Remember Me (28 page)

It is a strange universe.

Amanda got off light—she was sentenced to five years of state-supervised psychiatric care. I guess the judge figured she had been subjected to psychological pressures of a most unusual nature. I didn't mind; I felt no need for vengeance.

Nor did Jimmy. He provided Amanda with moral support throughout the course of the trial. He never, however, let himself get caught alone with her again. He was a nice guy, but he wasn't stupid.

Two days after the red balloon and the big fire, I had my picture on the front page of Los Angeles's two biggest papers: "HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR'S SUICIDE

TURNS OUT TO BE MURDER" and "SHARI COOPER DIDN'T JUMP." I liked the sound of the second one the best. The latter headline was also above a color picture of me—not a black and white and everybody in town got a chance to enjoy my sparkling green eyes.

The gang—Jo, Jeff, Daniel, and Beth—got together at Beth's condo shortly after the articles came out to discuss how they knew all along that I wasn't the jumping kind. I just listened and laughed. Especially when Beth slapped Daniel across the face for trying to grab her breast after Jo and Jeff had left holding hands and cuddling.

But through all this, I fretted over Mrs. Parish the most.

She had, in a sense, lost not one but two daughters. I would like to say her quiet strength allowed her to accept Amanda's crime with a sense of equanimity. Regrettably, besides being strange, the universe is often hard. Mrs.

Parish suffered terribly with Amanda's trial. One consolation, however, was that my mother bore no malice toward Mrs. Parish for not having brought the mix-up to light sooner.

Quite the contrary, she supported and encouraged Mrs.

Parish at every opportunity. I was proud of my mother, finally proud to call her Mom, even though she no longer was.

In the end, Mrs. Parish did gain a measure of peace. I am happy to report that I had a hand in it. For many nights after Amanda was arrested, I would visit Mrs. Parish in her dreams and tell her that I was doing well and that I held no grudge against Amanda. For a while it seemed my interludes did no good and that she would remember nothing upon waking. But then one afternoon when she was sewing in her living room and I was sitting by her side and listening to the melody she was humming, she suddenly put down her needle and thread and stared off into empty space.

"Shari," she said. "If you're there, if you can hear me, I want to tell you something that I almost told you a thousand times while you were alive.

Finding you again after losing you all those years was wonderful. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It brought me so much joy, I thought I would never again ask God for anything, because he had given me everything.

And I kept that promise, until right now. You see, I have to ask him one more thing, to tell you this, that I loved you as much as any mother loved a child.

You were always my daughter."

Then she went completely still for a moment and smiled, and there was the same light on her face that I had seen in the church above her head when she had prayed for me. "Thank you,"

she whispered. "So it is done. I've heard you, too, Shari. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

And from then on, she was much better.

But I still had my debt to Garrett to repay and, more important, the desire to do something for him. I thought about the problem a long time, and finally a solution came to me.

Peter helped me implement it. He showed me how to alter my form at will and acted as my accomplice. Together we journeyed to the seedy motel room where Garrett's daughter spent her miserable nights.

I returned as a radiant angel of light. My hair was long and golden. I had eyes of emeralds and a beautiful silver robe. I spent a long time getting my translucent wings to shimmer with a celestial glow. A fine sight I made standing beside Peter.

He played a devil, and it was hard to look at him and not cringe. His mouth was a chopping maw of pointed green teeth, his hide a red and purple map of dragon scales. He had short, squat reptilian legs and took particular delight in drooling dark clots of blood and poking me with his huge black pitchfork.

We waited in the closet of the motel room for the girl to shoot up with her drugs. After my recent bad experiences with needles, it was difficult for me to watch. But Peter was encouraging. He made an excellent devil.

"This is going to be fun," he slobbered with glee as we trooped out of the closet.

The girl lay sprawled in her underwear on the bed, deep in the spell of her narcotic, her pupils dilated. But she blinked at the sight of us. She knew we were there, though I'm sure she couldn't have guessed why.

We were going to fight over her soul.

"Let me eat her alive!" Peter cried, jumping toward the bed with his pitchfork held high.

"Let me chew off her fingers—one through five!"

Garrett's daughter recoiled against the bedstand, her nails going to her mouth, her face turning white. I leaped in front of Peter and held my arms and wings out wide. "You cannot have her!" I cried. "Not while she lives!"

Peter halted and snorted like a fiend. "She will be dead soon! With all the drugs she takes, she will die in this very room!" He tried to squirm around me. "Then I will come for her! I will peel off her skin and wear it like fur!"

I barred his way. "She might not die! She might turn away from her evil ways!"

Peter laughed uproariously. "She will never change! She is already in my cage!

Soon I will carve her dry! I will lick her bones and make her cry!"

"You cannot do this!" I said.

"Let me have her tonight!" He fought to get by me. "Let me have a bite!"

"Stop him," the girl pleaded, shaking like a leaf.

"I can't," I said, looking over my shoulder and through my wing, barely holding Peter at bay. "I cannot stop him without your help, child. If you die on drugs, he will come for you."

"A leg!" Peter chortled. "Give me her legs! They taste so good with sausage and eggs!"

"Please," the girl cried.

"Leave here," I told her in as clear and urgent a tone as I could muster. "Go to your father. Only your father can keep this devil away."

"I must have an eye!" Peter howled. "A soggy eye for my sandwich of ham and rye!"

The girl nodded frantically. "I will go."

"You must promise me," I said. "I can do nothing for you without your promise."

"An ear!" Peter yelped. "An ear to mix in my salty beer!"

The girl tried to grab my hand and kiss it. "I promise."

Peter stopped his struggling and took a step back, falling silent. I laid my hands atop her thick black hair. She was very pretty.

"You are stronger than you know," I said. "You will be able to keep your promise." 1

leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Close your eyes now, child, and be at peace.

All is well. Tomorrow you will return to your father's house and start a new life."

The girl did as I requested and lay back on her bed. Peter and I hurried out the door. (I had no trouble walking through them nowadays.)

"We scared the hell out of her," Peter said. "It might work."

"What was the deal with the rhymes?" I asked.

"Devils always speak in rhymes."

"How do you know?" I asked. "Have you ever met any?"

"No. But I read about it in the Enquirer. "

The girl did return home to Garrett. In fact, she called him the next morning, and he drove across town to pick her up.

She tried to tell him about her vision. He nodded in understanding and told her to get into the truck. These days they're living together in a tidy house with a white picket fence and two-car garage. They're driving each other crazy. But at least she's no longer tripping, and he has stopped drinking. I'd say they're happy.

I'm happy. Peter and I are going to be leaving soon. The light is waiting. The sun is rising. It really is rising. Jimmy hasn't gotten over his bad habit of leaving his computer on, and he is still sleepwalking. He will probably be waking up soon, and I'm sure he's going to be tired.

He has never spent an entire night typing at the speed of a supernatural being. He has never spent so long with a ghost sitting, not beside him, but inside him.

It was Jimmy who unknowingly wrote this story. I merely provided the inspiration.

I am going to miss my brother, but he is getting on with his life. The wonder he experienced when we stood together nside his heart has not left him, even if he does not consciously remember it. I watch him even now, through the images that flash behind his fluttering eyelids. And I know he dreams of me, of everything I have gone through since I last bid him farewell on my way to Beth's party. His touch lightens as he types this happy ending.

Mrs. Parish is not the only one who knows I'm doing well.

If you who read this story are really there, then it means my brother did not accidentally erase this computer disk I store my words on. It means that my last wish has been granted.

In the beginning, I called myself a ghost and said this was because I was dead.

But those were Peter's words that I borrowed when he tried to communicate with his brother using my body. Even though Peter is a fine writer, I think he could have put it better.

I am not dead. Death does not exist. I am alive! That is the purpose of this tale, to let everyone know that they do go on and that they don't need to be afraid, as I was afraid.

Yet I also have a selfish reason for wanting my story told. I was young when I died. I didn't have a chance to make my mark in the world. I didn't do anything unique, nothing that will change the course of history. But I wasn't a bad girl. I don't want to be forgotten.

I want people to remember me.

Look for Christopher Pike's Scavenger Hunt.

About the Author

CHRISTOPHER PIKE was born in Brooklyn, New York, but grew up in Los Angeles, where he lives to this day.

Prior to becoming a writer, he worked in a factory, painted houses and programmed computers. His hobbies include astronomy, meditating, running, playing with his nieces and nephews, and making sure his books are prominently displayed in local bookstores.

He is the author of Last Act, Spellbound, Gimme a Kiss, Remember Me, and Final Friends 1, 2, and 3, all available from Pocket Books. Slumber Party, Weekend, Chain Letter, The Tachyon Web, and Sati—an adult novel about a very unusual lady—are also by Mr. Pike.

Look for the next thrilling novel by Christopher Pike

REMEMBER ME 2:

THE RETURN