Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? : A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel: Good To The Last Death Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  “One more question,” I said, mulling over all the new information.

  Heather sat silently and waited.

  “Is my family the only line of Death Counselors?”

  Heather stayed silent. Her lack of reply made me wonder if I’d asked the question aloud. Was I losing it that much that I couldn’t remember if I’d spoken?

  Heather leaned forward, placed her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. It made me antsy.

  “As far as I know, yes,” she said. “I’ve known a lot of people you’re related to over time.”

  “My mother?”

  She nodded and didn’t say anything.

  “I see.” I wanted to question her but refrained. Information could be upsetting. There was enough going on without adding to the load. At some point I would ask, but not today. “How far back do you know my family?”

  “At least a thousand years,” she admitted, sounding weary. “And by the way, you come from good people.”

  “And we were all Death Counselors?”

  “Only the women,” she replied.

  “What the heck? Seems kind of unfair for the gals to get stuck with it,” I said, speaking the first thought that came to my mind. “I mean, women in general get screwed. We have periods then menopause. In many cases, even today, we’re second-class citizens. Not to mention, the pain of childbirth—not that I would know about that one. As far as pain goes, all men have to worry about is getting kneed in the nuts.”

  Heather’s laugh rang out in the quiet house and I joined her. The reference to a man’s junk getting smashed lightened what had been getting very dark. True, but dark. I was thankful I was still able to laugh. It was saving me.

  But wait…

  “Umm… I don’t have children,” I said, piecing together a rather large and potential problem.

  Heather stopped laughing, turned her head and gazed out of the window. That didn’t bode well.

  “Am I the last of the line?” I asked a question I wasn’t sure I wanted her to answer. I mean, maybe I had distant relatives I didn’t know about who were gluing on body parts too. That was logical. That made sense.

  Heather nodded slowly and watched for my reaction. I had no clue what she expected. I was pretty sure I wanted to throw up. Not sure she wanted to witness that.

  “So, umm… it ends with me?” I muttered, unsure how I felt about that. Would the dead just roam the earth without help to move on? “I don’t have a daughter, and I don’t think Donna the Destroyer and Karen the Chair Eater count, even though they’re girls.”

  Heather listened to me point out the obvious then looked down at the floor. “It’s been discussed.”

  “By who?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “All of us,” she said.

  “Want to be more specific?”

  “I can’t,” she replied. “Not yet.”

  “You’re freaking me out here.” My tone was a little sharper than intended. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “Actually nothing,” Heather said. “No one does. That’s why there’s nothing to say.”

  A horrid thought crossed my mind. “Was Gideon a setup? Was everyone hoping I would have a baby with him? Was he put up to it by the others, whoever the hell they are?”

  “No,” Heather insisted firmly. “Absolutely not. In fact, there were those who were concerned about your relationship tremendously. The chances of Gideon procreating—or any of us who have been in existence for as long as we have—are very slim.”

  “So, the Immortals were pleased that we didn’t work out?” I demanded, as my emotions bounced from rage to despair like a thousand Ping-Pong balls dropped off the roof of a skyscraper.

  “Some,” she admitted.

  “You?” I asked.

  “Yes and no,” Heather said, rubbing her temples and sighing. “Sometimes I get attached to people. I’m attached to you. For centuries I didn’t let myself experience affection for humans. It was devastating when they died. I became guarded and emotionless—a dangerous and empty way to live.”

  Her words made my heart hurt, but I wasn’t about to be swayed towards compassion yet.

  “And?” I pressed.

  “And about a hundred years ago, I let myself feel emotions for others. The pain of losing them eventually was worth the time I got to spend with them. If my lot is to live forever, I decided to actually live—in each moment.”

  “Not following,” I said.

  “Eventually you’ll die, Daisy,” Heather said in a whisper. “Someone will have to take the job. So, while I was thrilled for your happiness at falling in love with Gideon, I suppose I was hoping you would meet a human man and fall in love… and have a daughter who I could become attached to like I am to you.”

  It was my turn to be silent. There was nothing to say.

  “I think you should go,” I told Heather as I stood up.

  “Are you upset with me?” she asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I can see it your way if I divorce myself and my feelings from the situation,” I replied, running my hands through my hair and wanting to go to sleep for about a month. “I just need some time alone to be with Steve.”

  “I can give that to you,” Heather said sadly. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For the truth. It’s not always pretty.”

  “The truth isn’t always the truth either,” I said. “Free will mixed with the winds of change can skew results.”

  “How so?”

  “The impossible is real, Heather,” I said. “You told me so yourself. If that’s the case, then what one knows as the truth could cease to have meaning. The term can be relative depending on the user.”

  “Holy shit,” Heather muttered with a surprised laugh. “You’ve grown up one hell of a lot since you turned forty.”

  “When you have no choice, you do what you have to do,” I stated.

  “There’s always a choice, Daisy. Remember that.”

  Heather left without giving me a hug. That was fine. As much as I loved my friend, hugging her felt wrong right now.

  If there were indeed choices to be made, I would make them one day at a time.

  One choice at a time.

  Otherwise, I’d crack.

  “Okay,” I called out to the dead who had been listening the entire time. “Who needs some repairs? The squatter surgery center is back open.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was 6:00 PM and most of the ghosts had disappeared. This was normal. I had no idea where they’d gone, but I’d become accustomed to the late-day break and was pleased it still existed.

  They’d be back. I hadn’t solved one single issue other than reattaching a missing body part or two… or three in a few cases. The little birdie finger woman had not wanted to give up the arm she’d claimed as hers, but after a long chat where I was fairly sure she called me a hooker several times, she gave the arm back to its rightful owner. Sadly, we didn’t find her arm. I suppose she could have died without it—might be why she was so keen on stealing one.

  Honestly, I was looking forward to using the Ouija board with Birdie—as I’d secretly nicknamed her. I was sure it would be a memorable and profane experience.

  “What a mother humper of a day,” I muttered as I sat down on a kitchen chair with a thud and continued to talk to myself as I made a list. Lists calmed me. Actually, calm was a place I couldn’t find lately, but it was worth a shot. “Steve is fine—fine being a relative word, but he’s not getting worse. That’s good. I’m not mad at Heather. Actually, I’m grateful she didn’t lie to me. Heather is my friend. I love her. This is very good. John Travolta is going to figure out the tribunal. Also, good. Gram’s health? Iffy and not good. The number of dead squatters I need to help? Not sure… I think about thirty. I hope they like it here because with everything going on, they might be guests for a while. Thoughts of Gideon? Still far too frequent to be healthy. My sanity? Teetering on the edge
of an abyss—to be expected.”

  The tranquility I usually felt in my home was missing. Everything resembled a warzone to me right now. The farmhouse had been a dream of Steve’s and mine. We’d bought it ten years ago and had spent the last decade fixing it up. It sat in the middle of twenty acres surrounded by lush forest. Steve had been a far better decorator than me, but I was a pro with a hammer and a gallon of paint. The hours spent improving our dream house were some of the best memories I had of my husband.

  I’d also had dreams of filling our home with our children and dogs from shelters. I had the dogs now. The children? No. Steve was gay, which explained a whole lot. However, the bomb that Heather had dropped made me wonder if I should do something wildly stupid, like getting artificially inseminated.

  For all I knew, that’s what my mother had done. I knew nothing about my father and neither did Gram. All she’d ever told me was that my mother was secretly seeing someone and ended up pregnant. It had been the talk of our small Georgia town for a while, but then some other juicy piece of gossip must have replaced it.

  Whatever. I didn’t exactly have the time to get knocked up on my own, nor did I want to. Taking care of dogs and Steve were about all I could handle.

  Speaking of…

  “Donna. Karen, come on downstairs. It’s peepee-poopoo time,” I called out as I stood up and stretched. I really needed to run, but that would have to wait. “And if either one of you furry buttholes took a dump upstairs, you’re going to eat it. Well, not really. That would make your breath smell even worse than it already does.”

  Hearing what sounded like a snicker of amusement, I whipped around. My eyes landed on Lindsay. She was obviously unaware that this was my alone hour. I didn’t mind. She’d stayed close to me the entire time I’d done surgery on the others. It almost felt like I had an assistant of sorts. Not that she could help… more of a moral support ghost. I liked it.

  Her body shook. I was pretty sure it was laughter, not fear. Her face was so badly damaged and decomposed, it was hard to tell if she was smiling, but I was going to go with a yes.

  “You think that’s funny?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips and giving her a look.

  “Yausssss,” Lindsay said, reaching out in excitement as Donna and Karen bounded into the kitchen.

  Karen, my goofy black lab, had no clue that the house was filled with dead squatters. Karen had belonged to John, one of my dead guests who had moved on into the light. One of his most fervent wishes was that I would adopt Karen from the pound and give her a home. That was a no-brainer for me. I adored animals and even though Karen was in a battle to the death with all of my shrubs, I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

  The biggest gift for John, besides knowing Karen had a loving home, was that his murderous wife was locked away in a prison awaiting a trial she couldn’t win. Sarina Dunn wouldn’t see the light of day for the rest of her miserable life. John’s murder had been avenged.

  On the other hand, Donna, my fuzzy, red furball of a puppy, absolutely did know we had squatters from beyond the grave. She had been a gift from my friends for my fortieth birthday last month so I wouldn’t be lonely. Turned out she was a Hell Hound who saw the dead as well as I did. It had given me a brief moment of pause when I’d learned the news, but I was already completely in love with her.

  Donna the Destroyer was also instrumental in helping me return to reality when I went mind diving into the dead. The two times I’d done it thus far, I’d followed the sound of her bark to come back.

  “Well, Lindsay,” I said, using her name because I knew it from the milk carton and because having a name made a person feel like they mattered. “If I find a chocolate stinky laying around, I’ll be sure to have you do the honors of cleaning it up. Cool?”

  “Naawwwooo,” she said, shaking again with laughter.

  Donna went right over to her, sat down and wagged her tail. Lindsay covered what was left of her mouth in surprise.

  “Daaaaaggguh. Sssssseeeeeee.”

  “Yep,” I said, shooing Karen away from the trash. She was a bigtime garbage eater. “Donna can see you. Karen can’t.”

  “Hoooowah?” she asked.

  “Donna’s special.”

  “Sssspeeusaul,” Lindsay said, pointing at Donna.

  “Yep. We’re all special,” I told her. “You’re special.”

  “Sssiiiiiiinngea booooooouuns.”

  I sighed and let my chin fall to my chest. “Lindsay, I can’t understand what you’re trying to tell me, but I promise I’ll figure it out.”

  She nodded her head and I was happy it stayed attached. Heads were tricky. Using two tubes of superglue earlier had been a good move.

  “Okay doggies, outside,” I instructed, opening the door and following them out. Turning back, I saw Lindsay hovering with uncertainty. It made my heart clench with sadness. “You want to come? You might enjoy watching Karen dig a massive hole. It’s one of her not-so-hidden talents.”

  “Yausssss,” Lindsay said and zipped right past me out the door.

  The Ouija board would be a bad choice for Lindsay. I knew it in my bones. Her demise was going to be complicated. The state she was in now told me her death had not been a peaceful one. Mind diving was my plan for the young woman.

  “Do not encourage the dogs,” I yelled with a smile as I watched Lindsay fly around the yard with Donna as she did her zoomies while a crazed Karen dug a hole like she’d ingested a vat of sugar.

  I was sure Lindsay’s story wasn’t a good one. Therefore, I would make sure her stay with me was.

  The cold. The cold went all the way to my bones and tore through my body like sharp, frozen daggers made of ice. Trying to catch my breath, I gasped for air but stayed calm.

  My head pounded violently and every single cell in my body screamed for oxygen. I knew it was momentary, but it still sucked.

  My mind went numb and I couldn’t feel my limbs.

  Knowing what was happening made it slightly less terrifying, but not by much.

  “Lindsay,” I choked out, closing my eyes as I had been taught by my dead friend Sam when I was inside his head. “Can you hear me?”

  “I can,” a soft and sweet female voice answered, sounding wildly surprised. “Daisy?”

  “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” I said, and then groaned internally. I was turning into one of those out-of-touch older folks who made embarrassingly shitty jokes.

  Lindsay laughed. I was fully aware she was being polite, but it made the mortification easier to swallow.

  “You can understand me?” Lindsay asked.

  “I can,” I told her, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

  Never go to the light. Never go to the dark.

  Those were the two rules I was told to follow by both of the lovely men who I’d visited in their minds. Sam and John held very special places in my heart. Helping them had been a joy—a semi-illegal joy that could have landed me in the pokey, but a joy nonetheless.

  “Thank you,” Lindsay whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”

  It was a good question. The others had seemed to know, but Lindsay was so much younger than either Sam or John. Her life had ended far too early.

  “We can talk,” I said. “You can also show me your memories.”

  Lindsay was quiet.

  “It’s okay, Lindsay,” I assured her. “I won’t judge and I might need to know what happened to help you.”

  “I… I don’t want you to see,” she said, brokenly.

  “That’s fine,” I assured her. “Tell me what you’ve been trying to say, please.”

  “Singing bones,” Lindsay whispered.

  I was still lost. “Is that a band?” I asked, feeling wildly out of touch with pop culture.

  While I wasn’t old enough to be Lindsay’s mother, I definitely felt maternal towards her. God, I wondered if her mother was still searching for her.

  “No. Not a band.”

  Each time I’d gone mind diving, I
’d controlled how long I’d stayed. The first time had been devastating on my body and I’d slept for sixteen hours. The second time, I’d recovered quickly. Maybe third time would be a charm and I’d have no recovery time.

  However, the longer I stayed, the riskier it was for me.

  “Explain,” I urged her. “I can’t stay in your mind too long without side effects.”

  “Daisy, go,” Lindsay said, sounding frantic. “I’m not worth it. Really.”

  “Lindsay, you are worth it. Really,” I said firmly. “I want to be here. We just can’t beat around the bush. Tell me about the singing bones. Please.”

  “It’s a fairy tale,” she explained in a shaky voice.

  “Tell me.”

  “My mom read it to me as a little girl. It’s about two brothers who set out to kill an evil boar. The prize is that whoever eliminates the dangerous monster will get the princess’s hand in marriage.”

  “I’ve heard this,” I said, remembering. “The younger brother kills the monster and his elder brother finds out, and then kills him and takes the credit.”

  “Right,” Lindsay said. “The older brother buries his younger brother’s body beneath the bridge where he killed him.”

  “Until one day, a shepherd comes along and finds a bone that he uses to make a mouthpiece for his horn,” I continued.

  “Exactly,” Lindsay said, getting excited. “And when the shepherd blows his horn, the dead brother’s story comes out in the song. So, the shepherd goes to the king and plays the song.”

  “And the king finds the rest of the bones under the bridge and the evil older brother is punished by death for his deception,” I finished as a pit formed in my stomach. “Will your bones sing, Lindsay?”

  “They will,” she said softly.

  “Are you from around here?” I asked, wondering about the logistics of helping her. There was no way I could take a trip anywhere right now.

  “I’m not, but I died near here.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Atlanta,” she said. “I grew up there.”

  I nodded and realized she couldn’t see me. “And your parents?”