Almost Dead (Dead, #1) (15 page)

He shuffles toward the chair he was in minutes before and sits, keeping his head down. Sara and I don’t say anything; it’s like an unspoken conversation between us—there are no words to make the situation better for someone who just realized
they can’t be with their family. This makes me miss my own family even more.

The quiet conversation between Sara and Mr. Dorsey brings me out of my thoughts.

“—way of knowing when I’ll return?” Mr. Dorsey asks.

Sara shakes her head. “I’m afraid not,
at least not until just prior to your departure from this realm.”

He nods in response. “Well, since I’m going to be staying here a while, w
hat happens next?”

“You are more than welcome to stay in
one of the extra guest rooms. Because of your condition, I don’t need to teach you anything. Once you wake from your coma, your s c co="+pirit will return to your body instantly.”

Why can’t Flora and I do that? Why can’t we be the ones to return to the Land of the Living?

I decide to ask, “Why does he get to return to his body, but I can’t?”

“He’s in a peaceful sleep, surrounded by family and friends, while your family and friends don’t know where you are. The only way to notify them before you die is to return and show them where your body rests,”
Sara explains. “If this was a different situation, you’d be contained here until you regain consciousness, but there’s always the issue of your body not surviving.”

I shudder. So
unds like I’m marked for death. Flora, too. Oh, she better hurry.

Mr. Dorsey groans. “If you’ll excu
se me, I think I need to rest.”

Sara instinctively stands and ushers him to the guest room. She returns moments later.

“How about that tea?”

I smirk. “How about it?”

She busies herself by filling our cups, and then drifts toward the living room with mugs in hand. After handing me mine, she sits down beside me, noisily exhaling.

“Are spirits always so stubborn?” I ask.

Sara softly chuckles. “Most of the time, people don’t want to be told they’re a ghost. It’s as if their life takes on an entirely new meaning once they learn they don’t have long to live. Their jobs, their bills, feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders—none of that is relevant. What matters is that they kissed their child before sending them off to school, or that they said “I love you” more times than they could count. What matters is that they left an impression on those around them—so much so that when they departed, it would cause a ripple effect through time itself.”

That’s so…touching.
Momentarily, I reflect on my life. Have I said what I needed to say? Have I told everyone I love them? I guess, when I think about it, pageants and the glam life don’t mean everything.

“Well, that’s a great speech for people who are dead, or about to die, but what about people like Mr. Dorsey, who’s in a coma?
”

Sara sips on her tea before
replying, “Think of it as an insurance policy for one’s soul. The soul is safe, even if the physical body isn’t.”

“Do they just chill here until they wake up?”

“They stay in different locations, depending on their city. All spirit guides are in Lichburn, but we have separate regions to maintain. We can’t be in ten different places at once.”

Makes
sense. “How many spirit guides are there?”

“Oh, we are too great in number to count. Ther co ces are thee is a spirit guide for every city
on earth.”

Yeah, she’s right. Way too many to count. My brain hurts just thinking about it.

All of a sudden, Sara lurches forward, her tea cup crashing to the floor, the liquid splashing over the wooden boards.

I scoot to the edge of the couch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Sara bypasses me, striding quickly toward the guest bedroom. She emerges seconds later, closing the door behind her. Mr. Dorsey’s loud sobbing echoes through the quiet house.

Hugging herself, Sara
gently states, “I’m afraid there has been a complication, Laney. It seems Mr. Dorsey is now your ticket home.”

H
anging on for dear life has officially employed a new meaning as far as I’m concerned, because that’s exactly what I’m doing with Mia’s car. There’s no freaking way I’m letting go. My memories are fading faster and faster, and I don’t know whether I’ll remember who I am when all of this is said and done, let alone who Mia is and where she lives. I’m not taking any risks, so if that means hanging out in her car and stalking her until she realizes there’s a ghost in her house, then so be it.

We pull into the driveway of Mia’s oversized
residence. I wish I could hear her car door shut, or hear the steady clack-clacking of her boots as they collide with the concrete walkway leading to her front door. I even wish I could hear her keys jingle as she inserts them into the lock. But nothing is audible.

Except
for the damn static constantly hissing in my ears.

Mia being Mia, she heads straight up to her bedroom,
totally bypassing the living room and kitchen, and plunks down on her bed, immediately pulling out her phone. Pressing a few buttons, she holds her cell up to her ear. Of course, I can’t hear shit, so I have no idea who she’s calling, but after a few seconds of her unmoving lips, I can guess who that person might be. It’s not like Mia has a dozen friends. It’s just me and two other girls she occasionally speaks to in art class. That’s it.

God, I just want to scream,
I’m right under your nose! I’m right here, standing in front of you!
But, of course, it’s not that easy. This is so frustrating.

Mia stands up a
nd paces the room. She halts, her eyebrows raised. Once more, she taps the screen of her smartphone a few times and presses her cell to her ear. Who else is she calling? Her parents? Laney? This time around, her lips actually move. Attempting to read them is a lost cause, but there’s definitely no mistaking the smile when she hangs up. Whoa, wait… Mia Tipps is actually
happy
about something? Since when? It’s not even a regular fo cesingl joyous grin—it’s beyond that, like someone is stirring these emotions inside her. Like that someone is male.

Mia doesn’t have crushes. At least, that’s the impression she’s always given me. Oh, God. What if I’m just a horrible, self-absorbed best friend, who never paid attention to the small details? What if Mia mentioned a guy she liked, or that she was seeing someone, and I completely tuned her out? I park my ass on the hardwood floor and think about this for a sec.
My newly-acquired spirit form is bogging down my memory, so I don’t remember whether or not Mia mentioned a guy.

The longer I watch Mia—the way she fidgets, her little quirks—the more I realize she’s totally into whoever he is. I mean, she’s still grinning as she
stares at her screen, like it’s going to magically light up on command. Her fingers toy with the ends of her hair. Even her toes curl against the wooden flooring.

What. The. Hell.

I have to see him. My best guess is Ed Sherwood. We tease the shit out of him, calling him names like “Sherwood Forest” and “Sherbet.” Some kids even dubbed him “Robin Hood.” I’m pretty sure those were the drama geeks.

After roughly fifteen minutes
of dreamily staring at her phone, Mia hops up from her bed and bounds out of her room, down the stairs, and to the front door. I follow but wait at the top of the landing; I’m a ghost, not a shadow. Anticipation rips my stomach to shreds.

That is, unti
l Mia opens the door and Gabe stands on the welcome mat.

My
ex-boyfriend
? No, no, no. This has to be a mistake.

But there’s no mistaking the hug exchanged between those two, or the way Gabe’s arms linger around Mia for seconds longer than what’s
considered a normal embrace. Or the fact that he briefly kisses her on the cheek.

My gut
contracts, and a swell of nausea threatens to send bile up my throat. Didn’t she ask a lot of questions about Gabe? Isn’t that the reason I ended up in the car accident?

Red-hot waves of rage flow through me
. My hands shake uncontrollably. I just want to punch something, possibly Mia and
Gabe’s faces.

How can she do this?
Gabe doesn’t surprise me. But Mia? Not Mia. I’m lying at the bottom of a gorge, nearly dead, while they stand here and kiss each other.

Mia ushers Gabe toward the stairs.
Oh, no
. Not only do they walk through me, they enter Mia’s bedroom, closing the door behind them. Well, if there’s one thing I’ve trained for, it’s walking through walls. I’ll make Sara proud before this journey is over with.

But my fa
ce smacks into the wooden door.

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Concentrate, Flora
, I hear Sara say.
Use your energy wisely
.

Wisely
… Something about that word speaks volumes. What additional ways can I use my ability, other than walking through a door or a wall? I scan the living room and the kitchen.
Bingo
. There are so many breakable items in this part of the house; Mia and Laney’s mom has a special place in her heart for crystal. I practically fly down the stairs and stop in front of an elegant vase full of wilting, nearly-dead roses, and the irony doesn’t elude me. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on every ounce of energy within, imagining all of it spiking from my fingertips and causing the vase to shatter into itty bitty fragments.

“C’
mon.” I grind my teeth, frustrated by my lack of output. Why isn’t this working? Sara made it sound easy when she trained us in that short amount of time. Hell, it was easy even when I tried the exercise on her front lawn.

Then I remember thinking
of that prehistoric book hitting Laney’s face, and failing the test, miserably. Maybe that’s what’s happening now: deep down, I’m too upset by the fact that Mia and Gabe are schmoozing in her bedroom, with the door closed. I’m troubled by the fact that my best friend is no longer the person I thought she was, the person I’ve been friends with for years, the one who I’ve shared so many memories with. It’s as if none of those moments matter anymore, like she’s overlooked what’s important in life.

And maybe that’s just it. Maybe Laney and I are already dead, or nearly there. Maybe Sara sent us back so we can see what we’ve been missing. Living takes on an entirely new mean
ing once a person witnesses their existence slipping away. We are
so close
to saving ourselves, headed for a breakthrough in our world, yet we can’t be further from the reality that we might not make an impact whatsoever on the lives of our family and friends.

Right now, as I stand here in front of this beautiful crystal vase, I
visualize it being the very force propelling my rescue into motion. And with that mental image comes relief and happiness. For now, I’ll take both emotions, because it’s better than existing in this lifeless dimension, wishing and hoping a miracle will happen.

Plus, I don’t want things
getting too hot and heavy in Mia’s room, so I focus all of my energy on my fingertips and shatter the glass vase. My plan works like a charm. Mia and Gabe come barreling out of Mia’s room—Gabe in his boxers, and Mia in her bra and panties. Mia’s eyebrows crumple together in confusion, and Gabe pads quickly down the stairs, probably ready to face an intruder. But, of course, there isn’t one. Just me.

I think I can get used to this, and it’s basically a way for me to use revenge against Mia for betraying our friendship. I mean, how can she do this to me? How can she throw away all of our years of camaraderie over my ex-boyfriend? Best friends just don’t do something like that. Well, maybe she wasn’t a best friend after all. And maybe if she did this to ke ds o me, there are other things that I don’t know about. Things I don’t
want
to know about.