I'd Rather Not Be Dead (9 page)

With a frustrated grunt, I punch
his arm. It only makes him laugh. “You're like an angry little
kitten. You have all this fury, but you can't do anything with
it.”

My teeth grind together and the
car closest to me starts to shake. Then the car next to it. Then
every car in the parking lot.

Fray stops laughing.

“Drew?” His eyes are wide with
fear. “Are you doing that?”

I growl, relishing his
reaction.

“Calm down, luv,” Fray soothes.
“You don't want to do this.”

“Don't tell me what I want!”

Every window in sight shatters.
Crap, I didn't want to do that. Horrified, I look around at the
damage while Fray curses.

“Where's your boyfriend?”

“What?” I squint at him, a
disconnect between my brain and any actual thoughts.

“Finn? Where's Finn?”

Fray's voice seems very urgent.
Nearly panicked.

“I don't know.”

His eyes are wide while he lets
out a loud breath and shakes his head. “Well, you'd better figure
it out!”

The world starts to darken and
the air thickens until I can hardly breathe.

“If you tell me where he is, I
can take you to him.” Fray grabs my arms, stares down into my face
with naked pleading. “Tell me.”

“I don't know,” I repeat, almost
whining. I swallow, trying desperately to think. “There's no
football practice today. He might have gone home?”

There's a clap of thunder and
we're standing in Cooper Finnegan's yard. He's on the porch,
changing a light bulb.

The fog is thicker here than it
was at the tavern, as if it knew where we were going and cut us
off. Fray pushes me toward the porch. “Run!”

He vanishes. Hopefully to his
haunted booth.

I sprint.

Cooper Finnegan runs toward me,
meeting me half way. He catches me and swings me around as we come
to a stop.

The world is clear. I can
breathe. The sun is out. I cling to Cooper Finnegan, whimpering.
And I pass out.

Chapter Nine

A phone rings. And rings. No one
answers the stupid thing, though someone does let out a noisy
sigh.

Groggily, I lift my head and try
to glare at the offending phone. My eyes won't quite focus but I
can tell I'm in a living room, on a couch bathed in funky copper
lighting. It's blurry but the room seems to be decorated in a heavy
'country' theme with lots of blues and soft wooden curves. There's
a pale oak armoire probably hiding a television and a lot of
shelves littered with historically garbed teddy bears.

“I've passed on to Hell.” My
eyes squeeze shut and my head crashes back onto the pillow. “I
thought I was in Hell before, but I was wrong.”

“Sorry. I can toss you back on
the lawn,” Cooper Finnegan offers.

The world's noticeably more
clear when I open my eyes again. My medium's sitting in an
overstuffed blue chair. It has lace draped over it.

The phone starts to ring again
and he glances at it.

“Someone's calling you,” I point
out.

“Probably wondering where I
am.”

The bizarre orange tint that
didn't fade when everything came into focus implies it's sometime
around sunset. “Don't you have a football game?”

His mouth twists. “That's why
they care where I am.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Aren't you going?”

He watches me for several
seconds before answering. “Guess so.”

“You don't you know?” My head
spins as I sit.

His expression is wry. “There's
a girl passed out on my sofa.”

“Oh.” I stretch a little and he
looks away. “She's awake now.”

“You alright?” He hasn't made
any signs he's going to get out of the chair anytime soon.

“Yeah. Just exhausted. Busting a
few dozen car windows will do that, I guess.” When you get down to
it, it's amazing I didn't sleep for at least three days after
pulling something like that.

“That was you?” A complete lack
of surprise accompanies the question.

“People noticed, huh?”

“You could say that.” Cooper
Finnegan gives me a tiny smile. “Or you could say the police have
roped the area off and the whole town's going mad trying to figure
out what happened.”

“Anyone sending for an
exorcist?” It would be very bad if someone started with that at the
club. I don't know what would happen to Fray, but I hate knowing it
would be my fault. I force myself to stand up, then have to wait a
while for my knees to steady.

“Nah. Not yet anyway.” Still
sitting in the chair, Cooper Finnegan watches me closely. “You with
Fray when it happened?”

Nodding makes my vision swim.
“Yeah. I... I got mad at him and all the cars near me started to
shake. Then all the windows shattered.”

Cooper Finnegan doesn't seem at
all shocked I would be responsible for such a thing. He could at
least pretend to be. Or act impressed by my awesome power. He
doesn't need to be this blasé about it all. He doesn't have to sit
there so silently.

“So you collect teddy bears?” I
ask him.

One side of his mouth slides up,
but his eyes seem sad. “Mom does.”

“I'm sorry. I never knew your
mother had mental problems.” The dig was supposed to be teasing but
the smiling half of his mouth collapses and his breathing catches.
Shit. His mom really is crazy? Explains a lot...

“She just went a little weird
during the divorce,” he says softly. He clears his throat and
stands in a rush. “We'd better get going before someone sends the
cops to find me.”

“We?” I fold my arms.

He sighs, his shoulders
slumping. “You hate football so much you'd rather sit here waiting
for The Spirit to come back than come with me?”

“I don't hate football,” I
mutter to the floor. “I hate high school football.”

“Whatever.” He goes into the
foyer, sits on a bench, and starts to put on a pair of work boots.
“Why's The Spirit chasing you anyway? It bothers the others
occasionally, but nowhere near this often.”

“Dunno.” I lean against the
archway and watch him tie his laces. He's very particular about it,
making each loop exactly the same length. “Fray doesn't think it
leaves me alone when I'm with you because you're a medium
though.”

“Oh?” He stands and grabs his
letterman's jacket. “And why does the ever-wise Fray think it
happens?”

Suddenly nervous, I look away.
“He thinks you're my Place of Power.”

“What?”

“Fray thinks I'm haunting
you.”

I expect him to laugh. Or to
demand to know why I'd do that. His silence confuses me. His face
is very still, calm but shaken.

“What?” I ask. “You think I'm
haunting you? Why?”

His throat bobs as he
swallows.

The phone rings again.

“We've got to go,” Cooper
Finnegan announces, leaving the house and not waiting for me to get
out before closing the door. I can't go through it. For whatever
reason, it's solid. I wrap my hand around the doorknob and get it
to twist, but I'm not strong enough to do more.

My medium realizes there's a
problem pretty quickly and comes back to open the door with an
apologetic air.

“I can usually go through
doors,” I say, not quite asking a question.

“Newer doors. This is one of the
oldest houses in town, it's got a stronger imprint on Shadow.” He
ushers me to hurry up.

I walk through the doorway but
then hit my second problem. “I can't ride in vehicles.”

Closing his eyes, he curses.
“Right. Guess we'd better run.”

“You can take your truck. I'll
catch up with you.”

He frowns in consideration, then
shakes his head. “No. It's not far. I'll just tell them I couldn't
get the thing to start. Gives me an excuse for being late.” He
starts to jog up the road. “I should have worn running shoes.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Next time I
die, I'm so not doing it in boots.”

He gives me a funny squint. “You
do know you can change clothes just by thinking about it?”

What? No. Obviously not. How? I
concentrate hard on changing my shoes, but they stay the same.
Maybe Cooper Finnegan's making fun of me. But... Now that I think
about it, it has to be possible to change. Fray's look is
definitely this century and I've seen him in different clothes,
I've just been too busy being stupid to notice the implications of
his wardrobe on my existence. So why won't my boots change into
something I can run in?

I'm winded less than halfway
there and starting to feel like I'm going to fall asleep again. I
have to stop.

“What's wrong?” Cooper Finnegan
halts and looks back at me with eyes widened by concern.

Bending over a little, I shake
my head as I catch my breath. “I'm too tired for this.”

“Okay.” He glances nervously
toward the stadium and its floodlights but stays with me.

“Go,” I say. “I'll be right
behind you.”

He holds his ground.

“I'm not going in the locker
room anyway. By the time you get out, I'll be there.”

“But...” He's clearly torn.
Already late on my behalf, he needs to hurry if he's not going to
be so late the game starts without him.

He's honestly willing to miss
the most important game of the season to keep me safe.

It boggles my mind.

Cris wouldn't sacrifice
something half as important to him, let alone something the whole
school and most of the town cares deeply about, unless I was in
clear and immediate danger. And maybe not even then.

“Go, Finn.”

A grin is born.

“What?” I ask, exasperated.

“You called me Finn.”

I roll my eyes. “It's your name,
isn't it?”

“Yeah, but you never use
it.”

My gaze narrows as he stands
there backlit in the glow of the setting sun. “Just go, you
idiot.”

The grin
widens. “Now, that's more like you.” He winks
¨C
winks! And then he turns and
sprints away, leaving me marveling at his lack of sense and smiling
as I walk behind him.

Unfortunately, I stop smiling
well before I see him again. Bobbi and her cohorts are outside of
the locker room, waiting for the team to come out, and the sight of
them completely wrecks my good mood.

“Shouldn't you people be shaking
your butts for the crowd?” I ask her, folding my arms and glaring
at her perkiness. She's too busy chattering with her friends about
the party tonight to pay attention to me even if I were
audible.

“The skirt's really tight and
the top comes down to here,” she says, illustrating a point well
below where the school dress code would allow but not quite low
enough to get her arrested. Although the term 'jail bait' does
spring to mind. “I'm worried it might be too slutty.”

“You think?” Arms folded, I lean
against the wall across the door from her group and marvel at how
different we are. Before we moved to Pine Ridge, Bobbi and I got
along. Sure, we weren't best friends, but we were friends. What is
it about this place that changed her into someone I can't
stand?

“You looked really hot in it,”
one of the interchangeable blondes assures her, as if this is some
sort of argument against the assessment of sluttiness.

One of the others makes a
thoughtful mew. “It does sound kind of skanky. But, on the other
hand, Finn's pretty oblivious. You need to bring out the big guns,
you know?”

My eyes shut in pain over the
fact my own sister is friends with someone who would say something
like that.

The first blonde speaks again.
“There's no way he can ignore you in that.”

“He could be gay,” I mutter. “Or
he could be smarter than previously indicated. Too smart to go for
a ignorant twit with poofy hair and a weekly make-up budget higher
than her IQ.”

“Did you get that shimmery blue
eyeshadow you were talking about?” one of the blondes asks, as if
on cue.

“Yes! And did you see this nail
polish? I'm absolutely in love with it!” She holds her hands up for
them to admire, even though the hallway isn't exactly well-lit.

Her friends are gawking at her
fingers when the locker door opens and the first of the players
comes out. “You girls ready?” he asks them.

“Always.” Bobbi lowers her hand
and gives the guy a bright smile.

I take a deep breath. This could
be a very long night.

The players pile out the door
and wait in the hallway for the team to be introduced. The
cheerleaders form a line before them, reminding me of cannon fodder
preparing for a charge.

Bobbi breaks away from her squad
to weave her way back to where Finn leans against the wall,
slapping his helmet against his palm in a fast rhythm. My sister
stops in front of him but his eyes don't focus on her until she
speaks. “I'll be cheering for you, Finn.”

“That's your job,” he reminds
her.

She responds to the smile
accompanying the words, not the sarcasm coating them. “No, silly. I
mean, I'll be cheering for you. More than I'm cheering for everyone
else.” Her voice drops to a whisper and she leans in closely, so
close she's nearly touching him. “I might even be persuaded to
cheer for you in private later.”

My teeth sink into my lip as
Finn's eyes drop to the microscopic distance between him and Bobbi.
His spine straightens, drawing him up the wall, but that's all he
can do to back away from her.

He opens his mouth but the world
will never know what he would have said because the cheerleading
supervisor interrupts, ordering Bobbi to get the squad out on the
field so the team can come out. “This is a football game,” she
says. “Not a make-out party.”

There are several cat calls in
response to that.

Finn smiles weakly as the guys
rib him about Bobbi, not saying anything one way or the other.

“Hey,” I call to him just before
they finally go out. “I'll be cheering for you, Finn,” I mock,
dropping my voice in a overdone sex-vixen imitation.