by Rob Rosen
“Why not just go to the police then?” she asked.
See, now that was a reasonable question. But how did we tell the police everything we knew. How did we come by all our information? The police ask questions. We couldn’t truthfully answer any of them. We were pretending to be people we were not. One of us was technically dead. Sort of. Our accomplices were ghosts. So, yeah, please, officers, break out the straightjackets now, if you’d be so kind.
And so, “It’s complicated, Sylvia,” I told her.
She leaned back in her recliner. “Are you boys hungry?”
We boys nodded. I felt bad for the ghosts, missing out on my mom’s cooking. In any case, soon enough, we ate. With boyish gusto. All the while, I stared at my mom, her kitchen, our kitchen, at the photos of me on the fridge in happier, undead days. I felt bad for me, for her, but not bad enough to not devour the leftover baked chicken and homemade mashed potatoes and ice-cold Coke.
She smiled when we were done. “Am I to guess,” she said, “that if I were to open the trunk of your car, I would find at least two sets of luggage.”
Damn, she was good. “Three, Sylvia,” I said.
“We could always go to a hotel,” said Clark.
She nodded as she also finished her chicken. She then turned to me and said, “I get this feeling that you and I have met before.” Her eyes met mine. In fact, they bored down deep.
I gulped, even though I was no longer eating. Does the bond between a mother and son run that deep, the tether going both ways? Or was my personality simply shining through the rented body? “People say I look like Woody Harrelson, Sylvia. Maybe you watched a lot of Cheers, back in the day.”
She squinted my way. “Maybe that’s it.” But I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
I wanted to shout, It’s me, Mom! It’s me! But that wasn’t going to go over well, no matter how I played it. And so, I said, “We need a place to stay. For our safety. Plus, we figured, you might want to help.”
She put her hand over mine. My very soul jumped. “You really think one of them did it?”
Clark and I nodded in sync. “One or more of them, yes,” I replied.
She rose, smiled. “Then let’s get those fuckers.”
My chest rose and fell as a large exhale escaped my borrowed chest. I was hoping she’d say something along the lines of what she said, but I was also terrified of her saying that something. I was dead. I was murdered. This shit was beyond dangerous, and the killer and or killers clearly had resources we didn’t. Still, I knew my mom wouldn’t be able to live with herself if my murder was left unsolved, and I couldn’t die, at least not truly so, if such was also the case, and so, I replied, “Let’s get them.”
Clark grinned his now-standard glorious grin. “Let’s fucking get them.”
* * * *
We found ourselves in my old bedroom a short while later, luggage and ghosts in tow. It was the only spare room with a bed in it. It was a small bed, by the way. I, too, was small. Clark, of course, was anything but. He laughed as he spotted our dilemma.
Voltan poked his spirity-head inside my still-borrowed one. “Clark is sleeping with me. We switch at night.”
I nodded. I got it. In truth, I didn’t want to sleep there. It was painful being with my mother, not being able to tell her everything I’d neglected to in life. That I loved her, appreciated her, enjoyed her company—albeit in limited short spurts. It was just as painful to be in that room, which was still so full of life, namely mine. My albums were there, my books, posters, hidden porn in a tucked-away box inside the closet. I’d left so much behind, so much more than just the shell of me, which was also probably tucked-away inside some sort of box. I shivered at the thought. A second later, Clark and I were again alone.
“You don’t look so good,” he said to me.
“I died recently.”
He patted my back. “I like your mom. She’s like a small tank.”
I grinned, chuckled. “If you relay those thoughts to her, maybe try and replace small with skinny. Apart from that, thanks.” I looked around. “As if this wasn’t all weird enough to begin with.”
He nodded. “But at least they won’t be able to find us here.” His hand was in mine. I liked it there. It wasn’t just the whole safety in numbers thing. He was my friend now. I felt it, so he must’ve, too. I’d lost everything. This was about the only thing in my plus-column. Apart from Max. “But she can’t help us, except for maybe room and board. She’s your mom. They probably know her down at the office. If she joins forces with us outside of this house, it’ll look suspicious.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I needed my mommy. The body stains the soul, sure, but the umbilical cord connects in much the same way; neither separates despite the snip-snip. “I’ll tell her as much, but I wouldn’t count on her agreeing with it,” I told him.
His nod returned. He sat on the bed. A smile appeared on his face. “Huh.”
I knew what the huh meant. “You’re sleeping with Voltan in my bed tonight.”
The nod hadn’t stopped. In fact, if anything, it picked up speed. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before, Nord.”
I sat next to him. His hand was still in mine. I thought to say the obvious, that I found that hard to believe, that he was young and cute and had a good job and a dick that would make Moby jealous, but I’d been all those things, had all those things, too—minus, sadly, that Moby one—and I also never had a boyfriend. Not really. Extended tricks, short-term connections, but not a boyfriend. Again, not really. And so, I had no words of wisdom to impart. “One window closes, a door opens.”
“Huh?” he said again, though not in the same way as before.
“I died. I found Max. You found Voltan.” He frowned. He didn’t like the thought of that. Oddly, I didn’t mind it as much, anymore. “My death,” I explained, “seems to have had some meaning.” My grin trumped his frown. “And if rubbers have an expiration date, I’d advise not using the one in the nightstand.”
His face grew rosy red. “Noted.” He jumped off the bed, moved to my work desk, and sat in front of the computer. “This work?”
I shrugged. “It did, last I checked.” I stood next to him as he logged on and I typed in the password. “But your cell is probably faster.”
His fingers furiously typed away. A minute later, I saw he was on the work network. He took his cell out. “Fast is not what we need now. Information. Information is what we need.” He stood, sat me down, leaned over and hit a few more keys. We were now in Outlook. Email. Not mine but Paula’s. “We were in Chaz’s house; now we need to get into hers. Look around. See if you can find a way inside said house, something that won’t tip her off, something that won’t get us arrested.”
“But it’s her work email.”
He shrugged. “Are you telling me you never used your work email for personal stuff?”
My grin returned. “Good point.”
He hopped across the room. He was tall. The room was not. It only took the one hop before he was again on the bed, cell in hand, doing the same work, me working down the sent box, him up. We’d meet in the middle, hopefully with a way inside her house that didn’t involve a brick and a potential jail cell.
It took an hour. The middle was never needed. I spotted it among a bevy of emails related to a vacation, directions on what to do while she was away. It was boring stuff—until it wasn’t. “Found it!” I exclaimed.
He looked my way expectantly. It was weird seeing a man in my bed. I’d wished for that growing up, a man, any man, someone to kiss, to hold, to fuck. All things considered, I guess you should be careful what you wish for. “What? What did you find?” he asked.
My smile widened. I was glad he was the man in my bed, even if I couldn’t hold him or kiss him or fuck him. “One of those fake rocks, the kind that hides a key. There’s even a photo of it.” I pointed at the screen. “Think it’d be in bad form to call in sick so soon after starting a job?”
&
nbsp; He shrugged. He coughed. He wiped his nose, the back of his hand held up to his forehead. “Must be one of those twenty-four-hour things.”
I shrugged. I coughed. I wiped my nose. “Must be contagious.”
The shrug got a smile added to it. There was a knock on the door. My mom poked her head in. “Baked salmon and double-baked potato okay for dinner?”
“My favorite,” I exclaimed, stomach suddenly gurgling.
She tilted her head. She looked at me wistfully. “Nord’s, too.”
The gurgling turned to a clench. “Small world,” I said. And one I no longer inhabited. Once again, not really.
She smiled but she didn’t seem happy. “Great. I’ll call you boys when it’s ready.”
I wouldn’t be there to eat it. It wasn’t fair what I was doing. Not fair for her if I should slip again. Not fair for me either. Not fair for Clark, who clearly missed Voltan as much as I missed Max.
And so, I was back at Arby’s while my friends were eating what had been my all-time favorite dinner. Life wasn’t fair; why should death have been any different?
“I missed you,” said Max as he pulled me in tight.
Bruce was nearby, but at a respectful distance. “I missed you, too, Nord!” he shouted my way, waving all the while.
I laughed. My load had been lightened. Life is like a weight, and the longer you experience it, the heavier it gets. They say that only the strong survive, but that’s a mental strength, not a physical one. I think I probably knew all that, but it took dying to appreciate it. Then again, it took dying to find Max, and I certainly wasn’t complaining about that.
He kissed me. “How’d it go?”
I filled him in. Too bad that was a figurative expression. “So, you’re breaking into Paula’s house tomorrow and Clark is getting laid in your old house tonight?”
“Not breaking so much as entering. Uninvited, but still. And yeah.” I smiled. Or maybe I’d been smiling all along. Probably the latter. He held my hand, and my grin’s wattage amped up. “I wonder how I’ll be able to leave her again. Before, I had no choice.”
He squeezed my fingers. “Your mom?” I nodded. “You won’t have a choice now, either. Still, you couldn’t say goodbye before. Hopefully, you’ll get some sort of chance this time.”
Hopefully, yeah. But what would I say? And how could I possibly say goodbye? Like in forever goodbye?
Chapter 7
The next morning, bodies were again switched. Clark and I were surveying Paula’s house. The ghosts were floating nearby, the tether between us still clearly, um, tethered. Mom had made us breakfast; it sat like a heavy brick inside my gurgling belly. We’d been invited into Chaz’s home—under false pretenses, but still. Now we were burglars, breaking the law. Which was fine for me, seeing as I was dead, mostly, but Clark had to be considered, Voltan, too, since I was borrowing his body. Hence that aforementioned belly-brick.
“What is it?” he asked, pointing at my face.
As for me, I pointed at the fake rock on the ground. If you knew what you were looking at, it was obvious. “What if she has security cameras?” I asked.
He grinned. “She did.”
My head tilted to the side. “I noticed that was in the past tense. And, uh, huh?”
“It was mentioned in one of her email chains. All I had to do was log in to her account, send a forgotten password request, retrieve her password, and flick off the security cameras, deleting my trail as I did so.”
My head tilted the other way. “And if she’s since flicked them back on?”
The grin widened. Mine followed suit. His was Pavlovian that way. “I checked before we left. All is good.” He patted my back. “You worry too much, dude.”
My head righted. My grin promptly faded. “I was recently murdered; perhaps I didn’t worry enough, dude.”
He cleared his throat. The patting returned. The message of the pat had changed. “Okay. Point taken.” He bent down. The rock was retrieved. “Key taken, too.” It was soon in the palm of his upturned hand. “Promise, she’ll never know we were here.”
We opened the door. I’d forgotten to breathe. I forgot some more when we heard the telltale click.
“I got a text message,” Paula said with a rather nasty smirk, the gun going from me to my friend and back again. “Security measure, in case my alarm gets turned off. Smart. Of them, I mean.” I looked at Clark. Clark shrugged. “You two are supposed to be at work.”
I aimed my chin her way. “Ditto.”
The gun moved closer. That is to say, she moved closer, but all I saw was the gun. Talk about bad karma. Dying twice in a week. I must’ve fucked up royally in some past life. Drowned some kittens or something. Voted Republican. Blech. “I was headed there when I got the text. Thought it best to see what was up.” The gun got pressed to my forehead. “What’s up, asshole?”
My entire life flashed before my eyes. I didn’t get that added little bonus feature at my last murder. Suffice it to say, the effect wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I started to answer her. Voltan popped his head inside before I could get a word out. “Stall her,” he said.
“Really?” I replied inside the same head. “She’s got a gun aimed my way. Think a little song and dance might do the trick?”
“You’re in my body, Nord. I like my body. So, if you think a tap routine or perhaps some voguing might help, then, by all means, a little might go a long way.”
“And what will you be doing? Poltergeisting? What if she gets spooked and shoots first and asks questions later? Or just shoots, period?”
“We have an idea.”
And with that, he was gone. But not forgotten. I mean, I was in his body, after all. I had to save him. I’d lost me; I wasn’t about to lose him, too. But how? Stall, he’d said. I couldn’t tell her the truth. Mainly because she might have been the person who killed me the first time. So that was out. And then it hit me. An idea, I mean. Not a bullet. At least not yet.
“You’re sleeping with the boss,” I blurted out.
She flinched. The gun jerked. I flinched. Clark made it a cringing trio. I kicked his foot, a way to let him know to play along.
Thankfully, he played. “In his house. The one he shares with his wife.”
She backed away, her eyes suddenly in a squint. She’d looked cool, calm, collected before—a cucumber should look so cool—but now, now said cucumber seemed pickled. We’d caught her off-guard. Not by our breaking in, but at our knowing her secret. Their secret. Hers and Chaz’s.
“Who sent you?” she asked. The gun was down a bit. A bit was good. Though a bit had it aimed at my dick now. FYI, not so good. FYI, pretty fucking bad.
I nodded. Clark nodded. “Evidence,” I said. “We’re here to get evidence.”
“She wants us to get evidence,” he added, meaning Chaz’s wife.
Paula backed another foot in reverse. She was looking at us but not looking at us. Clearly, she was thinking about what we’d said, formulating some sort of plan. Hopefully, not one that ended us up in a pool of blood.
“Doesn’t make sense,” she said. The gun rose again, following her hand in a swift arc. It moved back and forth, from my face to Clark’s. She looked mad. She looked confused. It wasn’t a pretty mixture. “Move,” she added.
I jumped. Clark saw my jump and raised me a wobble. Either way, it set us in motion. Which was far better than the alternative. We left the entryway and headed for the living room. We had our hands over our heads. It seemed like the thing to do, what with a gun aimed at our backs. We kept walking, from the living room, to the dining room, through the kitchen and into a basement, our cellphones taken before we were forced inside. It was then we heard the second click. This one, thank God, didn’t come from a gun.
“She locked us in,” Clark said, thereby stating the obvious.
“Better than killing us,” I said, also stating the obvious. Though my obvious sounded a lot better than his.
We were standing in the dark. I walk
ed around, found a wall, found a light switch. “And God said, ‘let there be light.’”
He squinted. “Best not to bring Him into all this. I think we’re fucking with his business enough as it is.”
I nodded knowingly. “Agreed.”
He sighed and sat on the floor. “What do you think just happened?”
I shrugged and joined him down there. It was easier than standing. Mainly because my legs were a bit like Jell-O by that point. Wobbly was an understatement. “You saw the house we just got marched through. No way is she pulling in the kind of dough needed to live like she does. Best guess, she’s sleeping with Chaz, blackmailing Chaz. If the wife is looking for evidence, if the wife divorces Chaz for cheating, Chaz loses it all. Paula will be last domino to fall, should that happen. Or maybe Chaz’s wife is in on all this and our being here means that she’s trying to cut Paula out of whatever it is they have going on.” My shrug reshrugged. “Or not. Who the fuck knows? Does it matter? For now, we’re alive. And Voltan told me to stall.” I pointed to the uncomfortably nearby four walls. “Stall.”
“When did he tell you that?”
I pointed toward the stairs. “Back there. When my delightful ex-coworker had a gun aimed at your boyfriend’s brains. He popped in, said to stall, then disappeared.” Clark grinned. I shook my head. He seemed to like the whole boyfriend thing. I liked that he liked it, but, all things considered, perhaps now was not the best time to start pondering his-and-his matching bath towels.
“The financial document,” Clark said. “The one that seemingly got you…um…you know.”
I knew. Duh. I’d been looking at the floor, but my eyes quickly landed on his again. “What about it?”
“What if it doesn’t point to company wrongdoings? What if it points to her and Chaz’s? What if you accidentally stumbled onto their affair? What if she saw that you had that document? Or what if Chaz did? You could’ve brought their house of cards down with the slightest whisper of it.”
My shoulders summarily slumped. I had a document I didn’t know I had and got killed over it. Being hit by a bus would’ve been a better way to go. Then at least it would’ve been someone else’s fault. I sighed. Clark sighed. Were we moments away from death? Or redeath? Or sort of redeath? If I died again, would we all be able to find each other? Could I lose Max forever so soon after finding him? “What do we do now?” I asked.