I wondered how much time I’d be allowed to spend with my parents if I ended up in hell after all. Did demons who didn’t mean any harm affect the living more than earthbounds? Daniel wasn’t the typical demon and he hadn’t affected my parents—so far. Maybe I could just stay out of Mom and Dad’s way, but still stay close enough in case they needed me.
And then what? What could I do to reassure them?
There were so many questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers to, and yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I tried telling myself knowledge erased all fears, but somehow, I didn’t think that applied here. After an hour or so, I tuned out the questions and just listened to the way the house settled, let the quiet familiarity comfort me.
Unable to convince myself of the need for further rest, I checked on Mom and Dad, who were both fitfully asleep. For a while, I stood by their bed, watching them twitch and turn, listening to them breathe. I took in the way things looked in the dark, with the house and all its occupants at rest. The bathroom glowed eerily in the darkness. Shadows from the night-light and the moon’s filtered glow crisscrossed, leaving double silhouettes of barren trees on the walls. I stared out the wide bathroom window over the tub and into what should be the heavens above. If Banning’s plan failed and I couldn’t go to heaven, then I supposed there was nothing more than the night and the stars up there for me, and I would have an eternity to view them. I’d have nothing to do but contemplate the mistake I had made in this very room a few nights ago.
I turned, trying not to look into the tub. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out that night. But the whole scene played out before me with such clarity that it was like watching a movie.
Ribbons, pretty ribbons…
I saw Dad pulling me from the water as my mother screamed.
No!
My eyes flew open, halting the replay. On the bathroom counter I noticed matching prescriptions for sleeping pills and valium. I touched the bottles, running my fingers across the labels. This was my fault. Me. The former drug addict. I left the bathroom, doing my best not to look at the tub again.
After giving each of my parents a gentle kiss, I went downstairs into the living room and curled up on one of the overstuffed chairs. Banning was stretched out on the sofa across from Daniel, a cushion behind his head.
“This whole reaper thing. How do you do it?” I asked Banning when he glanced up at me.
He sat upright, his brow furrowed in suspicion. “Take souls?”
His tone caught me off guard. It sounded uneasy, as if he thought I was asking something else. “No,” I said. “How do you deal with all this. How do you deal with eternity—the thoughts that won’t stop?”
Daniel sat up from his nap. “I’m outta here,” he said, sounding a bit grouchy. “I’ll be upstairs. Maybe there’s more quiet in the bathroom.”
Daniel didn’t fool me. He wasn’t headed for the bathroom. At least, not to pee. No food, no drink, no need. The thought made me smile anyway. I could almost imagine Daniel choosing the upstairs hall bathroom and coming face to face with one of my grandparents. I bet I’d find him sleeping in my room when I went back up there. Daniel was nothing if not opportunistic. Not that I blamed him. The sofas were fashionable and quite practical, but not the most comfortable to sleep on.
“What’s up with him?” I asked Banning. “Demons need special beauty rest or something?”
“If you figure him out, let me know,” he said, reconciled with the fact that I wasn’t going to rest and that he probably wasn’t going to get much either. He stretched his head from side to side. “How do reapers deal with eternity? We sleep. Take walks. Go places. Sometimes, we visit with family or friends—alive or dead.” He smiled. “And, movie tickets are cheap.”
“But you’re stuck in purgatory. You’re stuck looking at this.” I motioned around me with my arms. “Well, not exactly here, but here. You’re stuck in this plane, with the living and the memories. Demons can move between hell and back. Angels can move to heaven and back. You can’t, can you?”
Banning shook his head solemnly.
“Forever?” The thought of watching the ones I love suffer, go on with life, get sick, even die, was more than I thought I could bear. It’d be worse to be a reaper, to be someone destined to sever the life force from the dying. “That’s awful.”
He shrugged.
I rolled my eyes. “I know, I know. You’re waiting on a replacement. That’s the problem. You’ve never been sent a replacement.”
“It’ll happen. Someday.”
I bit my lip. “I’d almost prefer hell to your job.”
“It changes. And you haven’t been to hell. Not that I have, either. But at least here I can help. I can make a difference. I doubt I would have had the same opportunity in hell.”
Leave it to Banning to find a silver lining in his black duster.
“You’ve got a couple of hours before we go,” he said. “You should rest. Those bruises will go away a lot faster. You wouldn’t want everyone to see you with a shiner, would you?”
“No,” I replied with a small laugh. Even though no one would be able to see me, I didn’t want to have to walk around with a black eye on top of everything else. Suddenly, I felt weary. I got to my feet and headed toward the stairs. I took the first step before it occurred to me what Banning must have thought I was going to ask him. I turned. “Banning?”
He had already lain back down on the sofa. He raised his head. “Yes, Keely?”
“How do you become a reaper?”
He frowned, lowered his head onto the pillow, and closed his eyes.
“Go to sleep, Keely,” he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I awoke almost four hours later. Light streamed in through the curtains, and I rolled over, looking at the time—nearly nine o’clock. School had already started. I scrambled out of bed and rummaged through Jordan’s closet for something to wear. I chose her favorite pair of jeans, a white short sleeve shirt, and a black hoodie.
I stood in front of her dresser mirror thinking how weird it was that the real hoodie and pair of jeans still hung in the closet where they’d stay until either one of my parents or my aunt packed them into boxes. Aunt Jen would probably drop them off at a donation center—I didn’t think Mom would have the strength.
Someone tapped on the bedroom door. Daniel or Banning. It’d never be anyone else. “Come in,” I said.
Daniel entered through the door and took a seat on the edge of Jordan’s bed. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, as okay as it gets, I guess. You?” He looked perfectly normal again. Not a cut, not a bruise. The same was true for me—my bruises and cuts were gone.
Daniel took in Jordan’s room, paying special attention to her desk with the iMac and the shelf full of books. Most of them were fiction, with the exception of a dictionary and thesaurus. Jordan read a lot. My sister’s room was nearly identical to mine except hers had been painted a sage green and mine was blue.
“Today’s going to be hard on you,” Daniel said, his eyes finally meeting mine.
“Thanks for the warning,” I replied, mustering a smile. He was trying not to go all soft around the edges, as he’d say. But, he cared. “I’ll stay tough. Promise.” I held up my hand. “Dead girl’s honor.”
“I’m not talking about finding your sister,” he said. “I’ve been where you are.”
I swept my hair into a ponytail and sat on the bed beside him. “Thanks. For yesterday. For everything.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from him. Maybe for him to say something sarcastic or rude—his trademark way of dealing with people who were nice to him. What I hadn’t expected was the flush of red that briefly colored his cheeks.
He stood quickly and straightened his shirt, then walked toward to the door. “Well, whatever, Sunshine. Let’s get going.”
Daniel had been right, though. It felt odd walking through the doors into school. I’d thought the last time I’
d walk through these halls would be during final exams before graduation. It’d been what Jordan and I talked about almost incessantly after school let out for the summer. No more juniors. We were going to be seniors. I didn’t know back then that Jordan wouldn’t even start that final year of high school with me. That Monday in late August had been more than the first day of my senior year—it had also been the first time in my life I wasn’t a twin.
I remembered thinking how we’d talked about homecoming, choosing a college. Spring break. Prom. Saying goodbye to our classmates, teachers, and public education. The end of what we’d be able to call our adolescent years. The beginning of our adult years. In all those endings and new beginnings, death, the mother of all endings and new beginnings, never entered into the equation.
I don’t know what I’d expected to find when I walked through the hallway before the start of second period—maybe friends crying in the halls. A somber attitude, a sense of loss. And while there definitely seemed to be an air of quiet among the students, the day also went on as usual. Everything looked the same—the olive-drab lockers, the mural painted on the wall opposite the cafeteria, compliments of the senior Advanced Arts class, the same dingy black-speckled white and gray floors.
Yet, it felt different, too. All different now that I wasn’t a part of it.
Students filed through the halls, some running, others talking, some laughing. How soon we forget, move on. Banning and Daniel followed me to my second period class—Biology 201, but bowed out of coming inside the classroom.
“We’ll take a look around and meet you back here in a couple hours. Give you time to visit some classes and catch up on friends,” Banning said. “We’ll go see what we can find out about Jordan—see if she’s hanging around somewhere nearby.”
“Later,” I replied in as steady and as casual a voice as I could manage. I was reminded of several years ago, when we’d had to bring in something to talk about in science class—a salamander in a fish bowl, or a butterfly pinned inside a cotton-lined cardboard jewelry box. One guy had brought in a project that involved using a potato as a battery for a small digital clock. Briefly, I imagined standing before my classmates with a reaper and a demon to demonstrate proof of the afterlife, followed by a discussion of what Banning had called Phantom Physics.
I stepped into the class I’d once shared with two of my longtime friends and my on again, off again boyfriend, Miles. Gina and Miles sat at the back of the class, their faces pale and sullen. I studied Miles’ face. He hadn’t slept much—a hint of dark circles appeared under his soft brown eyes. Guilt and shame washed over me and I looked away.
Next to Gina, I noticed that Amanda was missing. Of all my friends, Amanda had the kind of personality that’d take my death the hardest. I took a seat in her chair as Mr. Fitzpatrick lectured the class on the physiology of invertebrates. Although biology had been one of my favorite subjects, I’d never liked long lectures. I was more of an interactive student. Give me lab work any day. Except today. I listened to every word, realizing this was the last biology class I would ever sit in on.
When class ended, I followed Gina and Miles into the hallway. Miles put an arm around Gina. “It’ll be okay,” he told her.
Why did people keep saying that?
Granted, Miles was the resolute type. It’s why we’d dated—we were a lot alike. Yet, I’d hoped for something...else. I ached to be in his arms again. Our relationship had ended six months ago on friendly terms. Friendly enough that we’d hooked up a couple of times since then, including the few times we’d doubled with Jordan and Pete.
Miles and I had still called each other almost every week. When we’d dated, neither of us had ever said we loved one another. That came after the breakup. Somehow, we’d worked out a better relationship when we hadn’t expected each other to always be there on a weekend night or between classes. Sometimes, as I’d lain in bed at night, I’d wondered if we’d ever wind up with each other again. Miles had thought we would. He’d even asked me to senior prom if neither of us was dating anyone else when next May rolled around.
I stuck with Miles when he and Gina went different directions at the end of the hall. Gina had World History, Miles had English. He acknowledged a couple guys he hung with in the hall as he made his way to his locker. My locker was across the hall from his. Pictures, notes, and photos had been taped to it, just as Daniel had said. Miles glanced at it, then turned away. He punched his locker, denting it slightly. He twirled the combination lock, popped the locker open and shoved his books inside, took out two more, and slammed the locker shut. He walked across the hall and stood in front of my locker.
If anyone in life had a chance of sensing my presence, it was Miles. I stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Damn it, Keely!” He ruffled his already perfectly mussed light brown hair—a habit of his whenever he was frustrated.
Gently, I leaned into him, resting my head against his back.
“Why?” Miles whispered.
For a moment I almost imagined he knew I was there. “I’m here,” I replied. “I’m sorry. I guess I just… I guess I got lost.”
“Why? Why, dammit!” he repeated. He touched my photo taped among the letters, lightly stroking it.
I caught a glimpse of Banning and Daniel talking at the far end of the hall. Banning was partially turned away from me, but Daniel didn’t pretend to give me such privacy. I pulled myself away, and positioned myself between Miles and my locker. I had hoped for too much. Miles couldn’t see me. No one could.
“I miss you,” I said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. Miles continued to stare through me at my locker, his lips pinched tight in frustration and confusion.
“No matter what you think of me now, this was never about you. Not ever,” I told him. “But it should have been. I should have stayed.”
Miles turned and walked down the hallway, the gentle tap of his boots against the floor echoing back to me.
“Miles!” I called out. I felt Banning and Daniel staring at my back, but I didn’t care.
Miles stopped and turned back toward me and I held my breath, hoping against hope. Banning said the living rarely saw the dead—that they usually shrugged off any sign we were right there. I bet Miles had that feeling now—something had told him to turn and look for me. For a moment, I swore my heart held perfectly still.
“I’m right here,” I whispered. “Right here.”
We stood there, staring. Except that Miles looked past me, to my locker instead. He crossed his wrists in front of his chest and signed—something a bunch of us did. Signing enabled us to talk in class or across a crowded, noisy room.
I love you.
A tear spilled down my cheek. I signed back.
I love you, too.
Until right then I didn’t realize how much I’d miss him, miss his touch, his sexy smile, the way I felt around him. The way his hair was always perfect, even when he ran his hands through it. Miles turned and walked off in that low-key kind of shuffle of his. Was he mad at me for what I’d done, or mad that I was gone? Before today, I’d have said he was just mad at the situation.
Before he turned the corner I signed to him again.
Take care.
Helplessly, I watched him walk out of my life. I turned and stared at my locker. Seeing it decorated as some sort of shrine in the empty hallway seemed strange. I browsed through the layers of letters and photos taped to the front of it. I wasn’t sure if I should smile, laugh, or cry as I read them. Talk of friendship, times past, thoughts of me in heaven with my sister, letters wanting to know why. Others not asking why, but telling me they loved me, that they’d remember me.
The empty hallway seemed cavernous as I stood there alone. Banning and Daniel were gone. Probably to check on something—a lead on Jordan perhaps. Or, maybe they wanted to give me some space.
One by one, I read every note. When I finished, I read them again and swiped at the occasional runaway tear. As I read what frie
nds and classmates had written for me, I recalled how I once thought the world had been a pretty crappy place sometimes—that it would take everything from me if it could.
I wished I were still part of their world.
Each sentiment touched me in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible, and I longed for the ability to leave a single note in response. I wanted to tell them to enjoy life, to forget their fears and their fights with their family and friends. I wanted to tell them to enjoy the here and now. I let out a small laugh. Here I was—seventeen, dead, and thoroughly nostalgic.
I ran my fingers across a picture someone had taken of Jordan and me last year in the hallway. Our faces were pressed together as we smiled for the camera.
Jordan.
I needed to find her, and standing in front of my locker feeling sorry for myself wasn’t getting me anywhere. I wondered again what could have happened to keep her from finding me. I leaned against the locker next to mine.
Dammit, Jordan. Where are you?
The bell rang and students filled the hallway once again. I didn’t care how many of them passed through me or how cold it’d feel. Miles didn’t return—I knew he wouldn’t. He only exchanged books once before lunch, and only once afterward.
I thought more friends and students might stop and add to my locker, but no one did. I was big news yesterday. A few people looked its direction, while others walked past. In a week, the cleaning crew would rip everything off my locker and throw it all away. Next year, my locker would belong to someone else. Maybe they’d be teased about it once belonging to a dead girl. Maybe they wouldn’t.
This hurt. Really hurt. It shouldn’t have—not like this, but the ache in my chest said differently. In thirty seconds, the bell signaling the start of next period would ring. I wandered out into the middle of the hall feeling sorry for myself.
“Keely!”
The voice was unmistakable. Surprised to hear it, I wheeled around.
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