Rock N Soul (4 page)

“Are you kidding me?” He rolled his eyes. “I was lying on the floor. I mean, right there. You couldn’t have missed me.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeeeeah. I think maybe you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused. Now give me my ring and get out of my room.” He held out his palm.

I pointed at his finger, where a see-through version of the ring in question was gleaming transparently. “You mean that ring?”

He inspected his hand. “Huh,” he said after a moment. “You have a replica, then?”

“. . . I think they sell them, yeah.” I cleared my throat. “But dude. I might need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“You’re . . . well, you’re dead, dude.”

He narrowed his eyes and glared my own death at me. “Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s an observation.” I ran my hand through my hair for something to do. “You died like two months ago. In this room.”

“I’m calling security. I don’t care if you work here.” He stalked back into the suite. I tagged along behind him.

“Security sounds like an awesome idea, man. If you’re not dead, you have a lot of people who are going to want an explanation.”
If
he’s not dead. What a joke. I could see through the guy’s abs.

He shot me a black glare and reached for the phone, then frowned. He tried again. We both watched as his hand went straight through the handset and into the nightstand below it.

“Huh,” he said, then tried one more time. Silence fell as his eyes flicked comically back and forth between the phone and his hand. “Um . . . I guess that’s pretty good evidence for your ‘I’m dead’ theory.”

“Yeah, no joke,” I said. “So . . .” I tried for a minute to think of a way to finish that sentence, but there didn’t seem to be a good ending. “So.”

He looked around the room, then lowered his eyes to the floor. “Right there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was actually the one who found you. I was bringing you room service.”

“What . . . happened?” His face was pale in addition to being transparent, and he sat down heavily on the bed like he couldn’t keep his legs under him. The bed didn’t move at all when he flopped down on it, which was way more unsettling than you’d think it would be.

But anyway, that was a dumb question, so I raised my eyebrow at him again. “You’re seriously asking me what happened to you?”

“I don’t remember much,” he said, his voice soft in that way that makes men want to run for the hills before the crying starts.

“Um . . .” I swallowed hard. I mean, normally I’d just leave, push the awkward potential crying situation off on someone else, but I had no idea what the protocol was about leaving an emotionally compromised ghost to work things out for himself. Maybe that’s where vengeful spirits come from: some guy bailed on them instead of giving them a ghost hug or whatever and so they start killing people in their sleep. I couldn’t have that on my conscience. But I also couldn’t think of anything to say, really. Who wants to be the one to tell a person how they died? Nobody, that’s who.

But still. He needed to know. I cleared my throat. “I think they said it was a combination of anxiety medicine and, um, you know . . .”

He cleared his throat too. “The heroin.”

“Yeah.”

“Eric always said I was going to kill myself with that shit,” he said, still alarmingly softly. “Maybe I should have listened to him.”

“Yeah, you probably should have.” I crossed my arms and watched as he stood up from the bed, then knelt to run his hand over the carpet where his body had been. After a second, curiosity got the better of me. “Can you feel that? The carpet?”

“Sort of,” he said. “It’s like . . . when you put your hand on the surface of water. You can feel the resistance, but it wouldn’t take much to push your hand through.” He dipped his hand into the floor and then pulled it back out. “How long has it been? You said two months?”

“Yeah. It happened in September. It’s the end of November now.” I pushed the toe of my shoe against the carpet, ruffling it up one way and then smoothing it back down. “Um . . . for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry, man.”

He sighed. “My own fault.”

“Yeah, but still. Sucks to die young.” It was a dumb thing to say, but really, no amount of life experience prepares you for this shit.

He let out a huff of laughter that didn’t sound terribly humor-filled. “Thanks, I guess.” His eyes got wider. “Fuck, I’m
dead
.”

“You’re dead,” I confirmed.

“No, you don’t understand.” His voice had an edge of hysteria to it that somehow made me less nervous than the thought of him crying. “I’m
dead
. I
died
.”

I stared at him for a second, not intending to respond. But he just stared back like he was waiting for an answer, so I shrugged and said, “You’re dead, yeah.”

“I wasn’t supposed to die,” he said, a little louder. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Calm down, dude.” I spread my hands out in front of me in a helpless gesture. “There’s not a lot you can do about it at this point.”

“I’m not ready.” He scrambled back to his feet. “Jesus, I should have called him. I should have apologized.”

“Who?”

“Eric,” he said, biting his lip and gazing at the carpet. “I told him I hated him, and I shouldn’t have said that. Because I didn’t, not really.”

“Um . . .” I looked around the room like that was going to give me answers. “I guess I could send him a letter for you or something.”

“No, he’d just rip it up.” He closed his eyes and left them shut for a while, squeezing his eyelids together. When he opened them again, they were a little less wild.

“I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Chris didn’t answer that—he just poked the toe of his own shoe at the carpet like I’d done a few minutes ago. His foot disappeared through the floor. “I wonder how I’m even standing and not just falling into the room below?” he murmured.

“I don’t know, dude. It’s probably a matter of perspective. Mind over matter, you know. You think you can walk on the floor and so you can.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” He met my eyes with a businesslike expression. “So . . . are you some sort of angel or something?”

I laughed out loud at that. “Oh God, no. What, do I
look
like an angel?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe you were somebody who took souls up to heaven or whatever.”

I could have pointed out that borderline suicidal heroin junkies who sleep with dubiously legal groupies and go out in a blaze of stupid futile glory in their twenties probably don’t make it to heaven, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel. And plus, I don’t make the call. I guess if God’s an Incite the Masses fan that might have some sway in the afterlife cabin assignments. So instead I just shrugged. “Not an angel. Just a bellboy. I work here.”

“Oh.” He pushed his foot through the floor again before straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. I’m dead.”

“Yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably. “So I guess you’ll be wanting to . . . move on? Or whatever?”

“I don’t know how,” he said. “That’s why I thought there would be an angel or a guide or something.” His gaze slid around the room. “I don’t see a light to go towards.”

“Do you see a flame?” I asked, then wished I hadn’t.

To my surprise, he laughed. “No, not one of those either. Although I guess that would be more likely for a guy like me.”

I smiled, and he smiled back.

It was at that moment it hit me: I was talking to a ghost.

The screaming started again.

I only screamed for a few seconds, but by the time Malika rushed into the room I was crouched in the corner of the suite, hugging my knees to my chest and rocking back and forth. It was actually a little pathetic, and I was glad it was Malika who found me, because Vic or Natalie would have given me so much shit about it that I would have been forced to leave the country. Anyway, Malika saw me and ran over, falling to her knees beside me dramatically.

“Tyler! What’s wrong?” She reached for my arm, and I yanked it out of her reach. Frowning deeply, she tried again. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” I whimpered, hoping she could hear me through my knees. “It’s him.”

“It’s who?” Malika’s eyes flitted around the room. “Mr. Kingston? Did he hurt you?”

“No!” I summoned all of my strength and lifted my head. Chris was standing behind Malika, his brow knitted and his arms crossed tightly against his chest. I pointed at him. “
Him
.”

Malika turned and scanned the room behind her, then looked back at me with a ridiculously calm expression. “There’s nobody there, Tyler.”

“He’s there.” I pointed harder at Chris. “Can’t you see him?”

She glanced around again, checking for longer this time before slowly turning back to me. “Maybe you should lie down. I’ll help you to an empty room, okay?”

I stared at Chris. “Let her see you.”

“I don’t know if I can.” He frowned for a minute, then shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to work.”

Malika pursed her lips a bit. “Tyler. Who are you talking to?”

“Chris Raiden,” I said. “He’s here.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “If she can’t see me, she’s totally going to believe you.”

Malika got to her feet. “I think maybe I should call that ambulance.”

“No!” I glared at my legs and tried to will them to straighten out and agree to support my weight. “I’m okay. I’m just . . . maybe you’re right. I should lie down. I’m just . . .” I glanced at Chris again and then tried to act like I
wasn’t
seeing an apparition in the room. After all, I’m too pretty to go to a psych ward. I swallowed hard and turned to Malika. “It’s been a long day. I’m just tired.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Chris poked her experimentally. His hand went through her neck.

“I’m going to lie down,” I said. Even though this was our largest, most luxurious room, it suddenly seemed claustrophobic. “Is 612 empty?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” I said, finally managing to scramble to my feet. “Can you just throw some sheets on this bed for me?” She nodded, and I gave her a bright smile. Really, it was probably a few shades
too
bright, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. “Okay, then. I’ll be fine in a bit. I just need a little nap.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll come check on you in an hour if you’re not up by then.”

“Thanks.” I forced my feet to move. After a few steps had proved to me that I could walk on my own without face-planting, I sped up and went to room 612 at a trot, then passed the management key through the room card reader and went inside.

I went directly to the bed and sat down. I put my head in my hands and took a moment to gather my thoughts.

“So that was awkward,” Chris said.

I looked up at him. “I’m crazy,” I said after a moment. “I’ve lost my mind.”

“I don’t know what you are, man. Maybe
I’m
crazy. I’ve never had a trip like this, though, so it seems weird.” He crossed over to the bed and put his hand on it, then slowly lowered himself to sit down. “Huh. I guess I can sit.”

I thought about mentioning that he’d already found out he could sit in the other room, but I didn’t really have the stability to string together a long sentence yet. I put my elbows on my knees and focused on breathing normally. Chris reached over and touched my knuckles.

“Can you feel that?” he asked.

I moved my hand so that his fingers dipped into it. “No. Not really. Not at all, actually.”

“The movies say ghosts are cold. It’s not cold or anything?”

“No.” I pulled my hand away. “But it’s weird, so stop it.”

“All right,” he said, pulling his own hand back.

“Could
you
feel it?”

He shrugged. “Same as the floor and the bed. I can tell when I’m touching something, but it doesn’t feel like
really
touching it. Just like there’s a barrier there. A little token resistance.” He dipped his hand into the mattress. “But it’s easy to break through.”

I nodded, then sat up a little straighter. It was time to get back to business. “You appeared when I put on your ring, so . . .”

He jumped to his feet and jabbed his finger at me. “Aha! So it’s not a replica! You
did
steal my ring!”

I rolled my eyes. “Dude, I told you. I found it on the floor and tried it on. That’s not the same thing as stealing.”

“Give it back,” he demanded, holding out his hand. “It’s mine. My dad’s wedding ring, man. It’s important to me, and I need it.”

I laughed. “And where are you going to put it? In your ghost pockets? It would just fall right through you.”

“Take it off. It’s not yours to keep.” He scowled and shook the hand he was still holding out like he was reminding me it was there.

“Okay, okay.” I reached for the ring, then paused. “You appeared when I put it on. So if I take it off, you might disappear.”

He considered this. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re not? That must be nice. Because I’m fucking terrified, let me tell you.”

He gave me a Look. “You’re not the one who’s dead.”