Caught Dead

by Patricia Mason

  "How do you know what you'll find on the other side?" Jonah asked. "There are things out there, bad things, that destroy souls. You're safer here where I can protect you."

  "So I'm not only dead but I'm also stuck for eternity on the island of misfit toys sporting a freaking asstie?”

  Jonah nodded.

  Derek rolled his eyes. "If I'm staying, I want to talk to my mama. We had a fight the day I died and I want to tell her I love her."

  Could he? Jonah thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. Too dangerous.

  "And I want to investigate and find out who killed me," Derek added.

  "Impossible," Jonah said. "Why don't you just go outside and get to know the others?"

  "Why don't you stop being an enormous douche and get some real, live friends?"

  The anger burst from Jonah before he could prevent it. "You don't get to make a list of demands. Just go out and play with the others."

  Derek yelled back, "You can't make me play like a good little toy. The slaves were freed over 150 years ago or hadn't you heard? If I can't talk to Mama, then I'm not talking to anyone."

  "Aghhh," Jonah groaned in exasperation as he left the cottage with Derek pouting inside.

  Grandma popped to his side. "Why don't you let him speak to his mother?"

  "I'd have to carry his ornament and ring together. It's dangerous to take someone out of the cemetery. What if the ornament breaks?"

  "It'll make him happy. Taking him to his mother isn't that dangerous. If you insist on keeping Derek here, don't just let him stew and be miserable."

  "I still think it's a bad idea."

  "Besides, his mother might know who was at that party the night of his murder."

  "What difference would that make?" Jonah asked, turning away.

  "Could be one of them is the Slicer," Grandma answered, popping to stand in front of him again.

  "Knowing about the Slicer might not be a good thing."

  * * * * *

  With a knapsack slung over one shoulder, Jonah strode along the sidewalk adjacent to an unfamiliar street. Many of the homes were not in good repair and Jonah scanned first one house and then another trying to spot a street number. He reached a house that was mostly green but with patches of blue from an unfinished paint job.

  A couple sitting in rockers on the porch eyed him with suspicion as he passed. When Derek suddenly appeared beside him on the right, Jonah jumped. "Don't do that," he whispered. "I told you to stay out of sight."

  "They can't see me. I'm a ghost. Remember?"

  Jonah passed the house in a hurry so his talking to himself wouldn't freak the couple. "Some people can see you—the ones with the third eye."

  "None of the losers in this neighborhood has the third eye," Derek said with a chuckle. "But they might rob you of that cute little purse you're carrying."

  "It's not a purse. And I had to carry this bag so you could come with me."

  Derek disappeared and immediately reappeared on Jonah's left. Clearly he'd been learning some techniques from Grandma. She'd long ago perfected the pop up.

  "So you must have the third eye since you can see me,” Derek said.

  "Don't pop around like that. You're making me look crazy with my head swiveling back and forth."

  "You looked crazy long before I got here," Derek muttered. "Anyway. Third eye?"

  "No," Jonah said. "I saw you rise. I don't know why, but that makes a difference. Once you see a soul rise, your third eye opens and you can see ghosts.”

  After glancing around him, Derek smiled sadly. "Man, I'm so not going to miss this neighborhood. Leaving here is the only good thing about being dead." Then he pointed to the third house on the right. "That's our house up there. The green one."

  They crossed the road, walked up the three steps to the porch. A modest sign mounted on the front door caught Jonah's eye: Eliza Devoe: Herbalist.

  "Shit," Jonah swore. "You didn't tell me your mother was a root doctor.”

  Derek snickered. "Must've slipped my mind."

  "Slipped your mind, eh?" Jonah shot Derek a glare and backed away from the door. "I'm not messing with voodoo."

  "It's not voodoo," Derek insisted. "There's a difference."

  "We're leaving." Turning on one heel, Jonah started to go, but the door abruptly opened and, startled, he swiveled back.

  Eliza Devoe stood just over the threshold. Her hair askew, her cheeks drawn and dark circles under her eyes, Derek's usually well-dressed mother wore a stained pink terrycloth robe. She squinted at him as if the light hurt her eyes. "You here about my son, aintcha?"

  Jonah recognized the face of grief and the sight hit him like a baseball bat to the midsection. "Ummm. I...ah."

  "Come in." Eliza reached out and grasped his forearm. She pulled him, stumbling forward, into the cavern of the house. She slammed the door behind him, enclosing them both inside.

  Once he adjusted to the dimly lit interior, Jonah's attention locked on the objects set up like an altar on the coffee table. Four black candles burned in a circle around a silver framed eight-by-ten photo of a smiling Derek. A garland of white flower petals draped the top of the frame and more petals lay scattered on the tabletop. A small statue of the Virgin Mary stood on one side of the photo and on the other a faceless doll. Most disturbing to Jonah was the knife next to a clear glass ice cream bowl. The bowl contained a quarter inch of dark, red liquid.

  Was that blood?

  Derek popped in next to Jonah. "Mama?"

  His mother showed no reaction, merely stared at Jonah.

  "I know she has the sight," Derek said to Jonah. "Are you doing something to stop her from seeing me?"

  "No," Jonah replied automatically.

  "No?" Eliza asked, her brows twisting in confusion. "You're not here about Derek?"

  "Yes...I mean, yes I am."

  She circled him, examining Jonah from the top of his head to the tips of his sneakers. "You're that Morrison boy."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Come over here. I want you to see something." Eliza then dragged Jonah through a line of some kind of powder on the floor and to within reach of the makeshift altar. After removing a folded piece of notepaper tucked behind the frame, she opened it to reveal chaotic handwriting. Then she thrust it into his hands. "Read this."

  Jonah peered down trying to make out the words; then he glanced at Derek. The ghost just shook his head and shrugged.

  "It's difficult to read," Jonah mumbled.

  With a huff she grabbed it back and read aloud. "To whom it may concern: A terrible death will come to you who killed my son. May you forever burn in the flames of hell."

  "That's a badass curse," Derek whispered.

  Stabbing Jonah with an ice-pick glare, Eliza squeezed his arm. "Do you believe in the power of the supernatural?" she demanded.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She showed him the cut on her hand. "That's my blood in that bowl."

  "Dude, Mama activated the curse with her own blood. She means to kill the Slicer," Derek shouted from over Jonah's shoulder.

  Jonah gulped, startled.

  "Did you kill my son?" Eliza demanded, her grip on him practically cutting off the arm's circulation.

  "No, ma'am." Jonah shook his head and pulled against her grip on him, but she held fast. "I'm a...a...friend of Derek's."

  After staring him in the eye for long seconds, she dropped his arm, which allowed Jonah to step back.

  "I believe you didn't kill Derek," she said. "I never did believe those rumors about you. I've seen the pain of your parents' death in your eyes."

  Eliza went to the mantle above her fireplace, took a cigarillo from its pack and lighted the end. "But a friend of Derek's? That I don't believe. I don't think Derek even spoke to you since the two of you were kids, playing in little league."

  "I told ya, man," Derek piped in. "I wouldn't have hung out with a geek like you. My mama isn't stupid."

  "Well...I...uh..." Jonah struggled to think of
something to say. Suddenly, the reason for their visit occurred to him. "Derek told me he always loved you. He's sorry for the fight the two of you had the morning he was...the morning of...you know."

  "You trying to say you talked to my boy after he died?" Her head whipped around and her brows furrowed into a vee. "If my child came back after his death he'd talk to me not some...some...stranger."

  "He told me—”

  Her features screwed together with pain and copious tears gushed out onto her cheeks. With both hands against his chest, Eliza pushed Jonah. "What kind of sick game are you playing?"

  Jonah fell against the door, its knob digging into his back. He reached for knob and fumbled, trying to twist it. "I'm sorry to disturb, ma'am. I didn't mean to cause you more pain.”

  "Get out!"

  Nodding, he got the door open and stumbled through and onto the sidewalk. He tripped on the first step and took a header down the other two, finally ending up lying on the sidewalk with his knapsack next to his head. The ornament swaddled in newspaper tumbled out.

  Jonah's gaze darted around frantically. Derek was nowhere to be seen.

  Oh my God.

  Had it broken? Had the soul been lost?

  Breathing hard, he snatched up the ornament and tore away the newspaper to examine it from every angle. No visible cracks, but in the sunshine detecting the glow of a soul seemed impossible.

  Derek appeared and his ghostly body crouched down to look at Jonah. "What are you doing down there? You need to go back in there and talk to my mama."

  * * * * *

  A few minutes later Jonah and Derek made their way along the sidewalk of Main Street.

  "Man, why didn't you go back in there and talk to her?" Derek demanded.

  No way I'm taking a chance she'll curse me, Jonah thought but said, "Let's give her some time to calm down."

  "That was a total bust," Derek shouted. "You didn't even find out who was at the party."

  "I know, I know," Jonah replied, waving him off with a hand in the air. "But you saw what happened. Should I have brought up the party before or after the bowl of blood and the curse?”

  A man approaching them flinched. His lip and nose curled as if he smelled something bad as he took a wide berth to get by.

  Derek didn't even notice that he was causing Jonah to make a spectacle of himself. Well...more of a spectacle than usual. "We're no closer to finding out who killed me than we were before," Derek continued.

  "You're lucky you don't remember dying. I wish I could forget some stuff," Jonah muttered, trying to be inconspicuous so as to avoid scaring the woman exiting the shoe store they were passing.

  "You don't want me to remember. Maybe you are the one who killed me."

  "Oh for God's sake." Jonah burst out and began walking faster.

  Derek easily kept up. "I can't believe I've been forced to be besties with the creep who murdered me."

  Jonah stopped and rounded on Derek. "Stop being a baby!"

  He didn't notice until too late that he'd arrived at the diner. As he finished shouting at Derek, his eyes met Belinda's through the window. She waved and, after saying something to Kerilynn, started to the door.

  "Great," Jonah whispered with his teeth clenched. "She's coming out. I don't want her to notice anything weird, so keep quiet."

  Derek chuckled. "Yeah. I'm the one who's weird."

  Once she was outside, Belinda smiled at him. With excitement in her brown eyes, she was more beautiful than ever. Jonah couldn't believe she looked so pleased just to see him. She must be having a great day.

  "Who were you talking to?" Belinda asked.

  Crap. She'd seen him.

  Laughter burst from Derek. "She's the one your grandma wants you to ask out? She's hot. No way she'd go out with you."

  "Well?" She glanced around, but they were alone on the sidewalk...except for Derek's ghost.

  "Your stray cat," Jonah improvised, pointing to the alley beside the diner. "I yelled at her. I didn't want her to go into the street."

  "Oh, you are sweet." Belinda's smile widened, but then she frowned and placed her hands on her hips. "No, you're not. You haven't called me. That's not sweet at all."

  "Umm..." Jonah's mind raced and emptied at the same time.

  "Unbelievable!" Derek popped onto Jonah's other side and yelled in Jonah's ear. "Dude, she does want to go out with you."

  "I know," Jonah eeked out, grateful that with Derek there to push him he could say something...anything to Belinda. "I've been busy."

  "Busy." Derek huffed. "Man, you better get busy asking her out before she changes her mind."

  "You're right," Jonah said.

  Belinda squinted in confusion. "I am? About what?"

  "I should have called you and...ummmm...asked you...ummmm..."

  Derek disappeared and immediately reappeared behind Belinda. "You're bombing big time. Ask her to the movies."

  "The movies. How about the movies?" Jonah spit out the words and then held his breath.

  "I'd like that," she said.

  "Good." Jonah smiled and turned to go.

  Derek appeared in front of him. "You gotta arrange a day and time, dummy."

  Nodding, Jonah turned back to Belinda. "Tonight?"

  She shook her head and bit her lip. "Can't. I have to work tonight."

  Jonah went silent and his eyes fell to the ground. He felt like he was riding a roller coaster. Up to the sky with happiness and then into the depths of despair. She'd seemed like she wanted to go out with him, but was it just a tease?

  No, he told himself. Stop trying to find blocks. You're just scared of getting hurt.

  Derek moved up behind him. "What are you doing? Talk to her. You can bet that if I had a shot, I wouldn't give up so easy!"

  Reaching out, Belinda placed a hand on Jonah's arm and gave it a little shake. "How about this afternoon? You can pick me up here in two hours. I just need to get home by five to get ready for the night shift."

  Jonah glanced up and breathed out a relieved breath as he nodded. "Okay."

  "It's a plan." She released his arm and headed back into the diner after a smile and wave.

  "Seriously man," Derek said. "You gotta go get a lottery ticket. 'Cause nothing but dumb luck can account for that sexy lady wanting to go out with a mute freak like you."

  * * * * *

  As Derek moved beside Jonah up the walkway to the caretaker's cottage, he passed through the cemetery's fence. The feel of the wrought iron entering and then leaving him sent tingles through his non-body.

  WTF?

  He probably coulda leapt over the gate or popped from one side to the other. Jonah’s grandma said it was all in the intent. Experimenting with all he could do as a ghost made his almost-decapitated head spin.

  After Jonah entered the cottage he began to close the door.

  "Hey! Wait for me," Derek shouted and increased the speed of his glide.

  Jonah held the door open. "No problem."

  Inside, Derek tried the sofa as Jonah moved to the desk. As he concentrated, he felt the energy field of the soft fabric interact with his own, but he didn't fall through. Instead he simulated sitting and watched as Jonah took his ornament and ring from the knapsack to place the two objects on the desk.

  From the flustered way Jonah fidgeted, Derek knew he was thinking about Belinda and worrying about their date. The guy clearly had no idea how to deal with the ladies. And Belinda's friends would surely warn her about going out with a loony like Jonah, probably even claiming that he was the Slicer. But Derek didn't think Jonah was capable of hurting anyone. The people of Ambrosia were wacked out, always putting people into little boxes. Jonah had gotten himself into the box marked town psycho. The poor guy must've had it bad all these years.

  Wait a minute, he thought. Why was he feeling sorry for Jonah? The dude was alive. Jonah only cared about himself. Derek had to remember that. The two of them weren't real friends.

  "When are we going to investigate?" Derek
demanded.

  "Investigate what?"

  "My murder."

  "Oh right," Jonah said seeming to wake from his own thoughts. He stopped pacing and faced Derek. "Why don't we just wait until you remember your death?"

  "You said I might never remember."

  "I'm not doing any more investigating," Jonah said. "Going to your mother was a mistake."

  See? Derek told himself. He's all about himself and doesn't care about you.

  Three heavy knocks shook the cottage door. Jonah started.

  "Police!" a gruff voice shouted through the door. "Open up, Mr. Morrison."

  Derek, losing his concentration, fell through the sofa cushion, springs and frame down to the ground. "Shit."

  "Hide," Jonah whispered, his eyes wide and frightened.

  With a huff, Derek disappeared and then reappeared in the galley kitchen just off the living room of the cottage. Peeking around the corner, he saw two men enter. They'd identified themselves as five-O and they obviously were. One was about fifty with a gut like he'd drunk a keg of beer, with a strip of forehead that ran from eyes to spinal column bordered by dirt brown hair. The other was younger, probably mid-thirties with a shaved bald head that gleamed like ebony. Both wore boring gray suits. The older man's crumpled and ill-fitting and the younger more tailored.

  The younger, black dude flashed identification. "Special Agent Frank Jackson, Georgia Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Special Agent Mike Wayburn."

  Jonah rubbed his hands on his jeans and shrugged. "What can I do for you?"

  "We're here assisting the local sheriff's department in the Slicer investigation."

  "Hmmmm." Jonah's gaze fixed on the ground.

  Jesus. The body language! "Could you make yourself look more guilty, bud?" Derek whispered.

  "I'll get to the point," the older man—Wayburn—said. "Did you know Derek Devoe?"

  "Huh?" Jonah answered.

  "Dude." Derek rolled his eyes.

  "The Slicer victim. Derek Devoe." Agent Jackson took a step forward so close to Jonah the cop coulda performed a dental exam. Jonah backed away but was stopped by the sofa.

  "Ummm. I kind of...but not really," Jonah replied.

  The younger guy—Jackson—took another step forward. "You were observed going to his home this morning. You spoke to his mother."