I opened it and looked in the mirror. My green eyes—the one thing I’d gotten from my mother that I’d appreciated—were now solid black orbs where my eyeballs used to be. From what I could tell in the small mirror, the rest of my looks were the same. Blonde supermodel hair and a face that had always been my ticket to anything I wanted. Yay, lucky me.
I handed the compact back to Florence. “Okay, so do I get like heavenly brownie points for all the perverts I take out, or does none of it count until I find the one who killed me?”
“Your prime directive is to find and eliminate the man who murdered you,” she said. “However, all of your actions while there will be duly noted in your account. Commendable acts will certainly not hurt your case.”
“So what happens after I get rid of the right scumbag? Do I melt or turn into dust, or do I just go up in a puff of smoke?”
She shook her head. “Nothing quite so theatrical. You’ll simply disappear and return to this department. Since the identity you’ll assume will be that of a girl with a history of running away, your disappearance will be attributed to that once again.”
“I guess that makes sense. Okay, let’s get this over with. Tell me who I have to be and send me back.”
“Wait, there are a few more things you need to know. Under no circumstances are you to contact anyone you knew from your former life. Doing so could possibly jeopardize your mission beyond recovery.”
“What happens if I do? Will I get to quit and go on to wherever I’m gonna end up?”
“I’m afraid not, Miss Gayle. If your mission fails because of inappropriate contact, you may have to remain transdead indefinitely.”
“Man, that’s cold,” I said. “Good thing I don’t give a damn about anybody from my previous life, huh?”
“Yes, I suppose your emotional detachment is quite fortuitous in this case.”
“Okay, so what’s my new name?” I turned the screen toward me. “Do I get to pick who I want to be?”
“Of course not.” She turned the monitor back around and typed something. “Your new name is Gwen Stewart. You’re seventeen years old and have been living on the streets of Miami for the past year after your mother died of a drug overdose a few months ago, and you never knew your father. Along with your new identification papers, I’ll print out your complete character profile in case you’re asked specific details by the authorities.”
I read the highlighted text on the computer screen. “Gwen Diane Stewart. Okay, I guess I can live with that name for a while. What else do I need to know?”
“In order to maintain contact with us here, you’ll need access to a computer so you can log in to a blog accessible only to Trustees by using a special password. You are to enter a journal record there of your activities as often as possible. If your foster home doesn’t have a computer you can use, you can always go to the library.”
“The library? I’ve never been to one of those in my life.”
“Considering that life as you knew it is now over, you shouldn’t be hampered by past prejudices.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. So how do I access this blog, and what’s the password?”
She hit the ENTER key and the printer went off again. “I’m printing out everything you’ll need.”
I took the papers from her and noticed that the URL domain for the blog was blueyonder.net. I almost cracked up at the idea of a heavenly Internet with wayward nerds doing tech support for eternity.
I stood up to leave, then a thought occurred to me. “Hey, is this what happens to everybody who dies as a teenager? Do they all have to be a Transdead Trustee?”
“That’s private information, Miss Gayle. But not everyone has a contract to honor. Unfortunately, some of your peers never had any communication with us whatsoever in their lives, so they never made any promises.”
“Lucky for them, huh?”
“I don’t think they’d consider it lucky. The alternative is… how did you put it earlier? The ‘hot place.’ I’m sure they’d be happy to trade places with you.”
“Oh, yeah. Who wouldn’t want to be me?” I said. “The world’s newest superhero, Zombie Girl. Pathetic foster kid by day, perv-whacker extraordinaire by night.”
Florence folded her hands in front of her and sighed once again. “Although I can’t appreciate your humor, Miss Gayle, I hope it will assist you in completing your mission. Perhaps you can incapacitate your targets with laughter.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “They might be transferring you out of here soon, Flo. That was almost a joke.”
Chapter Four
After dumping the tramp’s body in the lake, Julian drove the Ferrari back to the McCarthy mansion in Jacksonville’s San Marco neighborhood and parked it with the other cars waiting to be cleaned and serviced. No one had seen him take it from the garage, and no one was around to see him bring it back either. He’d made sure the security camera aimed at this area was turned off before he left for the day, and he knew the security crew was goofing off the way they always did when Morris McCarthy was away on one of his “business” trips to Vegas.
Julian’s own archaic Ford Pinto was parked in the staff parking lot where he’d left it. He got in and locked the doors, pausing to slam his hands and forehead against the steering wheel a few times and let out a stream of obscenities before starting the engine.
How could he have been so stupid and let her goad him into bashing in her skull before he got the chance to make her do the things he’d wanted her to do? He was supposed to be the one calling the shots, not her. That’s what the gun was for. It always turned them into sniveling little girls begging for mercy, willing to do anything he said if he wouldn’t kill them.
But this time he’d been cheated. The little whore had pushed his buttons and made him lose his temper. Sure, it had felt good to turn that pretty face of hers into hamburger meat, but not as good as the things he’d been planning to make her do. Now he would have to go downtown and find a hooker, and it was getting hard to find one who hadn’t heard through the grapevine that he liked to knock them around as foreplay.
His fury eased a little as he pulled out of the McCarthy grounds and passed the other mansions on his way out of San Marco. He loved pretending he was house shopping and would someday own one of the huge riverside estates instead of working as a personal assistant to the wealthy men who owned them.
By the time he reached the Interstate on-ramp that would take him downtown, he had consoled himself with plans to amp up the online relationship he’d been fostering with a naughty little thing who called herself WETNWILD16. She’d been dropping hints in her messages that sparkly things really turned her on, and Vera McCarthy had a more than ample supply of what she called “disposable” jewelry—complimentary trinkets from upstart jewelers trying to get exposure. She never missed the things Julian pilfered to send to his online sugar babies.
Yes, he’d start this one out with something sparkly, then he’d reel her in with something sporty and fast. And this time he would make sure she stayed alive long enough to repay him for his generosity.
Chapter Five
PAYING IT UPWARD Blog
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Okay, so here’s my first week as Jada The Pervert Slayer.
I woke up in an old warehouse somewhere in Miami, surrounded by empty Thunderbird bottles, syringes and used condoms. I couldn’t resist testing what Flo had told me, so I broke one of the bottles and stuck the jagged edge into my palm. Nothing—no blood, no pain, and the cuts started to close up almost immediately. It would’ve been kinda cool if not for the whole being dead part.
I found a purse beside me (a hideous pink sequined thing) that held my new ID cards but no money. The character profile for Gwen said I had been living on the streets and prostituting myself to pay for my meth habit, and once I got outside in the sunlight, (which neither fried me nor made me sparkle) I realized they’d dressed me in my work clothes—a black shirt tied in a knot between my boobs,
hot pink booty shorts and silver stilettos. Actually, the purse matched the shorts perfectly. Gwen was color coordinated at least.
I figured I’d just start walking and hope the cops would pick me up. At least that would save me from having to locate the nearest police station to give them my sob story about wanting help to get off the streets. But when I came out of the alley onto the sidewalk, I realized the clothes I had on made me pretty much inconspicuous in that neighborhood.
I found an ancient phone book in a convenience store and looked up the police precincts, but since I’d never been to Miami before and didn’t know my way around, the addresses meant nothing to me. While I was trying to think of my next move as I walked out of the store, I saw the old geezer behind the counter watching me like he thought I was gonna steal something. Bingo! Problem solved. I turned down the next aisle and stuffed a box of Mike and Ike and some Combos into my top where they would be obvious, then I headed toward the door.
Long story short, I shoplifted in three different stores and got three offers to trade sex or a blow job for the crap I was trying to steal. Even after I turned them all down and tried to run, none of them called the cops. Finally, I went into Kripke’s Package Store and was happy to see a scowling old woman working the counter. I figured she’d either shoot me or call the cops for sure. I tucked a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 under my arm, and the old babushka didn’t disappoint me.
Thirty minutes later, I was in the back of a Miami patrol car, sobbing my poor misguided little heart out. I guess the two cops felt a little sorry for me, although that didn’t keep one of them from feeling me up when he searched me before putting me in the car. Anyway, they took me to the juvie center, and after convincing my case worker that I’d had enough of life on the streets, I got sent to a group home while I waited for a foster family to take me in.
I’ll skip the sordid details of the group home except to point out that if I’d been there any longer, I’m sure a couple of the male workers would’ve been my first victims. And I couldn’t help feeling bad for real girls like Gwen who had to live on the street or in places like that. My life before had really sucked, but this was a lot worse.
Luckily, after only three days in the group home, I got the good news that a family who was willing to take a teenaged girl had contacted the agency. The next day I met the Shermans, my new foster family. Brad, Karen and twelve-year-old Nathan. Yuppies with a heart of gold, determined to save the world, one teenaged delinquent at a time. Gwen’s a lucky girl for sure.
At least there’s a computer in my room here so I won’t have to hit the library. More later.
I logged off the blog and opened my FaceSpace page to check for new friend requests. With a name like Cherry Licious and a profile picture of legs clad in lacy thigh highs, I’d been getting plenty of requests and private messages from guys of all ages, but none of their names or personal info sounded like the one I was looking for: BOSSMAN. What a joke. I bet that pathetic loser wasn’t the boss of anything but his favorite video game.
I shut down the browser and lay across the bed. I still wasn’t used to all the things that were different about me now, and I only had a day and a half before I started school on Monday. Like the Transdead Trustee guidelines had said, I hadn’t felt any emotions since I came back, but at least I could still appreciate a good joke. Flo probably hated that.
Still, I definitely saw things a lot different now. Take my new foster brother for example. Nathan was a nerdy little kid who would’ve gotten on my last nerve when I was Jada, but I kinda liked him as Gwen. He had a great sense of humor that I’m sure most of the kids at school totally didn’t get, and he was really smart. He was always looking at me like I was Wonder Woman, but even that didn’t bug me too much.
Karen and Brad were both pretty okay too. Sometimes they pushed too much for me to “open up” and talk about my past life, but I managed to convince them it was just too upsetting and I wanted to forget it all and start over. Their house in Coconut Grove was nice. Nothing fancy, but they had plenty of space and all the necessities. I even liked my room with its lack of stupid girly decorations. Not a ruffle or pink lampshade in sight, which made me like Karen even more.
The whole transdead thing was weird, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought at first. At least I wasn’t grief-stricken from missing anybody. Jada and Gwen probably had that in common if nothing else. I’d never had another real friend after what happened to Cassie, and the guys I’d dated had only been something to keep me from being bored out of my mind. As for my mother, unless her assistant had programmed a reminder into her iPhone, I wasn’t sure she even realized I was gone.
A knock on the door interrupted my fond memories, so I got up and opened it to Nathan’s adoring face.
“Hey, Gwen,” he said. “Can I ask you about something?”
I waved him in. “Sure, Nate. What’s up?”
He sat in my computer chair and swept his bangs out of his eyes the way he did a thousand times a day. “Why don’t girls care if a guy’s a jerk if he’s a jock or he looks like Taylor Lautner?”
Oh, the poor kid. I did my best to answer him seriously.
“Only stupid girls are like that, Nate. You don’t want a stupid girl, do you?”
He shook his head and stared at his hands in his lap. “No, but I know a couple who seemed smart up until this year.”
“Anybody in particular?”
He didn’t look up. “No. Well… maybe.”
“Look, Nateman.” I knelt on the floor in front of him and held his hands. “If this girl really is smart, she’ll get over her temporary stupidity in a year or so. And if she doesn’t, you’re better off without her. Just be yourself and don’t worry about what anybody thinks. As hard as it is for you to believe, nothing that happens in middle school or high school is gonna matter after you graduate. Right now it might seem like it’s all a big deal, but trust me, it won’t mean a damn thing later on.”
“Really?” He looked up at me hopefully.
“Yep.”
“How do you know that already, Gwen? You’re still in high school.”
I walked over to look out the window. “Yeah, but I’ve seen enough of the real world to know what a joke all the high school cliques and clubs and crowns are.” I turned to wink at him. “You think I care if anybody’s gonna like me when I go to school on Monday? I’ll probably never see any of them again after high school. Unless I eat at McDonald’s or watch Cops.”
He laughed. “Yeah, they’ve probably got a hair net with Kirk Simpson’s name on it right now.”
“Let me guess. Quarterback?”
He shook his head. “Way too dumb for that. Offensive lineman.”
“Oh, jeez.” I rolled my eyes. “Does this Kirk dude give you a hard time, or do you just want a building to fall on him because the girls drool over his muscles?”
He picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans. “He’s been making my life miserable since second grade, but now he does it in front of Lauren Ross every chance he gets.”
“What does she do when he acts that way?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t laugh or anything like some of the girls. She usually just looks disgusted and walks away.”
“Sounds like she thinks he’s a jerk too.”
“Then why is she going to the Winter Formal with him?”
“Probably because all her friends oohed and ahhed when he asked her.” I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Nate. If she’s got any brains like you thought, she’ll find out real quick that he’s nothing but a bully and kick him to the curb.”
He kept his eyes downcast and sighed. “I won’t be holding my breath until that happens.”
“Then she’s as dumb as he is. And I know a smart kid like you would be bored to tears with a dumb girl, no matter how cute she is. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, probably.” He looked up at me with a little smile. “But maybe I wouldn’t care how boring she was as long as I got to s
ee her in that red skirt.”
I pretended to be shocked. “Here I was thinking you were one of the good guys, and you turn out to be a little creeper.” I pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the door with a laugh. “Get out of my room, you disgusting male.”
* * *
Monday morning I stepped off the bus at Bay Harbor High School and checked out all the clichéd groups gathered in the parking lot outside the main building—popular kids, druggies, emo kids, nerds, and the outcasts who didn’t fit in anywhere. Well, all but one boy who was just sprinting back and forth across the parking lot for no apparent reason, although the look on his face made it clear that he was determined to be on time for something.
Like I’d told Nathan, I’d never cared what anybody thought about me when I was alive, so I sure didn’t now that I was dead. But my Barbie doll looks and my mother’s bank balance had always guaranteed me a spot at the top of the high school food chain, and I’d never considered hanging out anywhere else, mainly because it hadn’t been worth the effort. Now that I was free to be part of any group I wanted, why not have some fun?
I ignored the looks I was getting from the A-List crowd and walked toward a group of boys who were all wearing T-shirts featuring comic book heroes or video games. Surely one of them was a computer whiz who might be able to help me track down BOSSMAN.
“Hi, I’m Gwen,” I said to nobody in particular. “Today’s my first day. Can one of you guys help me find my way around?” They stared at me with their mouths literally hanging open, so I snapped my fingers in front of a couple of faces. “Hello? Anybody in there?”
The boy closest to me—a short little dude with dark curly hair—recovered first and grinned at me. “I’ll help you. My name’s Sidney—Sidney Ambrose.”
“Great, thanks.” I pulled my schedule from my purse. “I’ve got Algebra II and Trig first period. Guess I ought to at least show up, even though it’s pretty much pointless.”
After Me Page 2