Death in Spades

by Abigail Collins

  of admitting to anyone – myself included – that I committed suicide, but now it feels no different than any of the other deaths I’ve

  witnessed. I’m dead and that’s what counts – the rest is just pointless details.

  “So, Reece,” I say, looking over at him and offering a smile. “What’s your deal? Besides being shot, because that really sucks. How old are you gonna be for the rest of eternity?”

  “I’m nineteen,” he says, his tone perfectly even. He sounds too polite for my tastes, and maybe a little shy, too. Mellie and Andy are much better company so far.

  “Aw, you can’t drink either. Not that you could now anyway. I tried it once; the water went right through me. It felt kind of like being tickled, but a little grosser. I don’t recommend it.”

  Reece doesn’t look at all entertained by my commentary. I understand that he just died less than a day ago, but Mellie had time to brief him on the whole ‘being dead’ thing, so he should be fine by now. If anything, he looks like he’s going to throw up all over the headstone he’s sitting by – which happens to be mine, as luck would have it.

  Ghosts can’t puke, though, which I’m really grateful for. I can’t imagine how many times I would have hurled from seeing such gruesome deaths as David’s and Reece’s. That’s one aspect of death I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.

  “So, what were you guys doing while I was crying over my own grave? Did you fill him in on the basics?”

  Mellie nods. “He knows as much as you do. Which includes the rule about no interfering.”

  The way she says it and looks so pointedly at me makes me shiver. If she knows I went to see Andy last night, I’m in big trouble.

  But, to my surprise, Mellie continues like she didn’t just scare the living – dead – daylights out of me.

  “He knows about all of our abilities, too. Which includes tangibility, though he has yet to accomplish it.”

  Reece looks down, ashamed. I bet that’s what they spent the morning doing – trying to get Reece to learn how to make contact with things. A sharp sting of jealousy burns in my throat; it took weeks for Mellie to trust me with that information, and that was only after I had already found out about it on my own. Why is she telling Reece more than she told me?

  Mellie’s still talking, but I tune most of it out. I feel hurt that she trusts Reece more than she trusts me. I had kind of started thinking we were friends, or at least could be, but now I don’t know. Mellie’s so mysterious, so guarded for some reason, and I don’t think I’ll ever be important enough for her to let me in.

  I still have Andy, but he’s a human, and it’ll never work out. Either I kill him or I leave him, and neither option sounds fair to me. I’m beginning to understand just how lonely it is being dead.

  “Why are you here, Terra?” Mellie asks, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Is this where your mother is buried?”

  “How do you know about my mom? Were you there when she died?” I don’t know a lot about my mother, but Mellie might.

  “I was,” is all Mellie says. I wait a minute for her to continue, but she doesn’t. With all of the answers she seems to be giving away

  lately, she’s still a closed book around me. I get the feeling that even if I ask her to tell me more about my mom, she’ll refuse.

  Suddenly, Reece gets a look on his face like he’s just swallowed a handful of nails and takes a step back, his feet scuffing the dirt on top of my grave. At first I’m shocked, but then he holds his hands to his stomach and I know exactly what’s going on.

  “What’s happening?” he asks, panic in his voice. Apparently there are some things Mellie forgot to tell him. I grin as he struggles to keep his footing.

  “I’m guessing your body’s being moved,” I say, glancing in the general direction of the house where I saw Reece die. “Until you’re buried, you don’t get a lot of freedom. It feels kind of like a rope pulling from inside your stomach, right?” Reece looks more creeped out than reassured. “You can only go a certain distance away from your body right now. Once you’re in the ground, you can go wherever you want as long as you stay in the city. My guess is that you’re on your way to the morgue. It’s about a mile west of here, if you’re going to the same place I went.”

  Reece looks absolutely horrified. I can’t resist the chuckle that slips through my lips. “You’ll get used to it,” I tell him, even though with how he’s reacting I doubt he’ll ever be totally adjusted.

  “And what if I don’t want to go? I don’t want to see my own dead body!” He tries to grab at a nearby tree branch but his hands go right through it. I lean back on the trunk and try not to look too smug.

  “Then don’t look,” Mellie chimes in, as helpful as ever. “But you might as well go. The pull is more painful if you resist it.”

  Huh. I didn’t know that. I guess I’ve never really tried resisting it before; I didn’t even know I could. I just know that the

  closer you get to your destination, the better you feel. I’m guessing Reece is pretty uncomfortable right now.

  “If it helps,” I add, not even trying to be remotely helpful, “they make you look pretty good. They’ll cover up your injuries and clean up all the blood, and you’ll get made up like a doll. Just be sure to skip the autopsy if you can; it’s not the most pleasant thing to watch.” That’s a complete understatement. If I was able to pass out or throw up, I would have done both the moment I saw the doctor start carving away at my body.

  Reece stops struggling and floats back a few feet. He sighs like a weight has been lifted off of him, but his eyes are still wide.

  Mellie’s not looking at me, but she isn’t looking at Reece either. He flies away slowly, leaving the two of us alone. I follow Mellie’s line of sight to a grave three plots away from my own. She’s staring at my mother’s grave like she’s remembering something, but if she is, she doesn’t say a word about it to me. Instead, she stays that way until I leave, and when I look back I see that she’s moved to sit beside the giant white cross.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Does it hurt?” Andy asks me as soon as I phase through the window. What a great way to start a conversation.

  “What?” I answer, smirking. “Falling from Heaven? If you’re trying to hit on me, save it. I’m dead and I’m way too old for you.”

  I’m only a year older than Andy – a year and two months if you’re counting, which I’m obviously not – but the part about being dead is what’s important. Not that I’ve thought about that.

  “No, dying. Does it hurt?”

  Andy looks so serious the smile falls off of my face like I’ve been slapped.

  “Well, yeah.” He’s looking down at his hands, digging at his cuticles with his fingernails. “But I’m guessing it depends on the person? Like, Reece was shot, right? So he probably died before he could feel anything. Or at least, whatever pain he felt didn’t last very long.”

  “What about you?”

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Andy through hanging

  out with him – secretly, of course – over the last two weeks, it’s that he doesn’t take hints very well. He doesn’t seem to have a filter when it comes to conversations that he absolutely should not be having, and he has no idea when I’m uncomfortable talking about something. He’s curious about death; this isn’t the first time he’s wanted to talk about it. His fascination worries me, because he’s alive, and that’s what he should be focusing on.

  But I can’t exactly blame him for wanting to talk about death with a ghost. I would probably be curious too if I was in his position.

  “What about me?” I ask, hoping he’ll pick up on my frustration and change the subject.

  But, if he notices my slight agitation, it doesn’t bother him. “How did you die?” he asks, his expression so neutral I can’t tell how he’s feeling. “I mean, I know you killed yourself, since you told me, but your obituary didn’t mention exactly what happened. Just that you died suddenly,
which could really mean anything.”

  I fling myself down at the foot of his bed, bouncing on the mattress as my stomach makes contact with it. If I lose my focus, my entire body will sink through the bed and onto the floor, but I’ve gotten pretty good at utilizing my powers by now. Reece still hasn’t managed to touch anything solid beyond the floor and the occasional wall, which makes me feel sort of smug; as many secrets as Mellie may trust him with over me, I’ll still always be one step ahead of him. He may be older, but I’ve been dead longer.

  What an accomplishment, Terra. Congrats.

  Andy doesn’t even flinch as the mattress shifts, nearly

  sending him flying backwards; he puts his hands down behind himself and crosses his legs, his pajama pants riding up just enough for me to see a hint of his bony ankles.

  The odd look passes over Andy’s face again, like I just flickered out in front of his eyes. He shakes his head quickly and stares at me, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Maybe I’m just imagining things – or maybe he is. But from how intense his stare is, I know he can see me now.

  “I slit my wrists,” I say softly. Andy wrinkles his nose.

  “That sounds painful.”

  I roll my eyes, propping my chin on my palms. “Well, duh. It was crazy painful. And it took a long time, too. I think if I could do it over, I would probably take some pills or something – easy, no pain. And no blood. Ew.”

  Andy’s eyebrows are furrowed so roughly his forehead is creased. I wish I had Mellie’s ability of seemingly knowing what everyone is thinking.

  “So, you would do it over again, then? If you had the chance?”

  Is Andy seriously asking me if I regret killing myself? Obviously I don’t, since I did it in the first place. People who go that far typically do it because there’s no other way. Even if I was still alive, the thought would be at the back of my mind, just like it has been since my mom died. It was only a matter of time.

  “Probably,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do. And I hate being a ghost, don’t get me wrong, but life

  just wasn’t worth living for me, you know? But I still did a stupid thing and no matter how I feel about it, it was still the dumbest thing I could have done.”

  I don’t sound convincing, even in my own ears. Andy gives me a look that makes me feel transparent – like he’s looking right through my lies and picking them apart.

  Sometimes, when I’m alone, I feel some kind of regret about what I did. But that doesn’t mean I would change my life, and how it ended, if I could. Not right now – not when I’m with Andy and I feel okay about where I am and what I am.

  “If you don’t like blood, why did you pick the bloodiest way to die?” Andy asks me, and God, I wish he would just drop it already.

  “Because I thought it would be quick,” I say, only half of the truth.

  The reality is, I was having a bad day and I found the knife tucked away in one of my dresser drawers. It was like flipping a switch in my mind, and everything came crashing down on me so hard I couldn’t breathe. It was all I could think to do. It wasn’t like I wasn’t planning on doing it eventually, anyway, but the circumstances were just too perfect – me, home alone with a perfectly sharp knife and a desire to end my own life. There’s really no other way the scene could have played out.

  Andy closes his mouth, his lips pulled together in a straight line. The clock on his bedside table ticks away another afternoon wasted; eventually, Andy’s parents are going to notice all of his

  absences and call him out on it. Unless they really don’t care after all.

  I used to skip school a lot, on the days when everything got to be too much to handle. That’s the thing about being depressed: the bad feelings have the worst timing. I could have been sitting in the middle of third period and suddenly be hit with a wave of emotions that sent me crying to the bathroom. I get the feeling that Andy is like that, too, as much as he tries to hide it; I caught him crying in his sleep once, and I’ve noticed that his fidgeting gets worse when he’s having a particularly bad day.

  Today, his fingers keep spinning around the hem of his shirt and pulling down on his sleeves. I noticed this morning that his hands were shaking as he shut off his alarm, and I didn’t push him when he told me he wanted to stay home today.

  Eventually, he’s going to have to face reality and deal with his problems; otherwise, he’ll end up just like me, and I don’t know if I could handle that. Andy deserves better than I did.

  The revving of a car engine startles me and I sink right through the bed, rolling out on the floor underneath and looking up to see Andy staring out of the window. I can tell from the look on his face and the sound of keys clicking around in a lock a minute later that his parents must be home. Or one of them, at least.

  Andy hasn’t told me much about his family, other than that he’s an only child and both of his parents are still alive. I don’t know their names, or what they look like, but I keep imagining them as this uptight duo with standards that Andy could never meet.

  The front door creaks open and Andy looks at me, his eyes wide.

  “You’ve got to go!” he says, shooing me away with his hands. “I don’t care if they can’t see you, you need to get out of here. Please.”

  The desperation in Andy’s voice is almost enough to get me to fly away without another thought, but my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “Sure.” I nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He manages a smile that looks strained. I float over to the window, with Andy keeping a close eye on me until I’m safely out of his range of sight.

  Then I double back and fly through the back of his closet on the other side of his bedroom, hiding among his hanging clothes and messy pile of shoes.

  I can’t see Andy through the closed closet door, but I can hear everything from the other side. Footsteps echo up the stairs and stop just outside of Andy’s bedroom; Andy’s breathing is so loud I can actually hear it.

  “Andrea?” a woman’s voice says from the other side of the door; it’s sickeningly sweet and clearly belongs to his mother.

  The door opens before Andy can respond, creaking on its hinges without even the barest hint of a knock or invitation to enter. High heels tap loudly on the wooden floor, coming to a stop just outside of my hiding place. The bed frame creaks as she sits down on the end of the mattress.

  Briefly, I’m afraid that Andy’s mother will hear me and open

  the closet door, but then I remember that she can’t hear me, nor can she see me. But Andy can, and if he finds out I betrayed his trust, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “You skipped school again?” his mom says, her voice filled with as little concern as I can imagine. “You have to stop doing this. Your grades are poor enough as it is.”

  “Andy, mom,” Andy finally speaks up, his voice croaky. “It’s Andy.”

  “Andrea, don’t talk to your mother like that. And answer me when I ask you a question.”

  I’ve only just ‘met’ Andy’s mom, and already I hate her. She sounds just like those awful people who pick on Andy in school. No wonder he’s a fidgety mess – he has to deal with the same crap no matter where he goes.

  Andy mumbles something I can’t hear, and his mother reprimands him for it. He speaks a little louder, though I can still barely make out what he’s saying with my ear pressed against the inside of the door.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” he says. “I think I have the flu again. Some kids in school had it last week.”

  “You know I don’t believe that, Andrea. Do you think I’m an idiot? This is the third time you’ve skipped in the last week. Your school called me about your absences this afternoon.”

  I don’t have to see Andy to know that his face is beet red and his hands are playing with the sleeves of his sweater. His nervousness practically radiates through the room.

  “Mom, I’ve been sick. And can you please call me Andy, just once?”

  “You kno
w I don’t believe in that nonsense.” A beat of silence follows his mother’s words. I clench my hands into fists at my sides and try to push back the thought of smashing this door right down onto the witch’s head. “Take that off. It looks ridiculous.”

  I’m pretty sure she’s talking about Andy’s binder; he’s wearing a white one today that pokes out just a little over the wide neck of his shirt. To anyone else, it probably just looks like a tank top. I don’t even know if he’s ‘out’ to anyone in school yet, but obviously his mom knows – and doesn’t approve.

  Andy doesn’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take off his binder, even though I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to wear it for more than a few hours a day. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but I suppose Andy’s more comfortable with it on than without.

  I can’t imagine feeling lost in my own body. Even when I was struggling with life itself, I still knew who I was. Andy doesn’t even get to be himself around his own mother.

  “You’re going to school tomorrow, whether you feel ‘sick’ or not. And you’re wearing the nice top I bought you at the outlet mall last year.”

  Something tells me this ‘top’ she’s talking about is girly as Hell. Poor Andy.

  “Please, mom. Nobody at school knows about me. I don’t want them to find out this way.”

  His mother scoffs and stands up, her heels clicking on the floor all the way to the door. “You should have thought of that before you decided to live like this.”

  I can picture Andy, slumped over on the bed blinking back tears. I wish I could jump through the door and give him the hug he deserves, but Mellie’s warning keeps playing itself over and over in my mind. I can’t comfort him. He can’t even know I overheard anything that just happened.

  Andy sniffles loudly, muttering something I can’t hear.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” his mother says after a moment, opening the door just a crack. “You know I only have your best interests at heart. But this life… It’ll ruin you. You’ll end up hurt, or dead, and I don’t want to see my baby girl lose her life to something like this. You have to understand my reasons.”