Haunted tm-5 Page 5

  Craig hitched his broad shoulders. "No. I guess not. It's just that . . . when I woke up, you know, I didn't know where to go. Nobody could . . . you know. See me. I mean, I went out into the living room, and my mom was crying like she couldn't stop. It was kind of spooky."

  He wasn't kidding.

  "That's okay," I said, more gently than before. "That's how it happens, sometimes. It's just not normal. Most people do go straight to the next.... well, phase of their consciousness. You know, to their next life, or to eternal damnation if they screwed up during their last one. That kind of thing." His eyes kind of widened at the words eternal damnation, but since I wasn't even sure there was such a thing, I hurried on. "What we've got to figure out now is why you didn't. Move on right away, I mean. Something is obviously holding you back. We need to - "

  But at that point, the examination of the hot tub - Andy's precious hot tub, which would, in less than a week from now, be filled with vomit and beer, if Brad's party went on according to plan - ended, and everyone came back inside. I gestured for Craig to follow me, and started up the stairs, where, I felt, we could continue talking uninterrupted.

  At least by the living. Jesse, on the other hand, was another story.

  "Nombre de dios," he said, startled from the pages of Critical Theory Since Plato when I came banging back into my bedroom, Craig close at my heels. Spike, Jesse's cat, arched his back before seeing it was only me - with another of my pesky ghost friends - and settled back up against Jesse.

  "Sorry about that," I said. Seeing Jesses gaze move past me and fasten onto the ghost boy, I made introductions: "Jesse, this is Craig. Craig, Jesse. You two should get along. Jesses dead, too."

  Craig, however, seemed to find the sight of Jesse - who, as usual, was dressed in what had been the height of fashion in the last year he'd been alive, 1850 or so, including knee-high black leather boots, somewhat tight-fitting black trousers, and a big billowy white shirt open at the collar - a bit much. So much, in fact, that Craig had to sit down heavily - or as heavily as someone without any real matter could sit, anyway - on the edge of my bed.

  "Are you a pirate?" Craig asked Jesse.

  Jesse, unlike me, did not find this very amusing. I guess I can't really blame him.

  "No," he said tonelessly. "I'm not."

  "Craig," I said, trying to keep a straight face, and failing despite the look Jesse shot me. "Really, you've got to think. There's got to be a reason why you are still hanging around here instead of off where you're supposed to be. What do you think that reason could be? What's holding you back?"

  Craig finally dragged his gaze away from Jesse. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe the fact that I'm not supposed to be dead?"

  "Okay," I said, trying to be patient. Because the thing is, of course, everybody thinks this. That they died too young. I've had folks who croaked at age 104 complain to me about the injustice of it all.

  But I try to be professional about the whole thing. I mean, mediation is, after all, my job. Not that I get paid for doing it or anything, unless you count, you know, karma-wise. I hope.

  "I can certainly see why you might feel that way," I went on. "Was it sudden? I mean, you weren't sick or anything, were you?"

  Craig looked indignant. "Sick? Are you kidding me? I can bench two forty, and I run five miles every single day. Not to mention, I was on the NoCal crew team. And I won the Pebble Beach Yacht Club's catamaran race three years in a row."

  "Oh," I said. No wonder the guy seemed to have such a wicked build beneath his Polo. "So your death was accidental, then, I take it?"

  "Damn straight it was accidental," Craig said, stabbing a finger into my mattress for emphasis. "That storm came out of nowhere. Flipped us right over before I had a chance to adjust the sail. Pinned me under."

  "So ..." I said hesitantly. "You drowned?"

  Craig shook his head . . . not in answer to my question but out of frustration.

  "It shouldn't have happened," he said, staring unseeingly at his shoes . . . deck shoes, the kind guys like him - boaters - wear without socks. "It wasn't supposed to have been me. I was on my high school swim team. I was first in the district one year in freestyle."

  I still didn't get it.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I know it doesn't seem fair. But things will get better, I promise."

  "Oh, really?" Craig looked up from his shoes, his hazel gaze seeming to pin me against the far wall. "How? How are things going to get better? In case you haven't noticed, I'm dead."

  "She means things will get better for you when you've moved on," Jesse said, coming to my rescue. He seemed to have gotten over the pirate remark.

  "Oh, things will get better, will they?" Craig let out a bitter laugh. "Like they have for you? Looks like you've been waiting to move on for a while, buddy. What's the holdup?"

  Jesse didn't say anything. There wasn't really anything he could say. He didn't, of course, know why he hadn't yet passed from this world to the next. Neither did I. Whatever it was that was trapping Jesse in this time and place had a pretty solid hold on him, though: It had already kept him here for over a century and a half and showed every sign of hanging on - I selfishly hoped - for my lifetime anyway, if not all eternity.

  And while Father Dom kept insisting that one of these days, Jesse was going to figure out what it was that was keeping him earthbound, and that I had better not get too attached to him since the day would come when I would never see him again, those well-meaning warnings had fallen on deaf ears. I was already attached. Big time.

  And I wasn't working too hard on extricating myself from that attachment either.

  "Jesse's situation is kind of unique," I said to Craig in what I hoped was a reassuring tone - both for his sake as well as Jesse's. "I'm sure yours is nowhere near as complicated."

  "Damn straight," Craig said. "Because I'm not even supposed to be here."

  "Right," I said. "And I'm going to do my best to get you moving on to that next life of yours. . . ."

  Craig frowned. It was the same frown he'd been wearing all through dinner, as he'd gazed at Jake's friend Neil.

  "No," he said. "That's not what I meant. I mean I'm not supposed to be here. As in, I'm not supposed to be dead."

  I nodded. I had heard this one before, countless times. No one wants to wake up and discover that he or she is no longer alive. No one.

  "It's hard," I said. "I know it is. But eventually you'll adjust to the idea, I promise. And things will be better once we figure out what exactly is holding you back - "

  "You don't get it," Craig said, shaking his dark head. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. What's holding me back is the fact that I'm not the one who's supposed to be dead."

  I said hesitantly, "Well . . . that may be. But there's nothing I can do about that."

  "What do you mean?" Craig rose to his feet and stood in my bedroom, looking furious. "What do you mean, there's nothing you can do about that? What am I doing here, then? I thought you said you could help me. I thought you said you were the mediator."

  "I am," I said with a hasty glance at Jesse, who looked as taken aback as I felt. "But I don't dictate who lives or dies. That's not up to me. It's not part of my job."

  Craig, his expression turning to one of disgust, said, "Well, thanks for nothing, then," and started stalking toward my bedroom door.

  I wasn't about to stop him. I mean, I didn't really want anything more to do with him. He seemed like kind of a rude guy with a chip on his big swimmer's shoulders. If he didn't want my help, hey, not my problem.

  It was Jesse who stopped him.

  "You," he said, in a voice that was deep enough - and commanding enough - to cause Craig to stop in his tracks. "Apologize to her."

  The guy in the doorway turned his head slowly to stare at Jesse.

  "No freaking way," was what he had the lack of foresight to say.

  A second later, he wasn't walking out - or even through - that door. No, he was pinned to it. Jesse was holding one of C
raig's arms at what looked to be a fairly painful angle behind his back, and he was leaning heavily against him.

  "Apologize," Jesse hissed, "to the young lady. She is trying to do you a kindness. You do not turn your back on someone who is trying to do you a kindness."

  Whoa. For a guy who seems to want nothing to do with me, Jesse sure can be testy sometimes about how other people treat me.

  "I'm sorry," Craig said in a voice that was muffled against the wood of the door. He sounded like he might be in pain. Just because you are dead, of course, does not mean you are immune to injury. Your soul remembers, even if your body is gone.

  "That's better," Jesse said, releasing him.

  Craig sagged against the door. Even though he was kind of a jerk and all, I felt sorry for the guy. I mean, he had had an even tougher day than I had, what with being dead and all.

  "It's just," Craig said in a suffering tone as he reached up to rub the arm Jesse had nearly broken, "that it isn't fair, you know? It wasn't supposed to have been me. I was the one who should have lived. Not Neil."

  I looked at him with some surprise. "Oh? Neil was with you on the boat?"

  "Catamaran," Craig corrected me. "And yeah, of course he was."

  "He was your sailing partner?"

  Craig sent me a look of disgust, then, with a nervous glance at Jesse, quickly modified it to one of polite disdain.

  "Of course not," he said. "Do you think we'd have tipped if Neil had had the slightest clue what he was doing? By rights, he's the one who should be dead. I don't know what Mom and Dad were thinking. Take Neil out on the cat with you. You never take Neil out on the cat with you. Well, I hope they're happy now. I took Neil out on the cat with me. And look where it got me. I'm dead. And my stupid brother is the one who lived."

  6

  Well, at least now I knew why Neil had been sort of quiet all through dinner: He'd just lost his only brother.

  "The guy couldn't swim to the other side of the pool," Craig insisted, "without having an asthma attack. How could he have clung to the side of a catamaran for seven hours, in ten-foot swells, before being rescued? How?"

  I was at a loss to explain it as well. Much as I was at a loss as to how I was going to explain to Craig that it was his belief that his brother should be dead that was keeping his soul earthbound.

  "Maybe," I suggested tentatively, "you got hit in the head."

  "So what if I did?" Craig glared at me, letting me know my guess was right on target. "Freaking Neil - who couldn't do a chin-up to save his life - he managed to hold on. Me, the guy with all the swimming trophies? Yeah, I'm the one who drowned. There's no justice in the world. And that's why I'm here, and Neil's downstairs eating freaking fajitas."

  Jesse looked solemn. "Is it your plan, then, to avenge your death by taking your brother's life, as you feel yours was taken?"

  I winced. I could tell by Craig's expression that nothing of the kind had ever occurred to him. I was sorry Jesse had suggested it.

  "No way, man," Craig said. Then, looking as if he was having second thoughts, he added, "Could I even do that? I mean, kill someone? If I wanted to?"

  "No," I said, at the same time that Jesse said, "Yes, but you would be risking your immortal soul - "

  Craig didn't listen to me, of course. Only to Jesse.

  "Cool," he said, staring down at his own hands.

  "No killing," I said loudly. "There will be no fratricide. Not on my watch."

  Craig glanced up at me, looking surprised.

  "I'm not gonna kill him," he said.

  I shook my head. "Then what?" I asked. "What's holding you back? Was there ... I don't know/Something left unsaid between the two of you? Do you want me to say it to him for you? Whatever it is?"

  Craig looked at me like I was nuts.

  "Neil?" he echoed. "Are you kidding me? I've got nothing to say to Neil. The guy's a tool. I mean, look at him, hanging around a guy like your brother."

  While I myself do not hold my stepbrothers in very high esteem - with the exception of David, of course - that didn't mean I could sit idly by while someone maligned them to my face. At least, not Jake, who was, for the most part, fairly inoffensive.

  "What's wrong with my brother?" I demanded a little hotly. "I mean, my stepbrother?"

  "Well, nothing against him, really," Craig said. "But, you know . . . well. I mean, I know Neil's just a freshman and impressionable and all that, but I warned him, you can't get anywhere at NoCal unless you hang with the surfers."

  I had, by that time, had about all I could take from Craig Jankow.

  "Okay," I said, walking to my bedroom door. "Well, it was great to meet you, Craig. You'll be hearing from me." He would, too. I'd know how to find him. All I'd have to do is look for Neil, and ten to one, I'd find Craig trailing along behind.

  Craig looked eager. "You mean you're going to try to bring me back to life?"

  "No," I said. "I mean, like, I'll determine why you are still here, and not where you're supposed to be."

  "Right," Craig said. "Alive."

  "I think she means in heaven," Jesse said. Jesse doesn't go much for the whole reincarnation thing the way I do. "Or hell."

  Craig, who had taken to eyeing Jesse quite nervously since the whole incident by the door, looked alarmed.

  "Oh," he said, his dark eyebrows raised. "Oh."

  "Or your next life," I said with a meaningful look at Jesse. "We don't really know. Do we, Jesse?"

  Jesse, who'd stood up because I'd stood up - and Jesse was nothing if not gentlemanly in front of ladies - said with obvious reluctance, "No. We don't."

  Craig went to the door, then looked back at both of us.

  "Well," he said. "See you around, I guess." Then he glanced over at Jesse and said, "And, um, I'm sorry about that pirate remark. Really."

  Jesse said gruffly, "That's all right."

  Then Craig was gone.

  And Jesse let loose.

  "Susannah, that boy is trouble. You must turn him over to Father Dominic."

  I sighed and sank down onto the place on the window seat that Jesse had just vacated. Spike, as was his custom when I approached and Jesse was anywhere in the near vicinity, hissed at me, to make it clear to whom he belonged . . . namely, not me, even though I am the one who pays for his food and litter.

  "He'll be fine, Jesse," I said. "We'll keep an eye on him. He needs a little time is all. He just died, for crying out loud."

  Jesse shook his head, his dark eyes flashing.

  "He's going to try to kill his brother," he warned me.

  "Well, yeah," I said. "Now that you put the idea in his head."

  "You must call Father Dominic." Jesse strode over to the phone and picked it up. "Tell him he must meet with this boy, the brother, and warn him."

  "Whoa," I said. "Slow down, Jesse. I can handle this without having to drag Father Dom into it."

  Jesse looked skeptical. The thing is, even when looking skeptical, Jesse is the hottest guy I have ever seen. I mean, he's not perfect-looking or anything - there's a scar through his right eyebrow, clean and white as a chalk mark, and he is, as I think I've observed before, somewhat fashion impaired.

  But in every other way, the guy is Stud City, from the top of his close-cropped black hair to his swashbuckling - I mean, riding - boots, and the six feet or so of extremely uncadaverous-looking muscle in between.

  Too bad his interest in me is apparently completely platonic. Maybe if I'd been a better kisser . . . But come on, it's not like I've had a lot of opportunity to practice. Guys - normal guys - don't exactly come flocking to my door. Not that I am a dog or anything. In fact, I think I look quite passable, when fully made up with my hair nicely blown out. It is just that it is a bit hard to have a social life when you are constantly being solicited by the dead.

  "I think you should call him," Jesse said, thrusting the phone at me again. "I am telling you, querida. There is more to this Craig than meets the eye."

  I blinked, but not bec
ause of what Jesse had said about Craig. No, it was because of what he'd called me. Querida. He hadn't called me that, not once, since that day we'd kissed. I had, in fact, missed hearing the word from his lips so much that I had actually gotten curious about what it meant and looked it up in Brad's Spanish dictionary.

  "Dearest one." That is what querida meant. "Dearest one," or "sweetheart."

  Which isn't exactly what you call someone for whom you feel mere friendship.

  I hoped.

  I didn't let on, however, that I knew what the word meant, any more than I let on that I'd noticed he'd allowed it to slip out.

  "You're overreacting, Jesse," I said. "Craig's not going to do anything to his brother. He loves the guy. He just doesn't seem to have remembered that yet. And, besides, even if he didn't - even if he did have homicidal intentions toward Neil - what makes you think all of a sudden that I can't handle it? I mean, come on, Jesse. It's not like I'm unaccustomed to bloodthirsty ghosts."

  Jesse put the phone down so hard that I thought he'd cracked the plastic cradle.

  "That was before," he said shortly.

  I stared at him. It had grown dark outside, and the only light on in my room was the little one on my dressing table. In its golden glow, Jesse looked even more otherwordly than usual.

  "Before what?" I demanded.

  Except that I knew. I knew.

  "Before he came," Jesse said, with a certain amount of bitter emphasis on the pronoun. "And don't try to deny it, Susannah. You have not slept a full night since. I have seen you tossing and turning. You cry but in your sleep sometimes."

  I didn't have to ask who he was. I knew. We both knew.

  "That's nothing," I said, even though of course it wasn't. It was something. It was definitely something. Just not what Jesse apparently thought it was. "I mean, I'm not saying I wasn't scared when you and I thought we were trapped in that . . . place. And, yeah, I have nightmares about it, sometimes. But I'll get over it, Jesse. I'm getting over it."

  "You aren't invulnerable, Susannah," Jesse said with a frown. "However much you might think differently."

  I was more than a little surprised that he'd noticed. In fact, I'd begun to wonder if perhaps it was because I didn't act vulnerable - or, okay, feminine - enough that he'd only grabbed and kissed me that once, and never tried to do it again.