See Me (8 page)

I sighed. Were we back on that again?

Since it hadn’t indicated any desire to kill me, I figured I should try to coax some information out of it—anything I could use to help Owen. “Where are you from?”

“San Francisco.” It folded another slice of cheese. “Lots of extra terrestrials there.”

“San Francisco?” I asked, ignoring its smart remark. The City was less than an hour away. I’d been there a zillion times, but there had never been anything in the
Chronicle
about zombie attacks. “Are you saying you were created there?”

It chuckled, then tossed the plastic wrappers on the counter.

“We do have a garbage can, you know.” I tightened my fists behind my back. “You zombied my body, my friend’s body, and keep scarfing down my food. Considering all of that, it’s particularly ungrateful to laugh at me when I’m just trying to figure out why you’re here. Maybe I should go get a minister, after all. He could exorcise you back to San Francisco or wherever you’re really from.”

“You’re cute.” He smirked, folded another piece of cheese, then shoved it into his mouth.

Gritting my teeth, I stormed from the room, then paced the entryway.
Cute?
This zombie was completely infuriating. Threatening it made me very brave or really stupid. Either way, I hadn’t gotten any new information or any closer to rescuing poor Owen, who had to be scared silly right now.

I glanced up at the ceiling. “Sorry, Owen. I feel bad that it took your body. But I won’t abandon you.” I sighed, hoping he could hear me. “Although, if you hadn’t tied my wrists together I’d probably be more useful right now.”

My fingers were turning numb, so I had a right to point that out.

“Amy?” The zombie called from the kitchen.

Did it think we were on a first name basis? How annoying.

Wrists throbbing, I stormed back into the kitchen and shot daggers with my eyes. “Look, you . . . whatever you are, don’t even think about hurting me or you will pay dearly. Just grab the orange-handled scissors from the drawer behind you and cut these shoelaces off.”

The corner of its mouth tipped up. “Did you just insult me, threaten me, then ask for a favor?”

My lips twisted to the right. “Just do it.”

It tilted its head. “Not until you say please.”

“Owen tied my arms behind my back because he thought I might be possessed, which is your fault.” I stepped forward, pleading with my eyes since I could barely feel my hands anymore. “These laces are tight and they hurt, so the least you can do is cut them off without making me beg.”

“Fine.” It pulled open the drawer, fished out the scissors, then made a circular motion with its finger. “Turn around.”

For a moment, I wondered if turning my back on an armed zombie was a good idea. . . .

Trying to swallow my fear, I lifted my lashes. “You’re not going to hurt me. Are you?”

“No, Amy.” Its voice held an edge of sadness. Then it stepped behind me, wrapped its fingers gently around one of my wrists and bent down. “He’s got these knotted pretty good, so hold perfectly still.”

“Okay,” I said, then shivered as its fingers brushed across my skin. I sucked in a breath, tingles skittering up my arms at the feather-like feel of its fingers against mine. I closed my eyes, confused by my racing heart.

“Got it.” The zombie’s tone was soft. “You’re free.”

A moment later, my wrists separated. Tiny pricks attacked my hands as if being poked by thousands of needles. I held them up in front of me as the blood flowed back in with a vengeance. “I guess I should thank you.”

“My fault to begin with. Remember?” It set the scissors on the counter, reached for my hands, then gazed at the red marks around my wrists. Its eyes clouded. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” I said, getting chills where its thumbs trailed across my wrists, which made no sense. It was acting so sweet now. Almost human. I had to remind myself this body snatcher wasn’t exactly my friend.

Pulling my hands away, I swallowed. “You took over my body.”

It nodded. “I know.”

My throat tightened. “That was wrong on so many levels. I got flung against the ceiling—no, make that
through
the ceiling—at school, freaked out because I thought you might hurt my friend, and didn’t know if I’d ever be myself again.”

Wait . . . I rarely opened up to people. Why was I being so honest with this zombie? Maybe because he
actually
seemed to be listening to me. Like my parents had done when I was little. I’d forgotten how good that felt.

“I’m sorry.” It blew out a breath, then leaned back against the counter. “But you’re the only one who seemed to notice I existed and I had no other way to communicate. I tried to write you a note, but controlling a pen with my mind proved kind of difficult.”

A vision of the ballpoint standing on its own and sliding toward me flashed through my mind. I glanced down at my feet, then looked up again. “I thought you were trying to stab me.”

“No.” A hurt expression crossed its face. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” I studied its face—Owen’s face, I had to remind myself, because this “thing” acted so different than the geeky hottie whose body it currently inhabited.

The vein on its temple throbbed and its eyes flicked to mine. “To ask you to help me.”

My chest went hollow. “With what . . .?”

Its gaze traveled down to the dirty shoelaces in its hands and it shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“You’ve invaded my friend’s body,” I said, pointing out the obvious. “I’m thinking your problem matters a lot to Owen until you give his body back.”

“I-I do have my own body.” It glanced away, sucked in a breath, then turned back to face me again. Its eyes pierced mine. “The problem is that it’s buried six feet under right now.”

Huh? Did that mean the zombie used to be human?

An eerie feeling settled over me. “Do you mean buried, like the dead?”

“I’m not exactly dead, I guess.” It shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“How can you be not exactly dead?” My brows rose then something nagged at the back of my mind. The Internet article the zombie had pulled up on my laptop.
Maisy’s Meow
creator Jacob Miller’s son had been nailed by a big rig on his way to school. It made perfect sense now. The zombie hadn’t
caused
the car wreck. He’d been
in
the accident. I gasped. “You’re the guy from that newspaper article.”

It avoided my gaze.

I rubbed my forehead, unable to believe I hadn’t pieced this together sooner. “You’re Jonathan Jacob Miller.”

His gaze lifted until his eyes met mine. “In the flesh.”

Only not his flesh, Owen’s flesh. Because. . . .

“Oh, my . . .” My eyes burned and my hands flew to my mouth as I remembered a line from the Internet article, which stated that Jonathan’s burial had been scheduled for this morning. “Y-You
died
last Friday.”

We stared at each other in silence as the realization sunk in. The photo from the article appeared in my mind. I could see him with his emerald green eyes, his dark hair, flashing that dimpled smile. The zombie wasn’t evil. He was just a teenage boy from a car accident.

Jonathan Jacob Miller.

And he was dead.

****

I bit my lip, staring at Owen’s face. Well, Owen’s face that was now being used by Jonathan. I wasn’t sure if that was gross or cool. How had this bizarre situation happened, anyway? I needed answers. “If you died, then how are you able to be here?”

He speared a hand through his hair. “I’m not exactly sure.”

My tummy kind of did a flip-flop. Now that was weird—when Owen shoved his hand in his hair I usually just found it a bit annoying at how all the spikes went in different directions. When Jonathan did it . . . well, Owen’s hair had never looked better.

“But you were killed in a car accident. And then suddenly you’re in my body. And now Owen’s. How did that happen?

Then I remembered Nicole’s Ouiji board game. Chills ran through me.

I whirled around, throwing my arms out. “We summoned your spirit through the Ouija board. Didn’t we?”

His brows drew together. “No, of course not.”

“It’s making sense now.” I snapped my fingers as it all came together—the planchette moving around the Ouija board and that feeling I’d had of being watched. “You’re a total ghost. No, a zombie. Or, a zombie-ghost. A zhost?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He grunted then pushed off the counter, moving toward the hallway. “Are you always this insensitive? I feel sorry for your new boyfriend.”

My brows shot upward. “Boyfriend?”

He gestured toward his torso. “The guy whose body I’ve borrowed.”

“Owen? Not even.” I laughed. I mean, Brynne sure thought he was hot, but I found him way too serious. Besides, I needed someone who didn’t worry about the monetary percentage he was saving on a cheeseburger. And someone who made me tingle, and
not
because a zombie was trying to inhabit my body. “He’s not my boyfriend—just a friend. Sort of. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Whatever. Your busy love life doesn’t concern me.” He paused at the edge of the kitchen, slipped his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a set of keys. “These to Owen’s car?”

If I said yes, he might drive off with Owen’s body, and that wouldn’t be good. Plus, I was still wondering what he meant by my busy love life. “No. They’re, uh, someone else’s keys.”

Lying’s not my strong suit.

His eyes narrowed. “This has been real, but I have things to do.”

I stared blankly as he slipped out of the room, then I revved up a gear and charged down the hallway after him. “Hey, you said we were in this together.”

“Change of plans.”

“Why? Where are you going?” I grabbed his arm at the entryway, then blocked the front door with my arms. “You can’t just leave.”

He gave me a side-glance. “Says who?”

“Me.” I thrust my hands to my hips. “I know you’re having problems and all, but you’re being kind of rude.”

“I’m being rude?” He threw me an incredulous look. “This from the girl who just dubbed me a zhost?”

“Okay, you don’t like that term.” I lunged left, then threw my arms wide again so he couldn’t slip past me. “Noted for the record. I’ll just call you Jonathan.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Brilliant idea, considering that’s my actual name.”

“Could you cut me a small break?” I groaned, exasperated. “I get that you’re going through a tough time, but today hasn’t been a dream for me, either.”

“How can you compare—”

“I got pushed out of my body against my free will,” I reminded him. I dropped my hands to my sides. “I realize that’s not as bad as what you’re going through, but it was more than a little scary. On top of that, my English teacher gave me an F on my paper, my Government teacher gave me two weeks of after-school detention, which I missed today, and my mom is going to freak when she finds out.”

He fiddled with the keys. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because . . .” I shook my head, wondering why I was explaining myself to Jonathan when I never explained actions to anyone. Then a little weight settled over my heart. “I feel bad for calling you a zhost.”

The corner of his mouth rose slightly. “That’s all you had to say.”

“Even though I didn’t mean anything bad by it.” I held my palms up, feeling like I needed to make that clear. “And I am going to help you.”

Emotion flickered across his face. “You are?”

“Yes.” I nodded, then a boulder settled in my throat, so I dropped my gaze to the floral entryway rug. “I mean, you obviously won’t give Owen’s body back to him until you’ve figured out where your own body is. So it only makes sense that I lend a hand.”

“Thanks, Amy.” His voice was thick, his eyes filled with appreciation. “Let’s go then.” He reached past me for the doorknob, his arm brushing against mine sending chills across my skin.

“Okay.” I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed my purse off the counter. Then I stepped into a pair of sneakers I’d left by the front door, slipped outside, and together we strode down the walkway. “Now would be a good time to fill me in on your plan.”

Instead of answering me, he continued around the back of the white, beat-up pick-up truck parked at the curb, then opened the driver’s side door. “Owen’s truck?” he said.

I refused to answer.

He shoved the key in the lock and opened the driver’s side door. So much for my passive aggression.

I slipped into the passenger seat as he started the engine. “Uh, hello? Clue me in on the plan.”

“That’s not entirely laid out yet.” He pushed the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb.

I clicked my seatbelt into place. “Isn’t that why you vacated my body earlier? To go and think of a plan? At least, that’s what you told me you were doing.”

He braked as the stoplight turned red. “Maybe go back to the scene of the car accident?”

“To what? Look at the skid marks?” Frustrated, I pressed my fingers to my temples and stared out the window as we passed tract home after tract home. “He has no plan. Apparently I’m going to have to come up with one,” I muttered out loud.

“I’m certainly open to suggestions.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Let’s see. Solution time. You are apparently you, but don’t have a body. No, wait. You still have a body, it’s just six feet under.” The proverbial lightbulb illuminated over my head and I held a finger up. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “What?”

“We’ll go to where your body’s buried, dig it up, and then you can go back in.” I tapped my finger against my cheek. “You weren’t cremated, were you?”

He shuddered. “How should I know? It’s not like I attended my own funeral.”

“That’s right. You were busy haunting me at school.” Pfft. It was hard to believe I’d ever been scared. I twisted in my seat to face him. “Well, have others in your family been cremated?”

“I’m sixteen. It’s not like I’ve lost much of my family.” He made a right turn and seemed to be driving in circles. “Actually, my grandpa died when I was five. I think I remember them carrying a coffin out after the service. . . Yes, I’m certain of it.”