Playlist for the Dead

by Michelle Falkoff

  There was one other safe place, of course: the ITC. Our happy place. I’d never been allowed to buy comics—they were expensive and my parents thought I’d stop reading “real” books. Which turned out to be kind of accurate, though it still didn’t mean they were right. Hayden, in contrast, already considered himself a collector. He made a point of buying the first issue of every new comic that came out, just in case one of them took off and the original turned out to be worth something. His parents, like Mom, didn’t approve, but his father was a money guy and thought it was important for Hayden and Ryan to have allowances so they learned how to budget. I think maybe on some level he also respected that Hayden was thinking about his hobby in terms of investment, though he never actually said it out loud. God forbid he actually praise Hayden for something.

  That was the day I discovered how into comics Hayden really was. I’d borrowed copies of all the old Batman series from the library, but he was into way different stuff. He introduced me to all the comics written by people from the bands we liked—there was one from the lead singer of My Chemical Romance, and one from the guy from the Dandy Warhols, even one from a bunch of members of the Dresden Dolls. I figured there had to be one from Colin Meloy, lead singer of the Decemberists. “He’s all literary, and his wife’s a graphic artist—there’s no way he doesn’t have a comic if all these other guys do.”

  This led to our first fight about music, the first of many, so many I couldn’t count. I wish I’d realized how important those fights would be to me. Maybe I’d have realized how much fun they were.

  I couldn’t believe Hayden wasn’t into the Decemberists—they were smart and creative and weird, all the things he loved. But maybe they were too smart; it pissed Hayden off when there were words in the songs he didn’t know. I thought that was part of the fun, but he didn’t see it that way. We were still yelling at each other right up until the time my mom showed up; I made her play all ten minutes of the live version of “The Mariner’s Revenge Song” in the car on the way home, which finally shut us up. We sat quietly through the story of two men figuring out their shared history after being swallowed by a whale. “Sounds like klezmer music,” Mom said, wrinkling her nose, but we ignored her. Hayden didn’t even say good-bye to me when he got out of the car, just thanked my mom for the ride and gave me a little nod.

  “Everything okay?” Mom asked. “You guys were kind of quiet back there. Did you have a good day?”

  “The best,” I said, and I meant it.

  The fact that Hayden had put the song on his mix seemed in some ways like a peace offering to me. Unlike some of the other songs where we’d fought and the song he liked made it on the list, he’d picked the song that was from my favorite album, even though the Decemberists had eventually changed their style on the last album and made Hayden a fan. He could have picked one of those songs, and it still would have meant a lot to me, but the fact that he’d picked this one meant even more.

  But it still wasn’t my favorite of their songs. Which meant there had to be another reason he’d chosen it. It was, after all, a song about revenge; maybe it was that simple. Was it some kind of clue? Or an instruction? Had Hayden been directing me to take revenge on his behalf? Or could it be something even stranger? ArchmageGed had manifested himself in my room; maybe it wasn’t impossible that he could do it somewhere else. Crazy, sure, but not impossible.

  But if ArchmageGed was Hayden, I couldn’t imagine it. The Hayden I knew would never have done something like that. Then again, the Hayden I knew wouldn’t have killed himself, either. And I didn’t think I was capable of hurting anyone, not like Jason and Trevor had been hurt, but Hayden had done something I couldn’t see coming.

  Who’s to say that I couldn’t, too?

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  THE SOUND OF BUZZING WOKE ME up at nine thirty. At first I was confused and thought it was time for school; then I realized it was Saturday and I hadn’t set an alarm or anything. Besides, my alarm was actually a dock for my iPod, so these days I was waking up to Hayden’s playlist. It took a minute for my brain to de-fuzz enough to realize that the buzzing sound was the doorbell. Which was weird because really, no one ever came over here. Rachel’s boyfriends usually just sat outside and lay on the horn, which Mom really hated, and Rachel never had friends over. When Hayden came over he’d knock, but of course it wasn’t him. My heart jumped for a second at the thought that maybe Astrid had decided to drop by, but why would she do that? We’d just gotten off the phone a few hours before, and she must have crashed after; it seemed like she’d been up all night.

  The buzzing sounded again, and I realized I should probably get up and answer it. Mom usually went to bed right after work, so she was probably asleep, and Rachel never got off her butt to do anything, which left me. I hadn’t bothered to change out of my clothes before getting in bed, so I ate a Tic-Tac to cover what must have been my disgusting post-party breath and ran out of my room.

  Mom hadn’t gone to bed yet, though, so she’d already answered the door by the time I hit the stairs. I couldn’t see who it was right away; all I could see was a cardboard box, overflowing with stuff—T-shirts on top, who knew what else underneath. I could make out the design on one of the shirts—a mockup of the standard evolution series but with zombies—and I realized it had belonged to Hayden. Then I saw who was holding the box: Hayden’s mom.

  “Come on in, Mrs. Stevens,” Mom said. It was funny—I’d almost never seen them in the same place together, and I hadn’t realized how much taller Mom was than Mrs. Stevens, who was tiny. I wondered if that’s what Hayden and I looked like standing next to each other.

  It was pretty shocking to see Mrs. Stevens here. She’d never liked me, and she didn’t approve of my friendship with Hayden. Mrs. Stevens was a slim, stylish woman, always perfectly made up, always with matching jewelry and handbags and shoes. Hayden had told me she’d been hoping for daughters, who she could teach how to dress and behave. Hayden’s wardrobe of baggy pants and T-shirts had infuriated her. She always said that if he wore nicer things, he’d have more friends. Great message. “Really, so she’d be less embarrassed of me,” Hayden had said, and though he tried to sound casual, I knew it upset him. She kept thinking that if Hayden hung out with a classier crowd, like Ryan did, he’d be happier, more motivated to change into what she wanted him to be. She didn’t know him at all. It annoyed her that he would come over here, where Mom would let us watch TV and play video games and he could eat whatever he wanted, though of course it was more from a lack of cooking ability than a lack of respect for Mrs. Stevens’s desire to see him skinnier.

  She looked out of place here in a way Hayden never had. He’d always said he felt more at home in our house than he did in his own, which wasn’t surprising, given his house. I’m sure it was architecturally significant in some way—it was super modern, all steel and glass and skylights, angular like Stephanie Caster’s, like many of the houses in that neighborhood—but it was cold in every way possible. Stephanie’s house at least had wood floors and some rugs to warm things up; in Hayden’s house the floors were all tile and you couldn’t wear shoes on them, and the temperature was always freezing. The few times I’d been there I’d worried about skidding on the slippery floor in my socks and landing on the corner of a coffee table. I figured the blood would be easy to clean up, at least.

  Our house, while not even a little bit fancy, at least looked like people lived in it. Mom was a better decorator than she was a cook, and even if she’d found most of the furniture at secondhand stores, it was all comfortable. The chairs in the living room were beige and brown, and the boring shag carpeting was covered in colorful throw rugs that made the room look brighter, with matching throw pillows on the couch. I could totally understand why Hayden would rather be here. He had a favorite armchair, and we let him sit in it whenever he came ove
r to watch TV, even though it was normally Mom’s chair. There was even a particular blanket he liked, too.

  I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Stevens ever wrapping herself up in a blanket and getting cozy in our house, or her own. She looked like she even slept in a straight line. It was even stranger to see her carrying the box herself—I would have imagined she’d find someone to do it for her, though of course it wouldn’t be Ryan. “Sam, why don’t you help Mrs. Stevens with that?” Mom said.

  I was happy to have something to do, so I took the box from her, taking care not to make any contact with her, physically. She was always so icy to me that I was afraid if I touched her I’d freeze.

  Mom had no such fears, though. She put her hand on Mrs. Stevens’s shoulder, apparently sensing that a hug would be going too far. “How are you holding up? I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Mrs. Stevens said stiffly. “We’re doing as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through,” Mom said, “but if there’s anything we can do, anything at all . . .”

  “That’s why I’m here, actually,” Mrs. Stevens said. “We’ve started going through Hayden’s things, and I put together a box of some things I thought Sam might like to have.”

  My first thought was that it was pretty callous of them to get rid of all evidence of Hayden, when he’d barely been gone two weeks. But my second thought was that it was really nice of Mrs. Stevens to think of me, given how much she’d always hated me. She must have been taking this harder than I imagined. I could see where it would be hard to have to look in Hayden’s room every day and see all of his stuff there, as if he were coming back.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stevens,” I said. “And I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry. I wish . . .” I didn’t really know how to finish.

  “Yes, I know,” she said, but she didn’t look at me.

  I wondered if she somehow held me responsible for what happened to Hayden, if she blamed me. I would, if I were her. I did already.

  “We were all so fond of Hayden,” Mom said. “He was like a member of the family.”

  “I’m very aware of that,” Mrs. Stevens said, and it was clear from her tone that she didn’t mean it in a good way. And without another word, she left.

  Mom closed the door behind her. “She’s quite a piece of work, that one,” she said. “You did well, though. I’m sure she wasn’t who you wanted to see right now.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I said, shifting the box to rest it on my hip. It was getting a little heavy.

  “I’ll leave you to go through that in your room. And I trust you’ll change out of last night’s clothes and shower, at some point?”

  Figured she’d notice. “I’ll get right on it.”

  I brought the box upstairs and closed the door to my room. The T-shirts were spilling out of the box, so I took those out first—all of the ironic, vintage, and band shirts Hayden had collected. Even though he was short and round and I was tall and skinny, it all kind of evened out into us being basically the same size, and we’d traded shirts in the past. I wasn’t sure I wanted to wear them yet, but I liked having them here. I looked at the wizard figurine, still on the shelf where I’d originally put it. It stared back at me. Guess I hadn’t needed to buy my own keepsake after all, especially not one that might be making me hallucinate.

  The rest of the box contained Hayden’s gaming stuff—his Xbox and PlayStation, neither of which I had, his old Dungeons & Dragons manuals—and a bunch of DVDs. All of the Star Wars movies, of course, new and remastered; all the Alien movies; the Joss Whedon shows he’d been obsessed with. I’d avoided all that stuff until The Avengers came out and turned out to be awesome. Hayden had tried not to gloat, but he’d made me promise to watch Firefly with him someday. Now I’d have to watch it by myself. Along with all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  At the very bottom of the box was Hayden’s laptop. The beautiful shiny new MacBook I’d been so jealous of. Why would Mrs. Stevens have given it to me? I could understand why she’d gotten rid of the games and the T-shirts; Ryan would never have been interested in that stuff. But the computer seemed somehow really personal, like something you wouldn’t just give to anyone. I wondered if she’d wiped the hard drive first. Probably not; she didn’t seem all that tech-savvy.

  Worth taking a look, I figured, and booted it up. It made some noises that sounded vaguely familiar; I’d seen Hayden start up his computer before. And then, of course, came the log-in screen. Hayden’s user name came up right away—HaydenStevens, his Gmail user name, nothing fancy there—but I still needed to fill in the password. I had no idea what it was.

  I typed in a few things, halfheartedly—Radiohead, the name of his pet gerbil from when he was a kid, lyrics from songs I knew he liked. Then it came to me: it had to be ArchmageGed. I typed it in, sure I’d nailed it.

  Nothing.

  Apparently it was only in the movies that you could just go in and figure out someone’s password. Especially if you’re a regular person like me and not some computer genius. I guessed Hayden would still be able to keep his secrets from me. Just like before.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

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  I SPENT THE REST OF THE WEEKEND alternating between trying to figure out Hayden’s password and setting up his games on the downstairs TV, both of which conveniently kept my mind off the possibility that I’d somehow turned into a rogue revenge warrior without remembering it. I kept the computer on next to me as I played; every time I thought of something new I’d type it in, holding my breath in anticipation, but I wasn’t having any luck. The games were a welcome distraction. Mom wasn’t super thrilled about it, but I guess she figured it was better than Mage Warfare, since at least I was out of my room. Rachel was annoyed I’d taken over the TV until I told her I’d teach her how to play Halo.

  “It’s a first-person shooter game,” I told her. “Not usually my favorite, but everyone seems to love it.”

  “It seems pretty dorky to me,” she said, but I could tell she was interested.

  “Here, hold the controller like this. The left stick moves your avatar, and you can use the right one to look around.” I showed her how to do it and then set up a game where she and I could play against other people.

  “How do I shoot stuff?” she asked.

  I showed her the different weapons and we were good to go. It was fun to watch her get so into it; she liked the shoot-’em-up stuff better than I did. Except I couldn’t get her to stay on mission.

  “You get that we’re playing as a team, right?”

  Her avatar threw another grenade at mine, a quick-detonating one. In real life I’d have lost a leg, but maybe I’d still be alive. “Every man for himself, little brother,” she said.

  “You’re not exactly a man,” I said.

  “Neither are you,” she snapped back, and her avatar aimed his gun at me.

  Time to bring this into the real world. I picked up one of the couch pillows and threw it at her controller. Or tried to, at least; I ended up hitting her in the elbow. It did the job, though, and her avatar missed his shot.

  “Look, you actually did something useful,” I pointed out. “Even if it was by accident.” Her stray bullet had hit one of the enemy aliens.

  But I’d started a war. I’d barely gotten the word “accident” out of my mouth before Rachel started pelting me with couch pillows. How had she grabbed them so fast? We started whaling on each other like we had when we were little, before Dad left, before Hayden, even. I took so many blows to the head my ears were ringing, though I’m pretty sure I got in a few good shots myself.

  I don’t know how long we were fighting before we collapsed on the floor, out of breath and starving. After raiding the kitchen for Mom’s hidden stash of junk food, we settled back in to play another round
. Cooperatively, this time, like we were supposed to in the first place.

  We played for so long she ended up blowing off a date with Jimmy, which I would have felt bad about if we weren’t actually having a good time. We’d trashed the living room, but it was totally worth it. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done something fun together.

  I knew video games weren’t going to solve my problems, though. They wouldn’t help me make new friends, they wouldn’t make Astrid decide she wanted to ditch Eric and hang out with me, and they wouldn’t answer the question of who’d beat up Jason and Trevor, a question that in some ways I was afraid to learn the answer to. But they kept my mind off of everything, and right now, that was all I could possibly want. Sitting in front of the TV had the added benefit of keeping me away from my computer; I was afraid the Archmage would come back, and I wasn’t quite ready to hear what he had to say.

  But Monday had to come eventually, and with it came a note in homeroom telling me to go see Mr. Beaumont as soon as I had a free period. This couldn’t be good. I spent the morning ignoring my teachers in class and the stares of people in the hall who must have heard about Trevor and the rumors that I’d been involved. I could tell my teachers weren’t sure if enough time had passed to start calling me out for not paying attention, but they all opted against it, for which I was only somewhat grateful. Getting yelled at would have taken me out of my own head, where I contemplated the odds of my having gotten so blackout drunk that I could have no memory of taking a baseball bat to Trevor. I didn’t want to think about why Mr. Beaumont wanted to see me; I wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.

  I was still stewing over the likely scenarios at lunch, while I waited in line for a slice of pizza that looked as if it had been microwaved twice, listening to the playlist on my iPod on random. My appetite wasn’t improved by the sight of Astrid sitting at my lunch table, waiting for me; the sight of her made my stomach drop, though in a good way. I took out my earbuds as soon as I saw her. She looked as pretty as ever; the streaks in her hair were different shades of green today, making her look almost like a sea creature and bringing out the green in her eyes. Her fingers drummed on the tray in front of her, and she jumped up as soon as I put my tray down.