2. Ghost Boy

Chapter 2

Ghost Boy

Endings are not always bad; most times they’re just beginnings in disguise.

— KIM HARRISON

H e was an asshole.

He made everything so much harder than it needed to be.

I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just help me. It wasn’t fair. I was . . . dead. I didn’t even remember how I died. I didn’t remember anything about myself actually—name, age, favorite fucking color. In movies the Ghost Whisperer was supposed to guide the lost soul. Clearly the movies got it wrong.

“What do you mean, my door?” I asked.

This was the most he’d said to me in three weeks and, of course, the first thing he said was something I didn’t understand.

What did a door have to do with anything? Was it like seeing the light? I don’t remember seeing a light.

Or a door.

“Fuck me,” Sekani muttered as he jabbed the elevator call button. “The door that appeared after you died. That should have appeared, at least.”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember any doors.”

I remembered waking up on the street, not knowing who I was, what happened to me. I remembered begging people to help me, but no one ever responded. And I couldn’t ever get further than a block or two from the street I woke on before I was yanked back. It was like something was trapping me there.

Until I ran into this guy, the only person who could see or hear me.

And he was useless.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Waking up. Begging for help. Walking down the street, just a few blocks and then being back where I started.” As if I was an NPC who could only do what was pre-programmed in the world’s most boring video game.

“How did you die?” Sekani asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Was it normal for people to remember that?

“Where did you die?”

“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. I didn’t know anything .

“Do you remember anything besides waking up and walking?”

I could hear the annoyance in his voice as he tossed Mrs. Taffett’s trash away before he walked towards the parking lot.

“I . . .” I shook my head. He got into his car; I phased through the door and settled into the passenger seat. “I remember . . .”

I paused, squeezing my eyes shut.

Did I remember anything at all?

What happened to me? Why? Had I killed myself? Was it an accident?

I looked at my hands. “Paint, I think.”

I remembered paint. Smudges on my hands.

“Thank you. That was super enlightening and helpful.” Sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“I don’t remember , okay!” I glared. Did he have to be so rude? He wasn’t calling CPS on the child abuse he’d witnessed, but he was being a condescending dick to the ghost without memories. I looked down at my hands again. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Then what do you expect me to do for you?”

“I don’t know. Help me? Please,” I begged. But could he even do that? I didn’t think Sekani helped anyone. Or . . . well, that wasn’t true. He helped the living—like that little girl. But fuck the dead, I guess. My eyes burned. What would happen if he didn’t help? Would I be stuck like this forever? “If you don’t help . . .”

He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Of course he was heading to work. I knew his routine by now. He was a Private Investigator—former NYPD Detective—and he was surprisingly effective at his job. So why wouldn’t he?—

“You’re not giving me a lot to go on here, kid,” he said.

“I’m not a kid,” I snapped.

“Oh, so you remember something?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Clearly, I’m not a child.”

“Clearly.” He wasn’t agreeing with me. I wanted to scream. Or to storm off. But where was I going to go? Better to stay and yell at Sekani than walk down the same street—trapped there alone—forever.

“You’re a detective; detect something.”

He glanced over at me. “You’re young. But legal, I’d guess. You’re well-dressed, so not homeless. Not a lot to go on otherwise. Where did you do your endless walk?”

“The street I met you on,” I said. “I was trapped there until you told me to fuck off.”

As soon as he’d spoken to me, it was as if I was free of that place—free to follow him. If I stopped following him, would I be dragged back there?

“Tethered.” He sighed. “You probably died in the area.”

“So that’s a clue!” I bounced in my seat as Sekani turned a corner. He was clearly heading towards the coffee shop before he went into his office. The man lived off glorified bean water. He should probably start taking better care of himself or he was going to be in the same boat as me.

“It’s something. But don’t get your hopes up,” Sekani said.

We didn’t have much to go on, but it was something at least.

“You’ll help?” I asked, voice far softer than I intended. Or was he going to pretend like I wasn’t hanging around screaming in his ear all day after this car ride? I twisted my fingers together.

“You’re not gonna go away otherwise,” Sekani said.

I smiled. “I’ll do my best to remember everything I can. I’ll be like your ghostly sidekick. And if we find my family they can pay your fee . . . I think.”

Did I even have a family? Was anyone missing me?

“Assuming you have a family.” Sekani voiced my thoughts.

“I hope I do.” Maybe there was someone else out there looking for answers. Or maybe someone already had all the answers. Maybe we needed to find that someone.

“Not everyone is so fortunate. But if you do, I’ll do my best to find them. I’ll make some calls later, get in touch with a sketch artist so we can get a basic image of you, show it to shop owners along the stretch of street you walked.”

“That sounds like some real detective work. Pounding the pavement and all.”

“Yeah, well, I was a real detective once upon a time.” Sekani said. I still didn’t know a lot about him—it was hard to learn anything about a person when they didn’t acknowledge your existence—but a couple of overheard phone conversations with his former partner had told me that already. It had seemed as if he enjoyed the work—had passion for it, even—and he was too young for retirement.

“So what happened?”

“I quit.”

Obviously . I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

“You didn’t like the work?”

“I liked it,” he said.

The short answers were annoying—no details, nothing to hold onto so maybe we could . . . I don’t know, become friends? If he was going to help me and I was going to be his sidekick for a while, it would be nice to know the guy a little.

I had this inexplicable feeling if I was alive he would be the kind of person I’d be interested in. Something drew me towards him that day on the street. Maybe his eyes, or his relaxed attitude. He was a dick, but he had an aura of calm around him and it was . . . nice.

“Are you going to open up and tell me or is it going to be like pulling teeth with you?” I asked.

“Neither.” Sekani said.

I sighed and folded my arms over my chest. “You’re so mean.”

Sekani chuckled. I glanced over. He’d never laughed before, and this hardly counted, but I smiled as I looked out the window. We were silent for a mile or two before Sekani spoke.

“I liked the job—did it for ten years. Sometimes, a change is necessary.”

He probably wouldn’t tell me why if I asked.

“Well, thanks—for helping.”