This is Your Afterlife (9 page)

“Oh, no, sweetie. You don't have to worry.” She flashes a quick smile. “He's just visiting me.”

Jimmy straightens. “Visiting? Shouldn't he be working on my case?”

“Cops are allowed to have
some
down time, Jimmy,” I say gently. “I'm sure he's just taking a short break.”

Mug in hand, Mom turns in jerky little movements and looks at me with wide eyes. “What did you say?”

My mouth goes slack. I can't force any words out.

“She was talking to me,” Jimmy tells Mom, who of course is deaf to the likes of him.

“I was talking to Jimmy. He's right beside you.”

Mom leaps away. Straight
through
Jimmy. A mug slips from her hand, and Jimmy saves it from shattering noisily on the floor.

“Jesus!” she says.

“You'd better tell her it's just Jimmy Hawkins,” he says wryly.

“Jimmy, see what you did there? You caught the mug!” I take it from his ghostly hands and put it on the counter.

“Keira, what the hell is going on?” Mom says, voice trembling.

“I told you. Jimmy's still here with us. Don't be scared.” I hug her to my side in an effort to calm her down. “For some reason, Jimmy and I are stuck together.”

“And I have a hunch on why.” Jimmy comes over and places a hand on my shoulder and my mother's. It's like a football huddle of sorts. I look up at him with a questioning gaze. He answers, “
You
have to figure out how I died.
Why
I died. Do whatever it takes.”

* * *

Jimmy and I sit in my car across the street from his sprawling family home the following day. A lush green lawn, which somehow manages to thrive under tall conifers, looks freshly mowed. The neighborhood is silent. Solemn. I can feel the family's grief from here, which is partly why I can barely move.

“I just spent the last fifteen minutes giving you a pep talk. Don't you back out on me,” Jimmy says.

“What do you want me to say to them?”

He eyes the imposing front doors. Late afternoon sun turns the wood a deep burnt orange. “That I'm not in pain. I'm in heaven, et cetera, et cetera. You can lie about the last part. Whatever makes them feel better.”

A tall figure in green plods from the house next door. Long auburn hair hangs over her face. She hugs herself tightly as she crosses onto the Hawkins's front yard.

“Isn't that Mara?” I squint. She dabs her eyes with a tissue. Even from where we're sitting, I can tell her face has the blotchiness of someone's who's been crying nonstop.

“Yeah. She's my neighbor.”

“We don't hang exactly hang out a lot, but I like her.”

“Me, too.” Jimmy smiles. “Who
do
you hang with? Every time I saw you around school, you were alone.”

I stare at him in surprise. “You noticed me?”

“Duh, I'm not blind. Especially to the pretty girls.”

I snort. Which definitely isn't pretty. Not long ago, a compliment from him would have put my head in the clouds. But now his flattery has almost no impact. Is it because he's now unquestionably unattainable...or because I'd rather hear those words from someone who
is
available? Someone like Dan.

“Don't worry, I won't back out of talking to your parents, so no need to butter me up.”

“Jimmy Hawkins doesn't butter anyone up. Check yourself out. Long black hair. Silver eyes—”

“Gray,” I say flatly. “They're dirty gray.”

“
Lots
of guys think you're pretty.

Rolling my “silver” eyes, I say, “If that's true, why don't they ask me out? All the other pretty girls in school are getting dates.”

He shrugs. “They're scared of you.”

“Excellent. That makes me feel a hundred times better about myself. Thanks a lot.”

“No, I mean they're afraid you'll reject them. Guys hate that.”

Immediately, an unwelcome memory of Dan leaving Becky's closet in disgust jams in my head. “R-reject them?”

“You know who'd be great for you? My brother,” Jimmy goes on, oblivious to the choking sound coming from my throat. “You loner types are a perfect match.”

“Isn't that an oxymoron, having two loner types get together?” I ask. His comment brings me right back to those days in junior high when Dan and I could talk about anything.

“I'm telling you, Dan isn't interested in me.” I slump further into my seat. How would our lives have turned out if I'd handled the closet incident differently? Would Dan and I be dating by now? He's dated other girls, I know that. Clearly, he's gotten over me.

Have I gotten over him?

“And you know because you're a clairvoyant?” Jimmy asks.

“I know because I was a total bitch to him back in eighth grade!” I snap. Jimmy's jaw drops.

“Wow. Just...wow. I didn't know. He keeps to himself a lot...” He trails off, looking deep in thought. After a while he nods, determination firming his jaw. “We'll fix this.”

“Don't bother. We have enough on our agenda.” I jerk my chin. “Speak of the devil. Dan's opening the door.”

“Shit, he looks like hell.”

Indeed he does. Nevertheless, my heart gives a little kick at the sight of him. His shoulders are hunched. That shirt looks like it's been crushed by a herd of buffalo. We watch him nod a few times at whatever Mara's saying. No words could possibly soothe him. But it's nice of her to try.

After a few minutes, Mara turns from the doorway. She ghosts back to her own house, eyes glued to the ground like she's being careful to avoid landmines.

“She looks really upset.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy sighs. “You know, she's the first girl I ever saw naked.”

Involuntarily, I cough. “Say that again? No, wait. I think I heard you right the first time. I had no idea you two dated.”

“Relax,” he says, smirking. “It happened when we were four years old. You know how little kids are in summer. Making mud pies and running through sprinklers.”

“Oh. So totally innocent, then.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “She did kiss me. On the cheek. She was wearing frilly underpants, until she stripped 'em off, and I had a cowboy hat on. Mom's got a picture somewhere...”

I'm too busy focusing on Jimmy and Mara getting dirty and naked as toddlers to notice a presence by my window.

Jimmy sees him first. “Dan!”

I whip around and almost clash my head against the glass. Dan's crouching on the other side of the door. His intense blue eyes fix an imploring look on me.

“Dan, hi,” I say somewhat lamely as I wind down the window. “H-how are you?”

“Fine.” He presses his lips together and nods. Emotions run riot in his face. My heart jumps around wildly. It seems like forever passes before he speaks again, but it's only a few seconds. “Can we go for a drive somewhere?”

We end up at the empty school parking lot. Hardly scenic. But I guess Dan doesn't want to go anywhere near the waterhole. It's eerily quiet. Almost as if the school buildings are mourning the loss of their favorite student.

Clearing my throat, I say, “In case you're wondering, Jimmy's getting some air.”

Dan gives no indication as to whether or not he thinks I'm delusional about being able to see Jimmy. Outside, Jimmy picks at the bark of a pine tree, after declaring his brother was depressing him.

Dan switches on the radio, then turns it off seconds later. Furtively, I study his face. Straight nose. Obstinate chin. Dark blond hair curls around his ears. His skin's a lot paler than Jimmy's. Unlike his brother, he spends much of his time indoors. My gaze travels to his hands, to those long, tapered fingers that are never far from a paintbrush. Bluey-green pigment is caked into his cuticles. Despite our falling out, I've always kept tabs on his art, and cheered for him from afar whenever he got an award. I hope painting has gotten him through the past few days. There's so much I want to say, to ask.

I'm hyperconscious of the gradual slowing of Dan's shallow breaths. His knees jam against the cracked dashboard. He's staring directly at Jimmy and he doesn't even know it.

“How did you know?” The sound of his voice startles me, even though it's just a few decibels above a whisper.

“Know what?”

“That Jimmy and I fought the other morning.”

I raise one shoulder. “He told me.”

“
When
did he tell you?” he says through gritted teeth.

I shift, feeling every one of the springs just beneath the surface of the worn seat. “Thursday night. We went to your house, but you weren't there. That's when he told me.”

Dan scoffs. “You're sticking to your ghost story. Unbelievable.”

“Of course I'm sticking to my story. Tell me, how else would I know about your argument with him? You didn't broadcast that. And until Jimmy's death, we barely spoke to each other.”

He purses his lips so tight their deep rose color seeps away, leaving them pale.

“Someone wrote an article about Jimmy's career being over and he was angry about it,” I continue.

“Right.” Sarcasm drips from that solitary word. Dan's head snaps toward me, and I shrink back from the fire in his eyes. “I suppose he told you
I
wrote it? That I wanted to bring him down because I was jealous.”

“No, you're wrong. He has no clue who wrote the article.”

“Well, there goes your credibility. If you really are psychic or clairvoyant or whatever you call yourself, then you'd know he wanted to kick my ass for it.” His lips twist. “You know, it's the one time I got to kick his first?”

“Dan... He doesn't remember much about—”

“Even if by some glitch you
could
talk to Jimmy, I bet he wouldn't tell you his kid brother knocked him flat. His ego's too big for that.” A sad grin settles on his lips for just a few seconds. Then he slams his fist into his palm and the grin turns into a grimace. “I hit my brother and now he's dead. He's fucking dead, and I'll never get the chance to say I'm sorry.”

I squeeze his arm. “There's still time. I don't know how long he'll be around, but believe me, he'll listen and he'll forgive you. I bet he forgave you before he died! Like I was trying to say, he doesn't remember a lot of stuff. Dying is a traumatic experience. It's possible he's just blocking it out.”

He laughs mirthlessly and shakes me off.

I fold my hands in my lap. “I don't care if you don't believe me. I
do
care that you think I'm trying to hurt you. It's not my intention. All I want is what's best for Jimmy.”

He glares at me. Those blue eyes are so much like Jimmy's but with a darker, potent edge. “All you ever wanted was Jimmy.”

I can't look at him, can't face the raw pain in his expression. It's been years since Becky's party, and he still hasn't forgotten how I ruined our perfectly good, easy friendship. Part of me thinks it's time he moved on. But then, I'm not the one who got hurt.

“That's not true. What happened between us years ago was never about Jimmy. For once, if you would just let me explain—”

“I don't care about that anymore, okay? I don't care about you! Nothing else matters!”

A tear quivers over my lashes as his furious words bounce around the car.

He looks out through the windshield. In a much quieter voice, he asks, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Claiming you can see him. What are you getting out of it?” He rakes a hand through his hair, making it messy, in an artistic way.

“I'm not ‘claiming'. I see him. I hear him. I share my bedroom with him, and will do so until I find him another place to stay—preferably heaven.”

Dan visibly shudders. “You say you were
led
to his...his body, but how do you expect me to believe it?”

With a shrug, I say, “You don't trust me. I guess I can't blame you for that.”

His lips part like he's on the verge of saying something, but he stays silent.

“I'm new at being clairvoyant, so if I'm doing it wrong, I apologize. The fact is I am not crazy. I am helping Jimmy because he asked.”

“I didn't say anything about you being crazy.” Weariness weighs heavily in his tone. No doubt he's lost a lot of sleep.

“You're right. You didn't. It's what you haven't said that's bothering me. You think I killed Jimmy and
that's
crazy.”

“You don't know what I think,” he says. “Don't pretend you do.”

A dull roar runs through my head. In my eyes, Jimmy's death wasn't natural. Sibling rivalry can be powerful, and you can never tell who'll take it too far. Dan could write a book on how to hold a grudge.

“If anyone has motive...it's you,” I begin carefully. “Jimmy was a celebrity in this town, not just the school. Somebody set up a Twitter handle called @JimmysRightArm, for God's sake! You can't tell me that didn't get to you.”

His cheeks turn the color of Mars. “Let me make this clear. I
loved
him. I went to every fucking game and I was damn proud. Not just because he could throw a football and win the titles, but because he took me seriously as a person, as an artist. Unlike you.”

Listening to him, seeing the grief in his eyes, I know he's telling the truth. Jealousy didn't drive him to kill Jimmy. They were never in competition with each other. But he was dead wrong about one thing.

“When have I not taken you seriously? I wrote up a huge, gushy article in the
Bugle
when you won the Holloway Prize for art last year.”

“Because you were assigned to the story. It was your job,” he says, fingernails clawing into his thighs.

“Because I
asked
Mara if I could cover the story, you dope!” I sit up and face him straight on. He looks at me in shock.