The Black (12 page)

Marsh sprang off the floor. With his arms out in front of him, he launched himself over a stack of chairs and got out from under the falling windows the instant before they hit the floor. The glass exploded into a shower of sharp projectiles. Marsh got pelted, but he was okay. I looked around quickly to see if anything else was about to tumble on him, but the room had lost its energy.

Gravedigger was gone. Winston was gone. The ropes hung lifelessly.

Damon had completed his demonstration. He had done exactly what he wanted to do. He proved that he could hurt Marsh, and scare me.

Maggie ran to Marsh. I thought she was going to see if he was okay, but that was ridiculous. There was nothing she could do. At least that's what I thought. She knelt down in front of him and stared at the floor. The ripple of color appeared around her head, just as I'd seen back in Marsh's kitchen. Maggie's eyes were closed, her concentration intense.

"Hold my hand," she commanded.

I knelt next to her and grabbed her hand, hoping to provide any small bit of psychic energy. I heard the faint crackling of glass and looked up, afraid that something else might be flying in to hurt Marsh.

"It's okay," Maggie assured me.

I looked to the floor to see thousands of shimmering bits of shattered glass spread across the floor between us and Marsh.

Marsh must have heard the crackling sound too because he slowly looked up. His eyes were huge and his breathing hard. He glanced around the old gym, looking for signs of danger. Or for Gravedigger.

"Concentrate," Maggie commanded.

"On what?"

"On Marsh."

I focused on my friend. What was he thinking? Did he have any idea why this craziness was swirling around him?

I heard more crackling and looked to see that the glass on the floor was moving. Like thousands of tiny ants, the shimmering bits shifted and jumped. As she had in Marsh's kitchen, Maggie saw an opportunity and went for it. I realized what
she was doing so I closed my eyes and visualized the triple swirl design of my sister's tattoo.

It's me, Ralph,
I thought, willing my thoughts to reach him.
I'm here for you. I'm right here.

I heard the faint crackling sound of the glass pieces moving over one another but didn't dare open my eyes. I kept the vision of the tattoo in my head while repeating over and over, "It's me, Ralph. It's me."

"Look," Maggie said.

I opened my eyes to see that the tiny pieces of glass had formed the triple swirl.

"Amazing," I said in awe.

Marsh saw it too and stared with wide eyes. Where I saw a miracle, he saw the impossible. He backed away as if the symbol was about to go nuclear. He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripped over a desk, and sprinted out of the gym.

"Hopefully that'll send him to Sydney," I said.

"And then what?"

"I don't know."

"Damon scares me," Maggie said. "Maybe you should do what he wants."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he killed me. That kind of pisses me off."

"Is that it? You want to get even?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Even if that means he'll keep haunting your friend?"

I was about to answer quickly, but the reality of the situation hit me hard. Of course I didn't want Damon haunting Marsh, but at what price? Giving in and helping the guy who murdered me?

"Death shouldn't be this complicated," I said with frustration.

Maggie shrugged. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I wish I knew," was all I could answer.

9

I had to take control.

Up until then, each time I had moved through the Black or the Light it was with another spirit. They had called the shots and I went along for the ride, whether I wanted to or not. It was time to start getting around on my own.

"You can go wherever you want," Maggie explained. "And you can enter anybody's vision, so long as they allow it. Close your eyes and think of the spirit, or a place you want to be."

"Just like that?" I asked.

She shrugged as if it were the simplest thing possible. I closed my eyes, got a mental image of where I wanted to be, took Maggie's hand, and stepped through the colorful fog that appeared before us.

When we stepped out, I saw that Gramps was sitting in the wicker rocker on his porch, right where I had left him.

"Hey! Where you been?" he called.

Maggie let go of my hand and ran toward her own house, acting as frightened as when I had first met her.

"Hey, where are you going?"

She didn't answer. Or stop.

"He doesn't bite!" I called.

Maggie sprinted past the fence and directly into her house, slamming the door behind her.

"Bye," I said, though she couldn't have heard it. "Thanks."

I climbed up the stairs onto the porch, expecting Gramps to make some wisecrack about her running away, but he stared straight ahead, acting like it didn't happen.

"That was strange," I said.

Gramps shrugged.

"You don't know anything about her?" I asked.

He gave a quick, uncomfortable look to Maggie's house. "I know you should avoid her," he answered.

"What? Why?"

"Everybody's here for different reasons, Coop, but they're all working on the same thing. They're trying to better themselves so they can move on. I suggest you worry more about yourself and not get your head turned by some pretty thing who has a bundle of her own problems."

"She was trying to help me."

"Was she? Or was she helping herself?"

"Who cares? Maybe we're helping each other."

"Maybe. What did she do for you?"

I told Gramps about Damon. About his quest for a weapon that was still in the Light and how he needed Marsh and me to find it for him. I told him about Damon's ability to create visions and the black sword that could end a spirit's existence. And finally,
I told him how Damon had threatened to kill Marsh if I didn't help him and how I believed
he was serious because he had already killed someone. Me.

Gramps listened to my story without interrupting or asking for details. When I was done, I expected him to say something clever, or make fun of me or tell me it all sounded like some big joke. Instead, he stared off into the distance, looking troubled.

"A spirit from the Black caused your death," he said softly, shaking his head. "Now I've heard it all."

"Help me out here, Gramps. What am I supposed to do?"

He scratched his head, frowning. "As outlandish as your story sounds, some of it is all too familiar."

"Familiar? It's normal to be murdered by a centuries-old psychopath?"

"No," he replied. "But like I said, the spirits here are all looking for a way to move on. We don't all come from the same time or place. Doesn't matter if your time in the Light was spent in ancient China or Dickens's London or
puttin' on a
Cheesehead
and rooting for the Packers, we're all in the same boat."

"That's why we can understand one another's languages?" I asked.

"I
s'pose. I don't know all the mechanics. But I do know that as much as everybody here is all about trying to punch their ticket out, we're still the same people we were in life. If you were a foul ball in the Light, you're still one here. If you were an honest Joe, you will be here too. That's the whole point. We're all trying to make up for whatever wrongs we did in life, which is why some are here longer than others. And why some spirits aren't above using
others to get what they want, like this Damon character."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I said with a snicker. "But this is more than just some dirtball trying to make up for being a creep in life. He can mess with the living. I'm proof of that. The guy killed me. Does that happen a lot?"

"No. At least not that I know of. That's why you can't have anything more to do with him."

"Fine by me, but it's not like I have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Gramps said, dead seriously. "That's what the Black is all about."

"Then what about Marsh?"

"Forget him," Gramps answered coldly.

That didn't sound like Gramps. I didn't know how to react. "You can't mean that," I finally said.

"I absolutely mean it," he said quickly. "Come here." Gramps rocked to his feet and walked to the end of the porch, where he pointed to Maggie's house.

"See them jokers?" he asked.

Two people in black were standing by the split rail fence, looking our way.

"Maggie calls them Watchers," I said.

"I don't know what they're called but they are definitely watching. Everything. Everybody. Those spirits hold your future in their hands. Mine too. And the future of that Damon character and every other soul in the Black. You don't want to do anything to make them question you."

"But how can protecting a friend be wrong?"

"Because it's meddling with the Light!" Gramps shouted so sharply, it made me jump. Gramps had never raised his voice to me, even when I was being a jerk.

"What happens back there isn't our concern," he added. "Not anymore. You can go back and watch things if you're feeling lonely, but that's it. Let me say that again, Cooper.
That's it!
We all had our time there and now it's done. If you try to influence things, they'll see what you're doing and you'll be stuck in the Black for a good long time. Or worse."

"There's something worse?"

Gramps took a tired breath and walked back to the rocker. He seemed like a very old man. Older than I remembered him to be. He sat down but I leaned on the rail. I was too wired to sit.

"We're all on the Morpheus Road, Cooper. We all make the journey. It begins in the Light, with life, then moves straight on through the Black. What you do here determines your next stop."

"Yeah, you said that. Next stop is heaven, or whatever the next best place is."

"That's one route," Gramps said gravely. "There's another. There's no time limit on getting through the Black, so long as you keep moving along the right way. Or try to, anyway. Not all spirits try. Or care."

"What happens to them?"

"There's another destination. If you call one way heaven, I guess you'd call the other way hell. It's as good a name as any. I've heard it called something else."

"What's that?"

Gramps fixed his eyes on me and said, "The Blood." It didn't sound like a place you'd want to visit.

"It's the last stop for the lost souls. The irredeemable. Those spirits watching us? They're the judges. They don't interfere, they don't offer advice or guidance. They just watch . . . and decide. The
future of every last soul in the Black is in their hands. It's always been that way. Do not give them reason to decide you're better suited for the Blood."

"So, what are you saying? I'm supposed to let Damon hurt Marsh?"

"If that's what he wants to do, yes," Gramps snapped. "That's his business, not yours."

"But that's just wrong."

He leaned forward and looked me square in the eyes. "Look, Cooper, I believe everything you told me. There's been trouble brewing here since before you arrived. Most everybody's felt it. It's like things are a bit . . . off, though
nobody has any idea what it might be. I never heard of this Damon character but from what you say it sounds like he's been interfering with the Light in ways nobody else can. Maybe he's the one that's causing the tension."

"So why hasn't he been sent to the Blood?"

"No idea. He told you something was keeping him here in the Black? Maybe that's true and he can't go anywhere . . . good or bad."

"So how does he have so much power in the Light? I mean, Maggie moved some little things around but he was able to—"

Gramps jumped to his feet. "She
what?"

Uh-oh. His face got so red, I'd say he was in danger of a heart attack . . . if he hadn't already had one that killed him.

"It was no big deal," I said quickly. "I just wanted to let Marsh know he wasn't alone."

"But he
is
alone! Haven't you been listening? You can't do anything to help him."

"You're wrong, Gramps. I think I can."

"But you shouldn't! If you start
monkeying
with the living and those Watchers catch wind of it, the fix you're in now will seem like a picnic."

"So what's my other choice? Help Damon? What happens then? I've seen what he can do, Gramps. If getting that poleax thing is going to give him even more power, blowing some air around in the Light is going to seem like a joke compared to what he might do. You think those Watchers will cut me slack for not warning Marsh, while I helped a devil wreak havoc? That doesn't make sense."