A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (26 page)

And then Akira’s face went blank, and her body swayed. Zane
jumped forward, catching her before she fell again.

Thank God, he thought again. Thank God. His sisters and brother,
his dad, they might be furious with him for not letting them have a chance to
say good-bye, but he had to talk to Akira. He had to tell her he was sorry for
doubting her, sorry for questioning.

Although he still wasn’t convinced about that pain thing. It
wouldn’t have worked on his mom, he was sure of it.

But Akira didn’t push herself up and away from him. She didn’t
speak up in the cranky, annoyed tone that she used when she showed weakness.
She didn’t do anything.

“Akira?”

Was she breathing?

Her body was a dead weight in his arms, her soft hair
brushing his chin. “Akira?” he repeated, sharper this time. He tried to turn
her, but she was sliding, her legs not holding her, her body limp and heavy. He
side-stepped two steps trying to keep her upright, but her feet were slipping
so he bent his knees, bringing her gently to the ground, supporting her head as
she dropped to the carpet.

“Akira?” He tried for a third time, but there was no
response, not even a flutter in her eyelids. He glanced at the clock again. How
long had it been? But the light of the clock was gone. Damn. The power was out.

“Akira!” he snapped. And then he reached for her neck, for
the soft crevices next to the strong tendons, feeling for the beat, for the
steady thud of her working heart.

Nothing.

He took a deep breath and tried to still his own panic. Maybe
he was touching the wrong spot. He shifted his fingers, and tried to calm
himself, and tried to listen, and tried not to let his unruly thoughts take
control. But . . .

Still nothing.

Her heart wasn’t beating.

She was dead.

Whoa.

That ghost had been strong.

Akira found herself pulled out of her body and thrown into
nothingness without a pause.

She looked around and knew, with a touch of wry humor to the
thought, that she’d just screwed up big-time.

She understood why Henry had had a tough time describing this
place.

It wasn’t really a place. It didn’t feel solid, not like she
was used to solid. Not so much that she thought she’d fall, but more that if
she tried, she thought she could move in any direction, down or up or sideways.
And not that she was floating, at least not floating like a balloon, but maybe
as if she was floating in something like water, safe and supported but not
constrained. Enclosed but not limited.

And the white? It wasn’t really white. But maybe it was a
very colorful white? Like white with glints of vibrancy that showed up at the
corners of her vision so that it almost seemed that if she could turn in just
the right way, she’d be inside a rainbow of color?

And the cloudiness? It was sort of more like cloudy vision
than actually being in a cloud, as if everything—which was nothing—was out of
focus.

It felt like a dream. Only not a dream.

And then a firm hand grabbed her wrist from behind, and Akira
stumbled as she was pulled, away and down and backwards.

“We are not staying,” Rose said, voice as firm as her grip.

“Wait!” Akira protested. “What about my parents? Shouldn’t I
see them?”

Rose waved a hand in the cloud as if to brush away the idea
of meeting Akira’s parents and kept moving. “They’ll be there when you go back.
There’s no rush, you know.”

And then it was too late. They were back in the room she’d
just left.

“What the hell?” Akira demanded. She’d wanted to meet her
mom. Her only memories were so fuzzy and indistinct. And she’d wanted to see
her dad, too. Their relationship hadn’t always been easy, but he’d loved her.
She wanted him to know that she was doing okay without him.

Although dying probably wasn’t the best way to show him that.

“Not hell,” Rose replied, shaking out her skirt, and then
patting her hair into place. “But we don’t want to be there.”

“Rose!” Dillon exclaimed from the doorway. “And Akira?” He
sounded doubtful as he said her name, Akira noticed, so she looked down at
herself. Had she changed? Nope, same old self.

“That doesn’t seem good,” said Zane’s mom.

 “No,” Dillon agreed. Both of them were looking from her to Zane
and back again. His back was to her, and he was kneeling on the other side of
the bed, closer to the window so Akira crossed to his side and looked down.

She looked pale, she noticed dispassionately. And not
terribly healthy. Maybe Rose was right and she needed a new shade of lipstick.

“Breathe, Akira, breathe,” Zane was saying.

Oh, dear.

Akira tried to breathe experimentally.

It felt like she was breathing. Her chest moved as if her
lungs were absorbing and releasing oxygen. But she couldn’t feel any air
shifting through her mouth or nose. She held her hand up to her face and tried
to blow. Nothing.

“But, Rose, what about Henry?” Dillon was saying behind her.

“Henry’s fine,” Rose answered. “His wife was a touch unhappy
that he’d waited for me, but she’s getting over it. Quick, Akira, go get back
in your body.”

“How?” Akira asked. She didn’t seem to feel any kind of a
pull toward her body. It was strange watching it, but it didn’t really feel as
if it belonged to her anymore. It was just there.

“Maybe if you lie on top of it?” Dillon suggested.

“Just put it on like clothes, you think?” Akira asked. It
didn’t sound appealing, but she was willing to give it a try. She stepped over
her body, then, feeling silly, lay down on top of it, moving through Zane’s
hands and arms as if they weren’t there.

Moving through a human was strange. She’d always felt it when
ghosts moved through her: that tingle of spirit power, the sizzle of feeling.
But she felt nothing moving through Zane.

And nothing moving through her own body, either. She wiggled
experimentally and waited.

Still nothing.

“Not working,” she reported from her position on the ground.
She could see the ghosts, standing behind Zane, but most of her attention was
focused on his face.

“I’m so very sorry about this,” Zane’s mom said to Akira. “I
had no idea.”

Akira nodded, still watching Zane. He was giving her CPR now,
rhythmically pushing on her chest, as he chanted under his breath, “Come on,
come on, come on.”

“I knew it was dangerous,” Akira said. “I thought I’d be able
to absorb enough of the energy to bring you back to consciousness. Sort of like
ghostly detox. Then Dillon could have talked to you and you both could have
moved on together.”

“Moved on?”

“Through the passage,” Rose interjected. “Can you see it?”

As the ghosts fell into conversation behind Zane, Akira
watched his face. In the dim light, she could see beads of sweat forming at his
temples. With the power out, the room must already be heating up.

Some part of her had been waiting for the end, but this wasn’t
how she’d thought it would come.

She’d imagined he’d get tired of her, find her too crazy,
move on the way guys always did. Oh, maybe in the beginning it had been just as
likely that she might find his irreverent attitude annoying and become so
prickly that he’d retreat in self-defense, but she’d known for weeks now that
that wasn’t going to happen.

She liked him too much. When she got prickly, he knew just
how to make her laugh. When she was anxious and fretful, he knew just how to
soothe her. When she was with him, she forgot to be scared.

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, she realized.

“Did he hit me?” she asked abruptly, interrupting the ghostly
conversation about passageways.

“What?” “No.” “Of course not!” The answers came all at once, Rose
surprised by the question, Dillon matter-of-fact, Zane’s mom shocked and maybe
even a little offended.

She hadn’t thought so.

She rolled out of her body, sitting up, but staying where she
could see his face. He looked both desperate and determined, his attention
focused on his hands, one over the other, forcing her heart to pump, her blood
to circulate.

She felt safer with him than she’d ever felt in her entire
life, she realized.

It was an odd realization to come to while crouched over her
dead body.

But he would never hurt her. Never crack her ribs, never
twist her arm until the bone fractured. Never smack her to make her see things
his way.

“Start breathing, babe,” Zane ordered her, without pausing
his movements. Akira trailed her ghostly hand over his lower arm, stroking the
taut muscles. She couldn’t feel him, and she knew he couldn’t feel her. And if
she pushed just a little harder, her hand would pass right through his arm. But
touching him was still comforting.

One hundred compressions a minute was the current standard
for CPR, and it looked as if he was aiming for that. But how long could he keep
up the pace? It was physically demanding work.

“I’m calling 911. I know you hate hospitals,” he threatened
her.

Uh-oh. She’d died here. If an ambulance took her body away
and she was trapped in the house, then it was game over. She’d never get back.

“Um, guys? A little help here?” Akira interrupted the ghosts
again. Zane was pulling his phone out of his pocket, and if she didn’t figure
out how to stop him from calling 911, she might be in big trouble. “We’ve got
to stop Zane from calling an ambulance.”

Well, she was in big trouble no matter what. But worse
trouble if her body headed off to a hospital without her.

Damn it, damn it, he was already pressing buttons.
No, no,
no
, she thought furiously. Zane gave a convulsive shudder and his fingers
paused.

“Akira?” he asked. “It just got colder. Bad idea?”

Oh, great. Communication via temperature change. For just a
second, Akira tried to envision how she could use that ghostly ability to talk
to Zane. Then she realized that another ghostly ability might be more useful.

“Can you fry the phone, Dillon? Like the Kindles?” Akira
asked. She might not be able to talk to Zane but she could stop him from
calling out.

“Yeah, probably,” Dillon answered her. “But how does that
help you get back in your body? He should call an ambulance. You need medical
help. You need to get to the hospital.”

“What if I’m tied to the house?”

All the ghosts started speaking at once.

“But if you’re not—” Dillon began.

“Should I try to take over your body again?” Zane’s mom
asked. “Just to get your heart beating?”

“If your body starts up, maybe your spirit will get pulled
into it,” Rose suggested. “No matter where you are, I mean. Or the parts of
you.”

Akira pressed her hands to her head, trying to think. She
felt almost panicky. Every option seemed dangerous. But what could she do? How
could she get back in her body? If other ghosts could possess her, how could
she possess herself?

Zane had set the phone down next to him, and was back to
giving her chest compressions. He was concentrating, focused, staring at her
still face for any hint of motion. The cold from Akira’s moment of panic must
have faded, because he was dripping with sweat now, rivulets running down his
bare chest.

Akira took a deep breath. She couldn’t feel it, but just as
it had been for Rob, it was calming anyway.

“Dillon and Rose,” Akira said, steady now. “Work on the
phone. Try to send him a text message.”

“But how?” Dillon protested. “I can’t control the power. I
just zap things.”

“The same way Rose picks numbers on the remote control,”
Akira answered. “If you can choose a number for a television station, you ought
to be able to choose a letter on a cell phone.”

“But I’m not strong enough,” Rose said. “I can only make it
change a couple of numbers at a time.”

“Work together. Dillon, instead of trying to control the
phone, just try to push energy through Rose. Let her control it.”

The two ghostly teenagers looked at each other and shrugged,
then crowded a little closer to Zane and his phone and started talking to one
another.

Akira pushed herself to her feet and pulled Zane’s mom to the
side. She’d been watching Zane, too, looking almost as worried as Akira felt.
“Tell me how you took over my body.”

“I really am very sorry about that,” the older ghost started.

Akira shook her head, dismissing it. “It’s not important. How
did you do it? If you did it, I ought to be able to do it, too. I just need to
learn how.”

Zane’s mom bit her lip. “It’s like trying to remember a
dream. A very bad dream.”