If she had a breath to take, she would draw it in deeply, filling her lungs with the cool ocean air, and then exhale slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. Her slender legs absently moved back and forth, reminiscent of the hours spent on the tire in her family’s backyard. But she had no lungs to fill with crisp air, nor slender legs, only the illusion of a body, an illusion of a young woman breathing deeply, one perched on a marble headstone, not on a tire swing. One thing she had was all the time in the world.
Pamela Beckett gazed across a section of the Frederickport Cemetery, a stretch of green lawn dotted with century-old headstones and bordered in colorful hydrangea plants, their flower clusters an exhibit of vibrant pink, blue, and lavender. She wore her brown hair long and flowing, and to a stranger, they might guess her age to be no older than nineteen or twenty. Yet that too was an illusion. She had been decades older than that at the time of her death.
“Pamela, there you are!” a voice called out.
She turned toward the voice and spied Wesley Sadler sprinting in her direction. She doubted Wesley would have been able to run like that at the time of his death, considering the illusion of the body he presented. Unlike Pamela, his appearance matched the man he had been at the time of his death: a short, chubby, balding man, who looked years older than the sum total of his thirty-five years of life.
“What are you doing over here?” Wesley asked when he finally reached her.
“I like it here. I should have been buried on this side of the cemetery. The headstones are more interesting. Marble instead of boring bronze. I resent being buried under a dull flat grave marker; its only redeeming characteristic is the ease with which a lawn mower can plow over it.”
“Yeah, but if you hang out over here, when someone comes to visit your grave, you’re going to miss seeing them.”
Pamela scoffed. “No one comes to see me. Aside from those people from Marlow House, and they aren’t friends.”
“Then why do you bother staying? Why don’t you move on?” Wesley asked.
“And why do you stay? You’ve been here longer than me.”
“It’s complicated. You’re lucky.” Wesley turned his back to Pamela and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket—both of which were nothing more than an illusion. Silently, he stared across the cemetery. There hadn’t been a funeral for over a week, and it had been relatively quiet during that time.
“Lucky? How? That I squandered the life I’d been given? I lived my entire life in the house I grew up in, and most of those years, I lived alone. You’re afraid to move on because you don’t want to face the consequences of the life you lived, while I refuse to move on because I never really lived.”
Wesley turned around to face Pamela but paused when he spied a man walking in their direction. “We’re not alone.” Wesley nodded toward the man.
Still sitting on the headstone, Pamela turned around and watched as the man Wesley mentioned continued down the walkway toward them. For a moment the man seemed oblivious to Pamela and Wesley’s presence, but when he was about eight feet away, he halted, looking from Wesley to Pamela and back to Wesley. The two spirits stared at him, a stocky middle-aged man with a buzz cut.
“You can see me?” the man blurted.
Pamela and Wesley laughed, and then Pamela said, “Either you’re a medium or a ghost. Which is it?”
The man stared at Pamela and blinked a few times before answering, “I’m dead. So I guess I’m a ghost.”
“Where are you buried?” Wesley asked. “I don’t remember your funeral. I’ve met all the spirits at this cemetery.”
The man shrugged. “I wasn’t buried. I was cremated.”
“Does that hurt?” Wesley asked. “I always wondered about that.”
The man shook his head. “No. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t fun to watch. Not something I would recommend.”
“What are you doing here?” Pamela asked. “Is your urn here? Do they have a place for urns at this cemetery?”
“No. My urn isn’t here. I don’t have an urn. I wasn’t cremated in Frederickport. When they were done, they dumped my ashes in the ocean. As far as I know, there was no funeral.”
Wesley winced. “That’s harsh.”
“Ahh, so your ashes drifted this way, and you followed them?” Pamela suggested.
“I have no idea where my ashes ended up, aside from watching them get dumped in the ocean. I came back to Frederickport to find my family.”
“Well, unless you have a family of mediums, it’s going to be a rather one-sided visit,” Pamela said. “And if you’re talking about the spirits of your family buried here, my bet is that they’ve already moved on. There are only a few spirits hanging around this cemetery. But who is your family? If they’re here, Wesley and I have probably met them.”
“No. They’re alive. Not here.”
“I don’t understand,” Wesley said. “Then why are you here?”
“I guess I was looking for some help. Ever since I was killed, no one has seen me. Until now. Well, except for one spirit who moved on.”
“You look rather young,” Pamela observed. “How did you die?”
“I was murdered.”
“Murdered!” Pamela and Wesley chorused.
He nodded in reply.
“Are you here to get someone to help you find your murderer?” Wesley asked.
“No. My killer has already been caught. He was caught right away. I suppose I should clarify; I’ve already found my family. They live here, in Frederickport. But they can’t see me. And I wondered if there were others like me, someone who knows more about this dead thing. I figured the best place to look was at a cemetery.” He paused a moment and added, “When we first met, you mentioned something about mediums?”
Pamela moved from the headstone and stood next to Wesley. “Yes, a medium, someone who can communicate with our kind. I suppose you have come to the right place. Frederickport has several known mediums. They seem to cluster together, you know.”
The man shook his head. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Oh yes, over on Beach Drive.” She paused a moment and added, “Do you know where Beach Drive is?”
“Yes, yes, I do. It’s the street where Marlow House is located.”
Pamela nodded. “One of the first mediums I ever talked to was Danielle Marlow.”
“Are you telling me Danielle Marlow is a medium?” the man asked.
Pamela’s grin widened. “Yes, and so is her husband. Also, two of their neighbors. Oh, not next-door neighbors, but close neighbors. Heather Donovan and Chris Johnson. Although, I think Eva told me his real name is Chris Glandon. Also, the police chief’s youngest son. I believe his name is Evan.”
The man shook his head in denial. “No. I don’t believe any of this. This is some sort of dream. A terrible dream.” He walked to a nearby park bench and sat down. He leaned forward and stared at his feet while continuing to shake his head in denial while muttering something about how the nightmare kept getting worse.
“I’m not sure why you’re so upset.” Pamela frowned. “Dead is dead.”
“Who murdered you? And why?” Wesley asked excitedly as he and Pamela moved toward the man, stopping a few feet from him.
After a moment, the man looked up at the two ghosts. “Why do you care?”
Wesley shrugged. “I’m just curious.”
“I suppose I was murdered because I wasn’t a good person.”
“There are lots of people I could describe that way, but they don’t get murdered,” Wesley said. “You must have really pissed someone off. What did you do?”
The man sat up straight, leaned back on the bench, and looked at the two spirits. “Let’s just say I made a lot of poor life choices, and they caught up with me.”
Wesley sat down next to the man on the bench and said quietly, “I get what you mean. I made a lot of poor choices too. That’s why I’m still here. No one killed me, but if I had stuck around, I could see it happening.”
The man looked at Wesley. “Why is that the reason you’re still here?”
Wesley shrugged and leaned back on the bench. “When we die, we usually move on. Unless we choose to stick around—like Pamela here and me and you. Pamela has her reasons for not moving on, and I guess I’m still here because I’m a chicken.”
The man frowned. “You’re afraid to move on? The spirit I saw who moved on said it was beautiful, peaceful. What are you afraid of?”
Wesley looked at the man and cocked his head slightly. “Being held accountable, of course. Once we pass over after this place, we must face the consequences of our actions from our lifetime.”
“Are you telling me this isn’t it? There is more beyond whatever I am right now?”
“You didn’t think that once you died, you wandered around the living, not being seen or heard? For eternity?” Pamela asked. “Didn’t you just tell us you witnessed a spirit move on?”
“I assumed I wasn’t allowed to move on. I thought staying here, like this, was my punishment.”
Both Pamela and Wesley laughed. When the laughter stopped, Pamela said, “Oh, no. I suppose you could wander among the living, like Wesley here. But eventually, you’ll have to pass over and face the consequences. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“When I was waiting for them to cremate my body, there was someone else being cremated. Her name was Amy. She told me she had been a homeless, living alone on the streets. She didn’t have anyone. After she watched her body turn to ash, she looked over to the other side of the room and said, ‘I’m ready to move on now.’ It was like she was talking to someone. But no one was there. Then this light streamed down from the ceiling, and she floated up. As she ascended, she called back to me, telling me how beautiful it was, and that I was going to love it. Then she just disappeared. She seemed so happy. So peaceful. Later, after I was cremated, I spoke out and said I was ready to move on. Nothing happened. Nobody was there, but no one had been there when Amy said it. So I said it again. Nothing. It was then I assumed my hell was here, on earth, forever being among the living, who could neither see nor hear me.”
“I’m not sure if there is a heaven or hell, just that when you move on, you have penance for your sins here depending on the severity of your sins,” Pamela explained. “At least, that’s what I understand.”
The man groaned.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad. What did you do?” she asked.
“There is a long list, but I suppose at the top of my list, I murdered someone.”
“Is that why someone murdered you?” Wesley asked.
The man shook his head. “No, not directly. He didn’t know the person I killed.”
“Wow,” Wesley said in a low voice. “You really must have been a bad person.”
“I suppose I was.”
“I don’t want to scare you,” Wesley said, “but you’ll be eventually called to the other side, and depending on your sins, I don’t think you’re going to enjoy yourself.”
The next moment, the man disappeared.
Pamela sat down next to Wesley, where the man had been sitting moments earlier. They said nothing. After a few minutes, Pamela said, “I wonder who he murdered.”
“No clue, but he gave me an idea.”
Pamela turned to Wesley. “What kind of idea?”
“Maybe the mediums can help me set things right. It’s not like I murdered someone, not like that guy. I never thought to see if they could help me.”
“Why don’t you ask Eva about it?” she suggested.
He cringed and shook his head. “No. Eva makes me nervous. I don’t like to be around her. And that friend of hers, Marie, she’s too bossy. Reminds me of my wife. I don’t want to talk to them about this.”
“You do realize Marie and Eva are tight with the mediums? They’ll find out.”
“Remember, both Marie and Eva are at that summer festival. They’ll be gone for a while.”