 
Morbid Curiosity

By Dante D. Ross

Copyright © 2013 by Dante D. Ross

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MORBID CURIOSITY

"I do a lot of stuff. I mean, you know, charity work." - Sylvia Browne (dead psychic)

I don't know why but I get calls like these usually on Mondays. Monday is too early in the week to deal with this much crazy. I swear I'm never going to church again. That's how all this nonsense started. I'll get to that later. Right now I got a mother in denial to deal with.

"He didn't kill himself!" This is Mrs. Stanton. She's what I call semi-crazy. One of the types that believe in things like ghosts, the afterlife, and monsters and keeps it to herself. But when she meets someone like me who has no choice but to see these things she vomits all the information she knows. She contacted me after a ghost began knocking over her favorite porcelain figurines. She thinks it's her son that died about a year ago haunting her. I think she just gets so drunk that she doesn't remember smashing shit in her sleep.

"Whatever you say, ma'am," I mutter to her. Lord, her house smells. I swear I detect cat pee but see no evidence of a feline in the place. I'm ready to leave when suddenly one of her small half racist figures floats off of the table in front of the two of us and shatters against the wall. "Holy shit!" I shout.

"See, I told you!" she screams at me. "Roscoe, please stop! We want to help you!"

"Roscoe?" I ask her. "You named your son Roscoe? No wonder he's pissed." Another figure I swear looks like a burning Southern church almost hits me in the face and I dive under the table. "Hey, Roscoe. You wanna let me see you?" This works more often than not. Ask a ghost to show themselves and they try to create some angry version of what they were like when they were alive. Most times though they just look the way they did when they died. Apparently Roscoe blew his brains out. "You look like hell, kid."

"Fuck you..." Roscoe hisses at me. "You don't know me."

"I know that you're a jackass that shot himself in the head" I tell him. I pick up a photo of Roscoe and hold it up to him. "I think you look better dead."

"You're a dick," he says. "Aren't you supposed to give me some spiritual guidance or something?" Roscoe turns to the side and I see straight through his head.

"Does that thing make a sound when wind blows through it?" I ask him. He picks up another figurine and flings it across the room. "Oh, nice, kid. I'm not here to do anything but get you out of your mom's place."

"What is he saying?" Mrs. Stanton asks me. "Can I talk to him?" she asks, stumbling around feeling the air for him. I wish she'd leave the room but there's no chance of that happening.

"You didn't wanna talk to me when I was alive!" Roscoe shouts. He looks for something to throw but can't find anything. He flips a table over.

"Why don't you move on, Roscoe?" I ask him.

"No, don't!" his mother shouts.

"Really, lady?" I ask her. "Look. Either you want me to make him leave or you want me to let him keep breaking your little toys. Pick one." I don't have time for this nonsense. I have to meet up with my ex wife in an hour. If I'm late she'll use it as more fodder for her lawyer. As if she needs anymore than she has. I walk over to Roscoe and grab him by the collar and start dragging him out the front door. He's kicking chairs over and spitting at me. Of course I can't feel any of it.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Roscoe shouts.

"I'm getting you out of here so I can meet my ex wife" I tell him. He grabs the doorway and tries to hold on. "Too late for that, kid. You wanted to die and that's what you got. It's not so bad once you get used to the burning."

"Burning?"

"Kid, you killed yourself," I remind him. "Whether you believe in heaven or hell they exist and 'Offers' go to hell first.

Purgatory if you're lucky.

"'Offers?'"

"Suicides," I tell him.

"Leave him with me!" Mrs. Stanton screams to me. She dives for my legs and holds on to my ankles. "He's my boy!"

"Fine" I say and let Roscoe go. He runs back into the house. "Pay me" I say. She hands me $600 cash and I smile and wave to her. "Call me when you get sick of having your shit damaged." She gives me a look but says nothing. I walk to my car and count my money. I always get paid in cash. Always. Inside I hear glass shattering and Mrs. Stanton shouting.

Did I tell you how much I hate Mondays?

"You're late" Louise says as I slide into the booth. I wave the waitress over and she sighs at me. It's way too hard to find good people that work in customer service. She slaps a menu on the table and walks away.

"I just want a coffee," I tell the back of her head. She nods to the pot on the table. I grab it and pour it into my lap. She screams. "It's ice cold. And could you bring me some napkins?" She heads off and Louise stares at me and shakes her head.

"You never change," she says to me. "What if the coffee had been hot?"

"What if you'd never cheated on me?" I ask her as I shift in my seat; nothing like ice cold coffee seeping into your ass crack to perk you up. "So where's your lawyer? I can barely smell him on you."

"Out of town," she says with a sigh. Oh, I forgot to tell you. She cheated on me with her mother's divorce lawyer. It's so ironic that it went past funny to sad and back to funny again. "He knows that we're meeting though. How have you been?"

"Same old same old," I say as the waitress drops some paper towels on the table. "Thanks. Yeah, so I had to save this old broad from her crazy ghost son. She wanted him to stay but..."

"Enough, Steven" she says to me. "It was hard enough dealing with your crazy stories when we were married. I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to them now."

Louise never believed me. She never questioned where the money I brought home came from. Maybe she thought I was a drug dealer. I offered to take her with me on one of my jobs but she refused.

It's not like I asked for this.

I guess I should tell you how I got this curse in the first place. It happened one day in church. I was 7. My parents are very religious people. Very religious may be an understatement. According to them 99.9% of the world sinned and would burn in hell including me when I didn't pick up after myself. I don't mean that they go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays. That's for rookies. They went six days a week and me and my little sister were dragged along with them.

"They're going to Hell," they'd always say about people. J-walking? You're going to Hell. Laughing too loud in a theater? You're going to Hell. Not saying hello to them? You're going to Hell. Grinning? Hell. It got old really quick. I tried talking my way out of going a few times and showed up to church with a black eye or swollen lips. Backtalk got you sent to Hell but beating your kids apparently did not.

One night we showed up late. My sister spilled wine on her dress. How did she get wine? How could she not, is a better question. It was all over our house. By the time we arrived we had to sit against a wall in the corner underneath a massive statue of Jesus Christ. That thing always gave me the creeps. Not that I'm afraid of Him or anything. But it was so big that it was life-size. His blood looked real and so did the pain in his eyes. I'm sorry but after the crown of thorns humanity would've been fucked. I could not die for the sins of people I'd never met let alone the ones I have.

So we're sitting there and all is well in the world. That is until my mother, in an enthusiastic fit, bumped into me. Hard. I slammed against the wall knocking the massive Jesus loose. I looked up just in time to look into the eyes of our Lord. He looked surprised to see me, too. I woke up in bed hours later. My parents didn't believe in hospitals. "No one gets better in a hospital!" my mother would shout as she splinted our broken arms and legs. My elbow still clicks to this day.

"What are you thinking about?" Louise asks, snapping me out of my flashback––Sorry. I'll get back to it later. "I came for a conversation, but if you're going to sit here and look strange I've got better things to do."

"Don't you mean people?" I ask.

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this bullshit from you, Steven" she says as she leaves.

"Sit down" I tell her. She looks at me and frowns. "Please?" She sits down and sighs into her hands.

"I don't know what to do with you, Steven," she says.

"Well, you could pick up the tab" I say. She looks up at me with fire in her eyes; there is no love left in them for me. "You had an entire meal. I had a cup of coffee. You don't really expect me to pay for all of this, do you?"

"You are such an asshole," she says as she lays $20 on the table.

"What, no tip?" I ask. She gives me the finger and storms out of the place. The waitress comes by and hands me the bill. "$31.03?!"

"Yes," the waitress says.

"What did she eat? Lobster?" I ask. She nods. "Who eats lobster at noon? Jesus, I swear..." I fish into my wallet and hand her $40 and leave. I can feel the coffee running down my legs as I stand. I see a spirit sitting in a booth over in the corner. He looks like he used to be a cook here; the top half if his body is burned and blistered. I leave before he spots me. I don't work for free.

I get home and there's a goddamn ghost waiting for me. It's the guy from the diner. Ghosts don't materialize like they do in movies. One second they're there and the next they're not. I walk through him and get my keys.

"Dick" he says.

"Not my name," I tell him. "You got the wrong guy." Ghosts hate when you walk through them. There is nothing that says that you are dead more than having someone not just ignore you, but physically move through the space you're occupying. "You know you can't come in, right?"

"I can go anywhere I want," he tells me. "My name's Richard by the way."

"Oh, I get it," I say. When you said 'Dick' it wasn't a statement, it was your name. Yeah, so, bye."

"You gotta help me," he says. "You're the first person to notice me in years. I'm going crazy."

"Don't work for free," I tell him. "Now just move along. I don't want to miss the news." I open my door and head in. Richard tries to come in but slams into an invisible wall.

"What the hell?" he asks. "Are you some kind of witch doctor or something?"

"Something" I tell him. "Now leave. You don't want me to send you away by force."

"Fine" he says and folds his arms. "I'll be waiting for you."

"Whatever," I tell him and close my door. Years ago I put a shield around my house. It doesn't hurt any ghosts but it does keep them from messing with me at home. My phone rings just as I set my keys down. I answer on the third ring. "Yeah."

"Hello, Mr. Bowes" my wife's divorce lawyer/fuck pillow Anthony P. Stein Esq. says. "My client phoned me to say that you two had an unauthorized meeting. This call is being recorded."

"She had lobster. I had coffee." I turn on the TV and head into the kitchen. I am dying for a beer.

"How much did she spend on the meal, Mr. Bowes?" Stein asks me.

"What the fuck do you want?" I ask him. I have no patience. Really, I don't. I think it's a condition. Macrophobia I think it's called. If hospitals weren't so damned haunted I'd go and get checked out. Oh, my hair trigger temper is another reason Louise filed for divorce.

"You're already fucking my wife. What more could you possibly want?"

"She says you're still having episodes," he says. "Have you gone to the therapist I suggested?"

"Have you taken the stick out of your ass like I suggested?" I ask him.

"May I remind you that this call is being recorded?" he says. "May I remind you that I don't give a fuck? You can do whatever the hell you want including my wife apparently," I tell him.

"Now you're just being childish," he replies.

"I can be whatever I want as long as I believe in myself," I say with just a slight twinge of sarcasm. "If you call me again I swear I will send a posse of spirits to your house. And they wont be the nice kind. They'll be the 'flip your bed over while you're sleeping' kind."

"Are you threatening me?" he asks.

"No" I say. "But I would love to see you prove I did anything wrong in court by using ghosts as a weapon. Have a good night, jackass." I hang up on him and drink my beer way too fast. I have a low tolerance for alcohol. I get a head rush and close my eyes.

Oh, I might as well finish my story. So, I wake up in bed and my parents...

The phone rings. "Hello?" I ask.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Steven?" It's Louise. "It's bad enough you speak that nonsense to me. Don't drag Tony into it."

"Tony?" I ask. "That's so cute. Does he call you Lou for short? Or perhaps Wheezy?"

"You're an asshole," she says.

"And you're a cheapskate" I tell her. "You only left $20 when your meal was almost $30! I had to spend my hard earned cash paying for your damned lunch. I expect to be reimbursed."

"You're impossible" she sighs at me. "Nothing's impossible when you believe in yourself" I say. "Are we on for lunch tomorrow?" she asks me.

"Sure," I say.

"Maybe a blowjob afterward?"

"I'll think about it," she says before hanging up. I bet that call wasn't being recorded.

The next day I lay awake staring at Louise in the dim light of this hotel room. A few times a week we get together and try to throw some sparks on the wet log that is our relationship. We both know it's dead. But like a child that keeps their mother on a respirator weeks and months after they should've let go, we keep trying.

Your parents hate when you do that by the way. Just thought you should know.

"Is he bigger than me?" I ask Louise.

"I hope you're not asking what I think you are," she moans.

"It's a normal question," I tell her. I've had very few sexual relationships in my life. No one really fights to sleep with the guy that sees ghosts and wrestles with invisible friends. "He looks like he'd be pretty big."

"And what does a 'pretty big' man look like?" she asks me. "Does it appear that he has trouble walking properly?"

"You know what?" I say. "I've never seen him walking. Isn't that peculiar?"

"No, you're peculiar" she says. "He's average."

"What's average?"

"Average," she sighs. She rolls over and faces me. She's still beautiful. A beautiful, cheating whore.

"He's not hurting me or anything."

"Have I ever hurt you?" I ask.

"Not sexually" she says, and begins to laugh.

"That makes me feel so much better," I moan. "I've thought about getting an enlargement."

"You're fine," she says as she reaches under the sheets and cups me. "Sex was never our problem. Talking was."

"Funny. I don't recall you talking to Anthony in our bed." Louise squeezes my balls and I yelp. "That felt kinda good. Do it again."

"Freak" she says. "See any ghosts roaming around?" She's humoring me. I hate being humored. If I wanted her to humor me I'd ask about her day.

"No" I tell her. "This room is clean. That's why I picked it."

"You really should see that therapist Tony told you about," she says as she slides under the sheets. I feel her lips kissing my stomach, her tongue play with my belly button. "When did you take the piercing out?"

"When I realized that I wasn't gay," I tell her. One day out of sheer boredom I pierced my navel. I don't have any tattoos or anything. I thought my body could use some sprucing up so I got a belly ring. It hurt and itched like crazy. And it was distracting. There's nothing like doggy style with theatrics. One of the reasons I hate lower back tattoos on women. It's like reading bumper stickers when you're stuck in traffic. Louise takes me into her mouth as only she can do and my eyes roll into the back of my head. "Why don't you swallow anymore?" She stops and sighs.

"Because we're not married," she says and then continues.

"I guess that makes sense," I say as she continues. Minutes later she's in the bathroom brushing her teeth and cursing.

"You could've warned me, asshole," she says. I swear if you took sound bites out of my life you'd think my name was "Damn You Boy", "Asshole", or "Stop Sleeping On My Lawn!"

"I tried but it felt so good I didn't wanna stop," I lie to her. "You should take it as a compliment. I was speechless."

We get dressed. There's no kisses or hugs. No promises of things getting better. No going back to the way things were. She walks to her car and I to mine. I get my keys and a few ghosts are waiting for me. I roll my eyes and they smile. They like being noticed.

"What?" I ask. "What do you want?"

"I'm not sure," one says. She looks about 18. Kinda hot.

"Let me guess," I say. "Dead hooker?"

"How'd you know?" she asks.

"The track marks and your outfit are kinda a dead giveaway. No offense." She looks at what she's wearing and smiles.

"Don't you feel bad about sleeping with her?" Some guy who, if I'm right, hung himself. This damned hotel is like Suicide City or something.

"Why would I feel bad about sleeping with my wife?" I ask. "We're separated. The divorce isn't final yet." I hear a click and slowly turn knowing what will be aimed at my head before I even look.

"None of you could've warned me?" I ask the least helpful spirits ever. Some young kid with a gun is standing a couple of feet from me.

"This is more entertaining," the hangman says.

"Who the fuck you talking to?" the kid asks me. "Give me your money."

"Freedom to whoever scares this guy shitless" I say. The hooker wastes no time. She grabs the guy by the throat and slams him onto the trunk of my car. He drops his gun and I pick it up. "Come here" I say to the girl. She smiles and I place my hand on her shoulder. She disappears. I don't know if she's in Heaven or Hell. I hope this good deed did something to earn her points. The kid looks up and blood is pouring from his nose and mouth. "Bet you didn't think it would turn out like this, huh?"

"...the fuck happened?" he asks. He spits blood onto the ground. The ghosts waver for a minute. Blood creeps them out for some reason. They tend to hate crime scenes.

"You got beaten by a dead whore," I tell him. "I'm gonna shoot you in the balls, okay?"

"Why?" he asks.

"My high from having sex with my ex wife is wearing off and I need something to get my blood pumping again, I guess" I tell him. "Now hold still. It'll only hurt for a minute."

I never shot that kid. I took his gun and dropped it in the garbage a few miles away. But I bet he never tries that nonsense again. I have an appointment in a few hours with a family that is convinced their ancestors are haunting them. I've done these a ton of times. Twice it turned out some drug addict was living in their attic. I'm gonna head home for a bit of rest before heading over.

I pull into my driveway and Richard is waiting for me. He's standing in the driveway like an angry father whose son took the car for a joyride without permission. I get out and walk through him again. He tries to grab me but can't. I shove him to the ground.

"That's not fair," he says as he gets up and dusts himself off. No, he isn't dirty. Just stupid and living habits die hard. "Why can't I touch you?"

"Because I don't like you that way," I tell him as I head indoors. "You should stop hanging around here. This neighborhood is kinda bad. Lots of robberies."

"Then why do you live here?" he asks. "Aren't you afraid of being robbed or killed?"

"I was robbed less than half an hour ago," I tell him. "And death is the last thing I'm afraid of. You know what scares me? Measles. My parents didn't believe in inoculations."

"With your gift you have an obligation to help me" he says. "What you have is a gift from God. God gave that to you to help others. To deny me is to deny God."

"Oh, shut up," I say as I open my door and slam it. He's not the first to say that nonsense. I'd grab a beer but I don't have much time. I close my eyes and attempt to relax. I think about finding a real job. A regular old 9 to 5. I've tried it a few times but found it incredibly dull. I even worked as a counselor for a suicide hotline. I was fired halfway through my shift for daring someone to shoot themselves while on the phone. They did and waited for me when I walked to my car. I congratulated them on their excellent follow up skills. Just when I start to doze off my phone rings. "Yeah."

"Have you seen Louise?" It's Mr. Largecock, Anthony.

"Maybe she's resting after banging me in a seedy hotel" I say.

"That's not funny and it is also an attack on her character" he says before adding, "and this call is being recorded."

"And you're being retarded." I tell him as I hang up. Before I know it its time to head to work.

I push past Richard and head to Northridge. Never been a fan of this place. The roads are clogged with accident victims waiting to be released. I ignore them as best I can and find this filthy house. My, God, look at this. The entire family, all, 13, 14, no, 16 of them are waiting for me on the lawn. And they say Native Americans are dying out. No they're not. They all just moved to The Valley. A young lady, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, walks to my car before I even step out and starts talking.

"It's gotten worse since we last spoke!" she shouts at me. I hate loud. "They're destroying everything!" I feel like a cop being called for a disturbance.

"How many do you think there are?" I ask her.

"We don't know," she says. I walk past her and on to their porch. An old lady, maybe close to 100 years old, grabs my wrist and I pull it away.

"You're special," she tells me.

"That's what the driver of the short bus told me," I say as I step into the house. Haven't been in a place this pumped full of bad in a few years. I can feel bad spirits like a blanket on my shoulders. For you who can't do what I do, if you were to walk in here you'd feel uncomfortable but not know why. "You can all show yourselves," I say aloud. The house shakes a bit and everyone outside screams. I walk to the door and look at them. "The whole screaming thing? Not helping. Go gamble or something until I'm done." I close the door and sit down to watch some TV.

"Get out..." a voice says.

"Later" I tell it. "That whole 'Get out' thing only works in movies. Just let me see you and send you on your way." The voice shows itself and for the first time in years I feel something I forgot about: Fear. "What the fuck are you?"

"You would not believe me if I told you" this thing says. It has the shape of a man. Arms, legs, and a body. But the head looks like a large buffalo. It's wearing a loincloth and no shirt or shoes. He also has a large spear with feathers tied to the end. "I am not leaving. This is my home."

"I'm not a realtor and really don't care whose home it is. But they are paying me to get you out. Make me a better offer and I'll get them to leave." He rushes me with his spear and jabs it into my chest. It feels like a tingle. "You're a strong one. Not too many ghosts can touch me."

"You can not make me leave," it says. He actually speaks through the buffalo head. It's like something out of Narnia.

"I think I can," I say as I jump up and tackle him to the ground. His eyes look shocked. He tries to shove me off but his hands just pass through me. I grab him by the horns and slam his head to the floor.

"What are you doing?" the lady asks me from the door. I didn't hear her come in.

"Fighting a buffalo," I say as it struggles to get free.

"A what?" she asks.

"Do you mind?" I tell her. "I'm kinda busy." I punch it in the face a few times and grab it by the neck and drag it outside. The family screams as I wrestle with it on the ground. The house begins to creak and shake. "Go away" I say to it.

"This is my home," it says. It actually sounds sad. I lay my hand on his chest and close my eyes. I am bombarded with images. Most of them make no sense to me. Stars, lights, horses, wolves, blood. I open my eyes and it's gone. I stand and wipe my shirt off. The old lady points to my face.

"You're bleeding," she says. I wipe my nose and sure enough I am. "Thanks" I say. "Now if you'll just pay me I'll be on my way."

I just made $2000 and all it took was a bloody nose. This is a good day. I get into my car and head back home. My schedule is clear for the rest of the evening. I pull into my driveway and Richard is still there. He's smiling.

"Have fun?" he asks me. Spirits have a way of knowing what each other are doing. The afterlife is the largest game of telephone ever. He stomps his foot and puts his fingers to his head imitating a bull, adding a snort at the end.

"Lots," I tell him.

"I met your wife today" he says with a smirk on his lips. "Not very nice."

"And how'd you meet her?" I ask, humoring him.

"She was killed earlier today," he says. "I think she's inside waiting for you."

"You go bye now," I say as I raise my hand to him and he falls to the ground. The shadows from the trees reach for him and he slowly begins to fade.

"What are you doing?!" he shouts.

"What you asked for," I tell him. He's gone and I feel better. I walk into my house and sit down in front of the TV. I think I'll have that beer now.

"I thought you stopped drinking" Louise says. I drop my beer and it sprays all over the kitchen. Except not a drop touches Louise. Because she's dead.

"What the hell happened to you?" I ask her. I see no damage to her face. She didn't hang herself or anything. She turns around and lifts her shirt. Two bullet holes are in her back.

"Some punk kid shot me and took my purse," she says. "Some guy said you had a prostitute beat him up."

"Yeah, I did," I say. "When did he do this? I left a few minutes after you did." "Probably right before you left," she says.

"At least I didn't have sex with a ghost" I say relieved. "Now I wish I had killed the kid. I took his gun and threw it in the trash." I look at her and feel sad. Another rarity for me. This day is just full of surprises. "You seem to be taking all this in stride. You know, being dead and all."

"The funny thing is that when I died you were the first person I thought of," she tells me. "I came here and heard about you fighting a buffalo or something. I saw that guy in front of your house and spoke to him for a few minutes. He's pushy. I feel like an ass for not believing you all these years. You really can talk to spirits."

"Stinks that it took you being shot in the back for it to happen," I say. "So what do you want now?"

"What do you mean?" she asks me.

"I can send you away if you want," I tell her. She looks confused. "I can lay my hand on you and send you to wherever."

"What's 'wherever'?" she asks.

"Heaven. Hell. I don't know. But I send spirits there." I grab a towel and start wiping up the beer. She tries to touch the top of my head and passes through me. I look up at her. "Yeah, I can touch you but you can't touch me."

"That doesn't seem fair," she says.

"That's what the asshole outside said," I mumble as I throw the towel in the sink and grab another beer. I sit down at my cluttered kitchen table. It's covered in letters asking for help. I make space for my beer and sigh. Louise sits down and looks at me.

"What are all of these?" she asks.

"Problems" I say. "Everyone wants me to help them. What are we gonna do about you being dead?" I don't like how calm she is about all of this. Something about it really bothers me. "Your boyfriend already called asking for you."

"That's sweet," she says. "I hope he doesn't find out that you were the last person to see me alive."

"Oh, that's the last thing I need," I say as I begin drinking. "I think I'm gonna take a nap. You can walk around if you want. Go somewhere. Talk to other spirits. I don't know. I need to rest. How did you get in here anyway?" I have a shield. She should not have been able to get in here.

"I just walked in" she says. "That guy outside said he couldn't get in but I walked right through the door. This place is a mess." She sees a small picture of the two of us with our daughter Beth on top of the refrigerator. "Do you miss her?"

"Only when I'm awake," I say. "She should've never died."

"No one should" she replies.

"Not true" I say. "There are a lot of people that need to die immediately. Do you believe in vampires?" I ask her. "No" she says. "Please tell me they aren't real."

"They're not real," I say.

"Oh, Jesus, they are," she moans. "Why do you ask?"

"I got a letter a few days ago from some old lady saying she had one living in her building. He doesn't cause any trouble but she thinks he's 'ungodly' and wants him gone. I haven't been to Hollywood in a while and thought about checking this out."

"Can I come?" she asks. "Now that I know all of this nonsense is real I want to see it for myself."

"Why couldn't you have been this cool when you were alive?" I ask her.

"I was too busy wondering why you didn't love me anymore and why our baby had to die," she says. "Can ghosts cry?"

"Yeah."

I fell asleep way too early. When I woke up Louise was still there, just standing in the corner watching me sleep. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, showered, and got dressed. The entire time she said nothing.

"That's getting creepy," I told her.

"I was just seeing if I was still visible," she said. "Sorry."

"Ready to go check out a vampire?" I asked her. She shuddered.

"No, not really" she replied. "This entire being dead thing is hard enough without knowing things like vampires are real. Did you know that I can't sleep?"

"Yeah" I say. "Its one of the main reasons ghosts are so angry. Having a hobby is helpful. Traveling, too. You're lucky."

"How so?" she asks.

"A lot of spirits are tied down to the place they died," I say as I pat myself down to make sure I have my keys. "At first it's fine because they are around their family or familiar surroundings. Then the family ages, dies, and move on. Then it becomes like house arrest. They go nuts. But you aren't stuck at that motel."

"Tony called this morning," she says. "Left a message for you."

"I don't need a secretary," I tell her. "I have nothing to say to him. With you dead there's absolutely no reason for me to be in contact with him."

"Well, it's just that he sounded so worried about me on the machine," she says. "Can't you, I don't know, let him know I'm dead?"

"Oh, that makes perfect sense! 'Hey, Anthony! Yeah, this is Steven. You know, the crazy ghost hunter guy whose ex wife you're sleeping with? Yeah, him! So, funny story. She's dead. How do I know? Well, she was murdered after we had sex in a motel and she showed up at my house.'" I grab my coat and head out of the house. Louise climbs into the passenger seat. "I'm not saying a word to Anthony."

"What happened to that guy?" she asks. She's talking about Richard. "I sent him away," I tell her. "Don't mention him again." As we drive she shakes her head at all of the dead we pass. "I had no idea," she says.

"Not many do," I tell her.

"And you thought I was crazy."

"You are crazy, Steven," she says to me. "Look at that one!"

"Bloater" I say. "Probably killed himself in the bath and no one found him. No need to point anyone out. If I don't see them now I'll see them later." We finally arrive to the address listed. It's burned to the ground. "You've got to be kidding me..."

"Maybe next time you'll respond sooner," Louise says.

"I'm gonna find out what happened," I tell her. "Wait here."

I head into a small store near the building. An old Middle Eastern man is behind the counter. He looks at me suspiciously and I smile.

"Excuse me, but I'd like to ask you a question." He just looks at me. "Do you happen to know what happened to the building down the way? When did it burn?"

"Last week" he says with a heavy accent. "I have not seen my friend Harry since. I fear he may have been inside."

"Harry?" I ask aloud. "Thank you." I walk back to my car ignoring the spirits that try to block my way. Everyone wants something for free. "Guy told me this place burned down last week. His friend Harry may have been inside."

"That's terrible," Louise says.

"His friend's name was Harry," I say as I pull the envelope from my pocket. "The lady that wrote the letter to me said the guys name was Harry Tooper. I'm going to look him up."

"Let me try something" Louise says as she slips through the door. She walks over to a few wandering spirits. They either frown at her or flat out back off. One walks over. A filthy fella stumbles over to her and whispers in her ear. She nods and rushes back to the car. "Harry is a vampire. That guy told me he was killed by him a few years ago. Says a few ghosts told him that Harry was arrested for the murder of the landlady but a werewolf actually did it."

"A werewolf?" I ask. "Jesus..."

"Please don't tell me those are real, too," she says.

"Rare but real," I say. "Let's go pay Harry a visit. See what this is all about."

"Have fun" Louise says. "I don't want to meet a vampire."

"Are you telling me an interview with a vampire wouldn't be fun?" I ask her. She stares at me and shakes her head. She reaches over to hug me but passes through. I push her back and hug her properly. "I'll see you later, right?"

"I hope so" she says and leaves.

I call the LAPD and find out that they are holding Harry Tooper in solitary confinement. They can't tell me why but I have my guesses. I arrive and get through security easily. They know who I am. The cops are grateful for my services. When they get calls telling them ghosts are terrorizing people I'm the first guy they think of and reach out to.

"This guy Tooper is special" one of them tells me. "You should've seen him his first morning."

"Why?" I ask.

"You'll see when you see him," he laughs as I am led to Tooper. I get to his cell and open the small slot that allows me to watch him. I see a skinny guy sitting in the corner of his cell rocking back and forth. He stops moving when he senses me. He sniffs the air for a moment and looks me right in the eyes.

"Hey, Harry," I say to him. He laughs a bit.

"Hey, fella," he replies. "Here to get me outta here?"

"We'll see," I tell him. "First I want to talk to you."

"Talkin' is the last thang I wanna do right now," he says. "I've seen you before. Ya talk to ghosts, right?" I wonder how he can even see me. It's pitch black in his cell, dark in this hallway, and he can only see my eyes through the door.

"Open it up," I tell the guard. He looks at me like I'm crazy. "I'm serious. Open it up." He shrugs as if to say "Your funeral" and slides it open. He pretty much shoves me in and slams the door shut.

Harry is up and towards me ridiculously fast. Never in my life have I seen a living thing move that quickly. I hold up my hand and he slams into a wall he can't see and lands on the floor holding his nose.

"Sorry about that."

"No harm no foul," he says with a thick country accent. "I didn't wanna do that to ya. Been so long since I had a meal I can't help myself." He wipes his pant leg off and I see his arm. It looks burned. He notices me watching and smiles. "Oh, this? First mornin' in jail. Hadn't felt the sun in a while. It hurt."

"I can see," I tell him. "You want to tell me what you are? How you got here?" Mind you, I know about ghosts, hauntings, and even werewolves. But a real life vampire is far too intriguing to me.

"I'm sure with ya powers ya know what I am," he says while backing into the corner. "An' I'm in here 'cause my best friend set me up for murder."

"The werewolf?" I ask.

"Yeah" he says. "Him. Ate my landlady an' blamed it on me. Now, I didn't like Mrs. Spitzer one damn bit, I tell ya, but I never killed her." He looks at me and I feel something push against my head, then my chest.

"It's not going to work" I tell him. "I'm special, remember? Even if you aren't a vampire, you do have something." I close my eyes and try to feel him out. Feel something. I get no images, no memories, no anything. I open my eyes and he's standing in front of me. He opens his mouth and lets his fangs slide out. "Nice trick" I tell him.

"I need to get outta here," he tells me. "I don't wanna lose it in here. I need to eat. Hell, they could let ol' Harry loose in here an' save this here city so much money. Look, I don't wanna hurt nobody..."

"Says the vampire."

"...but if I get into a frenzy, no prison on God's green Earth could stop me. You thank this cell is keepin' me in here?" he asks. He stands and faces the wall. It's solid. Concrete and steel. He shoves it with one hand and it creeks, actually bending with his strength. "An' that's after not feedin' for a week. I can get outta here."

"Then why don't you?" I ask. With the power he just showed me there's no reason for him to be locked up.

"'Cause I ain't guilty," he says. "I jus' wanna go back to my life. I don't give a good damn 'bout no war."

"War?" I say. "What war?"

"Vampire an' werewolves" he says. "Hollywood shit. I jus' wanna be free, fella. Now can you help me out?"

"I don't work for free," I tell him. "I didn't come to liberate you, Mr. Tooper. I was just following a letter I received. And the lady that sent the letter was your former landlord who is now dead so my job is over. Good luck with your trial. Guard?" I slide out of the cell and take a deep breath.

"Gonna let a innocent fella rot?" Harry asks me. "I have money. That's not a problem. But I tell ya this: I'll get outta here. An' then I'll find ya."

"I look forward to it," I tell him as I leave. I get to my car and sigh. Louise slides into the seat next to me and looks concerned. I take her hand and squeeze it. She smiles.

"I met a vampire today."

"What was he like?" she asks me.

"He was a good guy" I say and wipe my brow. "Damn it. He was a good guy."

"I don't like you either!"

It's almost midnight and I'm stuck in downtown L.A fighting twin children that are haunting their parents. Guess they didn't like the idea of their mother replacing them with two adopted children. These kids are really strong for their age. Or I'm just exhausted from the day. Give me a break. My ex wife was murdered and I met a vampire.

While I drag one of the kids by his hair and the other holds on to my ankles, I think back to Harry Tooper. I kind of figured that maybe that vampires existed, but I assumed that they were all either extremely old and extremely far away from me. And werewolves? I saw one once but did not stick around long enough to question him. God, the power Harry had! Even though he could not hurt me, I can only imagine what it would feel like to be normal and have him lure you towards him. Maybe I should help him out.

He did say he had money.

"Be careful!" Mr. Simmons says while I fight his ghost kids. His wife is sitting in the corner crossing herself and muttering prayers. It didn't work before she called me and it sure as Hell isn't working now. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"They're ghosts," I remind him. "I'm the one that could get hurt." I sling the kid at my feet out of the door and toss the other out by the head. They rush towards the door and I lift my hand, shutting them out. They pound on my shield and start screaming. "I hate kids."

"What now?" Mr. Simmons asks me. "Can they come back?"

"Only if you tell me to let them in," I say. "Otherwise I send them away."

"Away where?" Mrs. Simmons asks. "Heaven?"

"Uh..." I look at the brats seated at the door shouting and consider lying to her. "It depends on...stuff." I lay my hands on each of them and they disappear. "So that'll be $800."

I leave their home and climb into my car. Louise is waiting for me and crying. I know she knows what I did to those kids. I also know that she knows I know that she knows. I also know that she knows that I know why she is so upset about what I did.

"I didn't kill them," I say to her. "I just sent them away."

"I know, but they were just kids," she sobs. "How could you do that so easily?"

"It wasn't easy," I assured her. "I need a drink."

"No, you need to talk" she says. "That is one of your biggest problems. You keep so much of yourself bottled in and in turn turn to the bottle."

"Did you learn that from Anthony's therapist?" I ask her. "I don't need this right now. I just want to go home and rest. And it would be nice to wake up without you staring at me."

"Then why don't you send me away to where you sent those kids and everyone else?" she asks. "If I'm that much of a burden then make me disappear." I look at her and contemplate it.

"That's what I thought. Just go home and drink yourself stupid. I'm going to see Tony."

"Have fun" I tell her as she disappears. Like I need this crap in my life.

I sit on my couch unable to fall asleep. Louise hasn't shown up since I've been here. I almost wish I hadn't made Richard disappear. I need someone to talk to. I consider calling the therapist Anthony and Louise talked about. Then I remember that I never finished talking about how I got my abilities. I don't like to call them "powers." Flying like that Johnny Panic guy; that's power. What I have is a curse if you ask me.

So I woke up in bed. I had a lump the size of a tennis ball on my head. Like I said, my parents thought that if you went to the hospital you were going to Hell, so they gave me an icepack. When I woke up my room was full of people. I didn't know most of them. A few I knew from old family photos. Really old family photos. An older woman put her hand on my head and smiled. I heard my door open and my mother walk in. I smelled her before I saw her. She had this heavy perfume she loved to wear. Everything seemed fine until she walked through the old lady.

"Mom..." I said.

"Shut up and rest," she said as she took the melted icepack from my head and slapped another on. "We'll never be able to go back to the church after the stunt you pulled."

"Where's Lucy?" I asked. I wanted to see my sister.

"Don't worry about that now," she said as she left the room. After she closed the door Lucy walked over to the bed and smiled at me.

"Hi, Stevie," she said. "I don't like it here."

"I don't either," I told her.

"You aren't where I am," she said and began to cry. I did not understand what she meant. "I don't know anybody and..."

"My head really hurts..." I moaned. Lucy reached for me and I grabbed her arm. She vanished. The other people in the room gasped and looked at each other. The older lady looked at me and smiled.

"I'm next," she said and took my hand. I didn't know what to do. "Where's Lucy?" I asked her. "What happened to her?"

"She's in a better place." To this day I hate hearing people say that.

A better place usually means somewhere I'm not.

The next morning after seeing my first vampire I wake up on the floor. I have no idea how I got here. I don't mean that I fell out of the bed next to my nightstand. I am close to my door, halfway into the hall. I stumble to my feet, holding my head. There's dried blood near my eye. What in the hell happened? I hear a crash and rush into the living room, trying not to fall over all the garbage on the floor. This is garbage that wasn't there when I went to sleep.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask Louise. Apparently she's strong enough to move all of my furniture. She's trashed my entire place.

"You monster..." she hisses at me. "You knew!" I can feel her pulsing. Pulsing is never a good sign with ghosts and spirits. It means that you need to duck soon or hide behind something.

"I have no idea what you're talking about" I tell her.

"Beth," she says. I try to hide my flinch but she sees it. "You knew as soon as she was born!"

Now, let me explain something. Louise and I should never had tried to have a kid. Our relationship was never great. Sex was all we had in common. When she gave birth to Beth I knew she would die soon. Nothing was wrong with her. She was born on exactly the day our doctor said she would be. No health issues. But as soon as she was out of Louise half her soul was hanging out. You'd think she was a conjoined twin.

When she died I was upset, but not surprised. My reaction to her death always bothered Louise. She wondered why I was not more torn about it. I never told Louise I knew she would die. You think its hard burying a child? Try sending its soul away and then burying its body.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I tell Louise. She points to the floor near the table and there she is: our daughter––a soul too young to do anything. Not even cry. She just lays there.

"How did you bring her back?" I ask. Louise says nothing. "Do not make me ask again." Once you send a soul away you should not bring it back. You can, just as you can drink bleach, but it's not a good idea. Like I mentioned before, I hate shouting. Bad things happen when I do. "How did you bring her back?!" Louise slams against the counter hard enough to crack it. She crawls over to Beth and reaches for her. I raise my palm to Beth and she disappears but not before emitting a high pitched squeal. I feel blood come from my ears.

"Why?!" Louise screams. Before I can answer there's pounding at my door. I look at Louise and hold her in place. It takes too much energy to do this and I hate doing it. She can't even speak. I stagger into my living room and open my door. I don't check who it is first. Stupid move number one.

"Are you Mr. Steven Bowes?" an officer asks me.

"Yeah," I say and feel three other cops creeping around the side of my house. "Is this about the vampire?" Stupid move number two.

"You are under the arrest for the murder of Louise Oliver-Bowes..." he begins before I slam the door in his face. I walk back to the kitchen and unbind Louise.

"Asshole," she says as she stands. "They think I killed you," I tell her. "Why?" "I don't know" she lies.

"Did you happen to visit your boyfriend last night?" I ask her. She looks away. I dive onto her and place my hands on her head. I watch her entire night in fast forward. I see my home being trashed while I'm sleeping. I see her slam a lamp on my head. I see her drag me out of bed. I see her at Tony's place scrawling on a note about our meetings at the motel and her subsequent murder. She didn't say that I killed her, but she did not not say I killed her. Implied murder is just as damaging as actual murder with my reputation. Her mind is blank for a time. I assume she found Beth during this time in a place I cannot see. Now she's back in my kitchen holding Beth and crying. "You idiot."

"I did what I had to," she says.

"So will I," I say as I place my hand on her heart and close my eyes. I feel her try to scratch me, bite my arms, and kick at me. I open my eyes and she's gone. I don't know where she's gone but I have an idea. The cops are banging on my door, trying to smash it in. It's time to call in some favors. I walk into my living room and watch as my door is bending. A few more hits and they are going to be all over me. There's a couple of spirits I know very well. Two of the angriest, strongest spirits I've ever known.

"Mom and dad, I need you."

They appear, ready to fight. In life they loved me in their own special way. In death their strange form of love is powerful. They look now as they did when they died: sick. Each of them died of cancer within months of each other. Once they died I knew they would be powerful. That much hate is hard to destroy. I also know that they're afraid to cross over. Once you die all your sins in life are played before you like some sort of On Demand of shame. I keep them away from the light, they help me out when I need it.

"I want you two to go berserk," I tell them. They look at me confused. "I am about to be arrested for a murder I didn't commit. I need you to stop these guys from getting me while I figure out what to do."

The police break through the door and I smile.

The cops manage to smash their way though my door and have all their guns aimed at me. My parents do what I tell them to. The guns go flying from the policeman's hands and they are very surprised. I mean, they can't be too surprised, right? They know who I am. Sure, most of them think I'm a crackpot who robs crazy old ladies for their money by getting rid of ghosts that aren't there but there are a few that not only like me, but have used me.

"The hell?!" one of them shouts as my dad shoves him out the door. My mom is trying but not hard enough. I think she needs some motivation.

"Don't forget the light, mom," I remind her. She looks at me and starts screaming. I can't hear a word she's saying. This is a tremendous blessing. For as religious she and dad were when they were alive the idea of possibly going to Hell terrifies them more in death. Mom gets the power of Hercules and shoves the rest of them out. I rush upstairs and grab a coat, stepping over all the garbage my ex wife and now oblivion occupier Louise left everywhere. I can hear the police crash through the kitchen door.

I climb out my window and there's a parade of ghosts all laughing at me. They mingle with the police cars and are cheering with them. Assholes. Right now it's hard to tell the living from the dead. The police fire a shot that misses me by inches. I climb back inside. I need to figure out what to do real quick. If I end up in jail I'll never sleep. Those places are filled with ghosts.

"Come out with your hands up!" one of them shouts.

"Aren't you supposed to say that before shooting at me?!" I shout back. "Mom. Dad." They appear in front of me flickering as only angry ass ghosts can. "Blow every piece of glass at these guys. I need to escape." Immediately they get to work. I can hear everyone running for cover. I climb out the shattered window, drop to the ground rolling my ankle in the process, and get over my neighbors fence and start limping away.

After I get a few blocks away I check into this seedy motel. The kind that don't ask questions. The kind that guys who are accused of murdering their ex wives check into. As I'm walking through the hallways I am bombarded with ghosts. I just wanna be left alone so I touch each one that gets close enough sending them away. I get into my room and a young guy is hanging from the ceiling. He used an extension cord from a lamp. I ignore him and lay on a bed that was made for Klingons.

"You gonna say anything?" he asks me. I close my eyes. He drops down and sits next to me. "Wanna know why I did this?" I don't. I really don't. This is what I hate about most ghosts. They all think they're interesting. They all have a story to tell.

"Well, one day I..."

"Shut up" I tell him. "I need to think."

"We all need to think," he says. "I wish I had. All I wanted was attention from my girlfriend. But she..."

"Doesn't know you're even dead. Got it." I sit up and look at him. He looks about 19. Maybe 20. Stupid kid. "What did you expect? You can't kill yourself in a no tell motel and expect sympathy. And hanging? So cliché. That's the problem with you kids. No originality."

"What would you have done?" he asks. He flickers for a moment. He's getting upset. The last thing I need right now is a pissed off ghost throwing things around and drawing attention to me.

"Nothing," I tell him as I limp to the mini-fridge and get a couple of ice cubes. Literally a couple. I put them on my ankle and wince. "I'd never kill myself. Offers get an automatic ticket to Hell." God, I sound like my parents.

"Then I'll just stay here then" he says and smiles at me.

I don't want everyone to think I'm some kinda uncaring monster. I dare say I care too much. I have seen things that would drive people insane. Yet here I am totally in control of my mental health. When I see someone suffering I care sometimes. Like, a few weeks ago for example. I saw an old man sitting at a bus stop. He was half dead. His spirit was literally hanging halfway out of his body but he refused to let it go. His spirit was trying to shove itself away but the old guy just held on tight. I parked my car, sat next to him, and yanked his spirit out.

The two don't always get along, the body and spirit. There are some bad people that try to do well and some good people that end up doing bad and they just don't know why. I do. It's because no matter how hard we try we can't fight our true nature. We see it all the time with celebrities and such. The girl who at 16 has everything you could have ever dreamed of but for some reason she is compelled to drive drunk or do coke. The athlete that fought his way out of the ghetto only to do the very thing he battled his entire life to get away from. The mother that always wanted to have kids but once they did drowns them in a bathtub.

You know. Normal stuff.

When the mind and spirit are at war nothing good can happen. My mind and spirit are at peace. It took years of thinking and many bottles of liquor but I finally did it. I remember at my first AA meeting there was this guy. Said he was afraid to get behind the wheel of a vehicle again after killing a little girl. What he left out was that he had actually killed about a dozen people before he got to her. I knew this because they were all surrounding him and screaming. They noticed me notice them and started screaming for me to say something. I blocked them out and tried to listen to what the guy was saying. After he was done talking I was close to doing something about it. Turns out he was a really bad guy.

I'm not Dexter or Odd Thomas, okay? I don't spend my days righting wrongs and trying to bring justice to the world. I just try to do enough to pay rent and make the occasional trip to Mexico. Great liquor down there but way too many ghosts. You know how else I know I care and having feelings? I miss my sister. If I had known how to control what I can do back then she would still...

"I'm trying to share with you and you're off in another world!" this kid screams at me. He sounds like my ex wife.

"The last person that said that to me is dead," I tell him.

"So is the person you're saying it to now," he tells me. Touché. "Man, all I want is some company right now. Can you talk to me?"

"I have my own stuff to deal with, kid," I tell him. "I know that you know who I am and what's going on right now. Let me deal with my own shit, alright? Just climb back up there and dangle. Its cute the way your tongue hangs out and your eyes bulge."

"You're a real asshole," he says and starts flickering again. He jumps up and grabs a lamp shattering it against a wall. Damn it. I rush towards him and he disappears.

"Fucking kids," I say to myself. I wonder what my daughter Beth would be like if she were still alive. I never wanted to be a dad. When Louise told me that she was pregnant I wondered if it was mine. We had so much unprotected sex with no results I figured it was God's way of cleaning my gene pool. But over time I began to like the idea of maybe raising a kid. I would go to the park. Play catch. Talk. All the stuff my own parents never did. But when she was born half dead something in me changed.

"See?" a small voice said to me as I held her moments after being born. "You're not supposed to be a father. This is what happens to things you love. They die. Remember what happened to your sister?"

That's when my drinking got really bad. I'd wake up and drink. I'd drink during lunch. I couldn't go to sleep without a bottle in my hand. Louise put up with it far longer than she should have. The funny thing is that when I began to turn my life around she cheated on me. Maybe she stuck around long enough to make sure I wasn't gonna kill myself.

I have never been a huge fan of sex. It solved nothing but boredom. I would rather watch a movie or a baseball game. It was all just so messy. One time I was so drunk that I hit on a ghost of a prostitute for an hour before realizing that she was dead. I'm sure the bar got a kick out of that.

I wonder what's on TV?

I'm all over the news. This isn't good. Not good at all. A fat guy wanders in through the bathroom door and sits down next to me. He just shakes his head and sighs.

"Stinks what they're saying about you," he tells me. I can't tell how he died. I don't see any scars or marks. "Heart attack," he tells me. Must've seen me looking for something. "While banging some whore."

"There are far worse ways to die," I tell him. He nods in agreement. "So what do you want?" I ask him. He just shrugs.

"Nothing really," he says. He scratches his ear and runs his hand over his bald head. "I know I'm dead and all that and I'm supposed to move on. I know who you are and what you do for others. I just don't need you. At least not right now. Maybe I can help you." I laugh. "I'm serious. I was a cop."

"Oh, okay," I tell him. "So how does a guy that chases away ghosts for a living that is accused of murder save himself?" He laughs.

"It's so easy I don't see how you didn't think of it," he says. "Plead insanity."

"I'm not insane," I say far too defensively. "I just exude certain insane characteristics." And I do. I am completely aware that on paper I seem bat shit crazy. But I'm not. "Besides that what other plans do you have?"

"You could always kill yourself," he says. "Its not like you're afraid to die. Are you?" I smile. "You know what happens on the other side. I assumed that I would head to Heaven and all. I've saved a lot of lives when I was alive. I was a good cop."

"How about as a husband?" I ask him. He doesn't flicker.

"Now that..." he says and chuckles lightly, "...is another story."

"The hooker?" I ask.

"The hooker," he sighs. "I'd been married for 25 years and never cheated. Sure, I'd flirted. I was a cop. Women loved the uniform. But I never slept with anyone. I didn't even sleep with the hooker." I laugh. "I didn't. Had a damned heart attack when she got undressed. Tits were amazing. I just floated above my body and watched while she went through my wallet and stole my cash. She saw the badge and high tailed it out of here. They found me two days later. I just sat here and watched myself piss and shit myself. A couple of rats nibbled on me. But it didn't bother me all that much. I was worried about what my wife would think."

"I like you" I tell him. And I do. He has an interesting life. Note to everyone dead: if you tell the story of your life just talk about the end. No one cares about the beginning. No one is fascinating in their youth. "If you ever want to cross over just let me know. Now if you don't mind I need to see what they have to say about me on the news."

"No problem" he says and stands. "Good luck. I know you're innocent. Your wife pretty much told that guy that you killed her. I'll see you around."

"Later, ghost cop" I say and he laughs and leaves the way he came. I watch the news and would laugh at how silly the story was if it didn't involve me. They are saying that I raped and killed Louise. Rape? Where'd they get that from? Oh, right. The sex. And of course when they get their swabs out they will find traces of my sperm in her mouth. Damn it. I just had to unleash in her mouth, didn't I? Suddenly ghost cop is back.

"Police are here," he says. "Just thought I'd warn you."

"Thanks," I say. If only every ghost was this helpful.

I'm not gonna get too far in what I'm wearing. In all the drama that went down I didn't grab my wallet, using the cash I always kept in my socks. I sure as hell didn't pay for this room by using my smile. I have about $8 left. Shit. I need to get out of here and fast before I end up in jail.

"You're so screwed" the young guy says as he appears and vanishes before I can touch him.

I really don't like that kid.

I've never been good at getting away from cops. When I was 16 this ghost around my age told me how to steal a pager from this place. Yes, a pager. This was a while ago. I went there and asked for a shiny blue pager and while the cashier grabbed it I grabbed a plain black one and started running until I heard the click of a pistol. I threw the pager at the guy and ran out the shop and right into a cop.

Turns out the ghost kid got shot by the same guy.

I peek my head out into the hallway and the cops are three doors down and knocking on the doors. Shit. I'm a smart guy. I should be able to figure out a way to escape. I find the window and there are bars. I run to the bathroom. More bars. Damn it. The ghost asshole pops in and leans on the sink smiling.

"No way you're getting out of this," he says. "We know you're innocent and all that, but still, you're fucked." I ignore him and rush out in time to hear the cops pounding on my door.

"Who is it?" I ask in a light voice.

"He's in here!" the kid shouts. I grab his arm and he screams and disappears. The cops wouldn't have heard him scream. I just found him terribly annoying.

"Open up please," the cops say. At least they said please. The ghost cop reappears next to me.

"Need some help?" he asks me.

"Yeah" I tell him. "But only angry ghosts are good at this kinda thing. You seem way too pleasant."

"I can do angry," he says. "All I gotta do is think about all the guys that got away." He closes his eyes and starts to flicker. "You should probably hide under the bed." I dive behind the bed and cover my head. I can feel the energy coming off this guy. I look over the mattress and he places his hand on the door and it explodes. The cops scream and get thrown against the door opposite mine. "This would be a good time to run," he tells me.

"Thanks again" I tell him and run down the hall. The police start gathering themselves up and I rush to the stairwell. I fall down because of my damned ankle. I get up and make it out the door. I need to sleep.

I stumble down the street too tired to run and too paranoid to stop. A group of ghosts start walking with me. They all look mangled. Tossers. Accident victims. I don't even have the energy to send them away. This must be how celebrities feel when they are being chased by the paparazzi.

"I hope they get you," this old lady with no legs says to me.

"The Thriller auditions have been canceled," I tell her. "Go away." She grabs my ankle and holds on. Three more do the same. They don't weigh me down. They just annoy me. This isn't supposed to happen. They should pass right through me. I really need to rest.

"Come on, everybody!" some guy with one arm says. "He can't stop us!" They start coming out the woodwork. They dog pile me. I can't shake them off. I grab a couple that hang around my neck and try to make them vanish. They don't.

"Get away from me," I tell them. They start laughing. This reminds me of when I couldn't really control this. When I was 12 I got trapped in the boys' bathroom by some old dead bullies. They had to have died in the 30's from how they were dressed. They threatened to give me a "shiner" and told me to cough up my cash. I told them that I didn't need anything polished and I didn't swallow money therefore I couldn't cough it up. Then they told me to scram.

I stumble into an alley and lay down behind a dumpster. I'm tired. I fell asleep fast even as the ghosts shouted in my face. I had a dream that I had a new show where I talked to people about their dead family members. Louise gets up to the mike and asks me where her dead daughter is.

"Rotting nearby," I tell her.

The crowd boos me.

How long have I been asleep? The sun is going down. The ghosts have all left. This is one of those times that I wish I had friends. I normally don't. I don't like people that much. I'm generally not a fan of humanity. But when you're on the run from the law with no money and no food, a friend seems like a very good idea.

I check my ankle and the swelling has gone down. Cool. I stand and it feels fine. I have a small limp. I pass a thrift store and grab some clothes off the rack hanging outside. These places are too trusting. You never know when a guy that can see ghosts running from cops will wander by and steal your polyester cotton blend shirt and filthy Dickie's. I head into a McDonald's and change clothes. I look in the mirror and laugh. I look like a criminal. My hair is a mess and I haven't shaved in days. I need a drink. I wash my face and slick my hair back. Now I really look guilty.

"Hey, fugitive" someone says. I turn and see the ghost of an older guy. Maybe late 50's. He's wearing one of the old fashioned McDonald's uniforms. The all brown ones that made them look like beef or feces. Maybe both. "They almost got you back there."

"I'm smarter than any cop" I tell him and head for the door.

"Not the cops" he says. "The others." I turn and face him. "You're too weak to hurt us now. Better be careful. There're a lot of angry ghosts out there just waiting for the chance to have you join 'em."

"You one of them?" I ask him.

"Me?" he laughs. "No. Not me. I'm content flushing toilets while people are still using them. Gives me a good chuckle every day. You take care of yourself."

"I will, toilet ghost" I tell him and leave. I step out of the bathroom and bump into a cop. He spills coffee on his shirt. "Sorry abut that."

"Just be careful next time" he says and heads into the bathroom. I start to head out the door when I hear him shout. "Damn toilet's flushing itself!"

That was way too damned close. I start power walking down the street and reach an intersection. I hate intersections both figuratively and literally. I hate making decisions like this. Just a day ago it was so much more simple. I would get up, chase a ghost away, head home, have a beer, and sleep. That was it.

"Really?" a woman asks me. She's wearing a crossing guard vest. Bright orange. She looks alive except for the sagging shoulder that's dripping blood that hit's the ground and vanishes. "Your life was that easy?"

"How did you hear me?" I ask her. "Psychic?"

"You were talking out loud," she says. I like old Black women. They're always so sweet. "I heard about what happened with your wife. So terrible."

"Ex wife" I correct her. "We were getting divorced."

"Oh, we never really divorce" she says while watching a group of kids cross the street. "Look at that new crossing guard. He ain't paying no attention to the little ones at the back. Watch them kids! I swear. What was I saying?"

"'Never really divorce'" I remind her. She nods her head towards me.

"Thanks you. Now, me, I was married about three times. Maybe four. I forget sometimes. Anyway, so after the first one I get married a year later. I couldn't stand a hair on the first ones head. But whenever I was upset with my second I would think about the first. And when the third would hit me I would pray for the second to come and whip him. We always connected with the ones we say we loved. Whether you want to admit it or not is up to you. When you finally decide to is up to God." She smiles at me and tries to pinch my cheek. Her hand passes through. "Lookit that! You got your powers back!"

"Good," I say. "About my ex wife. You know what happened...?"

"Oh, yeah, child" she says. "She ain't have no business blaming you for what happened to your baby. That child in God's hands now. She took that baby from someplace she shouldn't have been in the first place."

"Where was that?" I ask.

"I ain't sure," she says. "But it's the reason some of us don't wanna cross over to the other side. We just don't know where we end up."

"You believe in God though," I say. "Why would you be afraid?" She takes a deep breath and a group of nearby pigeons fly away. Yeah, in case you were wondering, most animals can see spirits. Those pigeons you see taking off into the air for no reason are running from ghosts. Usually bad ghost children.

"Even the most God fearing of us are scared, child," she says. "I been going to church for over 90 years. Don't laugh. I still go to church. I listen to the Word. But the little things is all you think about once you dead. I hit my boy once when he was 2. Spilled water all over the floor. Just water. Even if I didn't clean it up it would've dried. I stole a candy bar when I was 5. We was poor. All the White kids had chocolate. Why shouldn't I? Little things. Being married three or more times? Swearing each time in church to my friends and family that I would be with this man for the rest of my life. Please. The time I didn't give one Sunday bothers me more. The little things are the ones that kill you."

"Thanks, crossing guard ghost," I tell her. "I normally don't do this for free, but if you ask..."

"Don't, boy" she says and smiles, holding her hands up. "Somebody gotta be here to watch these children. You just save up your strength. Bad things are coming your way."

"How bad?" I ask.

"Big bad," she says. "Can you give me a hug?"

"I don't even know your name," I tell her.

"Isabelle," she says. She can't touch me but I can touch her. I hug her tight. She pats my back and lets me go. "I'll pray for you."

"Somebody's gotta."

Talking to Isabelle made me feel much better about myself. Yeah, the whole abilities coming back helps. I just hope she's wrong about the whole love thing. I don't want to think about Louise for the rest of my life. Maybe when this is all over and done I'll head to a bar and drink her away. Why didn't I think of this sooner?!

I rush about a mile away to my old AA meeting place. I haven't been here in a few years. I think the longest I went without a drink was four days. And those were a rough four days. No, I'm not looking for a drink right now. Just a good place to relax for a while. The door is open and no one is at the front desk. This place smells of broken promises. A few ghosts are lingering right now but none bother me. Guess they heard that I'm back to busting them.

My sponsors name was Tim. A good guy once you got a few drinks in him. But sober? A total prick. We'd leave the meetings and get hammered a few blocks away. That all ended when he died while driving drunk. I was never that stupid. I was a drunk walker.

"Hey, Steven," Tim says. I look at him and shake my head. He is wearing the steering wheel of his car wrapped around his neck. "Everyone else thinks its funny."

"Everyone else is stupid," I tell him. "Why are you still here anyway? Do you just listen to everyone share their miserable stories and think about what you should've done instead of getting behind the wheel?" He shrugs.

"Not sure," he says. "Heard about what's going on with you. Sucks. Everyone knows you'd never kill your wife." I look at him. "Sorry. Ex wife. You were an asshole, undependable, a drunk, and miserable. But you weren't violent."

"Let me grab a pen and write this down," I tell him. "This is truly some touching stuff." I walk down the hallway and see an old picture of me and Tim laughing. "What was so funny back then?" I ask him.

"The night before we celebrated my first year of sobriety with a bottle of Jack Daniels" he says. "What a fool I was."

"Don't get all retrospective on me," I tell him.

"I'm dead. What else do I got to do? I remember the first time you told me about what you could do" he tells me. "I thought you were just drunk. Then you told me about my father who had been following me since he died a few weeks after I was born. You described him perfectly and helped him cross over. I never thanked you for it. Don't act all modest. You really helped."

"Your dad was bumming me out" I say. "Every time we hung out he would wail. It was harshing my mellow."

"Have you ever considered taking your gift worldwide?" he asks. "You could make a lot of money doing what you do."

"I make money now," I tell him.

"Does it ever get to be too much?" he asks. "Can it ever become addictive?"

"No" I tell him. I'm not sure if I'm lying or not. I decide to change the subject. "You know the biggest problem I had with AA? The whole God aspect of it. 'Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.' 'Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.' 'Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.' 'Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.'"

"Good you still know steps 3 through 7," Tim says with a huge smile.

"The shit's burned into my head," I say. "Bad enough I got it from my parents. I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of a caring God when I am surrounded by all of the death He's allowed to happen. Like Beth."

"Your daughter?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. "Her."

"I wish you had made it to steps 8 and 9," he says.

"Sure," I tell him. "It would've been entertaining if anything."

"Maybe you need some step 12 in your life," he says before disappearing.

"What was step 12 again?" I ask aloud before leaving.

I can't stay on the run all day long. I need to get into my house and grab some stuff if I'm going to be a fugitive for a while. This is going to take a lot of planning on my part. Which means I am heading over right now.

After a few blocks I'm just walking down the street mad. Who in the hell do they think they are taking over my house? I bet they stole some things. A few ghosts join me. They don't say anything. They just power towards my house with me. From a block away I can see just one squad car and a van sitting in my driveway. Shouldn't be too hard. I'm halfway there when everyone disappears.

"The hell...?" I ask before something from a tree lands on top of me. I hear every bit of air shoot out my lungs. I open my eyes and a very grizzly looking man in a very shiny suit is sitting on my chest. "Werewolf?" I ask. He smiles.

"You're the real thing, huh?" he asks me. "A psychic or something." He gets off of me and grabs me by the arm and yanks me to my feet. He dusts me off and laughs. "I haven't seen one of you guys in years. The real thing I mean."

"You friends with the vampire?" I ask him. His smile vanishes fast. "Well, acquaintance?

"You could say that," he says. "I'm called Shimmy. Flashy fucker by day. Werewolf by night. I heard you paid Harry a visit. Don't do it again. You don't want to be a part of what's going to happen."

"You're the second person to say that to me today," I tell him. He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, not another werewolf or nothing. Dead crossing guard. She couldn't tell me what was coming. Can you?"

"The less you know, man" he says. He runs his hands through his hair and lets it fall around his shoulders. That move has been practiced. "Some real bad stuff. Look, I have been following you since you left Harry. I saw you running from the cops. You going home? Turning yourself in?"

"No," I tell him. "I need to grab some stuff." I look around. "You scared all my ghosts. Thanks." He smiles. "Now if that's all I'll be going."

"Good luck," he says. "Remember: stay out of this." I can't take this anymore.

"Take your good luck and shove it up your ass" I tell him. He is in my face before I can blink. I don't back down. I'm not even close to a pussy. This guy doesn't scare me. "You're not that much bigger than me. And I know that you have some extra power from being half animal and all that. But I'm squirrelly. You wouldn't beat me as fast as you think. I suggest you get out of my face." He gets a bit closer. "Fine. Mom. Dad."

My parents appear and grab Shimmy by his arms and slam him to the ground. He looks around confused, wondering why he can't get up. I sit on his chest this time.

"Thanks," I tell my parents. "Now, Shimmy. I don't care about you or the vampire. All I want is to clear my name and get back to life as usual. I know that it is a very strange and shitty life but it is mine to live strangely and shittily. I don't need boogiemen and whatever else is hiding out there to give me any warnings. My parents were Christian. If I can survive them I can survive anything."

"You're making a big mistake, guy" Shimmy says.

"I chance it" I tell him and walk away.

As soon as the werewolf leaves all the ghost come back. Bunch of chickens. I cross through my neighbors' yards and peak into my backyard. I say neighbor when what I really mean is the person that lives next to me who never says a word. Not that I'm upset or anything. She's not even hot. I mean, she's not ugly either. She's just there.

I scale her fence and land harder than I planned. The ghosts all laugh. Asses. I crawl over to my back door and press my ear to it. I don't hear anything. They left it open. Dicks. I slowly push it open and make my way inside. It feels so strange sneaking around my own place. I freeze when I look in the corner. That's the spot where less than twenty four hours ago Louise placed Beth. I shake that image from my head and repeat TJ Mackie's speech from "Magnolia." Not the "Tame the pussy. Respect the cock" one. The one where he says "The most useless thing in the world is that which is behind us." It's good advice and I wish I could follow it more.

I hear a sound from upstairs. Shit. I rush over to my laundry room and grab some of my clothes and toss them in a bag. Footsteps come down the stairs and click as they enter my kitchen. I hide on the side of the door and wait.

"Fucking pigsty," one of them says. "They say this creepy bastard made a ton of money. You wouldn't know from the way he kept this place up." When did cops become decorators? "Is there anything in the fridge?"

"I think the EMT's ate the stew that was in there," the other says. "I bet there were some body parts in it. This guy is crazy. You see how many bottles and cans were in the backyard?!" I'm recycling! How dare these dicks? "When we catch this guy I'm gonna have to wear gloves! Oh, here's a couple of beers. Want one?"

"Sure," the other says. Okay, enough's enough. I'm not the world's best fighter. This is a known fact. I do so well against the ghosts because they can't really fight back. These guys are trained cops. Lazy cops, but trained nonetheless. Why am I even hesitating? I just faced down a werewolf!

I wait until both of them start drinking and dive out of the laundry room. I punch the bottle as one of them has it to his lips. It gets rammed down his throat and he gags and drops to the floor. The other drops the bottle and whips his gun out. I rush into the living room and hear a thud and gunshot. I wait a few moments and stick my head around the corner. The cop that had the gun slipped on the beer and knocked himself out and shot his friend in the process. Might as well add cop killer to my list of charges.

Shit.

What do I do? I step around them and sit down. I should be running away as fast as possible but I need to wait a minute and talk to the dead one. It doesn't take long for a ghost to get out of the body. He does and looks around shocked. He sees me and reaches for a gun that doesn't work.

"Freeze, asshole!" he shouts and fires nothing. His gun explodes as if its real but nothing happens. I wait. It won't take long for all of the dead information to get downloaded into his head. "Oh." He puts his gun back in his holster and looks at his corpse. "Sorry, man. But we really did think that you murdered your wife. I mean, ex wife."

"Sure thing" I tell him. "Can you give me some information?" I ask. "What evidence do they have that I killed my ex wife?"

"Some lawyer had her tailed and the last person she was seen with was you at a motel" he says.

"Tailed?" I ask. "For how long?"

"Not sure," he says.

"So Anthony knew we were fucking," I say aloud. "This doesn't make sense. So you know about the kid that tried to rob me and ended up killing her instead, right?"

"Now I do," he says. "But I'm dead now. There's nothing I can do about it. Dead. Crazy. So what do I do now? I hear that you deal with ghosts. A few of us think you're insane. Do I go to Heaven or what?"

"I can send you away but I'm not sure where" I tell him. He looks nervous. "Look, I really need to clear my name from all of this. You being dead and that", I say while pointing to the unconscious cop, "doesn't help at all." Suddenly the knocked out cop sits up. Well, his ghost does. "What the hell?!"

"Freeze!" he shouts and then spots his partner standing there talking to me. "Oh, come on!" he shouts. "I can't be dead! I just finished paying for my Porsche! This is horse shit!" He starts flickering.

"Settle down," I tell him. He looks at me and makes a dive. He goes right through and lands on the floor. "In a second you'll realize that you're being an idiot and I'll ask for your help. I need to clear my name and the two of you are gonna help me."

"I'm not helping shit!" he says and dives for me again. I touch his chest and he disappears.

Can this day get any worse?

Every time I ask if something can get worse it finds a way to. Some people talk about how when you put something out there in the stratosphere it will come true. For some reason it only works with bad shit. I can scream that I want millions and it will never happen. Just when me and helpful ghost are about to leave we hear a car pull up.

"My partner" the cop says. "He left to grab some more evidence bags. You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"I haven't killed anyone before and I'm sure as hell not starting with a cop," I remind him. "Use your ghost mojo and figure out a way out of here without me having to see your buddy." He vanishes for a second and reappears. "He's coming around back. If we time it properly we can get out the front door just as he's entering and he'll never see you. But he will see those bodies on the floor and come out firing. I know how he thinks. So as soon as he gets in we have to start running. Well, you'll have to start running."

I nod and just as he said, his partner comes through the back door. He shouts and I hear him drop his stuff. I run out the front door but it slams behind me. Louise used to bitch at me for that. I never bothered to fix the damned thing. I run as fast as I can and hear a bullet hit a tree I just passed. The ghost is running next to me.

"You're lucky," he says.

"Really?!" I ask. "I'm not feeling too lucky right now!"

"My partner never misses a shot," he says. "Hold on." He disappears and comes right back. "He's calling for backup. You should probably find somewhere to hide. Got any friends?"

"You know I don't," I tell him. "You've seen my files. There's no place for me to go."

"I know a place," he tells me. He rambles off the directions and I burn it into my head. "If you get lost I'll find you and get you back on track, okay?"

"Thanks, man," I tell him and continue running. "What's your name?"

"Just call me Rob," he says and leaves.

Where he told me to go isn't too far. I know I look crazy in this ugly ass shirt and dirty ill-fitting pants. There's no time to change into what I brought with me. Not yet. I can hear sirens everywhere. When I see lights or spot a cruiser I dive into the bushes. As I sit there waiting for this car to pass a ghost appears next to me. He's wearing a leather coat with the sleeves torn off. His jeans are dirty and he's wearing no shoes.

"Isn't this exciting?" he asks me. "I've heard of you but never thought I'd get to meet you. My name's Wreck. I know that cop told you where to go but you shouldn't. Just a few minutes ago he wanted to arrest you. Fuck that. Go somewhere else."

"Don't talk to me right now," I tell him. I can't even imagine what this guy smelled like when he was alive. "I'd rather trust him than a reject from The Hills Had Eyes."

"Hey, its your funeral," he says and disappears.

Fucking intersections. Wreck was right. Why was this cop helping me? Just because someone dies it doesn't mean that they gave up their occupation. A cop is always a cop. A plumber is always a plumber. A crossing guard is always a crossing guard. Since I don't have a plan B I'll stick with Rob the ghost cop's suggestion. The car passes and I run. Half an hour later I get to the place. It's a house. Not that safe looking but its supposed to be good. I walk to the front door and a group of ghosts step out and onto the porch.

"You shouldn't come in here," one of them wearing a painters uniform says. "Wreck was right about the cop."

"I don't want to waste my energy sending you all away but I will if you don't step aside right now" I tell them. They all look at each other and walk past me. "Thank you," I say as I open the door.

It's pitch black in here. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and make my way into a kitchen. This place looks like it hasn't been used in a while. I put down my bag and sit down on a dirty chair. Suddenly my senses start going crazy. This has nothing to do with my abilities. This is a natural reaction to something that is wrong. I grab my bag and rush towards the door. Wreck is standing there looking out one of the windows and laughing.

"Told you, man," he says. "Never trust a cop."

I run to the window and look out as well. More than ten squad cars are out there with their sirens off. I've been set up by a fucking ghost cop. I run into the kitchen and I can see shadows across the windows. This place is surrounded. What can I do? Yeah, I could call my parents or other random vengeful ghosts. There are plenty of them that hate cops. But that'll get me nowhere. I'd be running until I was finally caught and then what?

I drop my bags and head to the front door. Rob the lying ass ghost cop is standing there. He is smiling with his hands in his pocket and rocking back and forth like he completed a good job. I walk over to him and he takes a step back.

"I'm not going to let you send me away," he says.

"That's not my plan at all," I tell him. I use my index finger and slice my cheek. A drop of blood runs down and I quickly rub it off and make a circle in my hand. "I'm not sending you away at all." This is something I used a while ago. On my uncle to be specific. Rob tries to vanish but can't.

"What the hell did you do?" he asks. He rushes for the door and tries to run through it. He hits it without a sound. He tries the wall, the window, the floor. Nothing. "What did you do?!"

"A little trick I learned a while ago" I tell him. I place my hand on his back as he attempts to run. He freezes in place and starts screaming. "I hope you like it here" I say. "This place will be your new home. You will never leave. This spot you're standing in; this is where you'll always stand until I change my mind. Which I wont." He tries to speak to me but his mouth wont even move. "Oh, right. And you can't speak. Matter of fact..." I close my eyes as I hear safeties being turned off just outside the door. "No other spirits can enter here. Welcome to your own prison, Rob."

The doors and windows all explode. The last thing I see before the world goes black is smoke and fists.

My name is Steven Bowes and I am having a very bad day. Actually the last few days have been off the charts shitty. My ex wife was murdered after we had sex in a motel. She brought back the spirit of our dead baby. I sent her and my ex wife to wherever it is spirits go when I get rid of them. I had to use my parents to not only help me get away from the cops but to hold a werewolf down that was threatening me after I met with a vampire he had set up for murder. And now a dead cop screwed me over and I've just been arrested.

These cops are not even trying to hold back. I can feel ribs being broken, my fingers snapped, and my head is getting hit so much I can't even feel it anymore. I just wish I would black out so I don't have to listen to their lies. They are calling me a cop killer. Great. I know what happens to cop killers in jail. It isn't the parade you think it is. I'll let them have their fun for a little bit longer. Oh, good. I'm passing out from the pain.

I wake up handcuffed in the back of a patrol car. I can't see out of my left eye and my lips feel like slabs of warm beef on my face. I can only imagine what I look like. I look on my left and there's Wreck, the filthy looking guy who warned me not to head into that house Rob sent me to. He's just shaking his head at me.

"What do you want?" I ask him.

"Shut up, fucking psycho," one of the cops says to me.

"He's just talking to himself," the other says. "He's trying to act nuts so he can plead insanity. It won't work. Guy kills his wife..."

"Ex wife," I say.

"...and two cops and thinks he's gonna get sent to the puzzle factory." The cops laugh. "I wish I had stomped his fucking head in harder. Surprised he's even conscious."

"I've been beaten worse than this," I tell him, thinking of my parents. I turn my attention back to Wreck. "So you here to gloat?"

"No," he says. "But I tried to warn you. I hate cops. They're fucking dirty, every one of 'em. That one that set you up shot me years ago. Me and my entire gang were slaughtered in that place."

"That explains all the freaks that tried to keep me out," I say. "Fuck."

"Sorry, buddy. Man, they really beat the shit out of you" Wreck says. I lick my lips and don't recognize the feel of them. "If they get you to jail they're gonna fuck you up some more. You need to get out of here."

"That's a great idea!" I tell him. "I'll just snap my fingers and..."

"Fine. Fuck it." And with that Wreck vanishes.

"I could use a drink," I say out loud. The cops start laughing at me. "Do you guys believe in Heaven and Hell?" I ask them.

"You're gonna be experiencing hell for the rest of your stinking fucking life as soon as we get to the station," the driver says.

"That wasn't very nice," I tell them and close my eyes and imagine what the day is gonna be like."

You ever have one of those days where all you wanna do is sleep? You don't wanna fuck. You don't wanna talk to anyone. You just wanna sleep. That's me right now. This guy, me, is having one of those days. They book me fast. There are news vans surrounding the jail. They want to lock me in solitary confinement since I am causing such a commotion but with the overcrowding going on that's impossible. The one empty cell in solitary has a giant hole in the wall. It appears the vampire did some damage to that side of the jail when he escaped.

Good for him.

Most of the guys in the cell with me know who I am and the ones that don't are being told while I sit in the corner trying to get the feeling back into my hands. Those handcuffs were rather tight. Fuck me. My powers or whatever the fuck you want to call them are out of whack. I'm having trouble telling who is a ghost and who is alive. One of them gets close enough for me to smell him. He's very alive.

"It true what they say about you?" he asks me.

"Sure" I tell him.

"You see any ghosts and shit right now?" he asks.

"No," I tell him. I have no problems lying. This guy is surrounded by pissed off ghosts. I'm sure he says he's innocent of whatever crime they tossed him in here for.

"No ghosts in here."

"They say you killed some cops," he says. "They're gonna beat your ass. You wont make it out of here alive." I shrug. I don't have the energy to talk to this jackass. "You don't talk much do you?" I shake my head. "That's good. That's real good. You scream? Do you scream much?" I can already see him reaching into his pocket for a weapon.

"Who wants to move on?" I ask out loud.

"The fuck you talking about?" this guy asks me. I'm talking to all the angry ghosts around him. One of them, this big burly biker of a ghost, wraps his arm around the guys neck and throws his legs around his waist and starts choking the living hell out of him. Now everyone is looking at this guy choking and spinning around trying to get a ghost he can't see off his back. He falls to his knees and is gasping for air. Everyone starts screaming for the guards who eventually show up and grab the guy. Now he's fighting the guards off. Now the guards are beating him down while the ghosts is still choking him. This ghosts cranks back one more time and the guy's neck snaps. He drops to the ground and the guards look at me. I shrug.

"I didn't do anything," I say. The biker ghosts walks over to me and smiles. I poke his leg and he disappears. The other ghosts look at me and I try to smile. "You watch my back and I'll watch yours," I tell them a moment before the guards tackle me.

They end up locking me in an interrogation room all by myself. I wonder how that asshole Rob is doing. I've only used that ability two other times. One of them was on an uncle who thought it would be funny to play in my sister's room after she died. His ghost was loud and would leave her dolls in my room. So one night I walked in there while he was jumping on her bed and laughing. He threw one of her teacups at me and it cut my hand. I don't know why but I made a circle out of it just on instinct and grabbed his leg. He froze and couldn't say anything. I never went into my sisters room ever again except when I turned 21. He was still there and looked at me when I walked into the room.

I smiled and waved.

A cop walks into the room and he's a small fella. He sits down across from me and pushes his glasses low to the tip of his nose. He smiles at me and shakes his head. I smile at him as best I can. This is Officer Locke. I met him after I got arrested for stealing that pager years ago.

"How are you doing, Stevie?" he asks me.

"Can't complain," I say. "You?"

"Still dead," he replies.

"I can see that," I tell him. "You here for moral support?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he says. "Jesus. Look at your face."

"I can't" I tell him and raise my cuffs. "They gave me a matching pair around my ankles."

"How are you going to get out of this one?" he asks.

"I'll figure something out," I tell him. "At least that's what I keep telling myself." I cough up a wad of blood onto the table. "That don't look good..."

You know your life is pathetic when the only person that cares about you is a dead cop. I sit in this room for who knows how long until two big cops come and sit in the room. Officer Locke stands and one of them sits in the seat and shudders. It's funny how some ghosts don't let go of being alive. Officer Locke could've just sat in the chair and let this guy pass through him just fine. But like I said before, ghosts hate when you walk through them. Its like cutting in line times a thousand.

"Three counts of murder, resisting arrest, felony evading, assault, theft..." the cop says while smiling. "Do you want me to continue?" he asks me.

"You guys never asked me if I wanted a lawyer," I say. They give each other a look of slight panic. Officer Locke gasps.

"Do you want a lawyer present?" they ask.

"Not really," I tell him and they sigh in relief. I'm not a big fan of lawyers. There was one ghost lawyer that was pretty damned useful but I had to get rid of him when I found out that he was killed by one of his former clients for sleeping with their wife. That kind of behavior is intolerable. "I'm coughing up quite a bit of blood. Any way I can get it checked out?"

"Shit, I'd think you'd wanna die as fast as possible," the other cop says. "You got us and the cons wanting to get a slice of your ass."

"Are you hitting on me?" I ask him. He slugs me right across the jaw. Officer Locke starts to shimmer a bit which means he's moments from destroying some shit. "Not yet" I tell him. The two cops look at me like I'm talking to myself. Oh. That's right. I kinda am.

"This guy is still trying to pull the crazy card," the first cop says. "Look, Bowes. You're probably gonna end up on death row until you finally die. Do us all a favor and swallow your tongue." I look at Officer Locke and he looks at me. He stops shimmering for a moment and smiles.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him.

"That you're a fucking sick..." one of the cops starts saying to me.

"Not you," I reply. "The dead cop next to you."

"I'm not..."

"Shut up," I say. Officer Locke comes behind me and I can't tell what he's doing. I can feel a slight tingle when he tries to get these cuffs off of me. Normally he wouldn't be able to do this but with as weak as I am he's having no trouble.

"We're going to have to time this perfectly," Officer Locke tells me. I wonder what he's planning. "As soon as you feel these leave your wrists get under the table as fast as you can, okay? Don't respond." I don't. "Okay. I almost got it. I can't believe I'm doing this. I know you didn't kill anyone but these two sure as hell don't. I'll give you their names later so when you clear your name you can have these dirty jerks locked up. That sound good? Don't respond." Meanwhile the cops are just staring at me and talking to each other in low voices. Next thing I know the cuffs hit the floor behind me and I dive underneath the table.

"The fuck...?!" one of the cops screams before I hear a shout and he goes flying across the room. There are some gunshots and then the other cop is on the ground looking terrified. I get from under the table and Officer Locke is flickering.

"I think I'm done," he says to me and smiles. "You think you could...?"

"Of course," I tell him. "And you know how much I hate working for free." A moment later I grab him by the shoulder and he disappears with a smile on his face. Okay. Now what? I'm still stuck in jail with reporters all over the place and cops that want to kill me and prisoners who want to get famous by kicking my ass.

I speak as if this is new to me.

I consider using my parents for a moment but I like to save them for special occasions. I try the door and the handle turns. Of course its not locked. Its not like these guys expected a ghost cop to beat the hell out of them and for me to shuffle out the room. I "feel" the hallways and step out.

What I mean by "feel" is that I pretty much try to "hear" the room. I sound like some kinda bullshit hippy guru or something. If the fact that I can use the ghosts of my dead parents to pin down a werewolf that wants to kill his vampire buddy then me feeling air shouldn't be hard to swallow. A large Black fellow steps in front of me and holds his hand up.

"Hey, man," he says in a very deep voice. "I know who you are and what you can do. We all know you ain't do no killin'.

Just a heads up, that lobby is full of cameras and you can't get outta here without being seen by most the country."

"Thanks," I tell him. "Any suggestions?"

"Well, me and my boys died trying to get out through the AC duct an' shit" he sighs. "Don't try that." He stares at me from head to toe. "You look like shit."

"I feel like it," I tell him.

"Move!" he shouts and shoves at me. He goes right through which means I am getting some of my groove back. I duck behind the corner and wait. A reporter being led by a cop walks past. "You can get me out of this place, right?" I nod to him. "What I gotta do?" I nod towards the reporter and cop. "Done."

He rushes them a little bit too hard and they both go crashing to the floor, both out like lights. He looks at me and smiles. I walk over and high five him and he vanishes. I close my eyes and focus as hard as I can. The building trembles slightly but not enough to cause a stir. I open my eyes and I'm surrounded by hundreds of ghosts.

"I'm gonna need a favor..."

Everyone thinks I murdered my ex wife and some cops. I didn't but the only ones who believe me are dead, and sorry, their opinion means close to nothing. There's no way I'm going to get a fair trial. And since the only option is for me to stand a long trial and eventually be executed, its time for me to do something past dramatic.

So here I am in a hallway with hundreds of ghosts that all want to move on. I walk over to the unconscious cop and take his keys and start slicing into my palm. Some of the ghosts begin to mutter to each other. A few of the older ones know what's happening. They've heard the story about my creepy uncle and what I did to him and back away. I use my blood to make a circle and some of the ghosts cover their eyes.

"Don't worry," I tell them. "I'm a professional. Look. I need you all to aim for this spot here" I slap the wall leaving a bloody circle, "and here. Hit this as hard as you can. Throw some concrete in the air if you want. Make it dramatic. I need as much of a commotion as possible for me to get away. You in?" They all nod. "Good. After I get clear I'll release all of you. Deal?" They nod. "Stupendous. Go!"

I cover my head and listen to what sounds like a wrecking ball demolishing a building. I start running as best as I can through dust and screams from the reporters and police running for cover. I make it to a squad car and get behind the wheel. I start the engine and gun it. I'm two blocks away when I notice that I'm not alone.

"You're real," I say to the filthy man seated in the backseat.

"Yeah," he says and clears his throat. "You look familiar."

"Been on the TV a lot today," I say to him. "Why are you back there?'

"Stabbed a guy," he says. As if on cue a spirit with a fountain gushing from his neck appears next to him. The blood is splashing all over him but it doesn't soak into the fabric of the seat. "He should be fine."

"I doubt that" I tell him. "Look, normally I would let the ghost that's trying to claw your eyes out have at you, but I'm kinda in a hurry."

"What?" the ghost says. He phases into the front passenger seat. "What do you mean you're in a hurry? This is what you do. You are supposed to get me revenge and help me move on!"

"Is that what they're saying?" I ask. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I hate people, dead or alive. And I don't work for free."

"That's not what everyone is saying," he mumbles.

"Who are you talking to?" the murderer asks me. "Look, if you're crazy, you could just drop me off and..."

"I don't care what 'everyone' is saying," I tell him. "I just got broke out of jail by a bunch of angry ass ghosts that I have to move on to god knows what and now you want me to let you kill this guy and then have me move you on. Screw you, gushy."

"You're not even at full strength," the ghost tells me. "I bet I could kill this guy and you."

"You can try," I tell him. Fucking uppity ghost. The guy, the one that's alive, starts gurgling as the ghost strangles him. I ignore it until he starts kicking my seat. The ghost starts laughing while killing him, which annoys me even more. But I'm not sending this guy away.

Suddenly I see my parents. They shouldn't be seen unless I call them. And they look happy. My parents never look happy. I swerve the car onto the curb and slam on the brakes. I get out and they both grab something and shove it behind them. I hold up my still bloody hand and they both jump to the side and I see what they were hiding.

My sister.

First my ex wife brings our stillborn daughter back from limbo or wherever the hell it is I send people. Now my parents are out when I didn't call them up and happily fawning over my sister who I have not seen alive since we headed to church on that faithful day and I later made her go away by touching her. This was before I knew what I could do or even begin to control it.

I can still hear the fighting going on in the backseat of the patrol car. I walk over to my sister and she backs away from me. I get down on my knees and wipe the blood from my hand. She takes a small step forward. My parents come a little bit closer.

"Nessa..." I say. She nods. "Where have you been?" She looks down at the ground and wraps her arms around me. I can feel her. I can actually feel her. My eyes start to water. I'm crying. I am actually crying. I never thought that I would ever cry again let alone cry tears of joy, but here I am doing it. She slowly pulls away from me and kisses me on the forehead. All of a sudden I am thrown onto my back. My parents are each holding an arm down. Nessa sits on my chest and places her hand on my heart.

"You deserve this," she says as light from all corners of my vision blind me. I close my eyes and still it burns. "You deserve this more than anyone..."

I hate pain. I don't know if I ever mentioned that but I really don't. And right now I am in more pain than I have ever experienced in my life. I force my eyes open and am laying on the sidewalk. I stand and my knees buckle. I steady myself and walk over to the patrol car. The guy in the back seat is dead. I know because his spirit is standing near the backdoor with his arms folded.

"Guess you weren't crazy" he says to me. I sit on the hood and wipe sweat from my brow. "That was a hell of a light show."

"I couldn't tell you," I say.

"Maybe he could" he says and points behind me. I turn and I see that buffalo headed guy I pulled from those Indian's house. He walks over to me quickly and shoves a spear in my face.

"I don't have time for this" I say and walk away. Or I try to. He sweeps my leg with the spear and as I try to get back to my feet he sticks the business end of the spear an inch from my throat.

"Things have changed," he says to me. "We can hurt you." He pokes the spear into my skin for a moment to prove his point. "Understand?"

"No," I tell him. "Can you do it again?" He sighs, which looks funny, him having a buffalo head and all. He grabs me by my shirt and yanks me to my unsteady feet. "Thanks, Buffalo Bill."

"You have abused a great gift for far too long," he says.

"If you start talking about God..."

"I do not recall mentioning God," he says. "Did you hear me mention God?" he asks the dead man watching all of this with too much wonder in his eyes.

"I didn't hear nothing about God," he says. "My name is Jim by the way, Mr. Buffalo."

"Now that we're all friends, what's your name, Buffalo Man?" I ask him.

"You could not pronounce it if I told you," he says.

"Was that really my sister?" I ask. He nods. "Do you know what she did to me?" He nods again. "Are you going to tell me?" He nods. "When?"

"Once you shut up," he says. "She sent you where you sent us." I stare at him.

"Which is...?"

"Nowhere" he says. "'The Place' as we once called it. She should not have sent you there. You being there caused a great mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

"They are all free," he says.

"'They who?"

"Everyone. Ever."

"Fuck this," Jim says and vanishes.

I hear a high pitched whine and even though I want to cover my ears I know it'll do nothing. This isn't a physical sound. Buffalo Man steps away from me and sighs. He tosses me his spear and begins to walk away.

"You need this more than me," he tells me. "Good luck."

Have you ever had someone sit on your chest? I feel like that but all over. It feels like someone is sitting on my soul. A hand is on my shoulder. I turn and look into the eyes of my ex wife. I hear a chuckle. It's my dad. My mom smiles at me but not in a good way. My sister is weeping as she holds my daughter's limp body. Roscoe is even here. My uncle who should be frozen in place growls at me.

"Hear any good jokes lately?" I ask them all.

###

About the Author:

Dante D. Ross was born in Los Angeles, CA. After being spat out onto Earth he decided to spend most of his free time reading, podcasting, blogging, drawing, and avoiding the pitfalls of boredom. He hopes to one day grow up to become Batman.

And he writes. He writes a lot.

E-mail:

DanteDRoss@gmail.com

