Caught Dead

by Patricia Mason

  And then he'd done something really stupid; he'd run from her as if she were a rabid dog at his heels. She must have laughed her head off at his ridiculous behavior. As if there was anything to be afraid of. He should just go back there and put in his order and pretend the whole thing had never happened. If she said something about showing her the sights he would just politely decline. He'd play it calm and cool.

  Once he'd raked the pulled weeds into a pile, he scooped up an armful and thrust it into the plastic bin.

  Yes. Definitely calm, cool, collected. Nothing to run from.

  The sound of approaching footsteps startled Jonah and he glanced over his shoulder.

  Belinda, dressed in her uniform and carrying a paper sack, was just reaching for the gate's latch when their eyes met. The sudden heat rushing up his neck meant he'd flushed as red as a stop sign.

  Pivoting, he strode toward the caretaker's cottage.

  Stop, you moron, his mind screamed at his legs, but they didn't obey. He just kept going.

  The gate clanged shut. "Jonah," Belinda called out.

  Head down, he walked faster but heard her behind him running to catch up. He won the race to the door. He opened it, slipped through and had almost gotten it closed when Belinda stuck her sneaker-shod foot over the threshold.

  "Oh, hi." Jonah stifled an eye roll. Couldn't he do better than that? Saying hi as if he'd just noticed her? She obviously knew that wasn't the case.

  With a brilliant smile, Belinda held up the sack. "You forgot your lunch."

  "Umm. Yeah. Wait here and I'll get some money."

  "That's okay." Belinda followed him through the door. "You don't owe anything. Rocco doesn't know, but it's on him today."

  Belinda chuckled and the light musical sound echoed through the cottage, stopping Jonah in place.

  Taking a deep breath to muster his courage, Jonah turned back to face Belinda. As he'd suspected, the sight of her in his home pierced his heart, almost too sweetly painful to survive.

  Their eyes locked and the two stared at one another for long seconds. Then her eyes drifted down to his chest. Her gaze on him sent tingles into every nerve ending and awoke uncomfortable longings.

  "Sorry," he muttered and grabbed a discarded black T-shirt from the back of his desk chair before shrugging it on.

  "That's...okay..." Belinda said, seeming almost disappointed that he'd put on the shirt.

  The gentle nudging weight of a cat headbutting his calf captured his attention. The cat rubbed its length against first him and then Belinda as he wound around their legs.

  "You have a cat." Belinda crouched to give a long stroke to Sir Fluffybottom's back."

  "He belongs to my grandmother," Jonah said.

  "I love cats." Belinda smiled as Sir Fluffybottom purred under her hand. "Maybe I should get one. Mom always said a cat will protect you from evil."

  "Yeah," Jonah said with a snort. "You definitely need one in this town then."

  Jonah crouched beside her and scratched behind Sir Fluffybottom's ear. With both of them petting the cat at the same time, it almost seemed like touching Belinda...the closest he would ever get anyway.

  Too soon, Belinda stood straight and pointed at Jonah's right hand. "Why do you wear a wedding ring on your pinky?"

  Jonah's breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to think about blood now. He just wanted to enjoy being with Belinda. He rose but kept his eyes on the ground.

  "Oh..." Belinda put a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm too nosy sometimes."

  Her hand sent a lightning bolt through his skin, up his arm, before zapping his heart. Jonah barely managed a muttered, "That's okay."

  Smiling, she wandered past Jonah to his desk. Jonah held his breath as she scanned the clutter. A part of him loved seeing Belinda in his home. Another part of him warned that this was dangerous. She could discover something she shouldn't.

  Belinda picked up an object. "What a gorgeous cameo."

  "My grandma's," he said.

  "I heard she died," Belinda said. "She was a nice lady."

  Jonah shrugged and nodded. He could hardly tell Belinda that his grandmother's ghost was in the other room.

  After placing the cameo back on the desk, Belinda picked up the glowing purple ornament and examined it. "This is beautiful too. What is it?"

  "It's called a witch ball. It traps spirits."

  Belinda stared into the glow, squinting as if to see more clearly inside.

  "How does it stay lighted? Is it powered by a battery?"

  "My grandma," Jonah said and then stepped forward. "Please put that down. It...it could break."

  Belinda gave an apologetic smile and gently placed the ornament back on the desktop. But she didn't stop her survey of his space, first examining the clippings on the bulletin board before wandering over to a telescope set up near the window and astronomical charts laid out in a chair beside.

  "You're into astronomy?" Belinda asked. "Cool. But what's with the serial killer clippings?"

  “Umm—"

  A bump, as if something had toppled over in the kitchen, startled them both.

  Belinda jumped, exclaiming, "What was that?"

  "Probably just Grandma," Jonah answered truthfully. His grandmother had been practicing mustering enough emotional energy to impact the physical world. But when he thought about what he'd blurted out, he cringed. Maybe Belinda wouldn't catch what he'd said.

  "How could it be your grandmother? She died."

  No such luck. He decided to be honest. "Yes. But her ghost makes noise from time to time."

  Belinda laughed, although the sound was forced and uneasy. "You have a lot of ghosts around here?" she asked.

  "Yes," Jonah answered in a monotone.

  "That's not funny."

  "Not meant to be." Having her believe him could be wonderful...or terrible.

  Finally, Belinda shook her head. "It was probably just the cat." But then she glanced down to Jonah's feet where Sir Fluffybottom sat licking himself. Belinda broke for the door. "Maybe I should go."

  He should let her go. Jonah knew that. Belinda was too perfect for him. If by some miracle she actually wanted to be friends, he'd only end up hurting her. He should let her go.

  "I haven't killed anyone," Jonah burst out.

  With one hand on the front door knob, Belinda halted.

  Jonah continued, "I'm not crazy. And I’m not the Slicer, no matter what Kerilynn might say."

  The silence hung thick in the small room for one...two...three seconds.

  Belinda took her hand from the doorknob and walked back to the telescope at the window. Pointing to the charts, with his scrawled notes that lay on the nearby chair, she asked, "Will you tell me more about this? It looks like you're tracking something."

  She didn't leave.

  "Orion," he answered. "I think there's a correlation between the position of Orion and crime statistics, particularly murders."

  Jonah flipped through a pile of papers on the edge of his desk and pulled out a graph. "As far back as 2500 BCE the Egyptians identified a connection between Orion and their god of death, Osiris. But the killings around Ambrosia are on a cycle that goes back 104 years.”

  He crossed to show the graph to Belinda with his heart racing.

  "See this?" Standing next to her, he laid the graph next to the astronomical chart and gestured between the two. "The center of Orion's Belt was here on the date of the last coed killing thirty-two years ago. And it was in the same position the day my parents died. And it's in almost the same position now."

  "Wow. You've put in a lot of work on this." Belinda put an arm around his mid section and hugged him to her side. Jonah froze, his body rigid, breathing paralyzed. "I don't think you're crazy," Belinda whispered. "I think you're the same sweet guy as when we were kids."

  Her arm fell away and Jonah gulped in a breath.

  As she pulled the purse strap down from her shoulder and rummaged inside, Jonah struggled to make his br
eathing even. He didn't want Belinda to notice how it rasped in and out. She dropped the purse and some of the contents spilled out onto the floor.

  Belinda laughed and bent to pick up the fallen items. "Aha. The Pen. You're what I was looking for," she declared. When she rose, she grabbed Jonah's right hand and scrawled a number onto the palm. "Call me. I want you to show me around town."

  Before Jonah could make sense of what had just happened, Belinda went to the door, opened it, smiled at him over her shoulder, and walked out. A few seconds later he found himself still standing in the same spot, staring at his palm. Jonah smiled and fisted his hand around the number.

  He was just about to go back outside when he noticed something on the floor at his feet. Jonah bent and picked it up. After turning it over in his hand he saw the beautiful, familiar face.

  Belinda's driver's license.

  I should return this to her. She'll be looking for it.

  Jonah took two steps to follow Belinda before stopping.

  As he pinned the license to his bulletin board, he berated himself, but as he gazed at her photo he thought, tomorrow is soon enough. I'll give it back to her then.

  Chapter Three

  That night, carrying a basket filled with wood boxes in his arms, Jonah strode toward the cemetery tree. Unlike the previous evening, the night sky was clouded and a sopping wet blanket of humidity hung in the air, trapping the earthy scents of dirt, mold, and decay near the ground.

  Grandma popped out of the air and into the path in front of Jonah. He abruptly stopped and the boxes rattled wood against wood.

  "Why haven't you called that nice girl, Belinda?" she asked. "You could be out on a date tonight."

  "She doesn't really want to go out with me." Jonah veered around, preferring to avoid the weird sensations caused by passing straight through her. Shaking his head he added, "She just felt sorry for me. I don't need a pity date."

  "No." Grandma followed after him. "I could tell she really likes you."

  Jonah didn't answer. He stopped at the base of the tree and set the basket down.

  "You need to find a girlfriend, Jonah," Grandma continued. "Get married. Start a family."

  "I have started a family." Jonah took a box from the basket and straightened.

  "That's another thing." Grandma popped in front of him and stood, hand on hip. "You should let all this lot go. It's not—"

  "Stop," Jonah interrupted. "Enough."

  "I still have something to say."

  "I can always put your cameo into the box."

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. He'd never in life seen his grandmother so shocked. Well...maybe there was one occasion. When his parents were killed.

  "You...I..." she started and then trailed off before beginning again. "You've never put me away since...since you raised me from the dead."

  "There's always a first time." The look of shocked surprise morphed into pain. Ignoring the twist of guilt in his gut, Jonah bent over the basket. One-by-one he removed the boxes and placed each on the ground beneath the branch containing its corresponding ornament.

  Grandma hovered in silence as Jonah retrieved a ladder from the shed at the back of the cottage and set it up beneath a branch. After climbing the ladder, Jonah removed the wire attaching a glowing green glass ornament from the branch. With the glass ball in hand he climbed back down.

  He opened the lid of the first box and a wispy white mist emerged from a pocket watch inside. Simultaneously, a twin shot from the ornament and the two streams of mist joined into one, twisting and turning until forming into the ghost of an old man with sagging jaws, sparse grey hair, a potbelly and dressed in his Sunday best. At his death, he'd been about eighty and looked one hundred.

  "Hi, Grandpa," Jonah said.

  The old man frowned. "How many times I gotta tell you: don't call me Grandpa. I ain't your kin." He stretched as if stiff and glanced around the cemetery. "About time you got me out of there, boy. Keeping me cooped up— Shouldn’t treat an old man thata way."

  "If you weren't such a complainer—” Grandma began.

  "You won't be cooped up anymore, Grandpa—I mean, Mr. Sullivan. You're moving on tonight."

  "Really?" Sullivan smiled and the wide grin lifted his jowls. He combed ghostly fingers through his sparse hanks of hair. "Do I look okay? I haven't seen my wife in a long time."

  Jonah released the other ghosts by opening their boxes. Twin girls of about ten dressed in pink pinafores joined a middle-aged couple, a twenty-something Goth girl and a biker in his finest leathers. Each said good-bye to Sullivan.

  The old man turned a kind smile on Jonah. "So long, kid."

  Finally, Sullivan turned to Grandma. "And you, Rebecca. I'll miss you least of all."

  "Screw you, you old basset hound. I won't miss you at all," Grandma said with a chuckle.

  Jonah lifted the pocket watch from the wood box in one hand and the ornament in the other. He threw the ornament, smashing it against a nearby tombstone. A burst of light from the scattering pieces flew up and over, joining with Sullivan's ghostly body.

  "Ad aeterno," Jonah chanted.

  A split in the sky opened, parting the clouds, a bright light shined from within the gap. Sullivan's grin widened as his body separated into misty streams. The streams were then sucked into the sky, joining with the light there. The part in the sky disappeared and the clouds merged.

  The ghosts clapped and cheered.

  Jonah's gaze drifted to the place where the ornament had broken and he felt a tug of emotion when he saw the remnants of glass and ash. He would miss Sullivan despite the man's crotchety nature. But his new friend would more than make up for the loss.

  "We're adding a new member of the family tonight," he announced as he walked to the one last closed box resting beneath the cemetery tree. As he opened the lid, revealing the class ring inside, a ghostly mist streamed out and formed into Derek Devoe.

  "Where am I?" Derek's eyes darted around him and then down at the tracksuit and ascot in which he'd been buried. "And what am I wearing?"

  "It's okay, honey," Grandma said.

  "You're with family," Jonah added.

  Derek tugged at the cloth, his eyes taking on a panicked expression. "I think I'd remember being related to you people."

  "I should have said that we're your new family," Jonah said, stepping forward.

  "I don't need a new family!" Derek backed away, shaking his head. "You're that Morrison guy. I recognize you now. You went nuts after your parents died."

  Jonah wanted to say something to comfort his friend, to make the transition easier, but he couldn't think of anything.

  Derek's gaze surveyed the others, finally lighting on one. "And you're his grandmother. But...but...you're dead, aren't you?"

  "Yes," Grandma said gently. "But I'm fine. And you will be, too."

  "I'm getting outa here.” Derek ran for the exit, making it down the path and to the wrought iron gate before he slammed into an invisible barrier. "What is this?" he demanded. "Some kind of force field?"

  "No, dear." Grandma popped from the spot beside Jonah to a location just in front of Derek. "It's just that you can't get too far away from your ornament."

  "My what?" Derek demanded. "And how did you get over here so fast?"

  "Never mind that," Grandma said. "The important thing is for you to accept that you're dead."

  "Me? Dead?" Derek staggered and his knees buckled, before he pulled himself upright again. Then he searched until he found Jonah and they locked eyes. “How'd I die?"

  A few seconds passed before Jonah managed to speak. When he did, the words hung heavy in the air. "You were murdered."

  Chapter Four

  Outside the caretaker's cottage, the ghosts danced beneath the cemetery tree to fifties tunes coming from a radio left playing. Inside the cottage, Derek continued to pace a path between the front door, the desk, and the sofa while Jonah stood so that he could keep watch on the dancers and on Derek, both.r />
  "It makes no sense," Derek said, as he started his tenth triangle circuit. "You say the Slicer got me?"

  "Yeah." Jonah nodded.

  "The last thing I remember, I was at a party. How could somebody cut my throat at a party?”

  "You'll probably remember eventually," Jonah said. "Things are usually foggy at first. Most of the time the details come back."

  Derek stopped and turned on Jonah. "I'll probably remember?"

  "Don't worry—”

  "Don't worry?" Derek interrupted and marched over to stand beside Jonah at the window. "I was murdered. That seems like something to worry about." He gestured at the ghosts outside. "Look at those weirdoes. No offense, man, but I've been cool all my life. I wouldn't have been caught d—"

  "Dead?" Jonah finished for him. "You wouldn't have been caught dead with us weirdoes."

  Jonah knew he had to be patient with Derek, but still the barb hurt. He knew the people in Ambrosia thought him strange, but he'd hoped that since they had once been friends, that Derek would be different.

  With a huff and a wave of his hands, Derek rounded and stalked away a few feet, while tugging at the fabric at his neck.

  "What the hell am I wearing?"

  "It's an ascot."

  "Where the hell would my mother get an ass...ass...tie?"

  "They probably had it at the funeral home and put it there to hide the stitches from sewing your head back on."

  "Jesus," Derek gulped out.

  "Yeah."

  The silence inside was interrupted by the faint sounds of laughing and music from outside. Derek returned to stand next to Jonah at the window.

  "The other ghosts—I mean the others—said something about Sullivan leaving to go to the other side. When can I leave?"

  Even though Jonah knew Derek would need time, he hadn't expected him to want to go away. Jonah crossed the room to his desk and glanced at the bulletin board. How could he explain everything he knew, or thought he knew, to Derek when the guy was dealing with so much already?