by Natasha Deen
“Wait,” I said, “I thought everyone transitions—is reborn.”
“Hera is right,” said Craig. “We have choices in life and death. We make reality based on what we believe.” He nodded to the pastor. “He believes in eternal hellfire and damnation, in swift, cruel, unrelenting punishment. He will spend his eternity like this, living in Serge’s pain.” Craig paused. “Not everyone gets a ferrier. Not everyone sees the light.”
The police cruiser’s lights retreated down the trail. The cops had cordoned off the broken section of the bridge, taken my statements, and listened to Craig’s version of events. Divers were still dragging the water for Mr. Popov’s body.
Nancy came to me, her jacket open despite the cold night, her cheeks red from the wind. “The official report will back up everything you say—uh—everything physical you say.” She patted my knee as Craig walked over. “Can you tell me what really happened?” she asked.
I glanced at my boyfriend and said, “He died.”
She hesitated.
“You don’t want to know more,” said Craig. “Not right now.”
She and Dad exchanged looks, and she nodded.
“What about me surviving the bridge plunge? How do we explain that?”
She shrugged. “Most people have a hard time remembering their trauma.” She glanced at the evidence bag clipped to the board in her hands. “If you have holes in your memory, no one will question it. This flash drive will give us all we need about Popov.” She hesitated and glanced around. “Serge—?”
“I’m standing beside you.”
Her cell beeped. She looked down and turned in his direction. “We found journals your mother kept. She admitted to trying to kill Amber. But her suicide, you were partially right. Her phone shows a call from Mikhail an hour before she died. The call lasted a half-hour…he probably talked her into it.” Nancy looked at us. “If Mikhail had survived—”
“Yeah, I know. You would have prosecuted him.” Serge folded his arms across his chest. He walked to the broken railing and looked down. “With a good lawyer, time in jail during the prosecution, and good behaviour while incarcerated, he would have been out in five, maybe fifteen years.”
Nancy read his words, her mouth pulled back in a grimace. She looked up at me, her gaze direct. “About what happened to Mikhail tonight…tell me he suffered.”
“For eternity.”
She nodded, satisfied.
“Let’s go home,” said Dad. “With the Popovs out of the way, we can finally get Serge buried, properly.”
“I have a couple of things to wrap up,” said Nancy.
“Dad.” I handed him the coffee. “Why don’t you help her? I need to talk to Craig, alone.”
The lines of his mouth hardened, but he sighed and climbed out. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook. I’m in a weird state between being ecstatic you’re alive, wanting to do some kind of spirit quest to kick the ass of whatever thing decided this was your destiny, wanting to know all the gory details, and being terrified of what you’ll tell me.” He pointed his finger at me. “When we get home, you’re telling me everything.” He handed me his cell. “Try not to drain the battery on this one.”
“Drain the battery?” asked Craig.
“My phone—it won’t hold a charge.”
“I know why that’s happening,” said Craig.
We waited.
“It’s the combined energy between me, Serge, and Maggie. It’s shorting out the battery.”
“Great,” Dad muttered. “What is she supposed to do if she needs help?”
“It only happens when we’re together, and if she’s in trouble—” He shrugged. “I may be ten thousand years old, but I still have some game.”
Dad gave him a paternal glare. “And if you need help?”
“Maggie’s here. Serge will be around, too. If we’re incapacitated, the force will come.”
I blinked. So did Dad. “I’m going to need visual aides to understand all of this,” he muttered. “Forces or not, stay safe. All of you.”
I scooted to the edge of the seat and flung my arms around him. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Maggie.” Tears clogged his words.
I pulled back at looked at my ghostly friend. “Serge,” I said, “You too. Give me some time with Craig.”
He frowned. “What? I know why you don’t want your dad and Nancy to know certain things, but—”
Dad and Nancy looked at their phones.
“—because,” I said. “You shouldn’t hear what I’m about to say, not if I’m wrong.”
His eyes narrowed. “Wrong about what?”
I sighed. “Serge, please. Trust me.”
“Fine.” He scowled and walked away. So did Dad and Nancy.
Craig climbed into the seat next to me. “What didn’t you want Serge to hear?”
“When we were at his house and attacked by the creature—” I took a breath. “That thing was his mother, wasn’t it?” I twisted in my chair to face him. “When I’d asked you what it was, you said it blamed Serge for its life, but the only person whose life really connected with him was his mom.”
A long, heavy sigh left his lips. “Yeah.”
I slumped in my chair. “This guy can’t catch a break. He’s tormented by his father in life and in death, his mother tries to kill him because she blames him for the way her life turned out.” I paused. “She’s not gone, is she?”
“No.”
“Will she come back for him?”
“Yes. For her to have transformed into—” He sighed. “There is no accountability in her, no responsibility. Her hatred, her complete inability to see her mistakes…Serge will be in danger.” He took my hand and his fingers were strong, warm, as they wrapped around mine.
I laid my head on his shoulder and looked over to where Serge stood.
He looked at me.
I smiled and waved him over.
He grinned and came toward us.
“I never thought we’d be friends, but it’s more than that,” I said. “I feel the lifetime connections, the eternal bond.” I looked up at my boyfriend. “He’s important to me. I’ll protect him.” I felt Craig’s warm breath on my hair as he kissed my head.
“I know,” he said as Serge came into our circle. “And I will, too.”
“What will you do?” asked the ghost.
“Protect you,” I said.
He smiled as he crawled in between us and flung his arms around our shoulders. “Me, too,” he said. “I’ll protect you both.” He looked into the dark night and chuckled. “Who’d have thought I’d have to die in order to start living?”
I smiled.
“Get ready,” said Craig. “Life and death’s about to get really interesting.”
Acknowledgments
Much thanks to my editor Catharina de Bakker for her support, enthusiasm, and edits on Guardian.
About the Author
One of the best parts of being a writer for Natasha Deen is presenting at schools, conferences, and workshops. She is published in a variety of genres, from creative non-fiction to YA and romance and has also appeared in a variety of media outlets as a literacy advocate. She lives in Edmonton.
