"Cara, let me explain!" D shouts, trying to grab onto my shoulder. But I dodge out of the way, and his fingers pass...through me. My shoulder stings with the sensation of getting out of a cold shower, except it penetrates through to my very bones, feeling as if the flesh has been peeled away.
I stare at him – at his worried eyes, his deceptively solid-looking body – and then I do the only natural thing to do. I scream again and run down the stairs.
I run through the front door, I run down the front yard, and I keep running onto the main street as long as I can physically manage. I don't give a damn that I'm wearing skimpy pajamas or that it's forty degrees outside. I don't care that my heart is on the verge of exploding or that my legs have turned to jelly a while ago. I don't even give a shit that I left my phone and all of my things back in the frilly pink bedroom.
All that I can think about is getting as far away from that house of horrors as fast as humanly possible. Which turns out to be pretty fast, when I ignore every warning sign in my body telling me to slow down.
The dirt road soon turns into pavement, the ditch becomes a sidewalk, and as my lungs start to seize I catch my first glimpse of civilization. I finally allow myself to slow, clutching at the stabbing pain in my side. This damn town will be the death of me.
The sun hasn't fully risen yet by the time I stumble into the town square, and I feel like I've become a completely different person since the last time I was here. I probably look like one, too, after that lovely trip through the woods.
For starters, yesterday I hadn't believed in ghosts. Or anything that could be remotely attributed to the paranormal. Because I was still sane.
You still don't believe in ghosts. The rational part of my brain was curled up in the fetal position, shoving potato chips into its mouth while rocking back and forth. Everything is perfectly fine! No ghosts here. No siree. Just a trick of the light. Just a cold draft. You haven't lost your mind at all!
What do you do when the rational part of your brain is in denial?
All of the shops in the square are shuttered and dark except for The Neverton Nest. Through the window, I watch as Mem switches on the lights and carries a broom into the dining room. I'm at the door before I know what I'm doing. I'm pulling it open, I'm walking up to Mem, her eyes are widening, my mouth is opening–
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I blink. Mem blinks.
Okay, I hadn't meant to come on that strong. But I was so overwhelmed with anger and terror and confusion that the filter between my mind and my mouth had taken a long-awaited vacation. And I was perfectly justified.
"Cara, I don't understand," Mem says, setting down the broom. The closer I look at her, the quicker I realize that she must have just woken up. She is still wearing her fuzzy purple slippers. I can see the dried sleep in the corners of her eyes, for God's sake.
At least someone had a good night's sleep around here.
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," I seethe, pointing an accusatory finger at her. When I raise my arm, I catch of whiff of myself and suddenly wish that I could have at least taken a shower this morning before sprinting to town and accusing someone of trying to kill me. "That perfect, empty house of yours wasn't so empty. It was haunted by a creepy shadow woman and a hot bus ad model, and I'm pretty sure you knew that all along. And I can't believe that sentence just came out of my mouth."
Mem's mouth falls open. Her brown skin pales to an unhealthy beige color, and then understanding dawns over her features. I wish she wouldn't look at me with that apologetic, pitying stare; not when she is the one that will be responsible for my next few months of intense therapy.
"Cara, I am very sorry for putting you through that. If you don't mind taking a seat, I...I can explain everything." She nods to the leather booth directly beside me, and as much as I just want to leave this place I can't pass up the prospect of resting my legs. Or hearing what she has to say, which just might prove that I'm not actually losing my mind.
I keep my chin up and sit down, refusing to unpurse my lips or unfold my arms. Mem slides into the booth across from me, and I'm suddenly very interested by the random mementos hanging on the walls and the flickering bulb in the lamp above our table. She's silent for a minute or so, her eyes closed as if she's trying to come up with what to say, and then she lets out a great sigh.
"I need you to tell me what happened. From the beginning."
So I tell her about the long walk to the mansion and about how I was shocked to meet D in the kitchen. I tell her how D told me that Mem's mansion is a hostel for various travelers, and that I decided to stay the night because he seemed nice enough. Then, I tell her briefly about the shadow woman who laid in my bed and chased me through the foyer, ending with the fire poker that passed inexplicably through D's body.
I neglected to mention the fact that, by coincidence, I had recognized D in the first place. It felt unimportant, but strange and fateful nonetheless.
By the time I finished the story, Mem's straight lips had twisted into a worried scowl. "So, this guy...D...He seemed like a totally normal human?"
"Yeah, up until he passed right through me–" I frown as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "Why would you say that?"
"Say what?"
"Human. Why wouldn't he be human?"
Mem shrugs, trying and failing to be nonchalant. "No reason. Just a slip of the tongue."
I stare at her and blink so she knows that I'm not falling for her shit. Then she averts her eyes and groans. "Look, Cara. You're a sweet girl, and I want to tell you the truth. But I just don't think you'll believe it."
"A day ago, I didn't believe in small towns obsessed with Halloween or ghosts or, let's face it, nice supermodels. Try me." I try to fill my eyes with a look that says I'm open-minded. I swear. I totally won't freak out.
Mem fiddles with the sleeve of her robe then shakes her head. "Okay. Come on." Before I can protest, she takes my arm and leads me behind the coffee bar, through a swinging door, and into a tiny walk-in storage closet that's littered with stray sugar packets and stir sticks.
"What's this about?" I ask, yanking my arm from her grip.
Mem glances over her shoulders, as if an entire person were hiding behind the boxes of cup lids to eavesdrop on our conversation. "What I'm about to tell you cannot be repeated to anyone. Anyone, you understand?"
"I don't under–"
"I need your word." Mem's face is gaunt and her eyes flash a warning that I quickly realize I'd be foolish to ignore. "I shouldn't even be telling you this, but...Well, it doesn't matter right now. Just promise you won't tell anyone else."
I feel my pulse in my fingertips. What have I walked into?
I nod and whisper, "I promise. I won't tell."
"Okay." Mem flexes her fingers. "I'm just going to come out and say it. Like ripping off a bandaid."
I raise my eyebrows as if to say, I'm waiting.
"That man that you met, D?" I nod, and she takes another breath. "Well, he's lived in that mansion for hundreds of years. And D is short for Death. That man is Death."
I blink. My mind stutters, not quite sure what Mem is getting at. "Okay..?"
"Look, what I'm trying to say, is that...God, I'm very bad at explaining things."
"You're saying that that man – ghost, whatever – is Death? Like, the grim reaper?" I let out an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, okay. That's definitely why he offered to make me eggs. I must have just missed the cloak and scythe."
"I know it's hard to believe, but it's true," Mem insists, her voice lowered as if she's afraid someone will hear. "Like I said, Neverton isn't a normal town. Death has lived in that house for as long as I can remember. He's turned it into a haven for lost souls that can't move on, which probably explains why one of them attacked you."
"Okay. Let's pretend that this is real for a moment." I twirl my finger in the air. "Why the hell would Death look like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine? And why live in a run-down old mansion in Massachusetts? People die everywhere. You're telling me that he picked Neverton over Paris or Tokyo?"
Mem sighs. "He's not allowed to leave that mansion. He's a prisoner in it. And as for his appearance, you'll have to ask him that for yourself."
I feel my stomach drop all the way to the ground. Mem is serious about this. There isn't an ounce of teasing in her sharp eyes, or in the resigned set of her mouth.
"Oh God." I whisper, sagging against one of the shelves crammed with supplies. "Oh God."
"I know it's a lot to take in, and there's–"
"You sent me to live with the grim reaper and his house full of ghosts?" I scream, so suddenly that I almost scare myself. Mem puts a finger over her mouth as if to signal for quiet, but I am way past quiet. I have entered full breakdown territory. "Why would you do that to me? You want me to die, is that it? Do you feed him innocent people like me?"
"No, NO! Cara!" She puts her hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me. "It's the exact opposite. He's so lonely, and I thought he might enjoy the company and the sprucing up of his home, you know? You were never supposed to even see Death. To be honest, I'm still not sure how you did."
"What are you talking about?"
"The only people who are supposed to see Death are...Well, the dead. But you did. I thought I was sending you to an empty house, I swear."
I forget how to breathe, and something odd that D – Death – had asked me rings in my mind: You can see me?
"No. I can't be dead," I gasp, sinking to the floor. I picture glimpses of the past, lightning-fast as they flash through my mind. My father, my mother, the hospital room, my grandfather's portrait, Eric's heartbroken face–
I feel Mem's firm hand on my shoulder. "Of course you aren't dead," she whispers, gentle yet strong. "You're very much alive, Cara. Which makes this whole thing even more confusing."
Suddenly, the bell at the front of the cafe dings when a confused patron enters the restaurant. Mem curses. "Be right back," she whispers as she leaves the storage room to deal with the customer.
In for three, hold, out for three, I coach myself, forcing my lungs to work like normal. Even ignoring the fact that none of this should be possible, it just doesn't make sense. Death's easy smiles, his weird thrifted t-shirt, the deep loneliness in his eyes...That's not right. Death isn't supposed to help people, or be nice to them, or – God help me – be attractive. Am I a creep or something for thinking so?
As Mem hurries back into the storage room, something else crosses my mind. "You," I hiss the minute that she closes the door behind her. "You said you know Death, that you're his friend. And he mentioned that he knows you. But if you have to be dead to see him, then–"
"Okay, okay, I haven't been totally truthful about my own identity, either." I wait with baited breath. Who is she? Wrath, gluttony, hatred? I don't quite expect what she says next. "I'm an Immortal, just like Death. My name is Memory."
"Memory?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "As in..?"
"As in the human ability to recall thoughts, feelings, emotions, and sensations."
I let out a weak laugh. "Sure. Of course. Because that makes total sense."
Mem – Memory, I mindlessly correct myself – reaches down and grasps my hand. "Look. I know this is strange, and I wouldn't blame you for one second if you wanted to ditch this whole place and go back home. But I at least want to offer you a ride back to the mansion. You can collect your personal things, and maybe...maybe we can figure out why you're able to see Death. I'm sure he feels awful about all of this."
The thought of Death feeling bad for scaring me nearly makes me laugh again, but I'm quickly sobered by the idea of going back to that ghost-filled house.
Though if I'm leaving, it would be helpful to have my phone and wallet.
"You'll be there with me?" I ask Mem, narrowing my eyes. "No funny business? In and out?"
She nods. "If that's what you wish. I don't mind opening the café a little later today."
And so, with that, we're soon on our way to see Death.
Maybe New York wasn't so bad, after all.