Finding Paradise (Book Two in the Love Life Series)

by Anne Seaworthy

FINDING PARADISE

  ~~~

  by

  Anne Seaworthy

  Copyright 2015 Anne Seaworthy

  Cover Design Copyright 2015

  by https://coversbykaren.com/

  Formatting by coversbykaren.com

  Stay in the know about Anne Seaworthy’s latest work

  at her website, https://aseaworthyfrigate.wordpress.com/

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious, even those referring to actual or well-known entities. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter One

  By day, Professor Stanley Gruff teaches at the local public university. By night, he Dreams of horrifying, fascinating things. His nightmares are particularly sought-after by the hoity-toity West Ectopians. But it takes at least two Dreamcatchers to take them on.

  India and I gaze at the rainbow glowing ball trembling on a ridge of Stanley’s brain, neither of us wanting to make the first move, both of us wanting the other ghost to think we’re brave though we’re actually racked with mortal terror (an old habit from our living years.)

  “Do you want to see the content before we try and capture it?” India asks me. “Then we’ll know if it’s worth harvesting.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “Do you want to step inside first?” I gesture politely for the lady to go ahead of me.

  “Let’s do it together,” India says.

  I can’t help wincing a little when she grabs my hand – she’s always touching me, and it always makes me feel claustrophobic.

  She counts to three and we both step into the Dream. Inside is a sunlit cemetery, filled with small gravestones and rosebushes.

  “This isn’t so bad,” India remarks, disappointed.

  A family stands around a tiny hole at the center of the cemetery. A tiny black coffin sits inside. No one seems particularly devastated, except the boy who looks about six or seven years old. I can tell by his upturned nose and wild orange hair that this is Stanley as a child.

  A small ghost seeps out of the coffin and hovers over the family. Stanley points at it and screams, “Heinz! It’s Heinz’ ghost!”

  An orange-haired woman puts her hand on Stanley’s shoulder. “I know you really miss your hamster, honey. But there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Can’t you see him? He’s right there!” Tears course down Stanley’s chubby cheeks.

  “I think the kid should see a shrink,” an old granny whispers loudly, elbowing the man next to her.

  India and I hover at the edge of the pet cemetery as claws and paws begin digging their way out of the ground. Half-decayed zombie animals surround the humans. They begin closing in.

  A parrot squawks. “See a shrink. See a shrink.” The other animals gain the power of speech and take up the chant, in their various yowling and hissing voices. They close in on Stanley’s family, climbing up the adults and plunging down toward Stanley. They engulf him, pecking and nipping. Stanley’s family blissfully smiles through it.

  India flies forward and kicks a ghastly terrier off Stanley’s face. She begins herding the animals away, holding up a juicy steak, always out of reach. India and purple lips and steak… if my heart was beating, it would be beating faster now. I’m not sure why, and the thought makes me feel trapped in a small box.

  “This Dream is pretty creepy,” India says, brushing the last traces of juice off her hands. “I think we could ask for fifty breaths, to start.”

  I nod in agreement. “That is, assuming we can get it out of here. I’ve heard this dude’s Dreams fight back.”

  We exit the Dream through a black hole in the sky. Then India begins pushing the ball from behind as I pull from the front. Streaks of lightning ripple across the surface, burning our ectoplasm. But I hang on, and so does India. She grins bravely at me.

  We manage to pull the Dream out the guy’s ear and through the bedroom window. On the Lady Kate, I shove it in a chest immediately and turn the key. I wouldn’t want to lose this valuable booty.

  “I’m jealous,” Tony Spumoni whines when he arrives. “You guys got to collect nightmares. All I got was some lady Dreaming about winning a beauty contest.”

  Art mimes a Dream of dancing on a table in one’s underwear.

  Harry adjusts the rigging and we set sail, floating up into the clouds.

  “You were super brave back there,” India says to me. Before I look away, I can see the reflections of the stars in her dark eyes.

  “Don’t flatter me. You were the brave one,” I say, staring at the airport below.

  “But – “

  “I said, don’t flatter me.” I clench my fist.

  She sighs and drifts away to play charades with Art.

  I lean on the railing, gazing down at the city. I realize my hands are shaking. Is it because India made me uncomfortable? I’ve always seen her as a sister. I don’t know why I feel so threatened by her tonight.

  Chapter Two

  I stand in front of the marble steps to the House of the Board of Dead and Undead People, turning the small letter over and over in my hand. I’ve never been summoned before – is it possible piracy has been outlawed? If so, I may have to start charging my customers more.

  It’s my scheduled time – actually, it’s a few minutes past. I wouldn’t want to be early and have to wait awkwardly in the hall.

  I float up the unnecessary steps, pass the columns topped with skulls, and make my way to the front desk. The secretary is an angel – probably doing her required community service hours. With a bored gesture, she refers me to room fifteen.

  In that office is a ghost who looks like a cross between George Washington and Albert Einstein. His bushy white eyebrows elevate above his glasses when he sees me.

  “My business is perfectly legal and ethical,” I say before he can utter a word.

  He looks surprised. “I’m sure it is, Mr. Starling. That’s not what you were summoned here to discuss.” He motions at the tiny chair in front of his colossal desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  It’s very hard for a buoyant ghost to sink their behind all the way into a chair. He should know that. So I just kind of hover over the chair and position my legs so it looks like I’m sitting in the air directly above the chair. I have a feeling this is a yoga pose, and it’s very uncomfortable. I hope this bureaucrat doesn’t have too much to say to me.

  “Where are my manners? I’m President Livingston of the Board of Dead and Undead People.” He reaches over the desk, extending his arm by several inches to shake my hand. “Our records indicate that you are nearly ready to enter Paradise.”

  “Really?” I never imagined. Paradise was always like a faraway Dream that would probably become a nightmare if examined more closely. I wanted it, sure, but only because it was unattainable. Do I still want it?

  “I said nearly ready, Mr. Starling. There is one more piece to your promotion.”

  “What is it?” I’m curious; if it’s entertaining kids at a birthday party I’ll let the whole thing go, but if it’s just kissing a sea cucumber or something I might be interested.

  The president clears his throat. “According to our files, your Paradise Key is true love.”

  It’s hard for me to resist snorting. Since Raygin and I fizzled out, I haven’t truly loved anyone. I had a little fling with Helen, but she’s married now, so she couldn’t be my soul mate. I’ve never thought of myself as the Prince Charming type, able to settle on one princess and be in a relationship where each of us keeps the other satisfied for long.

  “It’s up to you, Mr. Starling, but we strongly en
courage all citizens to graduate to Paradise. It lightens the burden on the taxpayers.”

  I nod, as if I give a crap about the taxpayers. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Starling. You are now free to leave.”

  I get out of there as fast as possible – I feel like that regal building is suffocating my rambunctious spirit. As I fly home, I breathe in the raindrops from the clouds. And I think about my options. I can’t help but start to make a mental list of all my potential Keys to Paradise. And I keep coming back to one name – Raygin.

  Chapter Three

  It’s late August, and we’re creeping up on India’s third deathiversary. So everyone but India is hanging out in an abandoned apartment building, discussing this year’s surprise party.

  “I think the theme should be Terrible Threes,” Tony Spumoni suggests.

  “That’s terrible,” says Harry.

  Art pretends to be choking on the dumb proposal.

  “What about you, Jamie?” Harry turns to me. “Any ideas for a theme?”

  I shake my head, pointing out the broken window behind him. India is floating closer.

  “No ideas? Come on, man,” Tony says loudly.

  “She’s here,” I announce, just as India barrels in through the window.

  “Are you guys planning my surprise deathiversary party?” India asks.

  “No.” Tony shakes his head, hiding the box of deathiversary confetti he bought behind his back.

  “Well, don’t bother this year.” India grins. “By September twelfth I’ll be in college.”

  “You mean you’re going to Macabre University?” Tony gasps. “How are you paying tuition?”

  “I’m not, silly. I’m going to UCLA, down here on earth.”

  “How?” Harry’s genuinely curious.

  I’m a little curious myself – I never got a degree. I’d love an opportunity to do so, but the only university for ghosts costs hideous quantities of breaths.

  “I met a Ghost-Seer. Her name is Angie. She’s going to UCLA, and she’s terrified she’ll flunk all her classes. So I told her I’d get good grades for her in exchange for possessing her so I get to be a college student, too.”

  “How clever,” I say. “I wonder how the professors would feel about that.”

  “Do you think I care?” India retorts. “This is my one chance to go to college. I expected you guys to be happy for me.”

  “We are happy for you,” Harry assures her. “In fact, why don’t we have a going-away party tomorrow?”

  ~~~

  Tonight I want to collect more nightmares from Professor Gruff. But I can’t do it without help. I ask Tony, but he’s going to a special movie premiere at midnight. Harry’s already booked collecting Dream at the old age home, and Art has a date. I can’t imagine how their dinner conversation will go.

  So, as a last resort, I grit my teeth and go find India.

  She’s in the bookstore on Cumulus Street, probably looking for schoolbooks.

  I tap her on the shoulder.

  She turns around and smiles brightly. “Hiya, Jamie. I didn’t know you could read.”

  “I’m not here for the books,” I say, looking at the shelf behind her. “I’m going to harvest some of Stanley Gruff’s nightmares tonight, if you’d care to come along.”

  She bites her lip. “I’d love to help you, Jamie. But there’s a one-night sale on books at the moment.”

  “Isn’t this Angie buying your books for you?” I can’t help but let some desperation creep into my voice.

  “No,” India says, as if just realizing this unfairness for the first time. “But, after all, I’m the one who’s going to be studying from them.”

  “This doesn’t sound like a healthy relationship to me.”

  “Like you know anything about relationships!” Her red cheeks clash with her purple Mohawk. “The last time you were in a relationship, you were lying and kissing other girls!”

  Before I can spit back a reply, a store associate walks up to us. He puts a hand on India’s shoulder. “Excuse me, miss? Can I help you with something?” He glances meaningfully at the exit door.

  I gingerly pluck his hand off India’s shoulder. “No, you can’t help her with anything. She’s coming with me.”

  I buy the books in India’s cart with my own hard-earned breaths. Then I take her hand and lead her to Stanley Gruff’s bedroom.

  In Stanley’s Dream, he’s sitting in a fancy Italian restaurant across from a woman with big brown eyes and shiny brown hair. They break the last piece of garlic bread in the basket in half and share it, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “That’s so sweet,” India coos.

  I roll my eyes.

  Suddenly the beautiful woman morphs into a skeleton with the same hairdo. Clones of her ghost surround Stanley’s table, blowing kisses at him. “Goodbye, Stanley, “ they call out cheerfully. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.”

  “This is weird,” India comments.

  “Are you ready to price the Dream yet?”

  “I want to see what happens next.”

  Stanley throws a fork at one of the ghostly clones. Of course, it flies right through. He holds up a plate to cover his head as they close in, arms outstretched, still singing, “Goodbye.”

  “Seventy-five breaths,” India says.

  I nod. One thing India’s good at is calculating prices. We slip out of the Dream and fight it all the way to the Lady Kate, which is anchored on a rosebush outside.

  I still haven’t sold the Dream about Heinz the hamster. I get another chest and stuff the freaky date Dream inside.

  “Jamie?” India floats up to me, looking nervous. “I have to ask you something while we’re alone together.”

  Uh-oh. I have an idea where this is going. But what can I do? I say, “Shoot.”

  “Do you think you could ever like me? I mean, as more than friends?”

  She’s trying to meet my eyes.

  I’m trying not to meet hers. President Livingston’s face is in my mind’s eye, grinning at the potential match. I say, “You’ve always been like a little sister to me. I love you as a friend and fellow Dreamcatcher. It would be unprofessional – no, make that impossible – for us to have any relationship beyond that.”

  Her face darkens for a second. Then she looks up at me again, smiling. “So, you don’t mind if I date other guys in college?”

  Chapter Four

  I ask India if she wants the crew to escort her to the university on the first day. But she refuses to have any help. “I’ve finally gotten away from my parents. The last thing I need is mushy family surrounding me right now.”

  So I let her go alone. Then I seep under the door to Professor Stanley Gruff’s Mythology 101 class, the first course on her schedule. I hide above the fluorescent lights until I locate India. I can see the glow of her soul coming from a heavy, dark-haired girl sitting way in the back.

  She stands up and moves to an empty seat in the front.

  “Welcome, class,” Professor Gruff says, though the students are still talking. “I won’t ask you your names, because I can’t be bothered to remember them. Take out your Mythology textbooks.”

  India – or “Angie” – is the only student to reach into her bag and produce a shiny new textbook with an illustration of a dragon on the cover.

  “I see someone came prepared for class. Young lady,” he says, pointing at Angie, “would you please read starting from the top of page twenty-five? Everyone else, pay close attention and buy your textbooks ASAP.”

  Angie’s eyes sparkle with the opportunity to demonstrate her educational inclinations. She begins reading, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Ghosts are considered by some cultures to be spirits of the dead. In various cases, such as the traditional Mexican ritual of Día de los Muertos, these spirits are honored. In other instances, ghosts are hated and feared. Myriad methods have been developed to vanquish these enigmatic personalities. Some believe a modifi
ed vacuum cleaner can trap ghosts. Others turn to salt as a repellent substance. Whatever is the best method, modern American philosophy tends to regard ghosts as unfriendly creatures that need to be removed from any human place of residence.”

  “Stop right there,” the professor directs Angie. He draws a picture of a basic sheet ghost on the whiteboard. “Who wants to try vanquishing this ghost first?”

  I’m horrified. India is learning how to murder our kind – and she doesn’t even seem perturbed!

  After class, when the students are heading out of the classroom, Angie catches sight of me slipping out the door.

  India seeps out of Angie’s body and grabs my hands. “Jamie! Why are you here? I told you guys I didn’t need any bodyguards.”

  “Whoa, who’s that pirate dude?” Angie asks India. “He’s hot.”

  For a second, just a split second, I’m filled with dread as I consider the possibility that Angie is my Key to Paradise. After all, she is female.

  “Jamie came here to look after me,” India explains to Angie. “He thinks he’s my mom.”

  “Aww, that’s sweet!” Angie coos. Other people in the hallway are giving her funny looks, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you two dating?”

  My forehead burns. “We most certainly are not,” I say. “I’m old enough to be India’s father.”

  “Yeah, if you became sexually mature at age eight,” India grumbles. “Let’s go to the cafeteria, Angie. You’ve been starving since eight fifteen.”

  “I know, right?” The pudgy girl giggles.

  India shoots me a glare I think is undeserved. Then she seeps back into Angie’s ear.

  I watch her lumber away as Angie. All I was doing was making sure she was okay. I guess she doesn’t want my friendship if she can’t have anything more.

  If I go back to Ectopia, I’ll just blow all my dough at the Ghoul Mall. I’m actually thinking of getting India a present to compensate her for my harsh words. But I’m broke, so I stay at school. For laughs, I decide to go hang out in the counseling office. I’m sure to see some disturbed young people there.

  But when I reach the small office, I forget any ideas of goofing off. Seated at a mahogany desk with a Siamese fighting fish darting around in a bowl is the woman I’ve hardly stopped thinking about since August twenty-sixth. Her blond hair is pulled back in a bun and she’s demurely typing on a laptop. Now this is not the Raygin I know.