Me & Death (7 page)

“Morgan.”

“Who’s he?”

“You’ll find out. You’ll meet him.”

“Does Morgan stay here?” asked Marcie.

“Of course. He’s stuck like everyone else here. Only he’s not a Mourner, like me or Raoul.”

Another bone-jarring thud. The Cowgirl sign fell off the bathroom door.

“Is he a Grave Walker?” I asked. I hoped not. I didn’t want to meet anyone like Wolfgang.

“No no. No. Fear has no hold on Morgan. He’s a Slayer.”

I heard a roaring sound, like a … I don’t know, a bull or something. Marcie shivered and reached for my hand.

Not fear or sadness. I wondered what emotion Slayers felt. A Slayer was a kind of killer. Could that tie you to Earth?

Raoul, Marcie’s Mourner, appeared in the doorway a moment later. He was side on to us, and at first I thought he was floating. His feet were off the floor and he was twisting his skinny body around. “Put me down!” he said.

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

T
he 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

“
S
he 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.