If Karen hadn’t surfaced by now, I doubted she would, unless she was in a situation similar to Dave’s and had no access to a phone. It didn’t make sense that she hadn’t come back. How was she different from Dave that she would be content to stay in Deadland?
Maybe I was thinking too absolutely. In the world of the living so much relied on chance—a missed train, a coin flip, a freak storm. Maybe it was the same in Deadland. Maybe a million souls pushed to get through the rift that opened between the worlds, and some of them simply hadn’t made it through before it sealed up. Maybe Karen had still been alive when the rift opened, and died the next day. Hell, maybe people with certain blood types couldn’t come back. There were a million maybes. I started to doubt the point of this whole operation; did it prove anything if Annie was or wasn’t there? Still, what could we do but try to understand what was happening? There was nothing to be learned sitting on the couch.
They whisked Grandpa into the lobby, then dragged him up two flights of stairs, with Mick panting and cursing his tobacco-clogged lungs with each step.
If the population of Atlanta hadn’t been devastated by the anthrax attacks, Annie’s apartment probably would have been rented, and this operation would be much more complicated. As it was, Annie’s door was sitting open, and we were in business.
The furniture, and many of Annie’s possessions, were still in place, including the huge abstract paintings she’d done herself, and her Pez collection.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. I took a mental breath, sought that relaxed, dreamy, disembodied state, and willed myself to rotate.
It was easier this time. So easy it unnerved me. Was it easier because each time Grandpa took over I was one step closer to taking up permanent residence in Deadland?
I’d expected her to be there, but it was still a shock. She was lying curled on the couch, her lips pressed to her knee, her brown eyes distant, pupils huge. Wisps of her frizzy hair waved in the perpetual breeze.
I choked up at the sight of her, alone in this place. I also felt sure now. The knife that had cut a passage from this world into ours was the longings, the desires, the dreams and ambitions of the dead.
“Annie.” It was the first time I’d tried speaking in Deadland. It came out a raspy whisper, like dead leaves stirring in a fall breeze.
Annie lifted her head. She didn’t seem surprised to hear my voice. “I was wondering.” Her features were softer, maybe because the wind had sanded them down.
“Wondering what?”
She closed her eyes. “If you died.”
“No,” I said. “Just visiting.”
This didn’t confuse her the way I thought it would, or maybe it just didn’t register. There were so many things I wanted to ask, but I only had a few minutes. We had another stop to make, and couldn’t be sure how long Grandpa would be in the driver’s seat.
“A lot of the dead have come back,” I said. “Did you decide not to? Did you have a choice?”
“Hm?” Annie asked. She sounded as if she’d dozed off and my voice had waked her. This was going to be difficult. She wasn’t as far gone as the man I’d seen sitting at the bar, but she was on her way.
“Did you decide not to come back to the world of the living?”
“I’m dead. It’s not so bad.”
I decided to try another tack. “How do you feel?”
I didn’t think she was going to answer, then her eyes seemed to focus for the first time. “The hum is gone.”
“The hum?”
“Gone.”
Grandpa started to move, or, more likely, to be carried toward the door. Time was already up. “What’s the hum?”
“It’s gone.”
“But what is it?” It seemed important to understand what it was, if only because Annie was focused on it. She opened her mouth to answer and I stretched toward her. I didn’t want to miss what she said. I leaned, leaned…
My head popped. All of the air went out of me. I felt myself fall like a dropped penny, hit the floor, circling and circling until I settled and was still.
I’d never been so still. There was no sound except the whistle of the wind. And suddenly I could see my feet, my hands, the tip of my nose, as if I had a physical presence in this world.
I’d fallen out of my body. There was no other explanation.
“Gone,” Annie whispered.
Now I remembered what the hum was. Annie once told me that she never felt completely at ease. There was always a hum, a sense that all was not well, a guilt driven by her own sense of inadequacy.
My own hum was not gone. I felt very heavy, like a block of iron, but a very unhappy block of iron.
“Annie, I fell out. I need to go back to the world of the living. How do I get back?”
Slowly, Annie lifted her head. “I can see you. Hi.”
“How do I get back? What do I do?”
“You blow away.”
“I don’t want to blow away.” I tried to stand, but I felt way too heavy, and I couldn’t get a sense of my legs. I tried turning. It was like trying to turn while encased in concrete.
I tried wobbling from side to side, and found that I could rotate ever so slowly, as if the air was mud. Eventually I managed to face the door.
It was closed. They were gone. They had no idea they’d left me behind.
“Annie?”
“Mm?”
“Please. How do I get back into my body?”
“You’re dead. No bodies. It’s fine.”
I was dead. I would blow away now. I would never see Summer, or Mick, or Mom again. I’d never speak to Lorena again. Grandpa had won.
A Hello Kitty Pez dispenser stared down at me from Annie’s book shelf, its plastic smile taunting, the color bleached away by the curtain that separated the living and the dead. Or maybe my eyes had been scrubbed of the ability to see colors. What need do the dead have of bright colors when their purpose is to let go of the physical world and blow away?
I was about three feet from the door. If I could reach it, maybe I could open it and get into the hall and down the stairs.
I wobbled again, and as I rotated I leaned. After a few minutes of this I could see that I was inching across the carpet toward the door.
As strenuous as moving was, I didn’t feel fatigued, but it was hard to stay focused. I kept forgetting what I was trying to do, kept drifting off. To combat it, I pictured my friends. Mick. Summer. I tried to picture Lorena, but it didn’t work as well. Deadland was a part of her.
After what seemed like hours I reached the door and tried the knob. My fingers stopped at the polished metal, but I couldn’t feel it, let alone turn it. Staring at that knob I thought of something Summer had told me. Krishnapuma had written that he sensed the things in the world of the dead were not really things, only reflections of things, or echoes of things that only existed because of the collective memory of the dead. He speculated that places where no people had died—remote stretches of ocean or desert—didn’t exist in this world. I could believe that.
The door swung open.
Startled, I cried out, raising my hands in supplication to whomever was passing through in the world of the living. I saw no one, but knew it had to be my friends.
I felt a pull, like the head of a vacuum cleaner passing close by. I leaned into it, reaching, felt the suction. I was lifted off the carpet, but I couldn’t gain enough traction and I dropped back down with a plop. Frantic, I splayed my fingers and
My last chance; I knew they wouldn’t come back again.
