How to Date Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 1)

by Ann M. Noser

  “Rule of Three:

  Whatever you do, be it good or ill,

  will be returned to you threefold.”

  I wonder if what I’ve done up on the bridge will be considered bad or good, and what more will happen to me now because of it.

  he next morning we’re a little late heading to Zoology. We’re just about to enter the lecture hall when Abby bursts through the doors and rushes toward the girls’ bathroom.

  Sam and I turn in unison and follow her into the restroom.

  Poor Abby hides in a stall, gagging and retching.

  I wait until it seems like she’s finished. “Do you need any help?”

  “No, I think I’ve got it. But thanks anyway.” She flushes repeatedly before coming out.

  Again I hand her my water bottle. “This time you can keep it.”

  Abby laughs and changes the subject. “Hey, did you hear someone got one hundred percent on that exam but didn’t write down their student ID number? Instead they just wrote ‘Abraham Lincoln’ as their name. The professor is having a total fit.” She crosses to the bathroom sink and splashes water on her face.

  I refuse to look at Sam. He hangs back, away from the mirrors and their double reflection.

  Abby leans on the sink. “Wait a minute… Sam, why are you in the girls’ bathroom?”

  “Oh, I…” he sputters. “I was just worried about you, since you fainted yesterday.”

  “Listen, about that…” Abby sighs. “I think I’m pregnant.”

  Sam and I exchange glances. Apparently, neither of us knows what to say. Preoccupied with my own troubles, the thought that Abby might be pregnant didn’t even cross my mind.

  Abby eyes her sad reflection in the mirror for a moment, then hides her face in her hands. “Telling you guys is easy. But how am I going to tell my parents?”

  “You know, Abby,” I grasp for something supportive to say. “I read somewhere that stress can make a person miss their period. Maybe you’re not pregnant. Maybe you’re just under a lot of pressure or something. College life can be really stressful.” Especially mine.

  “The five pregnancy tests I’ve taken in the last twenty-four hours say otherwise.” Abby splashes more water on her flushed face.

  “We’ll help you,” Sam offers as three giggling girls swarm in, gasping in unison at him. He darts past them out the door, leaving me behind.

  “Emma, you can go back to class. I’m all right now,” Abby reassures me. “I’ll just be another minute.”

  As I head back towards the Zoology lecture room, I find Sam waiting for me in the hall.

  “I meant what I said, Emma. Maybe I can’t do anything else that I wanted to with my life, but I’m going to help Abby with this.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, you hardly know her. What are you going to do? Follow her around? She’ll think you’re a stalker.”

  “That’s where you’re going to help me. You’re a girl. If you’re along, she isn’t going to wonder about me. You’ll help me, right? There’s got to be some reason you brought me back out of the river―maybe this is it!”

  “Um, don’t go crazy on me, okay? I think it’s really nice of you to want to help her, but what if she doesn’t want us around? We’re basically strangers to her, you know.”

  “Oh.” Sam frowns. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Let’s just forget about Zoology and go to the tutoring lab instead,” I suggest. “You probably shouldn’t be in there anyway if the professor is asking who ‘Abraham Lincoln’ is.”

  We approach Tony Magro, the disorganized manager of the tutoring lab. As is his habit, Tony runs his hands through his untidy hair. He always smells like expensive aftershave, even when it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week.

  “Emma, you’re back. We, uh, missed you last week.”

  “Sorry about that, Tony.”

  “That’s okay.” He avoids making eye contact. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

  I change the subject, noting the panic on Tony’s face. He’s afraid I’m going to start crying about Mike, and he can’t handle it. He always calls the student counselors or campus security when there’s the least bit of trouble in here. What a wimp.

  “This is Sam,” I introduce him. “He wants to observe me to see if he’s interested in applying for a tutoring job.” Maybe lying is easier than I thought.

  “Fine, fine.” Tony digs through a stack of papers. “If you decide you want to work here, you’ll have to fill out an application. Excuse me.” He rushes off to dispel a rowdy conversation on the other side of the room.

  Sam chuckles. “I worked here for three years and never actually filled out an application.”

  “I never did, either. I’m surprised I never saw you here before.”

  Sam shrugs. “Our schedules must have been different. Plus, I’m not sure I ever really paid much attention to the other tutors, anyway.”

  “Yeah, me neither, I guess. I must’ve been too busy.”

  Sam glances around the room. “I should be able to blend in here quite nicely. I already know where everything is.”

  We work for the next two hours with a series of students. The last one to approach our table is Katie, a clone of Sam’s dazzling Amanda. I’ve tutored her before. She struggles to focus on work for extended periods of time―anything, say, longer than five or ten minutes.

  “You’re in basic algebra again?” Sam asks, forgetting himself.

  “Yeah, it’s like a really hard class.” Katie plants her fashionable purse on the table. “Do I know you, or something?”

  “I think we took that class together last year,” Sam lies.

  I tutor her for about fifteen minutes before she loses interest.

  “What are you looking at?” I ask, exasperated by her inattention.

  “Him.” She gazes at a handsome student halfway across the room. “Isn’t Eric hot? He’s my friend Amanda’s new boyfriend. She’s so lucky.”

  “If he’s your friend’s boyfriend, then why are you staring at him?” I pause, glancing at Sam. “Besides, I thought she wasn’t dating guys anymore.”

  Katie shakes her head. “What are you talking about? Eric’s so cute, why wouldn’t she want to date him?”

  Yeah. That’s what I thought. Amanda just lied to Sam so she could use him. I try to catch Sam’s eye, but he turns away. Guess he doesn’t want to hear it. Better just deal with Katie. From past experience, I know how to manage her. She’s unable to refuse a direct command. She always just shrugs and complies.

  “Katie, switch seats with Sam.” This way she faces me and not the hottie across the room.

  Sam gets up and wanders around, perusing the file cabinets against the far wall where old tests and papers are kept as resources.

  After Katie finishes her lesson, Sam returns to my table, smiling proudly. He’s discovered some old paper of his kept as an example for others to emulate. “I’m taking this with me,” he whispers. “It’s mine.”

  “You know those aren’t supposed to leave the tutoring lounge to avoid plagiarism.”

  “It’s my paper. Besides, there’s still another copy in the file cabinet.”

  “Fine. Then let’s go.” I grab my backpack.

  We head back to the dorm. My cell phone rings as I struggle to unlock my door. My key gets stuck in the lock, and I yank on it in frustration.

  Sam reaches in my bag and answers the phone before I can stop him.

  “Yes, I’ll get her, sir.” Sam hands me the phone. “It’s Officer Charlie Walker.”

  “Hello?” I wince, dreading what he’ll ask next. For some reason, every time I talk to him, I felt guiltier than ever.

  “Emma, there’s more paperwork for you to fill out. Can you come down to the police station today?”

  I hesitate. How can I put this off? “Right now isn’t a good time for me. I have a…friend here from out of town.”

  “I could bring the papers to your dorm instead, if you’d prefer.”

&nb
sp; “Um.” That’s not good, either. I glance at the colorful Mexican blankets Sam flung over the mirrors in my room so he doesn’t have to see his double reflection. I definitely don’t want Officer Walker snooping around here and finding all my witchcraft supplies. Plus I don’t want to freak out my dorm neighbors by bringing the police onto our floor. The room a few doors down always reeks of pot.

  “No, I’ll come to you,” I offer.

  “Fine. I’ll be here for another couple hours at least. Your friend can come along if you’d like. I promise I won’t bite.” Officer Walker hangs up, chuckling.

  That man has a weird sense of humor.

  “Sorry, Sam. I have to call a taxi and go down to the police station. You can stay here if you like.”

  He grimaces. “I don’t really want to be left alone right now. I’m still kind of freaked out about everything.”

  “Oh. Okay. You can come with me then, I guess. We can get something to eat later.”

  We ride downtown in the taxi and settle in front of Officer Walker’s large, worn wooden desk. Right away, I realize bringing Sam along was a mistake. He can’t tear his bulging eyes away from the large bulletin board on the wall behind the policeman’s desk.

  Across the top of the board is written “THE DROWNINGS” in large, bold print. Under these words Officer Walker stapled the names, dates, and pictures of victims who were swallowed up by one of the Wisconsin rivers in the last year. Sam’s photo hangs up there on the wall, along with several others. I stifle a gasp when I realize Sam is wearing the same exact black-and-white checked shirt he has on in his picture.

  That’s what I get for doing laundry. Otherwise, he would be dressed like me.

  Mike’s beautiful, smiling face hangs next to Sam’s picture. Just seeing him again makes my heart ache. I avoid his perfect teeth and focus on the photos of people I don’t recognize. Next to Sam are pictures of two other college-aged men. One drowned in May of this year and the other has the words “presumed drowned―August” written across his picture. The last photo is of a handsome gray-haired old man who drowned this past July.

  Sam gapes at the bulletin board, his left leg shakes, and his breathing is erratic.

  I never should have brought him here.

  I glance back and forth between Officer Walker and Sam, watching the questions growing in the police officer’s mind. “Sam, maybe you should just wait outside―” I begin.

  The cop cuts me off, extending his hand toward my dead friend. “I’m Officer Charlie Walker. I understand you’re here from out of town…”

  “Yeah… Out of town…” Sam mumbles, never taking his eyes off his own picture.

  Officer Walker pauses, his hand still held in the air. “So you didn’t know Mike Carlson, then.” He turns and slaps Mike’s picture with a pen.

  “Huh?” Sam casts a startled glance at the cop. “No. I never met him.”

  Officer Walker leans back in his creaking chair. “How often do you visit? Were you with Emma the night of the drowning?”

  “No. Sam wasn’t there.” I speak up, needing to redirect this unexpected line of questioning. “I’m sorry to rush you, but I have a test tomorrow.” Another lie. “I really need to study. Do you have the paperwork ready for me?”

  Officer Walker slides a stack of papers across the desk, his suspicious gaze never leaving Sam’s face. “There’s something very familiar about you. What did you say your name was again?”

  Sam clears his throat. “My name’s Sam…Sam Anderson.”

  Officer Walker throws an unreadable, dark glance in my direction. “Well, Sam, did you know that at least three, maybe four, young white male college students drowned in Wisconsin rivers this past year?”

  “That’s terrible.” Sam drops his gaze.

  “So you need to be careful.” Officer Walker stands up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some more coffee.”

  My head whirls as he walks away humming. There aren’t any mirrors in the police station, but this is even worse. Sam’s clothes look suspicious, since he’s dressed in the same exact outfit that could potentially identify him as…himself. I sense the policeman unraveling our secret with his questioning eyes. He even thinks Sam “looks familiar”. How can Officer Walker recognize him when nobody else can?

  My hands shake as I sign my name under the statement I gave the police the week before. I finish just as Officer Walker returns, and shove the paperwork in his hands.

  “Is there anything else?” Please say no. We need to get out of here right away.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Not at the moment, but I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Okay, then.” As we flee the room, I glance back at the policeman. He never takes his eyes off Sam.

  Once we are out of earshot of the police station, I ask, “Why Sam Anderson?”

  “Anderson is just about the most generic name there is. I figured it was the safest choice.”

  “Makes sense.” I nod, trying to calm the disquiet in my stomach. “But I’m sorry I told him you’re from out of town, in case he really keeps tabs on me.”

  “Then tell him I moved.” Sam shrugs. “Just tell him whatever you want. I don’t care. Can we just go now?”

  “Okay. Let’s go eat at the mall. We need to shop, anyway. You’ve got to get out of those clothes immediately!”

  This time we take the bus. Sam dances around the mall, trying to avoid his double image in the mirrored columns that greet us at every turn.

  “I’m not going into the changing room. I can’t stand looking at myself in the mirror. It freaks me out.” Sam grabs some blue jeans and polo shirts.

  I put everything on the credit card billed directly to my parents’ account each month. Dad will never notice. With that settled, we decide to eat. Halfway to the food court, we happen upon Abby in the hallway, staring at the Motherhood Maternity store.

  “Hey, Abby!” Sam calls out.

  Startled, she turns our way with an uncertain smile. “Oh, it’s only you two. Thank goodness!”

  “You wanna join us for dinner?” Sam asks, before I can offer.

  “Yes.” Abby turns her back on the maternity store. “Please get me out of here.”

  “I’m glad the two of you came by when you did,” Abby admits as we sit down together with our trays of food. “I stood in front of that store, but couldn’t make myself go inside. And earlier, when I bought a baby book at the bookstore, I told the checkout girl it was a gift. I don’t know why I lied to her. It’s not like she would care.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” Sam asks.

  I kick him underneath the table. Hard.

  “I’m going to ask if my sister wants to adopt this baby. She and her husband have been trying for years to get pregnant without any luck.” Abby has a healthy chicken breast sandwich in front of her but stares longingly at Sam’s French fries.

  “When are you going to ask her?” Sam offers her some of his fries.

  “This weekend there’s a family get-together. I’ll do it then.” At first she refuses the fries, but quickly relents, allowing herself only three. “I’m trying to eat healthy for the baby.”

  “Do you want us to go with you?” Sam asks.

  “Sam!” I attempt to kick him again, but miss and hit a pole instead. Ouch!

  “No.” Abby smiles. “I need to do this on my own. Besides, that would seem funny, since the baby’s not yours.”

  “Does he know?” Sam questions. “I mean the father?”

  I glare at him for asking.

  “No.” Abby’s gaze drops to the table. “He’s gone now, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  With that, Sam lets it go. Finally.

  Abby gives us a ride back to the dorm in her car. Sam carries all of our packages. He hands Abby her bags when the elevator stops on her floor. When we get to my own dorm room, we find the door wide open and Chrissy inside, digging through her old drawers.

  “Uh-oh…” Sam whispers.

&
nbsp; Chrissy glances up, and her eyes flash.

  “Yep. She definitely hates me. Maybe I should give the two of you a little privacy.” Sam spins around and walks away, dropping our bags in the hallway behind him.

  id you forget something?” I really want to ask Chrissy where she’s been all this time, why Kevin is more important than me when she’s only known him a month, and if she was ever really my friend at all. But these words never come out.

  “Yes. Just a few things. I’ll be out of here in a minute.” Chrissy strides around my room as if she still owns it.

  This isn’t your room anymore, lady.

  She drops a few more items in a cardboard box before glancing toward the doorway. “So, Emma, what I want to know is: since when do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Sam’s not my boyfriend.” I eye my notebook journal on the desk. It details every single thought I ever had about Mike. If Chrissy even touches it, I’ll tackle her.

  Then Chrissy points at the blanket-covered mirrors. “And what on earth is this?”

  “Covering mirrors is a sign of mourning in the Jewish culture.” I’m becoming an expert at fabricating explanations.

  “You’re not Jewish.”

  “Well, I just like the idea of it.”

  “That’s so strange. And who is this Sam, anyway?”

  None of your business. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “I was your roommate for over a year. I know for a fact you never even mentioned a ‘Sam’ before. I’ve heard from the other girls on the floor that now he’s your shadow. Everywhere you go, he follows. Don’t you think it’s a strange time for you to finally get a boyfriend?”

  “As I already told you, Sam’s not my boyfriend.”

  “You know, he reminds me of somebody. I think it’s that ugly shirt he’s always wearing. The lab assistant in that chemistry class I hated so much last year had a shirt just like it. He wore it every day, I swear. How come all those chemistry geeks never change their clothes?”

  Leave it to Chrissy with her excessive attention to clothing detail to stumble uncomfortably close to the truth.