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What Doesn't Kill You(44)

By:Cate Dean


Zach used the bed to stand, and lowered himself to it. “Help me how?”

“Top of my question list, kid. Right before how the hell did I get here. Though I do have a theory about that one.” Simon looked around, a smile on his face. “Let me guess—Annie decorated for you.”

“Got it in one. I don’t dare change anything, not with her sleep deprived and able to run after me again.” Grief and wonder tangled around each other as Zach studied him. “I can’t tell her, or Mom, can I?”

Simon let out a sigh. “I don’t know if anyone else can see me. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to. Until you fell off the bed.”

“Ha ha. Can we not mention that again, ever?” They grinned at each other, Zach’s fading as the truth sank in. “You’re a ghost, right?”

“Since I’m dead, I’d say yes.” Simon sat next to him on the bed. Zach waited for him to sink through, but he seemed pretty solid for a ghost. He had on the same clothes he died in—faded jeans, an even more faded denim jacket, white t-shirt. And not a drop of blood. “I know you’re freaked out right now, and I’m there with you. But I was brought back for a reason, Zach. And that reason is you.”

Swallowing, Zach reached out. His hand passed right through Simon’s arm. Cold shocked him; his tattoo lit up like a blue neon sign. He jerked his hand away, expecting to have frostbite, but it looked normal. He tucked it into his armpit, the pins and needles tingle painful and comforting. He hadn’t lost feeling, at least. But his tattoo didn’t fade. Instead, it pulsed, slowly, like a heartbeat.

“So.” Zach cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”

“First—don’t ever do that again.” Simon rubbed his arm, pain flaring in his eyes.

“You felt that?”

“You stuck your hand in my arm. Hell, yes, I felt it.”

“Sorry.”

Simon shrugged, a smile easing the pain. “I’d be curious, too. That hand okay?”

“I’ll live. It still burns, like I stuck it in a freezer, and hung out a while.”

“Interesting. Since cold usually announces a ghost, it makes sense.”

Zach waited for Simon to keep talking, but he started to—fade. “Simon—”

He stood, looking down at himself. “Damn it. Watch yourself, Zach. I’ll be back as . . .” His voice faded with him. Zach pushed off the bed, getting as close as he could without touching, and heard Simon’s last words. “—find out why I was sent here—”

He blinked out of sight, leaving behind a snap of cold that iced every window and mirror in the bedroom. Zach glanced down at his tattoo. The neon blue blinked out. Like it was connected to Simon’s presence. Weird.

Zach crawled under the covers, huddling against the headboard, and stared at the spot where Simon had disappeared.

He had a feeling life was about to get more interesting than he ever wanted.



~*~