Death in Spades

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Death in Spades Page 21

by Abigail Collins


  He was right, though. His spirit is different. He’s got broader shoulders, narrower hips, and a much flatter chest; I think I even see the faintest hint of stubble, but I don’t look too closely. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s a man; there’s nothing feminine about his soul at all. I just wish his parents could see him now – them and all the other people who told Andy he was wrong for being who he was.

  The buzz of sirens fills the air outside, soupy and distant at first but growing closer by the second. Of course. Of freaking course they’re here now. Just a few minutes too late. The one time Andy’s mom chooses to do her job as a parent properly, and Andy isn’t even alive to see it. I mean, he can see it, since he’s sprawled out on the floor right next to his own body, but that’s not quite as satisfying. I

  would much rather have him make a full recovery and reconnect with his mother in a way that’s only ever portrayed in really crappy made-for-TV movies, but it looks like we’re in an unsuccessful tragedy instead. All we need is an old, single cat-lady sobbing in the background and we’re all set to be a below-average box office hit.

  Andy seems to finally notice his body lying a few feet away, and he shrieks in the least manly way I can imagine. His voice isn’t any deeper now than it was before, but I assume that’s just because puberty hasn’t quite hit him yet. Poor kid; he’s doomed to be a pre-pubescent ghost forever now.

  “Terra, what the Hell is going on?” Andy shouts, his voice cracking.

  “You tell me! What was that all about? Offing yourself the second I leave?”

  Andy looks confused, and a bit like a kicked puppy. Even in his more masculine form, he still manages to pout like a baby animal. He’s cute and I’m torn between feeling guilty and wanting to give him a big hug now that I’m finally able to. I hold myself back, but only because my shame outweighs my curiosity.

  “I didn’t!” he says. “I remember you leaving, and I don’t remember anything else after that.”

  “That’s normal,” I tell him, even though absolutely nothing about this situation can be considered normal. “You’ll start remembering things backwards, but your death probably won’t return for a while. I remember dying, but I don’t really remember killing myself, you know? It’s all a little hazy still.”

  Andy looks shocked, staring up at me from his position on the floor. He doesn’t even attempt to move, even though I’m sure his balance is slowly getting better.

  The ambulance pulls up just outside of the front door and a short, bulky man enters Andy’s room, followed closely by a taller woman wheeling in a stretcher. I don’t look as they load Andy’s body onto the gurney. The last time I saw him, he was still alive; that’s how I want to remember him. I don’t think I can deal with watching the life leave his eyes.

  Andy stays quiet and still until the two paramedics leave, even though there’s no way they can see or hear him. The expression on his face is hard to look at – his confusion and sadness do nothing but add to the guilt already piled on my shoulders. I did this to him. It doesn’t matter that he probably would have died anyway; there’s still a chance he could have lived. But I took that away from him, just like I did to Jeremy.

  “It’s okay, Terra,” Andy says as soon as the ambulance’s sirens have started to fade away. “It’s not your fault.”

  “You don’t know that; you didn’t see. I thought you were gonna die and I panicked. It’s just like what happened last time. I freaked out and I did the one thing I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”

  Andy pushes himself off of the floor, his hands grazing the carpet and sliding through halfway. He doesn’t quite get how to hover yet, so he just stands still, holding his arms out to his sides to balance himself. From where I am, a foot above the floor, he’s never looked smaller.

  “Last time was different. You were just trying to help me.”

  “And this time?”

  “I… I don’t remember. But I don’t think you’d do something without a good reason. I trust you.”

  That’s his downfall, isn’t it? That he trusts me. That’s what got Jeremy killed and now Andy too. It wasn’t Mellie’s fault after all – it was mine. If I had just waited a few more minutes, the ambulance would have arrived and Andy would be on his way to the hospital right now. He would still have a chance. Is this the feeling Mellie wrestles with every time she has to watch someone die? It’s suffocating.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  Andy takes a step forward and I unconsciously back up. He looks up at me, his expression darker than I’ve ever seen it. The empty bottle of pills glares up at me from the open drawer, and Andy’s locked phone is still lying where I left it.

  “Stop moving, Terra, geez,” Andy says, trying for a smile. I stop with my back against the wall, just tangible enough to avoid falling through. It takes Andy twice as long to get to me and he nearly stumbles as his feet catch on the rumpled rug around his bed.

  “Why did you take those pills, Andy?”

  He reaches out one hand towards me and I flinch, moving out of the way. He touches my shoulder and it feels like electricity is pulsing from his fingers underneath my skin. It’s the same sensation I felt when Mellie touched me, but I’m not any less shocked by it now.

  “I don’t know,” he answers, and I can tell he’s being honest. “I can’t remember.”

  I nod stupidly, but my mind is somewhere else. I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked, lying on the floor barely breathing. I remember what I looked like when I died, too – there was blood everywhere and I was slumped against the front of my bed, my hands resting on the floor at my sides. At least Andy’s death was peaceful and clean. His parents won’t have to scrub blood off of the carpet tomorrow.

  “I shouldn’t have left you.”

  Andy turns my hand over and touches his fingertips to my wrist, tracing the vein I cut through just a few months ago. The skin is clean and unblemished now, but every time I look down all I can see is dark lines of blood trailing down my arms. A chill rushes through me and I pull my hand back; it tingles like ice where his fingers were.

  “Where did you go?” he asks, and I really wish he hadn’t. Here’s another bad thing I can admit to today; why not just get them all over with before Andy decides to hate me?

  “A funeral,” I answer, and Andy’s expression flickers like a lightbulb. “Jeremy’s. I still felt guilty and I thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that if I could see him off I would feel better about what I did? But I don’t. His mom was there and, Christ, she was crying and talking about what a great person he was, and all I could think about was what he did to you and what a terrible person I am. Mellie won’t even talk to me anymore. Can you believe it? The actual Grim Reaper is mad at me. That’s how bad things are right now.”

  I guess I ramble when I’m nervous, because Andy’s looking at me like I just recited an entire sonnet without taking a breath. Technically, I didn’t breathe because I didn’t have to, but I don’t know if Andy is aware of that fact yet; his chest is still rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths that whistle on their way out of his nose.

  There’s a lot I need to tell him. There’s a lot I was hoping I would never have to tell him.

  “Breathe, Terra!” I suck in a quick breath obediently, partly to humor him but mostly because he’s got a stern look on his face that I know better than to cross. Now that he’s got more masculine features, Andy’s downright intimidating when he wants to be. “I’m not mad about the funeral; I kind of figured you would want to go. And I feel just as guilty as you do. If I hadn’t just let him beat me up like that, or if I had just skipped school for a few more days, maybe things would be different. But I don’t think any of that matters anymore, really. Not now.”

  Not now that I’m dead, too, my mind supplies unhelpfully. Nothing really matters now that Andy’s dead. Why am I even here?

  Suddenly, Andy cracks a grin that throws me off completely. His teeth are shiny and straight and I was right, t
here is a little hint of stubble around his chin. It suits him.

  “Why the Hell are you smiling? You just died. Cry a little, or something.”

  “Killed myself, remember? Obviously I’m not too broken up about it. I don’t remember what happened, but it’s pretty clear that I

  took a bunch of pills for a reason. And I knew what I was getting

  into, since you’re here. It’s not that much of a surprise.”

  “It is to me!” Andy’s smile falters a fraction. “I stopped Jeremy from beating your face in because I didn’t want you to die. Didn’t you even think about that?”

  “Did you think about how your family would feel when you slit your own wrists?”

  Andy seems to realize belatedly that he said the wrong thing, because he slaps one hand over his mouth and immediately backtracks.

  “I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t. It’s different, and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

  But he’s right. He shouldn’t be apologizing for telling me the truth; I needed to hear it. I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately, too – it’s almost like regret. Maybe I didn’t mean to kill myself after all. Maybe it was just better as a thought than a reality. Andy doesn’t seem to think so, though.

  And why would he? His life was a lot worse than mine was. His parents openly hated him, he didn’t have any friends, and everyone at school either ignored him or used him as a punching bag. Compared to that, I have nothing to complain about. Killing myself feels even more selfish thinking about it that way, so I try to push the thought aside.

  Maybe we can make this work. If we were friends when Andy was alive, we should be no different now. But…

  “I killed you,” I say, my voice quaking slightly. “You should hate me. Go ahead and tell me what you think; I deserve it.”

  It’s starting to get dark outside, but Andy’s parents still aren’t home. I assume they’re at the hospital, probably making funeral arrangements by now. Maybe he’ll be buried in the same cemetery as me. That is the least comforting thought I can imagine.

  “I was going to die anyway. I can’t hate you for trying to help. You called the ambulance for me, didn’t you?”

  I nod stiffly, not telling him that I texted his mom and she called the ambulance that came to get him. He doesn’t need to know that I used his phone and pretended to be him to ask for help; that would probably embarrass him, and the last thing I want to do is make him even more uncomfortable about all of this.

  But he looks surprisingly calm, considering the situation. When Reece died, he freaked out for a solid hour and it took the efforts of both Mellie and I to calm him down. David was even worse, panicking so badly I had to shout to get him to listen to me. With everyone else, I’ve had Mellie’s help to get them acquainted and figure out what to do with them. But Mellie isn’t here right now and this is up to me alone.

  Does this mean that Andy’s stuck now, too? Mellie knew he was going to die, because she told me and nearly threatened me with it, but she never showed up for his soul. Either she really hates me right now and wants to use Andy to get back at me, or he’s stuck here for the time being. I hope it’s not indefinite like in my case.

  “Then don’t worry about it. I don’t blame you.”

  Andy is so sweet and forgiving; I don’t deserve to have him in my life. I don’t know why I ever thought I did.

  “Just don’t ditch me again, okay? You’ve got a lot of stuff to teach me and I’d like to learn how to use my cool superpowers sooner rather than later.”

  I can’t help it – I smile. He draws it out of me so effortlessly, just like he always has. Some of the guilt ebbs away, and for the first time in this crazy, messed-up situation I’ve gotten myself into, I feel a small spark of happiness.

  It doesn’t last very long, of course. I’m like a magnet for bad luck, and there seems to be an excess of it surrounding me lately.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Andy’s spirit isn’t tied down to his body like mine was. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong, but I didn’t really pay it much attention. I think I was too busy trying to decide whether to be happy that Andy’s here, or sad because he’s here. He’s dead but he’s not gone; I don’t know if that’s good news or not.

  He adapts fairly well to being a ghost, but I didn’t doubt that he would. He’s used to being around spirits, so it’s only natural that he’s picked up on some of our traits through that. Walking and hovering quickly becomes no problem for him, but like Reece, he struggles a lot with making contact with things. Reece has finally mastered tangibility, but it took him at least a month longer than me. I’m a little bit smug about it, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Andy – I swear the kid is either psychic or crazy. Or both.

  “You could be a little more sympathetic,” Andy says, whipping his hand through the curtains around his bedroom window and rustling them slightly. “I did just die, after all.”

  “You told me not to make a big deal about it, so I’m not.” I shrug, even though my emotions are boiling over inside of me. I shouldn’t be here. I’m the one who killed Andy; I don’t deserve to still be his friend after that. But, somehow, he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s strange, but I get the feeling that maybe he knows something I don’t, because he’s eerily calm about being dead and, knowing as much as I do about him, he really should be freaking out right now. Or at least not smiling.

  “True,” he says, trying again to make contact with the curtains. His fingertips swipe at the fabric and it blows a little; he grins and I don’t have the heart to tell him that it was probably just the wind. “You’re a terrible teacher, by the way. Where’s your Reaper friend? Shouldn’t she be training me in?”

  “I told you, she’s mad at me. Because I killed Jeremy and…” I sigh, crossing my legs on the end of Andy’s bed. “I stopped you from dying when you were supposed to, which is against the rules, apparently. Although I don’t see why that would matter now that you’re dead anyway. That was her plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  Andy scrunches up his face and gives me a confused look, like he’s trying to remember something just out of his mind’s reach. I know the feeling.

  “Was it? Is that why I killed myself?”

  “Of course not. I don’t think Mellie’s powerful enough to force someone to kill themselves, and she’s a bit annoying, but she’s not a killer.”

  Actually, she is; she killed my mom and she’s taken

  countless souls out of bodies that were still alive – even if just

  barely. And the truth is that I know nothing about her. Everything she’s told me has either been a lie or a half-truth. She could be a God with the ability to control minds for all I know and if she never told me I would be none the wiser.

  “So, do your parents usually pull all-nighters like this?” I ask, changing the subject. “Or do you think they’re still at the hospital?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see why they would be, but maybe they’re still tying up loose ends. I didn’t leave a note or anything; at least, I don’t think I did.”

  Note or not, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why someone like Andy would have killed themselves. A transgender boy who has a history of being picked on at school, who just went back after being on the mend for a week from an incident that nearly got him killed? It’s so stereotypical, it practically writes itself.

  “You seriously don’t feel a pull, or anything like that?”

  He shakes his head, eyebrows knitting together on his forehead. His hand rests on the windowsill, and I can see the space between his palm and the wooden frame where he’s holding himself up; if he wasn’t, he would phase right through and come out on the other side of the wall.

  It’s been nearly a full day since I found Andy and somehow convinced his mother to call the ambulance. Curious as I was, I chose to stay with Andy rather than follow his body to the hospital. Once you’ve seen a few deaths, they all start to blur together – autopsies ar
e the same, no matter what the cause of death. Everyone

  is the same, in the end; it’s not like I would have seen anything I didn’t with my own corpse, or Reece’s.

  His funeral, though – I feel like I owe it to him to attend. I’m just hoping it won’t be for a few more days, at least; I still need a bit of time to process the fact that he’s actually gone, and deal with the fact that he really isn’t.

  “You said I would know it when I felt it,” he says. His eyes look a shade darker with the curtains drawn. “I haven’t felt anything out of the ordinary. Actually, I haven’t felt anything at all. That’s normal, right?”

  “Yeah. Except for when…”

  “When I grabbed your hand, right? I felt that. It was like electricity, but it didn’t hurt.”

  I nod and sit back on the palms of my hands, stretching my legs out in front of me. I’ve been a little bored without Mellie’s constant supervision and having to monitor deaths every other day, if I’m honest. Not that I miss all the gore and the panicking ghosts, but at least it was something to do. I still feel pulled in several directions at once, but the strongest one, deep in my gut, is still keeping me tied to Andy. Even now that he’s dead, my spirit seems to want to stay near his. At one time, I would have convinced myself that maybe he’s the person who’s meant to help me move on, but I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know if I can move forward after all that’s happened. Mellie told me that there are consequences for people who interfere with human lives, and I’ve done that more than once now. I’m probably going to be stuck here for all eternity just for penance.

  “You should feel something, though. Even now, I still feel it. It’s like we’re connected to death, you know?”

  “It’s kind of creepy when you put it that way.”

  “Yeah, but it’s true.”

  Andy gives up on moving the curtains pretty quickly, but I didn’t expect him to spend all day working on it. Besides, the first time I touched something I was angry – at Mellie, of course – and I don’t think I would have been able to do it without that initial burst of energy. Compared to that, Andy’s barely even trying. His half-hearted pushes against the swaying fabric can’t even be considered a proper attempt.

 

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