Death of a Kleptomaniac (19 page)

My grandma picks a garment bag up from my bed. These must be the clothes that I'm going to get buried in. What are they? My mother let my grandmother choose my burial clothes? My mother's grief must be debilitating. Because we both know that my grandma has no correct impulses when it comes to fashion.

“Thank you,” my mother says. “I'm sure Molly would appreciate all your efforts to make her look her best.”

“Yes,” I say. “I do. But can we get her a more recent picture? And tell them about the lip pencils? And blush? And she forgot my blush brush. If you apply it with your fingers it can leave smudge marks.”

“This is how you comfort your family?” Louise asks. “By obsessing about your burial appearance?”

I am done with Louise Davis. She's rotten. “I've got this covered. Really. I don't need to see you again until the funeral.”

“You need to be careful,” Louise says. “You don't want to say something wrong in anger.”

“Wrong?” I am beyond pissed off at Louise. “I want you to leave. There's nothing
wrong
about that.”

“Molly, if you phrase that statement like a commandment, you might unintentionally banish me.”

That sounds like pure bliss.

“I have that kind of power?” I ask.

“You're a soul, Molly. You contain tremendous power.”

“I'm sick of you, Louise. You're vague. You're unhelpful. You're depressing. You're bossy. Maybe we should take a break and meet up later. I'll come find you in the transition room.”

“Don't do it,” Louise says. “You'll regret it.”

I will never regret this. As soon as I've made up my mind, I feel a powerful ripple of something trip through me. And I understand it. I, Molly Weller, have the power to make commandments. And I want to use it right now. “Louise Davis, I command you to leave. Don't find me. I'll find you.”

She doesn't say anything to try to talk me out of it. She just goes. It's as if she's been vaporized. And as soon as she disappears, I feel liberated. I watch as everybody leaves my room except for Sadie. After she shuts the door, she races to the window and opens it. I notice that it stops midway. She tugs at it, trying to coax it open, but it won't budge. “It's broken,” Sadie calls down to Henry. “You just stay there and I'll hand you everything.”

She is an amazing friend. She flings open one of my dresser drawers and starts pawing through it. She has fantastic judgment, and selects stolen lipstick tubes, socks, key chains. She spots Melka's bicycle keys and grabs those too. Then she races to the window.

“Round one,” she says, dumping all the contents out the window.

As Henry picks the bicycle keys up, I can tell he recognizes that they're Melka's. I feel so terrible. I don't want him to think poorly of me. Ruining his impression of me would damage our connection, I'm certain. I turn my attention back to Sadie. The pressure is getting to her, and she's racing through my room like a tornado, overlooking a ton of the stuff I stole. I've got a box in the back of my closet. And the pack of playing cards from my dad's convenience store. And her ring. I need to help her, but I don't know how to do that.

“Looks like you could use some instruction.”

I turn to snap at Louise and remind her that I commanded her to leave, but then I realize I'm not looking at Louise. It's Hilda.

“Yes!” I say. I'm so relieved and excited that a helpful soul has arrived. “I need to tell Sadie what to do in simple commands. Or I need to write something on the mirror in lipstick. Or maybe spell something out with my socks.”

Hilda laughs at me. Hard. But that makes sense. My suggestions are ridiculous. Why am I making everything so difficult? I should ask Hilda to communicate with Sadie for me. “Can you tell her things for me?”

“No,” Hilda says. But then she smiles. “I'm going to give you a suggestion that's going to change everything for you.”

Hilda needs to hurry. Sadie looks like she's winding up.

“Don't try to guide your friend. That's so inefficient,” Hilda says. “Possess her.”

“What?” I ask. This idea seems creepy and impolite.

“The best way to accomplish the things you need to do is to jump into Sadie's body and do them yourself. Possess her.”

“I don't think I can do that,” I say. I watch Sadie as she futilely rummages through my sock drawer.

“It doesn't harm anybody,” Hilda says.

“It feels wrong,” I say.

“Actually, it feels fantastic. All your senses will return. It's just like being alive.”

“Hurry up!” Henry says. He's standing below my window, reaching his arms up, stretching his hands into my room.

“I could talk to Henry?” I ask.

“You could do anything you want. Should I tell you how it works?”

Do I want that? Yes, I want that. It is so weird to want that! “But what if I'm not any good at it?” I have enormous doubts and fears that it's not going to work.

“You have an aptitude for possession. I can tell. Everything I know about you has convinced me that you will do a marvelous job.”

I know I shouldn't want to do this. But it feels like the only option I've got left.

Hilda tells me that possessing a body is like diving. She says I should imagine that Sadie is a pool of water and I need to enter her by making one powerful plunge.

I bring my arms out in front of me and press my hands together to form a point, like I'm literally going to dive. Sadie is on her hands and knees, clawing underneath my bed in a desperate attempt to find anything I've stolen. What started out as a calculated operation to scout for looted items has taken a turn toward chaos.

Standing over her, I aim my pressed hands at her back. And when I finally leap, I do so with every ounce of energy that I have. Much like the momentum I feel when the gray tunnels transport me, entering Sadie's body is accompanied by a rush of speed. My soul overtakes her, and suddenly I am Sadie Dobyns. Holy crap. I can feel the carpet underneath my bed. And I have a mouth again. I can speak! And Henry is outside my window. I jump up and race to him. I can't stop myself from sticking my head out the window and sucking in huge breaths of air.

“The air smells so fresh and amazing!” I say.

“What are you doing?” Henry asks. “Are you done?”

I stare down at him. He's reaching up to take something, but I am not holding anything. I reach Sadie's hand—
my
hand
—out the window and touch his fingers. It makes me feel electric and alive, and it's so thrilling that I never want to let go of him.

“I think the neighbor saw me,” Henry says.

“Mr. Powell has terrible vision. My dad says he's legally blind. Don't worry. He probably thinks you're just a dog,” I say with Sadie's voice.

Henry looks perplexed and finally pulls his hand away. “Is this everything?” he asks. “This might sound weird, but I think Molly took Melka's bike keys.”

This panics me a little. Even a small shift in his opinion of me could strain our connection and damage his clock. I need to say something to clear my name.

“Let's not blame Molly for being a little flawed. We all take things,” I say.

Henry looks even more confused than before and arranges the items in his courier bag and begins to zip it shut.

“I feel like I didn't even know Molly,” Henry says.

My heart sinks. How can he say that? He should
not
be questioning our connection.

“She was great!” I say. “Some people are more complex than others.”

“I think we should finish this up,” Henry says. “And I wasn't trying to judge Molly. I really cared about her. She was…” He takes a short, meditative pause. “…great.”

It's amazing to me that after the moment of my death I can still continue to experience so many terrible things. Henry and I should have had a chance. We should have had the opportunity to fall totally and completely in love. Who decided that one of us had to die?

“She's probably still great,” I say. “She probably isn't that far away.”

“Yeah,” Henry says. “Sometimes it feels like she's still around.”

“Are things okay in there?” my mother calls.

My mother.
My mother is on the other side of the door. I speed toward it. After I throw it open, I wrap my arms around her. I smell her. Lilacs. Baby powder. Cinnamon. Dryer sheets. My mother.

“I know it's hard,” my mother says. “It seems impossible that she's gone.”

I can't let go of her. I won't. I am sobbing. We're both sobbing. “It's not fair,” I say. “People should have a chance to say good-bye.”

My mother holds me tightly. “We still have the funeral.”

My funeral. As soon as my mother says these words, I become aware that I've made my decision. I can't cross. I can't leave her. Leave my family. Leave Sadie. Leave Henry. Leave my life. Never. I won't do it.

“Okay,” my mother says, lightly pulling away from me. “How much longer do you need? Tate just showed up, and I think it would be nice if we gave him Molly's invitation to the Sweetheart Ball. She would have wanted that.”

What? I don't want that. I've changed my mind. Henry should be my date. Now that I have clarity and understand how Henry and I feel about each other, the idea of asking Tate seems completely wrong. Because I don't love Tate. And I need to keep my connection to Henry as strong as possible. This Sweetheart Ball invitation must be corrected.

“I think Molly wanted to ask Henry,” I say.

Using her thumbs, my mother wipes away her tears. “No, she wanted to ask Tate. She wasn't sure where things were going with Henry. We'd been their neighbors when they were kids and they hadn't always gotten along.”

Where did that idea come from? We got along fantastically. Until his friend said I had cooties and he stopped playing with me. And then he moved. I shake my head, because I totally disagree. I know better now. “No. I think she saw more of a future with Henry.”

My mother laughs. “You remind me so much of Molly right now. It's uncanny.”

If only I could tell her that I am Molly. I wish that I could. But it would be unfair to mess with her mind. She's fragile. Plus, she'd never believe it and end up thinking Sadie was crazy. Nobody would believe this. Even I barely believe it, and I'm the one currently possessing my former best friend's body.

“I'll give you a few more minutes,” my mother says. “You shouldn't stay in here by yourself for too long. People should grieve together.”

“Wait. Where's Dad?” I ask.

“What?” my mother asks.

It feels too strange to call my father by his first name. I try again. “Where's Molly's dad?”

My mother swallows hard. “At the store. Sometimes work helps people mend.”

I am instantly pissed to hear that my father has abandoned my mother. This won't do. This won't do at all. My mother walks down the hallway toward the kitchen, and I reenter my room. This first thing I do is hurry to the window so I can look at Henry again. But he's already gone back to the car. I can hear Tate's voice in the other room. This operation is supposed to be ending. But I'm not ready. I race to find Sadie's ring. And the playing cards. And a few other random things I stole. I stuff them into Sadie's backpack. Except for the ring. I slide that onto her finger. No. That's stupid. What if my mother notices it? Then Sadie will have to explain that it's hers. And how will she explain why it's in my room? I slide it off and put it into her backpack, along with everything else. Then I get out my stationery. It's not too late to write a few good-bye letters.

“Sadie?” my mother calls. “Tate is here.”

I do not have time to talk with Tate. I need to write my final thoughts down for everybody I love, so I scribble furiously. I write a note to my father. My mother. Aunt Claire. My grandma. Tate. Henry. Ruthann. Joy and Sadie. I want to offer them each a final message. One last thing from me they can keep. I struggle to use my best handwriting. I shove them all into the backpack. Then I write in big letters,
Your ring is in the backpack. And I wanted to ask
Henry to the Sweetheart Ball.

“Done,” I say.

I can hear my mother walking down the hall.

“Sadie?” she says.

I want to go back into the hallway and hug her again. To touch her and smell her and talk to her. I miss her so much. But I don't have time.

Wait. I have a problem. I don't know how to unpossess Sadie.

Hilda should be here still, right? “Hilda,” I say. “I'm finished.” She doesn't answer. Of course she doesn't. Because she's a soul and I'm a person now. Which means I can't see her. I focus really hard to see if she's sending me a sign. But my room looks like my room, and I don't notice anything. I really should have thought of this complication
before
I possessed Sadie. I glance around and mentally say good-bye to everything, hoping that will do that trick. But it doesn't. Hilda should have foreseen this issue. Why do souls intending to help me give me such minimal information? I don't know how to jump out of Sadie. I attempt to undive out of her. Nothing happens. Maybe I need to command my spirit and Sadie's body to separate using my voice.

“I am finished possessing you,” I say.

Nothing happens.

My mother knocks on my door.

“Thank you for letting me inhabit your body. It is now time to exit,” I say.

Again, nothing.

“I really don't think it's good to isolate in Molly's room,” my mother says.

“You're definitely right,” I say. “I'm coming.”

But I'm stuck. Inside Sadie. Inside my own sadness. My soul must be cursed. Or maybe all souls are cursed. I turn this idea over a few times in my head as I consider how complicated it is to actually possess your friend. Then an idea strikes me. Maybe I need to return Sadie to the position I found her in when I possessed her. I fall to the floor and reach under my bed. Then I will myself to peel out of her. “Separate. Separate. Separate,” I chant. And it works. I speed away from Sadie's body with such force that I'm dazed. My mother opens the door and Sadie is on the floor.

“Are you okay?” my mother asks. “Are you praying?”

Sadie looks beyond confused. This is so hard to watch. She crawls out from under my bed and sits on my floor.

“Whoa,” she says.

“I know,” my mother says. “Grief hits me in waves too.”

“Yeah,” Sadie says. She reaches down and touches her thighs. “I feel weird.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” my mother says. “Why don't you get your things and join us in the living room. And don't forget your shoes.”

Sadie wobbles to her feet and takes hold of my desk chair to support herself. She looks like she doesn't know where she is, but my mother doesn't seem to notice. She's attributing everything to some sort of grief tsunami. After my mother leaves, Sadie wanders to the window and looks for Henry. But he's gone. Then she walks to my desk and sees what I wrote.

“How come I didn't notice this before? You wanted to ask Henry to the Sweetheart Ball?” Sadie says. “No. He has a girlfriend. You made the same mistake at the Thirsty Truck. You mean Tate.” She leaves the note on my dresser next to a blush brush.

Then she reads the part about her ring. She stares at the note. “When did you write this?” She looks closer. “It looks like my handwriting.” I watch goose pimples rise on her skin. “I feel so creeped out right now.”

Sadie lets the note flutter to the floor. She looks like she's afraid of it. I guess that makes sense. It would be weird to read your own handwriting on a note you never wrote.

“I'm sorry,” I say.

Sadie grabs her backpack and runs out of my room. In the living room, my mother stands in front of Tate, holding the pint of ice cream for him to take. “Molly really wanted to ask you to the Sweetheart Ball,” she says. “She was going to take this ice cream.”

“I, uh, don't know what to say,” Tate stammers.

Of course he doesn't know what to say. It's completely weird for a dead girl's mother to invite a guy to a dance on her daughter's behalf using a dairy product. Don't do it. Leave things as they are. Watching my mother push the pint toward Tate makes me feel incredibly anxious. Could inviting the wrong guy to a girls'-choice dance injure my lasting connection to the right guy? It seems like it could.

“You don't have to say anything,” my mother says. “Just take it.”

I watch Tate reach out and accept the ice cream. I can tell by the way he holds it that he's not sure whether he wants it. We weren't in love. The invitation must feel like a burden.

Right now, in my driveway, the boy I really love sits in a car holding a bag of items I stole. And my funeral is tomorrow. I should feel like everything is over, but I don't. Because what just happened in my bedroom has changed everything. If I stay, if I don't cross, if I maintain a connection to my life, with Hilda's help I may be able to find a different way to live.