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Discovered

What's worse than being dead?

Being discovered in an undead state, in a cemetery, by your father's chief adviser.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

If my heart could still beat, it would be working overtime. I swallow the lump of fear in my throat. "Um, hi Mr. Conley." I shoot him my best smile and hope he doesn't scream.

It's worse. His eyes bug and he passes out. 

Just great. Alone in a cemetery with a knocked-out townsperson who's discovered I'm not dead. I've spent the better part of two months wondering how and why I came back, and also how to tell my family and friends. It's not like I can just walk in my house and be all, "Hey mom, hey dad. I'm back." They'd react the same way poor Mr. Conley did.

I step closer to Mr. Conley's body. If I couldn't hear his heartbeat and smell his blood pound through his system, I'd swear he was dead. Good job, Eden. This is a surefire way to let the town know you're back and definitely not an extra in a real-life Night of the Living Dead. A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat and I swallow it back.

Well, I can't leave the poor man on the cold ground. It is October, after all. I pick him up as easily as if he were a puppy, and this shocks me. The man is easily eighty pounds overweight, and he's not exactly proportionate. I lay him on the steps of the mausoleum and sink onto the concrete beside him.

I have two options.

One, I can leave him here, let him come to on his own, and let the town laugh at his ridiculous story. Or two, I can wait with him, explain what's happened and what's going on, and hope he believes me. 

I'm tempted to go with option one. But there are a few problems, the first being that Mr. Conley is well-respected in the community; someone is bound to believe him, which means there will be a neighborhood watch looking for me at night, if not cameras set up around my grave. Or people will call him crazy, my father will probably fir him, and he'll essantilly be a town pariah. He doesn't deserve that, and either way, I'll be stuck six feet under until the hubbub dies down.

Option two it is.

Mr. Conley groans next to me. At least he didn't take forever to come around. His eyes flutter open and he sits up. He looks at me, and his eyes still have a slight dazed look to them. I smile again. "Hey," I whisper.

"Eden. But...how?" His voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, and he clears his throat.

I shrug. "No clue."

Mr. Conley shakes his head. I can imagine the gears in his mind turning, trying to process how the Mayor's dead daughter is sitting beside him in a cemetery after midnight.

"Are you...?"

"Alive? I don't think so." His eyes widen, the glaze gone from them. "But I don't think I'm dead. I'm just kind of...here."

He reaches as if to touch my arm, then recoils. I can practically smell the fear roll off of him as his muscles tense. "Are you going to...hurt me?"

That hysterical laughter is back and threatening to burst out; it's almost painful to keep it back. "No. I'm not hungry. As far as I can tell, eating is only for pleasure, and I definitely don't want to eat people." 

Relief washes over him and smooths the furrows between his brows. "Does your family know?"

I sigh. "No."

"Anyone else?"

"No. You're the only one." 

"Huh." He turns the information over in his mind. "Huh. I guess you don't want anyone else knowing?"

I shake my head. "Not 'til I can figure out how to tell them myself, if you don't mind."

Mr. Conley stands. He's a bit shaky, but he's able to make it down the steps. I follow him. "You have my word." He sticks out his hand, and I shake it. I watch as goosebumps travel up his arm. He releases my arm and pulls out his cell phone. For a minute, I think he's going to take my picture, and my skin prickles, but he just turns on the flashlight to navigate his way between the headstones. He looks back once he's at the entrance and throws his hand in a wave. 

I wave in response. 

It doesn't occur to me to ask why he was wandering the streets this late until after he's long gone.