Me & Death Read online

  Then I saw the arm that held Raoul’s shirtfront. Someone was holding him in the air.

  A giant. A storm cloud. A fire. A demon. These images passed through my mind when I saw Morgan for the first time. He filled the doorway and gave off a blast of heat that shot down the hall, making me blink. He tossed Raoul away when he caught sight of us and opened his mouth wide, showing teeth that had been filed to points.

  “Hellfire!” he cried.

  He was dressed like someone off the History Channel – high boots, belt, and a kerchief to keep his long hair out of his eyes. Everything was gray, of course, but he wasn’t like the other ghosts I’d met. His voice boomed and echoed like a gong.

  He came down the hall with a rolling, swaggering walk. The heat intensified. He was a furnace. We shrank back.

  He snatched the bag of limes from Tadeusz. “About time!” he cried. “I’ve been waiting for these!”

  He grabbed my shoulder.

  “Can you make grog, kid?” he said.

  I didn’t know what grog was. I shook my head. His hand was burning me.

  “You’d better be a hellfire quick learner,” he said. And dragged me down the hall.

  “Marcie!” My voice cracked.

  “Shut up, kid!”

  “Marcie! I’ll look for you when I get back! What’s your address? What’s your last name?”

  I couldn’t see her past Morgan’s shoulder. I didn’t hear her reply.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Oasis was a long room. The bar was on the left-hand side as you went in. There were booths on the other side and a pool table at the back.

  Morgan dragged me behind the bar, dropped me like a sack of laundry, and told me to start cutting limes. Apparently you need them to make grog. Also sugar, rum, hot water, and cinnamon. I did the work: measuring, boiling, mixing, pouring the hot smelly drink into a pitcher. Morgan sat on a barstool and told me to go faster.

  The floor was covered in broken glass. Every now and then Morgan would kick a piece of glass away from him. I had wondered before how this hotel worked. Was the place ever cleaned? Were the vending machines ever refilled? Would anyone sweep up this glass?

  Man, I did not want to end up here.

  There was a small TV behind the bar, tuned to the local news. I recognized the anchor. Looking at her, you knew that the headlines were important and sexy.

  Morgan downed his drink, frowned, and banged down his glass.

  “Hellfire! That was awful!” he cried. “Worst grog I ever had. Now do me another one.”

  I lifted the pitcher, poured carefully.

  “More, damn it!” he called. “Right to the rim!”

  I smiled. I was getting used to his style. Reminded me of people I knew. I was even getting used to the glow coming from him. It was like living under a heat vent.

  “Don’t make faces, kid. You’re not here for play acting.”

  He reached for the remote.

  My third vision started on a gray afternoon in the crappy time of year between Halloween and Christmas, when the trees are bare, the sun goes down early, and there’s no snow. Jim was walking down Roncesvalles, smoking a cigarette, which made him look pretty stupid. Oh well. Morgan and I floated after him.

  “How’d we get inside the TV picture?” I asked.

  “Who cares, kid? We’re here.”

  He had his glass in his free hand. Took a sip.

  “But it happened so fast,” I said. “How did it happen so fast?”

  He hawked and spat. “This is your third time, right? So maybe you’re getting better at going back to the past. Now shut up and watch.”

  Jim wore a black bomber-style jacket and mitts. I wore that jacket up until last year, even though it was getting too small for me by then.

  We floated above the Krakow Restaurant. Morgan spat again. I watched the droplets of spittle disappear into the gray afternoon. I wondered if he was spitting here in the vision or in the Oasis lounge too.

  Jim took a drag, threw away the butt, turned down Garden Avenue. He must have been to the Buy and Sell after school. Jerry used to hand out cigarettes.

  We reached the house. Morgan and I drifted down like dandelion fluff across the front porch and through the front window into the living room. Cassie was sitting on the couch watching Oprah.

  Jim grabbed the remote from his sister and fell onto the couch. She tried to take it back, but he held her off.

  Give it back! she said. Or I’ll make you wish you had.

  No, said Jim, his voice breaking. The word began as a squeak and ended as a croak. So embarrassing to be a boy, sometimes.

  Cassie laughed. No-oo? What does No-oo mean?

  You shut up!

  He pointed the remote, and Oprah’s face turned into Yosemite Sam’s. Jim sat back and watched as the little man with the big mustache chased Bugs Bunny up a ladder. Underneath was a swimming pool with alligators in it. In the background a busy piano played, Deedly deedly dee, dee, dee.

  “This is a great cartoon,” I told Morgan. I floated over behind the couch so I could see the TV better. When Yosemite Sam said that he’d paid his four bits for the high-diving act and that he was going to see the high-diving act, I mouthed the words along with him.

  Cassie worried at a fingernail, watching Jim sidelong.

  Yosemite Sam lost his balance on the diving board, teetered, and fell. Jim and I laughed together, and Cassie lunged for the TV remote. Jim transferred it to his other hand and held it away from her. Now she swarmed over him, grabbing with both hands and crying out.

  Ma! Jim is bugging me!

  Am not!

  She peered intently past his head, looking at nothing. Well, actually, she was looking right at me and Morgan, but of course she couldn’t see us. The remote was still out of her reach.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said as my dozing memory finally woke up. “I know what’s going to happen now.” I tried to look away but found I couldn’t. I guess when you’re remembering something you have to remember it.

  Morgan yawned, showing his mixed mouthful of dirty, pointy teeth.

  Cassie bent her head gracefully, grabbed her brother’s shoulders, and kneed him in the groin. Hard. He screamed. I groaned. Even the shadow of the pain hurt.

  You won’t need to take a long shower today, Jim, she laughed.

  “Quite a vixen, your sis.” Morgan finished his drink and tossed the glass away from him. It disappeared.

  The remote fell from Jim’s hands and bounced on the dirty rug. Cassie scrambled for it, like some large insect, all legs and arms. On-screen, Yosemite Sam was being eaten by alligators.

  Jim lay on the couch, hunched over and breathing hard. Oprah was back on, but Cassie wasn’t watching. She danced over to me and stared right into my eyes. She put her hand out. I moved away, like we were playing blind man’s bluff. She followed me. Fear, excitement, and a kind of specialness in her face.

  Peek-a-boo, I see you, she whispered. You’re dead, aren’t you, Jim?

  CHAPTER 14

  “She can see us,” I said to Morgan. “How can she see us?”

  “How in hellfire do I know?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “This is my past, right?”

  “Yes, but you aren’t the only one in it. It is your sis’s past too. You’re not replaying a memory here, you lackwit! This is what really happened.”

  “But how can Cassie see ghosts? Is she hallucinating? Is there a physical explanation?”

  “Why do you want to know so much, kid?”

  He sounded like Cap now. “I want to know” can get you in trouble, Jim.

  I turned back to Cassie. She was still talking to us. How old are you, Jim – thirteen? she said. Fourteen, maybe. Not much older than now. Wow. And who’s your friend? He looks cool. Does he kill you? Is that how you die?

  I remembered all the times that Cassie had weirded me out, staring into corners, talking to people who weren’t there. Turned out they were there all along. No wonder she’
d panicked when she saw my dragon shirt at breakfast. (You’re dead! That’s your dead shirt.)

  Morgan shot at her with his finger. She shot him back.

  Ma came downstairs in a housecoat with a headache, wincing at every step. Her eyes were almost closed.

  What’s all the racket? she said.

  Cassie hurt me, said Jim. And now she’s in the corner talking to invisible people again. Make her stop.

  Ma exhaled like a deflating tire. Both of you stop. Stop everything! She walked right past us to get to the kitchen.

  “Someone’s got a hangover,” said Morgan.

  Jim was like an open gasoline can looking for a match. There was nowhere to put his anger. Oh, did I remember that feeling. He went out, slamming the front door. I wanted to talk to Cassie, but when it was just us and Oprah in the room, I found I couldn’t stay. A giant hand pulled at me. I was outside before I knew it, following Jim down Garden Avenue toward High Park. He stomped along, shoulders twitching under his bomber jacket, kicking at stones and swearing to himself. When he came to the mailbox at the corner of Garden and Indian Road, he pushed it over. It made a satisfactory booming sound when it hit the sidewalk.

  A sour old lady watched him from down the street with a frown of deep disapproval. She carried a cane and wore glasses and thick shoes. Hooligan! she called.

  Jim whirled around, his face a stain of rage. The old lady walked forward gamely, her legs moving like crooked pistons.

  Knocking over a mailbox! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?

  He growled at her. Honestly, like an animal. Even the echo of my past rage was impossible for me to ignore. I could feel anger rising in me like hot water in a bath. I wanted to punch the old lady almost as much as Jim did.

  Morgan nodded.

  “I know, kid,” he said. “Orlanda drives me crazy too.”

  Orlanda? That’s right, it was the lady from the front desk of the hotel. She must have recognized me – which would explain why she’d glared at me on the way in. Here she was in my past.

  Would Jim actually have punched her? I don’t know. He wanted to. But at that moment the parked car beside him came to life with a cough and a rumble, and an extremely familiar head popped up from the driver’s side of the front seat. Jim’s scowl dissolved into a grin.

  Hey, Rafal, what are you doing here?

  Raf leaned across to open the passenger-side door.

  Want to come for a ride, Jim?

  ’Kay.

  The anger melted inside me. Jim got in. Morgan and I drifted through the rear fender into the backseat. The motor roared, and the car spun away from the curb. Rafal steered up Sunnyside and along High Park Boulevard to the park itself, about a million acres of green in the west end of the city. The dashboard clock said 5:17. The park gates were open. We drove in.

  Rafal is my best friend, even though he’s a year older than me and goes to high school. He’s short and wide but tough with it, all corners. He almost always has a grin on. I remember him fighting with Sparks once, in the back room at Jerry’s. Sparks is bigger and stronger, must have knocked Raf down a dozen times, but Raf kept bouncing back onto his feet, smiling like anything. Sparks got so upset he grabbed a bowling ball out of a box of junk and threw it. A bowling ball! It was the first thing he could put his hand on. Raf ducked and the ball smashed a window. (Jerry kicked Sparks out of the shop for a week. Crazy but cool, that’s Raf. Never let them see you mad, he says. When my old man is hitting me, I just smile. Drives him bananas.) Thinking about Rafal made me feel awful. What had happened to him last night? What had I done?

  Back to the memory. There’s a network of lanes running through High Park. Raf pulled off to the side near the main gates and asked Jim if he wanted to drive. Jim’s eyes lit up like fireworks. They traded places, clambering over each other and laughing. When Jim put his foot down, the car stalled. He went to restart it, but there wasn’t a key. A tangle of ignition wires hung down from under the steering column.

  You boosted this car! said Jim.

  Rafal’s eyes quirked up. His grin was sudden and vivid, fork lightning in the night sky. He took a flashlight from the pocket of his ski jacket and fiddled under the dashboard.

  “You start with the ignition wires,” I explained to Morgan from the backseat. “Strip the ends and connect them. There’ll be a shock, but …”

  “This isn’t my past, kid,” he said. “I don’t give a damn.”

  When the dash lights came on, Raf turned to the starter wires, connecting red to brown. There was a spark and the engine turned over. Since the car was in gear when it stalled, it kicked forward.

  Give her some gas! Raf shouted.

  ’Kay!

  Jim steered into the park. The autumn twilight was spooky. Deep shadows, dark colors, a sense of foreboding. Bare tree branches met overhead, like clasped fingers. A lonely kid trudged ahead of us. The cloth overcoat flapped around his bony figure. His hair blew in the wind.

  I know that guy, Jim told Raf. And I hate him.

  Then … give her some more gas! shouted Raf.

  Jim sped up and aimed the car right at Lloyd. I could feel his anger running like flame through my own body. I know how this scene ended. I didn’t run Lloyd down, but … was I trying to? Or was I maybe using him as a way to get back at Cassie? It occurred to me that this last vision had had a lot of anger in it.

  Lloyd had seen the car now, but he hadn’t got out of the way. He stood, poised between fears – which way to jump?

  Morgan was leaning forward in the seat. “Exfluncticate the boy!” he shouted, shaking a rough scarred fist. His other hand went to the hilt of his cutlass. “Exfluncticate him!”

  A raccoon ambled into the road ahead of us, humpbacked and heedless. Raf grabbed the wheel, pulled it down. The car jumped the curb and crashed into the underbrush on the near side of the road.

  (So that’s how it happened! I knew I’d crashed the car, but the details were hazy.)

  The air was full of noise. Jim and Raf were shouting. Branches knocked against the windows as we rushed past. Foot off the gas! Raf said. And then my name, over and over. Jim! Jim! Jim!

  “Jim!”

  Tadeusz’s voice. I blinked. High Park, Raf, the stolen car, and my past had vanished. I was back behind the Oasis bar, smelling lime and cinnamon and treading on broken glass. Morgan and Tadeusz stood across the bar from me. The TV was back on the news channel.

  “Time to go, Jim,” said Tadeusz.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. The place was starting to get to me. It was so very full of unhappiness.

  “Great!” I said. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” I was thinking of what I’d do when I got back home. The changes I’d make. The people I’d be better to, so that I’d never ever ever ever run the risk of ending up back here when I finally did die.

  Morgan laughed so hard he spilled his drink.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Tadeusz clasped his hands in front of him and looked at the floor.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’ve got horrible news, Jim,” he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  “I’m what?”

  “Dying,” said Tadeusz. He was looking at me now.

  Big, fat concerned expression, which went so oddly with his wise-guy suit. He needed a shave.

  “But you said I wasn’t dying. Remember? You didn’t say anything about dying – just told me to pay attention. And I’ve been doing that.”

  “You were supposed to wake up in the hospital. But something is going wrong down on the street. Your body is reacting badly.”

  “What do you mean, reacting badly?” I was talking fast now. “How badly? What’s wrong with my body?”

  “I don’t know, Jim. I’m not –”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m not a –”

  “You’re a ghost, Tadeusz. You’re immortal. You know the future enough to warn people. What’s wrong with me?”

  “I’m not a doctor
,” said Tadeusz calmly. “All I know is what I hear from the front desk. It seems that your vital signs have suddenly started dropping and that you are going to die soon. I’m very sorry.”

  “I feel fine,” I said to Tadeusz. “Same as I did when I arrived.”

  “Sorry,” he said again.

  Morgan snorted.

  “You shut up!” I told him. I leaned over the bar and knocked the drink out of his hand. But that only made him laugh harder. “Hellfire!” he cried. “Aren’t you an angry sunket?” He bent to retrieve the glass.

  I wanted something to focus on. There was a framed photo graph on the wall behind the bar. Cowboy, cowgirl, horse. The three of them looked like they belonged together. They were natural, regular folks – and yet special too, with their hats and guns and stuff. They were like a perfect family. I squinted to read the writing at the bottom of the photo. Happy trails to you …

  I turned back to Tadeusz. “So … will I get a chance to change? The whole point of me coming here for the day was so I could learn stuff. Pay attention, you said. And I have! I know I’m a piece of crap, just like Denise said. I’m full of sadness, and fear. I’ve let a bunch of people down. I’ve been angry and mean. But I want to change. I don’t want to be a piece of crap anymore. I want to say sorry to Maq and Lloyd. And Raf. I want to see Marcie again. I want to talk to Cassie!”

  I came around the bar and put my hand on his cold arm. “Please, Tadeusz. I don’t want to die now. I don’t want to end up here. I don’t …”

  I stopped. I was staring at my hand. Was it my imagination or had my skin changed color? I am not a dark guy, don’t take much of a tan. But I had never seen my hand so pale, so silvery, so … gray. Was the dragon shirt as bright as it had been? To be honest, it looked a little faded.

  No. No. No!

  “How much time do I have?” I asked Tadeusz.

  “Not much.”

  “Hours? Minutes? Do I have time to talk to anyone? You know Cassie actually saw me and Morgan as ghosts! I’d like a chance to talk to her. Or Marcie.” I was panicking, thinking of all the people I wanted to see.