This is Your Afterlife (10 page)

I'm tired of Dan being angry at me for all these years because of seven minutes in a stupid closet. “You thought I wanted Jimmy. But I wanted you.
You
, Dan!”

We stare at each other for the longest time. His stormy eyes transmit myriad emotions. Shock is the most obvious.

“You had a funny way of showing it,” he says shakily.

“I just...I didn't have much experience with boys. And to hear that Keely and Justin had sex that night... God, why did I even go in that closet?”

“I wouldn't have pressured you,” Dan says in a firm tone. “Jesus, I was petrified because
I
liked you. But I heard the way you talked about Jimmy. Suspected you had a thing for him. You confirmed it when you said you wanted him instead of me.”

Sheepishly, I drag in a few calming breaths. “Yes, I had a crush on your brother back then. A safe crush, the kind you know will never come to anything. But when I got in that closet with you, I was totally unprepared for how you made me feel.”

“How did I make you feel?” His voice comes out all ragged and croaky. And completely sexy.

“You made me feel like I could forget all about Jimmy.” I sound equally husky. My hand is inches away from his, yet somehow I can feel his energy pulsing.

A spark seems to ignite in Dan. In an instant, he leans toward me, breath fast and hot. He's so close, his hair brushes against my cheek. I can't breathe. Can't move. He kind of looks like he's in a trance.

Oh, my God. He's not... He's not going to kiss me, is he? Here? Now?

Yet for some reason, it doesn't seem like a bad idea.

Apart from the fact his newly dead brother is right outside.

I've read about this kind of behavior in the grief-stricken. There's an official name for it, but I can't pull the word from my muddled brain.

I manage to direct power to my arms and press my hands against his chest. He stops. Stops breathing and moving.

“Keira, jeez. I'm sorry. That's...fucked up. I mean,
I'm
fucked up.”

I put some space between us to try to defuse things. “It's okay. Grief makes people do bizarre things, like kiss people they hate.”

He fires a look at me. “I don't hate you. Anymore. I don't remember the exact moment I stopped, but let's say I definitely liked you again when you convinced the school board to install solar panels on the roof.”

“That was way back in ninth grade!” I gasp. “You could've mentioned that instead of letting me go on thinking you hated me.”

“I know, and I'm sorry.” Dan shakes his head. “It was more about me not wanting to be humiliated again. In case you don't know, the guys in my family all suffer from the same genetic defect—oversized egos.”

I laugh. “I hear there's no cure.”

His shoulders relax as he grins. “So are we on the road to being friends again?”

“Not so fast. I haven't forgiven you for forgiving me yet.”

“Okay, I'll work on getting on your good side,” he says. “Starting with a thank you.”

I blink at him. “For what?”

“For finding Jimmy.”

“I wish I could say it was my pleasure. Besides, it was Jimmy who led me there, really.” I pause. “So I guess this means you do believe me. About seeing his ghost. You have to know I wouldn't lie about something like this.”

“I believe you.” He runs his hand up and down his thigh. “Funny you mentioned the Holloway.”

“Yeah?”

“Your grandmother came to the exhibition, like a week before they announced the winner.”

“Really?” I think back to October last year. Grandie hadn't been diagnosed then. She was still happily zipping around town, seeing friends, working at a charity store. And going to art exhibitions, apparently.

“Yep. She wandered around for a while, but kept coming back to my painting. On her fourth round, I walked up to her and we started talking about art.”

I smile. “Grandie loved her time in Italy. She said she could've spent the rest of her life studying every square inch of the Sistine Chapel.”

“That's exactly what she said!” He laughs.

“How did you know we were related?”

“I told her I was a junior at Halverston and she asked me if I knew her ‘beautiful granddaughter Keira.'” His voice takes on a husky edge. “There's only one Keira, so I knew exactly who she was talking about.”

“And you told her about our history, right up until the closet fiasco,” I joke, and he laughs. I wish Grandie had mentioned meeting Dan. But I guess she soon became preoccupied by something much more earth-shattering.

“No, I just said you were one of a kind.” He flashes a smile. “She told me I'd win. She was so
sure.
I thought she was just being nice at the time. Like, I was up against people twice my age.”

“Grandie never said anything she didn't mean,” I say softly. “And your painting
was
the best one. All the others were like cave drawings in comparison.”

“Ha! I don't know about that.” He reaches over and grips my shoulder for a second. “Anyway, when I won, I kind of wondered if she was psychic. I wanted to ask her, but...”

“But then she passed away,” I whisper.

He nods. After a while, he says, “I don't even want to imagine what condition Jimmy might've been in if he'd been found days, weeks from now.”

I shudder at the vivid memory of tiny fish grazing on Jimmy. “The main thing is he's safe.”

“Is he really? Shouldn't he be somewhere...else?”

“I think...Jimmy will get to heaven or wherever the good souls go, but first he's got to resolve his death. I just wish he could remember what happened.”

He gives a determined nod. “Jimmy wouldn't commit suicide. I know it in my gut, so you can rule that out.”

Hesitantly, I glance out at Jimmy and lower my voice. “But the football injury, the end of college scholarships—they would've had a huge effect on him.”

“Enough to top himself? Jimmy's no coward. Besides, he still could have gone to college with or without a football scholarship. He wasn't your average, stereotypical dumb jock.”

“No, I was an atypical
smart
jock.”

“Jesus!” I scream. Sitting in the back seat, Jimmy pokes his head between the front seats. I didn't even see him return to the car.

“Nup, just good ol' Jimmy.” He smiles and leans back.

“What? What's happening?” asks Dan, startled, and probably deafened by my shriek.

“Your brother just ‘popped in' unannounced,” I say when my heart stops galloping.

Jimmy flicks at the seatbelt buckles. “I've been thinking. Dan didn't want our folks to buy him a car. Which is nuts, by the way. Who would turn that down? But I guess that means he gets to drive Mom's car whenever he wants.”

I shrug. “You mean the Benz? I'd be happy with that.”

Dan frowns in confusion while Jimmy continues. “Can you tell Dan I want him to keep my car?”

“You want him to have your car?!”

“Hell, I don't need it anymore. Obviously.”

When I tell Dan, I expect him to be elated. As elated as a guy who's just lost his brother can be. Instead, he's frozen and pale.

“Dude, I'm giving you a car! Least you could do is say thanks.” Jimmy sighs and turns to me. “Tell him I've learned a new trick. Teleporting from A to B.”

“That's pretty cool.” I grin and relay the message to Dan, who looks bewildered. “Does that mean I don't have to drive you everywhere, Jimmy?”

“Like it's been such a chore,” Jimmy says. His grin slips a little. “I'm not sure how far I can teleport away from you before I get sucked into the tunnel again.”

I swivel to face him. “I've got an idea. Why don't we do an experiment. Start walking away, when you start to feel like you're near the tunnel, stop and we'll get a rough idea of what the distance is.”

“That tunnel's like a vacuum,” he protests. “One second I'm standing around and the next I'm zooming away faster than that epic throw from my last game. Did you see that, by the way?”

I chew my lip, deep in thought. “We know where you end up, though. So
if
that happens, we can come and get you.”

“Huh. Easy for you to say.”

“Jimmy, I promise.” Quickly, I connect join the dots for Dan, who's looking left out.

“
We
promise,” adds Dan. “We're, what, fifteen minutes away from the forest.”

Jimmy looks out the window. “All right, but if you don't come get me, I'm gonna find a way to haunt you on dark and stormy nights.”

We—or rather,
I
—watch him slip out and walk slowly, his back to us.

“About Jimmy's car...” Dan begins. “If I acted weird about it, it's because the cops haven't found it yet.”

Alarm bells clang in my head. “What? Charlie didn't mention that.”

“They want to keep it quiet for now. If you ask me, they're not telling us everything they know.”

Because of my crime series devotion, I know cops—fictional ones anyway—always have to rule out those closest to the murder victim.

“How far away is he now?” Dan asks, looking in the wrong direction.

With two fingers, I move Dan's chin toward my left. “See that bench? About twenty yards away?”

He blows out a sigh. “God, I wish I could see what you can. How does he look?”

“Thirty yards,” I murmur. “Huh? Oh, yeah, Jimmy's looking good.”

Keeping my gaze glued to the ghost, I tell Dan what Jimmy is wearing and that he hasn't had a change of clothes since dying. I mention nothing of the cracked skull and exposed brain. That's healing, anyway, so I see no need to burden Dan with
all
the gory details.

At about fifty yards, Jimmy looks over his shoulder and gives me the thumbs up.

“How is he emotionally? Is he messed up?” Dan asks.

I take my eyes off Jimmy. “He's up and down. At first he was completely confused about where he was. He was kind of angry about dying.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan says in a soft, thoughtful tone.

“Other times he seems like his regular, cheerful self. Not that I knew him all that well.”

“Everyone knew Jimmy in some way.”

“You knew him best, right?”

Ruefully, Dan shakes his head. “There's a little over a year between us. Growing up, we were tight. But then he got more involved in sports. Everyone wanted a part of him, you know? And Jimmy, he'd give his right arm to help a friend out.”

I soften as tears start to well in Dan's eyes. He swipes them away. “I'm sorry, Dan. About accusing you of murdering Jimmy, I'm really sorry. I only want justice for...”

My gaze travels around the parking lot and school grounds.

“For Jimmy,” Dan finishes. “Me too. And— What?”

“He's gone. Jimmy's gone.”

* * *

I kick a pile of leaves around the waterhole. Night's falling and it's hard to see. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“It's not your fault.” Dan picks up a small branch and lobs it into the water. “
I'm
the stupid one. I distracted you.”

“Don't blame yourself.” Something tells me he's going to keep on doing that anyway.

There's nothing but trees, water and a million bugs out here. No ghosts, no dead bodies. Why won't Jimmy call out to me like he did before? Have we lost our connection?

An unusually loud cricket chirps, making me jump a mile. It takes a few seconds to register that it's Dan's phone “ringing.”

“Mom,” he says into the phone. He winces as she talks. “I'm with Keira.”

I take a few steps away to give him privacy. Jimmy's clearly not here. Maybe he found his way home.

“It's okay, Mom. We've just been talking.” He listens. “No, I won't do anything stupid. How's Dad doing?”

Judging by the tortured expression on Dan's face, I gather Mr. Hawkins is not doing well at all. Understandably.

“All right.” Dan looks torn. I'm sure he's thinking the same thing I am—we can't leave without finding his brother. “I'll come home. Everything's gonna be fine.”

This is not good. Not good at all. I've lost my first ghost at a crucial time in his afterlife. My chest tightens and I pray, and pray hard, that he somehow stumbled into the Light, and that he's in a really good place where he can play football all day and not worry about stupid things like a screwed-up ligament.

“How's your mom holding up?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the silvery landscape. The only movement comes from the gentle swaying of branches in the breeze.

“I know she needs me, but...so does Jimmy. Can you think of any other way to call him?”

“There is one way, but...”

A séance.

Grandie would
hate
for me to attempt one. She and a couple of her friends tried to call on Grandpa's spirit with a Ouija board not long after he died. I was seven years old then. I snuck into the room when everyone's eyes were shut and sat in a dark corner.

My grandmother started a weird chant. It was almost like she was talking backwards. Then the room got icy-cold. In the middle of summer. She'd contacted a spirit on the “other side,” and from the look of absolute terror on her face, I knew it wasn't Grandpa. The board jumped an inch or two off the table and then slammed into Grandie. Like the others, I screamed. Grandie finally noticed I was in the room.

She ordered me to leave, but not before performing a cleansing ritual in case the spirit tried to latch onto me. The whole thing scared the living crap out of both of us.

“But what?” Dan prods.

“It's dangerous. You could invite the wrong type of ghosts. The kind that messes with people's heads.”

“You're talking about a séance, aren't you?” he asks. I'm worried about the obvious eagerness in his voice, in his face.