Almost Dead (Dead, #1) (14 page)

“
You’ll be with them again one day.” I have the sudden urge to cry for this woman. And I never cry about anything! Not even the time Marcy Vanes purposely slung chocolate pudding on my white shirt in the cafeteria so that most of the student body could see. She was just pissed because Chase liked me and not her.

“Thank you, Laney. I hope so.” Sara stands and meanders toward the small kitchen area behind us. “You sure you don’t want some tea?”

“Actually…I think I will have some.” I’ve never had
real
tea in my life, unless the fake, sugary-sweet green tea in a bottle counts.

I wait for what feels like forever. Sara’s almost
too
quiet. When I turn around to see what the holdup is, she looks like a statue.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Laney, I have to leave soon. I apologize.”

Um, okay… “
Where are you going?”

“To pick up our new guest.”

I
wait and wait and wait for Sara. What’s taking so long? I swear, when she picked up Flora and me, it wasn’t so drawn out. That must be one stubborn spirit. Maybe it’s hesitating about hopping into the sparkly portal, like I did.

I
groan. I’m so. Freaking. Bored. I wish Sara had a TV so I’d have something to do. How crazy would it be to have ghostly news and not-your-normal-reality shows? Like, MTV would be Macabre TV. The DIY channel could be all about keeping the fog off your front lawn, or how to dig your own grave. They should have, like, the Bachelor for spirits. But what if the guy got rejected, even in the afterlife? God, that would blow.

I should definitely bring
up my suggestion when Sara gets back. Maybe the Elders aren’t just bags of bones and they’d be open to the concept of keeping spirits around instead of sending them on. It’d make for a livelier place—and nobody can deny that this dimension definitely needs a complete restoration in that department.

Not long after my brilliant idea, I hear talking outside. Actually, it sounds more like arguing. I
amble over to the window to see what’s going on.

“Mr. Dorsey, everything will be all right. You’re in a diabetic coma and you’ll be living here until I can get you back safely,”
Sara reassures. I have no idea who the man is standing in front of her, but whoever this Mr. Dorsey is, he doesn’t want to come inside. Maybe I can help convince him it’s okay. It’ll be, like, my good deed for the year.

I slap a pageant smile on my face and open the door.

“Hi. I’m Laney.”

The man
glares at me. He reminds me of my grandpa—old and fragile. He wears glasses that are
so
1980’s, and they keep sliding down his nose every ten seconds. His comb-over is greasy and hasn’t been washed in days. And the rest of his body—especially his hands—shake beyond what’s normal.

“I’m stuck here, too, if that
helps,” I continue, although I don’t know why I’m bothering. He probably can’t even hear me. Do hearing aids work in Lichburn? “And Sara? She’s pretty cool. She’ll get you out of here.” I can’t believe I’m saying this stuff. I should still be pissed at her for making me stay put while Flora sees her family again. But there’s softness to Sara. Sometimes she seems as fragile as Mr. Dorsey looks. And the bit earlier about her family? That kind of put things in perspective for me. I mean, she was in my shoes once, and I was in Mr. Dorsey’s shoes two days ago.

“O-okay,” Mr. Dorsey stammers. He wrings his hands over and over. I know the
old man is nervous, but jeez…it’s not
that
scary. Okay, maybe the fog is a little creepy, especially when the Damaged appear first thing in the morning. Somebody needs to invent a spray to ward off those poor souls.

The three of us step inside the cabin
, and Sara glides toward the kitchen. “I was just about to make some tea. Would you care for some, Mr. Dorsey?” she asks.

“Oh, um…that’s…I guess so…” He stands in the middle of the room and checks out the place.

I plop down on the couch and say, “You can have a seat, ya know. I mean, the furniture isn’t going to bite or anything.”

He ignores me and stares at Sara. “Why am I here?”

She glances up from pouring tea. “I’ve told you, Mr. Dorsey: you’re in a coma. All spirits of those in a long sleep come here to stay while their bodies remain in your world.”

“But h-how…” he begins, fighting for words. “I just want to see my family.”

A sympathetic smile crosses Sara’s face, and her eyes soften at the corners. “I know you do. That’s why I’m here.”

“Will I see them again?”

“Yes,” she says with a short nod. “I’m sure of it. Now, why don’t you take a seat a ctakhe nd I’ll bring you your tea.”

Wow. This is totally different from what Flora and I experienced. This man is doomed to
Lichburn until his physical body decides to wake. That sucks big ones.

The room is
so
awkwardly quiet. I decide to speak up. “So, uh, Mr. Dorsey, where are you from?” Silly question. I already know the answer because Sara has jurisdiction—or whatever it’s called—in Briarhaven only.

He stares me straight in the eyes and asks, “Why are you here?”

Like that’s not creepy.

I take a deep breath and blow the excess air through my lips. “Well, I was in a car accident with someone I can’t stand to be around
, and she’s back in reality while I’m stuck here. So, yeah, that’s my story.” 

“Do you miss your family?”

“Of course I do. I just have to wait for someone to die first.” His entire face creases, like’s he’s confused, so I explain. “Someone up there”—I point toward the ceiling—“has to die so we can switch places. In my case, someone has already died and my accident partner left first, so now I have to wait for another person to guarantee my ticket back home.”

I think
I put him in shock; his eyes practically bulge out of his head. “I can’t be here,” he says. “I have to go home.”

“Mr. Dorsey, I’m afraid you have to wait. I can’t speed up the process anymore than you can. Even if you
returned home, you can’t reenter your body. It’s just not possible,” Sara explains.

“Now, you listen here,” he snarls, pointing his finger at Sara’s face, “you’re going to get me back to my body, come hell or high water. Don’t give me this bullshit about being stuck
in the afterlife. I will find a way out, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Sara shuffles over to the front door, blocking him.

“Out of my way!” he shouts, but Sara doesn’t budge. Her expression, her composure, remains calm and collected, as always. “Are you deaf? I said, ‘out of my way!’”

“Mr. Dorsey, for heaven’s sake, sit down. You’re only
draining your energy, which is linked to your physical self. Should you use too much of that energy, you will exhaust an already-exhausted body. I want you to contemplate that.”

The loony old man steps forward, eye to eye with Sara. “You’re testing my patience. Either move or I will burn your house to the ground.”

Oh, hell no. He can’t say that to Sara. She’s too nice.

“Dude, you need to chill out,” I
tell him. “Sara’s only trying to help, and you’re the one who’s making this worse on yourself. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be dead from a heart attac ca hs k within the next hour. Your blood pressure has to be through the roof.”

He waggles a finger at my face. “Stay out of it.”

“Or what?” I counter, crossing my arms defensively.

Lowering his voice, he murmurs through clenched teeth, “Or I’ll tie you to a chair and
accidentally
forget you’re inside when I light the match.”

Oh, my God. This dude’s psychotic.
I don’t know what possesses me to do so, other than his shitty attitude, but I feel compelled to tell him, “You can’t really hurt us. We’re basically dead, anyway.”

Wrong thing to say to a crazy person.

He throws his head back and freaking roars—yes,
roars
—at the ceiling, like he’s a damn lion. What is he doing? I mean, seriously…

But the fun doesn’t stop there. He picks up
a porcelain bird figurine on the coffee table and chucks it across the room, causing the trinket to smash against the wall.

“Mr. Dorsey, please!” Sara makes an attempt at soothing him, but he ignores her, continuing his tirade.

I duck a couple of times, while Sara does her best to calm him down. I should’ve never opened my mouth, especially since we’re dealing with someone who’s emotionally unstable.

“Everything you do here affects your body,” Sara says. “You’ll wear out soon if you use your energy like that.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! Energy and death and spirits… What a bunch of crap! You listen to me,” he orders. “I have grandchildren I need to get back to. I promised my grandson I’d play ball with him this weekend.”

“Even if I did let you go back, you wouldn’t be awake to see it.” Sara’s not afraid to stand her ground, though she’s about as menacing as a hamster.

Mr. Dorsey falls into the recliner and cries. He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands over face, entire body trembling. “I just want to see them again,” he whispers.

“You will,” says Sara. “But I need for you to calm down. With you in this state, it can be very hazardous to your physical condition.”

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I just can’t,” he wheezes hysterically between sobs.

“Look, you’re not dead,” I say, and then mumble, “
not yet, anyway.” I was over the melodramatic performance five minutes ago. It’s something my sister would do. She lives for drama.

Sara clears her throat. “I think it’s best if we just keep you still.”

“I need to leave,” he says. “I need to get out of here.” He stands in a hurry and strides toward the door.

Sara opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it just as quickly, letting him vanish into the mist.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” I ask, bolting to my feet and hurrying over to the window to peek outside. The fog begins to swallow Mr. Dorsey.

“He can’t leave, Laney,” says Flora.
“He’s stuck here. It’s probably best that he finds out on his own.”

“Yeah, ’
cause you’ve only told him, like, twenty times now. Where’s he going, anyway?” I lean forward, as if I can magically stick my head through the window, which will give me eagle-eye vision.

“He can’t go far.” She purses her lips, like she’s waiting for something to happen, something that she’s seen before.

I no more get the thought out of my head when Mr. Dorsey’s body smacks against the windowpane, causing me to lose my footing and fall on my ass.

“What’s the hell?” I
can’t say I saw that coming.

“The Damaged won’t allow
lost souls to leave until it’s time to either switch places with someone or move on. Think of them as bodyguards in the afterlife.”

“Well, is he going to be okay?” I don’t mean for there to be panic in my voice
, but there is.

“
As long as he doesn’t expend his energy so foolishly.” Sara stands in the doorway, hands clasped together, waiting. Gradually, I stand up and peer out the window, to see if Mr. Dorsey is okay. I’m still unsure if I should believe Sara or not; that was a pretty hard hit.

Mr. Dorsey slowly rolls over and rises
to his feet, his legs somewhat wobbly. He glares at Sara, but finally caves by nodding his head and entering the cabin. Like he understands. Like he’s accepted his fate.