Chapter 6
SIX
Ghost
Goddammit.
Kissing never hurt anything. That much I knew. Hatred, prejudice, violence—those things were hurtful. But affection, desire, comfort—what Christopher had made me feel with his kiss—I refused to believe those were wrong.
Yet Christopher had run away. The cranky and confident man I’d gotten to know had turned and fled. Why? Was it really his fear that I was only desperate? Something else? Of course, part of me was desperate for company—that didn’t mean I didn’t like and feel attracted to Christopher.
Ghost life was too hard. And I was impatient.
“I’m fine,” I told myself. The ghosts buzzed around me like curious bees. I waved at them, attempting to move their way, but they vanished.
“Fun times,” I shouted at them. Ghosts were no better than humans.
I didn’t know how much time had passed.
For me, it felt long. Spending chunks of what seemed like hours alone, I practiced my conjuring of places and things. Once I made a delicate pond with big goldfish and a circle of bamboo. Another time, I conjured a Christmas scene: a small house, a Charlie-Brown-sized tree. Had I experienced these places? As hard as I concentrated, no answers emerged.
When I focused on faces, Christopher’s came to me. His hard features, soft lips, spiky black lashes and blue eyes.
I wanted to see him again. Big, gruff idiot that he was.
Fucking men.
One thing I did know—somehow—was that the dating world sucked.
And I wasn’t chasing Christopher, even if I could follow him home and Casper his ass.
I was a ghost, okay. But I still had my dignity.
I had no clue how old I was. Based on my skin and body, early twenties, maybe? But I did know I was too old for this shit. If Christopher had ditched me, I’d forget him. Should be easy, since I’d forgotten everything else.
Sometimes I panicked that I’d never remember. Trapped in this land of nothing. But other days? The panic was that I would. What if I learned of my past and didn’t like the answers?
Slowly, some of the spirits here were beginning to engage with me.
We played cards or dominoes, went on runs, created worlds. That sort of thing. I did meet one or two who had strong pieces of their past. But they didn’t know how or why they were lucky with those memories. Most were total blanks and no longer cared.
Yeah, I understood their viewpoint. I just didn’t feel that way. Some small part of me missed what I couldn’t remember. And these ghost friends, as kind as they had become, felt wrong. It was like swimming in a chlorinated pool when you craved the ocean. They were fine, this lot of ghosts. They even explained more about how I could experience such visceral things like a heartbeat or dry throat but still be immaterial if I entered a human realm. I tried to be smart around them. Brave.
One suggested we hook up. Apparently, ghosts had sex with each other. They could pass through each other and do it phantom-style, or they could conjure more reality-based sensations. It did sound intriguing to me. Too bad the hookup ghost had a creepy-looking vibe, like somebody with too much Botox and a fake tan, which made me feel uncomfortable. Seeing him naked might traumatize me. The hookup ghost, who called himself Ronnie, asked my name. I could have chosen one then. I didn’t.
No point in being “almost” me.
Maybe it was dumb to think so much about a name. I wanted the name that belonged to me or none at all.
Was it so wrong to want a piece of myself to hang on to?
Another ghost-guy wanted to date. He was handsome and young but obsessed with telling me his one memory—of how he was murdered. Hard pass.
He left me alone, but I felt chilled. I hoped nobody had murdered me.
My point was that I had opportunities now. Yet dating still sucked. The ghosts mostly had sex out of boredom. I sensed no emotions between them. That wasn’t how I felt with Christopher.
Much to my annoyance, I still longed for him. His thick frame was so reassuring, so solid. I had to come to terms with the fact that Christopher might be gone for good.
His loss. I could have made him happy.
Meanwhile, I was working on my happiness. I made an ocean every day, swam among the sea turtles and fish. Floated on my back and gazed at rainbows I’d made in the sky. The ocean felt like home to me. So, despite Christopher saying it could be a single memory and unimportant to my identity, my gut told me otherwise. I must have been connected to the sea.
The next morning, Christopher showed. Finally. He went rigid as I floated near him.
“I’m here for my client,” he warned, crossing his beefy arms.
“Relax. Your honor is safe.” I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re going to kiss me by today’s end.”
“Arrogant brat.” He snorted and turned his head. Embarrassment stained his cheeks. And although he wasn’t looking at me, I could feel his interest. His desire to look.
Joy I hadn’t felt in ages bubbled inside of me.
I had settled into the ghost realm, and it didn’t matter. I s till wanted to kiss him. More than kiss.
He was wrong and I was right.
I liked being right, apparently.
And yet…
It would be crazy to be involved with somebody who could simply vanish to his realm, where I couldn’t follow him. At best, I might have a quick fuck before Christopher left. And I didn’t think I was the wham-bam type.
Of course, I didn’t know.
Christopher finally lifted his eyes to mine, and when I met his gaze, searing heat flared through my nonexistent body, and my ghostly heart soared.
“I’m tagging along as you look for this client’s father.”
Christopher groaned. “If I agree, no kissing.”
“All right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Jesus, fine.” I held up a hand like in court. “No kissing unless you kiss me. I’m happy to just hang out and talk.” I shot him a sly smile. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s only been a few days.”
“Not to me.”
“I know.”
As we looked for the ghost-father of his client, I had no idea how much time passed in his human world, but here the pretty sunsets came and went, and the weather changed as we encountered different ghosts who manifested snow or rain.
As Christopher stopped to inquire about the one he sought, we would talk about art or music in between. He loved music. Christopher could really have been a roadie, the way he dissected the different genres within rock.
Lots of our conversation was what I’d call friendly bickering. We’d argue over dog types (Labs won for sure), and the better pet, or what the best sound in the world was (Christopher picked trains; I picked babies laughing). Despite my lack of memories to share, we never ran out of things to say.
It made me think about how my essence was still me. Slowly, I came to agree with that idea.
Who I was (or had been) weren’t my only experiences. I still possessed certain opinions and tastes. I supposed this might be the result of experiences that I simply couldn’t recall, but it could also be just me—my core self.
In any case, I liked our banter. I liked talking, apparently. I got off on it. And Christopher was sharp and engaging to talk with. I felt less restless with him. I had the feeling I’d been a restless type of person even on Earth. Still, I honored his request and put any attraction aside.
One day, Christopher found his client’s father.
“That’s him.” He tugged at my arm. “Over there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Come on.” We raced to the ghost, who was sitting in a giant leather chair, reading a book. He wasn’t as pale, as cadaverous, as some of the others also reading. The books intrigued me, and my heart fluttered as I spied some familiar titles. Apparently, I liked reading.
“I’m a friend of your daughter, Maggie. Do you have any memories of her?” Christopher asked the older ghost. He wore glasses on the edge of his nose, though he wasn’t more than fifty, judging by his thick hair. I’d been here long enough to know he might have given himself more hair, though. Altering your features was a popular pastime. I’d yet to try it, but some more muscles might be nice.
“Who? No.”
“Well, she’s your kid and she’d love to see you once more. I’m doing a séance with her, and I can channel you through.”
“She’ll see me? Hear me?”
“Through me. A little, maybe.”
“Meh, why would I want to go through you to chat with some girl I don’t know?”
“You once loved her.” Christopher handed him the picture of the ghost and Maggie. He took it smoothly from Christopher’s hand.
All ghosts moved this way, like we were skating across surfaces.
“She’s what, twenty? Old enough to live her own life.” He shrugged, unmoved by the evidence of his same face hugging the woman. He smiled in the picture, and they both had significant gaps in their front teeth.
I wondered if he’d fixed that here, because he lacked the tooth gap. It made me decide not to change myself.
If Christopher ever found my people, I wanted to remain me.
“Not interested,” the old ghost repeated. “Now get lost.”
“Okay, it’s fine. You don’t have to channel through me to talk to your daughter, or eat through me the foods she brought that you used to love, or see your old dog. Makes no difference to me.”
Christopher turned away and signaled for me to follow.
The old ghost hadn’t expected this. “Hey!” he shouted angrily and tossed down his book. “Just a minute.”
Another ghost shushed him in annoyance.
The old ghost glided in front of us.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “See my daughter. It’s the right thing to do, after all.”
“Good. I’ll inform her, and we can begin the séance soon.”
“Great! Looking forward to talking with…who?”
“Maggie.”
“Yep, Maggie. And tell her to bring the dog. That dog fur is so soft.”
“Will do.” Christopher rolled his eyes behind the ghost’s back.
“That was great!” I enthused once we’d left.
“I don’t know. He might not show.” Christopher scowled.
“Or it might all go well.”
“ Mmhm ,” he replied. “Maybe. Or he’ll split, and the next time we see him will be in the dregs of Hell.”
“That’s a sunny attitude.” I paused. “Is there a hell here?”
“Not that I’ve witnessed. Although some ghosts have started conjuring a gated community.”
“The first step to Hell,” I agreed, socking him lightly in the side. “Gated communities.”
I laughed loudly at my own joke, but Christopher’s chuckle was softer. Was he not used to the sound of his own happiness?
“Look, stop the grumpy doom-and-gloom shit. You found him. You’ll recover my past, too. At least some pieces.”
“Unlikely. That’s much more difficult to do.”
“I’ll remember something to help.”
“Are you always this optimistic?”
“My gut tells me optimism is much better than pessimism when it comes to things.” I lifted my chin. “Might be stubborn, too. But I know what I want.” I locked eyes with him.
He cleared his throat. “I have to go and inform my client about her dad. Try and have him appear. A lot of ghosts back out, even when I find them.” He hesitated. “I’ll be gone only a few days, but it will seem longer.”
“No worries. When we meet, all that won’t matter.”
A smile hugged his lips. “Yeah, you are a stubborn fucking optimist.”