Category Archives: Ongoing Serials

Current ongoing stories that are updated regularly.

by | June 15, 2013 · 11:48 am

Moving On: Chapter Six

 

Moving On

“Dude! Dave, snap out of it!”             

Riley shakes my shoulder and I completely spaz. With a scream I flail and end up falling out of the chair. I’m still flailing and screaming when Robin bends down, lays a hand on my chest, and speaks in a soothing, calm tone of voice. “David, listen to me. You need to calm down. It’s okay. Relax. You’re safe, David. You’re with friends now. It’s over.”

Eventually the screams die out and my throat feels raw. I’m beginning to hyperventilate, my whole body is shaking, and I feel almost as bad as I had after being sling-shotted. What the hell was that?

Now that I’m not freaking out nearly as bad, Robin is trying to sooth the others. As I fight to steady my breathing my eyes drift over to where the kids had been sitting. They’re all huddled together in a corner, holding their hands over each other’s ears. They look terrified and I feel like an ass for scaring them, even though it wasn’t intentional. It’s not like they haven’t been through enough already. The rest of the group looks equally wigged out. Some stood up to get a better view of the show. The young couple is over by the kids, trying to calm them down and get them back into their chairs. The rest are still in their seats with various expressions of “what the hell?!” on their faces as they stare down at me. I guess what just happened to me isn’t exactly common.

Figures.

Robin holds up his hands in a placating gesture, as though he’s trying to calm a frightened animal. “It’s okay, everyone. David will be okay. He just had a flashback of his death, is all. That happens sometimes. It’s very intense, but he’ll be fine. Everyone, please, just take a seat and we’ll get started again in a few minutes.”

He turns his attention back to me. “David, are you all right?”

I was a damn sight short of “all right” but I manage to nod and mutter, “Yeah.”

He and Riley each offer me a hand and pull me up. I’m still shaky but they manage to get me back into my chair. My body feels like jello, and it takes effort to keep myself upright and resist sliding back down to the floor. I’m supposed to be a freaking ghost! Why is my body acting like I’m drunk?

Robin waits until I’m not squirming any more before asking sincerely, “Are you okay, David? I know the first time that happens can be pretty traumatic.”

The only thing I can manage is, “What the hell?”

He nods, understanding. “I know. It’s upsetting, just as much after the experience as it is during. We don’t have physical bodies anymore, but we still remember what it’s like to have them.” He points to his head and taps his temple a few times with his finger. “This makes it real. It still reacts as though you’re still alive and in your body. It’s why you’re still breathing heavy right now, even though you really don’t need air…or even technically even still have lungs. It’s what you think you should be doing, so you are.”

That’s ridiculous.

He must see the disbelief in my expression because he smiles and shrugs. “You’re skeptical, I can tell. Try me. Really think about why you’re reacting the way you are. Think about why you’re breathing heavy. Really concentrate on it.”

I want to tell him to shove it. I’m reacting this way because I’m scared out of my mind! How else am I supposed to act?

But I guess that’s his point, isn’t it? I’m only reacting how I think I should be.

I focus on my heavy breathing. It feels like all those times I’d tried to go for runs like all the other good yuppies. I’ve never been very athletic, and after about five minutes of jogging I’d end up breathing like an asthmatic. My chest would burn and I’d struggle to try and breathe normally… just like I’m doing now.

That’s really stupid. I’m a ghost. I don’t have lungs. I don’t need to breathe. Why am I doing this?

To my complete surprise, all at once, my chest stops burning and I’m not breathing at all. Then I start to panic because I’m not breathing at all! Then I realize just how stupid that is, and I’m fine again.

Jeebus, at this rate I’ll end up in a ghost nuthouse.

Robin smiles and pats me on the back. “Good! You picked up on that pretty quick. Usually it takes people a lot longer.”

My throat still feels hoarse, and now I wonder how much of that is in my head and how much is real. Does this body really “feel” anything? Can I be hurt?

I don’t know, but thinking about it is giving me a headache…which is another thing to think about.

Dammit!

“Yeah, I’m special that way. What the hell was that?”

Robin blinks for a second, confused. “Uh, like I just said, you had a flashback to your death. Death is traumatic, and for spirits, when we remember our deaths, it’s like we’re reliving it. Kind of like a ghost version of PTSD.”

I wave a hand and shake my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get that. I mean the things at the end. The shadow people.”

Robin’s expression darkens and suddenly Mr. Rodgers isn’t having such a great day in the neighborhood anymore. His voice drops to barely a whisper and he leans down closer to me. “You saw them?”

The intensity in his stare makes me flinch back a little, but I nod. “Yeah, what hell are they?”

He glances around nervously at the others before leaning back in and whispering in my ear, “See me after the meeting and we’ll talk about it. I don’t want to frighten the others.”

Frustration flares but I manage to keep myself in check. No sense in pissing off the one guy who might have answers. Besides, as freaked out as he looks right now, I know arguing won’t do anything but make things worse. “Fine.”

Robin straightens and closes his eyes for just a moment, calming himself, and then he takes his place back at the head of the group. He tries to put on a front that says everything is fine, but I can tell that my mentioning of the shadow people is really flipping his wig. Whatever they are, they’re obviously not good, which is freaking me out even more.

If I was really reliving my death, does that mean that those…things were there when I died? If so, why? They didn’t exactly look friendly…

Son of a bitch, ever since I died my life has just gone straight to hell.

Robin claps his hands to get everyone’s attention again and he forces himself to chuckle. “Well, that was a little bit of excitement, huh? David is going to be okay, everyone. That kind of thing does tend to happen every once in a while, so if it happens to you, please, just give yourself a little time to recover. It can be very upsetting, but I promise you’ll be fine.” He looks back at me. He’s smiling, but there’s a new intensity behind his expression. “David, how are you doing now?”

I’m freaking the hell out, that’s how I’m doing!

“I’m fine.”

“You feel up to giving it another go?” He holds up a hand before I can respond. “If not, it’s totally understandable.”

To be honest, I’m nervous as hell about trying making myself “appear” again. What if the flashback hits and those things are there? But I can’t keep running if I want to get the hell out of this…plane of existence or whatever the damn term is. I know that being able to make myself be seen is a necessary step in that direction. “No, I want to try again.”

Robin genuinely smiles this time, a little bit of sunlight breaking back through the clouds. “That’s great, David; very brave of you. Okay, I want you to close your eyes again and think about what you looked like, and then keep that image in your mind. Focus on it and believe that it’s still how you look. Concentrate on that thought alone- ‘this is who I am.’”

I nod and close my eyes again. I picture myself, how I’ve always seen myself when I look in the mirror. I don’t focus on any particular memory, because that’s how I got into trouble the last time. Instead, I imagine that I’m standing in front of a full length mirror and looking at myself. I’m 5’10. I weight about 180 pounds with a broad build, but thin. My brown hair is trimmed short and well groomed. I’m clean shaven, with brown eyes, a slightly angular face. Jenna always said that she thought I looked like a younger John Hamm. I thought she was nuts, but I wasn’t about to argue with her. Who would? John Hamm is like masculine sexuality personified and if my hot girlfriend wanted to see me that way who was I to disillusion her?

I start to imagine I’m in one of my suits, but that’s not really me. That was a role I had to play. I was always more comfortable in jeans or khakis and a t-shirt. I decide to go with my favorite pair of jeans and the navy blue sweater that Jenna had gotten me for Christmas. She liked the way it looked on me. Satisfied, I hold that image of myself in my mind, focus on it, and then I open my eyes.

Everyone around the circle is smiling at me. The kids all start to enthusiastically clap and cheer, which encourages the rest to do the same. I look down at my hands and see, well, my hands. I’m wearing the jeans and the blue sweater.

I’m me.

I start to laugh again, but this time with relief and pride, and for a few precious moments I’m not worried about anything. For the first time in a long time I’m ecstatic just being me.

Robin is practically beaming. “Great job, David! You just took a big step.”   

Yep, me and Neil Armstrong. I thank everyone and once the cheering dies down Robin stands up and addresses the group again. “Okay, guys, I think we’ve had a pretty eventful night already, so let’s just call it a bit early. We’ll meet back here at the same time tomorrow. Remember to practice what you’ve learned, and I want you to keep working on your lists of things that you think you may need to address in order to move on, okay? Great. Good night, everyone.”

Everyone comes by to shake my hand and officially introduce themselves, but Robin comes to my rescue. “Hey folks? David has had a rough night. Why don’t we give him a chance to recover a bit, huh? I’m sure he wants to meet you all, but let’s save it for tomorrow, okay?”

I smile and give everyone a little wave as they disperse. Some just sort of fade away, others fly through the ceiling or walls and after a few seconds it’s just Riley, Robin, and me. Robin looks really nervous as he gestures back towards the chairs. “We better sit down.”

As soon as my spirit butt hits the chair Robin is leaning in and looking deadly serious. “I want you to tell me exactly what you saw and felt, as best as you can. I know how painful that might be for you, but it’s important.”

I feel Riley pat me on my shoulder. “It’s okay, man.”

I nod and relay what I saw and felt as best as I can, though I’m sure to not concentrate on anything in particular for too long. That’s a really fun balancing act to try and manage, but I sure as hell don’t want to trigger another flashback. The entire time I’m speaking Robin’s expression is growing increasingly sour, and when I finally finish and describe the three shadow people he looks like he’s seen, well, a ghost.

“This isn’t good. No, not good at all.”

“Gee, Robin. You really know how to reassure a guy.”

His head snaps up and he looks like he might be sick. “This isn’t funny.”

Anger flares again, but I don’t bother holding back this time. I stand up so quickly that my chair flies backward. “No shit! I’m fucking terrified right now, so how about one of you give me a straight answer as to what the hell is going on! What were those things?”

“Vampires.”

I spin and look down at Riley. I expect to see him smiling but he looks almost as scared as I feel. “Vampires?! Give me a break, Riley.”

Robin stands up and shakes his head. “That’s just what we’ve come to call them. They aren’t vampires in the way that you’re thinking. They used to be spirits just like us, but now they’re…something else.”

Riley chimes in, “They’re really old spirits that have hung around long after they should have faded. Their tethers are gone, but they stick around by feeding on other spirits.” He suddenly gets a really distant look on his face that creeps me out. “Mike told me all about them after a couple tried to do it to me, right after I died.” His voice drops to barely a whisper. “Mike stopped them.”

“Mike stopped them? How?”

Riley shakes his head and jumps up from his chair. “I- I’m sorry, I just can’t talk about this right now. I’ve gotta get back to Becca.”

Before I can protest, Riley takes off faster than my old cat when the vacuum came on.

Damn.

“He has a reason to be afraid, and so do you, David.” Robin gestures for us to sit again and I reluctantly take the chair that Riley had vacated. “Those spirits are bad news.  They roam in packs, and when they feed, they completely drain their victims. It dissipates them.”

“Dissipates?”

Robin nods solemnly, holds up both fists, and then dramatically snaps them open, like a child describing an explosion.

“Poof. Gone. Spiritual death.”

Spiritual death? Well, things just keep getting better and better.

Main Archive Page   Chapter 7 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

All rights reserved

All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | June 8, 2013 · 10:48 am

Moving On: Chapter Five

Moving On

The awesome thing about being a spirit is that being stuck in a bathroom all day wasn’t nearly as horrible as I was expecting due to the weird way time passes for me now. It also didn’t hurt that Riley left pretty early on to go back to Becca, promising that he’d be back at sundown. I don’t care how fast the time passing thing is for ghosts; when Riley is around, time slows to a crawl.

Thanks to Michael-the-maybe-angel I had plenty to think about to keep me occupied. The basic gist I’m getting is that I need to find a way to resolve whatever crap I’m still holding on to in order to “move on” to whatever comes next. Turns out, when I decided to try and be honest with myself and really think about what that might entail, it became a pretty long list.

Mike was right, I have issues.

At the top of the list is my relationship with Jenna. She’s pretty much the last person I want to think about right now, and I could act like a complete child and just deny it until I’m forced to face it, but what’s the point? After the emotional butt kicking I received last night when Michael basically called me on all my bullshit, I realized that I spent an entire lifetime running away from stuff that made me uncomfortable or that I didn’t want to face. All that’s earned me is a one way ticket to bathroom purgatory. Mike was right, as hard as it may be to admit, it’s time I sucked it up and dealt with it. He could have been less of a jerk about it, but a spade’s a spade.

That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, and it doesn’t mean it’s at the top of my to-do list. I didn’t become the witty, neurotic, narcissist I am overnight, and a paradigm shift certainly isn’t going to change me that quickly either. It’s going to take progression, and as the popular saying goes: admittance is the first step. The next step is coming up with a game plan.

So it looks like I’m going to have to pull a Scrooge and face my past demons. I’m hoping I’m able to learn some stuff from the more experienced ghosts that might help in that regard, as I’m sure just figuring this crap out for myself isn’t going to give me all the closure I’ll need, or they’ll need, or however the hell this is supposed to work. Being able to interact with the living will be a big help.

Knowing that confronting Jenna is probably the biggest hurdle I’m going to have to face somehow makes the whole thing seem more manageable. I know where I need to go; I can see the mountain top, so now I just have to build myself up by tackling the little stuff, the little hills, until I feel ready to face Everest. Not that there’s really a lack of “little stuff”. While the tragic death of the only relationship I was ever capable of making work for any length of time was certainly a big factor in my decision throw in the towel in the game of life, it was hardly the only one. It really did feel like the whole world was out to get me. Trust me; there be hills a-plenty for me to climb.

But before any climbing can happen I need to get out of this damn bathroom.

The little Mickey Mouse clock mounted on the wall opposite the toilet tells me it’s six in the evening, which means that any minute now I should be good to go. I’m hesitant to test that theory by way of the doorway. Unmanly as that may sound, that shit hurt. Still, I’m not getting anywhere just sitting here being scared.

I walk over to the doorway and cautiously reach out my left hand… it goes through. No donkey-kick to the chest. Free at last, free at last! Still, I can’t help but wince as I step through the doorway, half expecting to get knocked on my butt anyway as some sort of spirit world practical joke. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen. I never thought I’d be so happy to see my Ikea-furnished living room.

I’d kill for a Frappuccino right now.

Just because I’m dead and don’t need to eat anymore doesn’t mean that those human cravings have gone. Thank God I never picked up smoking; otherwise I’d really be twitchy. I take a seat on my couch, twiddling my thumbs, and silently wish I could turn on the television. I’ve spent all day being introspective and it’d be nice to have something to take my mind off of things while I wait.

“Well, looks who’s finally out of the bathroom! How ya feeling, Dave?”

I glance up to see Riley’s head staring down at me from the ceiling. His right hand appears and gives me a little wave.

I stand up, anxious to get moving. “Much better, and itching to get out of here.”

“Well alrighty! Follow me.”

The head and hand disappear back into the ceiling above me and I leap after them. I catch up to Riley outside and fly alongside him, close enough so we can hear each other over the roar of the wind. “So where are we headed?”

“You know that YMCA downtown?”

I have to think for a second. “The one they closed a few years ago?”

“That’s the one. We meet in the basement. No one is likely to bother us down there.”

“So how many other spirits are we talking?”

“Hard to say. Depends on how many people in our area died without moving on, and how many of us spirits have moved on since last night.”

Makes sense. “How big is our area?”

“Just a few miles, man, otherwise it’d be nutso. Mike has a network of little hubs spread out in every city.”

I want to whistle, but flying at high speeds isn’t exactly conducive for that kind of thing. Now that Riley has pointed it out it seems obvious, but until now I never really thought about the logistics of how something like this would run. Especially when you consider Mike is doing it in every city in the world. At least, I assume he is. I guess if I were him I’d be a little crabby too if I had to stop managing a worldwide network of the wayward dead just to talk with one asshole.

The city whips by in a blur and it only takes us a few minutes to reach the YMCA. Without preamble we dip straight into the building and head for the basement, and I feel a little beam of pride in myself for not flinching this time as we ghost through the floors and walls. As we pass I can make out several homeless people who have taken up residence in the abandoned building. One enterprising couple has pulled in an old steel drum and has lit a fire for warmth. The bright orange sparks of ash dance dangerously close to flammable debris and walls. I guess someone shut off the sprinkler system in the building, or it just doesn’t work due to lack of maintenance.

It looks as though the entire first floor of the multi-storied building has been used as a large canvas for graffiti art, and I catch a glimpse of a particularly impressive looking dragon breathing fire before we dip below into the basement. Given the hobo-fire above, I fervently hope that wasn’t an omen. If so, we may have a few new members to our little support group tomorrow.

The basement is filled with broken chairs, old gym mats, and various other bits of dilapidated equipment that no one wanted to loot or bother burning. Unfortunately, being dead hasn’t dulled my senses much, so I get to enjoy the full bouquet of stale sweat, human feces, and broken dreams that permeates the very foundation of the building.

Fun fact: ghosts still have a gag reflex. When the full impact of the smell hits me I retch, and I hear Riley chuckling behind me.

“Yeah man, that smell is something else. Believe it or not, you get used to it.”

“Huelk…Thanks for the warning, buddy.”

“Hey man, we’ve got to have some fun. Think of it as a newbie rite of passage.”  

Laughter echoes all around us as ten other spirits mist into view. They’re all the same blue-white luminescent glow as Riley and I, but there is a definite difference in body type and stature among them. It’s like I’m watching the Smurfs while tripping on LSD.

I smirk at the one leading the pack, who I assume is the one who just spoke. He’s a bit taller than the others and appears to have a thin frame that matches mine. “You must be Frat Boy Smurf. Nice to meet you.”

He chuckles and offers me a hand. “I’m Robin.”

I take the hand and give it a firm shake. I’m still amazed at how that works given we’re technically incorporeal. “And these are your merry men?”

He laughs as he lets me have my hand back. “Given that a few of them are women, no. We’re living in a politically correct society now. The proper phrase is ‘merry persons.’”

“My mistake. I’m David.”

He laughs again and gestures for me to follow. “C’mon, David, the smell isn’t so bad in here.”

He leads the charge as the others fall in line behind him, and we head into a side room that I assume used to be for extra storage. It’s since been converted into a ghost’s anonymous meeting room, complete with a circle of chairs. The only thing that’s missing is a table with refreshments in the back.

Robin takes a seat and we all follow suit. “All right everyone, let’s get this party started. We’ve already been introduced to David, but David hasn’t been introduced to us, so let’s do that now. Everyone concentrate just like we’ve been practicing.”

Everyone closes their eyes and, to my astonishment, one by one the group goes from smurf-o-vision to real life. Robin looks like a younger Mr. Rodgers, complete with yellow sweater and khakis. He’s flanked by an elderly lady in a yellow flower-print dress and an overweight, middle-aged, bald guy in a plumber’s uniform. His name tag says Robert. The others in the room are a nice mix of ages, races, and gender. There’s an African American guy, mid-late twenties, in a business suit; a young Hispanic couple in matching polos and jeans; and an elderly oriental man. My heart completely breaks when my eyes come to the last three. They’re kids- two boys and a little girl. They’re maybe eight years old and are all wearing t-shirts that read “Wilmington Elementary!” with a picture of a rainbow and multicultural stick figures with smiles on their faces holding hands under it.

I get a much-needed laugh when I get to Riley. In fact, I almost fall out of my chair because I’m laughing so hard. Riley is sporting dirty-blonde dreads, hemp khakis, and a “Jesus Saves After Every Level” t-shirt. He is a walking, talking cliché, and I love him for it.

“Dude, what is it?”

When I can manage to speak between gasps for air I manage, “I bet myself that you’d have dreads;” which sends me into a new fit of giggles that I just can’t stop. Then the kids join in and a few moments later everyone is having a good belly laugh, even Riley.

Eventually I try to apologize through wheezing breaths, but Riley just laughs along with the rest of us and pats me on the back. “It’s all good, man. I know I got style.”

When everyone sobers Robin nods at me. “Now it’s your turn, David. Close your eyes and think about who you are. Try and picture yourself in your mind as though you’re looking in a mirror.”

I tend to make jokes and be sarcastic when I’m nervous. It’s a defense mechanism and sometimes it makes me come off as kind of a douchebag, especially when the people I’m around are being serious or sincere.  That’s what happening now, with everyone’s eyes on me, but I fight the urge to make a comment and I do as he instructed.

I try to think of what I saw the last time I looked at myself in the mirror. It was yesterday morning, just before I took the razor to my wrists in my bathroom. I was about to get in the shower and prepare myself for another day at an office full of people I hate and who despise me right back…

I reach for the shaving cream on the counter and my hand pauses there, hovering just over where my Gillette razor is resting in its little holster. That’s when the idea hits me: What am I doing? Why am I even bothering? I hate my life. I hate my job. The one good thing I had, that had made me feel at least a little content, walked out on me, and I don’t blame her one bit.

I am a pathetic, unhappy man who is far too smart for his own good and has never made anything of himself with it. I’ve wasted my time. I’ve wasted my life. I’ve never really been happy. Why not just let it all go? What do I really have to live for?

I look up at the mirror. I stare into eyes like two chips of ice. They’re sad eyes, almost dead. I’m already almost dead.

Time to finish the job.

I flip the razor holster over to where the spare razors are held. I pull one out and look at it. No, this’ll be a pain in the ass to use. It won’t work. I open my drawer and I shove stuff around. I know it’s in here somewhere…there. I pull out an old straight razor. It used to be my grandfather’s. My father had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday. He’d told me I was a man now and it was time to start acting like one. He made me shave with it and I cut the hell out of myself that first time. He just laughed at me. He laughed as I bled and cried…

I open the razor and stare at the blade. It glints in the fluorescent light of my bathroom, mesmerizing me. I’d never realized just how beautiful the thing was. I feel a hunger growing inside me. My eyes are drawn down from the blade to my wrists. It’s like a siren’s call, and I know I’m doing the right thing.

The blade bites, red runs. I quickly switch hands while I still have feeling and do the other side. The blade falls from hands unable to hold it any longer. My knees go weak and drop me to the cold linoleum floor. I feel sticky warmth where the blood is pooling around my body, and I start to drift as my life drains away. The last thing I see before the darkness takes me are three men, all in shadow, smiling down at me with predatory grins…

Main Archive Page   Chapter 6 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

All rights reserved

All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | June 1, 2013 · 11:08 am

Moving On: Chapter Four

Moving On

The candles go out as he disappears, leaving me sitting in the dark. When I was a kid and my mom used to drag me to church, our cranky pastor used to do that to the church lights when he was ready to get home to his fried chicken and football but his “flock” was hanging around gossiping for too long after service.

You know, subtle.

“Wow, Mike. Thanks for that.”

I know I should get going, but I just don’t have the energy to get up and move yet. Instead, I find myself thinking long and hard about some of the things Mike said. I think about Riley and how I treated him today. I think about how he died and what he left behind. I find I’m ashamed to admit that I wouldn’t have done what he did to save that woman. I’d like to think I would have been one of those people that would go back in the store and at least call the police, but I know I would never have directly tried to intervene myself.

That line of thinking leads me to Mike’s rather blunt assessment of the kind of man I was, and I guess still am. I never really thought of myself as a bad guy. Then again, I guess most narcissists wouldn’t, would they? I did always see myself as the smartest person in the room. I’d get frustrated when I saw people who were walking disasters get promoted ahead of me. I’d feel left out because I wouldn’t be invited out after work. I felt like my world fell out from underneath my feet when Jenna walked out the d-

No.

No, I’m not going to think about that. Not now. I’ve got enough to deal with as it is. Right now, I need to get my not-quite-solid butt back to my “tether” before sunrise. I don’t know what Mike’s definition of “unpleasant” is, but I sure as hell don’t want to find out.

Of course, as soon as I have that thought, a beam of muted sunlight breaks through the grime on the church windows and hits me right in the eye. Very funny, Michael, God, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or whoever the hell is running things.

Very.

Funny.

“Well, shi-“

 It feels as though my entire body is being pulled inside out. My stomach does flip flops like I’m on the worst rollercoaster in the history of bad theme park rides, and just when I feel like I can’t stand it any longer I find myself back on the floor of the bathroom in my apartment- a mirror image of my position the day before. I also feel like I got hit by a semi-truck, backed over, and then run over again for good measure. It hurts to move. Hell, it even hurts to blink.

“Well, looks like someone got sling-shotted. Sucks, don’t it?”

Against my better judgment I force my eyes to open and instantly regret it as the slow, persistent pounding in my head suddenly becomes a death metal drummer. Once my eyes focus I see Riley staring down at me from his perch on my bathroom sink. He shakes his head in sympathy. “Harsh, man. Same thing happened to me my first night.”

I grunt in affirmation. It’s all I can manage. He nods in understanding and hops down from the sink. “Well bro, good news is the crappy feeling will pass in a few minutes.” He casually looks around the room. “Wow, your landlord was quick on the trigger to get this place cleaned up. It looks much nicer without all the blood and unhappy people everywhere.”

I grunt again and try to sit up. Big mistake. The room spins and my head drops back to the floor.

Riley helpfully chimes in, “Yeah bro, don’t rush it. Only makes it worse.”

Thanks, Riley. You’re a veritable fount of helpful information.

I lay on the floor for a few minutes, first wishing for death, then realizing that I’m already dead, followed closely by wondering if this might be hell and if the devil is just screwing with me. Meanwhile, Riley has been rambling the entire time, but I’ve been too focused on feeling like hammered dog crap to pay any attention. After about five minutes of this routine I finally feel like I can sit up and manage to do so.

Riley, pleasant and cheery as ever, waves at me excitedly. “Look who’s finally up!”

I try to remember the harrowing tale of Riley’s death and home life that Michael told me last night, but instead all I see are images of me beating him like a piñata and wondering if candy might come out. That mental image makes me smile, an expression that Riley takes as encouragement.  

“There we go, buddy! Feeling better?”

The smile dies a horrible, messy death, as I groan and try to stand up. I’m a little wobbly, but manage to make it without falling back on my butt. “This. Sucks.”

Riley nods emphatically. “Yeah, man. You better believe I’m home long before sunup every day after that first night. Once was more than enough for this guy. You should be right as rain in a few. You have a nice place here, by the way. I didn’t really get a chance to look around last time.”

I use the sink for support as I mutter, “Yeah, thanks.”

I’m feeling a little guilty about the piñata thing now that the pain isn’t wracking my body. As I watch Riley look around like a yokel during his first trip to a real city I feel a pang of sympathy for him. “Hey Riley, I’m glad you came by today. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry if I was kind of a jerk yesterday.”

He waves the comment away like he’s shooing a fly. “Naw man. It’s cool. You had a lot to process. I understand.”

I manage a smile for him. “Thanks. How’s your wife doing, by the way?”

I didn’t think it was possible for Riley to get any perkier than he already was, but I’m wrong. He starts to beam. “She’s doing great, man! Won’t be long now! I’m so excited I can hardly stand it! I’m going to be a father!”

I nod. “Yeah, congratulations. Michael told me all about it last night.” I study the floor for a few moments, my own shame suddenly overcoming me. Here I was, a man who took his own life, standing with another who had his taken from him. I hadn’t really thought of it that way until this moment. “I’m sorry, about what happened to you. It’s not fair.”

The sunshine dims just a bit, but he still manages a wan smile. “Yeah, that sucked pretty hard, man.” He shrugs. “But crap happens, ya know? That lady ended up okay, and I’m still able to be there for Becca. So, it’s all good.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think I’d be taking it half as well as you. I mean, you still get to see her, but it’s got to be hard not being able to talk to her, or for her to see you back, right?”

He frowns. “What are you talking about man? She can see and talk to me.”

He starts to laugh again as he points at me and what I’m sure is a comical expression of dumbstruck confusion. “Oh! You got me! You’re just messin’ with me!”

Maybe the slingshot trip messed me up more than I thought. I try to stand up straight and shake my head. “Wait, are you saying Becca can see and hear you?”

“Sure, man! I mean, it takes some real concentration, and it can be draining so I can’t do it for long periods, but she’s my tether, so it’s not too bad.”

Unbelievable. Michael had mentioned it was a possibility last night but I’d not really paid much attention to it. “So, does it work for other people too, or just Becca?”

He stops pacing around the room and scratches at his head. The action kicks up little wisps of spirit-smoke. “You know, I’m not sure! I haven’t really tried it with anyone else.”

“So how does it work?”

He leans against the doorway and I half expect him to fall right through like out of a slapstick cartoon. “Well, it takes a lot of practice. I think I scared Becca half to death the first few times. It’s like, you gotta really concentrate on what you’re doing.” To demonstrate he walks back over to the sink and grunts as he picks up my toothbrush that’s resting on the counter. He’s obviously straining with concentration and effort, but sure enough he’s lifting it. In the mirror’s reflection it looks like the toothbrush is floating on its own. “You have to focus on each word, and have really clear in your head what you want them to see and hear… or in this case, what you want to move.”

He sets the toothbrush back down and falls against the counter for support, breathing heavily, like it weighed a ton. “Whew!”

He has to catch his “breath” for a second before continuing, “It’s almost like when you’re all bound up from not eating enough of that nasty bran cereal, so you’re trying real hard to take a-“

I hold up a hand. “Yeah, I’m picking up what you’re throwing down, Riley. Thanks.”

He gives me a thumbs up as he pushes off the counter and stands up straight. “No problem, man. It’s actually kinda why I came by this morning. I was thinking you might want to meet a few of the other locals, you know? We try to meet once a day and talk. Help each other out.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “What, like a spirit support group?”

He laughs with me but nods. “Yeah, something like that. They might be able to tell you stuff I can’t. A lot of them have more experience with this ghosting thing than I’ve got. They’re the ones that taught me how to do my little magic trick there. If anyone can teach you about how to make yourself be seen and heard, it’s these folks.”

I nod and take a few test steps. When I manage to walk a straight line without falling over I figure I’ll be okay to leave. “That’s a good idea man. Thanks. Let’s head out.”

He starts to warn me but I’m not listening as I try to step through the bathroom doorway and into my living room. The next thing I know I’m back on the floor and the death metal drummer is getting to his solo in my head. “What. The. Hell!?”

I look up and see Riley wincing in sympathy. “Ooohhh, sorry. I tried to warn you but wasn’t fast enough. I think you’re still on the energy mend, bro. You probably won’t be able to leave for a little while. It’s all good though, cuz the meeting isn’t until sundown anyway.”

The dizziness fades quickly, thank God for small favors, and I’m able to stand back up. “Wait, so I’m stuck in here until I recharge? How long is that going to take?”

 “Well, since you got sling-shotted, it’ll probably take most of the day.” He shrugs. “At least it did for me.”

“So I have to spend the day stuck here in my bathroom?!”

He nods, and then sticks his head through the doorway to admire my living room. “Yeah, that sucks man. You should have killed yourself in here! You’ve got a sweet setup!”

Anger and visions of piñatas are back with a vengeance, and I growl through gritted teeth, “Hey Riley? You like candy?”

Main Archive Page   Chapter 5 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

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All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | May 26, 2013 · 7:30 pm

Moving On: Chapter Three

Moving On

If ghosts had bladders I’d be peeing right now. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the light blinks out and a man with short blonde hair wearing a white t-shirt and jeans is in its place. With a bemused smile he winks at me and says, “Boo!”

I lower my hands and grimace as he laughs. When he sobers he waves his hands around the room and says, “I’m sorry about the theatrics, but it’s just too much fun to pass up.”

I fold my arms over my chest. I’m still extremely nervous, but I’m also more than fed up with being screwed around with. I put up with that crap all the time when I was still alive, and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with it while I’m dead. “I didn’t realize that angels had a sense of humor.”

He grins as he leans back on the alter. “Who said I was an angel?”

I mimic his previous gesture and indicate the building and all the candles. “You saying you’re not? What with the church, the candles, the blinding light, and the big booming voice?”

His grin becomes lopsided, like Harrison Ford about to deliver a one-liner. “Well, maybe I just really dig the Wizard of Oz.”

And this is where I finally lose it.

“Can someone please just give me a damned straight answer! I slit my wrists to get away from bullshit like this! So I could finally find some kind of peace! What do I get instead? A bad LSD trip, a brain dead hippy, and a smart assed angel! Is that all life is?! Am I doomed to just be eternally miserable surrounded by morons and assholes?! God!”

Now that I’ve spent all that pent up frustration I feel like a total idiot. Michael hasn’t so much as blinked since I started my little tirade and he’s still just staring at me with that smug grin on his face. We stand like that for a few minutes before he finally pushes off of the alter and arches an eyebrow at me. “You done throwing your little temper tantrum?”

Anger, hot and fierce, blooms in my chest again, but I bite back my response. As if Michael could tell, he nods and takes a few steps towards me. “Good. Now we can get started.”

My voice is strained, and I’m suddenly very tired as I float down to the floor. “Started with what?”

“What you came here for. Answers.” He shrugs. “Well, some of them anyway. There are some things you’re going to have to figure out for yourself.”

Before I can say anything he holds up a hand to forestall comment. “Not my rules, David. There are some things you’re going to have to work through on your own. It’s a part of the process.” He levels a finger at my chest. “And it’s your own fault.”

Exasperated, I point to myself. “My fault?”

He sighs. “You took your own life, David. You left a lot of things unresolved. You basically just made the process a whole lot more complicated for yourself.”

I rub my face with my hands, surprised that they feel solid but too tired to care why at this point. “More complicated. Just freaking great. And you send Riley the village idiot to explain things to me. Thanks for that.”

For the first time Michael actually looks angry. In the blink of an eye he’s nose to nose with me and jabbing me in the chest with a rather large finger. “You stow that crap right now, you hear me? Riley may be a bit eccentric, but he’s a good man and he volunteered to help you when nobody else really wanted the job.”

Ouch. So I’m a pariah even in the afterlife. Sucks to be me.

I wince but still can’t help but retort, “If Riley is such a good man, then why is he still here in limbo? Why didn’t he just get a free pass to the other side or whatever?”

Michael’s hard expression goes soft, and he suddenly looks as tired as I feel. He nods over at a pew next to us and takes a seat. Reluctantly, I join him. Once I’m seated he leans forward on the pew in front of us, like it’s Sunday School and all he wants to do is go back to sleep. “He should have, but Riley chose to stay.”

I snort. “He chose to stay?”

Idiot.

As if he can hear my unspoken thought Michael stares daggers at me and repeats, “He’s a good man; a good man who doesn’t want to leave his wife alone on this world while she’s still pregnant with their unborn child.”

Aaand my smug balloon is popped. “Oh.”

Michael sits up and continues heaping the coals on my head. “He was at a grocery store about a month ago, picking up some things for his wife when, as he was leaving, he heard a woman scream. She was being attacked by a man in a side alley. Most people would have just kept walking, afraid to get involved. Maybe they would have run back in the store and called the police, knowing that by the time they responded it’d be too late to help. Not Riley. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He ran to help her, and he was stabbed in the chest while trying to pull the man off of that poor woman. Riley was a hero, and saved that woman from being raped and probably killed. He gave his life for a total stranger, and now he refuses to leave his pregnant wife alone until his child is born. But, he still volunteered to take a day away and go to help you through your transition.”

Wow.

Who has two corporeal thumbs and feels like a total ass?

This guy.

He lets it sink in for a moment before adding, “Just something to think about the next time you see him…if he decides to see you again.”

I nod, unable to speak past the foot in my mouth.

“So!” Michael’s voice brightens as he slaps me lightly on the back. “Here’s what you need to know for now. Riley already told you about the most important thing.”

I mutter, “Moving on?”

“Yep! You may not have cared for his description of it, but believe it or not it was fairly apt. You need to resolve whatever crap it is you’re still carrying around with you that’s holding you on this plane of existence. Until you do, you can’t go on to what’s next.”

I glance up at him. “What is next?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No spoilers. Right now what you need to focus on is you. Whatever comes next is entirely dependent on that.”

I sigh in frustration, wanting to protest but knowing it’s pointless, and nod my head instead. “Okay, so what do I need to do?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

I glare at him but he’s unphased. “Hey man, it’s not my life. I can’t tell you about you and what you need. You’re the only one that knows that, whether you realize it or not. This isn’t a paint by numbers kind of thing. Riley wasn’t wrong, though. It’s important that you don’t throw a pity party for yourself and just hang out at your tether for too long. You do that and you’ll start to lose yourself. All that’ll remain is a shade that’s entirely fueled by those unresolved feelings.”

“Thanks, Doctor Phil.”

 He chuckles.

“So, what’s a tether?”

“It’s your emotional anchor to this world. For someone like Riley, it’s a person that he deeply loves. For someone like you, it’s usually where you died.”

I snap, “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Someone like me?’”

His demeanor darkens and his blue eyes become tiny ice crystals. “A suicide.”

“Oh.”

“And one of the first things you might want to work on is that huge chip on your shoulder. The world was never really out to get you, you know.”

I grunt. “Coulda fooled me.”

He stands up and shakes his head. “David, did you ever stop to consider that maybe the reason you felt so alone all the time, and why you were always so miserable, is because you were a selfish, smug, self-important, jerk?”

I sit back, stunned. “Wow, Mike. Don’t hold back. Say what you really feel.”

He sits on the back of the pew in front of us so he can face me. “Hey, the truth hurts kiddo. Now’s the time to suck it up and accept it.” He shrugs. “Or not. The choice, like everything in life, is yours. So are the consequences. Just because you decided to take the easy way out means you get to shurk the responsibility for your choices when you were alive.”

Emotions are rolling around inside of me like a washing machine. I’m angry and more than a little hurt by what he’s saying, but I also know there’s some truth to it too, which stings even more. And to think, this morning I thought I was actually ending it all. Instead it looks like I just made things infinitely worse.

Go me.

While I sulk he continues, “Your tether is important. It’s where you go to recharge, for lack of a better term. You’re probably already feeling pretty tired just from the flight over here. As you get used to your new spiritual body you’ll realize there’s a lot of stuff you can do. When you concentrate and learn to focus enough you’ll be able to turn yourself solid and manipulate stuff in the real world. Maybe even have people hear you. But doing anything like that burns a lot of energy, and when you boil everything down, that’s pretty much what you are right now- energy. So every day you’ll need to recharge. Your tether is where you’ll be drawn back to when you’re too low on energy, or at the dawn of a new day.”

I glance up, momentarily torn from my pity party. “What do you mean?”

He rubs at some stubble on his jaw. “Think of it this way: whenever you leave your tether you’ve got a big spiritual elastic band tied around you connecting you to it. When you run out of juice, or when dawn hits, the band will snap you back there to keep you from just winking out of existence. How long you’ll be stuck there recharging depends on how much energy you drained. But here’s a nickel’s worth of free advice: go back on your own. Don’t let the clock run out. I hear being snapped back is…unpleasant.”

Great, so it’s like just about everything else so far. Death sucks.

“Okay, the energy thing makes a kind of sense, I guess, but why do we get snapped back at dawn?”

“Dawn is a new day. A time of renewal. It just works that way. It’s a universal rule, I guess you could say.”

He stands up and stretches. “Speaking of which, that’s enough to get you started. Dawn is coming and you’ll want to get a move on.”

I hold up a hand, afraid to actually try touching him. “Wait! Please, just one more question?”

He pauses mid step and looks over his shoulder. “Sure.”

“What are you, really? Are you an angel?”

He turns back to me, smiles, and places a hand on my shoulder. It’s warm, the first kind of heat I’ve felt since I “woke up” this morning. “What I am or am not doesn’t really matter right now. All that matters is that you think about what I said and decide for yourself where to go from there.” He straightens. “And maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe?”

His smile fades, and the pained look on his face shakes me more than anything else he’s said. “Maybe. Good luck, David.”

And then he’s gone.

Main Archive Page   Chapter 4 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

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All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | May 18, 2013 · 11:47 pm

Moving On: Chapter Two

Moving On

Riley rambles about T.V. shows I’ve never heard of for a few more minutes when I guess it finally dawns on him that I haven’t been paying attention. “Sorry, dude. I tend to get distracted and go on about stuff sometimes. It used to drive my wife nuts.”

This peaks my interest.

“You were married?”

Riley perks up from his prone position on the rooftop. “Yep! It woulda been eight years this May! Still amazes me that she stuck with me that long. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes. Becca, my wife, used to say I was best taken in small doses.”

He chuckles and I find myself smiling with him. After a few moments I venture, “So Riley, if you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been since you…”

“Bit it?”

I wince. “Yeah.”

He stares up into the clouds for a few minutes, as if he’s doing the math in his head and it’s confusing him. Eventually he shrugs and says, “You know, dude, I’m not really sure anymore. It’s hard to describe, but stuff works differently for us now.”

“How do you mean?”

His brow crinkles in concentration. “Well, you just died so you’re still thinking of stuff like a normal dude would, ya know? Like minutes and hours and days and worried about time and stuff. When you’re rocking the spirit world like we are now that stuff doesn’t matter as much. It’s like time goes by differently.”

I resist the urge to rub at temples that aren’t there anymore. “That doesn’t make any sense, Riley.”

“I know, right? Here, lemmie try and give you an example. How long do you think we’ve been chillin’ up here on this roof?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe ten minutes or so?”

He nods. “Sure, it feels like that, but it’s probably been more like a couple of hours.”

I snort. “No offense, but I think you fried too many brain cells when you were alive, Riley. There’s no way we’ve been up…here…that…”

I look where he’s pointing. It’s the sun. The sun that’s close to setting. I could have sworn it was high in the sky, maybe noon or so, when we first popped out of the roof.

I shake my head. “No, that’s impossible.”

He grins sheepishly at me and shrugs again. “Told ya, dude. Welcome to the crazy-nutso spirit world.”

I feel like I’m going to pop a gasket. “Okay, so why wasn’t everything moving in fast motion when we were in my apartment?”

“Cuz we were focused, man.”

I look at him incredulously and have to fight the urge to make a crack about him and focusing, but it’d be too easy. Instead I venture, “I’ll probably regret asking, but could you try and explain that?”

“Man, Mike’s so much better at this kinda thing… Okay, it’s like this: if you’re interested in something, or like, super focused or whatever, you’re in the moment, ya know? You’re there. But when you stop trying to be in the moment, time just kinda flies by you.” He suddenly brightens like a kid that just figured out the answer to a question. “Like daydreaming! You ever just kinda drift off in thought and the next thing you know you’ve missed the first half of Scooby Doo?”

“Uh…sure.”

He levels a finger at me. “Same deal. When we’re focused on something it’s like everything is cool and the gang, but any other time it’s like we’re living in a daydream. Mike told me that’s why focusing on moving on is so important for us. It’s real easy to just kinda get lost in thought, and before you know it you’re giving little old ladies a heart attack because you think they broke into your apartment, when they’ve really been living there for years.”

He does the “crazy” pantomime again.

Awesome.

“You’ve mentioned Mike several times now, and he obviously has a good idea about how all this works. Think I could meet him?”

I have no idea how things work in this new…dimension? It’s all so hard to wrap my mind around, and I really need answers before I go “loony toons” myself. As if to emphasize this point Riley snaps his fingers and they actually make a sound, even though all evidence I’ve seen so far tells me that it shouldn’t have worked. So can we be solid sometimes and not the rest of the time? How does that even…gah!

“That’s a great idea, bro! He could answer your questions a lot better than I can!”

I sure as hell hope so.

“Just follow me, compadre!”

For the first time since waking up into this surreal headache I’ve found something that genuinely makes me momentarily happy. Flying is fun! It’s strange in that, like everything else has been so far, it’s off compared to how you’d imagine it would feel. I can feel the wind on my face, but it isn’t hot or cold, it’s just a sort of pressure. Still, flying, doing loop the loops, and barrel rolls, and all the other things you’ve always daydreamed about still causes a flutter in your gut and is just as fun as I always imagined it would be. For a short amount of time I actually forget how miserable and freakish everything has been since this morning. I was almost sorry when we arrived at our destination.

Once again, I’m surprised and more than a little nervous.

We’ve just landed at a church.

Great.

It’s not a large church by any stretch of the imagination. It’s just a small building out in the sticks- a country church like you’d see on “old timey” movies or television shows, with faded and chipped white paint and a steeple with a rusted bell and missing shingles. There are no people or cars around that I can see. In fact, there’s only a small dirt road lined by trees that leads to the church proper. It doesn’t look like the building has been in regular use in some time, though someone obviously still tends to the place. The building itself hasn’t fallen completely into disrepair, though it could use some fresh paint and a little TLC here and there, and the surrounding land hasn’t become overtaken by weeds and such. If I had to guess, it’s probably a family church on someone’s land, and every once in a while someone comes out to make sure that things don’t go completely to hell.

Riley doesn’t hesitate at all and just dive bombs directly through the roof. I’m still new to the whole ghost thing, and for a few moments I have a little panic attack about plowing face first into wood, even though I’d already flown through my own apartment not but a few hours ago.

Riley sticks his head out through the roof and waves me in. “It’s okay, dude. Just stop thinking so much.”

Then he disappears back inside.

Well, it’s easy for him to say. Thinking too much doesn’t seem to be a burden Riley has ever had to bare. But I know I’m being childish and I force myself to close my eyes and go. A few terror-filled seconds later I’m floating next to Riley in a musty, dark church. The sun has set and it makes the old building even creepier on the inside, and I find myself nervously listening for banjoes.

From beside me Riley sighs. “Dude, you need to relax! You’re so uptight that I could shove a lump of coal up your butt and get a diamond.”

I start to snap back on him but hesitate when I register what he said. “Wait, did you just quote Ferris Bueller?”

He smiles at me. “I figure if yer gonna steal, steal from the greats!”

“Right. Well, Ferris, I think I have the right to be a little freaked out right now. I kill myself and then wake up into some freaky dream-world where nothing makes sense. Now I’m standing in an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere that reminds me of scenes from Deliverance with a hippy ghost waiting for some guy named ‘Mike.’”

He actually scoffs at me. “Dave, I have the feeling you were a real uptight dude even before you bought it. You’re dead now, man. You let all that crap get to you and you offed yourself. Time to lighten up a bit.”

Before I can respond he takes off and flies through the roof again. I start to shout after him but my voice freezes in my throat when candles all around the room suddenly flicker to life at the same time. A blinding light springs into being from the alter at the front of the room- a light so bright that closing my eyes and covering them with my arms does nothing to shield me from the glare. A voice echoes throughout the tiny building in a booming baritone, and my whole “body” seems to resonate with it.

“Welcome, David Mathis. I am Michael, and I believe that you have some questions for me.”

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All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | May 12, 2013 · 11:14 am

Moving On: Chapter One

Moving On

“Well, I have to be honest. This isn’t what I was expecting.”

I watch as paramedics desperately try to save the life I took.

One of them, a man who looks like he was pulled from a magazine cover, is pumping frantically on my chest and counting as another, a young woman who can’t be over twenty, works the bag that they have over my mouth every thirty compressions from inside my bathtub. Meanwhile we’ve got another two, an older white gentleman with silver hair and penchant for colorful language, and an African American with a head shaved so cleanly that the fluorescents of my bathroom bulbs occasionally glint into the older one’s eyes. You can tell because the older one winces and mutters a string of even more colorful curses each time it happens. They’re each working diligently on a wrist, trying to stop the bleeding. I want to tap them on the shoulder and let them know that I’m impressed, and maybe even a little touched, by their effort, but it’s too late. I feel especially sorry for the black guy because he’s been trying to wrap my left wrist while mounted on my toilet for the last few minutes.

Sorry, guys. I couldn’t afford a bigger place.

Maybe I should have killed myself in the living room? That seemed inconsiderate to the landlord. I figured blood would be harder to get out of carpet than it would be linoleum. Besides, the bathroom is the room you do this sort of thing in, isn’t it? You hear someone slit their wrists in the bathroom and it makes a sort of sense. You hear the same story, only it took place in the living room or a bedroom or something, and it just seems weird or creepier somehow.

Odd.

Oh well. What’s done is done. Which is the same conclusion I think these poor people have come to as well, because they’ve stopped their frantic ER routine now and are looking like whipped puppies. The older man is still cursing as he walks from the room. The younger girl is crying a bit, as the magazine model holds her. I’m guessing I was her first suicide.

Mozel Tov.

The black guy just looks mildly disgusted as he stares down at my body. He mutters, “What a waste,” as he follows the old man out the bathroom door.

Story of my life, pal. They should put that on my tombstone.

From beside me, the other spirit asks, “What were you expecting?”

“Hm?”

“A minute ago you said ‘This isn’t what I was expecting.’ What were you expecting?”

I shrug, which seems an odd gesture now, considering that I don’t have a body anymore. Mortal habits die hard. “I guess I don’t really know. A bright, white light? Complete darkness? Nothingness? I’m not really religious, and I never really bought into the Heaven and Hell stuff, so I guess I never really had a solid idea as to what would happen after it was over. I just didn’t count on standing over my own body, watching myself die while some poor schmucks tried to save the life I just threw away. I especially didn’t count on watching it with another…spirit, or whatever you are.”

He nods with my comments, and when I finish he mutters, “Yeah man, totally. Been there.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What, so you’re just another dead stiff, too? You’re not an angel or anything?”

He laughs. “Me? Oh, Hell no! Ha! If I were, how screwed would you be?!”

He laughs for a few more seconds while I grow increasingly nervous. When he sees that I’m not laughing with him he sobers and continues, “No dude, I’m just another spirit rocking the limbo plane with the rest of us. But it’s a common courtesy that when one of us kicks it that there’s someone there to help with the transition, you know? We try to look out for each other. Tell new people the basics so they aren’t just left holding the bag by themselves and end up becoming a poltergeist or some crap like you hear about on T.V.”

I go to run my hand through my hair, a nervous gesture I used to have; only I don’t have hair anymore. I stop mid-way, realizing how stupid I must look, and lower my “hand”. “Okay, so if you’re here to give me the ‘ghost 101’ class could we do it someplace else?” I nod towards my body, which is now being photographed by police officers as they do their best to avoid the rivers of smeared crimson covering my bathroom floor. “This is a little…weird.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure man. Duh!” He moves to slap his forehead and instead kinda displaces his own face for a second, like a hand moving through smoke. It is the strangest thing I’ve seen yet. “Just follow me!”

And then he floats through the friggin ceiling.

Excellent.

I stand there for a few moments, both exasperated that even in death I seem to get the short end of the proverbial stick, and wondering how long it’ll take the moron to realize that I haven’t followed him. Sure enough, about a minute later he sticks his head back through the ceiling to look down at me. “I’m so sorry, dude! I’d forget my own head if it weren’t corporally attached! All you gotta do is think it man. Will yourself to move and you’ll do it. It’s weird at first, but trust me, it’ll work.”

Weird. Trust you. Right.

I feel like a complete moron, but I try it. I look up at the blue-white ghost-head that’s staring at me and try to imagine myself floating up to where he is. Just when I’m about to tell the idiot that he can take his ghost lessons and shove them up his smoky butthole I realize that I’m almost close enough to head-butt him. A moment later and we’re both in the apartment above mine and watching as Mrs. Vandervall knits whatever hellish creation she’s working on this month as her army of cats continues to desecrate her living space. Then we’re through that floor and onto the next, and so on until we’ve reached the roof. It’s a beautiful day out. The sky is a clear blue without a hint of clouds, and the sun makes my ghost escort glisten.

No, I refuse to make a Twilight joke. I may have committed suicide, but I still have some pride.

My escort lies down on the roof and sighs contentedly. “Ahh, much better, yeah?”

I nod and sit next to him, wondering if I’m just going to fall through. I don’t. Score one for the home team. I turn my head to him. “So, do you have a name, or do I just call you Casper?”

He glances up at me, confused. “Huh? Oh!” He chuckles. “Casper. Hey, you’re a pretty funny dude! No, my name is Riley.”

Of course it is.

I keep expecting him to pull out a joint from his ghost pockets and offer me a toke. Then all we’d be missing is bongo drums. I’d bet money that Riley had dreads in his previous life.

“Hello, Riley. My name is David.”

“Hiya Dave!”

He waves at me like an excited five year old.

If there is a God, he’s laughing his ass off at me right now.

I sigh and resist the urge to roll my eyes. “So, Riley, Ghosting 101?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah! So, uh, welcome to the afterlife. Or I guess the pre-afterlife. Or something.”

Well, we’re certainly off to a wonderful start.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He grins like an idiot. “No problemo! Now, we’ve already covered how you get around… Mike gave me a list of crap to talk about but I always forget…”

“Mike?”

“Oh! Yeah, Mike. He’s kinda like the guy in charge around here. He’s the one that tells us when we need to go see someone like you and give them the 4-1-1.”

“And he sent you to me. Sounds like a swell guy.”

Apparently, Riley isn’t good with sarcasm. We’ll add it to the list. He smiles even wider and says with complete sincerity, “Thanks, man. I think you’re pretty great yourself.”

At this point I’d kill myself again if I thought it’d do any good.

Riley continues, “Well, I can’t remember the list, exactly, but the most important thing you need to know about is moving on.”

“’Moving on?’ You mean this isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, man! This here is what they call limbo. This is the plane between life and the afterlife.”

“The afterlife…as in Heaven? Hell? Sheol? Valhalla? ”

He laughs and slaps at his knee, which again just displaces like smoke. “Hell if I know, dude! No one can really tell me for sure what goes on after. All I know is it’s important that we get there and that we don’t hang around in limbo for too long.”

“Why not? This doesn’t seem so bad, present company excluded.”

“Well, because spirits that hang around limbo too long tend to go a little loony toons, ya know?” He whirls a finger next to his head in the common “crazy” pantomime gesture. “All those scary ghosts that you hear about, those are the ones that didn’t or couldn’t move on.”

Interesting.

“Okay, so what do we have to do to move on?”

“Good question! I have no idea.”

Wonderful.

“Riley, have you been a spirit a long time?”

“Me? Nawww.” He shakes his head for a moment, then, as if I can actually see a light bulb go off, he laughs. “Oh, you’re joking with me! Ha! No, sorry dude, it’s just that it’s different for everyone. You gotta make up for past mistakes, or settle unfinished business, or whatever, and when you do you’re done and can move on. C’mon, dude. Didn’t you ever see Being Human?”

I sigh. “I must have missed it.”

“Too bad, dude. Awesome show. Witwer kills it! I hear the UK version is better, but whatever. USA all the way is what I always say. Hey, that rhymes! Which reminds me of this other show I like that was about…”

I never thought it would be possible to be depressed after you’re already dead.

<-Main Archive Page   Chapter 2 ->

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2013

All rights reserved

All of the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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by | April 14, 2013 · 9:20 pm

Announcement: The “Holy Crap, We Need Exposure” Sale! All Digital Books $0.99!

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Yes that’s right! We need to get our name out there! Starting Monday (4/15/13) through Sunday (4/21/13) all digital copies of our books will be $0.99! So for all you procrastinators out there (and judging by our books sales, that means most of you) now is the perfect time to try out a book or three…or four. Please help spread the word! Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Tell that weird guy giving you the stink-eye on the metro! This sale will last for this week only!

Don’t forget, those who purchase Just Super have a chance to participate in our Just Super Sweepstakes! Entries are due by May 3rd!

You can read descriptions, preview chapters, and find links for all of our books here.

Don’t own a Kindle? No problem! The Kindle App is a free download for all smartphones, tablets, and computers (PC and Apple).

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by | April 1, 2013 · 12:43 pm

Another Just Super Preview Chapter

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Hello everyone. Just thought I’d give you a late Easter treat with another preview chapter from my new novel Just Super, now available for Kindle or in paperback. Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 5: Dress for Success

“Remember about six years ago? Some jackass dressed up in red spandex with a pair of goggles and called himself the…”

“The Masked Avenger?”

*Laughter*

“Yeah, right, the Masked Avenger. Not the most original of names, but then again anyone who would do what that schmuck did doesn’t have too much going for him in the upstairs department, right? Anyway, he made the news because he stopped a bank robbery out in L.A. “

“Yeah, I remember hearing about that on the wire. I was overseas at the time. He kept them busy until the cops could get there or something, right?”

“Right. Unfortunately for him he also stopped three bullets with his chest and ended up eating nothing but soup and pudding for six months. Of course this was after he was charged with vigilantism and public endangerment. Apparently the judge felt sorry for him and figured his medical bills were punishment enough and let him off with a warning. I hear he’s the janitor for his old high school now. That’s really my biggest fear about this whole thing, Sam. I’m not afraid of dying, I’m afraid of failing.”

– Excerpt from transcripts of the audio interview between Keith Green A.K.A. Justice and Sam Daylin on October 2nd, 2016.

***

Keith had already showered and changed clothes by the time we got to the apartment, and was still toweling off his hair as we walked in the door. “About time. What were you doing, forty the whole way?”

Jenn stuck a tongue out at him. “Not all of us can move at the speed of sound.” She gestured at the towel around his neck as she laid her purse down on the counter. “Though most of us do dry off before getting dressed.”

“Yeah, yeah. So we ready for this little pow-wow or what?”

I stayed quiet and took a seat on one of the bar stools as Jenn and Keith sat down on the sofa. I took out my trusty little recorder and hit the button as she began to tick off points.

“Okay, here’s what we know so far. One, your powers are telekinetic, like I suspected. Two, just like any muscle you’re going to have to practice and work up your endurance and concentration, especially when it comes to doing more than one thing at once.”

“Yeah, we found that out the hard way.” Keith glanced up in my direction but I didn’t detect any malice behind the look.

Jenn nodded. “Right, which brings me to my next point: I think we need to talk about your costume.”

Keith shook his head as he stood up and headed for the coffee pot. “I’m not wearing a costume. We’ve talked about this already. I refuse to look like some retard at a convention.”

Jenn draped her left arm over the back of the couch as she turned to face him. “I don’t mean a cape and spandex, but I do think we need to have some sort of body armor. Something that’ll protect you. Even with practice I don’t think it’d be safe for you to rely just on your abilities for protection. Besides, you told me you’ll need some sort of eye protection for when you’re flying anyway and I don’t think diving goggles is the fashion statement you want to make to strike fear into the hearts of criminals everywhere.”

I spoke up from my little place off to the side. “Not only that, but you’re going to want to wear something that’ll help conceal your identity. I mean, for legal reasons alone, you’re not going to want anyone to know who you are.”

Keith seemed to consider that a moment as he stirred his coffee, then nodded. “Okay, I can see what you mean. Any suggestions?”

I nodded. “I’ve got a guy I know- one of my informants. He’s something of a collector when it comes to guns and stuff like that. He’s like one of those militant rednecks you see on T.V. that’ll barricade themselves in compounds to keep out ‘the man’. The guy’s totally nuts, but mostly harmless. He may have some stuff we could look at that’d offer you some protection. Used military and police equipment, that sort of thing.”

Jenn smirked. “What happened to ‘I’m just an observer’?”

I shrugged. “There’s no story if wonder boy goes and gets killed his first time out.”

Keith held up his coffee mug like he was toasting. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Jenn got on her knees and leaned over the back of the sofa. “Speaking of which, what’s the plan? After you practice a bit and we find you a costume, what next?”

I hopped up from my stool and headed for my room. “I think I can help there, too. Just a sec.”

I emerged a minute later with a journalist’s best friend. Keith smirked and walked over to get a closer look as I laid it on the counter and plugged it in. “A police scanner. Nice.”

I grinned like a proud poppa. “A journalist’s bread and butter.”

Jenn walked over and joined us. She was biting at one of her finger nails, like she always did when she was anxious. “Isn’t monitoring the police band illegal?“

I snickered. “So’s vigilantism.”

She smirked and ran her hands along the top of the scanner, wiping away at the thin layer of dust. “Point. So what, we just listen to the police band then Keith jumps out the window and saves the day?”

“Why not?”

Keith smiled and clapped me on the back again. “I like it. Maybe you aren’t a complete pain in the ass after all.”

I grimaced but decided to hold back the wise-assed comment I had ready to fire. Instead I said, “Well, I’m heading to bed. I’ll swing by Gimpy’s place tomorrow and see what he’s got.”

Jenn looked up quizzically, barely restraining a laugh. “Gimpy?”

I waved it away. “Don’t ask. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

I retired to my little closet of a room and did my best to try and sleep, but memories of a past I thought was long behind me flooded my mind and made that impossible. Instead, I tossed and turned, trying to occupy my mind with other thoughts but always coming back to the same thing: Jenn.

I had known as soon as Keith mentioned her name that if I got involved I’d have to face a lot of things I’d tried to bury with time and distance. At the time it had been easy for me to write it off as something that wouldn’t be that big a deal. Then I saw her and that all went out the window.

Now it was like I was twenty-three again, before I stepped on that plane and left the best thing I’d ever known behind. Like then, this had all started out about a job, but this time I was going to make the right choice. I made a silent promise that I would do anything I could to help Keith in his mission. Not because I believed in him and what he was trying to do, but because I believed in her and what was important to her. I knew I was being given a second chance and I wasn’t going to pass it up.

It wasn’t just a job anymore. I wasn’t just an observer. I’d become a participant.

I snorted into my pillow. “Well, so much for objectivity.”

I rolled over and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me instantly.

***

It took me a few weeks but I was finally able to set up a time when I could meet up with Gimpy and see about a super suit. Richard “Gimpy” Melvin lived in a trailer park out in West Memphis. He was nicknamed Gimpy because of the bum knee he’d acquired running from the cops a few years back. He’d tried to jump a fence, only to discover as he was falling down the other side that there was a ten foot drop which ended in solid concrete. Pop went the weasel.

True to the stereotypical image that living in a trailer park brings to mind, Gimpy took pride in dressing like a complete hillbilly: long, dingy hair of an unquantifiable color; scruffy beard; straw cowboy hat; wife-beater complete with unidentifiable stains that had started out in life white but was now closer to grey; blue jeans covered in tears and oil spots with the ends of the legs worn down to strings of cloth, which only accentuated the SpongeBob flip flops he wore. Yep, Gimpy was all class.

He was also well connected.

In addition to his little black market for military and police surplus, Gimpy ran one of the biggest gambling rings in the south. As such, he was a veritable fountain of information. When you hear the phrase “word on the street,” they’re talking about Gimpy. He’d been an invaluable resource for me in the past, but this trip I was there to tap into his other talents.

“Body armor, huh? Ya going back out on the front lines, or did‘ja write an article that someone honoree out there might not like? Heheeee!”

His laugh was like a donkey braying on helium. I smiled and shook my head. “No, nothing like that. I thought I’d try my hand at fiction in my spare time. I’m writing a book about a S.W.A.T. team. Thought I’d pick up some gear as research props. You know, get dressed up, see how it feels, that sort of thing. I figured you’d be the man to see.”

He slapped me hard on the back and laughed again. “Heheee! Ya got that right, buddy! Step inna my office and we’ll see if we can’t set ya up proper.”

His “office” was a dilapidated barn that sat on the back of his property. It looked that way on the outside, anyway. On the inside it was like a Best Buy for the militant redneck circuit. The walls and ceiling had been reinforced and gleamed like new, and each section was neatly labeled and displayed. I half expected to hear muzak playing gently in the background. Guns, ammo, combat gear, if Rambo wanted it, he could find it at Gimpy’s. I let out a whistle.

“Heheeee! It’s a beut, ain’t it?  My pride’n’joy, right here. Now ya said you wanted S.W.A.T. gear?”

I nodded.

He thought for a second, stroking absently at his ragged beard until he suddenly snapped his fingers, grinned like an idiot, and pointed a grease-stained finger in a general direction. “I got jus the thang! Came in last week. Wait here and I’ll fetch it fer ya.”

He sauntered off and disappeared in the forest of hardware, and I silently prayed that the place wouldn’t get raided while I waited. About five minutes later Gimpy came back into view pushing an old shopping cart filled with stuff. He smiled at me and I tried not to stare at the gaps in his grill. “Had an ex-cop come through here last week. Dropped twenty large at the tables and came up short. Used to be Memphis S.W.A.T. but was forced to go on disability when he got his hand blown off by a midget pimp. Heheeeee!”

He pointed down at the cart. “Gave me all his old stuff fer credit. Yer welcome to whatever’s here.”

I reached down into the cart and started shifting through what I saw there. There was a jumpsuit and combat vest like you see on T.V.; a helmet complete with a full visor; combat boots; even built in comm gear. “Wow, this is great, Gimp. How much?”

“Fer you Sammy? Take it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What?”

He shook his head. “You’ve been good to me over the years, boy. Helped me out when times were rough. Now I’m prosperin’ better than a grizzly in a fish market! Heheeee! I figger this is the least I can do fer ya. Just mention me in yer book and we’ll call it even.”

I smiled and offered him my hand, which he took. “Deal.”

***

Back at the apartment it was like Christmas in a militant compound as Keith and Jenn went through the box of swag I’d procured. Jenn giggled excitedly. “Wow, Sam. This is great!”

Keith grunted as he held up the tactical vest. “What’s with this on the back? Justice?”

Jenn walked over and looked. “It’s on the front too, see?”

I glanced over and shrugged. “Must’ve been the name of the cop that owned it last. Kind of an ironic name, isn’t it?”

Jenn chuckled. “Well, I’m sure I can take it off or cover it up.”

Keith stared at it for a second then shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Having a name on the back will help me to look more like a cop. I’ll be able to blend when I need to.”

I snorted. “Well, anywhere that’s gone to hell enough that S.W.A.T. gets called in, anyway.”

He nodded absently as he dug deeper into the pile. “Hey, you got the communication gear too?”

“Yep.” I reached down into my laptop bag and pulled out two tactical walkie-talkies. “Got these for me and Jenn, too. This way we can keep in contact while you’re out on missions. Gimp said we’ll just have to be careful about the frequency we use and what we say. Anyone with the right gear will be able to listen in if they find the right channel.”

Keith nodded and put the gear back down in the pile. “Right. Good thinking.”

Jenn pulled on the helmet and snapped down the visor. She looked like a little kid dressing up for Halloween. “This should work for when you’re flying!”

I laughed. “Wow, you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

She yanked off the helmet and had a horrendous case of hat hair. She ran her hands through it a few times in an attempt to get it under control, and was only half-successful. “Sure! This stuff is kinda cool. I mean, you see it on T.V. and in the movies all the time. It’s fun to be able to actually play around with it.”

Keith grabbed the helmet and stuck it on top of the pile, then hefted the box. “Well, I’m going to go try this stuff on. See how it fits. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Once he was gone Jenn walked over and gave me a hug. “I really appreciate you doing this. You’re being a huge help. I don’t know what he would’ve done without you.”

I pulled her back enough to where I could look her in the eye and lowered my voice to a sultry whisper. “I’m not doing it for him.”

I pulled her close and kissed her. She tried half-heartedly to pull away at first, but then she melted into my arms and started to kiss me back and it was as though time had never past. Cue sweeping music. After a few seconds we broke the embrace, breathing heavily, and she took a few steps back. “Sam, I-“

I held up a hand. “I know. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I should have let you know a long time ago.”

Just then Keith walked back out into the living room and struck a heroic pose, with both hands on his hips. Talk about being saved by the bell. “Well, how do I look?”

Jenn’s gaze lingered on mine for a second before she turned around and smiled at him. “You look great! Looks like everything really fits!”

I had to admit he did look impressive, like something straight out of an action movie, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he was the real deal. In the last few years, due to the increase in gang violence and terrorist threats, police gear had been upgraded to improve protection and thus, the life expectancy of the officers. The outfit itself was all black, naturally, though rather than just having a bullet-proof vest all the material was made in a bullet resistant mesh.  It was still relatively light-weight and had good mobility, but it’d also stop all but the most persistent debris and shrapnel and most small caliber bullets, even at close range. The vest itself was even more resistant: double reinforced so that even hollow-point bullets, commonly referred to on the streets as “cop killers,” wouldn’t penetrate. The gloves were made of a less resistant but more flexible version of the mesh, and the boots were steel tipped with an anti-slip grip on the bottom. The helmet was the most impressive, however. It was black and domed with a solid visor that not only protected the eyes but the whole face. The visor itself was mirrored, which was a bit disconcerting to anyone looking into it, which I assumed was the point. It was equipped with a H.U.D. that registered targets, helped with navigation, and, though I failed to mention it to Keith just yet, broadcasted a live data stream that was simultaneously recorded to a hard drive. Not all the innovations were for just police protection. Jenn and I would be able to see and hear everything that went on while Keith was in his masked persona.

Keith spread out his hands and did a slow turn as though he were a fashion model. His voice came out a bit distorted behind the visor. “Not bad, huh? This helmet is freakin’ sweet!”

Jenn grimaced. “It’s a little scary. You look like a bad guy from a sci-fi movie.”

Keith shrugged, but the gesture was muted a bit by the suit. “I don’t think that’s really a bad thing. Strike fear into the hearts of criminals and all that. Besides, this’ll be great for when I’m flying! It’s got a zoom function, digital readouts and targeting. Hell, I even see a little icon for gas and smoke protection!”

I nodded. “Gimpy said it has a built in filter, so it’ll give you some protection during fires or with some gasses, but it’s not a license to thrill. It’s not like you have your own oxygen supply or anything so don’t go Superman on us and think you can walk into anything and be okay. “

He waved a hand at me dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Don’t be such a kill joy. I can’t wait to go flying with this thing on.”

Jenn threw an arm over his shoulder. “Well, you’ll get your chance tonight, flyboy. Now that you’ve got your costume we’re going to have to hit the practicing hard.”

Keith gave a little mock-salute. “Aye aye, cap’n. Hey Sammy, how am I supposed to talk to you guys with this thing?”

“Stick out your tongue. There should be a little switch you can click on and off… though I’d wait and sanitize the thing first before you try.”

Keith reached up and pulled the helmet off. “Yeah, good point.”

He glanced inside and pointed. “There it is. That’s gonna be a little weird.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

He nodded and shifted the helmet under his arm. “Well, I’m going to go take this stuff off. No sense in getting it all gunked up before tonight. You guys up for getting some pizza?”

“Fine with me. Jenn?”

She shot me a devilish smirk. “I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to do at the office, so you boys can go and have fun. Get in a little bonding time.”

I tried to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Great. Guys night out.”

Keith didn’t look any happier. “Yeah, I’ll go get dressed.”

Jenn walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “It won’t be that bad. I bet you two will find out you’ve got a lot in common. It’ll be good for you.”

I reached in my pocket for a cigarette and gave her my best reassuring smile as I resisted rolling my eyes. “Yeah. Great.”

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by | March 31, 2013 · 11:29 am

Just Super Now Available! *Updated*

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My latest novel, Just Super, is now available in all Kindle formats. The paperback version should be available within the next few days. I’ll post an update once it is. Please check it out!
*Update* The paperback version is now available.

Description: There is something very different and very special about Keith Green- he has “super powers.” Keith Green also has only six months to live because those powers are slowly killing him. This is the story that reporter Sam Daylin is hired to chronicle, as Keith spends the last six months of his life trying to use his powers to help people and change the world as the its first “superhero”. However, the more that  his illness begins to affect him, the more erratic Keith begins to act. The world’s first superhero could become the world’s greatest threat, and Sam Daylin may be the only person who is in a position to stop him.

Read the first chapter for free.
Buy the digital copy.  Buy the paperback.

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by | March 22, 2013 · 2:58 pm

Just Super Preview

The following is a preview for our new novel, Just Super, which we hope to have out in early April. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1: First Impressions

“Comics are bullshit. In every superhero comic ever written the hero finds out they have powers and most of the time they instantly decide that it means they have to dress up in some pansy-assed outfit and fight crime. Like it’s a given: ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ and all that. Well, in real life it doesn’t work that way. In real life there are consequences. If you dress up in some colorful tights with a towel around your neck and decide to fight crime, you either end up in the morgue or on the six o’clock news being hauled away in a pair of handcuffs while people at home laugh their asses off at you.

You won’t see my name plastered all over lunch boxes. You won’t see me with my own T.V. series or movie deal. And you sure as hell won’t catch me dressing up like some cosplayer at an anime convention.Nope, I’m just your average, everyday working stiff who happens to have superpowers; but soon you’ll all know my name.”

– Excerpt from transcripts of the audio interview between Keith Green A.K.A. Justice and Sam Daylin on October 2nd, 2016.

***

Keith Green was a construction worker who hauled crap around for a living. He lived alone, had no friends and no family. As far as the world was concerned he was completely ordinary- completely anonymous.

A nobody.

So imagine my surprise when this nobody walks up to me as I was leaving my office and tells me the craziest, most amazing thing I’ve ever heard- something that not only ended up changing my life, but changed the world.

“Mr. Daylin? Sam Daylin of the Commercial Appeal?”

“That’s right. How can I help you?”

I have to admit, I didn’t think much of Keith Green when I first met him. Physically, he was a bit imposing I guess. He was 6’2 and well-built compared to my 5’10 and lanky frame. In my defense, the heaviest thing I lifted day to day was a computer mouse while he spent most of his adult life slinging around cement blocks and wooden beams.

Do the math.

Keith had shoulder-length, greasy black hair, with soot and grime smeared over his face and clothes. The white t-shirt and ragged jeans he wore were almost black from it. He didn’t look like much more than the blue collared jerks that I grew up around; the ones that spent more time in bars harassing waitresses and screwing around than doing much else.

Still, there was this…fierceness in his eyes. They were just striking. You hear people say that, but this was the first time I’d ever met someone that literally made me flinch a bit when I met their eyes. They were a bright blue, brighter than I’d ever seen, and when he talked I found it hard to not pay attention to what he said. Then again, what he said was pretty unforgettable anyway.

He offered me his hand, which I took. His grip was like steel, but sweaty. I tried my best to wipe my hands off on my pants without looking obvious about it when he let go.

“My name is Keith Green. Jennifer Chase is my best friend. We grew up together.”

I smiled and nodded as a flood of memories assaulted my brain, bringing with them a small stab of pain. “Yeah, sure. She used to talk about you all the time. How is she? I haven’t heard from her since graduation and I’ve been meaning to look her up since I moved into town. She doing okay?”

He nodded and looked a bit agitated, like he was in a hurry and these pleasantries of normal conversation were a waste of his time. “Yeah, Jenn is fine. A doctor now. Has her own practice on Poplar Avenue, down the street from the mall. She told me I should look you up.”

His voice dropped to a whisper and his gaze grew intense as he leaned a bit closer. “That you were someone I could trust.”

I felt a little alarm bell go off inside my head and the journalist in me took over. I instantly switched gears from casual conversation to cool professional. “Okay, how do you think I can help you, Mr. Green?”

He looked around as though he were afraid someone was watching, listening. “Well, I wanted to offer you a story. The biggest story anyone’s ever heard.”

I relaxed. I get yahoos selling me this same line of crap twice a day before lunch. Everyone thinks their story is special. More often than not it’s not even obituary-worthy. I started to move past him. “Sure, okay. I’ll tell you what: why don’t you shoot me an e-mail about your story and if I think it’s something I’d be interested in I’ll give you a call. Right now I’m on my way home. Tell Jenn I said hi.”

His hand snatched out and clamped down on my right shoulder. “Wait.”

I spun around, knocking his hand away and half tempted to deck him. I don’t do well with people putting their hands on me, especially those I don’t know. He held up his hands defensively. “Look, I know you probably hear people say that kind of thing all the time, but this time it’s true. All I ask is you give me five minutes to prove it to you. That’s all.”

I clinched my jaw and regarded him for a second as I let myself cool down. I thought about agreeing then going inside and siccing security on his ass, but something inside told me to hear him out. “Jenn sent you?”

He nodded then held up his right hand, his fingers spread to emphasize “five”.

I sighed.

“You have five minutes.” I set down my laptop bag and folded my arms. “Go ahead.”

He shook his head.

“Not here.” He glanced up for a second and then pointed. “Meet me up on the roof.”

I snatched up my bag again. “Forget it pal. I don’t have time for this crap.”

He held up a hand. “Look, this’ll be easier if I show you, but I can’t show you down here. Meet me on the roof. Give me five minutes. If you still aren’t convinced I’ll go away and you’ll never see me again.”

I almost told him to take a hike. I had a cold beer and a hot T.V. dinner waiting for me at home. Still, that little voice inside said to give him his five minutes, no matter how stupid it all seemed. I breathed out heavily through my nose, a short burst of released frustration, as I started to turn back to the building door. “Fine, let’s go to the roof.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

I looked back at him for a second and then shrugged. “Whatever.”

I went through the door and headed for the elevators. I glanced back once and he was still standing where I left him, watching me. When he saw me looking he pointed up again and smiled. I hit the call button and muttered, “Freak.”

The elevator dinged and I got inside and pressed the button for the roof. The whole trip up I kept asking myself, “Why the hell am I doing this? This is so stupid.”

It took me a minute to find the rooftop access and by the time I emerged out into the fall night air the sun had already begun to set. Wind kicked up my beige trench coat and I had to reach up and hold my hat down to keep it from flying off of my head. I looked around and, to my complete and utter shock, Keith was already standing there on the ledge behind me, waiting.

I dropped my bag and held out a hand. “Look, if you’re going to jump that’s not the kind of story I’m looking for, okay? So why don’t you come down off of the ledge and we can talk things out.”

He smirked at me, shook his head, and then stepped backwards off of the ledge.

“Son of a bitch!”

I almost slipped on the black gravel crap that was scattered over the roof in my mad dash to the ledge. My cell phone was already in my hand and I was trying frantically to remember how to dial 9-1-1 when I got to the ledge and looked over, fully expecting to see Keith as a red smudge on the concrete below. Instead, I almost had a heart attack as he looked up at me from a few inches down and said, “Boo.”

The phone hit the roof with a crack about a second before I did. Sharp pain shot through me as my backside hit hard, but I ignored it as I scrambled frantically backwards away from the ledge while Keith, who up until a few seconds ago I thought was a complete whack-job, slowly hovered up over the ledge to land on the ground in front of me. The setting sun glistened behind him like a red-orange halo.

“Holy shit! Holy SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

I hauled myself off the ground, turned, and ran for the door as fast as I could- only to run face-first into his chest. I bounced off him and ended up back on my ass. He held up his hands in what I’m sure he thought was a reassuring gesture, but it’s hard to be reassuring when your feet are hovering several inches off the ground. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I can explain everything.”

“Holy shit!”

He smirked as he folded his arms across his chest and settled down to the ground again. “For a writer you have a pretty limited vocabulary.”

I was trying hard to keep from hyperventilating. “You just…you just…you just…”

“Flew? Yeah. And that last bit was touch of super speed. Figured a demonstration was in order if you were going to believe what I’m about to tell you.”

“What the hell are you?”

He smiled again and that wasn’t very reassuring either. “Mr. Daylin, I’m the man that’s going to make you famous.” He glanced down at his watch. “And I still have four minutes. Interested in hearing the rest?”

Of course I was.

Copyright © J.R. Broadwater 2009-2013

All rights reserved

Just Super Description: There is something very different and very special about Keith Green- he has “super powers.” Keith Green also has only six months to live because those powers are slowly killing him. This is the story that reporter Sam Daylin is hired to chronicle, as Keith spends the last six months of his life trying to use his powers to help people and change the world as the its first “superhero”. However, the more that  his illness begins to affect him, the more erratic Keith begins to act. The world’s first superhero could become the world’s greatest threat, and Sam Daylin may be the only person who is in a position to stop him.

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