Dorita lay in the weedy grass of the back yard and looked at the stars.
They used to be comforting, but now they made her restless. Reminded her of the night she died. She rolled over, pillowing her chin on her arms. A soldier-line of ants marched past her nose.
"Your time is up," she hissed at them. She sounded exactly like the dead girls in movies and YouTube clips, and that both depressed her and cheered her up. Part of her was enjoying being scary.
She didn't need Faye. She was a dead girl, damn it, or at least a mostly dead one. Dead girls were scary loners, and if Dorita was stuck like this she should probably embrace that.
Would she die for good if she did what she most wanted to—killed the man who killed her? There were a fair few accounts of dead girls just vanishing after knocking someone off, if she recalled right. Most of the more permanent dead-girl cases came from girls or women whose targets had died before they could kill them, or moved so far away they couldn't be found. Which meant, Dorita thought, tensing in alarm, if her killer just stayed away from the house she might be stuck like this forever. Unable to truly die.
But you don't really want to die, do you? A memory from the back of her mind whispered. You don't want to die at all, but you'd rather stick around half-alive than take your chances with an uncertain Heaven or Hell. That's why I chose you.
She sat up, shaking her head to try and get her killer's voice out.
Why the hell would he want to make a dead girl? She drew her knees up to her chest, checking to ensure the blueberry bushes and grass kept her out of sight of the kitchen windows. Tried to think of a reason. Whatever it was, she began to realize he'd gone to a lot of trouble for it. The stories all said dead girls—that particular subtype of female ghost—were likely born from women who died in a state of terror and rage. The creepy feelings of being watched she'd had for weeks before... the other dead girl showing up at her window... the threats to her little brother... and finally, the time he'd taken about killing her. He'd wanted to make sure she died filled with fear and anger.
Dorita lay back down in the grass and picked up the earpiece. It had been silent since she'd taken it, but occasionally there'd be a little static; she didn't think it was completely dead. He had been on it, she knew. Somehow, he was able to give the other girl orders.
A rush of pity and empathy overwhelmed her. She'd been focused on herself, before—her dilemma, her feelings of disgust and fear. The other girl had just been another thing that scared her. But after seeing her up close, her bruised face and sad, flat eyes, Dorita began thinking about what she must have gone through. Her death had been far more violent than Dorita's. Was she cowed into obeying the killer, or did he have some other hold over her?
The back door creaked, and Dorita scooted closer to the buried cistern. She'd been practicing, and could sink into the ground in seconds if the occasion arose.
It was Faye. Although Dorita had been planning to avoid her just a few minutes ago, she found herself sitting up and waiting for her arrival. She needed someone to talk to, badly, and those were scarce these days. Plus, Faye looked troubled. She got to where Dorita sat and crouched down. Dorita folded her hands on her lap and squinted at her through the curtain of hair.
"I'm sorry," Faye said. She sounded uneasy, but sincere. The evening was chilly after an afternoon rain, and she was wearing a hoodie that cast her eyes into shadow. "I was freaked out."
Dorita held out for a minute before nodding. "All right."
Faye sat on the damp grass, legs stuck straight out in front of her like a little kid. "I spent most of the day adding new coats of paint to the kitchen table. Julia bought my story about being bored and wanting to explore home renovation, so now I've got a list of other furniture and rooms to paint."
Something had occurred to Dorita. "Don't you go to school?"
"Eh. Online courses. Greg tried to put me in a normal high school around the same time he sent me to a shrink, but the shrink said the high school was causing me more distress than my checkered past. It's like I said—I don't do so well with people. So I get online stuff, lots of catching up and remedial work. It's OK."
"I was looking at colleges." Dorita felt a lump rise in her throat.
Faye blinked. "How old are you?"
"Two weeks from twenty."
"Nineteen. Wow, I thought you were my age. I'm seventeen."
"That's not much difference."
They sat in silence for a minute more.
"I saw him die," Faye said abruptly. "Nicolas. I was fourteen, and he'd been stupid and killed some cops. They sent a bunch of people—and DSAC agents. I was out walking with him, and he saw the people waiting and told me to go. But I saw..." She trailed off, staring upwards. "Explosive bullets," she said, almost dreamily. "He was one of those people who could keep walking with six normal bullets in him, so he wasn't afraid enough. Didn't even try to dodge. They got him."
For a long moment, only crickets chirping broke the silence.
"How come you didn't... wind up with Greg until recently?" Dorita asked. Talking was beginning to grate on her throat again.
"Marcelina ran. We moved around until they caught us, about nine months ago." Faye fiddled with a blade of grass. "Then I spent a couple of months in DSAC custody, until Marcelina killed herself and they decided I wasn't interesting enough to keep."
"Oh."
"Please don't say you're sorry," Faye said. "Everyone says that, but I don't need to hear it. She wouldn't have wanted to hear it either. She hated people who weren't me or Nicolas."
Dorita hesitated, but finally reached out and put her hand on top of Faye's. "OK."
They stayed like that for a while, until Dorita's palm warmed to almost normal temperature.
"Why did you want to meet a dead girl?" Dorita asked.
Faye pulled the blade of grass up. "I guess that since I didn't fit in with normal people, I thought I might get along with strange people. Not that you're strange," she added quickly. "But you're recent. And you don't sound like you've met any other dead girls."
"No." She didn't mention the girls that sometimes had come to the edges of the yard and called. She wasn't sure what to do about that yet—or whether they'd even find her, in this new place.
"And it seemed that girls my age that were... different, were mostly dead girls. So I wanted to meet one."
Dorita slowly shook her head. "I guess it's just hard," she croaked. "Understanding that. Never wanted this. Anything like this."
Faye's gaze flicked to her, filled with concern. "You don't sound great. I'll bring you more batteries tomorrow."
"Thanks." Dorita traced a vein on the back of Faye's hand with her finger. "Isn't much to tell, but—tell you then. I'll tell you about me then." She coughed, trying to clear her throat. "So we'll be even."
The back door of the house rattled open and Faye stood up quickly.
"What are you doing out there?" It was a woman's voice—Julia.
"Just looking around," Faye said. "You know some of these things are blueberry bushes? I thought maybe there'd be berries."
"I think it'll be a couple more months until that happens."
Faye shrugged. "Oh well."
She lied so quickly and smoothly—with her face as well, wiping all signs of concern and distress from it in seconds. Without thinking, Dorita put her hand out to touch Faye's ankle, behind the screen of the grass and bushes. It's almost a threatening gesture, she realized a moment later; but Faye seems to feel the comfort that was intended.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Dorita whispered as the door creaked closed.
Faye's foot taps against the ground—once, twice, and Dorita feels her mouth curving into a smile for the first time in a while. Once for no, twice for yes.
"Shouldn't I be doing the knocking?" she whispered. Whispering was a little easier than talking, she discovered.
"You're not the usual type of ghost, are you?" Faye answered, without moving her lips. Impressive.
The back door opens again. "Faye," Julia calls, "the radio's acting up. Only picking up one station, with a bunch of nineties songs. Would you come take a look at it?" She sounds cautiously hopeful.
"Sure, be there in a minute," Faye called back, her polite smile dropping as the door closed. She looked down at Dorita with a grimace. "I know nothing about machines, but Julia thinks that everyone with hair shorter than their chin grows magical knowledge of cars and radios."
"Good luck."
"I could use luck. With my luck, it's haunted too and I'll have to cover it up."
Maybe it was because she said that, planting the idea in Dorita's head, but as Faye entered the back door (Alanis Morrissette regaling the night with a few static-laden notes of Ironic as the door swung open and closed) Dorita thought she felt the blood-and-electric tingle of another ghost.
The impression was gone in a moment, and she dismissed it as her imagination.