A spark of hope flared. I paused, listening hard.
“Daniel, I can hear my heart!” My voice sounded strange in my ears. It seemed as if someone else was speaking out of my mouth. Daniel started to say something, but he wasn’t able to look at me. “I can!” I shouted over him, relief flooding my tone. “I can hear it!”
“I’m sorry, Hope.” Daniel sounded tired. He touched the side of my face.
“But—”
“Vampire load,” he interrupted. It seemed to come to him suddenly, like a switch had flipped in his head. “Like when your computer’s plugged in, and even if you aren’t using it, it keeps drawing electricity. It’s called a vampire load.”
“What?” Either my brain wasn’t fully functional or he wasn’t making sense.
“Or a phantom limb.” Now the sickly pallor had left his face and a flush returned to his cheeks. Daniel usually had rosy cheeks, as if he’d just exited a ski lift, and now that hue was back. “When someone loses an arm or a leg, they often get these sensations that they still have that limb. It’s normal. Sometimes it’s even painful. I’m guessing you’ll feel your heart for a while yet.”
He dropped his head, then only his eyes looked up at me.
“Just as I will,” he murmured.
“What?” His confession was quick to register. He had stayed with me too long. It was my fault, once again. I seemed to be killing people left and right. It was unthinkable. “That can’t be! You’re dead, too?”
He smiled a full-on smile, pulling me out of bed, and hugging me hard. “Don’t be sad about it. I’m not.” I straightened, found I could sit up on my own, and tried to hear the thoughts inside his head. But he was blocking them. “Don’t try to look in there.” He smirked. “It’s full of cobwebs and skeletons.”
“How did you know I was doing that?” I was slightly amazed.
“It feels like a tugging sensation, like someone’s pulling on a finger.”
“I don’t ever feel that.” I felt defective, shortchanged.
“You just aren’t paying attention. Your thoughts are a little scattered.” He had no intention of offending me, but he had, nonetheless. I scowled. “You could never be ditzy. I didn’t mean it like that.”
He had hurt my pride more than anything else. “You’re right. I do feel scattered.”
“Am I forgiven?” he begged, dropping to his knees. I nodded with a little smile. It was odd that I wasn’t distraught, but wasn’t denial the first stage of grief? Had I slid right into acceptance? How long before the sobbing began? “We should do something,” Daniel said brightly. “Dwelling isn’t good for either of us.” I sensed a distraction coming, a way to keep our thoughts off our phantom beating hearts.
“Like what?” The false thumping in my chest sped up.
“Why, travel . . . of course. I have the best surprise in mind. I can hardly wait to show it to you. You’ll be stunned.”
“Stunned?” I gulped. “I think I’ve had enough to last me several lifetimes.”
With a smile, he took my hand and helped me to my feet. I thought he was going to kiss me on my lips, but he merely pecked my forehead. I was relieved. Even in death, Ethan was still on my mind.
“Ready?” Somehow Daniel avoided looking disappointed. Feeling an insistent tug on my fingertips, I knew he had read my mind.
I hesitated, then wrapped my arms around Daniel. I could feel how warm his arms were, but that didn’t stem the chill in my bones. At least, there was a logical reason for it. I only let a couple of tears escape. After all, I had done this to myself. No one else was to blame. What was the use of crying? Everyone had warned me. Even heavenly beings had stopped by to give me a celestial thump on my forehead—but I refused to listen. I had to do things my way! I had to see my mother on my terms!
And Ethan . . . hadn’t he told me as well? He had said I was in terrible shape there at the end. I should have gone back while I still had time. Now his nightmare made sense. In his mind, I was killing myself. In his mind, I might as well have leapt from Heaven’s Peak with an evil Mona Lisa smile. It was a little something extra to torture him with the rest of his days. Now, I was dead. Dead. And going back wouldn’t ever be an option.
“Ready?” Daniel asked again, smiling as if his every wish had recently came true. And possibly, I realized with dread, it had.
I choked back a lump of tears, recalling the one thing that had gotten me through every difficulty in life. “Step aside,” I muttered dryly. “Dead girl walking.”
With a chuckle, Daniel peeled back the lamp, exposing a quiet, country town with orange-tiled rooftops. There was a foreign feel to it. Daniel took a deep bow and quipped, “After you, my love . . . death before beauty.”
23 Tiny Orange Angels
A pair of burros saddled with brightly-colored blankets waited for us on the dirt road, their reins tied to a nearby tree. They looked as tired as I felt. I wasn’t aware that Daniel and I had the ability to conjure up things in the living realm as easily as we could at the Station. Then again, maybe we could do it now only because we were dead.
I straddled the burro and clicked my tongue behind my teeth. Like magic, the tired little fellow trotted into gear. Daniel came up quickly beside me, dust flying, as I bounced past several small but well-kept houses.
“What’s the rush, Goo?” He looked happier than I’d seen him in a long time. That made one of us, I thought. Though I was trying hard not to think about it, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed my own funeral. It was morbid and more than a little silly, but I hoped it was nice. Not too flashy. I didn’t care much for flashy.
“Goo?” I asked. The trotting was getting on my nerves; I slowed my little burro to an annoying crawl. Apparently he had two speeds: nearly-stopped and a teeth-rattling trot.
“It’s my new nickname for you . . . short for gooey.” Daniel turned his face to the afternoon sun, an amused smirk gracing his lips. “Ever since our clandestine encounter, I have a newfound respect for the expanse of your emotions. They’re a lot like a nuclear tidal wave on acid.” He turned to face me, his ruddy cheeks glistening in the sun.
Despite my efforts to stop it, a phantom heat wave burned my cheeks. I pretended not to notice. The burro continued in an uphill climb, unbothered by the steepness of the hill we travelled. Now I understood the use of burros, rather than horses. It reminded me of a trip to Yellowstone, one in which Daniel had come along with my family. I gathered that trip was his inspiration. As we made our way up the mountain, the trees stepped closer and closer together. The lazy swaying of my little burro grew on me. I named him Bob.
“Where are we?” I asked, only mildly interested. More important things troubled my thoughts—my CD’s, for instance. I had acquired an impressive collection, one which Brody coveted. I probably wasn’t even in the ground yet and he’d already confiscated them.
“We’re near the place where the Monarch butterflies make their annual migration from Canada to Mexico. A town called Valle De Bravo. The name means
Dream Place.” “Hmmm.” I was now officially, slightly interested. Dream Place had potential.
“Nobody knows why they take this grueling trip. Seems only the butterflies know for sure, and apparently”—he flashed a perfect smile—“they ain’t talkin.”
A smile itched at the corners of my mouth.
“Imagine it, Hope. These tiny creatures fly thousands of miles across treacherous terrain.” In a low tone, as if someone might be listening, he asked, “Have you seen a butterfly fly? They’re like drunken suicide bombers. And yet, somehow, they make it all the way to this postage stamp of a place in the mountains of Mexico—over three thousand miles away!”
I was awed. “How do they find it? And why here?”
“It’s . . . instinctual. It’s their utopia. It protects them, sustains them. And it’s their only destination.” Our burros were now so close together that my right leg butted against Daniel’s left. I immediately reined my burro left, but Daniel
took my hands, stopping me.
“Daniel, your crazy burro’s about to crush my—”
“I’m your destination, Hope,” Daniel said earnestly. “And you’re my butterfly.”
It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.
I could see his solemn expression, hear the sincerity of his tone, and yet—despite the honesty of it, the sweet, unassuming nature of it—laughter sputtered from my closed lips. I sort of thought I had it under control, but then it came again—catching in my nose like a stifled sneeze. Within seconds, I was howling with laughter. And so was Daniel.
Later, when I was wiping tears of laughter from my eyes (my third or fourth time) I managed to choke, “Who’s the Goo now?” It was the pressure, I decided. I had been a balloon fit to burst for some time, and it had to go somewhere. Laughing beat crying any day of the week.
“Seriously, though. Don’t go assuming you’re the first guy to tell me, ‘You’re my butterfly’ . . . Why if I had a nickel for every time I heard—”
He eyed me humorously, then his eyes stopped smiling. “I was trying to say that you make me want to be a better person. With you, I think it might be possible . . .” And with those words, he reached in and touched the bottom of my phantom heart. “At least,” he admitted, “I’d like to think it’s possible.”
“Daniel, you’re already a good person. You don’t need me or anyone—”
“Yes, I do,” he bit back. “There’s a lot that you don’t know about me—a lot that’s happened since we last saw each other.” Daniel didn’t explain further. With a click of his tongue, his little burro started up again, and Bob swayed along beside him.
I thought about what Creesie had told me long ago at the hospital—maybe it just seemed long ago—about something Daniel needed to tell me, a secret that might alter the way I felt about him. Not possible, I thought. Not now. We were in this together. For eternity.
“3 back 3,” I said, smiling like I meant it. “You and me through eternity.”
“I’d like that,” he replied, dropping his head. “I’m sure it’s more than I deserve.” I watched his mood shift to a darker place. Even his eyes looked duller, blacker. I did want to ask why. I wanted him to tell me everything that had happened. But wasn’t there plenty of time? All the time in the world, in fact?
Thoughts that seemed to come from thousands of miles away crept into my mind. I could hear Deputy Washpun bellowing . . . “And I was tailing that joker for his possible involvement in a string of burglaries!” Then I remembered the boy on the stretcher—the beautiful boy I had loved my freshman year. What had caused him so much despair?
By the time I came back to the present moment, our elevation had changed to such a degree that snow covered the ground in a thick shag carpet. Daniel had already tied off his burro. Reaching for my reins, he tied off Bob as I slid off his backside. Then, with a single thought, Daniel pulled a woolly-looking blanket out of nowhere and spread it out on a flat spot in our little clearing. I followed his lead and lay down on my stomach. Propped up on my elbows, I pretended to wait excitedly for something. I thought I should try to get into the spirit of things. Daniel did the same, but without any pretense. He looked about to burst.
In the Fir trees around us, large brown blobs of tangled leaves hung heavily from the branches. It looked like something out of a Sci-Fi flick, the kind where an alien being invades a sleepy little town. I wondered where the time had gone. Then again, my mind had a tendency to wander. Already, it was nightfall and the moon was high. I shivered as I waited for the sun to rise above the tree line and warm me up. It surprised me the way this phantom limb stuff worked. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought I was still alive.
I listened. There it was again—the surprisingly phantom beating of my heart.
I shivered once more and Daniel threw another blanket over us, snuggling me under one of his long arms. It was the kind of touching gesture that instantly, terribly, badly made me miss Ethan. But I knew it was too soon to see him. I guessed he needed some time and maybe I did, too. I hated myself for hurting him like that. He’d probably never forgive me.
Daniel must have heard my thoughts. He didn’t move his arm, but as I felt a gentle tug on my fingertips, I tried to close my mind.
“Whatever happened between you and what’s-his-name at that party, anyway? I take it the guy didn’t crack open his skull when he fell.” Daniel sounded indifferent, like he could have cared less either way. I had hoped dying might have made him more compassionate.
“Not much to tell,” I answered. “He was planning a payback for your sucker punch. Said he couldn’t wait for you to wake up so he could beat the life out of you.”
Daniel smirked at me as if to say Good luck with that.
So I asked, “And what did Gavriel and the other ‘Iels’ want with you anyway?”
“Not much to tell,” he mimicked. “They were looking for a new superhero and were trying to recruit me for the team. Just between you and me, I’ve been working on a catchy superhero name. Something that rolls off your tongue yet sticks in your head. I’m thinking about calling myself Chick Magnet . . .”
I smirked back as if to say Good luck with that.
We both burst into laughter. Even dead, it felt good. It felt very, very good.
Several minutes later, the sun appeared on the tree line, illuminating the snow like scattered bits of diamond dust. Before my startled eyes, the huge brown blobs suspended in the Fir trees started to stir. They weren’t leaves at all. I could see bits of bright orange dotted with what looked like small black eyes.
As I watched, astonished, Daniel started talking in his tour guide voice. “When the Monarchs come to nestle in these trees, there’s a special celebration that takes place. It’s called the Day of the Dead. It’s not what it sounds like. It’s really more of a celebration of life than death.”
The blobs in the trees continued stirring as he spoke, shifting and moving, taking on their newer form—millions of fragile, winged creatures.
“On that day, it’s believed that the souls of the dead are carried here—carried here on butterfly wings. And in this sacred place, on that single day of the year, the living and the dead are reunited. That’s why I brought you here.” From the corner of my vision, I glimpsed his broad smile. He hesitated, then whispered, “To be . . . to be closer to your mother.”
“She travelled here on butterfly wings?” Impulsively, I kissed him, then quickly I pulled away. My tongue got twisted as I mumbled, “I don’t know what to say, I—”
“Well, in spirit, you know. I mean, your mother isn’t really here, but—”
“I know what you mean.” I smiled at him. “It’s the thought that counts, right?” As he nodded, I felt an insistent tug on the tips of my fingers. Instantly, I balled them up as if that action alone could keep my thoughts to myself.
What could he be searching for? Did he wonder how I felt about him at this exact moment? If so, mind-reading wasn’t required. This was the Daniel that I knew and loved, over-the-top gestures and all. I used to believe that he was larger than life. I never knew how right I was.
“Technically, we missed the actual day,” he continued, “but the butterflies are late this year.” Throwing a sly smile my way, he added, “Lucky us.”
I grinned, getting the joke. “Evidently, they aren’t the only things ‘late’ this year.”
I turned back to the butterflies. The sun was warming their wings now. I watched as they sprang open, then closed. Open, then closed. There were living, breathing masses as far as the eye could see. The sun inched higher above the tree line, the sky burst into a flame of light and warmth, and suddenly the hillside was billowing with butterfly confetti as millions of them took off. Even as I watched, awed, I couldn’t believe how many there were . . .
Oh, but the sound! The sound! Like nothing I’ve ever heard. Like millions of tiny angel wings—fluttering, fluttering, fluttering—their delicate desperate bodie
s crying for flight.
I flipped onto my back as they continued their haphazard flight. As I lay there, a few of them hovered just above my face. “They sense you’re here,” Daniel said in a low voice. “Try to be very still.”
“Daniel, I’m dead,” I cracked. “I think I can do still.” From my left, Daniel let out a low groan as a single butterfly danced inches above me. “Don’t they make you think of tiny, orange Angels?” I examined every exquisite detail. “I’ve never seen anything, never heard anything . . .” Then it landed on my nose. “Wowwww.”
It was wonderful, but disappointing. Here, I could only sense its presence, not feel it. Though I’d given it very little thought, travelling without a body in the living realm didn’t compare to bodiless travel near the Station. There, I could touch and smell and taste and feel. There, everything felt real. But in the living realm, absent a body, I could only sense the life around me. Here, I was the dreaded outsider, a non-entity in the world I once loved so much.
Twenty-four hours passed from the time we set foot in the mountains of Mexico until the moment we left. But in our sense of time, it seemed to take only a few minutes. The only way I could tell was because of the rising and setting of the sun. But no matter how many times I experienced it, I still couldn’t grasp how swiftly time passed in our bodiless forms.
To his credit, Daniel waited until the very last butterfly had fluttered back into the Fir trees before making another suggestion. “Feeling up to a little excitement?”
I knew that spending two whole days in the company of small bugs wasn’t exactly Daniel’s style. Even so, I was a little nervous to hear his plans for our next destination.
“I’d like to do some Great White leaping. Unless, of course, there’s some knitting you’d like to take care of. If so, I can wait.” One corner of his mouth twisted up.
I dreaded the idea of Daniel leaping into another carnivorous animal, but having only sensed, rather than felt, the butterflies’ presence, I could gather why he liked it. The adrenaline rush must be off the charts.
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