Death of a Kleptomaniac (22 page)

I'm going to have to tell Louise what I've done. Everything. I can't leave anything out. Because when you've been threatened by a menacing uncrossed soul, really the best (and only) place to turn for help is the intake counselor of your soul. I'm not sure why it takes several attempts to make a tunnel appear again, but it does. And when it finally arrives, things seem to move much slower than normal. Usually I enter and rush to where I'm headed at the speed of thought. Not this time.

Just like before, I arrive in the hallway instead of the actual transition room. Louise stands waiting, presumably for me.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

I've got hours before my funeral, so I don't understand why she's so upset. And I also don't want to tell her where I've been.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“What did you do?” she asks.

I thought I would ease into telling Louise about what I'd done. I'm not sure how to start confessing things. Fortunately, it looks like I don't have time to do that right now anyway.

“Something has happened. You only have twelve clocks left,” she says. “And your funeral is about to start. Why are you late?”

I don't know why I'm late and I can hardly process what she's saying. “Twelve clocks! Is Henry still there? My parents? My grandma?” Maybe it's okay that I only have twelve clocks left.

“Didn't you hear me?” Louise says. “Your funeral is about to start.”

She grabs my soul and makes a tunnel, and just like that I am swooped to my funeral. Where did the time go? Hilda. She must have done something, but I don't know exactly what.

I walk into the mortuary and see my friends and family gathered in the cushioned pews. My body is at center stage.

“Has it just started?” I ask.

Louise nods. She looks concerned. Why should she be so concerned? I'm the one with only twelve lousy clocks.

I spot my parents seated in the front row, next to Aunt Claire and my grandmother. I don't see Henry. Did he not come? Tate and Sadie are sitting with Joy and Roy Ekles. Wow. Joy and Roy make a great couple. I wonder if my death helped motivate her to get that relationship off the ground. If the shoe were on the other foot, I bet one of my friends' deaths would have affected me that same way. If there was something I wanted to do, I'd do it. If there was somebody I liked, I'd make my move. I'm happy for her. I really am. Then I start looking around for Henry.

But Ruthann Culpepper is here. She doesn't look as sad as when she came and spoke to me at the funeral home. She looks pretty happy. And she's not wearing black. She's wearing a brown skirt with a tangerine blouse, short-sleeved, of course. How else could everyone see her scratches? She hasn't come with her parents. She walks over to Joy and smiles.

“This is so heavy,” Ruthann says. “Hey. Have you seen Tate?”

I keep scouting around for Henry. I even leave the room. He's not in the bathroom. I leave the building. He's not in the parking lot. Where is he? Do I not matter to him?

I return to the room, and a group of parents are descending upon my grieving family.

“The flowers are lovely,” a woman says.

“Thank you,” my grandma says.

“We're very sorry for your loss,” she says.

My grandma chokes back some tears and takes a deep breath. It looks like her mind is spinning. I bet she's thinking about Grandpa Jean.

“Her sweet spirit is in a far better place,” a random person leans down to tell Aunt Claire.
Gross.
What's that supposed to mean? My sweet spirit is right here.

I glance at my body and notice a large arrangement of flowers hanging on an easel. A banner that reads
OUR BELOVED DAUGHTER
is draped across it. Who ordered that?

“This is the saddest day of my life,” I say.

“It's supposed to be,” Louise says. “It's the last time you'll be connected to these people in this way.”

“Louise, what's going to happen to me? I don't want to be all alone.”

“It's different for everyone, Molly,” Louise says. “I've already told you that there isn't anything more I can offer.”

“But I saw a dead man and his wife together. I mean, I saw their souls. I think she helped him cross. Maybe I'll get that. Maybe you can go with me and help me.”

“They were life partners and were headed for the same destination. It was prearranged. You don't have a life partner.”

“No, I don't.” All I can do is think of Henry.

“This is what I know. During the service, toward the end, you'll be presented with a door. You'll move toward it, and you'll be pulled through as if by a breeze.”

Really, I think. I think I've seen a commercial for a dryer sheet that is a lot like that. A woman walks to an open set of French doors, takes a deep breath, and is sucked out into a meadow.

“Then you'll progress,” she says.

“Okay,” I say.

“Whatever happens, I assure you that you're going to be okay,” Louise says.

But Louise doesn't know what I've done. I need to tell her about Hilda. Because when she told me that I would only cross if she let me, I don't think she was lying. Her threat felt genuine.

“Louise, please don't get mad at me, but I need to tell you something.”
How do I phrase this?
“You're not the only soul who has been helping me.” I look at Louise and smile, trying to pass this off like it's not a big deal. But Louise's face radiates concern.

“Molly, you didn't.”

I shrug. “I don't know. I might have,” I say.

“Molly Weller, you did not invite an uncrossed soul into your life.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Then what soul have you been talking to?”

“Well, I invited an uncrossed soul into my
after
life.”

Louise buries her head in her hands. I think she's crying.

“It can't be that big a deal. I've decided to cross. I'm not going to listen to her. I never even learned how to possess the body of a stranger. It's okay. I'm on track.”

“Molly, it's not that easy. You've committed a grave error. Did you let her teach you anything?”

My mind flashes back to possessing Sadie. I don't want to admit that I did that. “Louise, you never even told me about uncrossed souls.”

“I tell a soul what it needs to know.”

“That's not true!” I say. “You're hardly ever direct. I mean, I had to figure out a lot of stuff on my own.”

“That's the point,” Louise says. “You're supposed to strengthen yourself.”

“Well, not only did I do that, but I also managed to clear my room of all that stolen stuff. And that seems important.”

“Why would that be important? And how did you manage to do that?”

It's time to fess up. “I sort of possessed my friend Sadie.”

“What?” Louise looks and sounds aghast. “Why would you do that to Sadie? You can't put somebody's soul in jeopardy like that.”

“She's fine,” I said. “I was able to write letters to my loved ones, which she's presumably distributing. It's working out really well.”

“You possessed your friend and penned notes beyond the grave and you call that working out really well?” Louise wags her finger in my face. “When you possess somebody, you dislocate their soul. And the souls of the living are very fragile. Some don't make it back. Some get damaged. It's unnatural to force a soul from its home.”

That makes sense. Hilda never told me that. “She's fine. And the letters are going to help everybody grieve. I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. I died too soon.”

“It was your time! We've been through this.”

“But if I'd had a later exit date I could have gotten more done. I would have said those things to people. I didn't really change anything. I fixed something. And I don't feel bad about that. I did die too young.”

I wait for Louise to launch into an argument, but she doesn't. Judging by the look on her face, she seems to agree. “You died very young. I don't agree with what you did, but I understand it.”

Upon hearing this, I start feeling so much better.

“Molly, we need to get back to a serious issue. I need to know where you invited the uncrossed soul into your life.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I say. “I'm upset. Watching everybody I love grieve at my funeral makes me feel like I wasted my whole life.”

“Molly!” Louise says. “This is important. Tell me how you invited the uncrossed soul into your life?”

“It just happened.”

“When?” she demands.

“A couple of days ago,” I say.

“Where?” she presses.

I point into the hallway, to a spot next to the water fountain. “Right about there.”

“Here, in the funeral home?” Louise looks horrified.

“Yes,” I say.

And then a saxophone begins to play. It's Henry. The sound coming from his horn makes my soul begin to glow. Brighter and brighter. Just like Louise said, I'm becoming light.

“I love him,” I tell Louise. “I think we were meant to be together. How can I leave him?”

“Oh, Molly, this is more serious than I thought. You may not be going anywhere.”

I can't explain what it feels like to see the first guy you love playing a saxophone at your funeral. It sucks and it's wonderful at the same time. And the song. Once I recognize it, the melody sweeps over me. It's enough to break my already broken heart. Henry is playing “I Remember Clifford.” The song that was written for the trumpet player who was killed in that car crash. The sound escapes Henry's horn like a mournful cry. I am going to miss him. I am going to miss everyone.

My attention keeps getting split between Sadie and Henry. Why? There's something dragging my focus to her. That's when I notice the notes. People are holding pieces of paper. My grandma, Ruthann, Aunt Claire. Sadie already handed them out. That means that Henry has his note too. I am so relieved. She is such a good friend.

Before Henry finishes playing, Louise leans down and tells me, “Molly, I've got to leave now. I can't be in the room when you cross.”

“Wait. So I will be crossing?” I ask. “You made it sound like I wouldn't be.”

I want to focus on Henry's song; I want to watch the looks on people's faces as they read their notes. So much is happening.

“Molly, soon you are going to be presented with a door.”

Every word Louise says feels important. But I can't stop myself from interrupting her. “Will I see my parents again? Will I get to fall in love with Henry and actually be able to be with him?”

The music is over. I've missed almost all of it.

“I can't answer those questions,” Louise says. “You'll need to cross and find your way. You'll need to go through your door.”

I nod. I sense that I'm teetering on the brink of finality. Everything is going to change in a matter of minutes.

“Molly, because of your mistake, you won't be alone. The uncrossed soul will be in the room with you. They tend to hide, disguised as mourners.”

“Well, that's stupid. I'll know all the mourners.”

“You won't be able to recognize the uncrossed soul. When the door appears, the soul will try to beat you to the portal. If it gets there first, you won't be crossing.”

“Shut up. It's like a race? That's so arbitrary.”

“You made it that way.”

“Where in the room do the portals appear?”

“It's always different.”

“At what point in the funeral will it arrive?”

“It varies with each service.”

“I thought you said it was toward the end.”

“That's when it didn't matter. I wanted you to sit back and enjoy what people had to say. I didn't want you to be stressed out about looking for the door.”

“But now you want me to be stressed out?”

“Molly, be alert. You've got to get there first.”

Louise is fading away.

“Don't go. I feel so overwhelmed. So unsure.”

Joy bursts into tears. She's reading my note. What did I write? I thought it was nice. I move closer to her and look at it.

Joy,

You are a great friend. Forget our fight at the mall; it doesn't matter. You know what matters: this quote by Mae West: “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”

Friends forever!

Love, Molly

“She was so funny,” Joy whispers.

Sadie hugs her.

And now my funeral is really under way. I hear my father say, “It's time to close the casket.”

I thought my casket would be left open for the service. But that's not the case. I watch as the funeral worker lowers the lid. That's it. My body will never see light again.

My parents commence sobbing, and it's likely the last time I'll witness it. Another funeral worker stands to the side of my casket, with his hands clasped over his fly. I think it's his default position.

“I can't imagine our lives without her,” my father says.

My mother rubs his back. “Stop,” she says. “We can't fall apart.”

“I think she'd want me to be this sad,” my father says.

My mother nods.

But I can't keep my attention focused solely on them. I need to find Hilda. Why did I even invite her to appear? At first, I try to blame Louise. If only she had told me what to do. But then I realize I'm all wrong. I should have been smart enough to know what to do. I should have thought about it. I should have considered the risks. This is my fault. I did a stupid thing. I'm the one who has to correct it.

I bet Hilda can run pretty fast. I wonder whether, if we both arrive at the door at the same exact time, I'll have to fight another soul. I don't want to wrestle Hilda for my spot in the afterlife. How would two souls even do that? We're both basically like air. Is Hilda going to be able to punch me? Will I be able to pull her hair? Can a soul put another soul in a sleeper hold?

Maybe Hilda can morph her face and look like someone else. Or maybe she can morph her entire body. I'm suddenly drawn to investigate a conspicuous rubber-tree plant propped in the corner.

Organ music begins.

My attention is pulled to Ruthann. She's reading the note I wrote her.

I don't know what you've lost in life, or who has hurt you, but it's clear to me that you take your pain out on others. I wish you could see that acting the way you do is a choice. We all have choices. You know, you could choose to be a better person
.…

She doesn't appear to finish reading the note and rips the paper into tiny pieces.

“She never knew me that well,” she mumbles. “What kind of person writes a note like this and dies?”

Some of the pieces tumble to the floor. It's going to take a lot to change Ruthann Culpepper from the person she is to the person she could be. I hope she can handle what life throws her way.

At this moment, I feel certain about who I was. As people read the notes, Molly Weller's true self is revealed. Not just to them, but to me too. I understand myself. I wasn't just a bad friend. Or a kleptomaniac. Or a high school junior hung up on becoming popular.

The last years of my life were not a cakewalk. I wasn't moving effortlessly from point A to point B. Mine was a stressful existence. But I was surviving. To live inside your imperfect skin and consistently find ways to deal with pain and disappointment is no easy task. But I wasn't a failure. I see that now. Not only do I feel like I know who I was, I feel like I know where I'm going.

Wait. I'm wrong. I have no idea where I'm going. If I go through the door, where will I arrive when I cross? I'm scanning the faces of all the people. Hilda could easily be passing herself off as a parent of one of my classmates. I don't know what everybody's freaking parent looks like.

Where will I go? Seriously,
where will I go?

I catch Aunt Claire reading her note. She's in the front row.

You are wonderful and I love you. Because of you and your stories I always wanted to visit every county in Ireland. And take out the maximum level of insurance on my rental car. Who knew it would be the driver's fault if a tour bus sideswiped you on a mountain pass near Kenmare and ripped off your side mirror and back bumper?

My aunt weeps over the fact that I'll never eat fish and chips at a café in Kinsale, or kiss the Blarney Stone in County Cork.

My grandma is preoccupied by her own note.

Thanks for teaching me how to make apple dumplings. I never thought that that recipe would help me land a catch half as good as Grandpa.

She dabs at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. She looks around like she's wondering whether or not my grandpa is here. I don't think he is. I've never met him. He died before I was born, but I get the sense that he moved on and is now in the middle of doing something important.

Ruthann looks very alone. She's sitting next to Mr. Dunkley, my fifth grade teacher, and his gray-haired wife, but that only makes her appear more isolated. Sort of like a loser. But I guess I shouldn't judge people. Especially at my funeral.

I take one last look at her. My torn note has fallen around her seat like snow. I have done all I can for her.

Vice Principal Oswald stands behind the white podium. Two large crystal vases of lilies flank both sides of her.

“I first met Molly Weller when she was in the third grade. I'd been invited to visit her elementary school as a judge for a science fair. I remember Molly because I remember her project. She created an ant race.”

A few people in the crowd laugh. I barely remember this.

“She wanted to combine the ingenuity of the ant farm with the pizzazz of the rat maze. The outcome was the ant maze.”

More light laughter.

“After hearing on the Discovery Channel that an ant colony had the greatest collection of intelligence on the planet—‘Greater than that of man or the blue whale,' she pointed out—Molly wanted to see how quickly a gathering of ants could navigate a maze.”

A lot more laughter.

“The prize she offered the successful ant was a piece of popcorn.”

I'm not sure I like this speech. She's making me sound like an extremely dopey third grader.

“She kept the ants in a sandwich bag. Not all of them survived the trip to school. To Molly's amazement, upon being placed in the box, the ants refused to follow the maze walls. Instead, they climbed them. A good many escaped to the project on the neighboring table, a collection of various liquids that the student was claiming could melt cotton candy quicker than human saliva could.”

The crowd is really laughing now. Even my parents are smiling a little.

“Within a minute, there wasn't a single ant left on the top of Molly's desk. I told her not to feel bad about her project, to which she replied, ‘Oh, I don't. I think the results affirm my theory. Ants are the only animal smart enough to escape the maze.'”

People continue to laugh. The only person I can see who isn't laughing is that stupid mortuary worker standing beside my casket. But I guess that makes sense. To work with dead bodies, you must have a totally different sense of humor from the rest of humanity.

“In closing, I want to say that I remember Molly Weller as a unique thinker. I was saddened to hear about her tragic death. The young should never die. But Molly and her sense of humor are not lost; they are not gone. I believe she can be with us always, as long as we keep her in our thoughts. In that way, she will live on. Molly herself has escaped the maze.”

The laughter has given way to sobs. I look at my parents. I look at Henry. It's so clear now. I'd been worried about my fate, but what you love
is
your fate. I wish I could have known that before I invited Hilda to appear. Why am I such a slow learner? Wherever she is in the room, she's doing an excellent job of blending in. Mrs. Oswald walks to her chair. I watch as my aunt Claire gets up to give a speech. She grabs on to the podium with both hands. Then her nerves get the better of her, and out of nowhere she starts to giggle. Her face turns red.

“I'm sorry,” she says, as she turns her head to one side.

I think people assume that she's breaking down, not cracking up. I move toward her. Maybe my soul can bring her back to her senses. If I stand next to her, at least I'll be able to read her speech. It may be the only way I'll get to know what it says.

As I move out of the corner, I notice that the slant of light on the floor next to Aunt Claire is growing. It's the door. Oh my god. I rush toward it. I stand right in front of it. This is going to be so easy. My portal is right here. My grandmother stands up and tries to hand Aunt Claire a glass of water.

That's when I realize that I may be doomed. Climbing the two shallow stairs that lead to the speaking platform, my grandmother trips and slams right into the mortuary worker. But somehow, she doesn't make contact. She falls through him and lands on top of my casket. My casket is on wheels and rolls a little bit. My grandmother spills the water all over the flowers. That's not so bad. It will keep them alive longer.

“No,” I tell Hilda. She looks at me and winks. Then hovers next to my grandma.

For some reason, she continues to pretend not to be Hilda. Clearly, the worker isn't a flesh-and-blood person; he's a soul.

“This is my door,” I say.

Hilda doesn't respond. She keeps standing beside my casket, in the guise of mortuary worker. I stay where I am. It's exactly like waiting for an elevator to arrive. The door is almost fully outlined now. I'm waiting to see the knob. Aunt Claire has helped my grandma back to her seat and gathered her thoughts.

“When I think of Molly, I'm struck by the fact that she had her whole life ahead of her,” Aunt Claire says to the mourners.

Where is the doorknob?

“I think you're standing on the wrong side,” the mortuary worker (aka Hilda) says.

“Nice try, Hilda.”

Like I'm going to fall for that.