobby, I walk into the night, not sure where I'm going. The sky's clear, the stars bright. When I first moved to Pine Ridge, I was astonished by the number of stars. There are so many of them up here, so little light pollution for competition.

  Without meaning to, I find myself standing outside of Cooper Finnegan's house, looking at the attic windows. A light's on up there, one that flickers like a television.

  I catch a movement downstairs and assume it's his mother until the figure comes into focus. Cooper Finnegan. In the hideous living room with the demented teddy bears. He's on the phone, pacing around as he talks. Who's he talking to? Is it Bobbi?

  He stops and looks out the window, directly toward me. But he can't see me, can he? Not with the lights on inside, reflecting against the darkness and the windows.

  I turn and stalk away. If he's talking to Bobbi, what's he telling her? Promising her? Making her believe? Fray was right, blast him. Bobbi didn't look like she'd mind being used. And while I think she honestly feels something for Finn, I doubt she would if he weren't The Cooper Finnegan, the most popular boy in school. If he were just some guy with an attachment to sarcasm too subtle for most people to catch and too deep a bond with his ferrets, would she still want him? If he had half as many piercings as Cris, would she look at him at all or would she ignore him like she ignores Crispin Smith?