Restless Spirits: Chapters 17 & 18
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Chapter Seventeen
In retrospect, telling Chris to never come back there probably wasn’t my best idea. She didn’t have my contrarian streak, and ever since our mother died, she’d always looked up to me as an authority figure. So I figured she’d do the sensible thing by taking my warning to heart and staying well away from this house. Sure, I was happy to know she was safe, but how on earth was I supposed to get in touch with her?
Most ghosts were able to travel. They could haunt people and objects as well as places. They could follow you home if they wanted. They could even haunt multiple locations like, for instance, their home, their place of death, and their grave. It’s why you hear of sightings of Sid Vicious’s ghost both here in Tulsa at Cain’s Ballroom and at the Chelsea hotel in New York. Under normal circumstances, I should have been able to go visit my sister whenever I wanted.
But these were not normal circumstances. Whatever Sarah was, she had constructed a pretty solid prison for us. If I could just find a way to break out, I’d have no trouble communicating with Chris. Breaking out was the problem. It wasn’t like I could just dig a tunnel and hang a Barbarella poster over it.
Not that that kept me from trying.
I stood at the front door for hours, trying to work up a good rage and focus it on busting through the barrier. Just when I thought I had it, I’d run into a wall—literally. To top it off, once Sarah caught on to what I was doing, she started throwing a wrench into the works. This included sitting on the stairs and staring menacingly at me, bouncing the ball on the steps to distract me, and of course, the usual— making me re-enact my death, over and over and over. She never changed on me, though. There had to be something to that. Maybe I made her nervous, after all.
I kept at it until she started taking it out on the others. Lilly was currently stuck in the basement again because of me. I could hear Maxwell’s screams coming from upstairs as Ruth took her ax to him. And Joe had disappeared again. I hadn’t said any prayers since my Mom died, and I had no idea whether the prayers of the dead even counted for anything, but I prayed that Joe hadn’t been devoured and that I would see him again.
I was all alone. I was depressed, riddled with guilt, and exhausted. I needed a break. I couldn’t face Lilly, even though I knew she could use the company. I managed to coax Buster down to the basement instead. With Ed gone, I figured he needed the comfort of companionship as much as she did.
I headed back up to the empty attic for sanctuary. I fell onto the settee near the entrance, laid my head back, and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw that other set of stairs.
“Oh, give me a break.”
I closed my eyes again, hoping they would go away. But after a few minutes, I couldn’t resist peeking to see if they were still there.
They were.
I sighed. “Why am I the only one who ever sees this?” I asked aloud to a room full of nobody. Glutton for punishment that I was, I got up and climbed the stairs.
The hall was empty. Once again, all of the doors were closed save the one at the end of the hall. I wondered if this was where she kept the missing ghosts. I peeked inside the other rooms as I went, but they all looked empty. So much for that theory. I made my way into the little girl’s room, wondering once again why it was being shown to me. Why would Sarah want me to see her room? The rag doll still sat on the bed.
I moved further in this time and took my time looking around. It was pretty sparse as far as toys went. There was just the doll and a couple of beaten-up story books.
And a red ball. It sat in a chair in the corner with a little gingham bonnet hanging off of the back.
Okay. So Sarah had a poor, deprived life. That hardly excused the whole Children of the Damned act. Not to mention the soul-devouring demon side of her.
I turned back to the door and jumped. The burned man stood there, watching me. He came toward me, and I backed up, nearly tripping over the little chair. “Please,” I said. “Please, I was only looking.”
He stopped. Then he backed away, giving me a clear shot at the door. Like he wanted me to try to run.
Or like he was giving me an opportunity to leave if I was scared.
“You’re the one showing me this, aren’t you?” He just stood there. Duh, Ron. The man can’t talk without a tongue. Regardless, I asked, “What is it about this room? Why do you want me to see it? Is there something in here that can help us stop Sarah?”
He looked down at his hands. Then he started to fade away.
“Wait!” I said. “I don’t understand this! What are you trying to show me?” But it was too late. He was gone.
I took another look around the room, but I was no more clued in than when I started. The only thing that held any significance that I could see was the ball, and I had no idea how that could help.
In my frustration and exhaustion, I sat down on the bed. As I did, a little blonde girl appeared in the middle of the room. She couldn’t have been more than five or six, and she sat on the floor, clutching the rag doll and playing with the ball. She would roll it against the wall so that it bounced back to her, then have her doll catch it, and then roll it again so she could catch it. She looked happy. I watched her play that game for probably a full minute, and then the vision faded.
I finally got it. This wasn’t Sarah’s room. And I was beginning to suspect that that wasn’t Sarah’s ball, either.
I still wasn’t sure what use any of this information would be, but it was a start. I decided to search the rest of the floor for more clues. The other rooms had been empty of people, but they were furnished. Maybe they would hold something I could use. I stepped into the hall...
...and found myself back in the attic. I blinked and swayed, a little disoriented. Then I noticed Joe camped out on the settee. “You okay?” he asked. “You look like you seen a ghost.” He smiled.
“I did,” I said.
“Well, yeah. ‘Course you did. That’s why what I said was funny.”
I shook my head and went to sit down beside him. “What do you know about a little blonde girl?”
I thought I saw his jaw tighten for a second. But if it did, he recovered it pretty quickly. “Nothin’,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “Except for Sarah and the Feldman boy, there haven’t been any children in this house as long as I’ve been in it.” I still eyed him suspiciously when he looked at me and said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but that’s the God’s honest truth.”
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
Shaking his head, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He studied his clasped hands a moment before saying, “Would it help if I told you that you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, in this or any other life?”
I just stared at him in wonder as his words sunk in. But then I waved it off in my typical, self-deprecating fashion. “It would if that were even the least bit true.”
He looked back at me. “It is. I mean it. You’re definitely the strongest out of all of us.”
I leaned forward. “Okay, by strong, you’re talking about the things I can do, right? Because I’d have to give that title to Lilly.”
“I’m talking about your character. You’re stubborn as a mule and about as frustrating sometimes, but I’d be lying if I said that don’t make me respect you even more.”
I just smiled awkwardly. I never did learn how to accept a compliment.
Joe pointed at the box on the table. “You looked in there yet?”
“Yeah. It’s just Ed’s family photos.”
“Hm. Might be worth looking at.” He reached forward to pop open the latch and lift the lid. I watched him in amazement. He glanced back at me and smiled. “Been practicing ever since I managed to tackle you. I figured there must be something to your idea about strong feelings.”
“Yeah. They can be hard to manufacture on demand, though.”
“So far, I’ve managed okay.”
“Thinking about my dad usually gets it done for me. What about you? What do you think about?”
He looked at me for a long moment before he said, “You.”
I didn’t expect that answer. “Me? Really? Do I frustrate you that much?”
“Kissing you,” he clarified. “I think about kissing you.”
Oh. “Oh. Really?” I stood up and bumped into the table. It moved.
Joe looked at it and smiled. “You thinking about kissing me?”
“Well I am now.”
He got up and came toward me. “Good.” He reached for my face. His fingers brushed my cheek and sent tingles all through me. I shuddered.
So did he. “You feel that?” he asked.
I nodded. Words weren’t really my friend just then. He stepped closer, closing the gap between us, and traced a finger down my arm. I started to tingle all over, and I closed my eyes.
“I didn’t expect you,” he said. “Didn’t expect... you make me feel things I haven’t felt since... things I thought I’d never feel again. I thought that part of me was well and truly dead.”
I hummed all over. It’s hard to describe the things he made me feel. I didn’t have skin anymore, really. I was all spirit matter. But everywhere his fingertips grazed against me, I felt delicious sparks of energy. “It sure feels like it’s alive and kicking to me,” I said.
Leaning in, he cupped my face, and nodded. “It is since you got here.” Then he kissed me.
It was... amazing. Electric. We both seemed to grow more solid the more eager our kiss became. I felt alive again—even more alive than I’d ever felt when I was actually living. I felt like I could do anything. Like nothing could ever hurt me again, as long as I existed in a world where Joe could keep kissing me.
So I pulled away from him. “I have to go.”
He looked confused, and a little hurt, as he let go of me and backed away. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“No. Don’t be sorry. Don’t you dare.”
“But why—”
Lunging at him, I grabbed his face and pulled him down for another brief but passionate kiss. “I have to try to leave,” I explained, still holding his face in my hands. “Right now, while I’m feeling this way.”
“What do you mean, leave? Leave and go where?”
“Home,” I told him. “If I can get out of here and see my sister—”
“What? Are you plumb out of your mind? Don’t you know what she’ll do to you if she catches you trying?”
“If we do this now, while I’m strong enough, I’ll be gone before she has a chance to catch me.”
“What if it doesn’t work? Or what if it does, and you can’t come back?”
“I’ll come back,” I assured him. Then another thought occurred to me. “Or you could just come with me.”
“What?”
“We could both go. If you’re feeling half of what I’m feeling right now, I bet we could both do it.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “I mean, I’m feeling it. Believe me, I’m feeling it. But I can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
He sighed and seemed to struggle for an explanation. Finally, he said, “Sarah. We might be able to get away with just one of us stepping out on the prison she’s built, but two of us? There’d be hell to pay for anybody left behind.”
I sighed. He was right. “Then why don’t we all go? You go round up the Bairds, and I’ll get Buster. Maybe we can all just walk out of here right now.”
He laughed, but there was a hint of sadness and frustration to it. “You know it ain’t gonna be that easy. Besides, Ruth and Max have had seventy years to figure this stuff out. They’re so repressed, can you imagine them working up enough feeling to make this work?” I tried to, but I really couldn’t. Joe was right again. He shook his head. “‘Sides, if it didn’t work, we’d all be in for it.”
I sighed. “Okay, then. But I still have to try.”
He nodded. “I figured as much. But what if you can’t come back?”
“Then I’ll be with Chris, and I promise you, I won’t give up until the rest of you are free.” I kissed him again. He held on to me like he didn’t ever want to let go. “Please, Joe. I have to try.”
“But I just got you,” he said.
“You’re not gonna lose me,” I promised.
He sighed unhappily, but he released his grip. “What can I do?”
“Walk me to the door?”
He nodded. We went to the front door together. Thinking of that first incredible kiss, I opened it. That eerie gray nothingness filled my vision. I turned to Joe.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
I nodded. “Kiss me goodbye?”
He smiled, but it seemed a little sad. “I’ll kiss you, but it better not be goodbye.”
With that, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close. His kiss was rough and tender at the same time, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. He broke it off and rested his forehead against mine. “Promise you’ll come back to me,” he said.
“I promise I’ll try. With everything that’s in me.”
He didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded and stood back. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I told him. Then I stepped through the door.
Chapter Eighteen
I stood on the front porch. I could see the overgrown yard, the sidewalk and the street beyond. We weren’t in the best part of town. Most of the houses across the street had bars on the doors and windows, and the ones that didn’t had plastic taped over broken window panes. The house directly across had a junked out refrigerator sitting on the front porch and an old car up on blocks in the driveway. Garbage overflowed from the trash cans sitting on the curb and spilled out into the street.
It was the most beautiful sight I ever saw.
I savored the moment. On impulse, I tried to breathe in the fresh air. I couldn’t, of course, but I could feel a breeze wafting through me, and it was a cleansing sensation. Giddy with freedom, I stepped down from the porch and made my way to the sidewalk. The street lights were too bright to make out many stars, but the moon was high and almost full and gave everything an almost ethereal glow.
I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of life all around me. Neighborhood dogs bayed at distant sirens, and a block or so over, a car stereo thumped a heavy bass rhythm. Somewhere, an owl hooted, and a nighthawk screeched. The steady thrum of traffic on the nearby expressway provided constant white noise. I opened my eyes. A police cruiser was coming down the block, but otherwise, the streets were empty of people.
Just a couple of blocks south, the street ended at a major arterial road, on the other side of which sat a dive bar that usually had cars parked out front at all hours of the day. It was dark and silent, its lights turned off and its parking lot empty, which told me it was super late—or super early, depending on your perspective. Local liquor laws forced the bars to close at two a. m. This time of night, in this part of town? Anyone walking around was either a potential trouble-maker or a potential victim.
I started down the street. After a couple of blocks, I ran into one brave soul who was out in his bathrobe, walking his pit bull. I guess that made it pretty easy to be brave. A week ago, that dog would have made me nervous, but now, I could slip past it unnoticed. Except that it noticed me. As I drew near, it stared right at me and growled low in its throat. I froze, forgetting for a second there that I couldn’t be mauled to death.
“What is it, Duke?” asked the owner. “What do you see?”
As if in answer, the dog barked at me. Have you ever had a pit bull bark at you at close range? It’s disconcerting, to say the least. Enough so that it shocked me out of my instinctual fear. When my heart failed to pound in my throat, I remembered my state of being and felt stupid for being afraid. I went up to the dog, leaned down in its face, and baby- talked it into submission. “Who’s a big, scary dog? Who’s a noisy barking boy? That’s right, you are, you big tough guy, yes you are.” As I spoke, the dog whimpered and slunk behind its owner’s legs.
Check it out. A bully dog found me scary. I guess it was true that dogs could sense ghosts. I wondered about other animals and small children as I continued fearlessly down the block.
I was enjoying my freedom so much that I walked about a dozen blocks before realizing it would take forever to get to my sister’s place at this rate. She lived on the other side of the city, at least ten miles away. I’d be walking all night. Public transportation in this town wasn’t worth the paper the bus routes were printed on, and it wasn’t like I could call a cab. I wondered if I could transport myself across town the way I could transport myself through the house. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.
I closed my eyes and pictured my sister’s house. I knew that she had a minister come over and bless it fairly regularly, and wondered if that would keep me out. That thought hurt my feelings a little. I knew that wasn’t rational, but I didn’t care.
Concentrating extra hard, I visualized every detail I could remember about her home, picturing myself standing in the middle of her living room. I felt myself shimmer, and when I opened my eyes, I was there.
Now, how cool was that?
The clock on her mantle said it was about twenty minutes past three. Three in the morning was known as the witching hour, and was supposedly the time when spirits came out to walk the earth and were at their strongest. I believed it. When we were kids, most of Chris’s episodes happened after three o’clock, and as ghost hunters, that was usually when we got our most significant readings. Now that I was a spirit, that ought to work in my favor.
I found Chris in bed. I found it supremely irritating that she could sleep so well when I was stuck in limbo, being held prisoner by a devil child. That was, until I saw the blister pack of over-the- counter sleeping pills on her night stand. Well, okay then. Except that this was going to be difficult with her all groggy and hung over from the medication.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back her covers. This stuff came a lot easier outside of the house, without Sarah’s interference. Chris didn’t stir. I nudged her, but she just rolled over and pulled the covers back over her head.
This was going to be even harder than I thought. I yanked her covers back down and pulled her hair. She swatted at me and mumbled unintelligibly. Exasperated and desperate, I got up and found a book shelf. I picked up a paperback and flung it at her. It bounced off the wall above her head and failed to make an impression. I picked up another, saw that it was one of mine, and set it aside before flinging another book. And another. It took five books before she finally rolled over and sat up.
“Is someone there?” she asked, groggily. It still amazed me how she took this sort of thing in stride. If our situations were reversed, I’d have been up with the phone in one hand dialing 911 and a baseball bat in the other from the moment she pulled my covers off. It made me wonder how often she received visitors of this kind.
“Finally!” I said, and tossed another book for good measure. The sound of my voice seemed to cut through her sleep-fog more than anything else as her eyes widened and she batted the book with her hand.
“Ron?”
“Told you I’d figure out a way to come see you,” I said as I went back to the bed and sat down.
Letting out a little squeal, she lunged at me for a hug, but went right through me and fell at the foot of her bed. “Okay, that was weird.”
“No kidding,” I said, standing up. “Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t.” She sat back up and pushed her hair out of her face. “How did you do it?”
I wanted to tell her everything, especially the parts involving Joe, but as cool as she was about talking to ghosts, I wasn’t sure how well she’d take the idea of dating among the dead. So I gave her the condensed version. “I figured it out. Strong emotion makes us more tangible and able to manipulate our environment. I just had to get worked up enough to break through Sarah’s barrier.”
“Sarah. That’s the little red-haired girl you asked me to look up, right?”
“Right. Did you?”
She nodded through a yawn. “I’ll show you what I found. But first, I gotta have coffee.”
“Sure. I waited this long, I guess I can give you five minutes.”
“Thanks.” Chris got up and trudged to the kitchen, stopping in her office first to boot up her computer. While I waited for her to fuel up, I kept myself entertained by moving around her apartment and rearranging all of her knickknacks. I found her universal remote on the sofa next to her sleeping cat, Miss Persnikitty, a gray and brown tabby who I preferred to call Turdzilla on account of her behaving like a giant turd. She opened one eye as I picked up the remote, then jumped to all fours, arched her back, fluffed her tail, and growled like she was ready to claw my eyes out.
“Scram,” I told her, and she jumped down, hissing with indignation as she went. I turned on the TV and started flipping channels. There was nothing on this time of night but news and infomercials.
Chris slouched back into the living room, clutching a gigantic mug of coffee. I turned off the TV and went over to get a whiff. Hazelnut-vanilla-cinnamon. It smelled heavenly. Man, I missed coffee. “In here,” she said through a yawn, and shuffled into her office. She sat down at the computer and pulled up her Internet browser. She clicked on her Favorites and opened up a folder. A measly two tabs opened up. “All right,” she said, before taking a sip of her coffee. “I didn’t find anything directly related to the house. I did find references to the daughter of a local family who went missing. Sarah Collier. Eight years old, red hair.”
“That has to be her.”
“I couldn’t find any more details, but the year of her disappearance precedes the building of the Baird house by about four years. I’ll keep digging. Maybe she was murdered on the site where the house was built.”
“Maybe.”
“So what’s the deal with this kid?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. All I know for certain is that she’s the oldest spirit in the house. She’s responsible for every death that’s happened there, and she’s turned it into a very effective prison. She’s sadistic, too. She keeps making us relive our deaths.”
“Sheez.”
“That’s not even the worst of it. I don’t know exactly what she is, other than pure evil, and somehow, she has the ability to devour spirits. She’s picking us off one by one. She has to be stopped.”
Chris just sat there like she didn’t know what to say. Finally, she blew out a breath she’d been holding. “This is a little beyond our expertise.”
“Tell me about it.”
“All I can do for now is keep digging. If her murder was never solved, that could certainly be making her restless. Maybe if we could find out what happened, we could give her some closure, allow her to move on.”
“Somehow, I think this is more than your standard restless murder victim seeking closure. She is a murderer. A mass murderer. Maybe in life she was just a kid, but now…” I trailed off. I didn’t know what to call the thing that little Sarah Collier had become.
“I don’t disagree,” said Chris, “but do you have any better ideas?”
I sighed. “Not really.” At least that was something. With that out of the way, I remembered the other thing I’d been wanting to ask Chris, ever since my first real conversation with Joe. “Were you able to recover my laptop’s hard drive?”
“Yeah,” she said. “The keyboard circuitry was fried, but the hard drive was fine. Why?” She sipped her coffee.
“My novel,” I said. “I want to finish it.”
Chris nearly choked and snorted coffee through her nose.
“Gross,” I said as I handed her a tissue.
She sat her mug down and cleaned herself up. “Sorry. I’ve helped a lot of people with their unfinished business over the years, but nobody’s ever asked me to write a book for them before. Are you serious?”
“Don’t I look serious? And I don’t want you to write it. I just need you to help me write the rest of it.”
“How?”
I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers. “I can type, can’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but...how would I explain that to your agent? I already told her that it’s not finished.”
“Tell her you hired a ghost writer.”
“Ha ha. Very punny.”
“I’m serious. This is my unfinished business. I won’t be able to rest in peace until the novel’s done.”
“Wow,” said Chris. “I had no idea this book was so important to you. It’s not like it’s your first novel.”
“It’s the first one I’ve felt really great about.” I perched on the edge of her desk. “My agent said it had best-seller potential. And I don’t want to be remembered as a blip on the mid-list romance radar, if anyone remembers me at all. I want this book to be the one that defines me as a writer. The one that people remember me for.”
“Okay,” said Chris. “If it means that much to you, I’m sure we can figure something out. I’ll get Gus to recover the file, and then you can work on it here.” She reached for her mug, then paused. “You are staying here, right?”
It was tempting. If I stayed, I could write and help with Chris’s research, and never have to fear getting knocked down a flight of stairs by a freckle-faced demon. And if I went back, what if I couldn’t leave again?
But I promised Joe. What’s more, even with Chris to keep me company, the thought of hanging out here without him made me feel lonely and empty. I would miss him too much. I’d miss Lilly, too. And maybe it was vanity to think so, but I was pretty sure that they needed me.
“I can’t,” I said.
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“It’s complicated. But I have to go back. I promised.”
“Promised who? Sarah? Do you really think she can hurt you now that you’re here?”
I shook my head. “Not her. The others. I have friends in that house. I can’t just abandon them.”
“But don’t you think you can do more to help them from here?”
“I already considered that. But they need me, believe it or not. Before I got there, they were all just
sitting around, waiting to see what Sarah would do next. But now, they’re taking action. They’re ready to fight back. I owe it to them to fight with them.”
Chris stared into her mug, her mouth in a tense line that told me she was trying not to cry. “I don’t like it. You said she could kill you.”
“She could kill them, and that terrifies me. We all stand more of a chance if we’re together, sweetie. I hope you can understand.”
She sniffed and looked away. “Sure. I get it.”
“Do you really?”
“No.” She set her mug down. “But I’ll support you if you think it’s the right thing to do.”
Smiling, I reached down and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “Thanks, kiddo.”
She batted my hand away and wiped her nose surreptitiously. “Okay, so while you’re planning a rumble with your ghost gang, I’ll be investigating Sarah’s death. Anything else I should be looking for?” I thought of the ghostly third floor, the burned man, and the little girl’s room. I told Chris about them, and she took notes. “It sounds like maybe another house stood on that lot before the Baird’s built their house. I’ll dig into the property records. I’ll also look for fires and more missing children. You said the other little girl was blonde?”
“Yeah. And she looked about five, maybe six.”
She nodded, and made a note of it. “Anything else?”
It occurred to me that this was my chance to learn about Joe’s past. The one he refused to talk about. But he’d never trust me again if he found out I had him investigated. Still, the temptation was overwhelming, and before I could check it, I heard myself ask, “What do you know about a guy named Joe?”
Chris seemed to think about it a moment, then shook her head. “As far as the house goes, that name doesn’t sound familiar.” She added his name to her notes.
“Never mind,” I said. “Forget I asked.”
Chris cocked an eyebrow. “Now I’m really curious. Is he a ghost?”
I sighed. “Yeah. But I don’t remember him from our research, and I just wondered if you did.”
“When did he die?”
“Around 1915.”
“That predates the house, too, which would explain why we’d never heard of him. What’s his last name?”
I realized I had no idea. “I never asked,” I admitted.
“How did he die?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Her brow furrowed as she scrutinized me. “Ron, is this guy the real reason you’re going back?”
Wow. Was I that transparent? Emotionally, I mean. Physically, that kind of went with the territory. I didn’t answer, but apparently, I didn’t need to. Chris nodded and made another note. “I’ll see what I can learn about him.”
“No, don’t! He’ll be so upset if he knows I asked you to.”
“You didn’t ask me to, and how is he going to find out unless you tell him?”
I sighed. “This is wrong. I don’t want to invade his privacy.”
“Well, if this mystery man is involved with my sister, I don’t have any qualms about doing it.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Part of me—the part that was driven by curiosity, and the part that was hurt by Joe’s refusal to let me in all the way—didn’t really want to. “Fine,” I said. “But I didn’t put you up to it.”
“Put me up to what?”
“Exactly.” The clock on the mantle chimed four o’clock. “I should be getting back.”
“I wish you didn’t have to.”
“I know. But don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’ll try to check in nightly, if I can.”
“That’s great,” she said sincerely, “but how about you do it at a more decent hour from now on?”
I smiled. “I’ll try. I don’t exactly have a way to keep track of time there, but I’ll do my best.”
She nodded, then yawned. “Sorry. You know I don’t want you to go, but I’ve got to get some sleep. Your wake’s tomorrow night, and—”
“My wake?”
“Yeah. Grandma insisted.”
“Cool. I’m so there.”
She looked uncertain. “Really? You want to come to your own wake?”
“I wouldn’t miss it! Not, you know, if I can guess the time right and make it back over here without interference.”
“Interference?”
I faked nonchalance with a wave of my hand. “Not for you to worry about. Now go get some sleep, kiddo.”
She yawned again. “Don’t call me that. I hate that.”
“Yeah, I know.” I followed her to her bedroom and tucked her back into bed, and then I sat with her until she went back to sleep.
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