I’m the only other person in the room when he wakes up. His
eyebrows scrunch together and he groans, trying to sit up before his eyes are even open and falling back with an undignified grunt. He looks up at me, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to be upset that I interfered again. But this is a hundred percent worse than the volleyball incident.
Instead, he says “You’re disappearing again” and looks away. I glance down at my translucent body, but nothing seems out of place. The meds they gave him must have really knocked him out.
“A ‘thank you’ would have been enough,” I say, smiling shyly at him even though his head is turned away from me. I haven’t talked to him since the accident and my nervousness is making me feel dizzy.
He doesn’t turn to face me. “For what? Killing someone for me? I didn’t ask for that, Terra.”
Guilt surges in my chest again. He doesn’t sound angry, but there’s a bitter edge to his voice that makes me shiver.
“He was going to kill you, Andy,” I say, trying to justify my actions as much to myself as to him. He shakes his head slowly, imperceptibly. His eyelashes look long in the bright light.
“You don’t know that.” He turns back to me, his eyes shadowed by the dark crescents underneath them. “This isn’t the first time he’s thrown me around. And I’ve lived every other time.”
“Yeah? And did he break your nose every other time too? Or your ribs?” Andy looks down at his hands. “You were going to die. I couldn’t just – ”
“What? Do your job? Of course you could, Terra. You’ve
done it a million times before, remember? I’m not any different than the other people you’ve chaperoned to the other side. Or your Grim Reaper friend, wherever she is.”
I want to tell him that he is different, that he’s special to me and that’s why I can’t just stand by and watch him die, but the words won’t come. I open my mouth but I can’t force myself to say what I need to. I don’t even know what the truth is anymore, and I’m sick of lying to people. Until I know exactly how I feel about Andy, and why, I don’t have an answer to give him.
“You knew I was going to die,” he continues, ignoring my sudden silence. “How?”
Oh, crap. Caught in another lie. I guess being sneaky is another thing I suck at.
I sigh, drawing my eyes away from the bruises circling his chin. “I didn’t know. But he was beating you senseless. He broke your bones; I didn’t know how far he was willing to go.”
“You’re lying. You know I’m not stupid, right? You told me about your pull. That’s what led you to school the day I met you, right?”
The monitor next to the bed beeps steadily to the beat of his heart. The pace is picking up slightly, but it’s still slow. At least he’s not freaking out.
“I don’t know,” I admit, trying for as much truth as I can give. “Mellie told me that sometimes people can see us even when they aren’t going to die. You could be one of those people. Maybe you have a sixth sense or something? That would be pretty cool.”
Andy mumbles something I can’t quite hear. His chin is tucked down into the neck of his hospital gown and he’s muttering into his blanket.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I said ‘maybe.’ I’ve always been kind of a creepy kid; maybe seeing ghosts is just the next step up.”
I’m absolutely positive that’s not what he said before, but I don’t press him to repeat it. Whatever it is, he’ll tell me when he’s ready. I hope.
“You’re not creepy. You just need a haircut and some more colorful clothes. Although, who am I to talk? I’m about as depressing as a person can be.”
“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.” He tries to sit up again and winces. “You still owe me an explanation. But I’m too tired for it right now. Rain check it for later, okay?”
I nod, relieved. This really isn’t the right place for me to tell him about Mellie and what she said about his death. I don’t think there really is a right place, but a hospital recovery room definitely isn’t it.
“How did you do that, anyway? Did you mean to pull his soul out?”
“Am I a murderer, you mean? No. I just got too angry and I pushed him and it just sort of… happened.”
“Oh.” His pulse dips down again and he relaxes back onto the pile of pillows under his head. “But you knew it was going to happen?”
“I… Yeah. I knew.”
I feel like I just admitted to him that I’m a secret terrorist or a member of the mafia or something. Betrayal flashes across his face and his hands tighten around his blanket.
“So that could have just as easily happened in gym class that day. You could have killed someone. You could have killed me.”
He sounds so shocked it’s heartbreaking. I wish I hadn’t told him anything. I’d rather he be naïve and here than know and leave.
“I didn’t know then. Mellie didn’t tell me until after that happened.”
“But you knew when you pushed Jeremy.” It isn’t a question; it sounds more like an accusation.
“Yes.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
I fully expect Andy to get upset and start yelling at me again. After all, he was angry last time I intervened and back then all I did was throw a ball at someone. This time I took a person’s life, and Andy probably thinks at least part of it is his fault. And I don’t know how to convince him that it’s not – it was just me being an idiot and ignoring the rules. It’s not the first time that’s happened.
“I really want to be pissed at you right now,” Andy says, “but I’m too tired. Take a rain check on that too.”
I can’t help but smile, even though I still feel incredibly guilty. At least I didn’t lose Andy; that’s what all of this was about, wasn’t it?
He’s going to be okay. Screw Mellie and her rules. What’s
the harm in saving someone every now and then who deserves to be saved?
A nurse knocks on the door and opens it before I can say anything else to Andy. She’s a short woman with a big chest and curly brown hair that bounces on her shoulders as she walks. She’s holding a clipboard and wearing a set of blue hospital scrubs that are starched and pressed so neatly they look like they’ve never been worn.
“Hello, Andrea,” the woman says, and immediately Andy and I both cringe simultaneously; “My name is Gloria. I’m one of Doctor Barlow’s nurses.”
“It’s Andy, please,” Andy says, giving her a look that I’m pretty sure is supposed to convey more than it actually does. “I’m not… Oh, never mind. It doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“I’m so sorry, Andy,” the nurse says, oblivious to whatever internal turmoil Andy’s experiencing. “I was just reading what was on your chart. I’ll get it changed right away.”
She scribbles something on the clipboard in her hands and pushes the pen back into the metal slot. I hover over to her and try to read what the paper says, but she swings it around so fast all I see are dark blurs. Andy narrows his eyes at me, but Gloria doesn’t seem to notice.
So she’s a dumb blonde – or rather, brunette. I can deal with that.
“How are you feeling?” she asks. I’m pretty sure there’s a procedure to all of this – ask the right questions, take some vitals, and prepare Andy for what’s going to happen next. Which will
probably be a visit from the police and a lot of explaining to do. But at least she’s starting small for now.
“Like I was punched in the face a couple dozen times,” he says, lifting one corner of his mouth into a half-grin. “And my sides hurt. And I’m warm but I… Where are my clothes?”
I’m pretty sure he stopped himself just before he could admit that he isn’t comfortable enough to go without the blanket tucked under his chin. I wince; he’s going to be devastated that one of his binders is ruined.
“We took them away for evidence,” Gloria says, having enough tact to at lea
st look apologetic about it. “They were dirty and the doctors had to cut your shirt off to get to your injuries; if you really want them, you’ll get them back once the investigation is over. One of your ribs is fractured and your opposite side is bruised pretty badly. Nothing that won’t heal in due time, though.”
Andy doesn’t look assured by her confidence. He shifts on his bed and accidentally brushes his bandaged ribcage against the edge of the mattress. The startled gasp he lets out doesn’t go unnoticed by Gloria, who writes something else down on her clipboard in a neat, ribbony cursive that’s difficult to read.
Andy’s blood pressure is low, but his heartrate keeps rising steadily. I wonder how much he weighs; probably half as much as I did when I was alive. He looks like a rough breeze could snap him in two; it’s no wonder a kick to the chest busted one of his ribs. I’m surprised he wasn’t hurt worse.
“You’re on a mild painkiller,” Gloria continues. “It’ll make
you a little sleepy, but it should take away some of the pain. You’ll be able to get up and walk around by tomorrow morning, and you should be discharged shortly afterwards. I already spoke to your father. Your parents are very worried about you.”
I seriously doubt that, but I keep quiet. Andy does too, his hands bunching up and smoothing his blanket – he’s fidgeting, so he must be stressed. I can understand why.
He already looked rough this morning when he showed up for school, with bags under his eyes and messy, grimy hair. Today was probably the best sleep he’s gotten in a while, and it was because he was sedated. Otherwise I bet he would still be fighting it. Maybe he has bad dreams; I can understand that, too.
The nurse takes a few more notes and asks a couple more inane questions, which Andy answers without difficulty. He looks like he’s just itching to say something, squirming around uncomfortably whenever I look over at him. Gloria offers him a broad, toothy smile and he returns it halfheartedly.
“The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you about your stitches and your nose. Just basic healing stuff, okay? You be sure to get as much rest as you can in the meantime.”
After what feels like forever, Gloria finally leaves, waving at Andy on her way out the door. I can hear her shoes thudding on the floor all the way down the hallway. Given the circumstances, I’m almost tempted to leave with her.
“So, Jeremy…” Andy says as soon as the door closes. “Where is he now? Did your Reaper friend come back for him? Not that it really matters, since he’s dead either way.”
Gee, way to make me feel better about killing someone, kid. Again, Andy has proven to me that it’s possible to live life without a filter; he seems perfectly comfortable talking about murder when he’s lying in the middle of a hospital bed with a ghost hovering right next to him. He really is a weird kid. No wonder I like him so much.
“Ugh, no, I wish Mellie would just show up and handle it, but we’re not exactly speaking at the moment. I think she’s mad at me, or I’m mad at her. It’s all kind of a blur, to be honest.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it turns out she’s the Grim Reaper for real – I’m not even joking. The Grim Reaper. Or one of them, at least. I guess there are a ton of spooky people who steal souls and she’s one of them. And I got ticked at her for lying to me and for… other reasons, and she bailed. I haven’t seen her since.”
“And Jeremy?” Andy asks again. Persistent little bugger.
“He’s outside somewhere. I think he’s roaming the halls – either that or he’s creeping around wherever they’re keeping his body. I’m lucky he didn’t want to see you; I couldn’t get him to leave me alone until I came in here.”
Andy doesn’t look at all sympathetic to my problems. I’m guessing it’s probably because I caused most of them myself. I killed myself, and then went and took someone else’s life too, and now both of those things are coming back to – literally – haunt me.
“Welcome to my world,” Andy says, grinning despite his split upper lip.
“Hey, I’ve been there. Suicide, remember? Things like that don’t really happen without a cause.”
I don’t mention to him that my memory is still only patchy in some places. More things have started to come back to me, and most of them have been related to school – high school in particular. I suppose those memories are probably triggered by me spending so much time there lately.
“Yeah.” Andy falls silent, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong. Maybe talking about suicide is unpleasant for him. Although I don’t see why it would be; I’m the one who actually went through it. Maybe he knows someone who died the same way I did?
Andy flings himself back on the pillow and groans, twitching his nose like it itches. The stitches on his face stretch painfully, threatening to reopen, and a bead of blood pools in the corner of his mouth.
“I hate this,” he says all of a sudden, his voice low. I get the feeling he isn’t talking to me. “Being so weak; being a girl. I hate it.”
I don’t say anything. If I do, I might scare him into stopping, and I really want to hear what he has to say right now. Sometimes people say the most of what they’re really feeling when they’re vulnerable.
“I didn’t choose this, you know? I didn’t want my life to end up this way.”
I know. I know and I wish there was something I could do to help. I’m trying my best, but I feel like everything I do is wrong. I can’t even save him without killing one person and landing the other in the hospital.
“Do you think…” he begins, pausing. “Do you think I’ll be a boy or a girl? When I die?”
I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to discuss even the most remote possibility of Andy dying.
“I don’t know. Your soul is supposed to be a reflection of who you are. If you’re a boy, then that should be what you look like.”
He nods, looking down again. I don’t want to lie to him, but he deserves a better answer. If Mellie was here, she could tell him the truth – even if it’s painful. She knows everything, and even if I’m still a little mad at her, I’m starting to miss her too. I’m lost without her.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“No reason.” He says it too quickly. I don’t believe him.
But I don’t press the issue. He’s in the hospital, and right now what he needs is rest, not an interrogation.
I’ll ask him again when he gets out of here, when he’s feeling better. I’ll tail him for as long as it takes; after all, what else do I have to do with my time?
Chapter Twenty-One
The police don’t ask as many questions as I expect them to. I guess somewhere along the line they realized that a kid Andy’s size and in Andy’s physical condition couldn’t possibly have killed someone twice as big without leaving a single mark on his body. Andy stands by his alibi – that he was knocked unconscious and didn’t see what happened to Jeremy. He’s a better liar than I gave him credit for; the cops don’t even bat an eye as Andy lists off every detail of yesterday morning, omitting the very obvious ghost who saved him, of course.
When I leave Andy’s hospital room, Jeremy isn’t waiting outside anymore. I assume he’s gone back to wherever his body is being kept, because there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed if Mellie had snuck in to take his soul during the night.
I stayed in Andy’s room all night, watching him sleep in a totally-not-creepy way. His breathing settled down a lot once he finally managed to drift off, and his soft snores filled the room in tandem with the beeping of the monitor by his bed.
I feel tired, but I can’t sleep. Physically, there’s no way for me to get rid of the sensation of total and complete exhaustion. Mentally, I know that it all stems from my guilt about Andy and Jeremy and even myself, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m stuck – in more ways than one.
I really wish Mellie was here. It had been stupid of me to be angry at her for something she couldn’t even control. So what if she’s a Reaper? Tha
t doesn’t make her any different than the girl I first met three days after I died. She still takes souls and helps people move on. I shouldn’t have yelled at her for that.
But she did basically tell me that she wanted me to let Andy die. She should have known, especially with her own past experiences with humans, that I couldn’t do that. She shouldn’t have expected me to.
Andy’s father comes to get him later in the day, after the sun has already sunk low and there’s a chill in the air that blows right through me. He brings a change of clothes for his son, who eagerly begins getting dressed until he realizes that not only is his binder missing from the pile, but it’s been replaced by a dull pink sweater and an old bra that looks like it’s about two sizes too small. Andy balks and immediately tosses it in the trash, glancing up at me with panic in his eyes.
So, naturally, I slip into one of the locked supply closets and steal a roll of ace bandages. It’s a lot harder than I expected to bring them back to Andy, but I manage by sliding them under the door and rolling them to his room as inconspicuously as I can. I think one
nurse sees the rolled up bandage turning a corner seemingly on its
own, but I speed away before she can get a good look.
Relief floods Andy’s face as soon as he sees me. I toss the bandages at him and turn my back, keeping my promise not to look as he winds the fabric tightly around his chest. It sounds like a difficult process, but I couldn’t help him even if he wanted me to. I could accidentally touch him, and I really don’t want to think about what kind of guilty conscience that would give me.
“Thanks, Terra,” he says a few minutes and several frustrated groans later. “That’s the second time you’ve saved my ass this week. Thanks.”
I turn around to face him. He’s blushing from his neck to the tips of his ears, which match the thick pink sweater perfectly. He doesn’t necessarily look like a girl, but he definitely doesn’t look like a boy either. Something in between, maybe, with his messy hair and slim build. It’s not a bad look, but he doesn’t look like himself.
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