We would be there for her every step of the way.
“What the hell is on those crackers?” Heather whispered to me with an expression of horror marring her pretty face. “It looks like the contents of one of Alana Catherine’s diapers I changed last week.”
I choked on my soda. She wasn’t wrong. “I have no clue, but there’s not enough money in the world to make me eat one.”
“Word,” she said with a grin.
Candy Vargo, on the other hand, had no issue with the gelatinous goop on the crackers and polished off half the platter. Everyone else went for the cookies.
The game resumed with the additions of: Slaughter Beach, Delaware, Knockemstiff, Ohio, Boring Oregon, and Peculiar, Missouri. A few of the Demon guards played too. It was clear that they found us strange, but had decided if they couldn’t beat us, they would join us.
Shitty Ritchie kept looking around and smiling. Three times I caught the little turd pinching himself. That made me happy,and I would take happy anywhere I could get it at the moment. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. After living on the run and in caves for millions of years, the tiny menace finally had friends and a home. I was positive he would always drive me nuts, but Shitty Ritchie was growing on me in a mostly non-lethal way.
Alana Catherine was in deep conversation with Gideon. With each word she spoke, a look of awe and joy crept into her father’s expression. His daughter owned him. I wouldn’t have it any other way. She was our miracle. Yes, we’d missed the early years, but it didn’t matter. We had her. And no matter how much she protested, there was no way that she loved us more than we loved her. It wasn’t possible.
“Well, I have never,” Gram said, laughing and slapping her transparent thighs as June relayed the story about the escort service Dip had shared. “I always knew Ethel Smith-Waterswund had a few screws loose! Her brain rattles around in her head like a dang BB in an empty boxcar.”
Candy Vargo sat with Gram and Mr. Jackson as she munched on the crap on a cracker. If Candy had her way, she’d spend all her time with Gram. She loved her something fierce, and Gram loved Candy right back. “Which one is Ethel Smith-Waterswund? Is that the old gal with tight pants and the hemorrhoids?”
“Bingo,” Gram told her. ‘It ain’t no wonder she’s got a hiney problem. Her pants are so tight that if she passes gas, it’ll blow her boots off!”
Candy guffawed. Mr. Jackson did as well. And that’s when I noticed it. He was fading. Superglue wasn’t going to fix it.
My stomach dropped, and the need to go for a run was intense. Running was the only time I felt totally free of all the chaos in my life. I was tired—tired of fighting for my life and the lives of everyone I loved. Tired of being in charge of things I couldn’t control. Sometimes, I wished for a life that didn’t smelllike exhaustion. That wasn’t in the cards, and self-pity would get me killed. Dying wasn’t on the agenda.
Standing up, I crossed the room and sat down with Candy, Gram and Mr. Jackson. He gave me a sweet smile as I lightly touched his decaying arm. Some would’ve screamed in fright if they spotted the macabre-looking old man. To me, he was lovely, inside and out.
The dead who stayed on this plane had unfinished business. I’d helped many go into the Light as the Death Counselor. It was my honor and pleasure. It was also heartbreaking. I wasn’t able to separate my work from my life. I’d realized fast that growing close to the dead who I aided would make life harder, but I didn’t care. It was the right thing to do, plus I was a softie.
As I stared into Mr. Jackson’s eyes, I felt my own fill up with tears. Losing him to the Light would devastate Gram. She’d waited until death to find the man of her dreams. The noise in the room faded into the background as Mr. Jackson and I exchanged silent communication. Although, I was fairly sure I heard Candy Vargo warn Shitty Ritchie that if he kept leading his life from his crotch, he was gonna get real fuckin’ itchy.
“Daaaaisssyah,” Mr. Jackson said as he gracefully floated off the couch and up to the chandelier. “Neeeeeedha.”
“What do you need?” I asked, softly. “How can I help you?”
Gram had stopped talking and joined Mr. Jackson. The look on her face was one of fear and concern. My usually silly and happy Gram was worried.
All conversation in the room ceased. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed Mr. Jackson’s decline. I was staring at the ghostly couple, but I heard a few sniffles behind me. It was Candy Vargo. She liked to play it off that she wasn’t an emotional gal—that she was a carefree badass. That was bullshit. She had more compassion than almost anyone I knew.Her love for Gram was immense. Gram’s pain was her pain… as well as mine.
“Tell me, Mr. Jackson,” I pressed. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”
He and Gram exchanged a bittersweet look. It made my stomach cramp. Were we about to witness their goodbyes? Was Gram going to have to let go of the truest love she’d ever found?
“Huuuugah,” Mr. Jackson said. “Huuuugah meeeee, Daaaaisssyah.”
I nodded jerkily and glanced over at my daughter.
“State the time you will be gone,” she advised. “You can spend as much time in the Darkness with Mr. Jackson as you need. But if you clarify the time you’ll be gone from this plane, it will hold.”
I wanted to believe her. It would be a grave mistake to be out for days. We had an enemy like no other we’d battled, gunning for us. If the mind-dive knocked me out, Gideon would protect me. That was a given. But I wanted his attention focused where it was needed the most—on Alana Catherine, Shitty Ritchie, and Jennifer. They were the most important people in the world right now, and their survival was paramount. Period.
But the expression on Mr. Jackson’s face tore at my heart. His arms extended, he waited patiently.
“Are you sure?” I asked my child. “Like really sure?”
She approached and took my hand in hers. “I’m positive. Don’t ask me how I know. I simply do. Speak the time aloud that you’ll be gone from the Earthly plane. That’s exactly the amount of time you will be gone. You have my word.”
I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “How’d you get so smart?”
