by Natasha Deen
“Stay away,” I told him around a mouthful of food.
“Huh?” Nancy looked up.
“A-Okay. You go get ’em.”
“You know it, sweet cakes.”
I looked over at Dad and gave a subtle nod in the direction of the mobster and the Sunday school teacher. “I’m going to my room.”
“Feeling foggy?”
“Times two.”
He grunted. “Good luck.”
I nodded. Grabbing my food, I headed up the steps to my bedroom. It had lavender walls, black furniture, and a white duvet. Well, mostly white duvet. I glanced at the two mounds of black fur on my bed.
“Normal animals,” I told them, “greet their owners with joy and wild abandon.”
Buddha’s response was to give me a yawn wide enough to make his mastiff jowls jiggle. Ebony opened a green eye, watched me, stretched out her claws and went back to sleep.
The mobster and Annabelle had followed me to the bedroom. Pine and evergreen scents preceded them, carried by the fog. I shut the door with my heel and said, “You just have to let go.”
Annabelle blinked. “Let go of what?”
“Life.”
“That can’t be it—”
“That can’t be it.” Gio echoed. He lifted his hands and glanced around like he was looking for a band of supporters. “Let go.”
“Yeah. You’re dead. That’s it. Stop hanging on and go.” Usually, I’m a lot more comforting and patient. But I was hungry, humiliated, and didn’t have time for chitchat.
Annabelle pulled at her hair, like if she yanked hard enough, she’d wake up and this would all be a dream.
I sighed and reminded myself that while I’d been dealing with the dead all of my seventeen years, this poor woman had not. “You just died, right? Less than twenty-four hours ago?”
Her brows pulled together. “I don’t…maybe.”
“Trust me. You smell like evergreen trees. You just died.”
She swallowed. “Oh,” she said softly. “Okay.”
“And there’s a lot to deal with—all the dreams you won’t get to fulfill, all the things you’ll never get to do.”
Her eyes misted.
“But this isn’t the end.”
“It isn’t?”
I shook my head and nibbled on the bread.
“Are you sure?”
“Almost a hundred percent.”
She flinched. “Almost?”
“Look, all I know is this: life continues and being dead isn’t…well, being dead. I don’t know exactly what happens after—”
“What kinda psychic are you?” asked Gio.
“Listen, your pipes are going. You gonna call an electrician or a plumber?”
“Plumber.”
“It’s the same thing with those who see the dead. We’re like contractors—each with our own specialty. I can see the dead who need to transition, but if the dead come back to visit loved ones, they go to someone else.” I shrugged. “All I can tell you is that there’s nothing to fear on the other side”—I turned my gaze from Annabelle to Gio — “for her. For you, I don’t know.”
Annabelle plucked at her dress. “It’s not scary, you promise?”
My breath froze. I glanced at the radio. “Uh, for you. No, not scary.”
She reached out to me. “Will you hold my hand?”
I grasped her fingers. One day, I’d figure out why the dead are as solid to me as the living.
She took a breath and began to whisper, “It’s okay to let go. It’s okay to let go.” When she opened her eyes, her pupils had disappeared. Her eyes were silver orbs, catching the light and reflecting white-blue hues. “Oh. You’re right—” She gave a soft cry. “Cupcake! Hey, pretty girl! How’s mommy’s princess?”
Annabelle vanished, slowly, gradually.
I couldn’t see what she saw, but the joy she felt radiated from her face and made the air hum with a soft, warm energy.
Her form turned transparent. The weight of her hand in mine lessened, lightened, until all I felt was the memory of where she used to be.
I turned to Gio.
“Not me.” He held up his hands. “We both know what’s on the other side for me.”
“So…what are you going to do?”
“Can I wander?”
I frowned. “Yes, but the longer you wait, the harder it is to cross over.”
He scrubbed the underside of his jaw. “I’m okay with that.” He looked around. “How do I get outta here?”
“Just think of where you’d rather be.”
He gave me a wicked grin and I knew he was thinking of his favourite strip joint. Gio laughed, deep and growling, and faded from my view.
I gave it a moment, to see if he’d come back, but obviously a G-string wearing pole dancer took precedence over his immortal soul. Eyeing a spot between the furry ones, I moved to the bed and wiggled my way onto the firm mattress. Buddha grumbled but grudgingly gave up some room. Ebony—typical cat—refused to budge. I set the milk down and, giving her a glare, said, “Don’t even think about it.”
She closed her eyes slowly, deliberately. A sure sign of feline dismissal.
I inhaled dinner and shared the leftover cheese from the cannelloni. After I had given myself enough time to calm my inner hysteria, I went to my computer and called up the video. I grabbed a bottle of the pink stuff, just in case what I saw gave me indigestion, and hit the play button.
It was horrific, for sure. I looked and sounded like a total idiot, and the only thing good thing was the darkness hid my non-photogenic nature. But dad had been right. I didn’t say anything that could really get me in trouble. I cussed out Serge again, then shut down the computer.
I turned on the television and tried not to think of Serge or Nell. Or Craig. I especially tried not to think of him. Instead, I reminded myself that I only had ten months left, if my university application was accepted, and I’d be out of this town and away from Serge.
I went to my bathroom and had a quick shower. When I came out a guy was standing in front of my television. He was skinny but well built, with dark hair, blue lips, and, apparently, a fondness for white briefs.
“How did I get here?” He rubbed his arms. “Did they leave my clothes?”
“They?”
“My frat brothers.” He glanced around the room. “Is this Omega house?”
I wrapped my ratty grey bathrobe around me. “It’s kind of your Alpha and Omega house.” I pointed to the blanket on my bed. “You wanna use it?”
“Uh—” He blinked. “No…is this part of the rush?”
“Oh, boy, have I got good news and bad news. Good news is that whatever frat house you were rushing, you’ve made it.”
He smiled.
“Bad news: it’ll be posthumously.”
His face went blank.
“Let me guess—as part of Rush Week, you were locked in the trunk of a car without any clothes or a cell, right?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“They forgot you were there.”
“What? No—they wouldn’t—” He stopped, sniffed the air. “You smell bread baking? Smells like the kind my Nana used to make.”
“You should check it out.”
“You—” His eyes did the same thing as Annabelle’s: turned to metallic silver orbs. “Nana?” He gave a soft laugh. “No kidding…”
I took a breath and he was gone. Glancing at the animals, I said, “Too bad I can’t have that effect on Serge.”
Buddha chuffed.
I pulled the sheets down, doffed my robe, and climbed into the cool bed. Closing my eyes, I pretended that I could handle the mockery that would come tomorrow. Ebony curled on my chest and started purring. Buddha took a spot by my feet and he was out for the night. I took a breath and t
old myself that even if I couldn’t handle what happened tomorrow, at least I’d have my home and family.
And home schooling, if it became necessary.
And Nancy to hide me if I decided to go Italian and take out Serge.
Chapter Two
I didn’t sleep well. Coupled with having to wake up extra early so I could walk the dog before heading out to fix the flat tire, my Friday morning started with all the bang of a wet firecracker. I picked Nell up and headed to school.
“Here.” She handed me Jackie-O sunglasses.
I glanced at her then at back at the road. “What are these for?”
“Because I know you and know that behind that brave front you’re totally mortified. You can hide the circles under your eyes so no one knows you lost sleep over that jackass.”
I snorted. “That’s just going to draw attention to…everything.”
“C’mon.” She jiggled them at me. “I brought them especially for you—they looked fine on me. They’ll look fine on you.”
We crested a hill and came to a stoplight. I turned and looked at her. “Of course they look fine on you. You’re all blond and dewy.” I turned my head and gave her my profile. “See this?” I pointed by my ear. “Side burns, okay? I’m dark and ethnic and I’m pretty sure if I don’t get these under control, I’ll be able to go as Blackbeard the pirate for Halloween.”
Her response was the irritated sound she always made when she thought I was being difficult. “You’re built like a model.”
I snorted. “Model. For what? The latest two-by-fours? I’m not going to hide behind anything. Last night was more about Serge’s character than mine.” Hallmark and after-school-special words that did nothing but empty my lungs.
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “We’re early. Let’s grab a Timmy’s.”
I took a left at the lights and headed to the Tim Hortons by the gas station. A large double-double for me, a bagel for her—both Nell’s treats. We sat in the crowded parking lot, the scent of coffee and cream cheese intertwining with the toasted heat coming from the car vents. Too soon, the food was gone and I had no choice but to head to school. I tried to take my time and go slow, but sooner rather than later I was pulling into a spot in the student parking lot.
“Well,” I shut off the engine and glanced at the too-curious faces looking back at me. “We’re here.”
Nell checked her lipstick and flipped the visor up. “I don’t know why you’re worried. If I could do what you do, I’d walk in there like a queen bee.”
“You already walk around the school like a queen bee,” I said wryly.
She grinned. “You should own it, rock it. It’s a great talent—”
She could say that; she’d never been confronted by the ghost of a woman hanged for being a witch. and had to listen to the torture she’d endured.
“—you just worry too much.”
I raised my right eyebrow. “I’ve been in Dead Falls for four years and it’s the first place I can remotely claim as friendly. I don’t want to lose anything.”
She shrugged. “That’s you. I think the best defense is a good offense.”
Of course she thought so. Nell was the resident genius and head cheerleader with a pixie face, small body, naturally curly hair, and an hourglass figure that would get her the centerfold spread in any magazine. She’d never be on the defensive and the only thing she offended was my sense of fair play because God had decided to give her a double share of boobs.
“Hurry up!” She was out the door and waiting, the wind making her blond hair sweep across her face.
I sighed but followed. The smell of school—stale cigarette smoke and the despair unique to the teenage life—turned the air grey. We walked towards the main entrance. I tried to project a “don’t care” attitude, but last night had permanently undone any hope that I would ever be kissed before I was eighty. My shoulders slumped and my head seemed in a permanent downward dog position.
We got inside just as first bell rang. Usually, between the banging of locker doors and the yelling of kids and teachers, it was hard to hear anything in the hallways. But this morning, the voices dropped as we walked by.
No one would say anything to my face, but that was the shadow Serge cast: few kids wanted to look like they were choosing my side.
I went to my locker then headed to visual arts class. Tammy and Ben, two of the exceptions to the don’t-question-Serge rule, were there.
“I saw,” said Ben. “Want me to try and drown him during practice?”
I smiled. “Thanks, but he’s not worth the prison time.”
“I was thinking about it last night. Maybe”—Tammy tentatively reached out—“he likes you and doesn’t know how to express it.”
That’s Tammy. What she doesn’t have in academics, she makes up for with optimism and a belief in happy endings so devout, she makes Walt Disney look like a fatalist.
“He’s not secretly crushing,” I said.
“Are you sure? I saw a movie last night—”
Trademark Tammy. Life according to romantic comedies. I glanced at Ben.
He shrugged.
Telling Tammy the hard facts of life is like telling a four-year-old there’s no Santa Claus. “Trust me on this.”
Serge came into the room, his girlfriend Amber Sinclair on his arm.
My stomach clenched. That bastard was responsible for my burgeoning ulcer and if I’d weighed more than a wet rag, I would have gone up there and decked him.
He met my stare with a sneer. What I wouldn’t give for a blistering line. But I was the kind of person who thought of the great retort three days later, when no one remembered the slight but me. My mind was eagerly working a scorching one-liner that called his manhood into question and included a dirty twist on car trunks, but then Craig walked into the room, and the only thing I remembered to do was breathe.
His folks had moved to Dead Falls this year, and that meant he knew nothing about my non-reputation reputation, and I still had a chance to wow him into a relationship before I fell into the “one of the guys” or “weird” category. He was the tall and lean captain of the water polo team, with brown eyes and a smile that made me willing to undergo sixty-three days of vomiting and fat ankles if that meant one day I’d marry him and have his kids.
Craig saw me and smiled as he dropped into the seat beside me. He grabbed my hand and said, “I saw. You okay?”
I smiled weakly because his hand was warm and his fingers long, and I was embarrassingly close to swooning. The fact that I didn’t say anything made him frown. He squeezed harder and I grew weaker.
“Maggie?”
I tightened my hold on his fingers, gave myself a quick second to memorize how he felt and said, “I’m good. Honest. I’m used to it by now.”
Behind the black frames of his glasses, his eyes clouded. “You shouldn’t have to be used to any of it.”
He hadn’t let go and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. I nodded.
“Whoa, MacGregor, holding hands with the deadhead? Always thought you were gay.” Serge pushed in between us, breaking our hold. He glanced back at me. “Always figured you were asexual—like a worm.”
I stared him down. “You really want to admit to thinking about me and sex when your girlfriend’s around?” It wasn’t much of a retort, but it was the best I had.
Serge’s jaw worked up and down. He clenched his fist.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Craig. “There’s still time to pull you from the game.”
Serge shrugged. “What do I care? I’ll just drink and bang, right?” He turned on Amber and grabbed her breast.
She slapped his hand away, her cheeks burned scarlet.
He laughed and walked off.
Amber turned to me. “I’m so sorry—I saw what he did. When he said—”
“Yo! Get over here!”
She jerked at her boyfriend’s bellow and scurried after him.
“Why does she stay with him?” Ben shook his head.
“Low self-esteem?” I offered.
“Penance for sins in a previous life,” he countered.
“Maybe—”
We looked at Tammy, waiting for an answer worthy of rainbows, talking fawns, and meeting lost loves on top of the Empire State Building. She studied Amber then shook her head. “I got nothing.”
Craig shot me a meaningful look.
The audio-visual teacher came in. He did the usual: took attendance, shushed us. Mr. Parks scanned the room as he asked for volunteers to talk about their class project. Serge’s hand shot in the air, and my heart dropped to my toes. I knew, I just knew yesterday’s fiasco would feature in his video.
He strutted to the front of the class, DVD in hand.
“Tell us about your project,” said Mr. Parks. “How did you capture the essence of life?”
“I took a different approach and did a case study of one particular life, and how this person deals with death.”
He started the video.
I watched, my jaw clenching so tight I thought I’d crack my teeth.
I didn’t dare look at Craig, but the muffled laughter of the kids made my eardrums sizzle. Even Tammy couldn’t help but laugh at the confidence in my “I know a dead body when I see it” followed by my squealing like a two-year-old when he jumped out of the car.
Mr. Parks’s rubber-soled shoes squeaked in the dark. The screen went black. Then the lights flared on. Craig didn’t look at me and I couldn’t read the meaning behind his tight, frozen posture.
Mr. Parks cleared his throat. “Good camera angles,” he said.
Yeah, thanks for sticking up for me, teach.
“But the night footage was grainy. You should have included extra light.” He looked at me. “Maggie, why don’t you go?”
Nice. The school bully pranking me didn’t elicit a word. I sighed and moved from my seat. “Um—I was at an art gallery in Edmonton once, and the artist had displayed photos of people from the morgue—”
There was an audible inhalation of disgust and shock.
