I'd Rather Not Be Dead (12 page)

Depressed, more alone than I
ever was in life, and just miserable in general, I leave, looking
for somewhere else to haunt. My feet take me on autopilot to Fray.
We've just met, but he's fundamentally my only friend in the world.
Good thing I'm not used to having many of them anyway.

Chapter Twelve

The door of the hunting club is
propped open to let in the fall air for the patrons, who are
mesmerized by the football game on the screens behind the bar.
Since the last time I was in, the place has been redecorated with
spiderwebs and hanging bats. It's kind of sad to think that as a
ghost Halloween will be just another day for me.

Fray's perched on a stool the
living are giving a wide berth despite its excellent view of Blue
Ridge State getting clobbered in the first. I glare at the TV,
hoping Finn's future alma mater looses so horrifically they scrap
their football program entirely. Down by fourteen with only three
minutes played, they just might.

The crowd grumbles as the local
boys punt the ball back into their opponents' possession. My mouth
twists into a dark smile. Yeah, see how much funding the football
program gets after a game like this.

My ghostly friend whistles as he
turns my way. “Such venom, luv. What'd your boy do now?”

“Not my boy.” I lean against the
edge of the bar, fold my arms tightly, and glare at the floor. The
guy a seat down looks over with an uncomfortable frown and shifts
to the far edge of his stool before downing about half of beer in
his glass.

“Of course not,” Fray agrees,
holding back laughter. “So this has nothing to do with Finn trying
to hook up with your sister?”

If my eyes narrowed any further,
they'd be closed.

“You think he's using her,” Fray
says. “But she seems willing to be used.”

Glass starts to rattle. The
big-haired bartender grabs two of the closest bottles and looks at
the rest of the liquor shelf with alarm.

“That an earthquake?” someone
asks.

“The earth ain't shaking,” she
tells him. “It's that ghost. Same one that messes with the TV.”

Oh, crap. I take a moment to try
to calm down until everything settles.

“Are you trying to tell us
something, spirit?” Big-Hair asks the air, very loud and very slow,
like some people talk to young children or foreigners.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Lay off on the
hairspray.”

“You need to get a handle on
that, you know.” Fray gives me a look I'm well familiar with. It's
the same look my parents give me almost every time they see me.

“I know.” Sighing, I shake my
head and look at my boots while the bartender continues trying to
get a response from her ghost.

“Can I help?”

My throat gets tight for a
second. No one has ever followed that 'You need to sort out your
life' look with that question before. “Sure. Tell me how to get rid
of Cooper Finnegan.”

“Get rid of..?”

“I'm not going to kill him.”

Fray nods. “Then you can't.”

“What? But there has to be a
way. You haven't been haunting this club forever. It was built,
when? The seventies? The nineteen seventies?”

“1967.” He gives me a
sympathetic look. “Before that, this place was a grocer. Before
that, a public square. Which is why I was hanged in the middle of
it.”

I shiver. “Right. You said
before you died here.” I'd just forgotten because I'm a
self-centered brat.

His head jerks toward the corner
behind the bar. “Right around there.”

“That's awful.”

In contrast to the story, the
crowd suddenly gets very happy as Blue Ridge grabs an interception
and runs it down the field to score. Fray nods to the screen,
acknowledging the play, then shrugs in my direction. “It could have
been worse. I could have been stuck living in my brother's
house.”

“Okay, okay. Your death was
worse than mine. But your Place of Power...” I'm not so sure as I
say it. How would I feel looking at the spot I was killed every day
for centuries? At least Cooper Finnegan will die someday. “What
happens when he dies? Will I just not have a Place of Power
anymore?”

“Can't happen.” Fray's head
moves as he catches an impressive pass out of the corner of his
eye. He watches the game until the ball carrier gets tackled and
then goes on, “A Shadow without a Place of Power would go into The
Spirit. The Places are what keep us here.”

“So...” I frown.

My friend takes a deep breath.
“Some people who haunt individuals pass on with them. But that's
usually people who were just waiting on the other one. Folks who
refuse to leave their spouses, mothers watching over their
children, that kind of thing.”

Quickly, I nod. “Not me.”

“No,” he agrees, more hesitantly
than he should.

“So, what will happen to me?” I
ask, annoyance creeping up on me at the pace of this
conversation.

“You could be left to The
Spirit, but probably not, seeing how strong you are.” He frowns as
Blue Ridge receives a punt on the one.

“Great. Which leaves?”

Fray shrugs and I resist the
urge to hit him. “Most likely, you'd pass on to his heirs.”

Ugh. Saddled with the spawn of
Cooper Finnegan? “What if no one's stupid enough to breed with
him?”

He shrugs. “Then the heir will
be a house or a cat or something.” He pauses, then gives me a smile
like a demented leprechaun. “Although based on the way your sister
was looking at him...”

Fray laughs as I shove away from
the bar and stomp toward the door. “How would you know how she
looked at him?” I toss over my shoulder. “You weren't even
there.”

“Wait up, luv.” He dashes up to
me and grabs my arm. “You know I wouldn't torment you if I didn't
like you so much.”

“Yeah,” I grumble. “You clearly
worship and adore me.”

“Of course, my sweet little
viper.” His eyes dance with green fire. So green... Like emeralds.
Not like the green in Finn's eyes, a green like leaves in summer.
He smiles and puts an arm around my shoulders, turning me back
toward the bar. “You're just like the little sister I never
had.”

I snort. “And you come from such
a pleasant family, that has to be a compliment.”

He laughs again. “You'd have fit
right in.”

“Great.”

“And I knew how she looked at
him because I saw your memory.”

I stop walking. “Right. You read
minds. And you read mine.”

“You're thinking of the number
forty-two. Care to think of something that isn't the ultimate
answer to life, the universe, and everything?” He raises his
eyebrows. Being alert for it, I feel him going through my thoughts.
It's subtle, like the gentlest of breezes ruffling the pages of a
book. But it doesn't actually move the pages, so it can only see
what's on the page the book is open to. “Good analogy. You were
named for your grandfather, Andrew McKinney, and his wife
Elizabeth. Your baby sister named your cat Miss Whiskers and she
was so cute you couldn't stand to change it. Which makes you a lot
more sentimental than you want people to know. And now you're
thinking in what sounds like German. Probably cursing.”

Gently, he prods me back into
motion and maneuvers me to our spot at the bar. His hands move when
we get to his vacated seat, going to my hips. He lifts me up onto
the stool, earning a smack in the shoulder for his trouble.
“Now...” He gives me in intent look, his gaze not wavering even
when the crowd reacts to something on the screen. “I don't suppose
you're willing to simply stop hating Finn?”

I swallow, feeling like crying
all of a sudden. Out of habit, I try to hide it from my eyes, but
what's the point if my mind's broadcasting everything I feel
anyway?

“Why don't I teach you how to
zap back to him so you don't have to risk The Spirit to be out of
his sight? Would that make you feel better?”

Still choked up, I just nod.
That would help me feel better about Finn. Doubt it would do much
to help how vulnerable I feel about Fray though. He reads minds. No
wonder he sought me out, must be hard to keep friends when people
find out about that. Must be lonely. Must be loud.

“Alright.” Still leaning over
me, Fray closes his eyes and takes several breaths. “I've never had
to explain this before. It's like explaining how to walk. Just
telling a person to move their legs wouldn't be good enough.”

“And your mind reading only goes
one way?”

His eyes snap open, the
intensity in them frightening. “You'd have to open for me. I can't
use force.”

“That's all you'd do?” I ask
through a sudden chill. “Just teach me how to move. Nothing
else.”

“Nothing else,” he whispers, the
words shaky. I'm not sure how much he believes them. What's he not
telling me? His eyes close again, this time in pain. “When I do it,
I'll be further into your thoughts than usual. Last time... Last
time I saw things I wasn't supposed to. Things she'd lied about for
years.”

“I've never lied to you.”

His mouth curves in the saddest
of smiles. “I've lied to you. I told you there wasn't a woman.”

“And there was.” I'd known that
all along.

“My wife.” His voice catches.
“His lover.”

“Oh, Fray...” My arms go around
his shoulders, pulling him against me. My hand holds his head
against my shoulder. I know how I feel about Cris's other girl. How
much worse would it hurt if she were Bobbi? If he were my husband,
not just a friend with benefits I let myself care too much
about?

“I killed her. I was right there
in her thoughts. I made her pick up the knife...” He holds me
tight, lets out a dry sob against my shoulder. “I thought I loved
her. That I'd do anything for her. And I killed her. Because the
child I'd stayed here to protect wasn't mine.”

The pain of it brings tears to
my own eyes, even though Fray's not actually crying.

He pulls away from me, takes a
step back and stares at the ground with his hair falling forward
like a shroud. “I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.”

“I never admitted it before.
Thought it might make me feel better. I didn't want to feel
better.” He shakes his head. “It didn't though.”

“Still.” My hand goes out to
brush against his. His fingers turn to lace with mine. “Thank you
for trusting me with it.”

He nods, then clears his throat.
“So... Do you still want to let me into your mind or do you want to
try it the normal way first?”

“Show me.”

A faint smile accompanies his
nod. “Just imagine that book from before, letting me touch it,
letting me flip through its pages, letting me write on them.”

I close my eyes, slow my
breathing and imagine putting the book in front of him, handing him
a pencil. It takes a lot of trust. His wife had to have known what
she was doing, that she was letting him in on things she'd always
hidden from him. Hold on. She knew him after his death?

“She was a Shadow Walker,” Fray
says inside my head. “Be quiet.”

Chastised, I put effort into
silencing my thoughts and listening to what Fray is writing with
his.

“Tell me how to change clothes?”
I ask when he's about to retreat. I feel the amused fondness he has
for me. It's a bit like how I feel about Rain, or did when she was
still little enough to be cute. His mind slides from mine, leaving
me curiously lonely. “I can do those things now?”

He shrugs. “Try it.”

I try my clothes first, doing
pretty much what I tried before, but with one big difference. I
have to tug on the universe while I'm thinking about new clothes.
Fray was right about that being hard to explain.

My boots change into skater
shoes. My black cargo pants into different black cargo pants. My
shirt shifts into a tee featuring a Pac-Man ghost. Fray chuckles at
that. I trade my duster for a plain black hoodie. It feels
amazingly good to be in different clothes. The old ones weren't
dirty but I was thoroughly sick of them.

“Thank you!” I climb up on the
stool's footrest to toss my arms around Fray's neck. “You're
officially my new best friend.”

“And there was so much
competition,” he remarks, hugging me back.

My eyes drift closed as I savor
the sensation of being held. People frequently don't realize how
important it is just to be touched, how much it means to the animal
parts of our brains. Fray's arms tighten. He runs a hand through my
hair.

The mood shifts in an instant,
turning more tense, more adult, less familial.

With a shuddering breath, Fray
moves his arms, puts his hands on my hips and starts to push me
away. He stops when I move my face from his neck so I can press our
lips together..

For half a second, he tenses,
goes completely still. Then something snaps and he pulls me roughly
against him, his mouth eager against mine. Our tongues twine
roughly, our hands move, exploring. With a growl, he pushes me
backwards, pressing me against the bar. His body moves against me
in urgent, intimate ways.

Then he's gone.

He stands several feet away, a
pained look on his face.

“Fray?” My breath's unsteady, my
heart's racing.

His head shakes, though his eyes
are hungry, lustful. “I can't.”

“Can't?” I stand up, my knees a
little unsteady. “What do you mean, can't?”

He steps backward as I step
forward, not saying anything. Am I really so repulsive that even
someone who hasn't gotten laid in who knows how long doesn't want
me?

“Repulsive?” he snarls. “You
think I'd kiss you like that if you were repulsive?”

Closing the distance between us
takes him two long steps and then he's kissing me, dominant and
forceful. He tears his mouth away and demands, “You think I don't
want you?” And then he's kissing me again, rougher than before.

“I want you,” he gasps, pushing
away from me. “But I can't. I won't.”