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He looked absolutely pathetic. Slumping on the floor, even though there was a perfectly good bench right behind him, his hair flopping into his eyes. He made no move to brush it away. He was staring into space, or more accurately, at the still-bloodied scene in front of him. People were passing him by, not even glancing in his direction. Understandable, I suppose, him being dead and all.
Did I mention he was dead? No? Eh, I’ll mention it later.
It wasn’t like I had anything else to do today, so I stood there and stared at him. People started passing me by, too, but they usually did. Usually gave me a wide berth, too. That’s notoriety for ya, folks. Finally, the dead guy on the floor noticed that he wasn’t the only one being ignored. He started looking around for the hobo stealing his attention and locked eyes with me. His jaw hit the floor as he slowly – agonizingly slowly – realized I could actually see him.
He didn’t know how the hell to react. He jumped up, then crouched, and started making a funny wheezing sound. It was the sorta sound that if a dog made it, you’d do the humane thing and shoot it. Since I was only armed with a Twinkie and a bottle of Coke, I carried on snacking while he tried to control himself.
Man, that took a long time. I got through half the bottle as the emotions kept flitting across his face. Anger, rage, hatred- are they all the same thing? I don’t know. I’m not good with stuff like that. Well, there was confusion, too. Always is. Most lucies can easily come to terms with the fact that they’re dead. The thing that confuses them? I’m the only one who can see them. Yep, they’re stuck with me. Whether they like it or not.
In case you’re not all there, they do not.
What’s a lucy, I hear you asking? A ghost, duh. Was that not obvious? Why a lucy, you’re now asking? You’re full of questions, aren’t you? Slow down, bucko. I’ll explain it all in good time. Yeesh.
The lucy managed to heroically stand up and properly look me in the eyes. He was a total wreck. He was shaking, and practically foaming at the mouth. He was either laughing or trying to cry, which looked creepy as hell. Aging forty years as he got his act together, I took in the rest of him. He had that weird half-shaved haircut that looks really stupid on everybody. You know, that millennial mullet thing? He was wearing super skinny jeans and Chucks, and a college hoody. I made the only quick judgment I could: ew.
Okay, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. He is dead, after all. He can’t bother anyone now with his incessant screaming and virtue signaling. Only me, sadly.
I knew I should’ve pretended I didn’t see him.
Come on, Ann. Stop being such an ass. The guy is obviously cut up and distraught. I should offer him comfort. Words of meaningless drivel. That sort of thing.
So, I bit my tongue and did the only thing I could.
I belched right in his face.
Okay, I didn’t mean to. I swear. It certainly took him by surprise, too. But I’d just drunk a gallon of soda. What else was I supposed to do? Hold it in?
That amount of gas was coming out either end. This was the nicer way. Just saying.
As he staggered back in alarm, I did my best to cover up the faux pas by asking about him. People like that sort of thing, right?
‘Bad day?’
He made a gurgling sound, like he was choking on his own saliva. Lucies don’t have saliva, though. I know that since I’ve been air-spat at quite a few times.
That should tell you all you need to know about me.
Since this conversation was going to be decidedly one-sided, I passed through him to sit on the bench. Thankfully, the street was fairly quiet now, so I wouldn’t look like a total weirdo talking to myself. He still hadn’t said anything. I had a feeling that maybe he was mute, which would be bad luck for him. I wasn’t about to learn ASL to find out what had happened to him. I didn’t care that much.
Or at all, really. But it was better than being at home right now.
‘I had a bad day, too,’ I said, to egg him on a little. ‘Though, yesterday was worse. Oh my God, that was possibly one of the worst days of my life. It all started when my cat Pepper peed on my sweater. No, wait. It started before that. Ugh, mosquitos.’
That was it. I’d had a mosquito invasion in my bedroom the night before, so I’d been all cranky in the morning. Then, I’d stubbed my toe and banged my head before I’d even left the room. Feeling dizzy, I’d grabbed the first sweater I could find. Typically, the only one with cat pee on it. I’d somehow made it down to the kitchen without spontaneously combusting, only to be told that my dad was now engaged. To some plastic bimbo.
I mean, her name is Stacy, for God’s sake.
I honestly didn’t expect my dad to be fooled by her. He was supposed to be smarter than that. She’s just another in a long line of prospectors from what I can see.
‘You know, I called her that to her face once, and she had no clue what I was talking about. She’s from Nevada. How do you grow up in Nevada and not know what a prospector is?’
‘What?’
My God, it speaks. He’d been edging over toward the bench but stopped when I’d spoken. Oh, sure. Look at me like I’m the crazy one. I’m not the one who’s dead, buddy.
‘My new stepmom. She’s such a gold-digger. She’s no different to all the other airheads my dad’s dated, but apparently she wins the race. They’re getting married,’ I shuddered.
I didn’t even want to think about what the wedding would be like. Other than a horrifying shambles, anyway. Balloon arches, doves, glitter and champagne fountains. I threw up a little in my mouth.
‘Okay,’ he said. His second word of the day. I ought to congratulate him.
‘What’s even worse is that he doesn’t care what I think. I told him I hate her, and he just smiled at me. Like I’m a whiny kid or something. And I’m so not,’ I whined.
For good measure, I folded my arms and pouted, too. Whiny kid, my ass.
‘Right.’
Working our way through one-word responses, I see. This could take a while.
‘So, how’s the spirit world treating you?’ I asked, to speed things up.
‘What?’
I really hoped he knew more than three words, because it was getting old.
‘News flash, honey, you’re dead. Life is a cruel mistress, and she dumped you like trash. You had life, now you do not. I’m guessing that’s you?’ I asked, pointing at the remains of the crime scene.
‘That was me,’ he whispered.
‘Hit-and-run?’ I guessed.
He nodded.
‘Well, that sucks,’ I shrugged at him. He looked pretty taken aback. What, was he expecting condolences? Maybe I’d grab the convenience store bunch of flowers tied to the bent lamppost and give them to him. Or, I could also give him a hug that he couldn’t feel, or put a pitying expression on my face.
Or, you know, go with my original statement. Whatevs.
It seems being reminded of his hit-and-run, of which he was the former part, brought out the talkative side in him. He stared at the little patch of road where he took his last breaths. Not much to look at, now. Other than the aforementioned flowers and grievously injured lamppost, there was a little crime scene tape flickering in the wind. If you looked really hard, there might’ve been a little of his blood, too. I didn’t look hard because that would’ve been inappropriate and rude.
And I’m a very caring person.
Also, I saw it yesterday.
‘It happened so fast. I was heading out to see Jake and the guys, and I didn’t know where we were supposed to meet. Either Jake’s place or the bowling alley. So, I called him to find out and he was telling me this joke, or something. And I laughed, and I hear this revving, and I lock eyes with the driver. And then you-’ he stopped, staring at me.
‘Suddenly the only one who can see you,’ I finished, nodding. ‘Like I said, it sucks. Happen to recognize who hit you? As far as I know, cops know nada.’
He shook his head after a moment, drooping his head.
‘It’s a damn shame. I’d love to help you out, but that’s a lie. I don’t want to.’
His head shot up quicker than I’d expected.
‘What? Can’t you do something?’
‘Can, yes. Want to, no.’
‘But, I mean, can’t you give someone a message from me or anything?’
‘Messages from the other side only go down well with the clinically insane,’ I explained gently.
‘But you- I-’ he stammered. I sighed.
‘Okay, now you’re speaking in tongues. Hate to break it to you, but not a single sane person in this world believes me. Not anymore. Not after...’
Tommy. Ooh, hits me hard and cuts me deep. I’d sworn never to think of him again, and there I go.
‘After what?’
None of your damn business.
‘I’ve done things. I’ve made a few mistakes.’
‘Like what?’ he prodded.
‘I may have committed a few crimes in the pursuit of justice,’ I heavily euphemized.
‘Such as?’
‘B&E, robbery, involuntary manslaughter, that sort of thing. Any other questions?’ I enquired nicely. Meaning, I barked at him. Wisely, he shook his head. The poor guy looked chastened. I took pity on him.
‘What’s your name?’
I kept wanting to call him kid, since he looked so pitiful. Clearly, though, he was older than me. Just.
He took his time thinking over the relatively simple question.
‘George.’
Well, that’s a fake name if I ever heard one. Of course, I could always read the local news to find out his real one. But that almost sounds like work.
‘Nice to meet ya, George. And I’m sorry to say, you’re a little late to the party. I don’t help you guys anymore. I’m retired.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Re. Tie. Erd.’
‘How? Why? When?’ he cried. The words practically came out as a jumble, but I managed to discern them.
‘Remember when I mentioned involuntary manslaughter? Mainly, that. And, you know, nobody ever believes me. My dad wants to cut my allowance and my lawyer’s finding it harder and harder to keep me out of jail. I’m running out of time, basically. So, I gave it all up last week.’
‘Last week?’ he parroted, beginning to tremble.
‘Yep. No more unsolved murders, no more confronting killers. I’m a regular run-of-the-mill person,’ I said to thin air, as a neighbor walked past me and gave the weirdest look.
‘So, that’s it?’ George screeched. ‘I’m stuck here? Nobody knows where I am except you, and you can’t help me? How the hell is that fair?’
It wasn’t, not in the least bit. And you know what? I hated it, too. It’s not like I wanted to be in this position, either. This whole retirement thing wasn’t exactly self-imposed. The chief of police Dan Rathers - AKA my nemesis - told me that if he ever sees me again, it better be in a morgue. He was not encouraging me to take up pathology. And my dad? He’s been getting steadily more angry and distant with me. I was living in fear that the next case would be my last. He’d throw me out on the streets to live as a homeless weirdo who talks to herself. So, yeah. It’s not fair, George. It’s not fair on either of us.
‘Welcome to my world.’