I'd Rather Not Be Dead

by Andrea Brokaw

  He slams the door when we get to his house and his mom comes out of her room with a frown. She's wearing a fluffy pink housecoat and her hair's braided into pigtails. “Honey? Are you alright?”

  “Fine, Mom.”

  “Alright.” She frowns at him, but doesn't react to me at all. Guess she's medicated today. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  “Night, Mom.”

  He crashes up the stairs, closing the door on me while I'm crossing the threshold. The ferrets rustle in glee, but he ignores them and flings himself up onto his bed in an incredibly athletic move. He glares up at the ceiling while I walk over, put my feet on the upturned milk carton serving as a footstool for the couch, and fold my arms on the edge of the mattress. Resting my chin on my arms, I watch him watch nothing.

  “I was worried,” he says eventually.

  “I'm sorry. I don't know why I took so long. It honestly felt like about forty minutes. An hour, tops.”

  He turns on his side, his eyes golden as they search mine. “Tell me about it?”

  “Well, first we met someone who would be fired from the post office for being too disgruntled,” I start. He smiles slightly. “Then we went into what could have been a coffee house in a dungeon.”

  “Nice gimmick,” he murmurs.

  “Yeah.” I return his smile. “It'd probably make a lot of money.”

  “Not as much as a bar in a dungeon.”

  “Good point.” Nodding, I move on. “There was a band. We only heard them play three or four songs before The Shadow Lord got there. And then we were in line for about five or ten minutes. Fray bowed. The Lord touched my forehead.” I shiver at the memory. “And then I begged Fray to bring me back. Next thing I knew, I was in your friend's sister's room while she and Rain were messing with a ouija board. When I left the house, you were outside complaining the sun had been set for hours.”

  Alright, left a little off the end. Not going to worry about that.

  “You're not much of a storyteller,” Finn says.

  “Sorry.”

  His smile has turned a little loopy. “I'm starting to feel drunk.”

  “Really?” I mock surprise, then sigh. “That was pretty stupid, you know.”

  He shrugs, lays back on his back. “It was just beer. Could've been moonshine.”

  Yes, that would have been worse...

  His hand presses against my cheek. “I was worried about you. Didn't know if you were dead or...” He laughs softly. “More dead.”

  Taking his hand in mine, I move it back toward him with a gentle squeeze. “Go to sleep, Finn.”

  “It's too early.” He rolls quickly, something lighting his eyes. “Come up here?”

  Clearly he's more drunk than I thought.

  Smiling, I shake my head. “Someone's got to let those ferrets out before they hurt themselves.” I jump off the carton as Juliet renews her efforts to get out of her cage. Her clucking has long since taken on tones of extreme offense.

  “Damn ferrets,” Finn groans.

  He flips on the television while I'm releasing the fuzzies, surfs to a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and falls asleep three songs later.

  Chapter Twenty

  I'm shaken awake well before I'm ready to get up. “You shouldn't have left the ferrets out.”

  Groggy, I blink at Finn until he comes into focus. “I'm sorry, I thought I heard you apologizing for getting drunk and passing out.”

  “I didn't pass out.” He sounds offended by the allegation.

  “Of course not,” I groan as I sit up.

  There are bits of something strewn all over the floor. Ferret food. “Shit. I'm sorry.”

  He shrugs it off. “We'll let them eat it when we get home.”

  “No, I'll clean it up.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment coats the syllable, but he turns away so I can't see his expression. “Alright.”

  When he immediately grabs his backpack, I realize he's leaving right this second. A glance at the clock shows a time later than I'd expected and I spring to my feet. Guess the ferrets will have pick up their own mess. “Why didn't you wake me earlier?”

  “You're nicer when you're asleep,” he tosses over his shoulder, jogging down the stairs.

  “Funny, so are you.”

  The day is just as sunny and bright as yesterday, causing my companion to wince and drag out sunglasses. Maybe the pain will teach him something.

  “Is it warm or cold, Finn?” I can't tell from the lightweight leather jacket he's wearing. I don't think I've ever seen him wear it before. What happened to his letterman jacket?

  “It's a little chilly,” he says.

  Before we get close enough for people to see him talking to the air, I have to ask, because it's going to drive me crazy if I don't. “What's up with your jacket?”

  He frowns down at it, like he's confused about what I mean. “Oh.” Seeming to catch on, he gives me a half-shrug. “Not a football player anymore.”

  “Until next year,” I remind him.

  He takes a deep breath. “Assuming I go.”

  “But you've declared.” The protest is instant. That was really big news just weeks ago, Cooper Finnegan declaring for Blue Ridge State. People honestly didn't talk about anything else for days. It was disgusting. Now he says he might not go?

  “That just means I promise not to play anywhere else. They can't force me to go to school.”

  “So all of a sudden you're just not going to college?” I stare at him. Sure, plenty of people in our school will be lucky to get high school diplomas and have no shot at going on to higher education. But Cooper Finnegan?

  He seems very alert for cracks in the pavement as we walk. “I like working for my uncle. Like building houses. Painting them. Fixing stuff. Don't need a degree for any of that.”

  “True,” I admit. He has a point. If you want be in a construction trade, there really isn't a school that will help you more than joining a union and getting work. “But you can always come back and do that. Having a degree won't disqualify you from it. And it's not like you'd be paying tuition. Besides which, you like football. Love it, I think you said.”

  He makes a small sound of acknowledgment. “So, you think I should leave?”

  I kick a leaf, spending the energy to make it move. “I'm biased.”

  Just don't ask me in which way I'm biased, because I honestly don't know anymore. I should want him as far away as he can get. But even when we were fighting all the time, he was the most interesting thing in my life. Sure, I'd still have Fray, but how long can we be left alone before we either try to kill or sleep with each other?

  “I haven't decided anything,” Finn says.

  Speaking of Fray... I wonder what's happened to him. “We should stop by the hunting club after school.”

  Finn makes a quiet sound of inquiry. He doesn't say anything because when we rounded the last corner, we wound up right behind a group of kids he knows.

  “I haven't seen Fray since we left that dungeon.”

  His lips press together as he gives a very small, rather annoyed nod that makes me smile.

  “We should make him come to school with us more often,” I tease, delighting in the scowl that Finn tries to hide behind a mask of boredom. Even with the dark lenses over his eyes, he can't pull it off. Talk about someone who shouldn't audition for drama. “He was listening to people's thoughts yesterday trying to figure out who kills me.”

  Finn's eyebrows go up.

  “Didn't hear anything,” I admit. “But that just means no one was thinking about plans to do it while he was focused on them.”

  My companion grunts in contemplation.

  “I can't imagine it being planned,” I go on. “Who in our school would have the guts to plot a murder?”

  Pulling the glasses down a fraction, he looks at me over the top of them, letting me hear the name in his glance. “It wasn't Cris,” I tell him as he puts the lenses back in place. “His morals are more flexible than most
people's, but not flexible enough for him to think murder's going to be alright.”

  “Flexible?” Finn hisses under his breath, turning his face away and shaking his head.

  I think it's a good word. Everything he's done is justifiable if you just twist your brain far enough. Except the being obsessed with Bobbi thing. That's unforgivably bad taste.

  “Maybe it was you,” I speculate. “We never did get along.”

  He turns his face back to me as the glower breaks out again.

  “I never had any problems with you,” he whispers, his voice filled with a venom most people would never believe him capable of. “You were the one always on the attack. Misreading everything. Lashing out for no reason. Punishing me for existing. You were the one who wouldn't give me the time of day until no one else could hear you.”

  I stop walking.

  He doesn't.

  “Finn! Finn!”

  He turns for his name, looking past me to where my sister peddles her bike up the street. “Rain?” he asks.

  Her stop is as much a crash as anything. “Drew's going to die!”

  She cowers a little, like she expects him to laugh at her.

  “Do you know when?”

  “No.” She untangles herself from the bike and props it up next to her. “But last night we had a ouija board and she contacted us.”

  Finn takes a ragged breath and his hands tighten around the strap of his bag. “Really?”

  “Yeah. But when I called her, she was okay. Because she's not dead yet. But she's going to be.”

  “What makes you think that?” He tilts his head as he waits for the answer.

  “Before I went to bed, I asked for a dream. And I got one.” She looks steadily at Finn and takes a deep breath. “She's going to fall. Near one of the overlooks. There's a wall she goes over. I think she's going to be pushed.”

  Visibly shaken, Finn takes a few seconds to process that. “But you don't know when?”

  “Late morning. Early afternoon maybe. Still autumn.” She wipes at the tears on her cheeks. “I couldn't see more than that. And I begged her to stay away, but she's not going to because she thinks I'm crazy.”

  His voice gentle, Finn asks, “But you knew I wouldn't?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but the voice in the dream said to tell you.”

  Which would be an insane statement under any other circumstances.

  “Can you help her?” Rain asks.

  “I'll try.” Finn lets himself look at me and sighs. Clearing his throat, he looks back to my sister. “I don't suppose you know what I should do?”

  “No, but I'll ask for more help tonight.”

  If I'm not dead by then.

  “Please. And if your informant knows who did it...”

  Pale, Rain nods. “I'll ask that too.” She moves the bike like she's going to get on it, then drops it and and turns to throw her arms around Finn. “Thank you. I know she's... Drew. But she's my Drew.”

  He holds her tight, pets her hair a lot like he pet mine when I broke down on him. “I know,” he whispers to her, his voice strangled. “I don't want her to die either.”

  “Too late though, right?” I give him a sad smile and move my hand toward them. I put it on the back of Finn's, wanting to touch Rain, but not wanting to chill her.

  I find myself sniffling. “After it happens, you'll tell her I love her, right? After. Not now or she'll know the saving won't work.”

  His nod is jerky.

  “You better get to school,” he tells Rain. “I'll keep an eye on Drew. Try to figure out what's going on.”

  Her lip trembling, little Rain nods and climbs onto the bike, peddling off like she's trying to run away from her dream.

  “So... I fall.” It takes effort not to start crying for my poor baby sister. Sensitive Rain isn't going to handle this well at all. I can't believe I did this to her. I'm such an idiot. I deserve to be pushed off a cliff.

  “A push increases the odds of manslaughter.” Finn's voice is quiet, contemplating. Not terribly alarmed. “Which means Fray might never hear anyone plan it.”

  “Assuming someone's really whispering prophecy into her dreams and it's not just Rain being afraid.” Shaking my head, I let out a sigh of dejection. “It doesn't matter anyway. You're right. We can't stop it.”

  Both his expression and his neck stiff go completely stiff at that, but he doesn't say anything because my other sister is honing in on him. “What in the world was that about?”

  “Confidential,” he states simply, turning and resuming his walk.

  “What?” Bobbi's face wrinkles up in confusion. Wouldn't you know, she actually looks cute that way?

  Finn gives her an annoyed grunt. “It means, if she wants you to know, she'll tell you.”

  “But how do you even know her?” Bobbi asks. Which is a decent question. Why does he know her and her friend? He even knew about her friend's love life. How much time does he spend around middle school girls anyway?

  “Girl Scouts,” he says. “My mom's their troop leader.”

  Rain's still in Girl Scouts? I totally deserve to pushed off something really, really tall.

  “Rain's still in Girl Scouts? Huh...”

  So, I'm not the only McKinney sister seriously out of touch with her clan. At least I feel bad about it. Bobbi doesn't look concerned in the least. Nor is she bothered that Finn's obviously trying to find some way of getting rid of her and is just too polite to bellow, “Be gone, you shameless hussy!”

  Which is a pity. No one ever yells things like that anymore. Wouldn't life be more interesting if they did? Although... As we near a blockade brought to the student body by the Crusade for Christ, I repent on my thought. More drama would be entertaining, but maybe not morally outraged drama.

  In the middle of the sidewalk that leads to the school stairs, Tanya the Crusader stands in front of the other me, literally trembling. “Please? You can still be saved,” she says to TOM, who makes a sound of exasperation and pushes her way past. There are tears in Tanya's eyes and she takes a little walk from the group before coming back and trying again with her fliers.

  “Weren't you supposed to be doing this yesterday?” Bobbi asks, not mean the way I would have asked, but honestly perplexed.

  “Someone stole the fliers for that.” Tanya's voice cracks like she might cry.

  “How awful.” Bobbi's eyes are wide and her mouth is forming a little circle like she's shocked. The reaction's a sham, but Tanya doesn't seem to realize that.

  I glance at the papers. They don't have anything to do with Halloween, they're an invitation to a Bible study this Saturday. There's the smattering of scriptures I'd have expected and the same tone of condescending superiority the Crusade usually uses. But the quality of the design on today's leaflets isn't what it usually is and the printing is fuzzy, like they were slammed together at the last minute by someone who didn't have much experience.

  Ricky Woodman isn't manning the lines with his followers. Could he have seen the sweet light of reason? No, it's more likely he was abducted by aliens than that he jumped camp on his church. He probably caught some bug while he prowling the night telling preschoolers they were going to Hell for dressing up like Batman. I can hope, anyway.

  Finn tries to make a move around both of the girls holding him up, but Tanya spots it and thrusts a flier at him. “There's a party after, with a DJ and lots of food. Really fun.”

  “I have plans,” Finn says, managing to look like he'd go otherwise. “Trying to keep middle schoolers off of drugs.”

  “That's important.” Tanya gives him a soft, radiant smile. “But don't be so worried about people's earthly lives that you forget about your eternal soul, alright?”

  “I'll try not to,” he promises, returning the smile.

  I mime jamming my finger down my throat.

  “I'll pray for you,” Tanya offers, with that special brand of earnest reserved for people saying that sort of thing.

  “Thanks.�
�� With a nod of his head, he finally moves past, managing to lose both girls when Tanya turns her full attention to Bobbi.

  “It doesn't hurt to be nice,” he whispers to me.

  I snort. “It would definitely hurt me to be that nice to those people.”

  Opening his locker, he looks for his English books. “They think they're helping.”

  My eyes roll. “Hitler thought he was making a better world too.”

  Finn gives a tiny shrug and an even smaller harrumph. “Yo mama.”

  The only thing I can say to that is, “What?”

  A hasty grin lights his face. “The only response capable of topping a Hitler reference is a Yo Mama.”

  I shake my head at him. “You're insane.”

  Miming agony with one hand to his chest, he grabs a notebook with the other one. “I'm hurt you just noticed.”

  He closes the locker in a way that comes dangerously close to being jaunty but the happiness wears off before we get to the classroom. I suspect the fleeing of his cheer has something to do with Cris but I'm having a hard time keeping up with the boy's mood swings. If he were a girl, I'd accuse him of some serious PMSing.

  I'm not the only person noticing he's seriously off his game, a lot of kids have started giving him funny looks and gossiping behind his back. Cooper Finnegan, the consensus stands, is having some sort of post-football breakdown. And everyone wants to know why. Except possibly the other me. She just wants him to stop looking at her.

  That's my fault. I thought maybe if I distanced myself, leaving him less tempted to whisper remarks to me, maybe he'd start to look less crazy. But all that happens when I cross over to keep an eye on her, maybe be around to hear if she gets invited to any parties on cliffs, is that he keeps shooting glances across the room, like he's worried taking his eyes off me will make me vanish. Which is ridiculous since TOM's the one in danger, not me.

  I spend second period roaming the halls rather than sitting in calc with Finn and TOM, but it doesn't seem to help anything if I can believe the conversations in the halls afterward. Apparently my medium was zoned out enough the teacher was speaking directly to him for several minutes before he even noticed.