This is Your Afterlife (12 page)

Muted chatter from the living room comes to us in waves. I block the sound, and count on the dimness of the room to send me into meditation. After a few more minutes of silence and deep breathing, Mara finally settles. She sits still as Mount Rushmore.

“Now picture Jimmy. Think of Jimmy at his happiest. Scoring a touchdown. On his birthday. At a keg party.”

Dan snorts.

“Quiet,” I snap, though I'm glad he can still see the light side.

“I'm not the one who mentioned a kegger.”

Clearing my throat pointedly, I say, “Just visualize Jimmy as he was. Happy, fun, athletic.” Sweat builds up in my palms. It occurs to me then that I need to be doing more than just visualizing. I have to be proactive. Commanding. “I call on the spirit of Jimmy Hawkins, brother, old friend...new friend, formerly of 27671 Mountain View Drive, to join us here tonight. Jimmy, come back through the tunnel. We're waiting for you.”

I feel the weight of a gaze on me. Thinking it could be Jimmy, I lift one eyelid. It's Mara who's staring. I can't get a read on her expression, but I'm guessing there's a lot of skepticism whirling around in that mind of hers.

She's probably thinking I'm an amateur. And she's right. Clearly I haven't studied enough. Grandie's teachings came with all kinds of caveats. Rule number one about cajoling spirits to come out of hiding?
Do not try this at home.

Technically though, I'm not at
my
home.

Ignoring Mara's assessing stare, I dip my head. The chatter in the living room is barely audible. I feel like I need to lower my voice even more in case guests happen to wander past Dan's room. “Jimmy Hawkins, our lost brother and friend, if you can hear us, please give us a sign.”

Silence ensues.

This is ridiculous. A séance! Only a few hours ago, I could just talk to Jimmy's ghost like a regular person. No rituals, no nauseating candles.

“We just need to know if you're okay. Please show yourself to us,” I beg.

The planchette does not move. Hardly surprising. It's too much to ask of an inanimate object. Not even pressure from our three index fingers makes it budge.

A fluttering noise draws my attention. Opening my eyes, I watch the scrap of paper I marked “No” drift onto the floor like a feather on the wind.

Dan opens his eyes. We stare at the paper, then at each other.

“Whoa!” I mouth.

The atmosphere in the room changes. The air is thicker. Cooler. Filled with...another presence?

Please let that be Jimmy and not a demonic spirit playing games with us.

But I can't see anything or anyone except for the two living, breathing people in front of me.

“Should I pick it up?” Dan murmurs. Mara's attentive now, and curious.

Hesitating a second, I say, “Yeah. If it happens again, we'll know it wasn't an accident.”

“I'll close the windows. There's probably a breeze coming through.” Dan slides the paper back on the desk and takes care of the windows. Which, I notice, aren't open very wide. Plus, it's a relatively still night.

There's no other reason for that paper to sweep off by itself.

“It's Jimmy, isn't it?” Mara seems excited, curious and scared at the same time. Most of all scared. Dan sits down again.

“I don't know.” I frown. It doesn't feel like Jimmy's self-assured energy, but there's definitely something here. Whatever that something is, it isn't exactly impressed by the improv planchette. “Forget the sharpener, you guys. Let's join hands and concentrate harder.”

Dan's palm is damp but warm. Mara's hand is cool in mine. That strikes me as odd. But then I guess
she's
not the one who's potentially opening the gates of hell. We all stare at the desk.

“Jimmy, did you move the paper?” I ask.
'Cause if you did, I'm very pissed off at you for reducing me to this charade.

“Yes” and “No” stay put.

Maybe I should rephrase the question. I'm just scared of what the answer might be. “Is there a spirit belonging to someone...other than Jimmy here with us?”

After a beat, “Yes” flies off the desk. It smacks against the closet doors and slides down like a lead balloon. Dan and Mara both squeeze hard. Painfully so. I don't care. I'm scared out of my mind, and relieved I'm not alone.

“Well...” I gather my courage. “Can you tell us who you are?”

The words barely make it out of my mouth. “No” takes flight and lands precisely on Mara's glossy brown head.

Then there's a blood-curdling scream.

“Shh! Shut up!” I lunge for Mara. Dan runs to the door and twists the lock. Beneath my hands, Mara shakes uncontrollably. I've never seen a person go pale so fast. Not a live person anyway.

“Dan? Are you in there?” calls a concerned, muffled voice. His mother. The doorknob rattles. “What was that?”

He wildly gestures for us to stay quiet before opening the door. Mara composes herself in record time. Mrs. Hawkins walks in stiffly. Her angular shoulders droop inwards. She brushes her blonde hair away and covers her tired expression.

“That was me, Mrs. Hawkins,” Mara says smoothly. “I just saw a bug. You know how I am about bugs.”

I throw a look at Mara.
Hmm, fast thinking, girl.

Mrs. Hawkins seems satisfied with that explanation. I think she's just relieved it wasn't anything serious. She leans against Dan. “I wish everyone would go home.”

“I know.” Dan draws her into an organ-squeezing hug. “I'll see what I can do.”

“We should get going,” Mara says. “I'll try to encourage the other guests to leave as well.”

“I didn't mean for
you
to go home. You're practically family.” Mrs. Hawkins smiles at Mara, but doing so seems to sap her strength. She leans on the desk. “How are your mom and dad? I haven't seen them in a while.”

“Mom's good,” Mara says in a strained voice. The fact she doesn't mention her father speaks volumes. She's never been the type to talk about herself. It's the number one reason why it's hard to get to know her.

So I was surprised when she once confided that her father abandoned the family years ago. I couldn't believe she told me at all, but we'd just conquered a
Bugle
deadline and I figured she was delirious.

We didn't exactly bond over the fact we both have absent fathers, but it did give us something to talk about aside from the paper. In a way, I have it easier than Mara. I've never known my dad. Why would I miss someone I've never met? I simply don't know any better.

“I'm glad to hear it.” Mrs. Hawkins turns her gaze on me. “And, Keira, please stay. You found my Jimmy. I'll always be grateful to you for that.”

“It was...luck, really,” I mumble, keeping my eyes on the floor. God,
luck
is the worst word I could have picked. Mrs. Hawkins doesn't seem to pick up on it, but I try to amend it anyway. “No, chance. It was pure chance. Coincidence.”

She nods numbly. “The thought of him lying there alone...”

Mara throws a quizzical glance from her to me.

“I...I found his body,” I explain to her hoarsely.

Her eyes bulge out of their sockets. “You did?”

“I was hiking. For a science assignment,” I lie.

Mara looks like she's about to projectile vomit. She clamps a hand to her belly. “That...that must have been a shock.”

I look away uncomfortably. “Shock” doesn't begin to cover it. Still, it's nothing compared to what Jimmy's parents are going through. Mrs. Hawkins moves slowly, looking robotic and medicated. Mara drifts toward Mrs. Hawkins. She gives the woman a tight hug. “I'll see myself out. If you need anything...”

Mrs. Hawkins nods. She can't muster enough energy to speak.

After Mara hurries out, I grab my bag. Discreetly, I snag the holy water from the desk. Before I know it, I'm engulfed in Mrs. Hawkins's embrace.

“I'm glad Dan has friends like you to comfort him,” she says in a quivering voice.

I dip my head, feeling ashamed about how much I balked when Jimmy first asked me to talk to Dan. Mrs. Hawkins gives a watery smile. Weaving slightly, she makes her way out.

Dan turns to me, his expression pained. “I'm going to shepherd everyone else out. I'll be right back.”

He closes the door behind him, leaving me in the semi-darkness. I breathe deeply, trying to get my head around the broken séance. The presence I felt is gone. Thank God and the holy water for that.

But who was that spirit?

Out of the corner of my eye, mist swirls near the window.

It grows thicker, more opaque. A force seems to be propelling me toward it. The scent of soothing lavender fills my nostrils.

A rush of love and emotion overwhelms me, enough to make me want to burst into tears.

“Grandie? Is that you?”

She doesn't answer. I'm not even sure if it is my late grandmother manifesting in a ball of mist. To me, it's a sign that I haven't opened a portal to hell, after all.

“Keira!”

The voice is faint. But it's not Grandie's. It's coming from deep inside the mist.

“Jimmy!” I can't see anything but swirling gray clouds. Hesitantly, I push my hand into it. A spark zaps my flesh. “Ouch!”

“Can you hear me?”

“I can! Keep walking, Jimmy. Follow my voice. Come on.”

“It's so hard to see anything. Where are you?”

“I'm here. Just keep walking toward my voice.” Ignoring the pain, I reach into the mist and feel around. I shouldn't feel anything solid in a cloud of mist. But I do.

“Ah!”

“That's me, Jimmy. I've got you.” I tug on his arm. He stumbles out of the mist, looking shaken and stirred.

“Oh, God,” he pants. He hugs me tight. I feel him against my body. He feels as real as his mom did. “I made it.”

“Where the hell have you been?” I demand, hoping he hasn't been in actual hell.

He shakes his head. It's now fully healed. Intact. Bloodless. Just as it was a few days ago when I saw him in the cafeteria.

“I went back in time. Remember that photo I told you about? The one of me and Mara? I lived that day again.” He smiles. “Boy, am I glad I got to grow up a little.”

I grin and squeeze his bicep. “A little.”

He looks around and seems to realize exactly where he landed. “What are you doing in my kid brother's bedroom?”

“Um, we were holding a séance.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

“You're here, aren't you? You're late to the party.”

Jimmy kicks at the exercise ball with his instep. It bounces from wall to wall. “I was waylaid. It's funny, being dead, it's like a really intense dream.”

“Did you go back to the waterfall? Please don't say you ended up at the morgue again.” I scoot out of the ball's path.

He gives a wobbly smile to counteract my frown. “Almost. I managed to pull myself away with the help of your grandma.”

I bounce down on the ball and gasp. “So that
was
her! I knew it.”

The corner of Dan's room is now mist-free. My chest twangs at the thought of being so close to Grandie but not being able to communicate with her. Tell her how much I miss her.

“She's a real nice lady. The kind of sweet old grandma who bakes cookies and knits sweaters,” Jimmy says. He's got her to a tee. There was very little baking of her famous banana bread in those last few months, however. “What happened to her? How did she die?”

“Cancer. It spread pretty quickly. She was in a lot of pain toward the end,” I say after a long pause. Sure, I could admit to him that Grandie took herself out before the disease ran its rocky course, but was that really necessary?

Jimmy touches his stomach. “The cancer was around here, right?”

I look up at him, amazed. “In her pancreas. She told you?”

He shakes his head. “I feel, like, a stabbing pain here when I see her. She doesn't say a lot. Only that I have to return to you.”

“She doesn't encourage you to move on to the next level?” That surprises me. Grandie was a great advocate of spirits finding heaven. Everyone has a place to go, she said.

“Nope. Does that mean I wasn't...good enough? Do I have bad karma?”

“Jimmy, come on! You were the golden boy.”

He frowns and slouches on a beanbag. “Jeez, I wasn't a saint. I tried pot. More than once. Drank half a keg after I found out my ACL was permanently screwed.”

“Who doesn't fool around with that stuff?” Me, for one. But we're talking about Jimmy.

“Yeah, but did they drive afterwards? I'm an idiot. I could have killed someone. Or myself.”

Oh, the irony...

I sink down beside him. Normally, I find DUI nothing short of moronic. However, Jimmy just lost his life. There's no point in lecturing him about the risks. “Those things don't add up to a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. So you got behind the wheel after drinking. Yeah, it was a dumb move. But one event or misjudgement doesn't make you a rotten person.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He shoots me a quick smile. “I hurt Aimee, though.”

“When you were drunk-driving?” I hadn't heard of an accident involving the two of them.

“I mean, I hurt her feelings when I broke up with her.” He plucks at his seat. “Can we see her next? I want to know if she's okay.”

Judging by her high-pitched wails earlier, I'd say she isn't. But she may have calmed down.

The latch clicks, and Dan walks in looking grim.

“Hey,” he says tiredly. “Everyone's leaving. Do you want to start this séance again?”

“No need for that.” I laugh with genuine relief. “Jimmy's here. My grandma helped him come back.”

“You're kidding!” A wide smile breaks over his face. He's much better-looking when he's happy. Not that I didn't think his dark broodiness wasn't attractive before. I'd have to be blind to not notice.