by Natasha Deen
Bruce’s forehead wrinkled. “I dunno. The way she drove, maybe?” He blinked. “Or maybe the car was familiar…”
We waited in the silence.
He shook his head and his hair flicked over his eyes. “I can’t remember. But it was someone old. I know it.”
“You think she’s the reason he drank himself to death?” I asked. “Maybe she went back to her husband.”
Craig took my empty wrappers. “Forget it. Serge would never kill himself over a girl.”
I glanced over. Serge’s arms were folded in front of him, his shoulders tight and stiff, his mouth set in a straight, hard line.
The bag in Craig’s hand crinkled. “Serge would never kill himself. Period.”
Serge lifted his gaze.
I saw the bleakness in his eyes and it left me wondering if Craig was wrong…if we’d all been wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, Maggie, can I catch a ride home with you?”
I stepped out of Tammy’s minivan and turned to Craig. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
Nell overheard the exchange and said, in true rat-from-a-sinking-ship form, “Cool. I need to talk over some cheerleading stuff with Tammy, so I’ll catch you later.” She yanked me close. “Now’s your chance to ask about the Widow’s Peak.”
Oh, yeah, I could so see that coming up in casual conversation. She trotted off before I could do anything—like glue her to me. Sighing, I led Craig to my car. We climbed in and I started the engine.
“I just have to let it warm up for a bit,” I said. “What happened to your car?”
He made a face. “I think the springs are shot. Maybe the shocks.”
“Must have gone over some wicked bumps,” I said, and immediately thought of the night on the hill. Man, she must have given him some ride.
“They were going for a while now.” He looked at me. “Tammy would have given me a ride—”
Yeah, me too, one day. Maybe not enough to wreck your car, but it would have been memorable, anyway.
“—but I wanted to talk to you. About Serge. .”
“Oh.”
He shifted his body, turned so he faced me. “How are you doing?”
“Um—”
“I imagine it was a bit of a shock—”
I nodded.
“You’re probably feeling really weird.”
Yeah, I was feeling plenty weird.
“Did you want to talk?”
“About…”
“Serge.”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk. At the sound of his name, Serge appeared in the back seat.
“What is this?” he asked. “A loser make-out session?”
“Maggie.” Craig reached out, touched my hand. “Did you want to talk? You seemed out of it tonight—”
“Talk? Talk?” Serge shook his head. “No wonder this guy hardly dates.”
“I really don’t feel like talking about Serge,” I said.
Craig pulled back and I missed the warmth of his hand. “I get it. It’s the creepiness of finding the body of the guy you hated.”
I nodded. “That was definitely a night I could have done without.”
“He was a total jerk to you.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘total,’” Serge muttered from the back seat.
“He was mean and cruel to you—”
Serge pushed his face between Craig and me. “What about her? She gave as good as she got.”
“But it still would have been crappy to be the one who found him.” Craig made a face. “Especially if what they’re saying is true, and he was naked and covered in vomit.”
“Not covered, not naked,” corrected Serge. He shook his head. “I still don’t know how I ended up like that.”
I put the car into gear and backed out of the spot.
“Sorry,” said Craig, “You said you didn’t want to talk.”
“What a wuss,” said Serge. “Who asks about feelings, then apologizes?”
“No, it’s not that—”
In the rear-view mirror, I saw Serge frown and lean towards me. “You got a weird glow going, Deadhead. Kind of fuzzy and—oh!” He fell against the back seat and started howling. “You got the hots for Captain Polo?” Serge laughed again. “Stop wasting your time. The guy’s gay.”
I squeezed the steering wheel.
“The memory’s probably too fresh,” said Craig. “Serge may be dead, but I bet it doesn’t feel like he’s out of your life.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered. The light turned red and I pulled to a stop beside Tammy’s minivan.
Nell caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up.
I gave her the finger.
She laughed and turned away.
“Probably doesn’t help that we were asking all those questions.” Craig pulled at the seatbelt and adjusted his position. “It’s just weird. He was supposed to meet up for pizza after the game. I couldn’t go—”
“Because of your sister.” The light turned green. Tammy went right and I drove straight.
He nodded. “Serge usually books when it’s his turn to pay, but it was Bruce’s. And every time Bruce has to pay, Serge is there, eating everything he can shove in his mouth.” He nodded at the retreating lights of the minivan. “You know about Amber and Bruce, right?”
I frowned. “No. What?”
“They sort of dated over the summer.”
“How is that possible—Amber and Serge—”
“They were on some kind of break. All I know is that pizza night, Serge would eat enough to leave Bruce totally broke. At least, he tried.”
I glanced at Serge though the rear-view mirror. “The dysfunction of this guy still amazes me.”
“Like you should talk,” he muttered, slouching down. “You see the dead and you’re hot for this loser. I may need therapy, but I’ll have to get in line behind you.”
I looked away and focused on the red taillights of the car in front of me. “Maybe something called him away.”
“His parents?” Craig glanced out the window. “It’s not like them to show up to the practices or games. His mom would come to the games. Sometimes.” Craig made a face. “And I always got the feeling she was doing it behind the old man’s back.”
Serge snorted. Fog crept along the edges of the windshield. I put the defroster on and cracked one of the windows
“You don’t think Mr. Popov approved of sports?”
“I know he didn’t,” said Craig. “He tried to get Serge pulled from the team earlier this year.”
I glanced at him. “Are you serious?”
Craig nodded. He put his long fingers to his lips and tapped his mouth.
I wrenched my gaze away. “How did he manage to keep playing?” The question came out as a croak.
In the back seat, a slow, satisfied smile spread across Serge’s face.
Craig shrugged. “I don’t know. One week we were told he wasn’t coming back. The next practice he was gone, but the third week, he was back in the pool again.”
“That’s weird.” I thought for a bit. “Do you think it has anything to do with him and the older woman?”
Craig made a disgusted sound. “Don’t believe Bruce. There was no older woman.”
I glanced at Serge. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“How do you know?” I braked and turned the car left.
Craig grimaced. “Serge doesn’t like wrinkles. Didn’t you ever hear him telling Amber she’d be old by twenty-one?”
“I did my best not to listen to him.”
“They were having all kinds of problems. Big ones, even for them.”
“Like what?”
Craig shifted.
“Like what?” I repeated.
He shrugged. “Neither of them ever confided in me.”
He spoke with sincerity…so why did I feel like he was lying through his perfectly straight teeth? I pulled into the cul-de-sac and braked to a stop in front of his house.
Craig sighed. “I saw Amber at the drugstore one night.” He paused. “By the family planning aisle. She didn’t seem happy to see me.”
I kept my focus on the road. But I wondered why she would’ve been ticked at Craig seeing her. Everyone knew she and Serge were sleeping together.
“Sorry.” Craig frowned. “We weren’t supposed to talk about Serge.”
“It’s okay. I think he’s going to be a big topic of conversation for the next while.”
He reached over, touched my hand. “Do you want to come in? I know it’s late, but—”
Man, I had waited for so long for that invite. But knowing he’d been with someone else just soured the fantasy.
“Maybe he isn’t gay,” said Serge. “Go on. I can’t wait to see what happens”—he leaned towards me and gave me an eyebrow wiggle—“especially if tits are involved. Even your little mosquito bites. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen flesh. I’ll even settle for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m feeling stressed. I just want to forget about everything.”
Craig flinched a little, like I’d hurt his feelings, but it was so fast, I thought maybe I’d just misinterpreted everything.
“Okay,” he said. “No problem. See you later?”
“Yeah, I said. “Later.”
He got out and went in the house. Serge climbed into the passenger seat.
“There’s something weird about him,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust him.”
“Then he must be okay.” I pulled away from the curb.
“Why do you gotta be like that? I say something and you’re just a hosebeast.”
“Better to bite first than be bitten.”
“Aw—” He scowled. “Is it my fault you can’t take a joke?”
“Jokes have punchlines—”
“I was wrong,” he muttered. “I thought I’d died and been left here in limbo.” He glared at me. “Obviously, I’ve died and gone to hell if I’m giving you dating advice.”
I snorted. “When did you ever date? From what I hear, you’re more like a hit and run driver.”
“See? Hosebeast.”
I sighed. I was tired and exhausted and heartbroken. “What did you do?”
He looked at me.
“To get your dad to let you back on the team?”
He grinned. “We had a heart to heart.”
“Now who’s being a hosebeast?”
He exhaled, impatient. “Look, I just pointed out that if I was on the team, I couldn’t be at home. He liked that.”
I glanced at him. “You guys really had a sucky relationship, didn’t you?”
“With detective skills like that, you should go into policing. Think of how much the crime rate would drop.”
“Don’t be a jerk.” I slowed as the light in front of me turned yellow. “I only meant that most kids complain about their parents and vice-versa, but they love each other.”
His face tightened at the word “love.”
“You really hated him and he couldn’t stand you.”
“In a nutshell.”
I stepped on the accelerator. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not natural for parent and kids to actually hate each other.”
“Maybe not in your perfect little world, but not everybody’s dad is their best friend.”
“Maybe, but he must have done something to you.”
His face hardened, a rough slab of flesh and bone. “He didn’t do anything to me.”
“That night, at the pool,” I said, “I saw the way you were standing in front of your mom—”
“Lay off it, Deadhead.”
“I’m just saying—”
“And I’m just telling you to shut up!” His voice rose, anger made it raw. Serge’s body sparked, flashed white.
The light blinded me and I lost sight of the road. I hit the brake, but turned the wheel at the same time. A big rig’s horn blared in my ears. I blinked, trying to see past the flash.
The horn sounded again.
That’s when I realized the light blinding me wasn’t Serge.
It was the semi’s headlights, bearing down on me.
Chapter Fifteen
I swerved back into my lane. The rig barrelled by. Its wheels hurled gravel at the windshield and the air shook like thunder. “You could’ve killed me!” I yelled at Serge.
“Shut up! It’s not like I did it on purpose! I can’t control the—whatever this is.”
Shaking, I pulled the car to the shoulder. I put my head on the wheel, and unclenched my grip. “I can’t do this anymore. We have to get you to cross over.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Craig said Amber was in the drug store, buying condoms. But that aisle also sells pregnancy kits. Did you knock her up?”
“None of your business.”
I turned to face him. “Yeah, it is. Until we get you to leave this plane, we’re stuck with each other. You want to spend a lifetime with me?”
He said nothing.
“I didn’t think so.”
The muscle in his cheek pulsed and his jaw worked back and forth, like he was getting ready to spit. “Do you know what’s out there,” he asked, “on the other side?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you don’t know what happens when I go?”
“Is that why you’re holding on?” I asked the question soft and easy.
He shook his head. “No, something’s keeping me here. I feel it.”
“But you don’t know what it is?”
“No.”
“What were you and Amber fighting about?”
“Not her being pregnant.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
He looked out the windshield, to the cars coming our way, and squinted against the lights. “It doesn’t matter. It was boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, and that’s over with.”
“Maybe not. Maybe that’s why you’re still stuck here.”
He half laughed, half moaned. “I doubt it. We were thinking of breaking up, okay? If that was what was holding me, I’d be haunting her, not you.”
Point taken. I sighed. “We have to figure out what’s tethering you.”
“It’s usually about unresolved issues, right?”
I glanced at him.
“Why people don’t move on. It’s because we have unresolved issues.”
“You think we have unresolved issues?”
“Not you and me, Deadhead. Me and my mom.”
Oh, right. Of course. Wait. “Shouldn’t it be you and your dad?”
He made a face. “No. He hates me. I hate him. There’s nothing to resolve.”
Okay. “So, what needs resolving?”
“Mom and I argued all the time.” He shifted, pulling at his blue sweater as though it was too tight. “I wanted her to leave him.”
“So. You need to what—realize the decisions in her life are hers and let her go?”
He shot me a death glare. “You really are a Deadhead. I need to get her to leave him.”
“How are you planning on doing that? You’re dead.”
He stared at me and cocked his head. A slow smile crawled along his mouth and lifted the right side of his lips.
“No, no way.”
“What the—who else is going to help me?”
“What am I supposed to say? Hi Mrs. Popov, I know your son is dead, and I know your religion tells you after death people either go to heaven or hell, but here’s a k
icky little story. Serge is here. Right beside me, and he wants you to leave your husband.”
“I’ll give you information only she and I know.”
“Listen to me.” I took off my seatbelt and rotated to better see him. “I know you’re here. You know you’re here. But you’re dead, and I’m not. And if I go and start telling people I see your ghost, I’m going to be living all alone. All alone because they’ll think I’m too crazy to be allowed to adopt cats.”
“You won’t be alone,” he said. “If I don’t move on, I’ll be with you forever.”
“You’re new at the art of making things better by conversation aren’t you?”
“You have to tell her.” His voice rose. “There’s no one else who can do this.”
I buckled back in. I checked the road and pulled into traffic and manoeuvred the car back on the road. “No. There’s got to be a better way.”
“There’s no other way.”
“She’s a grown woman. Don’t you think it’s her right to decide who she wants to spend her life with?”
“No.”
“Nice.”
He fiddled with the air vents. “Look, she’s bought into the whole righteous women of God submit to their husband and never get divorced.”
“Does he abuse her?” I asked softly.
“Hit her?” Serge made a face. “No, he never does anything physical. All his weapons are mental and emotional.”
I didn’t bother to point out abuse didn’t have to be physical. “Why was he at your practice?”
His face went blank. “I don’t know.”
“You were fighting.”
“We were always fighting.”
“Yeah, but does it have anything to do with how you died?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Listen, if you want me to help, you can’t stonewall me.”
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet. “There’s a bunch of stuff I can’t remember.” He looked away from the window and met my gaze. “Is that normal? To die and forget huge chunks of your life?”
“I don’t know.” I turned left. “Most dead people don’t really linger. I mean, they stick around for a last message, but the ones who actually haunt the town, they’ve been doing it so long, I don’t think they remember anything about their lives.”
