“To pick up our new guest.”
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chapter twelve • laney
I wait and wait and wait for Sara. What’s taking so long? I swear, when she picked up Flora and me, it wasn’t so drawn out. That must be one stubborn spirit. Maybe it’s hesitating about hopping into the sparkly portal, like I did.
I groan. I’m so. Freaking. Bored. I wish Sara had a TV so I’d have something to do. How crazy would it be to have ghostly news and not-your-normal-reality shows? Like, MTV would be Macabre TV. The DIY channel could be all about keeping the fog off your front lawn, or how to dig your own grave. They should have, like, the Bachelor for spirits. But what if the guy got rejected, even in the afterlife? God, that would blow.
I should definitely bring up my suggestion when Sara gets back. Maybe the Elders aren’t just bags of bones and they’d be open to the concept of keeping spirits around instead of sending them on. It’d make for a livelier place—and nobody can deny that this dimension definitely needs a complete restoration in that department.
Not long after my brilliant idea, I hear talking outside. Actually, it sounds more like arguing. I amble over to the window to see what’s going on.
“Mr. Dorsey, everything will be all right. You’re in a diabetic coma and you’ll be living here until I can get you back safely,” Sara reassures. I have no idea who the man is standing in front of her, but whoever this Mr. Dorsey is, he doesn’t want to come inside. Maybe I can help convince him it’s okay. It’ll be, like, my good deed for the year.
I slap a pageant smile on my face and open the door.
“Hi. I’m Laney.”
The man glares at me. He reminds me of my grandpa—old and fragile. He wears glasses that are so 1980’s, and they keep sliding down his nose every ten seconds. His comb-over is greasy and hasn’t been washed in days. And the rest of his body—especially his hands—shake beyond what’s normal.
“I’m stuck here, too, if that helps,” I continue, although I don’t know why I’m bothering. He probably can’t even hear me. Do hearing aids work in Lichburn? “And Sara? She’s pretty cool. She’ll get you out of here.” I can’t believe I’m saying this stuff. I should still be pissed at her for making me stay put while Flora sees her family again. But there’s softness to Sara. Sometimes she seems as fragile as Mr. Dorsey looks. And the bit earlier about her family? That kind of put things in perspective for me. I mean, she was in my shoes once, and I was in Mr. Dorsey’s shoes two days ago.
“O-okay,” Mr. Dorsey stammers. He wrings his hands over and over. I know the old man is nervous, but jeez…it’s not that scary. Okay, maybe the fog is a little creepy, especially when the Damaged appear first thing in the morning. Somebody needs to invent a spray to ward off those poor souls.
The three of us step inside the cabin, and Sara glides toward the kitchen. “I was just about to make some tea. Would you care for some, Mr. Dorsey?” she asks.
“Oh, um…that’s…I guess so…” He stands in the middle of the room and checks out the place.
I plop down on the couch and say, “You can have a seat, ya know. I mean, the furniture isn’t going to bite or anything.”
He ignores me and stares at Sara. “Why am I here?”
She glances up from pouring tea. “I’ve told you, Mr. Dorsey: you’re in a coma. All spirits of those in a long sleep come here to stay while their bodies remain in your world.”
“But h-how…” he begins, fighting for words. “I just want to see my family.”
A sympathetic smile crosses Sara’s face, and her eyes soften at the corners. “I know you do. That’s why I’m here.”
“Will I see them again?”
“Yes,” she says with a short nod. “I’m sure of it. Now, why don’t you take a seat a ctakhe nd I’ll bring you your tea.”
Wow. This is totally different from what Flora and I experienced. This man is doomed to Lichburn until his physical body decides to wake. That sucks big ones.
The room is so awkwardly quiet. I decide to speak up. “So, uh, Mr. Dorsey, where are you from?” Silly question. I already know the answer because Sara has jurisdiction—or whatever it’s called—in Briarhaven only.
He stares me straight in the eyes and asks, “Why are you here?”
Like that’s not creepy.
I take a deep breath and blow the excess air through my lips. “Well, I was in a car accident with someone I can’t stand to be around, and she’s back in reality while I’m stuck here. So, yeah, that’s my story.”
“Do you miss your family?”
“Of course I do. I just have to wait for someone to die first.” His entire face creases, like’s he’s confused, so I explain. “Someone up there”—I point toward the ceiling—“has to die so we can switch places. In my case, someone has already died and my accident partner left first, so now I have to wait for another person to guarantee my ticket back home.”
I think I put him in shock; his eyes practically bulge out of his head. “I can’t be here,” he says. “I have to go home.”
“Mr. Dorsey, I’m afraid you have to wait. I can’t speed up the process anymore than you can. Even if you returned home, you can’t reenter your body. It’s just not possible,” Sara explains.
“Now, you listen here,” he snarls, pointing his finger at Sara’s face, “you’re going to get me back to my body, come hell or high water. Don’t give me this bullshit about being stuck in the afterlife. I will find a way out, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Sara shuffles over to the front door, blocking him.
“Out of my way!” he shouts, but Sara doesn’t budge. Her expression, her composure, remains calm and collected, as always. “Are you deaf? I said, ‘out of my way!’”
“Mr. Dorsey, for heaven’s sake, sit down. You’re only draining your energy, which is linked to your physical self. Should you use too much of that energy, you will exhaust an already-exhausted body. I want you to contemplate that.”
The loony old man steps forward, eye to eye with Sara. “You’re testing my patience. Either move or I will burn your house to the ground.”
Oh, hell no. He can’t say that to Sara. She’s too nice.
“Dude, you need to chill out,” I tell him. “Sara’s only trying to help, and you’re the one who’s making this worse on yourself. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be dead from a heart attac ca hs k within the next hour. Your blood pressure has to be through the roof.”
He waggles a finger at my face. “Stay out of it.”
“Or what?” I counter, crossing my arms defensively.
Lowering his voice, he murmurs through clenched teeth, “Or I’ll tie you to a chair and accidentally forget you’re inside when I light the match.”
Oh, my God. This dude’s psychotic. I don’t know what possesses me to do so, other than his shitty attitude, but I feel compelled to tell him, “You can’t really hurt us. We’re basically dead, anyway.”
Wrong thing to say to a crazy person.
He throws his head back and freaking roars—yes, roars—at the ceiling, like he’s a damn lion. What is he doing? I mean, seriously…
But the fun doesn’t stop there. He picks up a porcelain bird figurine on the coffee table and chucks it across the room, causing the trinket to smash against the wall.
“Mr. Dorsey, please!” Sara makes an attempt at soothing him, but he ignores her, continuing his tirade.
I duck a couple of times, while Sara does her best to calm him down. I should’ve never opened my mouth, especially since we’re dealing with someone who’s emotionally unstable.
“Everything you do here affects your body,” Sara says. “You’ll wear out soon if you use your energy like that.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! Energy and death and spirits… What a bunch of crap! You listen to me,” he orders. “I have grandchildren I need to get back to. I promised my grandson I’d play ball with
him this weekend.”
“Even if I did let you go back, you wouldn’t be awake to see it.” Sara’s not afraid to stand her ground, though she’s about as menacing as a hamster.
Mr. Dorsey falls into the recliner and cries. He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands over face, entire body trembling. “I just want to see them again,” he whispers.
“You will,” says Sara. “But I need for you to calm down. With you in this state, it can be very hazardous to your physical condition.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I just can’t,” he wheezes hysterically between sobs.
“Look, you’re not dead,” I say, and then mumble, “not yet, anyway.” I was over the melodramatic performance five minutes ago. It’s something my sister would do. She lives for drama.
Sara clears her throat. “I think it’s best if we just keep you still.”
“I need to leave,” he says. “I need to get out of here.” He stands in a hurry and strides toward the door.
Sara opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it just as quickly, letting him vanish into the mist.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” I ask, bolting to my feet and hurrying over to the window to peek outside. The fog begins to swallow Mr. Dorsey.
“He can’t leave, Laney,” says Flora. “He’s stuck here. It’s probably best that he finds out on his own.”
“Yeah, ’cause you’ve only told him, like, twenty times now. Where’s he going, anyway?” I lean forward, as if I can magically stick my head through the window, which will give me eagle-eye vision.
“He can’t go far.” She purses her lips, like she’s waiting for something to happen, something that she’s seen before.
I no more get the thought out of my head when Mr. Dorsey’s body smacks against the windowpane, causing me to lose my footing and fall on my ass.
“What’s the hell?” I can’t say I saw that coming.
“The Damaged won’t allow lost souls to leave until it’s time to either switch places with someone or move on. Think of them as bodyguards in the afterlife.”
“Well, is he going to be okay?” I don’t mean for there to be panic in my voice, but there is.
“As long as he doesn’t expend his energy so foolishly.” Sara stands in the doorway, hands clasped together, waiting. Gradually, I stand up and peer out the window, to see if Mr. Dorsey is okay. I’m still unsure if I should believe Sara or not; that was a pretty hard hit.
Mr. Dorsey slowly rolls over and rises to his feet, his legs somewhat wobbly. He glares at Sara, but finally caves by nodding his head and entering the cabin. Like he understands. Like he’s accepted his fate.
He shuffles toward the chair he was in minutes before and sits, keeping his head down. Sara and I don’t say anything; it’s like an unspoken conversation between us—there are no words to make the situation better for someone who just realized they can’t be with their family. This makes me miss my own family even more.
The quiet conversation between Sara and Mr. Dorsey brings me out of my thoughts.
“—way of knowing when I’ll return?” Mr. Dorsey asks.
Sara shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, at least not until just prior to your departure from this realm.”
He nods in response. “Well, since I’m going to be staying here a while, what happens next?”
“You are more than welcome to stay in one of the extra guest rooms. Because of your condition, I don’t need to teach you anything. Once you wake from your coma, your s c co="+pirit will return to your body instantly.”
Why can’t Flora and I do that? Why can’t we be the ones to return to the Land of the Living?
I decide to ask, “Why does he get to return to his body, but I can’t?”
“He’s in a peaceful sleep, surrounded by family and friends, while your family and friends don’t know where you are. The only way to notify them before you die is to return and show them where your body rests,” Sara explains. “If this was a different situation, you’d be contained here until you regain consciousness, but there’s always the issue of your body not surviving.”
I shudder. Sounds like I’m marked for death. Flora, too. Oh, she better hurry.
Mr. Dorsey groans. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to rest.”
Sara instinctively stands and ushers him to the guest room. She returns moments later.
“How about that tea?”
I smirk. “How about it?”
She busies herself by filling our cups, and then drifts toward the living room with mugs in hand. After handing me mine, she sits down beside me, noisily exhaling.
“Are spirits always so stubborn?” I ask.
Sara softly chuckles. “Most of the time, people don’t want to be told they’re a ghost. It’s as if their life takes on an entirely new meaning once they learn they don’t have long to live. Their jobs, their bills, feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders—none of that is relevant. What matters is that they kissed their child before sending them off to school, or that they said “I love you” more times than they could count. What matters is that they left an impression on those around them—so much so that when they departed, it would cause a ripple effect through time itself.”
That’s so…touching. Momentarily, I reflect on my life. Have I said what I needed to say? Have I told everyone I love them? I guess, when I think about it, pageants and the glam life don’t mean everything.
“Well, that’s a great speech for people who are dead, or about to die, but what about people like Mr. Dorsey, who’s in a coma?”
Sara sips on her tea before replying, “Think of it as an insurance policy for one’s soul. The soul is safe, even if the physical body isn’t.”
“Do they just chill here until they wake up?”
“They stay in different locations, depending on their city. All spirit guides are in Lichburn, but we have separate regions to maintain. We can’t be in ten different places at once.”
Makes sense. “How many spirit guides are there?”
“Oh, we are too great in number to count. Ther co ces are thee is a spirit guide for every city on earth.”
Yeah, she’s right. Way too many to count. My brain hurts just thinking about it.
All of a sudden, Sara lurches forward, her tea cup crashing to the floor, the liquid splashing over the wooden boards.
I scoot to the edge of the couch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Sara bypasses me, striding quickly toward the guest bedroom. She emerges seconds later, closing the door behind her. Mr. Dorsey’s loud sobbing echoes through the quiet house.
Hugging herself, Sara gently states, “I’m afraid there has been a complication, Laney. It seems Mr. Dorsey is now your ticket home.”
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chapter thirteen • flora
Hanging on for dear life has officially employed a new meaning as far as I’m concerned, because that’s exactly what I’m doing with Mia’s car. There’s no freaking way I’m letting go. My memories are fading faster and faster, and I don’t know whether I’ll remember who I am when all of this is said and done, let alone who Mia is and where she lives. I’m not taking any risks, so if that means hanging out in her car and stalking her until she realizes there’s a ghost in her house, then so be it.
We pull into the driveway of Mia’s oversized residence. I wish I could hear her car door shut, or hear the steady clack-clacking of her boots as they collide with the concrete walkway leading to her front door. I even wish I could hear her keys jingle as she inserts them into the lock. But nothing is audible.
Except for the damn static constantly hissing in my ears.
Mia being Mia, she heads straight up to her bedroom, totally bypassing the living room and kitchen, and plunks down on her bed, immediately pulling out her phone. Pressing a few buttons, she holds her cell up to her ear. Of course, I can’t hear shit, so I have no idea who she’s calling, but af
ter a few seconds of her unmoving lips, I can guess who that person might be. It’s not like Mia has a dozen friends. It’s just me and two other girls she occasionally speaks to in art class. That’s it.
God, I just want to scream, I’m right under your nose! I’m right here, standing in front of you! But, of course, it’s not that easy. This is so frustrating.
Mia stands up and paces the room. She halts, her eyebrows raised. Once more, she taps the screen of her smartphone a few times and presses her cell to her ear. Who else is she calling? Her parents? Laney? This time around, her lips actually move. Attempting to read them is a lost cause, but there’s definitely no mistaking the smile when she hangs up. Whoa, wait… Mia Tipps is actually happy about something? Since when? It’s not even a regular fo cesingl joyous grin—it’s beyond that, like someone is stirring these emotions inside her. Like that someone is male.
Mia doesn’t have crushes. At least, that’s the impression she’s always given me. Oh, God. What if I’m just a horrible, self-absorbed best friend, who never paid attention to the small details? What if Mia mentioned a guy she liked, or that she was seeing someone, and I completely tuned her out? I park my ass on the hardwood floor and think about this for a sec. My newly-acquired spirit form is bogging down my memory, so I don’t remember whether or not Mia mentioned a guy.
The longer I watch Mia—the way she fidgets, her little quirks—the more I realize she’s totally into whoever he is. I mean, she’s still grinning as she stares at her screen, like it’s going to magically light up on command. Her fingers toy with the ends of her hair. Even her toes curl against the wooden flooring.
What. The. Hell.
I have to see him. My best guess is Ed Sherwood. We tease the shit out of him, calling him names like “Sherwood Forest” and “Sherbet.” Some kids even dubbed him “Robin Hood.” I’m pretty sure those were the drama geeks.
Almost Dead (Dead, #1) Page 9