Beyond Dead

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  Sabrina sipped her juice with a smile and without looking at him. “Yep.”

  “Awesome.”

  “And did you notice,” Sabrina said and jerked her head in his direction, “he’s the only one who’s changed out of his work clothes?”

  I pulled at the front of my top to try to get some air circulating through it. “Maybe he hates his jumpsuit as much as I hate mine.”

  “Maybe he needs to hide what colour it is,” Sabrina said.

  “Apparently we all do,” I quipped and turned to see Sabrina staring at me. “Ohhhh, you think he’s a GB?”

  Sabrina offered me a knowing look and a one-shouldered shrug.

  “Okay.” Eleanor clapped loudly. “Everyone on their feet. Chairs against the walls.”

  “What are we doing?” Sabrina asked as we stood up.

  “I don’t know.” I pocketed the custard creams for later. “You were talking to me when she explained.”

  “Can I tunnel with you guys?” the goth boy interrupted as we stacked our chairs against the walls.

  “We’re tunnelling?” I wasn’t sure whether to be excited or nauseous at the thought.

  “That’s what she said.” He adjusted one of the three rings through his left eyebrow. “Don’t you listen?”

  “Frequently. Just not usually to the person I’m supposed to be listening to.” I spared Sabrina a pointed looked but she shrugged it off.

  “Warren?” Eleanor beckoned him over. “Come and work with Miriam and Sally. David? Will you swap with Warren please?”

  “She thinks you’re a bad influence,” Sabrina teased me as Warren headed over to Miriam and Sally.

  “I’d rather not,” David, the brown suited man, replied quietly.

  “Guess I’m not his type after all.” I was blaming the jumpsuit.

  “Oh. Right.” His refusal caught Eleanor off guard and she scanned the room for a replacement. “Martin?”

  Martin swapped with Warren without complaint. We said our brief hellos, though he didn’t seem to want to work with us anymore than David, he just lacked the courage to say no.

  “Hold each other’s hands and focus on something nearby that you all know, the stone marker on the hilltop outside for example. Think about what you can see, smell and hear from there, then let the pull take you.”

  Martin firmly clasped mine and Sabrina’s hands. “The marker’s only a short distance away; I think we should try for that.”

  “I think everybody will be trying for that.” I was trying to think of somewhere else close by they’d both know.

  He smirked. “Just proves it’s a good idea.”

  “I’ve had too long of a day to tackle that statement.” I gestured for Sabrina to respond. “It’s all yours.”

  “Martin, I’m not sure how this tunnelling thing works, but I am sure I don’t want to appear in the same place as someone else and merge into a human spider freak.”

  He tsked. “Eleanor wouldn’t have us do it if it were dangerous.”

  “Okay, everybody.” Eleanor spoke above the chatter. “Just a few words of warning. There are places that are blocked. Locations that you won’t be able to tunnel into. Please don’t try to tunnel into another room inside the fort, as the fort is one of those places. We’ll go through some examples later but for now just focus on the hilltop outside. Close your eyes and concentrate hard on your chosen place.”

  “The marker,” Martin reminded us.

  “This is going to end in tears,” Sabrina mumbled, closing her eyes.

  Almost immediately the hall was quiet and still. There was the occasional rustle of clothing but nothing more. I could hear the constant dull roar of the ocean in the distance and the perpetual crying of the seagulls that I had learned to tune out of my daily life while growing up.

  “Concentrate on your chosen place,” Eleanor reminded quietly.

  The stone marker. Right. I pictured it in my mind but it was difficult to remain focused on it. A memory of a family picnic, the view of the ocean from the fort, meeting Oz on the grass, dreams of growing up and moving away, an image of Jim stuffed into my locker. Everything intruded. What felt like a decade later I opened one eye to find Sabrina squinting at me.

  “Did you start yet?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” I hissed back. “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you both please concentrate?” Martin snipped quietly with both eyes still closed. “We’re going to be the last ones there.”

  “Er, unlikely.” I glanced around the room to see everyone was still there and noticed David frowning at me. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was talking or if that was his permanent expression.

  “Concentrate, everybody,” Eleanor repeated, looking directly at Sabrina and me. “It takes time, effort and practice to master.”

  An hour and a half of time, effort and practice later and with everyone was still in the room, Eleanor called an end to the session. I’d opened my eyes at one point to see most of the groups flickering like light bulbs. Some individuals had disappeared except for their hands still clasped to the others in their group who were anchoring them. It had been very strange, but no whole group had actually managed to get to the marker.

  We walked out into the warm evening air and sat down on the grass a short distance from the stone marker. The majority of the group were huddled around it obviously trying to commit the smallest nuances to memory ready to try again tomorrow night. David was detached from the group and still throwing furtive looks my way.

  “Do you think it’s him?” I asked Sabrina, gazing out at the horizon streaked with pink hues as the sun set over the harbour.

  She glanced around. “Do I think what’s who?”

  “The shadow.” I subtly gestured with my head. “Do you think it’s the brown suit guy?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. It is a bit weird how you’re suddenly his favourite thing to scowl at. I’ll see if I can find out any info on him as well as Jim tomorrow. The reports on Jim’s death should’ve been filed by now so I’ll see if I can sneak a look.”

  Guardians started appearing all over the hill to collect their charges so I lowered my voice further. “Wouldn’t that be a police thing?”

  “We get copies of files about everything and anything.”

  “Okay.” That was handy. Creepy, but handy. “I’ll ask a few more questions about Jim and try to find out why my area is so great. That might shed some light on a motive.”

  “Yeah, that’d be helpful. Listen, this shadow thing sounds like a hoax.” She turned to face me, a hint of concern in her eyes. “But still, watch your back. You’re the only person I like around here.”

  Oz sighed heavily behind us. “What shadow thing?”

  We both froze. I was going to have to put a bell on him so I could avoid incriminating myself.

  “Oh, look. There’s my ride.” Sabrina sprang to her feet and jogged towards a clump of people without a backward glance and got lost in the small crowd.

  “What shadow thing?” Oz repeated, sitting on Sabrina’s vacated piece of grass, outstretched tanned arms resting on his bent, equally tanned knees.

  “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people and eavesdrop on their private conversations.” I didn’t look at him. I stared at the ocean. Peripherally I was aware he was staring at me.

  “What shadow thing?”

  “We were discussing whether ghosts have shadows or not and the emotional, metaphysical and spiritual repercussions on us as individuals and as a minority group.”

  “And why is it that you would need to watch your back because of that?”

  “I said we didn’t have shadows.” I blinked, giving him my wide-eyed innocent look. “People got crazy.”

  “You know I know when you’re lying, right?”

  “Really? That must be upsetting for you.” I patted his knee. “Be sure to never ask me what I think of your dress sense, okay?”

  He arched an eyebrow at me. “Coming fr
om the woman in a purple sack?”

  “Hey. I have to wear this.” I pinched the front of the jumpsuit and pulled it away from my skin in disgust. “I’m pretty sure that shorts and flip-flops aren’t the staple uniform for parole officers.”

  He spread his arms wide to gesture around us. “It’s summer. It’s hot.”

  “Just because it’s warm doesn’t mean you can wear random items of clothing that don’t match simply because they keep you cool.”

  “That’s exactly what summer means.” He grinned at me, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples. “Now, what shadow thing?”

  “I told you.”

  “No, you lied to me.”

  “Was the dead guy in my locker my guardian angel in life?”

  “Yes.” Oz’s smile faded. “You were assigned to me after he died. That was why you were held up at Arrivals.”

  “Is that why I died? Because someone killed him and he wasn’t around to save me from the bus?”

  “He died after you.”

  “What?” That didn’t make sense. “Then how come I died?”

  “Because a bus ran you over. When your time’s up, it’s up. There’s nothing we can do about that.” Oz narrowed his eyes at me. “What is that you’re feeling right now? I get the self-pity but the other thing feels like … not happiness exactly, but something in that family.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.” So, I felt a little satisfied that someone had murdered the guardian angel who hadn’t saved me from a rogue bus. That didn’t make me a bad person. Right?

  “And there’s another lie. Are you allergic to the truth?”

  “No, but sometimes a lie is kinder.” I pointed to his face. “For instance, the surfer bum is a good look on you.”

  “That …” Oz angled his head, listening to that dang emotional frequency again. “That wasn’t a lie.” He stared at me bemused.

  Uh-oh. “It was. I’m just that good.” Oz’s bemusement morphed into a frown. Huh. So the emotional radar thingy wasn’t infallible. Interesting.

  “What shadow thing?”

  “You’re like a dog with a bone,” I said.

  “I’m like a parole officer with a dishonest ward.”

  “I thought you were my guardian.”

  “What shadow thing?” Oz waited. “You seem to be a little confused with how this works. I can make your afterlife easy or I can make it hard. Do as I ask and I’ll make it easy.” Oz sighed when I remained silent. “Okay, well, I can always take you to the police station if you like. Maybe to the GBs. They have ways of getting information out of parole violators that I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t like.”

  “You’d let them torture me?”

  “Yes.” Oz twirled a strand of my hair from my ponytail around his finger and brought it in front of my face. “I would let them back comb your hair. Dye it. Cut it—”

  “That’s inhumane.” I pulled my strand of hair from his finger and moved all of it over my opposite shoulder and out of his reach.

  “What shadow thing?”

  “Fine.” I bit the word out. I selectively related what happened with Madame Zorina.

  Oz covered his face with both his hands and lay back on the grass digesting the story. He finally removed his hands from his face and sat up again.

  “Has anyone told you about the no haunting rule?” Oz held up his finger in warning as if he could tell I was thinking about lying. “It’ll be easy to check but right now I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

  “I didn’t break it on purpose.” I buttoned up the top of my jumpsuit. It might not be fashionable but it was getting cold. Besides, regarding the jumpsuit, my fashion cred was long past saving.

  “No, just like that bus didn’t hit you on purpose. It still killed you, though.”

  “Wow. Harsh. And she spoke to me.”

  “You said. And I’m sorry about the bus comment. What else did she say about this shadow?”

  I shook my head. “She just said Jim had one hovering over him and he died.”

  “He probably had toast for breakfast too. You going to stop eating that?”

  “I don’t eat carbs for breakfast.” As soon as it was out of my mouth I realised that now I probably could. Yet another upside to being dead.

  Oz rubbed his forehead and ignored that comment. “You only have her word that she told him that, and she only mentioned it after she knew he was dead.”

  I shook my head. “Why would she lie?”

  “Who knows? People lie for a multitude of unfathomable reasons. Don’t mention this to anyone. Bridget?” He gently tapped my shin with the back of his hand to make sure he had my attention. “Not to anyone, okay? This is serious.”

  I nodded. The fact he wasn’t mocking me for it actually unnerved me a little. He offered me his hand and tunnelled us back to the house.

  Pam was serving tea. Mark had arranged the patio furniture so we could eat outside. Pam had cooked both lasagne and shepherd’s pie. There was also a huge bowl of salad in the centre of the table.

  “This looks amazing,” I said, sitting down and gazing over the spread.

  “Thank you.” Her smile was wide and proud. “It was technically your turn to cook but I wasn’t sure if Oz had mentioned that so I thought I’d step in for you just this once.”

  The serving of lasagne I’d been helping myself to slopped off the spatula on to my plate as I turned to Oz. “What does she mean ‘my turn’?”

  He helped himself to some shepherd’s pie. “Did I forget to mention the cooking and cleaning rota?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I looked around the table at the serious faces. “You’re not kidding.” I replaced the spatula and stared at my lasagne. Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry. I turned to Oz. “You better lock my door again tonight.”

  ∞

  I was easing into my filthy suit, I just couldn’t bear that purple jumpsuit first thing in the morning, when someone knocked on my bedroom door. I didn’t respond. Not only because the door was still locked so I couldn’t have let them in anyway but because I didn’t really want to speak to anyone. I’d used the supermarket’s own brand shampoo and conditioner someone had left in my bathroom for me, which felt more like a slap in the face than a kindness. My hair felt like straw. Straw that I couldn’t dry because I had no hairdryer, or style because I had no straighteners. I didn’t even have a brush. What type of afterlife was this that they couldn’t provide newly dead people with the barest of necessities unless specifically requested?

  The knock came again. I had no makeup whatsoever. How were you supposed to look awake and alert if you didn’t have a highlighter wand? How were you supposed to look flushed and healthy without some cheek stain? Then again, I was dead; flushed and healthy were long past out of my reach.

  Metal rattled and the lock on the door snapped open before the knock returned for the third time.

  “I can just walk in.” Oz spoke through the door. “I’m trying to be polite. Do you think you can return the favour?”

  “Sure.” I scrunched my hair, trying to give it some body. “Come on in.” I fluffed it. It wasn’t exactly the best impression but then again it was my third day, impressions had already been made. The hair would have to do.

  “Bridget. Why can’t I open your door?”

  “Well, I’m quite sure I don’t know.” I wiped at one of the stains on my lapel with the damp sponge from the shower. “Have you tried turning the handle?”

  “So help me, Bridget. I will kick this door in and then remove it.” Oz waggled the handle again. “If I can’t trust you with a door to your room then you simply won’t have one.”

  With a heavy sigh I removed the chair from underneath the door handle, opened the door and returned to the mirror to scrunch the disaster that was my hair.

  Oz glanced at the chair to the side of door then to me. “You can’t lock me out.”

  “Why? You lock me in.”

  I watched Oz in the reflection o
f the mirror. He opened his mouth and pointed at the chair then seemed to think better of it. He covered his mouth with his hand as though he was trying to keep something in and rubbed at his stubble. Resting his hands on his hips, he stared at the floor.

  “Are you ready for work?”

  “Do I look ready for work?” I walked over and stood in front of him, mirroring his posture. I held up a frizzy strand of hair for him to examine. “I mean, do I?”

  Oz lifted his gaze from the floor to my face. His eyes widened as he took in my utterly au natural appearance. Yesterday I’d managed to keep some of my make up on from the day I died; not exactly hygienic, admittedly, but I was dead. What did that matter now? This morning I’d had to wash my face with shampoo. Shampoo. And did I mention it was the supermarket’s own brand?

  “Yeah.” He coughed and glanced back at the ground as he stepped back. He gave me a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, you look fine.”

  “Fine? Oh, great. I look fine.” I turned back to the mirror. “Well, I suppose that’s an upgrade from ‘average looking’.”

  “Hey. Now we talked about this. I was testing the bond.”

  I arched an eyebrow and pursed my lips at his reflection. “Uh-huh.”

  “You look, y’know …” Oz rubbed the back of his neck then gestured to me with an open palm. “Good.”

  I turned around to stare at him. “No. Stop. Please. I can’t take such extreme compliments.” I grabbed the list I'd made and headed towards Oz. I pressed the list to his chest. “There wasn’t enough space to write these in the hallowed red book of requests.”

  “You can’t request all this.” Oz flipped through the three, double sided, pages of A4. He held it out to me. “Pick the five things you want the most.”

  “You misunderstand.” I pushed the list back to him. “Those aren’t my requests. They’re my demands.”

  “Pick your top five things.” He held the list out to me again. “Or you won’t get anything.”

  I gestured between us. “You seem to be a little confused about how this works.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It is. You see, I can make your afterlife easy or I can make it hard. Do as I ask and I’ll make it easy.” I pushed the list back to him, smiled and walked downstairs to breakfast hoping that he’d at least get me the first five things on my list.