A Fate Totally Worse Than Death (6 page)

“Grievous Bodily Harm Ten
stank, I'll admit,” Gavin butted in. “A waste of money. Unless you were doing your Ph.D. on blood circulation.”

Drew pulled Thoreau's
Journal
from his back pocket. “‘That man is richest whose pleasures are cheapest,'” he quoted.

Helga smiled in response.

In panic, Nicole realized that they were getting close to the bathroom. Why had she offered to help Danielle? She cleared her throat and reinstated her Miss America smile.

“On behalf of the club, I would like to invite you to address our group at—”

A mint escaped from Gavin's mouth and struck her neck, sliding under her dress. Nicole gave a small shriek.

“Sorry,” said Gavin. He reached toward her playfully. “I'll get it.”

“Get away from me!” she yelled. Her smile and patience took flight. “All of you!”

The three others froze.

“Except for you, Helga.” She stared at her. “We have something to discuss.”

Gavin drifted off. Drew told Helga good-bye. Nicole regained her composure, amazed that losing it had accomplished her end: escorting Helga alone.

“The club,” she continued, “asked me to invite you to give a talk to us on Nepal.”

“Norway?” asked Helga.

“Norway. Of course.” Nicole commenced a series of wriggles, followed shortly by the sound of Gavin's mint hitting the ground.

“That would be a great pleasure,” said Helga.

Nicole
smiled. She viewed Helga's hair, unbraided today and incomparably sexy. Cutting it off would truly be just this side of murder. She congratulated Brooke on her plan.

“We wrote out a formal invitation.” Nicole pawed through her purse, then looked up. “I know it's here. I was going to check my makeup in the bathroom, right there. Come in for a second and I'll find it for you.”

Nicole led the way. There was no one around. She opened the door, followed in by Helga.

At once Brooke and Danielle rushed from the stalls, wearing sweats and ski masks. They grabbed Helga's arms. Nicole gave a soft, unconvincing scream and fled. Tiffany then burst out of the last stall. Through her mask's eye holes she found Helga's hair, grabbed a thick strand with one hand, then held up a pair of scissors with the other as if she were a sacrificial priestess. Helga struggled mightily, but was unable to free herself. Then she looked into Tiffany's eyes. Suddenly the pain in Tiffany's fingers, severe already, soared past bearing.

“Do it!” growled Danielle.

Tiffany's hands felt paralyzed. Behind her mask she grimaced in torment. The scissors slipped from her fingers and fell. Slowly she crumpled to her knees.

Helga next faced Brooke, who found herself instantly flooded with fatigue. Astounded, she felt the strength in her muscles draining away uncontrollably. Her grip on Helga's arm loosened. Then her entire body went limp. She sank to the floor beside Tiffany.

Danielle was aghast at these defections. When Helga peered at her, she was already panting desperately for breath. Her lungs now began to wheeze as loudly as a pump organ's bellows. Forgetting the plan, intent on survival, she released Helga's other arm and slid onto all fours.

Panting herself, free now, Helga regarded her prostrate assailants. Their breathing was heavy. They seemed as helpless as infants. She reached down, grasped the top of Tiffany's mask, and tugged it off. She did the same with Brooke's. Then Danielle's. None dared look up at her.

Helga's voice was wobbly but determined. “There will be justice,” she declared. “I promise. That's why I've come.” She kicked the scissors across the room. Then she disappeared out the door.

It was ten minutes before Tiffany could speak.

“Well get suspended for this for sure.”

All three were still sitting in a stupor on the floor.

“All
of a sudden I was totally weak,” said Brooke. “It's like she has magical powers.”

“Superhuman,” Tiffany agreed.

Danielle inhaled, her chest expanding. “You're right. She does.” She breathed out slowly. “And getting suspended is the least of our problems.”

The others faced her. Danielle, eyes closed, filled her lungs again.

“Helga isn't mortal,” she stated. “She's a ghost. The ghost of Charity Chase.”

CHAPTER
10

……… “A ghost,” moaned Tiffany. “Get serious.”

“I am,” said Danielle. The others gawked at her.

“Why don't we talk somewhere else,” Brooke suggested.

The three climbed slowly to their feet. Tiffany peeked out the bathroom door. “No sign of Helga. Or the principal.”

They stuffed their sweats and masks in their backpacks and shuffled toward the parking lot.

“A ghost?”
brayed Brooke. “You've got to be kidding.” They reached Brooke's tan Toyota and stopped.

“I wish I were,” Danielle replied.

Brooke cocked her head. “You mean you go to
Norway
when you die?”

Danielle rolled her eyes. “Don't you guys ever read?”

“Like what?” asked Tiffany.

“Like
Death of a Nerd, A Demon Among Us, Bridge Over the River Styx
. The ghosts of the murdered are always coming back to earth.”

“In
books!”
yelled Tiffany.

“And in real life, too! I've already seen two ghosts in my life before now. And let me tell you, they weren't made up.” Danielle shivered at the thought “If
you
haven't seen one, you just haven't been in the right place at the right time. But you sure as hell are now.”

The other two eyed her uncertainly.

“It's a classic case. I should have caught on sooner.” Danielle kicked a rock. “All the signs were right there.”

“Like what?” asked Brooke.

“Like open your eyes! The first day of the first school year
without
Charity Chase, a new girl shows up, out of the blue. From a faraway country, at the ends of the earth.”

Brooke and Tiffany pondered these facts with sudden trepidation.

“When
I went to her house, it
didn't exist
Naturally! She's a spirit!”

Shaken, Brooke leaned on the car for support.

“And her favorite place to sit?” pressed Danielle.

“On the bench in Clifftop Park,” Brooke and Tiffany answered in unison.

“Talk about totally obvious,” Danielle scolded herself. “They
always
come back to the place where they died.”

Tiffany swallowed. “If she's a ghost, how come you can't stick your hand right through her?”

“They get bodies when they come back to earth,” said Danielle. “But not like ours. They're just shells. Just look at her. Her hair's beyond blond. And her skin's too pale and bloodless for a mortal's.”

“And it never sunburned,” remembered Brooke.

Tiffany stiffened. “My god,” she muttered. “That's why she left biology class the day we all pricked our fingers to draw blood.”

Brooke screamed. “I can't believe this is happening!”

“Why is she back?” Tiffany demanded.

“For the same reason ghosts
always
come back to earth,” said Danielle. “To avenge her death!”

“You're sure she knows we did it?” asked Brooke.

“Of course she does!” Danielle shot back. “You heard her yourself: ‘There will be justice.'”

“‘That's why I've come,'” Tiffany repeated, suddenly understanding the words.

“You bet it's why,” declared Danielle. “She really gave herself away with that line.”

Brooke's eyes were wild. “What's she going to do to us?”

“She's already started,” said Danielle.

The other two girls locked their eyes on hers, waiting to learn their fates.

“I didn't want to tell anybody. But I've been having trouble breathing lately.” Danielle looked away from the others. “It's been getting worse for a week now. It's like I'm turning into a little old lady.” She considered removing her six false teeth, but decided that her point was clear.

“That's weird,” said Brooke. She unbuttoned her right shirt cuff and pulled it back. Her audience grimaced. A dozen dark spots were spread out like islands over the back of her hand. One unmistakably resembled a skull.

“Jesus,” whispered Danielle. “Liver spots.”

“What?”
asked Brooke.

“Liver
spots!
Old people get 'em. My grandmother's even got 'em on—”

Brooke pulled back her hair, revealing four more high on her forehead.

“On her head,” Danielle finished. She examined the skull-shaped spot and smirked. “Nice of her to make sure you got the message.”

“And I think,” added Brooke, “that my hearing's starting to go. A little.”

“A lot,” said Tiffany. She noticed the other two looking at her.

“Well?” asked Danielle.

Tiffany was silent. Then tears began to overflow her eyes. “When I blew it that time? Taking Helga's picture? It was all because of
this!”
She held out her hands for public inspection. Her knuckles were swollen, her fingers bent like claws. “Sometimes the pain's so bad I want to scream.”

“Sounds like arthritis,” Danielle diagnosed.

“What's
happening
to us?” wailed Tiffany.

“Helga,” Danielle replied. “You said it yourself. She has magical powers. She could have killed us back in the bathroom. Or any other time she wanted. But instead, she picked out a punishment for us that's
worse
than death—getting old!”

The three peered at each other, their faces frozen by this revelation.

Brooke's eyes lost their focus, then seemed to turn inward, beholding the dawn of mortality. “Are we going to die? Soon, I mean?”

“Beats me,” Danielle replied.

Simultaneously, Brooke and Tiffany exploded into tears.

“I
knew
we never should have met Charity at night!” blubbered Tiffany.

“Especially at the edge of a cliff!” added Brooke.

It had all been Danielle's plan. She avoided their eyes.

“I'm too young to die!” Tiffany informed the universe at the top of her lungs.

“You're getting older by the minute,” mused Danielle.

Tiffany faced her accusingly.
“You
got us into this! Now get us out! Or my ghost will kill you deader than dead. If Helga doesn't get you first.”

“You think I don't want to?” Danielle shouted back. “Unfortunately, it isn't that easy. You can't kill a ghost. I'm sure of that, from what I've read in books. But let me look back through some of them. Once in a while the spirits get beaten. At least we can maybe get some ideas.”

“Hurry!” said Brooke. She opened the door of her car and urged Danielle inside. “I'm having my birthday party in two weeks!”

CHAPTER
11

………Tiffany flicked her windshield wipers to
MEDIUM
. It was Tuesday night. Though normally she hated rain, in this case it suited her perfectly. It meant fewer people on the streets and fewer witnesses to her errand.

She followed Fourth Street out of Cliffside and into neighboring Wilmington Heights. Children's boutiques and outdoor cafés gave way to bars and self-storage lockers. She recalled where she was and locked the car doors. She turned onto Broadway, swerving around a drunk talking to himself in the street. The rain was now drumming deafeningly on the roof of the car. “Shut up!” she yelled back. She turned the wipers to
HIGH
and struggled to make out the numbers on the buildings. “Where the hell is 930?” she demanded. She drove five more blocks, glimpsed 924, crept past a bail-bond office, and parked. She sighed. She would be safe here, from prying eyes if not from rape. She got out and limped toward the drugstore. When your mission was buying adult diapers—for yourself—confidentiality won out over price, selection, and personal safety.

She stepped inside. The store seemed empty. A hefty, grim-visaged female clerk, guarding the register like a dragon, took note of her entrance without greeting. Tiffany disappeared down an aisle. Another customer entered the store. Tiffany ducked down instinctively. She wondered if she really needed the diapers, then thought back with a shudder to her close calls in English and history, and suddenly sensed her bladder's fullness. She scanned three aisles, then found what she was seeking at last and gave silent thanks. She debated between Second Childhood and Sphincter Sentry, picked up three packages of the former, then made her way to the front.

“I'm buying these for my great-grandmother?” she announced, unbidden, to the clerk. “She just came to live with us? From Kansas? It's the very brand she asked me to get? The same brand she used to use? Back in Kansas?”

The clerk stared at her. “Where in Kansas?”

Tiffany swallowed. “Dallas,” she answered out of the blue, praying it was located in that state. The woman eyed her. Waiting for judgment, Tiffany suddenly realized that she was beginning to pee.

“Nice town,” said the clerk, approving her answer. “I've been there two or three
times.”

Tiffany had trouble maintaining eye contact. A Nirvana-like bliss passed over her face, followed by deep worry.

“That'll be nineteen dollars and sixty-eight cents,” said the clerk.

Tiffany paid, requested a brown bag, and furtively eyed her small puddle. Her jeans and left shoe held most of the urine. She took a trial step, getting used to the feel, then remembered the storm with relief.

“Floor's a little wet,” she remarked offhandedly. “From the rain.”

The clerk bent over the counter to look.

Tiffany peered in panic at her bright yellow urine. “They say this storm has a lot of acid rain in it,” she added and vanished out the door.