Secret Worlds (153 page)

Michael

Caucasian, possible Mediterranean background

Brown hair

Green eyes

6’1’’

Athletic build

No accent

Apparently a poltergeist

“You’re Jordan Amador, right?”

I looked at him in surprise. He pointed to the counter behind me where there was a stack of bills. “It was on your mail.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s me.” I cleared my throat and started off with my official preliminary questions for a new spirit.

“When did you ‘wake up’?” There seemed to be a prominent process where troubled souls would recover after their death either at the site or nearby hours, or sometimes days, later. They never immediately remembered how or why they died. In my experience, it took between twenty-four hours to two weeks for a ghost to remember his or her death. Perhaps Michael would have that sort of luck.

“About two days ago. I was lying on a bench outside of some sort of club.”

“When did you realize you were dead?”

“At first, I thought the couple outside were just ignoring me, but then I started to notice they couldn’t hear me no matter how I shouted. Even when you’re ignoring someone, you flinch if they scream right in your ear. The weirdest part is that I could still touch them even though they couldn’t see me.”

He paused to chuckle. “Found that out the fun way, though. I flipped up this chick’s skirt in the middle of the street just to test out the theory.”

I rolled my eyes and wrote “horny dead asshole” below the last line. “Can you remember anything about your life yet?”

“Nothing more than my name so far.”

I snapped the notepad shut and took a good long look at him from head to toe. “Based on your face and body, I’d say you’re not out of your twenties. The clothes you died in are the clothes you’re wearing now, and that makes it a little harder to figure out what you did for a living.”

Michael wore a modest attire: a black button up shirt with the sleeves tucked back, dark blue jeans with a chain hanging off the back pocket, and black Timberland boots. The reason ghosts wore clothes was that their souls retained a self-image. Since human beings wore clothes at nearly all times, it was only natural that the way they saw themselves as spirits was represented that way as well. The fact that he had feet was what threw me off the most, which explained why I hadn’t recognized him as dead sooner. I made a note of his wristwatch and the silver chain with a small padlock around his neck before moving on.

“By the way, how did you know you were a poltergeist instead of just a ghost?”

Michael shrugged. “Well, think about it. The definition of ‘poltergeist’ is ‘noisy ghost.’ I figured that’s what made me different from a regular ghost since in most legends and stories, they can’t touch stuff.”

That actually sort of made sense. Hell, I’d only remembered what a poltergeist was because of the 1982 movie. Despite his somewhat immature behavior, the knowledge of the term suggested Michael may have been well-read when he was alive. It could come in handy later.

“Tomorrow, we’ll try to find the place where you woke up and see if anyone has discovered your body. With any luck, your memory will return and we can find out your soul’s final wish,” I said as I set the pad on the counter.

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair to push it out of his face. “How…how do you know all this stuff?”

I let a small, tired smile cross my lips. “That’s a long, complicated story. It’s late. I don’t want to get into it tonight so why don’t you go wander off and I’ll see you in the morning.”

I started to walk away but he jumped in front of me, seeming confused. “Wander off where? And what am I supposed to do all night?”

That made me pause. There was no reason why I should have trusted him enough to let him stay in my apartment overnight, but then again I couldn’t let him go around making trouble for other people. In the end, I just sighed and flourished a hand at the apartment.

“If you promise to behave yourself, you can just stay here. In the den. If you come in my room while I’m asleep, I’m going to start researching ways to get rid of you.” I ended this statement with a harsh glare.

He held his hands up in supplication. “I’ll be a good boy. Scout’s honor.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, I sidled past him with great care not to bump into him. I wasn’t ready to feel that odd sensation again. I shuffled off to the bedroom and shut the door with a sigh, feeling much more tired now that everything slowed down enough for me to process it. I kicked off my shoes, peeled away the skirt, and unbuttoned the shirt most of the way before searching for my nightclothes. Once I redressed, I flopped down on the bed face-first, allowing a frustrated groan to tear from my throat.

“I cannot believe I’m having a sleepover with a dead guy.”

I smelled coffee. Coffee and bacon. What the hell?

My body reacted before my mind could catch up—arm poised at the door, gun in hand. Then, I remembered I had a houseguest and I let my arm drop. A
dead
houseguest.

After scraping myself off the bed, I threw on a robe, some ratty blue slippers, and stopped to check myself in the mirror. I was halfway through fixing my mussed black locks when I realized I had been preening for
a freaking dead guy
. I shook my head at myself and walked out of the room.

“I got bored waiting for you, so I decided to make breakfast,” Michael told me, shaking the pan a little to get the bacon a nice even brown. He was a picture of nonchalance, as if it wasn’t unusual that he was a dead guy cooking breakfast for a girl he hadn’t known a day yet. It made my head hurt just thinking about it.

“Though I can’t believe you don’t have any eggs. Even poor people have eggs. That’s just depressing.”

“You’re dead. What do you care?” I yawned, grabbing my mug and the fresh pitcher of coffee.

“I’m merely remarking upon the fact that you’re pathetic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Go rob a bank and get me some cash. Then you can have your damn eggs.”

He clucked his tongue at me, turning off the stove. “We’ve got to work on your people skills. Sleep well?”

“No, but that’s normal for me.” After adding cream and sugar, I sipped away at the delicious beverage while searching for a plate to put the bacon on.

Michael watched me with his arms crossed. “Well, the good news is that I apparently know how to cook. Maybe that will help us.”

“Yep, you’re a regular Emeril Lagasse. Bacon
a la
bacon, with bacon garnish.” I smirked when he scowled at me. We’d known each other for less than a day and we were already arguing. That had to be some kind of record for me.

“So I was thinking,” I continued, biting into the first strip. “If you’re a poltergeist, shouldn’t you be able to change between being solid and intangible?”

“I tried that out last night. I’m not very good at it. It sort of…comes and goes,” he admitted, staring at his outstretched hand as if it would change. Nothing happened. Poor sap. “So you’ve really never met something like me before?”

I shook my head. Michael scratched his head. “That’s just…weird. I wonder why I’m not a regular ghost…or why I didn’t just go to Heaven or Hell.”

“I don’t know either. I’ll ask Gabriel about it the next time I see him.” I moved to the kitchen table with the coffee and bacon, scooping up my notepad to review what I’d written last night.

Michael followed, sitting opposite of me. “Who’s Gabriel?”

“The archangel? God’s Messenger? Doesn’t anyone read the Bible any more?”

“I had to make sure. What’s he want with you? Do you two have a—wait for it—
heavenly
relationship?”

I rolled my eyes again. “He keeps track of all the souls I assist. I can’t exactly just call on him. He’s always in different parts of the world helping people.”

“Oh, I get it. You help ghosts find their final wishes so they can pass on to Heaven or Hell.”

“Exactly.”

“Why? Did you just fall into this job, or was it bestowed on you by a higher power?” His tone was teasing, but already I began to feel uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading.

I kept my eyes on the paper and my voice as mild as possible. “We really should get going. I’ve got a long day ahead of me if you’re gonna keep sticking around.”

I stood and drained my mug, tossing it in the sink before heading back to my room. I threw on normal street clothes: purple t-shirt, black jeans, tennis shoes, and my trusty grey duster. The key to my existence was lying low and hoping nobody noticed me whispering to no one they could see. It truly was a wretched sort of life, but I had a price to pay and this was part of it.

When I came back out, Michael was waiting. “You’re very trusting, you know. How do you know I’m not some sort of wandering murderous spirit?”

“Because they don’t live around here. I’ve only seen an evil spirit once.”

Michael’s eyes widened as he walked towards the door with me. “What was that like?”

I opened the door, not meeting his gaze. “Don’t ask. It’ll give you nightmares.”

“I don’t dream.”

“Be grateful for that.”

He shut the door for me, arching an eyebrow. “You’re just a ray of sunshine, huh?”

“I’m glad you finally noticed.” I locked the door and then we started down the hallway. A couple of my neighbors walked up, waving briefly to me and walking straight towards Michael. He had to dodge behind me to keep from bumping one of them.

He shook his head, stuffing both hands in his pockets. “Am I ever gonna get used to this?”

“With any luck, you won’t have to because we’ll find out how you died and you can cross over,” I replied, grabbing the Bluetooth I kept in my duster for this exact purpose and attaching it to my right ear. Otherwise, people saw me talking to myself and would think I was nuts. We made it to the sidewalk now where people were brushing past so Michael fell in line directly behind me to keep from hitting them. I couldn’t feel his presence behind me because he had no body heat. The notion raised the hairs on the nape of my neck. Better not let him know it creeped me out. He might use it against me.

“And then what’ll happen? Who determines whether I go to Heaven or Hell?” Michael asked. We reached my bus stop in a minute or so. Two people sat on the bench while Michael and I stood next to the sign.

I tilted my face towards him out of habit. “Gabriel told me that you go before the Father and Son. They weigh your life based on what you accomplished. It’s not quite as black and white as in the Good Book.”

“That’s a relief. I’m getting the feeling I wasn’t a very good little boy during my life.” His expression relaxed. I made a mental note about his more serious behavior. It could be that he was starting to regain more of his personality traits. That would become helpful later on. Still, I smiled to keep him from worrying about my silence.

“What? Did the skirt flipping tip you off?”

He smirked. “Why? Jealous?”

“You wish.”

“For all you know, I do. Maybe my final wish is to follow you around for all eternity.” He leaned down to my height with a smug look on his face.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’ll have you exorcised before I let that happen.”

“Ooh, would you? I wanna see if it actually works.” His voice was genuinely eager. What a weirdo. Luckily, the bus pulled up and I climbed aboard, sliding my bus pass through the slot. It was half past noon, so there were passengers everywhere, forcing me to choose a spot in the very rear. Michael walked on, flopping down next to me in the empty seat.

“I think the best thing about being dead is no longer paying for public transportation.”

“You’re just full of deep thoughts, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

I sighed. “Focus, please. I need you to watch where the bus route goes and let me know when you recognize something so we can try to find your body.”

“What if we don’t?”

“I check the obituaries. If nothing turns up, I have to file a missing persons report and see if anything matches at the coroner’s.”

The bus lurched forward, its engine coughing to life and making it harder to hear his voice. “How many times have you had to do that before?”

“Not many. I have to be careful that the police don’t get wise to me being involved with so many dead people. They might peg me as a suspicious character.”

Michael peered into my face, making me lean back a bit. He had a strange lack of appreciation for personal space. “You
are
pretty shifty looking. It’s the bags under your eyes and the fact that you’re about ten pounds underweight.”

I folded my arms underneath my chest, choosing to stare out of the window instead of facing him. “I don’t look
that
bad.”

“Maybe not. You’re pretty cute for a girl who sees dead people all the time.”

I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat from the compliment. I was wholly unused to them.

“Though I can’t vouch for your fashion sense. What’s with the man-coat?” He tugged at the edge of my sleeve.

I jerked it away reflexively. “Don’t!”

His eyes widened at my reaction. The people in seats in front of me turned to look.

I cleared my throat, reminding myself to calm down. “It’s…important to me.”

Michael studied my neutral expression before nodding. “Got it.”

No joke this time. Maybe he wasn’t as thick as he looked. Ye gods. I started to apologize, but his hand shot out past my face, pointing.

“There! I recognize that club. I woke up down the street from here.”

I tugged on the bus line and we came to a stop nearby. Michael followed me out as I hopped onto the sidewalk and fished for my notepad.

“Let your mind go blank and then just describe whatever comes in it as you look at this place,” I instructed with my pen poised.

Michael let his eyes wander over the building, now mostly empty because it was the middle of the day and most people were at home or at work. “I remember there was music, some kind of emo-kid rock music playing when I woke up. The first thing I noticed was that it looked sort of chilly out here, but I wasn’t cold. I just felt…faint. I felt like myself but somehow a little different.”